Mrs. Everard gave me a disapproving look. She didn’t understand the situation—not at all.
Before she could berate me, I crossed the room and sat in one of the armchairs near the table. With a huffed breath, she brushed a curl from her forehead and marched out the door.
She was clearly vexed. But I hadn’t lied to her. I did know very little of love, and I was obligated by my promise to my parents to not allow anything to distract me from my brothers. How could I love them properly if I allowed Owen to continue stealing my heart?
I had been struggling with guilt ever since Charles had locked himself in that chest, and I had nearly lost him. My feelingsfor Owen had clouded my focus. Even if I hated Aunt Ruth for taking away my choice, Mr. Frampton was still the safest one.
It was a good thing that Owen was gone.
“Mr. Everard, will you tell us a story?” Peter asked, breaking the tense silence of the room.
Mr. Everard glanced up at Peter’s request, adjusting his spectacles on his nose with a smile. “Gladly.”
I slumped in relief, grateful to have a change of subject. Mr. Everard was a man of few words, except when he was telling stories. Each story I had heard him tell my brothers seemed to have been invented spontaneously according to his mood and creativity.
Today, he had a somber, thoughtful look in his eyes as he glanced in my direction. He was silent for a long moment.
“Please, don’t mind me.” I folded my hands in my lap, tucking Owen’s letter out of sight under them.
Mr. Everard gave a soft smile before turning his attention back to my brothers. He leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his hands together. Then he began, his voice smooth, easy to listen to.
“There once was a young lady who carried with her a vessel full of water everywhere she went. She treasured this vessel, and cared for it deeply. It had been scratched and worn over her life, and so the water within was what she so attentively nurtured. Never had she let a single drop of that precious water spill. In all her daily activities she held this vessel tightly against her, concealed beneath her thick cloak, so none could see it or touch it, or, what she feared most—steal it.”
Mr. Everard paused deliberately, looking between my brothers and me, lingering longer on my face, as if he could see my thoughts displayed there.
“She often visited the stream from which she had collected the water. It was the only stream she had ever known and thisyoung woman found contentment in walking along its banks with her scarred vessel full of its treasured water. Never did she dream of other streams or other waters.
“Then one day, when this young lady ventured to the stream, she was astonished to find another stream running directly beside it. Unable to help herself, she walked along its banks too. As days passed, she grew attached to this stream and wished her vessel could give place for some of its water. But she knew her vessel was full, and still she infinitely valued the water from the first stream and knew it must not be replaced.”
I felt my throat clench with emotion, feeling the truth behind this story nestle in my heart and remain, as if it intended to make a home there.
“But as days turned into weeks, the young woman’s longing for the new stream began to create fresh scars on her vessel, and soon, she feared, it would break and she would lose every drop of precious water within. So, if only to soothe the ache she felt, she dipped her hand into the new stream and scooped its water into her brimming vessel. Expecting the water would not fit, and overflow onto the rocks, the young woman was amazed to find that the water did not. Instead, the water entered the vessel and remained although it had appeared full. Unsure, the young woman took another scoop of water and poured it into her vessel. It too remained.
“Delighted, this young lady deposited scoop after scoop of water from the stream into her vessel and remarkably, she never spilled a drop from the first stream as she went. Her vessel, it seemed, could not become full. And as she poured water in, she saw the scratches fade from her vessel, and was filled with happiness like she had never before known. She had discovered a brilliant truth: that the water from both streams was infinite, and her vessel could contain it all.”
Mr. Everard paused, finishing his story on a softer tone. “So later in her life, as more streams appeared beside the two she now knew so well, she didn’t hesitate to take water from each, for she now knew she did not have to lose a single drop to gain many.”
When he finished speaking, the room fell into a silence too important to break. How had he known exactly what would tug at my heart more than anything else? The answer was simple. He was Owen’s grandfather.
I thought of the time I climbed that tree ten years ago. I had allowed myself to climb so high, not realizing that I would have to come down eventually. Not realizing that the boy who stood below was too weak to catch me—that I would have to come down alone.
Since arriving here, I had been climbing and climbing that same cursed tree. And now, much like before, I was falling, but it hurt much worse this time. And there was no one waiting to catch me at the bottom. Hope worked that way. It coaxed and encouraged people to climb, never caring to warn them of the fall that was coming.
My heart ached. Perhaps Mr. Everard should have told a story about a young lady who had made a terrible mistake by coming to a beautiful manor in Hampshire. The company and picturesque scenery had stolen her identity, turning her into a happy, giggling girl who climbed waterfalls, admired pink roses, and dreamed of true love and romance. She had lost sight of who she truly was—a girl who knew her purpose and honored it. A girl who couldn’t afford to dream.
CHAPTER 30
Mrs. Kellaway insisted that I join her and the other ladies for tea that afternoon. Despite my inner objections, I had agreed out of politeness.
As Owen had said, I couldn’t avoid them forever.
“The biscuits are quite dry,” Miss Lyons said in an offhand voice. She dunked one into her teacup, letting it soak for several seconds. She wore pink, and I felt my distaste for the color returning. Or perhaps it was just my distaste for Miss Lyons.
Owen’s departure had shocked everyone in the household yet again, and I suspected Miss Lyons was quite bitter toward me. To the others, he seemed to have left because of the awkwardness that the fake engagement had caused. The subject was being thoroughly scrutinized while I kept quiet on the settee.
“I think the answer is simple,” Alice said as she stirred a sugar cube into her tea. “Owen left because he didn’t want to put Miss Downing in a compromising position. The servants have been talking ceaselessly of Grandmother’s falsehood. If Owen remained in the same house as Miss Downing, their rumored engagement might gain credibility amongst the gossipmongers.”
Mrs. Everard lifted one thin eyebrow. “Is it not possible he has left to avoid another matter entirely?” She eyed Miss Lyons. “It is no secret you are seeking his hand.”
