Glimmers

by Barbara Brooke

  I shake my head and continue watching Mr. Grant, as he wipes his nose with his handkerchief. His eyes keep shifting towards the other room. What has captured his interest so? I peer over to where he is looking. Why, he is watching his mother! I cannot believe it! I should think he would prefer to stare longingly towards me, not the woman who gave birth to him. And now, Mama is standing next to his mother. They appear anxious. They must be busy planning our firstborn’s nursery.

  Victoria interrupts my thoughts, “Join me in the other room. I would very much like to make Mr. Stone’s acquaintance.” Only, she does not wait for a response. She scampers off towards the three men, practically dragging me behind her.

  “Go on without me, I will catch up with you later,” I offer, removing my hand from her firm grasp.

  Truthfully, the idea of being caught in a conversation between Mr. Andrew and Mr. Grant sounds mortifying. I restrict my attention back toward the dessert table and reach for another pastry.

  From behind me, I hear a strange coughing noise. I turn around to see who it is. When I realize it is Mr. Grant, I feel my stomach tighten. I had naively assumed he was still in the other room. How did he manage to sneak up on me so quickly? I peer over his shoulder and see Victoria speaking with Mr. Andrew and Edmund.

  I sigh, while trying to imitate Victoria’s pleasing smile and pretend I am delighted. Although truthfully, I had believed I would be able to avoid Mr. Grant until our scheduled meeting on the terrace. What could he possibly want of me now?

  “Miss. Emma, I must inform you that a most regrettable situation has occurred at my home in Webshire. It calls for my immediate return.” He is speaking to me, but his attention is in the hall, where his mother and my Mama are still in heated discussion.

  “Oh dear, I do hope it is nothing serious!” I say with genuine concern.

  “I believe everything is well within my control. It is imperative, however, I be present. Unfortunately, I will not be able to meet with you as planned.”

  “How unfortunate; however, I can assure you there will be other opportunities for us to meet. Please, do not give it a second thought.”

  “You are ever so gracious. I thank you for your kind words of understanding,” Mr. Grant says, gently taking my hand. “I will call upon you as soon as I can. Good-evening, Miss Emma.”

  After his departure, I return my undivided attention to the dessert table. There are a few colorful petit fours I have neglected. Reaching for one, I become aware of Mr. Andrew’s stare. He must have witnessed the conversation between Mr. Grant and me. Why is Mr. Andrew watching me, when he has Victoria standing next to him?

  Although it is entirely unladylike, I stuff a petit four into my mouth. I believe it to be my favorite and enjoy the vanilla icing. From the corner of my eye, I can barely see a smile spread across Mr. Andrew’s face. Although it is a struggle, I pretend to pay little attention.

  Victoria is close to Mr. Andrew’s side. She appears to circle him as though she were a lioness stalking her prey. After a little while, he escorts her to the dance floor, at which point, I can scarcely focus on anything else. He moves his body effortlessly about the floor. My sister appears eager, as she follows his lead. An uninvited feeling of envy has crept into my heart.

  Although I have wedged myself inconspicuously between some familiar faces, my brother has little trouble finding me and seems quite aware of my ungracious thoughts.

  “Victoria has a way of attracting the attention of men. Do not you agree?” he says, edging his body between the surrounding people.

  “She cannot help herself. Men are naturally drawn to her, as bees are to honey.” I smile weakly.

  “I understand Mr. Grant had to make a sudden departure. I am sorry if his leave taking has caused you any heartache,” Edmund says sarcastically.

  “I can assure you, it is of little consequence. In fact…may I speak freely, dear brother?”

  “I hope you would feel comfortable enough with me to always speak freely.”

  “Oh Edmund, since we last spoke on the matter of Mr. Grant, I find myself feeling confused! I am not entirely certain I want to marry him!”

  “Well, I am glad you have returned to your senses. I must say, I am not at all surprised by your lack of feeling for the man. Perhaps you can sneak away with me to London before he notices you are gone.”

  “We must not let him know or Mama and Papa, for that matter,” I tease.

  Edmund looks over at Victoria and says, “I suppose we ought to invite her along, as well.”

  “It would only be fair. I do fear, however, for the poor men of London and the trail of broken hearts that would undoubtedly strew the path behind her,” I chide, and we begin to laugh.

  “Agreed, but at the moment, she appears quite captivated by Andrew.”

  “Would you expect anything less from our younger sister?”

  “It is unfortunate Andrew does not appear to share in her interest. I am very fond of the fellow and would like to see him with her. Shame really.”

  I peer down at my fidgeting hands. “Oh really, and why would he not be captivated by her?”

  “Actually, I believe he has taken an interest in someone else. I am not entirely certain who she may be,” says Edmund, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, we need to shake you out of this downtrodden-mood. Let us have a spin about the floor.”

  “Why Edmund, is it wise to keep you from all of the ladies here tonight?” I inquire playfully.

  “The fair maidens will just have to wait. I wish to see your smile return, as you delight in my expert lead on the dance floor.”

  I smile brightly at him, as he leads me to where couples are already in the middle of a dance. We join them, as if we have been here all along.

