P.S. I Love You Page 12

  Her mother had given Cora her face. Each day when she looked in the mirror, she could remember what her mother looked like. She had also given her the gift of books and the love of reading. Her father had given her music and an appreciation for learning and teaching. Much of the pleasure in her life came directly from them.

  What of Simon? Just being around him or planning something special to do for him filled her with exhilaration that she’d never before experienced and that she felt she could never get enough of—it whispered of happily ever after.

  When the dinner was finished, the guests began moving back to the ballroom.

  Cora stepped up beside May and hugged her friend. “Thank you for wanting to lift my spirits, but it isn’t my birthday for several months.”

  May replied, “That’s what made it a surprise. I thought you could use a little lift tonight.”

  The two women walked arm in arm to the open doors near the terrace. “You don’t need to stay with me. Go enjoy your party.” Then with a wink, she added, “and Lord Saalfeld.”

  “He’ll be playing cards for a while. It gives me a chance to ‘hang with you’ as my mother would say.” A cool breeze floated through the doors. Before May could say another word, a gentleman bowed toward her.

  “Might I have this dance?”

  Though her answer was slow, May accepted and was led into the dancing crowd.

  Cora turned to look outside but heard, “Miss Rey, would you care to dance?” Wetheridge again stood before Cora.

  It was just another piece of evidence that she would never make it as the star of a bachelorette series. She wasn’t interested in leading men on when she had no interest in their attention. Before answering, she looked around to make sure there was no one who would overhear. “No. It would be untruthful to show you any partiality. I wouldn’t want to give you or the guests here the wrong impression that I favor a suit from you. I don’t. Please don’t ask again.”

  Wetheridge’s jaw clenched, and fire seemed to light his eyes. Without a word, he spun on his heel and exited through the open doors onto the veranda.

  Cora fixed her gaze on the dancers before her, but directly across the room was Simon, his gaze on her. He stood next to his mother and one sister. He whispered something to his mom and stepped to leave them, his eyes never wavering from her own.

  Her reasoning warred with her emotions. She wanted desperately to dance with him. She craved the riot of pleasure just to be held in his arms, to earn a word or a smile. Equally as much, though, she didn’t know what she really wanted. One dance wouldn’t hurt. No, in fact, it would be just the opposite—enough pleasure to muddle my judgment. She turned away from his gaze. Nothing should be determined at two in the morning anyway. I don’t even know what I need to consider. Until she did, she’d be more cautious.

  Simon continued to move around the crowded edges, greeting a few people in passing.

  Cora decided not to decide but instead determined the evening was at an end—for her. She walked as quickly as she could to the staircase and ascended. From the top, she glanced back and saw Simon standing several feet away from the bottom stair.

  After Cora retreated to her room and changed into a nightrail, the window seat called to her more strongly than the quilt-topped bed. There was too much to think about to sleep. Crossing the room, she saw a letter sitting on the little desk by the door. She knew it must be from Simon. Could she face it now? She’d practically run from him moments ago. It must have been written and delivered for her to find upon returning from the ball. She picked it up and held it in front of her, deciding not to open it yet. She slid onto the bench under the window and gazed out.

  Though there were thousands more visible stars in the sky, she marveled that the same constellations moved across this century in the same nightly dance. The waxing moon burned a bright hole through the black satin of the western sky. Her window faced the rear of the house, overlooking the rose garden. It’s the same and yet very different here.

  Her mind knew what she should do, but her heart was confused. It was practical to return to her time and her work. Her chest squeezed painfully at leaving Simon behind. She’d never been so romantic as to believe that there was a one-and-only person to fall in love with. This situation was evidence to prove that. If she’d never transported back in time, she would have never met Simon, and her one chance at love would have been sequestered behind the folds of centuries past.

  The letter in her hand now was part of the injustice. Cora fanned it back and forth. Nothing it held could be important to her. She pressed it to her lap and smoothed her hands over the top. She wouldn’t be here much longer. The thought made her eyes misty.

  How could the universe play a trick like that on either of them? Cora shook her head. She couldn’t blame her meandering thoughts on logic. Still, her heart beat out an argument to it. What if there were a one and only, and this was how they were to meet? What if the contents of this letter helped her understand and make a decision?

  She wondered if she would even fit into Simon’s world. Her logic jumped on that topic and rattled off unique experiences that seemed to fit. She grew up in a rural area with only her father for company most days, and her interests were vastly different than other girls she went to school with—played several instruments, rode horses competitively, hunted with her dad. Okay. There were a few things that definitely fit in this century.

  The letter, weighing nearly nothing, rested heavily on her knee. She reached for it, knowing it was too late to believe that Simon was just a friend or a vacation fling. His words, his thoughts were important to her because he was. It was too late for her not to get her heart broken when she left but maybe not too late for him.

  Cora slid her finger beneath the wafer of wax and broke the seal.

  Dear Cora,

  Everett, at my request, has conveyed to you about the untimely arrival and lingering of my family as a result of a few scandalous rumors, which I promise will not touch you.

