had Mr. Hawley replant them when we arrived here, and I—" She glanced at her aunt and stopped. "Anyway, the pattern is mine."
"You have my sincere admiration."
She did not answer; she only blushed and stared at the sugar bowl.
"It's nothing to be modest about," he said. He felt as though he were trying futilely to reconcile opposites. There was Elizabeth the girl, he had told things he'd never told anyone else, who was his friend. And then there was the young woman before him, who clearly did not have the slightest idea she was almost painfully beautiful. It wasn't possible for her to be both girl and woman, and it was infuriating not to know which she was or which he preferred her to be.
"Tell me, Mr. Villines," Amelia said, "is your aunt well?"
He looked away. "Oh, yes, she's quite well."
"I like her immensely. Only she made you stop talking about Italy, and I would simply adore hearing more about your travels. I just know I should love to go there myself."
It was a relief of sorts to let himself be distracted by Amelia. She laughed at the proper time, shrieked if he intimated something only the slightest bit gruesome, and simply gazed at him the rest of the time. Yet her attitudes sometimes struck him as contrived. Each phrase was uttered for its effect rather than its meaning, each look was calculated to bring a particular feature into prominence. Amelia's features were, of course, quite worthy of admiration, and he was flattered she thought him worth all the trouble.
"Do you still drink your tea without sugar?" Elizabeth was looking at him, tongs poised over a cup of tea.
"Yes, but more milk than that." He watched her add the required amount of milk. Their eyes met, and he was relieved to see only Elizabeth in their clear depths.
Havoc Willard came in just as Amelia was telling Nicholas she was sure to simply die if she never got to Europe to see the places he'd talked about. A great deal of fuss was made over Mr. Willard, but soon he was comfortably settled with his tea and a plate of cold ham. The conversation flowed pleasantly from one subject to another, back again, over old stories, and off to new ones.
Nicholas smiled to himself. He was comfortable with the Willards, and he liked the tranquil feeling. He decided that if being married meant having a wife he adored and children as pleasant as Amelia and Elizabeth, then perhaps it was not a bad thing. He wanted to slow the passing of these moments. He'd not felt so at peace since before his father died. It was this sentimental turn of his thoughts that made him quickly agree when Mrs. Willard invited him to stay to supper.
His feeling of nostalgia increased during the meal. He had always liked Havoc Willard, and he liked him still, probably because it was so obvious he loved Elizabeth. Around him she joked, smiled, laughed, and did not spill a single thing. His memories of the times he had spent with the Willards were precious to him, and this evening they seemed dearer to him than usual.
"Perhaps," Nicholas remarked after he had made significant inroads into his beef, "I ought to try to steal away your cook as well."
Havoc lifted his eyebrows. "Which of the servants do you particularly want to steal away with, young man?"
"Well, your cook, for one. But gardening has become a particular hobby of mine, and this afternoon when I was admiring your garden I was informed Elizabeth was responsible for its remarkable condition." He grinned at her, and she smiled back.
"That's the truth," Havoc said, looking at Elizabeth. "So, you found yourself wanting to make off with our gardener, did you?"
"I'm afraid I was prepared to offer him vast sums of money to desert you."
Havoc turned to his niece. "How much would it take to get you off my hands, Elizabeth?"
She pretended to think about it. "Five or six pounds a month, at least, I should think, Uncle." She glanced at Nicholas, greatly amused, eyes fairly sparkling. This was the Elizabeth he remembered. There
"You have my sincere admiration."
She did not answer; she only blushed and stared at the sugar bowl.
"It's nothing to be modest about," he said. He felt as though he were trying futilely to reconcile opposites. There was Elizabeth the girl, he had told things he'd never told anyone else, who was his friend. And then there was the young woman before him, who clearly did not have the slightest idea she was almost painfully beautiful. It wasn't possible for her to be both girl and woman, and it was infuriating not to know which she was or which he preferred her to be.
"Tell me, Mr. Villines," Amelia said, "is your aunt well?"
He looked away. "Oh, yes, she's quite well."
"I like her immensely. Only she made you stop talking about Italy, and I would simply adore hearing more about your travels. I just know I should love to go there myself."
It was a relief of sorts to let himself be distracted by Amelia. She laughed at the proper time, shrieked if he intimated something only the slightest bit gruesome, and simply gazed at him the rest of the time. Yet her attitudes sometimes struck him as contrived. Each phrase was uttered for its effect rather than its meaning, each look was calculated to bring a particular feature into prominence. Amelia's features were, of course, quite worthy of admiration, and he was flattered she thought him worth all the trouble.
"Do you still drink your tea without sugar?" Elizabeth was looking at him, tongs poised over a cup of tea.
"Yes, but more milk than that." He watched her add the required amount of milk. Their eyes met, and he was relieved to see only Elizabeth in their clear depths.
Havoc Willard came in just as Amelia was telling Nicholas she was sure to simply die if she never got to Europe to see the places he'd talked about. A great deal of fuss was made over Mr. Willard, but soon he was comfortably settled with his tea and a plate of cold ham. The conversation flowed pleasantly from one subject to another, back again, over old stories, and off to new ones.
Nicholas smiled to himself. He was comfortable with the Willards, and he liked the tranquil feeling. He decided that if being married meant having a wife he adored and children as pleasant as Amelia and Elizabeth, then perhaps it was not a bad thing. He wanted to slow the passing of these moments. He'd not felt so at peace since before his father died. It was this sentimental turn of his thoughts that made him quickly agree when Mrs. Willard invited him to stay to supper.
His feeling of nostalgia increased during the meal. He had always liked Havoc Willard, and he liked him still, probably because it was so obvious he loved Elizabeth. Around him she joked, smiled, laughed, and did not spill a single thing. His memories of the times he had spent with the Willards were precious to him, and this evening they seemed dearer to him than usual.
"Perhaps," Nicholas remarked after he had made significant inroads into his beef, "I ought to try to steal away your cook as well."
Havoc lifted his eyebrows. "Which of the servants do you particularly want to steal away with, young man?"
"Well, your cook, for one. But gardening has become a particular hobby of mine, and this afternoon when I was admiring your garden I was informed Elizabeth was responsible for its remarkable condition." He grinned at her, and she smiled back.
"That's the truth," Havoc said, looking at Elizabeth. "So, you found yourself wanting to make off with our gardener, did you?"
"I'm afraid I was prepared to offer him vast sums of money to desert you."
Havoc turned to his niece. "How much would it take to get you off my hands, Elizabeth?"
She pretended to think about it. "Five or six pounds a month, at least, I should think, Uncle." She glanced at Nicholas, greatly amused, eyes fairly sparkling. This was the Elizabeth he remembered. There
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