Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Anna
Tabitha—Tabs, as Graham called her—walked carefully upon the rounded rocks like she was as familiar with this shore as she was the floors of her own home. Her little feet and thin form moved, crouched, even sometimes hopped to and fro over the bigger rocks. She was beautiful, kind, and just ornery enough to keep life interesting.
I missed my younger days with Papa, when I could speak my mind and the adults would either take me seriously or laugh congenially at my silliness. A girl as free-spirited as Tabs should not have to fear taking off her stockings at the beach.
“Careful, Tabs,” Graham called, despite a servant walking behind her. “Not too far from us. And not too close to the water. The rocks are slick.”
I groaned internally. Did Graham have to control every second of every day—what it looked like, felt like, smelled like? The man needed to let loose. “She is only having fun,” I muttered.
He tensed but ignored me.
Tabs shrieked as the tide swept in and splashed the brown, earthy rocks at her feet, and I laughed at her joy. She was being herself, and it filled up the deep crevices of my heart.
“Brighton’s other beaches are similar,” Graham said with a sideways glance and a frown. “Others have the society and economy tourists crave, so there is something for everyone here. This particular shore has a little rougher terrain, but it is more private, as you’d desired. And I believe the sea is a little greener here because there are not as many fishermen, nor boats, to stir up the water. Altogether, this beach has a more natural and calmer feel.”
Would he never relent? Did he think of nothing besides his precious investments? I sighed. “Please do not ruin my view by telling me how I should feel about it, Mr. Everett.”
He startled, taken aback. “On the contrary, Miss Lane. I merely wish to share it with you.”
I gave him a look. His pretense was not lost on me. Flattery, always with the insincere flattery. After Mr. Lennox, how could I trust any man who wanted to dip into my father’s pockets? Graham was tolerating me just as I was tolerating him. Without Papa here, why did we have to pretend otherwise? Why did we have to converse at all? And if we did, why could I not speak as freely as Tabs? Bitterness took hold of me, and I said, “Perhaps you should keep your thoughts to yourself and stop trying to control mine.”
Well, that came out cross.
I risked a glance at Graham. His brows furrowed, and his nostrils flared as he took a breath. “Have a care with your words, Miss Lane. My sister is near.” Frustration colored his tone.
I’d bristled him, hit a tender nerve. I felt the heat of embarrassment from being chided burn up my neck, but I did not give it notice. “Then please do not try to bend my ear for the next five days while I experience this town. I have a sound mind all on my own.”
He shook his head. A bit of him unraveled as he said, “I did not mean to suggest otherwise. I was merely ... having a conversation.”
“A conversation?” I laughed half-heartedly, looking over at his shoulders hunched, lips pursed. He truly did not see it. “A conversation with an intent to bait or persuade my good opinion is not one I am interested in having.”
He motioned toward the sea. “I assure you I had no motivation by stating that the water appears greener here.”
“Everythingyou say has a motivation.” My lips twitched, happy to release the words I’d been dying to say. Graham would never tell Papa of my impertinence. He wanted everything to be perfect—or at least he wanted things to appear that way. “I know for a fact you hate me as much as I hate you. At least be honorable and admit it.”
“Hate you? What the devil are you talking about?” His cheeks reddened, and he raked a hand through his billowing hair, like a kettle about to blow. A war seemed to rage in the thoughts behind his eyes. Clearly, there were things he wanted to say, but he fought to hold them back. After a moment, he said, “You are the daughter of a man I revere. A man I engage with regularly in matters of money and business. Out of respect for him, I try to be polite. To be amiable toward you.”
I looked back out to the sea and shook my head, frustrated with Graham’s denials and growing too emotional so far away from home. Polite and amiable. Exactly as I’d feared. How could I ever make a match, keep a genuine friendship, when everyone—including myself—hid behind a mask? I clamped down my feelings and looked away. “You are the biggest fraud I have ever met.”
He reared back and squinted his eyes. “Why? Because I think through what I say before I say it? Some would call that wise.”
“Or cunning.” I pursed my lips.
He scoffed and looked at the sea. “I am cunning for trying to have a conversation.”
I scoffed right back. “Oh, please. If you truly want to have a conversation, then say something genuine for once. I dare you.”
There was silence for a beat, save for the restless sea and the birds flying above in the distance.
