Page 14 of Hers By Summer’s End

“The final question is,” Nancy paused theatrically, “How many romantic admirers does Miss Townsend have?”

The words seemed to suck the air from the garden.

Ah.

So the game had never been about humiliating Drew. He was, in all probability, beneath Nancy’s notice. This was simply her way of reminding Cecelia that while they’d come from the same place, it was Nancy who had emerged the victor. But the thing was, Cecelia had never wanted to compete with her. She just wanted to live her own life. Why was that so difficult to understand?

“This is cruel,” Miss Harcourt fretted. Mr. Corely nodded, patting her gently on the shoulder.

Cecelia fiddled with the chalk. Everyone there knew the answer was none. But for her to be the one to confirm their suspicions that she was unlovable? That despite how content she was with her research, with how she’d chosen to live her life, she was alone?

Her pride recoiled.

She could write none and almost certainly win. Or she could preserve the last shred of her dignity, force another tie, and pray Nancy had already exhausted her supply of humiliations before the next round. She pressed the chalk to the slate and wrote before she could think twice.

“Contestants,” Nancy said brightly. “Show us your answers.”

Silence settled over the crowd.

Cecelia turned her slate over with agonizing slowness. In bold strokes, she’d written: One.

Drew stared at her for one long heartbeat. Then, without a word, he turned his slate around.

One. Me.

For the first time in Cecelia's life, words deserted her. Heat flooded her from collar to crown. Good heavens. Every soul on the lawn had just watched her reveal she knew Drew Sutton altogether too well, only for him to answer with...that. He couldn't possibly mean it.

Could he?

She searched his face for the familiar glint of mischief, for some hint that this was merely another jest, another performance. Perhaps he was rescuing her pride. Perhaps he simply refused to let Nancy have the satisfaction of declaring before the world that Cecelia Townsend—his friend and foe—had not a single admirer. But Drew had never pitied her before…

The crowd was waiting. Someone had to speak. Unfortunately, that someone appeared to be her. But what was she supposed to say? Told you someone wanted me? Or how about Ha ha, ’tis all a joke! No, not that either. She opened her mouth, willing words to materialize⁠—

At that precise moment, Miss Harcourt let out a peculiar little squeak. Every head, Cecelia's included, whipped toward the young woman just in time to see her sway once, twice, then pitch forward in a dead faint.

CHAPTER FOUR

Capitol Hill,

August 4, 1909.

Dear Miss Townsend,

I hope you will forgive the liberty I take in writing, but I simply had to tell you how very marvelous I think you are. I have never seen anyone stand up to the Blount sisters as you did, and I have thought of your example ever since.

I ought to confess something. I did not actually faint. It merely seemed the quickest way to put an end to that dreadful game before anyone else could be humiliated. I cannot claim it was nearly so courageous as what you did, but perhaps it was a beginning.

You have inspired me to be brave in earnest. I have decided I will no longer seek the Blount sisters' friendship, and I mean to tell Mr. Corley that I am in love with him.

Cordially yours,

Miss Juliana Harcourt.

Theodore Townsend, Inc.,

People’s Bank Building, 2nd and Pike,

August 5, 1909.