Chapter 12 Time Runs Out #4
At this outlandish statement, I studied the detestable man.
He touched his temple, peering at me. What sort of game did he attempt to play?
His distinct features eliminated any doubt of his identity, and yet he seemed altogether…
different. His face revealed no trace of the loathsome smirk he often sported.
And on this occasion, he employed none of the mannerisms I associated with him—the haughty bearing, piercing gaze, and coarse, grating speech.
At that moment, a peculiar, evanescent quality in Mr. Oakley’s blue irises caught my attention, and the tilt of his head as he gazed at me seemed familiar yet unsettling.
His voice had not altered, but he employed it in a new way, generating a pleasing sound that lacked his usual arrogant inflexion.
My face and neck suffused with heat at the realization we had been gazing at each other. I coughed and forced myself to glance away from him. “In fact, we have met several times.”
“More than once, do you say?” Mr. Oakley’s penetrating stare remained upon me. Lines marred his forehead, and his weight shifted.
Graham raised his hand to obtain my notice. “Pray excuse Mr. Oakley if his remembrances are imperfect at the present time. He is recovering from a serious illness.”
“Oh, I see.” But that alone could not explain the alteration in him, could it?
I faced Mr. Oakley anew. “Yes, we often see one another at church. Your parents and I are well acquainted, and you knew my late husband, Mr. Nicholas Mead, as well. Nicholas used to play cribbage with your father at the Hound and Hare once or twice a month.” My husband had been fond of the elder Mr. Oakley, a kind and gentle soul.
Nicholas had remarked on the injustice of Andrew Oakley having inherited his father’s looks and stature, but not his disposition.
Mr. Oakley’s shoulders slumped. “For the life of me, Mrs. Mead, I…I cannot recall even a hint of what you have described.”
“Take heart, my good man.” Graham patted Mr. Oakley’s arm. “Soon enough, you will regain your former vitality, if not all your memory. Your personality, though, has undergone a severe and permanent alteration.” Graham beheld me in a significant look.
A permanent change in his character? What sort of illness would cause this?
As the implications of Graham’s words sunk in, I redirected my gaze to Mr. Oakley, and a fluttering sensation teased my stomach.
The clouds shifted, and a blinding burst of light obscured my vision.
I raised my hand to shield against the brightness.
For a moment, the vivid illumination parted to reveal another countenance superimposed over that of Mr. Oakley, and I gasped.
Nicholas—his beloved image remained a fixture in my head.
Had his likeness been a trick of the light—or a figment of my imagination?
Despite the unseasonal warmth of the late afternoon sun, a shiver passed through me, and an intoxicating glimmer of hope niggled at my composure.
But no, this could not be possible; such ideas belonged to the realm of fantasy.
My musing halted as Mr. Oakley’s movement caught my eye: he swayed on his feet, floundering in his effort to remain erect.
The poor man must be in a severely weakened state!
“Gentlemen, do be seated.” I waved my arms in a pantomime to Graham, urging him to assist Mr. Oakley.
Graham took a secure hold of Mr. Oakley’s arm and helped him to a seated position.
“A splendid suggestion, for we have yet to partake of our tea. Pray sit here, Mrs. Mead, and I shall fix you a plate.” He pointed to the vacant spot beside Mr. Oakley.
“There is plenty of room on this bench.” I acquiesced to his suggestion and sat at the far end.
With a winsome smile on display, Mr. Oakley eyed me. “If you do not mind, I should like to know you better. For instance, what are your favourite pastimes?”
When I disclosed my love of long walks, music, and reading, we entered into a discussion of literature.
His insightful remarks revealed a warm, kind, and intelligent mind—quite the opposite of his former nature.
His apparent fascination for me showed in his movements, words, and unvarying focus.
We progressed to other topics—his family’s estate, his parents, and his two elder sisters.
My bearing remained formal, though, for a fear beset me: Would his former character, which had been so dishonourable and repellent, make a reappearance?
As our conversation continued, my apprehension dissipated.
Graham had asserted that Mr. Oakley’s alteration would be permanent, and he had never misled me before.
Furthermore, Graham had already demonstrated strange, unexplained abilities: he made several minor predictions that came to pass, he often answered questions I had not yet asked, and he prevented me from becoming the subject of gossip, which might be considered a miraculous feat.
