notion of her suffering at all made him so peculiarly uncomfortable and furious he thought he might do anything at all for her to ease it.
He admired her fiercely, and this made him restless. In part because her passions, so native, made him realize now that for years he hadnât been so much dutiful his entire life as numb.
He leaned against the double elm tree and looked up through the leaves. Heâd done this at least a dozen times in his lifeâhe could probably walk the whole of the town with his eyes closed and not get lost, so familiar was every landmark and texture of the town. He peered upward and tried to enjoy thecontrast of the jubilant green of the spring leaves against the blue sky. It was rather like stained glass.
This required the kind of patience he no longer possessed.
Heâd shaved with particular care that morning, and he was confident the man who looked back at him from the mirror was polished and regal. Heâd tied and retied his cravat three times, before deciding simple was best primarily because his hands were oddly clumsy with nerves. Anyone who knew him well, Jonathan or Miles, would have laughed to see him so at the mercy of a woman, when it was generally understood that it was always the other way around.
Though perhaps it would have been less funny when they learned this particular woman was Olivia Eversea.
At half past three, he sorted through the contents of his coat pockets. Two pence, an old theater ticket, a tiny folding knife, and his gold pocket watch engraved with his initials, a gift from his father on his sixteenth birthday. He cherished that watch. It had made him feel very adult. Heâd become someone who needed a watch, for he had places to be and things to attend to.
He flipped the pocket watch open, and then closed. And open, and then closed. Not feeling terribly adult. The click seemed deafening here in the quiet woods, and seemed to emphasize how very foolishly alone he was out here beneath the elm tree.
At four oâclock he walked thirty feet up the rutted dirt road and peered, and saw nothing but a squirrel, who was then joined by another squirrel. Lucky squirrels, whose assignation was a success.
He watched the shadows of everything around him lengthen, even his own.
At four-fifteen, he carved the letter âOâ in the elm tree with his knife. Because he thought perhaps if he wrote it somewhere it might ease a bit of the restlessness, the fever. Because it felt as though a knife were at this moment carving it into his very soul.
It did not.
He wasnât certain heâd ever waited two hours for any human before, let alone a woman.
He was a determined man. He stood on the road and willed her into appearing on the horizon.
She did not.
Finally, desolation sank through him, so black and weighted for a moment he couldnât 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 . . .
T HE ENTIRE E VERSEA FAMILY crowded into their usual pew in the Pennyroyal Green church, which had been polished by centuries of other Eversea bums, 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.
âOne day weâll have a fascinating vicar, mark my words,â their mother told them.
âI shouldnât hold my breath,â Jacob Eversea muttered in reply.
âLook at whoâs here. I thought he was leaving for the continent.â Her brother Colin
He admired her fiercely, and this made him restless. In part because her passions, so native, made him realize now that for years he hadnât been so much dutiful his entire life as numb.
He leaned against the double elm tree and looked up through the leaves. Heâd done this at least a dozen times in his lifeâhe could probably walk the whole of the town with his eyes closed and not get lost, so familiar was every landmark and texture of the town. He peered upward and tried to enjoy thecontrast of the jubilant green of the spring leaves against the blue sky. It was rather like stained glass.
This required the kind of patience he no longer possessed.
Heâd shaved with particular care that morning, and he was confident the man who looked back at him from the mirror was polished and regal. Heâd tied and retied his cravat three times, before deciding simple was best primarily because his hands were oddly clumsy with nerves. Anyone who knew him well, Jonathan or Miles, would have laughed to see him so at the mercy of a woman, when it was generally understood that it was always the other way around.
Though perhaps it would have been less funny when they learned this particular woman was Olivia Eversea.
At half past three, he sorted through the contents of his coat pockets. Two pence, an old theater ticket, a tiny folding knife, and his gold pocket watch engraved with his initials, a gift from his father on his sixteenth birthday. He cherished that watch. It had made him feel very adult. Heâd become someone who needed a watch, for he had places to be and things to attend to.
He flipped the pocket watch open, and then closed. And open, and then closed. Not feeling terribly adult. The click seemed deafening here in the quiet woods, and seemed to emphasize how very foolishly alone he was out here beneath the elm tree.
At four oâclock he walked thirty feet up the rutted dirt road and peered, and saw nothing but a squirrel, who was then joined by another squirrel. Lucky squirrels, whose assignation was a success.
He watched the shadows of everything around him lengthen, even his own.
At four-fifteen, he carved the letter âOâ in the elm tree with his knife. Because he thought perhaps if he wrote it somewhere it might ease a bit of the restlessness, the fever. Because it felt as though a knife were at this moment carving it into his very soul.
It did not.
He wasnât certain heâd ever waited two hours for any human before, let alone a woman.
He was a determined man. He stood on the road and willed her into appearing on the horizon.
She did not.
Finally, desolation sank through him, so black and weighted for a moment he couldnât 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 . . .
T HE ENTIRE E VERSEA FAMILY crowded into their usual pew in the Pennyroyal Green church, which had been polished by centuries of other Eversea bums, 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.
âOne day weâll have a fascinating vicar, mark my words,â their mother told them.
âI shouldnât hold my breath,â Jacob Eversea muttered in reply.
âLook at whoâs here. I thought he was leaving for the continent.â Her brother Colin
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