Chapter 29
THERE WAS NO SIGN OF HENRY WHEN THE SISTERS RETURNED TO Kidlington House, though Annabel had written him and hoped against hope the whole way home that he might be there waiting. Even Cassie had hoped it for her, squeezing her sister’s hand through the ride.
It was a cool summer day, with puffy clouds closing ranks to tease the sun, but Cassie needed some air.
She bundled herself up in a warm shawl with a cup of tea and sat on the bench in the garden, where she found Sense and Sensibility sitting next to her.
She wondered if Billy had left it for her to find.
Annabel walked with him through the garden, her arm tucked through his.
“So, no word at all from Henry?”
He shook his head, sympathetic. Annabel nodded bravely.
“But Fanny came. She was worried about you and Cassie.”
“That’s Fanny.”
“She said she regretted that you’d quarreled and was having a new think about certain things. That maybe because she’d never had a sister, she didn’t understand. But she was trying.”
“Also Fanny.”
“Then Warnaby came! I think to see me. But I was wrong about him. He’s totally into her.”
“Yeah. He is.”
“And really a good guy. Worried about everyone’s feelings.”
“That sounds right.”
“He actually asked why I thought Fanny was so smitten with me.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Well, I said I could just be myself with her, tell her what I was really feeling. And it seems like men don’t do that here. I mean, I didn’t even do it there.”
Annabel smiled.
“And when he shook my hand and thanked me, he said, ‘May the best man win.’ But it wasn’t a game to him, not at all.
I mean, what a stand-up guy.” Billy slowed his step, something weighing on him.
“So, I’ve been thinking about the thing D’Evercy asked me, about my intentions.
Thinking really hard about it. Here by myself. For a whole two days.”
Annabel squeezed his arm.
“And, see, I’ve never really done the right thing in my life. I mean, maybe I stumbled onto it a few times, but not really on purpose.”
Annabel just listened. The cool breeze blew through their hair. Her shawl slipped off one shoulder, and without missing a beat, Billy reached over and pulled it back into place.
“But I want to, for Fanny. Who I’m pretty sure is expecting a proposal. I mean, she didn’t come out and say so—”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Exactly. So, I’m reading between the lines here, which, that’s no small thing for me. And was actually thinking about proposing.”
“Really?”
“Well, I know I have nothing to offer. Less than nothing. Not yet, anyway.”
Annabel smiled softly. “You have heart, Billy, and understanding. That’s a lot.”
“Well, I’m glad you think so.”
“Fanny thinks so too.”
Billy rubbed a hand through his hair. “But I just keep asking myself, if I could go back, would I? And even if I never can, go back, it’s just not fair to her, you know, that I’d always want to.”
Annabel was touched. She’d never seen him so serious and sincere.
“Anyway,” he said. “Who wants to go through life as ‘Fanny Doofus’?”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, Billy. You’re not a doofus at all.”
Suddenly, their attention was drawn to the curve in the gravel drive they could see from the garden, where a horse-drawn wagon made its loud, bumpy way to the house.
Cassie was sitting cross-legged on the bench, already to page sixteen of the book—but she noticed it too.
By the time the three of them reached the front of the house, out of curiosity more than anything, James had climbed onto the back of the wagon to help the driver unload whatever was under the blanket.
“Delivery from Miss Gidding-Wedmore for Miss Blake!” the driver shouted to them in a low rasp, with a short, fat cigar hanging out of his mouth.
Annabel looked at Cassie and Billy with a shrug, no idea.
James and the driver unknotted some ropes and tugged hard at the heavy blanket until it pulled away to reveal—the original satinwood writing desk, the one Sotheby’s had taken away.
They looked at each other in disbelief.
***
Late lunch was served, with Mary presenting this dish and that: The chicken had been named Lucy; the beets were candied; the carrots were braised with butter, lemon, honey, and fresh parsley snipped from the garden; one was a recipe from her Welsh grandmother; another dish had an ingredient so secret she had sworn to keep it to her grave, maybe the only secret she’d ever been able to keep in her life.
They thanked her profusely for each thing, but ate in silence, each savoring the delights and thinking their own thoughts.
They had already agreed to try the “portal” as soon as lunch was done.
Annabel’s hands were shaking when she sat down at the pretty desk—returned to its rightful place under the window—poised to write.
She couldn’t argue with what she was about to do.
They’d always agreed: If the desk appeared, they’d go home, no questions asked.
