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His eyes are like mine. He’s told me that I bear a similar likeness to my mother, and I suppose I do. My nose is much smaller than his and my lips, fuller. Still, I find him to be quite a handsome man and am quite pleased to have his eyes and his smile.
“I have time yet,” he says.
“But what of unforeseen circumstances? In which case, we can’t delay.” I spin about the room.
“Oh, but now it seems you hasten me away,” Papa says.
With a quick turn of my head, I see his grin. “Oh, no. Not in the least. I’d prefer it if you stayed. But if you must leave, I only wish that you’re safe on your travels. Say you’ll be back soon? And you won’t stay away long. You’ve only just returned a fortnight ago.”
He steadies me, saving me from my pacing and the quickening blood that pounds through me. “Darling, relax,”
“It’s so lonely when you’re not here,” I plead.
“You have your book to keep you company, and I won’t be gone long. Only a night spent in Lhyrenia, and I’ll be back by the morn.” He holds my cheek in his hand and smiles. “I’ll bring you back more books from my trip.”
A smile lights my face. “That would be wonderful. The books, too, but even more, your quick return.”
He dons his hat and grabs his riding cloak. “I suppose I’ll take your advice and leave earlier in case of unsuspecting delays. It’s solid advice. Look at you, wise one.” He smiles.
With a final squeeze, I watch him leave. “I love you. Please be safe,” I shout to him.
“I will. I love you too. And you, be safe also. Remember what I told you. Do not go off on your own when I’m not here. Otherwise, how can I protect you?” he says. His jaw tightens.
“Yes, Father. I’ll hide away in my castle like a trapped princess,” I say, feigning a half swoon with my hand on my head.
But my jesting fails to bring him relief and as I see his face tighten even more, and his eyes fill with earnest concern, I straighten myself. “I’ll be careful.”
“Please. You’re the only family I have left, and I don’t want to have to worry about you,” he says.
“You don’t have to,” I respond.
He tips his hat with a smile and sets off.
With his leave, I turn toward my room to retrieve my trusted friend. Removing my slippers, I seat myself on the window shelving before the evening sun, the blue sky, and lush green landscape, to read my book. I’ve already read all the poems. But there’s no loss in reading the same book again. In fact, the poems may become even richer.
The sky is coloured with orange by the time I look up from my book. The view is so pleasant, I want to capture it for myself. So, I hurry toward my painting tools and set out to recreate the changing scene. But as soon as my brush is pressed against the canvas, there’s a knock on my door. “Yes?” I call out, not wanting to remove myself from the imagery before me.
“Ma’am, Lord Everton awaits you, in the drawing room,” the male servant, Mario, responds behind the muffle of my door.
Groaning, I hesitantly put down my paintbrush. He has been by twice a week for the past two because my father has sought him out and has taken quite a liking to him. I haven’t.
I’d prefer to send him away, but it would be improper. So, I straighten my skirts and head out of my bedroom. The door is opened for me and when I step into the drawing room, Lord Everton’s holding the largest bouquet I’ve ever seen. His visits are always accompanied by a gift, whether it’s a poem he’s written or a basket with a dead bird for dinner. Once, he even performed a poem he thought I’d like. One of love that he’d failed at memorizing, stumbling over his words, and taking long pauses as he tried to remember them for at least a quarter of an hour.
“My darling, Olivia,” he says, handing me the large bouquet that thankfully covers my face and hence, my facial response.
“Lord Everton,” I say, peering past the flowers to search for a spot across the room to put them.
“I’ve come to see if your mind has yet been changed. I long for you. This wait is quite cruel, don’t you think?” he says.
“Lord Everton…”
“Please, call me Heath.” He smiles.
“Lord Everton,” I repeat, making my flowerless way toward the chair seated before him. “My lack of affection toward you remains unchanged. Thank you for the… gifts… but I don’t return your feelings,” I respond.
“That’s hard to believe. Don’t you see that we’re destined to be? How can I persuade you,” he says, getting up to stalk across the room.
I bite back a groan. “Affections, sir, can’t be persuaded. They can’t be forced. They’re either there, or they’re not.”
