Hope between the pages, p.18
Hope Between the Pages, page 18
Clara whimpered as the credits rolled, and she pushed herself to the edge of the couch, pillow still pressed to her chest. “I can’t believe you lied to me!”
Max turned in his chair, remote in hand, his eyes as wide as silver dollars. “Lied to you?”
“‘This show isn’t scary. It’s intense.’” She made air quotes as she mimicked his accent. “‘You’ll love it.’”
“You thought it was scary?” He gave a very poor attempt at looking sorry, especially with his lips taking a crooked tilt.
“I didn’t just think it. It was. That last scene had me trying to bury myself into your couch to get away.”
“You were rather adorable, trying to hide your entire body behind that pillow.”
She took the aforementioned pillow and slung it toward him. “You’re…you’re a stinker.”
Some strangled sound came from him. “Stinker, is it?”
She wrestled with a growing urge to laugh. The way he said the word stinker sounded very unstinker-like. “Yes, royally.”
“Royal stinker?” He chuckled and tucked the thrown pillow to his side. “I assure you, I bathe regularly and have no legitimate right to the throne.”
“They hid the body in the walls! How can that not be scary?” She threw another pillow, and this time the most amazing thing happened.
The strangled sound erupted into…laughter. Deep and rich, rumbling like welcome thunder on a hot summer day, filling the room and almost making her future nightmares worth it. Almost. “You laugh, Mister It’s-Excellent-Storytelling, but I’m the one who has to walk through that shadowed garden at night to get back to the big house, so you should at least feel a little sorry.”
She stood and tossed one more pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the nose…and producing another bout of laughter.
He snatched the pillow as he stood and tossed it back on the couch. “That’s enough pelting with pillows, Miss Blackwell.”
Her face wasn’t cooperating at all, because instead of the glare she wanted to send him, she had to bite back another smile. This gradual thawing of the reclusive Maxwell Weston came with some excellent side effects. His charm being one. His laughter, another.
“You deserved it, you know.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Who knows what sorts of dreams I’ll have tonight about stab wounds and home invasions.”
“Fear not, fair maiden.” He offered her his arm, his lips still twitching with the aftershocks of his amusement. “I shall escort you all the way to the main house.”
She sent him her finest glare, which really wasn’t particularly potent if she couldn’t keep herself from smiling, and then pulled on her cardigan.
“And I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His expression sobered as he led the way to the door. “I only thought you’d enjoy it from a story perspective.”
As they emerged into the darkness, his brow raised in silent entreaty, she linked her arm through his with an exaggerated sigh, and he tucked her warm by his side. The brisk night air breathed with the scent of pine and burning fire, and the sky twinkled with stars dotting the inky vastness. Cheerful lights emanated from the tall windows of Camden House, shining into the garden with such brilliance, Clara felt a little foolish in being afraid to walk alone.
“The story was very good,” she admitted, raising her gaze back to his. “And wonderful character development.”
“Even the villain?” One of his brows tipped with his grin.
“Even the villain.” She shuddered. “Nasty as he was.”
Lights from the library illuminated the vastness of the shelves packed with hundreds of neglected books. It seemed such a waste of good stories, with or without excellent villains.
“What are you thinking so far away?”
Max’s voice pulled her smile and she slowed her pace. “All those stories waiting to be read.”
He followed her gaze to the library windows, now towering above them as they neared the portico. “Yes, I’ve thought about that too. Mother’s considered donating them to some university or other, but that hasn’t felt right, if you know what I mean.”
She drew in another breath of wintery night and cardamom. “Maybe we can think of something special together, since we both love books.”
They came to stop at the house door, her feet reluctant to enter. Though watching a crime drama probably wasn’t considered a date, it was easily the most enjoyable two hours she’d ever had with a man outside her family. Actually, almost all of her time with Max fit that description.
“Thank you for walking with me.” She took the house key from her pocket. “Maybe being escorted by a wizard vanquishes nightmares.”
