Glimmers (21 page)

“Perhaps I would prefer to have
you
as my guide,” Mr. Andrew responds, slowly approaching me as if I were a timid deer. “You may even find you enjoy my company.”

He is standing very near me. I can almost feel heat emanate from his body.

“Very well,” I sigh and tighten my bonnet. “I plan on walking. You may find the journey tiresome.”

“I doubt that very much. Besides, how far could it be?”

“I prefer walking across the meadows. Your boots may end up with mud on them,” I say, motioning my hand towards his feet.

He looks from my head down to my shoes and says with a chuckle, “If it’s all the same to you, I shall take my chances.”

After my attempts at discouraging him have failed, we leave the confines of my home and set forth for town. Mist still holds to the dampened earth. A gossamer blanket covers the meadow, taking on characteristics of a fairytale. Our path veers left, leading us between ancient oaks.

It isn’t long before my companion makes an effort at conversation, “Your brother was right in his description of the area. It is quite breathtaking. I can imagine you as a child, swinging under that large branch over there,” says Mr. Andrew, as he finds a stick and swings it from side-to-side.

“Yes, it is beautiful here, and I have been known to swing from high branches,” I inquire and watch lace from my dress as it gathers moisture from the grass, wishing I had worn something more suitable for our hike. “You grew up in Charleston, I presume?”

“Yes, I was born and raised there. My mother is originally from London and my father from South Carolina. It was an interesting union, to say the least,” he says, laughing under his breath and looking down at the piece of tree branch he is holding.

“What amuses you so?”

“It is nothing, just remembering something.” He runs his hand through his hair and it lightly rests just below his shirt collar. “Charleston is different from London in many regards.”

“How so, may I ask?”

“For one, the weather in Charleston is much warmer. The clouds are scarce, rarely hiding the sun that reflects the cheerful yellow and pink buildings.”

“I am attempting to imagine such a place. It sounds lovely. You must miss it when you travel.”

“I do; however, I detest it in the summer. Unfortunately, it becomes unbearably hot in the South. The summer air in England is by far more agreeable.”

“Do you plan on staying in England for the duration of summer?”

“Prior obligations require me to return home sooner than that,” he says, and I am barely aware of our pace slowing.

“It is a pity you must return so quickly.”

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I was under the impression you would rejoice in my absence,” he says candidly.

“I am not entirely certain how you could have arrived at such an idea! How cruel you must think me!”

“I could be wrong; however, you seem ill at ease around me. I am still trying to figure out how I have fallen out of your favor.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Please, do not feel offended, but your brother’s description of his favorite sister does not hold an entirely true likeness of the person I see before me.”

The air is listless. I have nothing to say to this man. He apparently notices he has stunned me to silence, because he then attempts to clarify his position. “Please do not take what I have said as an insult to your character; however, by his account, I had assumed that your nature would be more gregarious. If you do not mind my saying so, I have seen little of that in your regard toward me. If anything, I believe you have been avoiding me all together. I am not sure why really. Did I offend you in some way?”

“No, you have not.” I shake my head wearily. “Under normal circumstances, I would accuse you of being too forthright with your remarks. I am afraid, I must agree with you. These past few days, I have not been myself.”

“I see,” he says, flinging his stick into the river. “Unfortunately, it is in my nature to speak too freely. I am sorry if I have offended you. You seem a delightful young lady.” Half his lip turns upward in a smile.

“Actually…I do not mind.”

“Do you suppose it is your impending engagement that has put you off?”

“How could you say something so wretched,” I say, putting an abrupt halt to my walking and staring at him in disbelief.

“I am doing it again and am truly sorry. I will refrain from openly expressing my opinions in the future. It is none of my business with whom you become engaged.”

“For your information, I am not yet engaged to Mr. Grant. I will, however, be soon,” I say and begin walking again. I am a few steps away before I yell back, “You are right; it is none of your business!”

“Miss. Emma, please wait,” says Mr. Andrew, and he reaches for my arm. A shiver passes through me. I have stopped walking, but refrain from looking at him. He then offers, “I did not mean to upset you. I would very much like it if we could be friendly with one another.”

“Do you mean to call upon my sister?”

“I should think not. I hold her in high esteem, but am not interested in her that way.”

I look back toward the river, and a faint smile spreads over my face. “I see. I am afraid she will be most disappointed by your lack of regard.”

“I believe she will not suffer for too long. I am probably no more than a passing fancy.”

“She appeared quite taken by you last evening,” I reply just before the church bells ring.

“We must be close to town. Just over the bridge, I assume.”

“Yes, it is not far now.”

“After you, my lady,” he says, extending his hand in the direction of our dirt path.

I trudge forward, leaving Mr. Andrew in my wake. I can hear the scuffling of tiny rocks, as his boots scurry forth. He quickly catches up to me and matches my hurried stride.

“What is it in town that has you so eager?” he inquires.

“I have many errands to which I must attend. For one, I must see the baker. He makes the most delicious loaves of fresh bread and the most flavorful tarts. In fact, if you inhale deeply you can smell their aroma from here.”

“I assume they taste as good as they smell?”

“They taste even better!”

“And what of your second errand?” he inquires. I look at him quizzically. “You said you have many errands. I was wondering what else will occupy your time.”

“If you must know, I will choose some ribbons and other accessories for a dress I am sewing. Nothing that would interest a gentleman, such as you,” I offer, but have deliberately omitted information about my visit with Chelsea. I am certain with my bad fortune he would want to accompany me. How would I be able to divulge information about my distressing situation, if he were there to listen to my every word?

