I sigh dramatically. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
I pull on my black silk gloves. Tonight I am thankful for them. At least he won’t be able to touch me. It’s as though I’m wearing armor, shielding me from his touch.
I pace in a few circles, trying to hype myself up with the energy for an evening of empty smiles and fake politeness. Sarah gives me a reassuring smile and I walk over to the open door in Ben’s room. “Mr. Harrison, how nice to see you,” I say sweetly. I think I’m getting the hang of the doe-eye damsel play-acting.
“Miss Turner, you look exquisite.”
It’s an innocent-sounding compliment, but it’s laced with lust. Not for me, or my status. I’m merely a trophy, a conquest that he needs to win over. The challenge is all that excites him. With him, it’s never ‘youareexquisite’ as if he’s complimenting or admiring me for me. It’s simply ‘youlookexquisite’ as if I am merely ornamental, adorned with the highest fashions, styles, and jewels. He speaks as if the appearance of goodliness matters more than actually being good.
He holds out his arm, and I flash a fake smile as I take it. The moment he looks away, my eyes go dead. As we step into the hallway, I can see Charlie watching from down the hall. In the crowd of people he can see me, but only as I move closer can he see I am on Edward's arm. He looks upset, and when I try to make eye contact with him as we pass by, he looks away from me. I feel guilty, and I worry Charlie will think something is going on with Edward. Why am I even worried about that? I don’t understand the thoughts I’m having.
I spend dinner listening to Edward’s extravagant tales of his time at university. He is, conveniently, the hero of every outlandish story he tells. I have to hold back my extensive education and pretend to be fascinated and in awe of such a worldly man. His uncle Arthur is almost as arrogant as he is, but at least he has decades of success to warrant it. Arthur built the business empire, but all that work came at the sacrifice of never having a family, leaving his nephew as his heir. It still surprises me that Francis is related to Edward or Arthur, given how different his character is compared to theirs. He and his wife Helen, and their daughter Daphne, are surprisingly kind, and I feel a twinge of guilt for judging them initially.
I block out the table conversation and focus on the orchestra in the background, smiling politely every few moments to give the impression that I have been listening. As dinner draws to a close, I sit and wait for Edward to take his leave with the other gentlemen. I try not to show my excitement, but their outing signals that I am free for the evening. Right on cue, he stands up, thanks the ladies for their company, and asks the other men to follow him for cigars and brandy. I find it amusing because they make snide comments about the ladies gossiping over tea every afternoon, but in reality, that’s exactly what the men are doing every night over brandy.
Ben gets up from the table to join the other men, before asking once again if I need an escort back.
I whisper to him. “No, I’ll stay here.”
I watch as he leaves, waiting till he is out of sight to make my escape. I quickly take my leave from the table. I tell the ladies I had too much sun today and am quite tired. It works like a charm, and I’m on my way out to the spot where Charlie found me last night.
I step outside the door and onto the deck. I look around and I don’t see him. I tug at my dress nervously while pacing back and forth on the deck. Maybe he isn’t coming. Perhaps last night was an anomaly. A right place, right time kind of situation. Maybe I read all the signals wrong. Did I wrongfully perceive his friendliness to be chemistry? Maybe he doesn’t feel whatever it is I’m feeling. Is this all in my head? Perhaps his appearance of disappointment when he saw me with Edward has something to do with this. I pull my gloves off, and it feels like my entire body can exhale.
I get inside my head and convince myself he’s not coming and turn to leave. The door swings open and he walks out tentatively, as though surprised to see me.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” I whisper.
“I didn’t think you would either.” His voice is flat, and as quiet as mine, as if he also is unsure if last night was a one-off situation.
“Why not?”
“I thought you’d be preoccupied with Mr. Harrison.” His voice sounds hurt, jealous even.
“Absolutely not.” I scoff at the mere thought of being involved with that man. And it hurts me even more that Charlie would think that would be the man I’d choose.
“So you’re not attached to him?”
“I’m not attached tohim.”
Why did I say that? And why did I say it likethat? I’ve known this man for twenty-four hours and I’m worried he thinks I like someone else? Is this how much my personal life is lacking? I’m flirting and I don’t even realize I’m doing it?
Charlie smiles wordlessly and gestures toward our walk. His smile is different. It isn’t polite or innocent. He seems almost devilishly pleased that I said I wasn’t involved with Edward.
We stroll the boat deck and talk. I let my guard down and accidentally make a few comments that let out glimpses of the modern version of myself. They don’t even seem to raise suspicion with Charlie. In fact, he seems to enjoy my candor.
“You’re quite the reader. You had a different book today than you did yesterday.”
My eyebrows raise with intrigue. “You notice a lot, don’t you?”
“I noticeyou.”
“Me? Why?”
“You’re not like everyone else. There’s just something about you. It’s different.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in my voice is clear, as if this is yet another expectation I fall short of.
“No!” Charlie quickly interjects. “Not like that. It’s a good different. It’s like every day I wake up and the world looks the same, and then I meet you, and I look at it now, and it’s like everything is in technicolor. There’s just something about you.”
