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I pretend not to notice.
We talk about the usual stuff, the weather, upcoming social gatherings, which tailor is worth his weight in gold and which one isn’t. And with we, I mean everyone apart from the girl. She shoves her food around on the plate and occasionally puts her elbow up on the table then catches herself and puts it down again.
Despite her awkwardness, her beauty mesmerizes me and its hard keeping my focus on the conversation. She looks like a little dark, southern belle and not even her hideous dress with the big blue floral print takes anything away from her.
She notices me watching but she doesn’t say anything. Sometimes she gazes out the window and sometimes she gazes around at the room like she’s trying to find a point that is not me to fixate her eyes on.
Because hell forbid she looks at me. She doesn’t like me.
Not yet.
“Mr. Rowe,” she says suddenly, interrupting the conversation and I straighten in my seat because I have been waiting for her to refer to me the whole dinner. “When will you be leaving?”
I smile but Mr. Byrne and Pattie immediately start scolding her and telling her what a bad girl she is for being rude to such a fine gentleman as Mr. Rowe. If only they knew what depravity hides underneath my suit...
“I will leave whenever you tell me to, Miss. Zinnia,” I reply gently, running my finger around the rim of my wine glass. “Whenever you feel like you’ve had enough of me, feel free to kick me out.”
Her face falls like she didn’t expect that answer.
“He is joking,” Pattie laughs heartedly, “and never mind Zinnia, she’s eaten very little today and you have to forgive her. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want.”
“Kind of you,” I say because I’ll be taking them up on that offer but the girl squirms and her eyes fire whenever she meets my gaze and I tilt my head to the side, “How old are you, Miss. Zinnia?”
“Just turned nineteen,” she murmurs. “You?”
“Thirty.”
“Only a year older than our Morton,” Pattie says as if I care. “Do you have a wife? Children?”
“No,” I breathe out. “I am waiting for the right one and with a little luck I might find her here in the south.”
A quiver flashes through the girl’s shoulders and she looks off to the side and a flush spreads from the hollow of her throat up to her cheeks.
“You won’t find yourself lacking,” Mr. Bryce says, stabbing a carrot with his fork. “There are a ton of young ladies around sprouting up like mushrooms after rain.”
But I only care about one.
“Though none of them are as pretty as our Zinnia,” Pattie says, smiling at the girl who palely smiles back. “As soon as I laid my eyes on her, I knew she would be perfect for our son.”
The girl looks down and suddenly she seems mortified and I brush off my mouth with my napkin.
“Perfect?” I ask and Pattie chugs down her drink and she’s already looking tipsy.
“She has perfect bones, perfect health and her mind isn’t too bad even though she will never use it.” Pattie hiccups. “And even if she’s an orphan it’s clear that she’s well-bred and she will breed us perfect grandchildren.”
The room seems to crystallize and my chest hardens.
Breed? They want to breedher? Want to use what ismine. The thought of Morton prodding and grunting on top of this sensitive girl makes a black curtain fall down my eyes. These people don’t care about her, they want to use her. They keep her so that she will further their agenda, spread the Bryce genes, they want to pollute her, make her theirs so that she can’t ever be anybody else’s...
“Mr. Rowe?” Mr. Bryce says cautiously, jerking me out of my thoughts and then he barks, “For goodness sake man, you are hurting yourself!”
Looking down, I notice that my fist is clutched around the meat knife and the skin around my knuckles has turned a ghostly white. I drop the knife and the girl slowly exhales. Something flickers in her eyes, some kind of a cry, a need for me to do something but she averts her eyes so quickly that I don’t get a chance to probe.
Look at me, I want to say.Look at me and know that I am an ally.
She puts her napkin on her plate and looks at Mr. Bryce then at Pattie. “I am tired. I hope you don’t mind me retreating.”
“What about dessert? Its peach cobbler, your favorite.” Pattie says but the girl shrugs, shaking her head and I rise.
