Caroline?”
“No,” Lydia said, too quickly.
“No. My family and I. Caroline was there earlier this summer, isn’t that right?” Lizzy nudged.
Lydia nodded and tugged at the napkin in her lap. She heard few of the words around her, only the pauses and the clearing of throats when she failed to fill holes of conversation directed at her. She ate little, found her hand less on her fork than the pearls she’d once again borrowed, her nails entangled in the strand, grazing each gem. For every thought of John that tugged at her, she pulled, yanked at the white treasure at her fingertips.
“Caroline? Is everything all right? Your supper?” Jackson glanced at her plate. “Is the food to your liking?” His fork lay limp in his hand as he searched her. Steady eyes of blue like the sky she had shunned, just as blue as the one she had wished would turn dark, black—let it be night—she stared into, held their gaze.
“Everything’s fine.” She looked at him, wasn’t even sure she had spoken the words, until he nodded and resumed eating.
She watched him, chewing, chatting, lines streaking from the corner of his eyes and a bright smile of a mouth that let out a sound that made her sit upright, take notice.
This sound, heavy in strength yet light enough to fly free, lift to the high ceiling, was sharp enough to enter in, jagged enough to pierce her heart.
“Pardon me.” She pushed away from the table abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the hardwood. The room fell silent. She could feel their eyes on her as she stood, marched toward the doorway, the neckline of her dress slipping off her shoulder.
She pulled it straight and walked through a hall, through a dark sitting room, a study that smelled of pine. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t know how she’d gotten where she was until she swung the heavy wooden door open, not waiting for the butler’s assistance, and scurried down the thirty front steps of the manor in the heels that made her ankles wobble. She stopped, out of breath, when she heard her name.
“Caroline!”
She stopped for a name that wasn’t hers at all.
“Caroline?”
She turned to the one calling. Jackson ran to her, gripped her forearms, his eyes darting from her face, her body. “Are you all right? What is it?” Just as quickly, he lifted his hands and stepped back, his brows crinkled.
“I want to go.” She swept her fingers through the hair above her forehead, hoped he hadn’t seen, hadn’t noticed the thing she was hiding. “I’m ready to go.”
“All right.” He paused, stared at her, then tilted his head toward the house. “I’m not so sure Elizabeth is ready.”
“I need to go.”
He nodded. Slowly.
Lydia clenched the necklace, tried to steady trembling hands.
“Do I make you uneasy?”
“No.” Yes.
“I’m sorry if I do.” The truth spoke louder than her lie. “I’m just mesmerized.” He smiled. Sharp features softened. “You’re a beauty.”
Her fingers fell from the strand.
“Truth is, I would love to get to know you. Formally, of course.”
She looked down. Why was she here?
“I need to fill this space.”
His house? She gazed up at the splendid Victorian behind him. His heart? She glanced at him. He was waiting, waiting for her to look into his eyes. She swallowed.
“I need a wife.”
She shook her head. John. “I’m not the one.”
“Maybe not.” He laughed. “Maybe so.”
“I’m not.” She turned, lifting her dress above her ankles, and walked away, crushing wet blades of grass under her feet.
She could still hear him laughing when she climbed into the carriage. That sound. She recognized it now. Knew precisely what it was.The sound of life.
In the darkest of night, Lydia sat among the dying.
The Room was still, and though all slept, rest escaped their faces. Sprawled against the back walls, not one of them had the space to recline in the midst of material without touching the foot or the arm of
“No,” Lydia said, too quickly.
“No. My family and I. Caroline was there earlier this summer, isn’t that right?” Lizzy nudged.
Lydia nodded and tugged at the napkin in her lap. She heard few of the words around her, only the pauses and the clearing of throats when she failed to fill holes of conversation directed at her. She ate little, found her hand less on her fork than the pearls she’d once again borrowed, her nails entangled in the strand, grazing each gem. For every thought of John that tugged at her, she pulled, yanked at the white treasure at her fingertips.
“Caroline? Is everything all right? Your supper?” Jackson glanced at her plate. “Is the food to your liking?” His fork lay limp in his hand as he searched her. Steady eyes of blue like the sky she had shunned, just as blue as the one she had wished would turn dark, black—let it be night—she stared into, held their gaze.
“Everything’s fine.” She looked at him, wasn’t even sure she had spoken the words, until he nodded and resumed eating.
She watched him, chewing, chatting, lines streaking from the corner of his eyes and a bright smile of a mouth that let out a sound that made her sit upright, take notice.
This sound, heavy in strength yet light enough to fly free, lift to the high ceiling, was sharp enough to enter in, jagged enough to pierce her heart.
“Pardon me.” She pushed away from the table abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the hardwood. The room fell silent. She could feel their eyes on her as she stood, marched toward the doorway, the neckline of her dress slipping off her shoulder.
She pulled it straight and walked through a hall, through a dark sitting room, a study that smelled of pine. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t know how she’d gotten where she was until she swung the heavy wooden door open, not waiting for the butler’s assistance, and scurried down the thirty front steps of the manor in the heels that made her ankles wobble. She stopped, out of breath, when she heard her name.
“Caroline!”
She stopped for a name that wasn’t hers at all.
“Caroline?”
She turned to the one calling. Jackson ran to her, gripped her forearms, his eyes darting from her face, her body. “Are you all right? What is it?” Just as quickly, he lifted his hands and stepped back, his brows crinkled.
“I want to go.” She swept her fingers through the hair above her forehead, hoped he hadn’t seen, hadn’t noticed the thing she was hiding. “I’m ready to go.”
“All right.” He paused, stared at her, then tilted his head toward the house. “I’m not so sure Elizabeth is ready.”
“I need to go.”
He nodded. Slowly.
Lydia clenched the necklace, tried to steady trembling hands.
“Do I make you uneasy?”
“No.” Yes.
“I’m sorry if I do.” The truth spoke louder than her lie. “I’m just mesmerized.” He smiled. Sharp features softened. “You’re a beauty.”
Her fingers fell from the strand.
“Truth is, I would love to get to know you. Formally, of course.”
She looked down. Why was she here?
“I need to fill this space.”
His house? She gazed up at the splendid Victorian behind him. His heart? She glanced at him. He was waiting, waiting for her to look into his eyes. She swallowed.
“I need a wife.”
She shook her head. John. “I’m not the one.”
“Maybe not.” He laughed. “Maybe so.”
“I’m not.” She turned, lifting her dress above her ankles, and walked away, crushing wet blades of grass under her feet.
She could still hear him laughing when she climbed into the carriage. That sound. She recognized it now. Knew precisely what it was.The sound of life.
In the darkest of night, Lydia sat among the dying.
The Room was still, and though all slept, rest escaped their faces. Sprawled against the back walls, not one of them had the space to recline in the midst of material without touching the foot or the arm of
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