talisman that would protect her from harm and keep her safe. Maybe , she thought, it already has…
CHAPTER 11
The Wild West
Odd things happen to all of us on our way though life without our noticing for a time that they have happened. Now such an experience had come that morning to Wendy as she contemplated her next visit from the young banker.
In truth, she was surprised by how much she actually enjoyed James’s company. He was an attentive listener. A bit too reserved for her tastes, but nonetheless, his insights were remarkably thoughtful and mature. Although he lacked passion, he did love her in his quiet, faithful way. Above all Wendy felt so sure of him; he would never hurt her, nor abandon her. He would always put her above all else and with him her life would be safe.
So dread had evolved into anticipation and she received him—warmly.
But every so often when they were at tea or strolling in the park, James would get that familiar look in his eyes. The look that said, I am ready to ask you the question, the most important thing a man can ask a woman. I am ready to be husband, father, and provider.
Then in answer to James’s eyes, Wendy would get a look of her own. Hers said, Don’t dare ask it! I am not yet ready.
In those moments of unspoken communication, James and Wendy reached an understanding. Eventually she would marry him, so for now he would be patient and hold his tongue. Like the spring, their friendship progressed, with minor setbacks, but all in all developing slowly and steadily from a fragile shoot, cultivated in trust and dependability, growing until the day it would become a garden in full bloom.
It had been four months since she started seeing James and two since she had let him take her on outings. Saturday, they would join Lord and Lady Withington for the premier of George Bernard Shaw’s Misalliance at the Duke of York’s Theatre. This was the company’s first production since their triumphant return from America minus Peter. All of London society, despite mourning the loss of its favorite young actor, was coming out to welcome them back. It was a first for Wendy too. Her first venture back to the theatre…back to Peter’s world.
Despite the immense joy the theatre always afforded her, Wendy knew almost immediately that coming had been a mistake. However certain she was that Peter remained in America, she could not help but anxiously look for him in every direction she turned. Every person shadowed in the stage wings could have been him. Each scene change left her fretfully holding her breath in anticipation, waiting for his entrance. Might her intelligence be wrong? Perhaps Peter had changed his mind, returned to take his rightful place on the London stage and restore meaning to her precarious world. Hope was futile, yet it was not in Wendy’s nature to do less.
Wishing aside, the play itself was painful—seeming to expose the fragile truce between her disappointed hopes and safer, more realistic, expectations. The subject, marriage for the wrong reasons, was too raw to heed, lest she begin to scrutinize the folly of her life and return to her bed indefinitely.
Uncomfortably seated in the Viscount’s box rather than her accustomed seat in the dress circle, Wendy tried to think about other things until the final curtain descended. When the actors, Peter’s friends and colleagues, took their final bows, their eyes seemed to hold silent accusations, as if they knew she was betraying him, and her heart, with James’s company.
Please forgive me , she mutely begged.
A ripple in the curtain stage right caught her attention. Offstage, a young man was doing his best to spy on the audience without being seen. Wendy’s heart slammed into her chest and her breath hitched in her throat. For an instant, she believed it to be Peter. Then her vision grew acclimated to the shadows and she realized the gentleman’s coloring was too dark, his form too stocky, to be her heart’s
CHAPTER 11
The Wild West
Odd things happen to all of us on our way though life without our noticing for a time that they have happened. Now such an experience had come that morning to Wendy as she contemplated her next visit from the young banker.
In truth, she was surprised by how much she actually enjoyed James’s company. He was an attentive listener. A bit too reserved for her tastes, but nonetheless, his insights were remarkably thoughtful and mature. Although he lacked passion, he did love her in his quiet, faithful way. Above all Wendy felt so sure of him; he would never hurt her, nor abandon her. He would always put her above all else and with him her life would be safe.
So dread had evolved into anticipation and she received him—warmly.
But every so often when they were at tea or strolling in the park, James would get that familiar look in his eyes. The look that said, I am ready to ask you the question, the most important thing a man can ask a woman. I am ready to be husband, father, and provider.
Then in answer to James’s eyes, Wendy would get a look of her own. Hers said, Don’t dare ask it! I am not yet ready.
In those moments of unspoken communication, James and Wendy reached an understanding. Eventually she would marry him, so for now he would be patient and hold his tongue. Like the spring, their friendship progressed, with minor setbacks, but all in all developing slowly and steadily from a fragile shoot, cultivated in trust and dependability, growing until the day it would become a garden in full bloom.
It had been four months since she started seeing James and two since she had let him take her on outings. Saturday, they would join Lord and Lady Withington for the premier of George Bernard Shaw’s Misalliance at the Duke of York’s Theatre. This was the company’s first production since their triumphant return from America minus Peter. All of London society, despite mourning the loss of its favorite young actor, was coming out to welcome them back. It was a first for Wendy too. Her first venture back to the theatre…back to Peter’s world.
Despite the immense joy the theatre always afforded her, Wendy knew almost immediately that coming had been a mistake. However certain she was that Peter remained in America, she could not help but anxiously look for him in every direction she turned. Every person shadowed in the stage wings could have been him. Each scene change left her fretfully holding her breath in anticipation, waiting for his entrance. Might her intelligence be wrong? Perhaps Peter had changed his mind, returned to take his rightful place on the London stage and restore meaning to her precarious world. Hope was futile, yet it was not in Wendy’s nature to do less.
Wishing aside, the play itself was painful—seeming to expose the fragile truce between her disappointed hopes and safer, more realistic, expectations. The subject, marriage for the wrong reasons, was too raw to heed, lest she begin to scrutinize the folly of her life and return to her bed indefinitely.
Uncomfortably seated in the Viscount’s box rather than her accustomed seat in the dress circle, Wendy tried to think about other things until the final curtain descended. When the actors, Peter’s friends and colleagues, took their final bows, their eyes seemed to hold silent accusations, as if they knew she was betraying him, and her heart, with James’s company.
Please forgive me , she mutely begged.
A ripple in the curtain stage right caught her attention. Offstage, a young man was doing his best to spy on the audience without being seen. Wendy’s heart slammed into her chest and her breath hitched in her throat. For an instant, she believed it to be Peter. Then her vision grew acclimated to the shadows and she realized the gentleman’s coloring was too dark, his form too stocky, to be her heart’s
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