A smile waited in his eyes as he edged closer. “I promise to banish all the shadows from your vicinity, Miss Blackwell.” His brows gave a little shimmy. “After all, not everyone knows my secret.”
“Well, Mr. Wizard…” She grinned and pressed a finger into his chest. “Next time, I get to pick the movie.”
Heat fled her body as she realized she’d just invited herself to his place. “I mean—”
“Only if it’s for dinner as well?”
She looked up. His gaze held hers, as uncertain as she felt, like they both were dangling hope in front of the other. Her voice refused to comply.
“Tomorrow, perhaps?”
The entreaty in his voice, his expression, spurred her into action. “Yes, I’d love that.”
His smile burst free and her pulse responded with a sudden explosion. “Seven?”
She nodded, slipping the key in the door. “Thank you for…for tonight.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets and stepped back. “My pleasure, Clara. Truly.”
His simple burr of her name spilled all through her with definite magical qualities. “Good night, Max.”
Chapter 17
Mrs. Helen Camden cooed over me as if I were a doll being prepared as a Christmas gift. As much as I had worried about Oliver’s family’s acceptance, especially after hearing of his mother’s disdain, I was completely ill-prepared for the reception by Oliver’s grandmother.
She whisked me away from Oliver almost as soon as we arrived at her house and told him to “begone,” as the bridegroom shouldn’t see his bride on the eve before they wed. “It creates wonderful expectation,” she added with a twinkle in her pale blue eyes.
Clearly, Oliver had gotten his looks and his personality from the Camden side of the family.
After a delicious feast in the small dining room of Helen’s cottage, we sat by the fire for dessert, where she pelted me with questions, and I asked a few of my own. It was after that evening that I understood with more clarity the power Oliver’s mother, Caroline Camden, wielded among her family. So strong was her condescension, that poor Helen had chosen to move to this cottage on the far reaches of the Camden property instead of staying in the estate house.
The fact that Oliver had chosen to keep our temporary home at a distance from the estate house inspired more relief as the evening progressed. I’d lived a quiet life as long as I could remember, so solitude didn’t frighten me. In fact, I slipped it on like a pair of well-loved shoes. To dwell within a battlefield at home, on constant watch for veiled threats and criticism? What had Oliver endured during his life to use whatever wealth he could manage to ensure my safety from his own mother?
As morning dawned, I glanced out the window to view the majestic English countryside. I’d never seen a world so green and lush, even if it was early February. The mountains comforted me with their presence, so much the same as those back home, yet different. If my new world included people like Helen Camden, little Victoria, and Oliver, then I could make Fenwick my home forever.
I’d barely finished breakfast in my room when a knock at the door welcomed Helen, along with one of her housemaids and…Victoria, all smiles. The housemaid held an armful of gowns and Helen carried a basket of ribbons and other paraphernalia.
“Sadie!” Victoria ran full force at me and wrapped her arms about my waist. “We’re going to be sisters.”
“Indeed we are.” I laughed and lowered myself to hug her properly. “I believe you’ve grown since last I saw you.”
Her smile bloomed into double dimples.
I looked from Victoria to Helen. “What are you all doing here?”
“Every bride deserves some bridesmaids to help her prepare for her wedding day.” Helen chuckled and spilled the basket onto the bed.
I looked from one face to the other, her declaration taking much too long to comprehend. I’d anticipated a solitary endeavor, much like Jane Eyre on her ill-fated wedding day, but here I was, surrounded by laughter and more excitement than I’d ever garnered in my life.
“And, I brought a few gowns from which you may choose.” Helen gestured for the maid, Aggie, to place the gowns across the bed. “I saw your travel clothes, and none of those will do for a wedding day, my dear. Your wedding day should be magical.”
“Oh Mrs. Camden, I couldn’t.”
