Part 11 (1/2)
She did not.
Finally, desolation sank through him, so black and weighted for a moment he couldn't imagine moving ever again. They would find him centuries from now, planted like the tree. Pining like a fool in the direction of Eversea House.
This mordantly amused him. He had never cared enough to be desolate before, and the feeling was so new it almost did him in.
Almost.
It was the very notion of newness that revived him. Desolation was at least interesting.
Today was only one day.
And he was going to get what he wanted.
Chapter 7.
That Sunday . . .
THE ENTIRE EVERSEA FAMILY crowded into their usual pew in the Pennyroyal Green church, which had been polished by centuries of other Eversea b.u.ms, to politely pretend to be interested in what the vicar had to say. They each had their own strategy for staying awake during the sermon. Olivia and Genevieve often made a game of guessing who had a new bonnet, or at least new bonnet trim.
”One day we'll have a fascinating vicar, mark my words,” their mother told them.
”I shouldn't hold my breath,” Jacob Eversea muttered in reply.
”Look at who's here. I thought he was leaving for the continent.” Her brother Colin whispered this to Ian, nudging him.
Olivia followed the direction of Colin's chin nudge.
And she froze.
The shoulders were unmistakable. And when he turned, just a little, to speak to his mother, that profile made her breathing go jagged.
Her heart shot skyward like a bird released from a cage.
It seemed insanity now that there had been a small part of her that had wished him away, because that would simply be easier. It was so very clear that everything was better when he was near.
Olivia didn't hear a word of the sermon, but anyone watching her would have thought she found the vicar's message transcendent, so unblinkingly rapt and aglow was she. She'd never been happier to be wearing the blue striped muslin and the bonnet with the blue ribbons, because everyone said it was the precise color of her eyes.
And that familiar sound of dozens of people at once, shaking out crushed skirts, waiting for old limbs to thaw or creak into motion, and the crowd moved en ma.s.se out of church, slowly, pausing to mill and exchange greetings.
She had just shuffled with the crowd to the edge at the churchyard fence, and she paused to look up, her heart hammering. The trees surrounding the church had leafed almost overnight in a joyous explosion of green.
Suddenly a voice was in her ear.
”Drop your prayer book.”
She instantly did just that.
She and Lyon Redmond both simultaneously then dropped to a crouch. Anyone observing would have thought he'd simply solicitously stopped to pick the book up for her. The Redmonds had exquisite breeding, after all.
”I waited two hours,” he said on a whispered rush. It was both faintly accusatory and awestruck. And a little amused.
She bit her lip. He was so handsome she literally ached. As if all of her senses were flooded with him.
”I do not like to be told what to do. Especially if I'm being told to lie. I never lie.”
”Never?” He was so genuinely astonished that she couldn't help but smile.
”Well, I'm bad at it. And one ought to have a code, after all.”
”I agree. One ought to,” he agreed, somberly.
But his eyes were dancing.
She tried and failed not to smile.
”I do apologize, Miss Eversea. I see now that I a.s.sumed too much. For instance, I a.s.sumed you might wish to speak to me again. Do you?”
Clever, clever wicked man to demand an answer in a way she couldn't dodge. Because she'd just self-righteously announced she never lied.
”Yes.”
”Shall I come to call?” He said this evenly. But impatiently, as they could not crouch here forever.
Their eyes locked.
G.o.d only knew how the Everseas were discussed in his household.
He'd made his point without saying another word, and furthermore, he knew she understood.
She was aware of the hum of cheerful voices, a child shrieking in what sounded like mad joy, because it had been released from the purgatory of sitting still on a hard pew while a man in a long dress droned on and on.
It was a very peculiar view she had at the moment, a word comprised only of skirt hems and boot toes and Lyon's blue, blue eyes.
”You should know that I don't make a habit of lying, either, Miss Eversea. I apologize if the note caused offense. I merely thought the gentlemanly thing to do would be to arrive at a plan that would allow us to see each other again, and then present it to you. Because I wanted to see you again, and my code is to get what I want.”
It was so thrillingly arrogant her heart all but keeled over in a hard swoon.
”It was very efficient of you,” she admitted. ”Well done.”
He shook his head slightly, as if she were a delight, lips pressed together, eyes sparkling, and she smiled at him, grateful her bonnet disguised her flushed cheeks from the rest of the world.
What a joy it would be to speak with him endlessly, because somehow she knew that she could. To use a normal conversational voice, not a constrained hush. To laugh out loud. To savor his presence without looking over her shoulder or anywhere else but at him.
Which reminded her she really ought to look over her shoulder.
If anyone in her family had yet noticed she was missing from their milling little throng, they hadn't thought to look down yet. Thankfully her brothers were all very tall, and the ground wouldn't be the first place they looked for their missing sister.