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I would be tickled to see all the animals, as I was the house and gardens and my dear friends. What was it about this place that gave me so much comfort and felt so much like home?This is not my home, I reminded myself. These were merely my friends kind enough to share their home and lives for two months every summer. I didn’t belong here. Other than as a charity case, I had nothing to offer them or the community. I was unskilled, other than editing books or playing the part of an impoverished nobleman. I had to go back to New York and the Masterses. The sooner I accepted my fate, the better.
3
JAMES
I tuckedAddie’s hand into the crook of my arm. We strolled, silent, each of us…each of us what? Was Addie as tortured as I was about the future? Had she worries I wasn’t cognizant of? An ill-advised love affair perhaps? God forbid. She was too sweet to be under the spell of a cad. Any man who would make lovable Adelaide cry would have me to answer to, that was for certain.
“Is something troubling you, Addie?” I squeezed her forearm. “You can talk to me about anything, if you ever need an ear.”
“I cannot speak to you about this thing.” Her mouth tightened as she looked away from me.
I left it at that. If she were having romantic problems, her sisters probably knew about them. They were much better suited than I to give her counsel. “What have you been working on?” I knew she would understand the question. The very first time I ever came here, Addie and I had formed a connection, bonding over books. She’d shyly confessed to me, at the tender age of fourteen, that she wanted to be a writer someday. I’d encouraged her, of course, hoping she had talent and telling her to send me anything she wanted a second set of eyes upon.
“I have a secret,” she said. “A secret project.”
We stopped at the rose garden. She let go of my arm and dipped her head to smell a white rose, so like her skin that it took me aback.If only I were a writer,I thought.Then I would know how to describe their similarities.“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt if you knew.” She brushed a wisp of her hair from her cheek. Her loveliness was almost startling. Like a blue sky here on a clear day, so pretty it doesn’t seem real. She’d always been a pretty child, but the last few summers she’d blossomed into a true beauty. Did she know? I guessed not, sheltered as she was by her large family. My earlier worries about her falling for a cad were no doubt unfounded. No one in this family would let a man hurt their innocent Adelaide.
“I’ve written a book about my siblings, taken from the stories they told me when I was small.” Addie wrinkled her nose. “They used to distract me from my illness by telling me stories, especially Cymbeline and Josephine. The stories were so real to me that sometimes it felt as if I’d been there, too. I wasn’t even born when they were small children. You know that, of course.”
“I do.” I smiled as I brushed aside a bug that flew near my ear. “Have you been able to put them together into a cohesive story?”
“No, that’s the trouble. There’s no arc to it. They’re more like vignettes.”
“That could work, I suppose.”
“No, I want it to be a novel. I was hoping you might be able to help me sort it,” she said. “While you’re here.”
“I’d be honored.” I was touched that she’d trust me with her words. It was such a personal journey for writers, and I knew it took great courage to let them out into the world.
“They’re light and funny. Literature critics would probably think they’re silly fluff. I’m not sure they’re any good. If you could tell me, one way or the other, I’d appreciate it.”
“Given the subject matter, I’m sure they’re entertaining.” We continued on through the garden and around the side of the house toward the barn.
“Do you have a beau?” I asked. “Anyone you’re interested in?”
“Yes, I like someone.”
“Anyone I know?” I glanced at her profile. Her expression was as closed as the tightly bound rosebuds.
“It’s not anyone I can talk about,” Addie said.
“Forbidden love?” I said it lightly, but she had me concerned. Was this the man making her cry?
“Not forbidden. But unrequited.”
A dab of pain in my chest caused my breath to catch. “I’m sorry. We’ve all experienced that at one time or the other. It’s a pity for him. Any man would think he’d married a queen, not to mention getting this family for his own.” I was surprised to hear the longing in my voice.
“Not every man,” Addie said. “Not the one I want, which is all that matters.”
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
“Not today.”
“I understand.” More than she could imagine, actually.
We walked along the path toward the horse pasture and stopped at the fence. Addie’s dress was made of a pale pink linen. The bodice, adorned with crisscross ruffles at the collar, fit snugly around her slender shoulders. The skirts were skinny these days, unlike the dropped waists of the twenties. I quite enjoyed the way fashion had gone to more fitted styles. One didn’t have to guess what was underneath. I could certainly see the outline of this particular woman. Like her mother, she was narrowly built and without dramatic curves. Some men might prefer buxom, wide-hipped women, but I liked Addie’s graceful silhouette. I could imagine her dancing in the ballet. A white rose twirling and twirling.