“That sounds interesting. Are you talented as a seamstress?” he inquires, pulling me away from my internal ramblings.

“No, it is not like that. I simply design dresses and piece them together. It is more of a hobby I have come to enjoy,” I say shrugging my shoulders.

“Did you design the dress you were wearing last evening?”

“Mr. Andrew, do you even remember what I was wearing last evening?”

“It was pale blue, with delicate sleeves made of a sheer material. Beading must have been woven throughout, because it shimmered when you walked by the candlelight.”

“That is an astute description of my gown. I am impressed by your accuracy. Most men would not be able to recall the color, much less notice the beadwork.”

“I grow cotton and am surrounded by people who work with fabrics regularly. I suppose some of it has rubbed off on me. I might add how breathtaking you looked.”

Why must he affect me like this?

We are silent for the remaining few steps into town. As we approach the main square, Mr. Andrew recognizes someone from across the way.

“I must speak with that gentleman, just over there. Would you care to join me?” requests Mr. Andrew, appearing hopeful.

I look over his shoulder and recognize the man; it is Mr. Henry Jones. He is also in the textile industry and spends much of his time in London. It is no wonder Mr. Andrew has become acquainted with him.

“I should leave you to your business. I will see you at our home later today,” I say.

“Would you like for me to accompany you on your return?”

“I may be a while. I would not have you wait on my account. Thank you for escorting me, good-day.”

“As you wish, good-day,” he says, and I watch as my companion walks away. His stride is confident, and my mind is suddenly filled with a fantasy of him in Charleston. I envision him using that same stride on the streets there. Only instead of being surrounded by drab hues, he is encased by pastel colors.

I cannot pull my stare away from Mr. Andrew. He and the other man are deep in conversation. Mr. Andrew surprises me by gazing back in my direction. Appropriately, I look away and walk in the direction of the baker. I imagine Mr. Andrew’s smile, and for some silly reason, I cannot wipe away the one I now wear. This is completely ridiculous.

After I purchase three loaves of bread, some jelly tarts, and a few spools of ribbon, I visit my dear friend, Chelsea. She lives just up the lane, a few paces from where I am standing. She is one of my oldest friends, with whom I share all of my most intimate thoughts.

Unfortunately, she missed the party last evening because of a recent injury she sustained in a horse riding accident. Thank goodness, the impact of the injury focused primarily on her leg and not her neck. The careless girl is often too swift with her riding. I have warned her many times to slow down. Perhaps now, she will listen to my words of wisdom.

After I round the corner of a large brick building, I can see her quaint cottage just up ahead. It is white with black shutters and is surrounded by a gorgeous garden. I move past the flowers, admiring their soft petals.

When I reach the door, I am greeted formally by one of her servants and led through the charming home. Chelsea is sitting in a chair upholstered in a soft butter cream fabric. She is draped with a wrap, concealing her injured leg. Her blonde hair is lovely as ever, pulled off her face and settled at the nape of her neck.

When she sees me her face lights up. She attempts to stand, but I motion for her to remain as she is.

“Please, do not stand on my account,” I peer down toward her injured leg and grimace.

“Emma, please do not lecture me. I realize this accident could have been prevented if I had been riding at a slower pace, and if I had not insisted on taking that jump over the stream,” admits Chelsea.

“It would seem there is little need of scolding you after all.”

“Thank goodness for that! Emma, please do sit down. I am completely unprepared for a visit. What a wonderful surprise this is! I cannot begin to tell you how dull life has been these last few days,” she says, placing aside her embroidery.

“I thought you might enjoy some fresh tarts,” I say and set my basket on a table. “You might also like to hear about all you have missed.”

“I would!”

I sit on my favorite chair and am engulfed in comfort. I have always adored this chair. In fact, I do not recall my ever sitting anywhere else in this room. The design on the cushion is extraordinary. Most of the surface is silky and of the palest honey color. There is a pattern stitched in a deeper shade of gold throughout.

I reach into my basket and retrieve my new finery.

Chelsea’s face is bright with excitement, and a gasp escapes through my friend’s lips. “I simply adore the color of that ribbon! You must show me the drawings for your latest gowns!”

I describe the ideas I have for adding a band of small ruffles and explain how I will use the ribbon to help enhance the figure.

“You are a visionary, but I wonder what Mr. Grant would say. After all, your enhancements are a little shocking,” says Chelsea, blushing slightly.

“I recall our last conversation where you said you thought clothing should add to the allure of a woman and not hide it,” I remind her.

“I suppose I did,” she says and peers down at her hands, as they twiddle around some lace.

“You will be the very first to see my new dresses once I have completed them.”

“I am certain they will be lovely. I should very much like one for myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Why Chelsea, what will your mother say once she sees you wearing such a dress?” I tease and a large smile spreads over my face.

I inform her of last evening’s festivities and give detailed descriptions of the delicious desserts and dancing couples. After awhile, I run out of enthralling news and must inform her of my upcoming engagement to Mr. Grant.

“Well, you knew this day would eventually come,” she says.

“It is of no consequence.”

“How can you act as if it does not affect you? What are you not telling me?” Chelsea narrows her stare and leans forward.

“Edmund has returned home . . . and he arrived with an acquaintance, Mr. Andrew Stone from Charleston, South Carolina.”

“He is actually from America? How exciting it must be to have a foreigner stay as your guest! And what else has you on edge?”