  With deep regard,

  Simon

  P.S. You must know I wouldn’t risk your reputation even for my own selfish desire to be with you this evening. I will only offer you one dance. Of course, when you read this, the evening will be at an end, but I want you to know the treasure your company is to me—the relief you offer me of being myself, to put away pretense. I dare to hope that I offer you some degree of pleasure in return. Please do not consider my inattention a lack of favor, for it is the contrary that drove my motivation tonight.

  Cora blinked back tears before they could fall and leaned her head against the wall. She’d muddled this up well and good.

  Chapter 11

  Simon

  It was an hour past noon when the short caravan of carriages and wagons traveling from the Cottrells’ party reached the lane that would eventually lead to Everett’s house. Simon signaled Everett to pull back. This smaller portion of the party was moving on to Everett’s house for a few days.

  Simon turned his horse off the lane and back toward the way they’d come to allow the baggage wagons to continue, and Everett did the same, only stepping back onto the road after the last of them had passed. From this distance, Everett would be able to talk loudly enough for Simon to hear without broadcasting the conversation to swell the current stream of gossip.

  “You said you didn’t want to talk about the incident,” Everett reminded Simon.

  “Well, now I do.” But he didn’t. He didn’t know where to start. Questions swirled through his head faster than he could snatch one to consider. Instead, he blurted out, “Cora could have acknowledged what Lady Radnor saw. We were alone, embracing. It was exactly what she thought she saw.” Simon glanced at Everett to gauge his response, but Everett just nodded and looked back toward the road. “Cora could have forced a marriage, and I wouldn’t have fought it.”

  This time, Everett’s gaze didn’t leave Simon though he held off giving an opinion. Simon continued, “I would have considered m
yself lucky. We would marry, and I would have proudly announced it to anyone who would have listened. The whole country would have seen my joy. There would have been no scandal because I wouldn’t have been trapped but rescued.” Simon’s voice softened as the last sentence trailed to an end. More to himself than to Everett, he added, “But she didn’t.”

  Their horses clomped on the road, and the baggage wagons rattled ahead of them. What had he missed? He saw her longing. He felt her passion. He thought it was love. Had he been a fool over it all? They rode in silence until Simon asked, “Why didn’t she, Everett?” He wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

  He didn’t want to consider what it might be though he’d lain awake the nights since trying to answer it to himself. Maybe she wasn’t sure she wanted to live in England. Maybe she wanted to choose from many advantageous offers and not get tied to anyone yet. Maybe … she wanted her husband whole. There was a prick at his mind, but it dulled quickly. He’d never seen pity on her face when she looked at him. He had to believe better of her.

  What would she have to give up to marry him? On the surface, she seemed ready to give up much—her home, her friends, her country. What more would it cost her to choose him? Did she consider that price too high? Simon admitted to himself that he knew little of Cora’s requirements for a husband. He knew there was friendship. He knew there was attraction. He decided that his next step would be to show her what it would be like to love him—what their life together might be like.

  “That’s the ticket. Thank you, Everett.”

  Everett smirked and shook his head, a quizzical arch to his brow. “Glad to have helped,” he answered.

  Simon heard the unspoken question in his reply but didn’t elaborate. With new confidence and a direction, he sat taller in the saddle. Cora might have come to England with an idea of marriage, but he had a plan of his own. “Race you to the front!” Simon called to Everett and kicked his horse to a canter.

  At the end of the drive was Everett’s home. It seemed to lounge against a thick edge of ancient woods, dignified, old, and welcoming. The gray stone reached three stories high in the main building, but a wing only two stories high extended to the south, and beyond that, one story looked squat at the end. It was never intended to be a grand house. The oldest part began as a modest stone home, but as the years passed, and families built on, a manor house emerged. The property was never entailed, and his father had passed it to Everett along with the accompanying income and responsibilities.

  Simon had met Everett at school—two thirteen-year-old boys shuffled off before their time. Simon thought fondly of the days he’d spent in the oldest part of the home. The children’s wing was as far away from guests as possible. It was one thing for the home to look dignified and something completely different for the children to act so.

  The carriages stopped on the drive along the front of the house, and the wagons of luggage trundled past to the rear entrance. A line of footmen stood at the ready to assist the visitors to alight. Simon took his time dismounting his horse and giving the groom directions for its care, all the while watching in his side vision, gauging when to approach, so he could lead Cora out. The moment he saw her, he stepped in front of the ready footman and extended his hand.

  Cora’s expression brightened, and a giggle revealed her surprise. Her hand in his felt as right as she had felt in his arms. His fingers tightened momentarily. She could imagine that he did so to secure her step down, but it was an instinctive response of his own.

  It seemed now that he’d decided to woo her, his heart would take advantage of any touch.

  With her feet on solid ground, Simon transferred her hand to his other, which safely tucked it in his elbow. And he could have—maybe even should have—extended his arm away from his body, but he didn’t, preferring her hand to brush against his coat as they walked.

  Simon leaned closer and said, “Welcome to Elder Weald, Everett’s home.”

