I pressed my cool palm to my cheek, each compliment increasing the temperature of my face. “B–beautiful?”
His sudden focus nearly drilled me into the bookshelf. “Don’t you know it?” He tilted his head as he studied me, his gaze never leaving my face. “Has no one ever told you?”
I had no reply, and his expression gentled. “I’m glad to be the first.”
The look on his face, his nearness and words, ushered a visceral acceptance. “So am I.”
His smile creased the corners of his eyes and then he pulled in a deep breath and looked back at the bookshelves. “Now, let’s put these books away so we can enjoy another tea with excellent company and conversation. Miss Withersby should be engaged on her walk for quite a while yet, and I’m sure Vicky will be coming down very soon with great expectations of biscuits and pastries galore.”
The conversation moved from the virtues of the Reverend James Buchanan’s writings—of which I’d only read a few works, but Oliver found them both devotional and stimulating—to the humor of Don Quixote, and finally to the unlikely romance, if the word romance could even be used in their case, of Romeo and Juliet.
All of which led to a deep discussion of the beauty of friendship and kindred minds in the development of the most intimate of romances. When the tea arrived, along with Victoria, we turned to discussing why most fairy tales should include dragons, at least in mention, and, of course, beautiful dresses—Victoria’s addition.
“Mother never talks of dragons,” Victoria said, opening her current fairy-tale book to an amazing illustration of a unicorn near a waterfall. “Or books, unless it’s the Bible, and she talks about the Bible a lot when I disobey.”
I poured her more tea and cast Oliver a grin.
“Mother isn’t fond of reading,” he explained.
“And Ollie said she outgrew her imagination a long time ago.”
I caught my snicker before it emerged. “Well, I think you and your brother make up for the lack.”
“That’s what Ollie says.” Her grin spread to double dimples. “And Grandmama.”
“Oh yes, Grandmama would love Sadie,” Oliver added. He turned to me with a raised brow. “Helen Camden, one of the few sensible women in our family, which automatically means she possesses an excellent imagination.”
“She reads to me too, Sadie.” Victoria took another cookie. “And does the voices like you do.”
I failed to rein in my laugh.
“Sadie is one of us, Vicky.” Oliver leaned forward, elbows on his knees, but his gaze traveled to mine. “It’s not often that you find kindred spirits, so when you do, you make certain to keep them if you can.”
“Then there’s only one thing to do,” Victoria said, reaching for another cookie. “We must keep her.”
My brows shot northward. “Well, I don’t—”
“An excellent idea, Vicky.” His attention never left my face, the humor in his tone not reflected in the soberness of his eyes. “But she would have to be willing. We’re not the sort that go around stealing perfectly good people. And for Sadie’s part, it would take a great deal of imagination.”
“Oh, Sadie has plenty of imagination.”
I barely heard Victoria’s response because the wordless request Oliver offered reverberated through me as if he’d shouted. Be with them? Him? Leave Biltmore? America? But I knew he meant it, and I wanted what he promised. Love, and friendship like I’d never known. A world of which I’d only read. A chance to be seen and see in return. What an opportunity! What a risk!
Did I have enough imagination? Was I brave enough?
Dear Library Fairy,
You were right about Anne of the Island. Of course, I had to read the first two books to appreciate the entire story of Anne and Gilbert, but their friendship is an excellent example. I must say that I’m not certain I would have had the tenacity of Mr. Blythe to chase after his stubborn friend’s heart, but he is portrayed in such an exemplary way, I am inclined to approve of anything he does.
While reading these stories, I found myself wondering what a man would have to do to convince a woman of his intentions, especially if she’s inclined to doubt his sincerity. Let’s say she’s a highborn lady and he’s a valet in a grand house, yet at heart they are very much the same. Is there any hope for him? Or if the roles were reversed? What would it take for the young gentleman to convince the housemaid of his regard for her?
Since you are a fairy with magical abilities, I feel certain you would know.
Affectionately,
The Book Goblin
“She’s done what?” I stared at my aunt, shaking my head to clear the words she’d just spoken. Surely, I hadn’t heard correctly.
“I tried to talk her into waiting until you could be here, but she was determined.” Aunt Elaine wrung her hands, her simple blue gingham dress falling loose against her thin body. “He didn’t want to wait.”
“He.” I dropped down into the chair next to my aunt’s small kitchen table and ran my palm over my forehead. “What do we know about him?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt and sat across from me. “She’s married to him.”
“Married.” The word raked over my throat in a rasp. Only hours before, I’d cradled the word with a whisper as I thought of Oliver and his most recent note. His intentions, though cloaked, had been unmistakable. He cared about me, much more than a passing flirtation. Enough to step over all social lines and make a way. Was it even possible?
But now, the tender word carried barbs. Lark had married Ralph Wolfe in a private ceremony and gone off on her honeymoon without so much as a note to me. Everything about the choice brewed with foreboding.
“Don’t take