From his seat on another nearby bench, Graham interjected comments into our conversation here and there, but for the first time in our acquaintance, his presence had become secondary—even forgettable. More than once, a spoken remark from him startled me.
In the next hour or so, my regard for Mr. Oakley blossomed at an amazing rate.
By the time we consumed the pot of tea and most of the food on our plates, he and I had developed a significant rapport, and I could not deny our mutual attraction.
He evinced none of his former reprehensible traits, making the “old” Mr. Andew Oakley seem like a tarnished memory.
While Mr. Oakley’s complexion displayed an improved colour, I remained concerned for his diminished health.
His hesitant answers to a few of my questions demonstrated a difficulty in paying heed.
In addition, his apparent reliance on support from the arm of the bench to remain upright and his clumsiness in handling his tea cup betrayed an impaired equilibrium.
When the shadows had grown long and a chill had entered the air, I disregarded my reluctance to end our discussion and stood. “It is late, and I must return home.”
Mr. Oakley pushed himself up from the bench and held out his arm. “Pray allow me to attend you.”
“Yes, thank you.” At the edge of my vision, I glimpsed Graham beaming at me. I took Mr. Oakley’s arm, and he leaned upon me a bit as we moved forwards. Graham walked ahead of us.
Mr. Oakley grimaced and lowered his gaze. “A thousand apologies, Mrs. Mead. It seems I am quite useless today.”
“Pray be easy. I am glad to be of assistance. Once you have regained your health, I reserve the right to lean upon you.”
The folds in his visage smoothed with his smile, rendering him uncommonly handsome. “I shall be available at your pleasure.”
Graham caught my gaze and swept his arm towards a curricle left near the gate. “I arranged for your vehicle to be left here.”
I nodded my thanks.
Graham moved before Mr. Oakley and sent me a glance. “Sir, it seems your parents have left without you, but I believe Mrs. Mead could be prevailed upon to take you to your estate.”
“Oh…um…I should not want to impose.” Mr. Oakley’s sight locked upon me, and the line of his mouth tensed.
In his current state, he needed someone to ensure he reached his home in safety, and a powerful aversion to parting from him welled up within me. “I should be glad to take you.” Graham grinned at my reply.
Mr. Oakley’s eyes, lit with the radiance of the fading afternoon light, flickered with a striking lustre. “You are most generous.”
“Nonsense, you are my neighbour and in need of a service. I am pleased for the opportunity to be of help.”
Graham assisted Mr. Oakley into the curricle. When he walked around the vehicle towards me, I led him a few yards away for a quiet word.
“I do not suppose I shall see you again.” My voice cracked.
“No, I do not believe so.”
A single tear formed at the corner of my eye. I raised upon my toes, kissed Graham’s cheek, and tarried near his ear. “I do not understand what you have done, but I thank you.”
Graham took my hand. “Follow your heart, and you will find your happiness.” He helped me into the curricle.
As I drove off, he stood by with his hands clasped behind his back. Minutes later, when the avenue curved towards the trees, I took a backward glance. Graham remained in place, still staring after us.
Graham
The musical sounds of genteel giggles drew me to the front sitting room, where Elizabeth and Miss de Bourgh sat together partaking of tea. I stood at the doorway and observed them.
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Anne, if you persist in carrying Jasper so much, I fear he will forget how to walk.”
With a sheepish smile, Miss de Bourgh’s gaze lowered to the sleeping puppy on her lap.
“In my defence, I began carrying Jasper in the house to appease Mrs. Reynolds, who has looked askance upon him as though she expects him to soil the carpets at any moment. However, I cannot deny the allure of holding him. We formed a bond within minutes of our meeting as though he had been meant for me.”
Elizabeth caressed the puppy’s head. “I dare say he is precisely where he belongs.” When I entered the room, she stood. “Ah, Graham. Pray join us.”
“I am afraid I cannot stay for long.”
Miss de Bourgh pointed at the puppy on her lap. “You must excuse me for not rising. As you can see, I could not be happier with my new friend. I cannot thank you enough for bringing us together.”
“You are most welcome." My gaze flitted between the two ladies. "I have come to take my leave of you. It is time for me to return home. Miss de Bourgh, I should be obliged if you would give my best wishes to your mother.”
“Of course I shall. I am delighted to have made your acquaintance.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I turned to Elizabeth.
She offered her hand. “I am sorry to see you go.”