His jaw ticked as he ran his hand through his hair again. “Something genuine?” He looked at me. His eyes were blazing, but his features were smooth, revealing nothing. “About what, precisely? As always, Miss Lane, I am entirely at your service.”
I let my lips form a smile. “Sarcasm suits you better than false flattery.” Indeed, even his countenance seemed more genuine. More relaxed. I doubted he was capable of relaxing into himself fully. Would I even recognize him if he did? Still, I cast the bait. “Very well, then. Tell me something personal. Something that ... embarrasses you.”
His fiery eyes watched mine. “So you can write it down in your little notebook and use it against me?”
I tried unsuccessfully to bite back my humor. Surprise, perhaps even shock, made my heart stutter. Graham had never spoken so openly with me. He’d never shared exactly what he was thinking outright. In the subtlest way, he’d turned my bait against me.
I wanted this game. I wanted to play, and desperately. “I won’t.”
He faced the sea again. “I have a hard time believing you.”
“I do not blame you. But I’d rather like to hear what you have to say. I won’t write it down.”
He eyed me carefully, cautious and obviously wary of my promise. “Very well.”
We looked away from each other, anticipation warming the space between us on the blanket. What would he say? If it wasn’t embarrassing or strange ... if he said something just to charm me again ...
“I ...” Graham shook his head, then crossed his legs.
I waited with bated breath. Whatever he was about to say pained him, and stupid as it was, I’d never wanted a secret more. Graham was a gossip paper. A mystery to unfold. Waiting for his words was like unearthing a fossil on a beach in Lyme.
He drew a very long, very deep breath that he huffed out. “I wear ... spectacles. To read.”
I threw up my hands. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, is that all?” What a show he’d made for something so common. To think I’d thought him interesting for a half a second.
A crease formed between his brows, confusion writ upon his features.
“Put them on, then. Let’s see them,” I said. He owed me that much for ruffling me so. Graham Everett in spectacles. I could not picture it.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I do not like to wear them.”
“But you have them on your person?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his spot. “Of course. I need them to read.”
I widened my eyes, waiting. This was perhaps the longest conversation we’d had in a solid year.
“Must you always have whatever you want?” he muttered through evident frustration, patting around the chest of his tailcoat and waistcoat. Then he undid a few buttons of his coat, reached in to what I assumed was a little pocket, then pulled out his hand, and there they were.
His spectacles were round, bronze circles. The sides were the same color, stretching out and forming a curl at each end. I shrugged. Why did they embarrass him so? “Those look like my father’s. Put them on.”
He tossed them into my lap. “You put them on.”
I let out a laugh. “Saucy, are we?”
But Graham just shook his head and watched Tabs fill up a little bucket with shells. “I won’t be made a fool.”
“Oh, you do that already without the spectacles.” Perhaps that barb was too far. Too mean. But honestly, how boring could he be? Business, business, business, and never any fun.
I unfolded the arms of his spectacles. His lenses were thin and unscratched and clearly well cared for.
Was this odd? Me, trying on Graham’s spectacles? Surely he was the odd one, always so rigid but playing sweet and oblivious. Why would he hide such a silly thing as wearing spectacles?
Let him think of me what he would; at least I could say I hadn’t anything to hide. I curled the edges of his spectacles around my ears and pushed the frame up the bridge of my nose. They were too large for my face, so I leaned my head back just enough to hold them on. Everything turned blurry.
“Ah, yes, the view is much improved. I much prefer Brighton from this perspective.” I pushed them down to the tip of my nose and glanced at Graham.
He was watching me with a raised brow, humor evident on his quirked lips, but he swiped the smile away with a hand. “Are you satisfied now?”
I pretended to pout. “No words of flattery? With how freely your prose flows, I should think you had a whole book of poetry at the ready for such an occasion.” I took off his spectacles and handed them back to him.
“I am honestly at a loss for words,” he said, pulling out a small square of cloth and wiping his spectacles down as though I’d tainted them.
I rolled my eyes as he carefully placed them back inside their secret pocket. “I do not have disease, Graham.”
I realized my informal slip a second too late, but Graham did not miss a beat.
“Let’s hope not, Anna.”
My name in that low voice of his felt like a trap—too sweet and somehow beguiling. I slapped my hands on my thighs. “Well, as delightful as conversation with you is, I think I shall engage with your sister for a time.” I straightened, then pushed myself to my feet.