“That, uh, will be quite enough.” He wiped his abruptly perspiring brow with the back of a hand. She gazed up at him with a frown, clearly wondering what she had done wrong. His frown turned up slightly.
“You most certainly did Madam Kamescro justice in your rendition of her dance. However, perhaps you should avoid such demonstrations when in noble company. I fear others would neither understand nor appreciate your unique gypsy education. And now, if you will excuse me, I desire a long walk.”
Without another word, he exited the ballroom on his way to the fields, more bewildered than ever.
…
Late afternoon found Lucy huddled inside Henry’s childhood hideaway behind the secret panel. Sunlight filtered through the small, still-grimy window high on the wall of the narrow space, doing little to illuminate her confusion over Henry’s abrupt departure. While pondering the situation, she realized several truths that had somehow eluded her before. Firstly, Henry’s general demeanor toward her had altered over the past weeks from open animosity to kindness to…something more. Secondly, she had found him watching her no longer in the manner of a critic, but in a more unnerving way. Finally, she was coming to accept the astonishing realization that she reciprocated his possible feelings—a fact that merely added to her general sense of bafflement.
Weary of the cycle of unresolved thought, she began picking through a stack of dust-covered books. Her attempt to brush them clean produced a series of sneezes that eventually forced her to wipe her nose discreetly on a sleeve. Then, a familiar book tucked into the corner caught her eye. She leaned to retrieve it and brushed away a thick coat of dust.
“Robinson Crusoe,” she whispered. Memories of that day long ago crowded the space, nearly springing to life in her vivid recollection. Henry had seemed glum then, but her presence had appeared to revive him. It was no wonder she had been so effusive then. That day had represented the peak of her hopes, the apex of her future plans. Little did she know at the time that her castle of dreams would soon come crashing down.
As she cracked open the book, a new round of dust erupted from its pages, producing another fit of sneezing. This time, however, when she looked up from wiping her sleeve, a face startled her.
“Lud! You surprised me, Henry!”
He dipped through the panel door and stood before her, tall and handsome, his features as sullen as they were on the day she first met him. “A commotion behind the wall caught my attention. I did not expect to find you here.”
After he failed to move, she attempted to engage him in conversation. “Did you find your walk…suitable?”
“It served the desired purpose, yes.”
“And the weather was amenable?”
“Yes. A pleasant temperature and sporadic cover of clouds. A gentle breeze to wick away warmth.” He paused. “I trust your afternoon passed contentedly.”
“Yes, it has.” However, she knew it to be a lie as the words left her lips. She lowered guilt-ridden eyes to the floor.
“You do notseemcontent, Lucy.”
She glanced up at him and knew the time for frank conversation had arrived. She drew a deep breath. “I am not content.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
She looked away as thoughts roiled in her head. She wished to discuss the growing feelings between them. However, suitable words failed to emerge. After a tense delay, he lurched toward her and seated himself by her side on the small bench. The tiny space left them touching hip to hip. She rejected the notion to stand and instead tightly gripped the book. She cut her eyes toward him. Henry’s brow contorted in a knot, and he wrung his hands. His jaw flexed as if about to expel words. When he finally did, she focused her full attention on his downcast face.
“I must confess I have been less than forthcoming with you.”
She drew a sharp breath and waited for some resolution to the impasse. He tried but seemed to suffer the same paralysis of speech that afflicted her.
“It is simply… Well, you see… I mean to say…”
He fell silent. Then his face fell lower and his fidgeting hands came apart to hang limply between his knees.
“Yes, Henry?”
He abruptly stood and stepped toward the panel before facing her. His eyes bore defeat. “Regardless of my personal feelings, I cannot…”
Her eyes grew narrow. “Cannot what?”
His hands clenched into fists before going limp as he apparently discarded the desired response. Then he sighed. “It is nothing. I meant not to disturb your solitude with my troubles. Please forgive me.”
Without waiting for her response, he backed through the small opening and gently closed the panel door. In his absence, the dim space seemed darker still, and the book became a dead weight in her hands.
Chapter Nineteen
When Lucy chose to take supper in her room that evening, worry consumed Henry. He could not help but suspect his awkward invasion of her privacy had dampened her spirits. As a result, he was pacing the west hallway when the world shifted beneath his feet.