  Victoria grins from ear to ear and looks as though she is having the time of her life. Her partner; however, wear’s an expression of feigned interest. It almost appears as if she is stepping on his toes.

  Edmund must have noticed Mr. Andrew’s discomfort, because he laughs before saying, “Hmm, as the events play out, this ought to be most entertaining. What a tangled web, indeed.”

  “I have not the slightest notions as to what you refer.”

  “We shall see about that!”

  The night takes a turn I rather enjoy. Edmund and I spend most of our time laughing and dancing along with the assembly. The remaining portion of the night is frittered away in this playful manner, for which I am grateful.

  Fifteen

  The following morning, I awaken to the sound of birds singing sweetly outside of my window. The chime from our grandfather clock announces the hour is still early. If I hurry, I can walk into town and see the baker. I also need to purchase some ribbon and thread. Later, I shall visit a dear friend of mine; I am anxious to show her my latest sketches.

  The party lasted into the late hours of the evening. In my haste for sleep, I had carelessly tossed my clothes about the room. I will have to deal with sorting through the mess later. For now, I have prior obligations in town. I leap out of my bed and dash, eagerly attempting to find something suitable to wear for my morning stroll.

  I savor the solitude of my mornings, and after the merriment of just a few hours ago, the house is refreshingly still. Quietly, I tip toe the length of the hall and down the stairs. I dislike being sneaky in this way, but find it essential if I hope to leave the house alone. When I enter the kitchen, I continue peering over my shoulder.

  “Good-morning,” says a voice from behind me. I startle and tumble backward into a cabinet.

  “What do you mean by frightening me like that?” I say, reaching for my pounding heart.

  I turn more fully and see Mr. Andrew. He is sitting at the table, nibbling on pastries, and sipping coffee. A sun-beam filters through an open window, falling lightly over him, intensifying the gold in his hair.

  “I am truly sorry for alarming you, but must you always recoil upon seeing me?" says Mr. Andrew, and his already perfect mouth moves into a charming
grin.

  I look toward the floor and concentrate on the grain of the wood. “I suppose, Mr. Andrew, while you are here I should pay more attention to my surroundings.” Bravely, I lift my head and see he is smiling. “I wonder if perhaps you secretly enjoy scaring young women half to death.”

  Mr. Andrew raises his eyebrows and sets aside his book. “I confess it is rather amusing how you startle so easily, but it has never been my intention to cause you any unease,” he says, shifting his body into a formal position. “Please, join me for breakfast. I have a feeling you will find the treacle tarts to be delightful.”

  “I am afraid I must leave you to it. I have prior obligations in town. Good-day,” I reply and turn to leave.

  Swiftly, he rises from the wooden chair and moves towards me.

  “May I accompany you? I have seen so little of this part of England and would very much like to explore the area. Edmund has spoken highly of its charm.”

  Abruptly, I halt in the doorframe and stare at him in astonishment.

  “Perhaps Edmund would like to show you around,” I say, straightening out the wrinkles from my lavender dress.

  “Perhaps I would prefer to have you as my guide,” Mr. Andrew responds, slowly approaching me as if I were a timid deer. “You may even find you enjoy my company.”

  He is standing very near me. I can almost feel heat emanate from his body.

  “Very well,” I sigh and tighten my bonnet. “I plan on walking. You may find the journey tiresome.”

  “I doubt that very much. Besides, how far could it be?”

  “I prefer walking across the meadows. Your boots may end up with mud on them,” I say, motioning my hand towards his feet.

  He looks from my head down to my shoes and says with a chuckle, “If it’s all the same to you, I shall take my chances.”

  After my attempts at discouraging him have failed, we leave the confines of my home and set forth for town. Mist still holds to the dampened earth. A gossamer blanket covers the meadow, taking on characteristics of a fairytale. Our path veers left, leading us between ancient oaks.

  It isn’t long before my companion makes an effort at conversation, “Your brother was right in his description of the area. It is quite breathtaking. I can imagine you as a child, swinging under that large branch over there,” says Mr. Andrew, as he finds a stick and swings it from side-to-side.

  “Yes, it is beautiful here, and I have been known to swing from high branches,” I inquire and watch lace from my dress as it gathers moisture from the grass, wishing I had worn something more suitable for our hike. “You grew up in Charleston, I presume?”

  “Yes, I was born and raised there. My mother is originally from London and my father from South Carolina. It was an interesting union, to say the least,” he says, laughing under his breath and looking down at the piece of tree branch he is holding.

  “What amuses you so?”

  “It is nothing, just remembering something.” He runs his hand through his hair and it lightly rests just below his shirt collar. “Charleston is different from London in many regards.”

  “How so, may I ask?”

  “For one, the weather in Charleston is much warmer. The clouds are scarce, rarely hiding the sun that reflects the cheerful yellow and pink buildings.”

  “I am attempting to imagine such a place. It sounds lovely. You must miss it when you travel.”

  “I do; however, I detest it in the summer. Unfortunately, it becomes unbearably hot in the South. The summer air in England is by far more agreeable.”

  “Do you plan on staying in England for the duration of summer?”

  “Prior obligations require me to return home sooner than that,” he says, and I am barely aware of our pace slowing.

