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“Sit down, Mr. Nobley,” she said.
He sat in a chair on the opposite side of a small table. The chair creaked as he settled himself. She didn’t look at him, watching instead the rain on the window and the silvery shadows the wet light made of the room. She spent several moments in silence before she realized that it might be awkward, that conversation at such a time was obligatory. Now she could feel his gaze on her face and longed to crack the silence like the spine of a book, but she had nothing to say anymore. She’d lost all her thoughts in paint and rain.
“You are reading Sterne,” he said at last. “May I?”
He gestured to the book, and she handed it to him. Jane was remembering a scene from the film of Mansfield Park when suitor Henry Crawford read to Frances O’Connor’s character so sweetly, the sound created a passionate tension, the words themselves becoming his courtship. Jane glanced at Mr. Nobley’s somber face, and away again as his eyes flicked from the page to her.
He began to read from the top. His voice was soft, melodious, strong, a man who could speak in a crowd and have people listen, but also a man who could persuade a child to sleep with a bedtime story.
“The man who first transplanted the grape of Burgundy to the Cape of Good Hope (observe he was a Dutchman) never dreamt of drinking the s
ame wine at the Cape, the same grape produced upon the French mountains—he was too phlegmatic for that—but undoubtedly he expected to drink some sort of vinous liquor; but whether good, bad, or indifferent—he knew enough of this world to know, that it did not depend upon his choice . . .”
Mr. Nobley was trying very hard not to smile. His lips were tight; his voice scraped a couple of times. Jane laughed at him, and then he did smile. It gave her a little thwack of pleasure as though someone had flicked a finger against her heart.
“Not very, er . . .” he said.
“Interesting?”
“I imagine not.”
“But you read it well,” she said.
He raised his brows. “Did I? Well, that is something.”
They sat in silence a few moments, chuckling intermittently.
Mr. Nobley began to read again suddenly, “Mynheer might possibly overset both in his new vineyard,” having to stop to laugh again. Aunt Saffronia walked by and peered into the dim room as she passed, her presence reminding Jane that this tryst might be forbidden by the Rules. Mr. Nobley returned to himself.
“Excuse me,” he said, rising. “I have trespassed on you long enough.”
HE TRESPASSED ON HER AGAIN the following afternoon, and Jane found she did not mind whatsoever. Surprising twist, that. The rain had stopped, the sky bashful behind clouds, and at Mr. Nobley’s suggestion, the party went walking the paths, avoiding the sodden lawns.
There was some fumbling of pairs, with Andrews and Charming at the lead, then the Nobley and Heartwright coupling turning into Erstwhile and Heartwright, which became Erstwhile and Nobley, and there the musical partners game ended. Jane glanced over her shoulder and wondered what thrills of pain and hope might be pricking Amelia as she walked with her erroneously jilted love. What fun.
“If it keeps raining all the time,” Miss Charming was saying, “I’ll go crazy. Can’t we do something more than play cards and walk around?”
She squinted at Colonel Andrews to detect if he approved of her suggestion.
“Just so,” he said, and Miss Charming beamed. “I’ve brought the very thing from London, a script from some little play or other called Home by the Sea. There are six parts, three pairs of lovers, just right for us, and it will give us something to pass the time before the ball, so let’s rehearse and put it on for Lady Templeton.”
“Oh, yes,” said Miss Charming, clasping her hands at her chest, “jolly good, rather.”
“I’ll bet our Miss Erstwhile would be keen on it as well, right? Miss Heartwright would never disappoint me, I know, and East is a seafaring man—always ready for an adventure. What do you say, Nobley?”
Mr. Nobley did not answer immediately. “I think it inappropriate to stage a theatrical in the house of a respectable lady.”
Miss Charming whined.
“Oh, come now, Nobley,” the colonel said.
“I won’t be entreated,” he said.
Jane blew air through her lips like a horse. She’d liked the idea.
“Way to spoil it, Mr. Nobley,” Miss Charming said. “Too bad Sir Templeton isn’t here to play the third fellow. Will he be back soon, do you think, what-what?”
“I think not,” Mr. Nobley said coolly.