She just didn’t think it would be so soon. Cassie put a hand on her shoulder.
“You can always come back, if you want to.”
Annabel nodded and penned her letter to no one in particular, signed and sealed it. “I guess now we just wait.”
Billy opened the French doors and leaned against the doorsill, gazing out over the garden, wistful. Annabel stood beside him, her torment visible.
“I’m sorry about D’Evercy,” he said.
Annabel nodded, but her eyes were downcast. “He knows we’re back from Lyme Regis. If he’d wanted to come, or write me, he would have by now. It seems he’s made his decision. And I guess so have I.”
Meanwhile, Mary made a “nice cup o’ tea” for Cassie, who had retreated to the chaise longue in the drawing room with her book, which she was racing through, eyes darting down each page.
They didn’t know how long it would take, or how it would manifest, but they spent the afternoon in quiet expectation, as the sweet carillon bells of the longcase clock marked each quarter hour.
When Billy took one last turn around the garden for good measure, Annabel returned to the desk, trying to continue her novel, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Instead, she tried and tried to write Henry a letter—some sort of explanation—but there were so many scribbles and crossings out, even she, the writer, couldn’t make sense of it.
By early evening, Billy and Cassie sat on the stairs together, waiting for a sign, any sign, but the steady ticktock of the clock now pounded in their ears.
Finally, came a loud knock. Annabel padded downstairs to find them staring at the front door. Billy stood bravely to open it. Cassie covered her eyes. Annabel held her breath tight.
“Will ya be stayin’ in tonight, sir?” said James, with his missing tooth and coachman clothes. “Thought I might put the horses to bed, if so.”
Billy looked behind him. Cassie’s head fell into her hands. Annabel put an arm around her sister’s shoulder, despite her own relief.
“Thank you, James,” Billy said. “It looks like . . . we’re not going anywhere.”
***
Breakfast the next morning was another quiet affair. Billy and Cassie looked glum and defeated.
“I’m sorry,” said Annabel. “I don’t know why it didn’t work.”
“I guess there’s some magic we don’t understand,” said Billy, staring at his plate.
After a few minutes of silent eating, Cassie rested her elbow on the table.
“Well, I was thinking somebody should, you know, ‘invent’ dental floss. Or something like it. Maybe me.”
Annabel smiled, but knew Cassie was putting on a brave face.
Billy chimed in. “I think I’ll try again with Reverend Tudor. If vicar’s good enough for Edward Ferrars . . .”
Cassie put her hand on the book set beside her plate. “You are like him, Billy. You’ll figure it out.”
“Plus, it wouldn’t have been nice to leave without saying something to Fanny.”
Annabel pushed food around her plate, touched by their trying, when Mary rushed into the room, in her now perpetual state of excitement at the comings and goings at Kidlington House. Her voice struck a high note. She fanned herself with her apron, practically swooning.
“There’s quite a handsome man here to see Miss Blake! Possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen up close in my life!”
Cassie winked at Annabel, who was already on her feet.
***
D’Evercy stood in the drawing room with his hat in his hands when Annabel walked in, keeping a polite distance between them. His voice was softer than usual, his demeanor more humble. It was the first time she’d seen him visibly nervous.
“Lady Gidding-Wedmore, in my mother’s absence, insists on hosting an engagement party. At Ellesmere.” He looked down and turned the hat in his hand. “That is, if you still—”
Annabel stepped closer. “I do, Henry.”
A weight seemed to lift for him. “And the party, you’re amenable to it?”
“I am.” She held her breath. “But only if Cassie’s welcome.”
His Adam’s apple moved up and down. “I shall insist upon it.”
Annabel exhaled. “Thank you, Henry.”
He turned his hat again, as if he had more to say.
“Annabel. For whatever unpleasantness passed between us, whatever anguish I may have caused—”
“I’m sorry too,” she said.
“I suppose I do have certain limitations.”
“We all do.”
“And certain . . . possibilities . . . are beyond my grasp.” He gazed out the window, gathering his thoughts.
“You see, Ellesmere is not only a place, but a tradition, which long precedes me and will long follow.” He put his hat down and firmly pressed her hands in his.
“However much I wish to be a modern man, and I do, I am a creature quite of my own world, my family and home, and whatever contempt I feel at times, am yet sworn to uphold them. It falls upon my shoulders.”
Annabel looked into his eyes, so deeply in love with the man standing before her.
“And now mine as well.”