Chapter 19
THAT THE FATE OF A SINGLE PERSON, OR THREE, COULD DEPEND on the particulars of one picnic on a summer afternoon at a grand country house was more than Annabel and her companions could wrap their minds around, but they all felt it.
The morning started early and was filled with fretting and preliminaries.
Cassie changed her mind three times about her dress, wanting something gaily colored and tight fitting—between floral and femme fatale—to go with her new hat, the French capote made of white crepe and satin, trimmed with flowers, and costing only two guineas, which seemed like a steal when she’d bought it on credit.
Billy, believing Reverend Tudor his best chance for some sort of job, tried to get acquainted with the scriptures, at Mary’s suggestion, but soon got bored with the begats and doeths, not to mention the seemingly random smiting, which might go against his principles, though he’d never thought very hard about them.
Instead, he asked James to give him a quick lesson on how to ride a horse, which might come in handy, though he wasn’t sure how.
Annabel, for her part, woke even earlier than the others, planted herself at the kitchen worktable to finish her chapter, and didn’t stop until she crossed the final t and dotted a final i.
She looked at it, satisfied. Somehow, from her own brief experience in this new world, she’d found fodder to complicate her heroine’s plight and knew more about her interior life, pressures within and without.
She was beginning to stretch as a writer, become more agile.
What had started as a simple marriage plot was now something more unwieldy, but maybe more promising.
It already seemed ages since Stephen Chao had told her it felt like her book had been written by someone who’d never been in love.
She wondered if this was evidence of her, in fact, being in love.
If there was proof in change—how she saw the world and saw herself in it—maybe so.
As Annabel blew the iron gall ink on the last page dry, she resolved to be content that if her wildest hope of love could never be, she was willing it so on the page. If she couldn’t have D’Evercy, at least she had this.
***
When the longcase clock chimed noon, Billy and Cassie went to wait by the carriage in their picnic best, as the soft summer sun burned through the last of the morning mist. It promised to be a beautiful day.
They had resolved to be open to the possibilities of it, a chance to secure their place in the world, at least until the real desk showed up.
They saw no other choice, even if this one had been foisted on them. It was in their hands now.
In the foyer, Annabel handed her neatly folded and sealed chapter to Mary. “Do you mind, Mary? Someone should come for it soon.”
“Not at all.” She took the packet. “But I do wonder what happens next!”
“So do I,” said Annabel, tying her bonnet under her chin. “So do I.”
***
The three sat in silence as the carriage bumped along, gazing out at the English countryside in the full bloom of summer, its valleys and low hills, open pastures and cultivated fields, the occasional stand of trees, light and shadow taking turns, a dusty road in a wood giving way to a good view in all directions.
Cassie took off one glove and rubbed her teeth with her finger. “God, I miss mouthwash.”
Billy, between the sisters, looked at his lap. “My hands are clammy. I have clammy hands.”
“At least Warnaby has fairly good teeth,” said Cassie, talking mostly to herself.
“Warnaby? I’m pretty sure that dude’s gay,” said Billy.
“Are you on one?”
“It’s not even low-key. He keeps coming on to me.”
“Huh.” Cassie cocked her head, thinking. “Well, I really don’t think so, but I mean, a girl’s gotta eat.” Cassie shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll let you know.”
“But if you like Warnaby, do you think that means Fanny’s free?”
“Fanny is way out of your league, dude. Way.”
“I get that.”
“Maybe Althea?
“She’s, like, seventeen!” Billy looked down at his clammy hands. “I really like Fanny.”
Annabel was watching the landscape roll by, in her own world, until she broke the silence. “You know, guys, I was thinking, if marriage isn’t in the cards for me, in a couple of years I’ll be considered a spinster.”
“You’re twenty-two!” said Cassie.
“But maybe, with my writing, I could piece together a modest living.”
“A living,” said Billy. “Man, this is intense.”
They suffered the remainder of the ride in silent terror of the picnic to come, until the carriage turned down the long lane lined with ancient oak trees that led to the esteemed country estate known as Ellesmere—a place that took even the skeptic’s breath away.
As Billy’s first boot hit the ground, his jaw hinged open. “Whoa, man. This is unreal.”
Cassie was next to emerge. “Oh, okay. Now I get why Harriet’s so into this guy.”
James handed Annabel down last, her eyes round with wonder.
“Ellesmere . . .” she whispered to herself.
The three travelers traded anxious glances, smoothed their wrinkles, straightened their posture, and embarked on the most difficult task of their young lives.