“No.” She wagged a finger at me. “None of this ‘Mrs. Camden’ business. You are to be my family, dear girl, which means you shall call me Helen. We don’t put on airs here, Sadie.” She waved about the room. “One of the benefits of living away from the estate house.”
The gowns, three in various shades and styles of white, drew me as if they held some sort of enchantment. Each with their own delicate and unique designs looked like something any woman at Biltmore would wear. Much too nice for me. I shook my head again.
“Appease an old woman. I’ve longed to pour my feminine delights on another female, but my daughter-in-law is not of a mind to take my hospitality unless it is in the form of money.” She took one of my hands into hers. “Allow me this indulgence, to give you and my dear grandson a wedding day you will not quickly forget.”
“You barely know me. Why are you so kind to me?”
“Dear girl, I can already tell from our conversation last night that you are the perfect match for our Oliver.” Helen examined me, her smile softening. “He’s always carried a gentle heart, and to know he broke with his mother and forfeited his inheritance to wed you, deserves a great deal of celebration. If you are special to him, you are special to me.”
“And me,” Victoria added, sitting down on the nearest chair with a bounce. “But I already liked you long before Ollie ever did.”
I hoped I smiled at Victoria, but my mind was still processing what Helen said. “Oliver gave up his inheritance for me?”
“Ah, I see he hasn’t told you. His brother, Robert, inherits most of the estate as firstborn, but Oliver’s mother had some family money of her own she used as leverage against our dear boy. He would not be controlled.”
Something akin to a whimper gurgled up from my throat, but Helen shook her head.
“Never you mind. He has an allowance from me, which remains until my death. He’s never tended toward extravagance, so the amount should keep you humble, but comfortable.” She patted my cheek, her face wreathed in smiles. “Now, let’s choose that gown, shall we?”
I couldn’t move. My eyes burned and my breath shivered out in an attempt to control my waiting tears. “He’s the very best of men, I think.”
“Yes, yes he is.” She searched my face, her expression softening to a wobbly bottom lip. “And you will do quite well for him. I am sure.”
My eyes filled so fast with tears I turned away to keep her from seeing them, but she seemed to understand. After collecting myself, I asked Victoria to help me choose a gown. We settled on a lovely Irish lace bodice overlaying a white silk underdress. The scalloped neckline highlighted more of my skin than I usually exposed with my collared servants’ dresses, but Helen oohed over its delicate look and sashed waistline.
And then it happened, just like in Cinderella. The simple servant transformed into—I blinked at my reflection as Helen and her housemaid placed little white rosettes into my intricately designed hair— a lady.
A bride.
“You look like a princess,” Victoria exclaimed, sliding her fingers over my skirt.
I’d never worn white and I’d certainly never dressed in anything as delicate and lovely as this gown, but with Oliver’s love, Victoria’s admiration, and Helen’s confidence, I stepped completely into my new identity. Belonging. Hope.
“I barely recognize myself,” I whispered.
“What?” Helen laughed. “Look at that smile on your face, the blush to your cheeks, and sparkle in your eyes. If I know anything at all, I’d say we’ve merely uncovered the beauty that was there all along.”
Everything about the drive from Helen’s to the church breathed with storybook air. The quaint town, the cobblestone streets and fences, and massive oaks with branches reaching out and up as if waiting for a celestial embrace.
And then there was the church. A masterpiece of stone and steeple, poised on a little knoll which led down to a beautiful lake, all framed in by those emerald mountains. Sunlight blinked through powdery clouds and glistened against the water like fairy lights. My own little fairy tale.
“St. Peter’s Chapel,” Helen offered as the carriage drew up to the door of the church. “I was married here years ago in a quiet ceremony like this, at my request. Charles, my Mr. Camden, didn’t have a care for all the social fluff and gave me my way.” She patted my hand. “Charles and Oliver were thick as thieves up until his death three years ago, and my dear grandson is so much like his grandfather, dove.”
