Page 19 of The Sisters of Sea View
Emily’s face heated anew. How young she sounded in these few lines. How immature. Had Mr. Stanley looked at the date and realized she had been but a girl of seventeen when she wrote this? Or did he think she was still so ... so ... what? Still so desperately in love with Charles Parker? Still determined to marry him at any cost? How forward and desperate he must think her!
Another uncomfortable thought niggled at her. Was there still a lingering kernel of truth to the words, these several years later? If there was, Mr. Stanley needn’t know it. Especially now that any future with Charles seemed out of reach.
She rose and started toward the door, glancing at the mantel clock as she did so. It was after ten. She stopped where she was. It was too late for her to knock on his door. Then again, was it appropriate for her to go to a man’s bedchamber at any time—her former room or not? Not in their old life, but perhaps now that Sea View was a guest house? Under what pretext could she go to his room? She should wait until morning. Make a point to catch him on his way to breakfast or before he left the house. Emily paced across the library, mind spinning, pulse pounding. No. She would not sleep a wink if she did not talk to him first.
The night air was growing cool, so she retrieved her shawl from the back of the chair, wrapped it around her shoulders, and started up the stairs. She didn’t know if Sarah had already gone to bed or not. Emily hoped she would not catch her at Mr. Stanley’s door again.
Reaching the landing, she walked swiftly and quietly down the passage. Knowing the way by heart, the darkness posed little hindrance. She reached the door and was relieved to see a sliver of light beneath it. Good. He had not yet gone to sleep.
She knocked softly.
“Yes?” came his low voice.
She did not want to call a reply that might be overheard, so she simply waited.
He tentatively inched open the door, brows rising when he saw who it was. “Miss Emily, I ... Did you need something?”
He stood there in trousers and white shirt, open at the neck. She had never seen a man in his shirtsleeves before Mr. Stanley’s arrival, and now she had seen him twice in partial dress. His hair was rumpled, as were the bedclothes behind him, where a book lay open on the counterpane.
“Forgive the intrusion,” she whispered. “I could not sleep until I told you. What you read... I wrote that years ago, when I was fresh from the schoolroom. I did not want you to think that I ... that I am, well, desperate or lovelorn, or some such.”
“Are you not?”
“No!”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “I am relieved to hear it. And the handkerchief?”
Fiddle.“I simply never returned it.”
“I see. Well. Thank you for telling me.” His gaze lingered on her—her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth.
She swallowed. “G-good night, Mr. Stanley.”
“Good night, Miss Emily. Sleep well.”
Emily doubted she would. Her encounter with Mr. Stanley had not settled her after all. In fact, quite the opposite.
Early the next morning, Sarah again heard Mr. Henshall leaving the house. Emily, her hair in paper curls, slept on, undisturbed.
Pulling a dressing gown around herself and slipping on shoes, Sarah hurried downstairs and followed Mr. Henshall outside. Which way had he gone? Toward the water or toward town?
The sound of jingling tack caused her to step back. A dairy farmer delivering cans of milk to Westmount or Woolbrook.
He tipped his hat to her. “Mornin’.”
“Good morning,” she called back. Self-conscious about her attire, Sarah pulled the lapels closer together and added brightly, “Just out for a morning stroll.”
Giving up the idea of trying to follow anyone dressed as she was, Sarah returned to her room and began to wash, wondering all the while what Callum Henshall was up to.
Once fully dressed in a printed cotton dress and fichu, Sarah went back downstairs to talk to her mother, planning to ask for advice. Would she be awake yet? Mamma had been sleeping so much more of late, and Sarah was growing increasingly concerned. They had all hoped the move to Sidmouth would be good for Mamma, but so far there seemed little evidence of improvement.
Reaching Mamma’s door, Sarah knocked softly. No answer. She must still be asleep. Sarah remembered when she used to be an early riser.
She knocked more loudly, and when there was no response, put her mouth near the wood and called, “Mamma?”
Nothing.
Her concern heightened.