  “It is a pity you must return so quickly.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I was under the impression you would rejoice in my absence,” he says candidly.

  “I am not entirely certain how you could have arrived at such an idea! How cruel you must think me!”

  “I could be wrong; however, you seem ill at ease around me. I am still trying to figure out how I have fallen out of your favor.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Please, do not feel offended, but your brother’s description of his favorite sister does not hold an entirely true likeness of the person I see before me.”

  The air is listless. I have nothing to say to this man. He apparently notices he has stunned me to silence, because he then attempts to clarify his position. “Please do not take what I have said as an insult to your character; however, by his account, I had assumed that your nature would be more gregarious. If you do not mind my saying so, I have seen little of that in your regard toward me. If anything, I believe you have been avoiding me all together. I am not sure why really. Did I offend you in some way?”

  “No, you have not.” I shake my head wearily. “Under normal circumstances, I would accuse you of being too forthright with your remarks. I am afraid, I must agree with you. These past few days, I have not been myself.”

  “I see,” he says, flinging his stick into the river. “Unfortunately, it is in my nature to speak too freely. I am sorry if I have offended you. You seem a delightful young lady.” Half his lip turns upward in a smile.

  “Actually…I do not mind.”

  “Do you suppose it is your impending engagement that has put you off?”

  “How could you say something so wretched,” I say, putting an abrupt halt to my walking and staring at him in disbelief.

  “I am doing it again and am truly sorry. I will refrain from openly expressing my opinions in the future. It is none of my business with whom you become engaged.”

  “For your information, I am not yet engaged to Mr. Grant. I will, however, be soon,” I say and begin walking again. I am a few steps away before I yell back, “You are right; it is none of your business!”

  “Miss. Emma, please wait,” says Mr. Andrew, and he reaches for my arm. A shiver passes through me. I have stopped walking, but refrain from looking at him. He then offers, “I did not mean to upset you. I would very much like it if we could be friendly with one another.”

  “Do you mean to call upon my sister?”

  “I should think not. I hold her in high esteem, but am not interested in her that way.”

  I look back toward the river, and a faint smile spreads over my face. “I see. I am afraid she will be most disappointed by your lack of regard.”

  “I believe she will not suffer for too long. I am probably no more than a passing fancy.”

  “She appeared quite taken by you last evening,” I reply just before the church bells ring.

  “We must be close to town. Just over the bridge, I assume.”

  “Yes, it is not far now.”

  “After you, my lady,” he says, extending his hand in the direction of our dirt path.

  I trudge forward, leaving Mr. Andrew in my wake. I can hear the scuffling of tiny rocks, as his boots scurry forth. He quickly catches up to me and matches my hurried stride.

  “What is it in town that has you so eager?” he inquires.

  “I have many errands to which I must attend. For one, I must see the baker. He makes the most delicious loaves of fresh bread and the most flavorful tarts. In fact, if you inhale deeply you can smell their aroma from here.”

  “I assume they taste as good as they smell?”

  “They taste even better!”

  “And what of your second errand?” he inquires. I look at him quizzically. “You said you have many errands. I was wondering what else will occupy your time.”

  “If you must know, I will choose some ribbons and other accessories for a dress I am sewing. Nothing that would interest a gentleman, such as you,” I offer, but have deliberately omitted information about my visit with Chelsea. I am certain with my bad fortune he would want to accompany me. How would I be able to divulge information about my distressing situation, if he wer
e there to listen to my every word?

  “That sounds interesting. Are you talented as a seamstress?” he inquires, pulling me away from my internal ramblings.

  “No, it is not like that. I simply design dresses and piece them together. It is more of a hobby I have come to enjoy,” I say shrugging my shoulders.

  “Did you design the dress you were wearing last evening?”

  “Mr. Andrew, do you even remember what I was wearing last evening?”

  “It was pale blue, with delicate sleeves made of a sheer material. Beading must have been woven throughout, because it shimmered when you walked by the candlelight.”

  “That is an astute description of my gown. I am impressed by your accuracy. Most men would not be able to recall the color, much less notice the beadwork.”

  “I grow cotton and am surrounded by people who work with fabrics regularly. I suppose some of it has rubbed off on me. I might add how breathtaking you looked.”

  Why must he affect me like this?

  We are silent for the remaining few steps into town. As we approach the main square, Mr. Andrew recognizes someone from across the way.

  “I must speak with that gentleman, just over there. Would you care to join me?” requests Mr. Andrew, appearing hopeful.

  I look over his shoulder and recognize the man; it is Mr. Henry Jones. He is also in the textile industry and spends much of his time in London. It is no wonder Mr. Andrew has become acquainted with him.

  “I should leave you to your business. I will see you at our home later today,” I say.

  “Would you like for me to accompany you on your return?”

  “I may be a while. I would not have you wait on my account. Thank you for escorting me, good-day.”

  “As you wish, good-day,” he says, and I watch as my companion walks away. His stride is confident, and my mind is suddenly filled with a fantasy of him in Charleston. I envision him using that same stride on the streets there. Only instead of being surrounded by drab hues, he is encased by pastel colors.