The endearment pooled warmth through me and I squeezed her hand back, unable to usher up a response. Helen exited the carriage first, assisted by the carriage driver, and I followed, careful to mind the dress.
“Come, let’s adjust your veil.” Helen’s cheeks creased into dimples with her grin. “And then Victoria and I shall find our seats.”
Victoria stood nearby with her hands clasped before her, her body nearly shaking with excitement, and I knew exactly what would make this wedding day even better.
“I’d like Victoria to be my flower girl, if she’s willing?”
Victoria’s eyes widened and her rosebud mouth dropped open.
Helen chuckled. “Well, dove, what’s your answer?”
The little girl looked from her grandmother to me. “But I don’t have any flowers.”
I plucked several from the generous bouquet Helen’s maid had compiled for me, a combination of seasonal crocuses, snowdrops, and irises, and pressed them into Victoria’s hands. “Now you do.”
Her giggle vaulted the distance to my heart.
The look Helen gave me when I turned back to her poured through every ounce of loneliness I’d known in my life and whispered belonging. What a makeshift family. A formerly wealthy gentleman who’d given up his inheritance for an orphaned servant, a prestigious grandmother who had been relegated to a small cottage, and a little girl who desperately longed for a loving mother.
I waited at the door as Helen went ahead and, at her entrance, a simple piano version of “Be Thou My Vision” floated to greet me. Victoria entered, tossing a grin over her shoulder before disappearing into the church, and then I followed. My gaze adjusted to the change in light and immediately found Oliver’s. He stood beside his father, both in black morning coat, gray waistcoat, and pinstriped gray trousers. Oliver wore a purple iris on his lapel, matching the ones in my bouquet—a flower of faith, hope, and courage.
Courage. I smiled and took another step. Love gave me courage.
Oliver stayed by my side from the moment he took my hand in the church to the signing of our names in the church’s registry— February 13, 1916—to the wonderfully simple reception at Helen’s, until he tugged me away with a basket of sandwiches and we were finally alone.
Alone.
As the carriage pulled away from Helen’s house, Oliver wasted no time in renewing the intimacy our few private moments had afforded so far. I didn’t mind at all the way he cradled my face and caressed my mouth, my cheeks, my neck. In fact, his lips encouraged my own exploration. I chased his kiss as he pulled back, and his chuckle dissolved into a moan as he returned his lips to mine. I didn’t know all the intricacies of being his wife, but I embraced this newfound freedom to express the vast emotions pouring through me for him. Kissing seemed an excellent way to show him what words failed to communicate sufficiently.
“Mrs. Camden, you appear to enjoy the benefits of married privacy a great deal. What would your husband think?”
I ran a palm down his cheek, still in awe of the liberties my new position not only allowed, but celebrated. “From the look on his face, I would make the assumption he rather enjoys my newfound freedom.”
“You are rather astute in your observations.”
He proved my assertions correct for another long period of appreciation as the carriage rolled along until he finally pulled away and tucked me in the curve of his side. “We are neither in the place nor the space for us to continue our mutual enjoyment, my dear, so before I lose my head and ravish you in the back of a carriage, I shall usher up all of my self-control and encourage you to think about gatehouses.”
“Gatehouses?” Surprise burst from me in a laugh and I placed one of my palms against my heated cheek. “That’s certainly a redirection from impassioned kisses, Mr. Camden.”
He raised a brow, his grin slanted. “Not as redirected as you might think.” His smile spread wide at my look of confusion. “Well, my darling Mrs. Camden, I know I wrote to you about it, but the actuality may prove a bit shocking. With our current circumstances, I wanted to afford you a private home during my time away while still giving you close access to Father and Grandmama. So my father gifted me one of the preexisting structures on the property as a wedding gift—without Mother knowing, of course.”
I studied him. His caution would have inspired worry if I hadn’t trusted him so much. “The gatehouse?”
“It’s actually very castle-like, as I told you.” He looked out the carriage window. “Only on a much smaller scale.”
