Chapter Fourteen
I am drunk with the honeywine
Of the moon-unfoldedeglantine,
Which fairies catch in hyacinthbowls.
—Percy Bysshe Shelley,“Wine of the Fairies”
Asmile spreadacross Ottilie’s lips even before her she opened her eyes. Jack’s musky scent pervaded the air. She buried her face into his pillow and inhaled, thinking about the events the night before and regretting none of them. Jack had kissed her and confided in her. Then he’d escorted her to his bedroom and bade her goodnight. But his hand had lingered on the doorknob for several seconds as though he battled to uphold the strength of his resolve.
Ottilie sat up and stretched before stepping out of bed and onto a plush beige and gold patterned Persian rug.
A washbasin stood ready in the corner of the room, put there, she imagined, for her privacy. She padded across the room to where her clothing sat neatly arranged on a mahogany and beige tufted lounge chair. A small envelope addressed to her sat atop the pile of clothing. Inside, she found a card with the words,Meet me in the garden, printed in Jack’s neat script.
Ottilie smiled, unsure what to make of Jack’s message. Had he planned for them to spend the day together? She readied herself and made her way downstairs and to the garden at the back of the house. As she stepped outside, she saw Jack sitting at a small table onto which an appropriately clad Lulu unloaded a tray of tea, cakes, and fruit. Jack glanced at her and waved. Then he turned to speak to Lulu, who picked up her tray and walked toward the house.
As Lulu neared, Ottilie stiffened. She did not wish for another encounter with the maid. But to her surprise, the girl greeted her politely.
“Good morning, Miss. I hope you had a good night’s rest. Mr. Bastin is expecting you in the garden.”
“Thank you.” Ottilie eyed the maid and wondered at her seemingly miraculous transformation. She approached the table where Jack awaited her.
“Good morning.” Jack flashed her a wide grin.
“What’s all this?” Ottilie sat beside him and took in the platters containing tea cakes, finger sandwiches, sliced apples, berries, and grapes.
“I thought you might be hungry. It’s already past noon.”
“Is it? I didn’t realize. I must have been more tired than I thought.”
“Well, yesterday was a trying day.” He reached for the teapot and filled Ottilie’s cup.
“Thank you,” she said and scanned the table for a sugar bowl.
He picked up a glass honey pot and placed it beside her tea cup. “I don’t care for sugar; will you take honey?”
“Of course, what a treat.” She spooned a dollop of honey into her tea and stirred.
“Why do we feel the need to mill sugar cane when nature has given us something as perfect as honey? I’ll never understand.”
Ottilie sipped her tea, conscious of Jack watching her as if waiting for her reaction. “You’re right, it’s delicious,” she said, replacing her cup in its saucer.
“Do you know what else honey pairs well with?”
“Most things, I imagine.”
He reached for a slice of apple, dipped it into the honey jar, and held it out to her.
Ottilie eyed the dripping honey that ran from the apple onto his thumb.
“I’m not touching that.” She laughed. “It’s a sticky mess.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll hold it for you. Taste it.”
Ottilie hesitated before leaning forward and biting a piece from the apple. Jack put the rest into his mouth.
“What do you think?” he asked after swallowing his morsel.