  Cora’s gaze scanned the property as they walked toward the house, her steps slowing the closer they drew. Before mounting the stairs, she smiled up at Simon. He could have sworn his heart flipped over. When he realized she’d caught him staring at her for moments too long, he cleared his throat and asked, “Would you like some time to rest after the journey here?”

  She stopped just inside the entry hall, her eyes following the staircases that arose on either side connecting to the mezzanine level and more stairs rising to the third floor. “It’s been barely over an hour’s time. No, I don’t want to rest. Let’s explore.” She released his arm as they entered through the massive wooden door, and he immediately missed the connection.

  “Let’s,” he replied and retrieved her hand, tucking it again in his elbow. He considered what might interest Cora most and began leading her across the home to the back lawns. Once outside, he added, “The stables, first?” Her eyes twinkled in the morning light as she gave a quick nod, so he turned them away from the kitchen gardens and toward the large stables behind the children’s wing.

  “I like it here.”

  Simon looked toward her. “Is it much like your home?”

  “Yes, but nothing like it, too. This home is much larger than mine, but I’d say the quarters for our horses could have rivaled these.” She pointed toward the stables. “The paddock and barn were just behind my bedroom. I used to sneak out to pet the horses when I was younger and to ride them when I was older.”

  Simon noticed a wistful sound to her voice and a gleam in her eye that looked like unshed tears. He realized because both her mother and father had passed on, Cora probably came to England because she didn’t have that home to live in anymore—such was the way with inheritance. A strong urge to protect her, to care for her, to make a home with her overwhelmed him.

  She was in the situation that his sisters could find themselves in should he die before securing their futures. Perhaps Cora had the advantage there, being an heiress. She could still afford to make some choices for herself.

  “Should you come up missing in the middle of the night, I’ll look for you here first.”

  A tenuous smile tipped her lips upward. “It seems a little harder to sneak around these stables with so many hands employed in the care of the horses and carriages. I’ll first have to make friends with them.”

  “You rode your horses at night?”

  Cora opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

  He waited for a moment.

  Then she said, “We had an arena. There was no danger to either of us on a bright night.”

  They wandered the stables, commenting on the horses they passed in the stalls. “This beautiful horse is mine.” The horse poked his nose above the gate and nudged Simon’s shoulder. “This is Hrimfaxi.”

  Cora nodded and said, “Frost Mane.” Simon looked at Cora with surprise, but she continued, “He pulled the night across the sky. My father had an interest in that kind of thing.”

  When they reached the other end, they exited toward the carriage house. “May I take you for a ride tomorrow morning if I can secure a vehicle from Everett?”

  “I’d like that, but even more, I’d love you to teach me to drive.”

  “My pleasure.” He stopped walking, and Cora turned toward him. “In the morning?” he questioned, remembering that she said she took exercise early each day. He was still selfish enough to hope for as much time as possible with her.

  Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Before breakfast,” Cora answered. “I’m sure whatever dangers lurk in these woods will not need my attention tomorrow.”

  Simon was pleased that he ranked above her exercise now.

  Very early the next morning, a small gig waited in the drive with a groom standing ahead of the single horse harnessed to the buggy. Along with Everett, Simon had inspected the conveyances carefully the night before, choosing the right vehicle.

  This one was light enough to be pulled by one horse, and with only two wheels it was easy to maneuver, making it easier to learn to
drive. It was in excellent condition, and perhaps the most important factor was the diminutive seat. The two of them would barely fit if they sat very, very closely. It was perfect. He found great excitement in the prospect of sitting beside her.

  The sun had risen within the last hour, and fog sat heavily along the river that snaked through the meadow in front of the house. Simon extended his arm and escorted Cora down the steps at the front walkway.

  “Well, there’s hardly room for my dress let alone the two of us,” Cora quipped.

  Simon worried he had assumed too much and feared he had offended her.

  “I guess you’ll have to squeeze in closely,” she said and winked at him.

  With relief, he helped her into the gig, pushed her dress in, and then hopped up beside her. As predicted, their legs ran alongside each other’s when they were seated. Although Cora adjusted the cape she wore, she didn’t pull away from Simon’s touch.

  “I’m so excited to learn this. I woke up several times last night thinking about it.” Cora pushed as much of her dress as she could behind her feet and under the seat, drew the riding apron into place, and sat with the same posture she had when she rode a horse.

  “The first thing is to put your right foot on the footrest at the bottom of the dash instead of flat on the floorboard.”

  “To keep from being pitched forward, right?” Cora made the adjustment, and then looked toward Simon for the next instruction. Her full gaze smiled up at him, taking his breath away.

  He dropped his eyes to see her boot peeking out from beneath her skirts. “Exactly.” Again he wished he had already earned her love, and they were going out for a romantic drive—a very short drive and a stop in the woods near the ruins for a private moment.

  Simon held the leather ribbons in one hand and cupped his left hand around the backside of hers, forming them into the shape needed to hold the reins, threading the leather ribbons through her fingers, securing them in her palm. Of course, he could have demonstrated the hold with the end of the reins in his own hand while she followed his example farther up, but where was the pleasure in that? He was definitely enjoying the contact even though both of them wore gloves.