Page 18 of The Sisters of Sea View
“My books?”
Sarah huffed. “It would take hours to move all your books! You can live without them for a month.”
“Is that how long he plans to be here?”
“Perhaps longer, assuming you don’t scare him off sooner. Please don’t scowl so. I know you pride yourself on your looks, and that scowl is not flattering.”
A month without her books? Thankfully, there were plenty more in the library downstairs. Better yet, this would give her an excuse to visit Wallis’s library more often.
Emily asked, “What do we know about this Mr. Stanley?”
“Next to nothing. Although he seems a gentleman.”
In her mind’s eye, Emily again saw the man’s bare chest, and the warm way he had looked at her. He was certainly not one of the elderly invalids they had expected. She felt her irritation fade. While she still hoped Charles would renew his addresses to her, in the meantime, perhaps this guest house business would prove more pleasant than she’d thought.
That night, Emily sat up late reading in the Sea View library by the light of a lamp with a glass shade.
“Miss Summers?”
Emily slowly looked up and saw Mr. Stanley in the threshold. She said, “You had better call me Miss Emily, for there are several Miss Summerses in residence.”
“Miss Emily,” he said, hands hidden behind his back, his face puckered in apology. “I gather I have been given your room?”
“Oh.” She waved away his concern. “Only my former room.”
“I do apologize if my presence here is inconvenient.”
“Not at all, Mr. Stanley. You are very welcome and have nothing to apologize for.” She set aside her book and stood. “It is simply a new situation for us, opening the house to guests. I do hope my—your—room is comfortable?”
“Yes. And filled with books, which is just as I like.”
Her interest rose. “You are welcome to borrow any that interest you.”
“Thank you. Um ... there is one book I thought you might wish to have returned to you.” From behind his back he pulled forth a leather-bound journal.
She recognized it with a jolt.
Her diary.
He ducked his head, embarrassment creasing his features. Her own face heated in response.
“I am afraid I opened the cover—not realizing what it was. And, um, this fell out.” He held out the journal and a folded handkerchief, the skillfully embroidered monogram quite visible:cPs. Charles’s initials.
She thought of all those pages of scrawled entries, detailing her girlish preoccupations, frustrations, romantic fancies, and subsequent heartache.
Stricken, she breathed, “Did you read it?”
He shifted foot to foot. “To be completely truthful, I did read the first page. As soon as I realized it was a personal diary—your diary—I closed it. Upon my honor, that is all I read.”
What in the world had she written on the first page? She hoped nothing too mortifying.
“Thank you for explaining, Mr. Stanley. And for returning it to me.”
He bowed, swiveled on his heel, and left.
Sitting down once more, Emily pulled the lamp closer. She opened the diary to the first page of writing and read with beating heart.
I will love Charles Parker until the day I die! He found me, crying, after Viola was taken away to meet with yet another surgeon. Charles sat beside me to comfort me and gave me his handkerchief. It smells of bergamot. Of him! I have not yet returned it and never shall. At least, not until we are married! And I will marry him one day, if it is the last thing I do....
