Tobias tried to suppress his exasperation. “Yes, Uncle. We have been writing each other for some weeks now. But she would not even speak of a meeting before. And now this. Dinner! I mean, it’s wonderful, but only to happen in the spring. Why wait so long? What has changed? And yet not changed enough for the invitation to apply at once? I am happy, of course, but also at a loss as to how to interpret her intentions. I must say, it is far easier to understand her as a poet than a person.”
He stopped to catch his breath.
His uncle stared at him as if he were a wild creature. Even worse, a wild creature set loose among his books. The horror and fascination were equal upon his face.
“Quite,” was all the earl could manage. He looked with increasing urgency at the open book from which he had already been parted for too long.
“You will come with, won’t you, Uncle?”
The look of horror returned. “To a dinner? With people?”
Tobias sighed. “Yes, that is the general idea.”
“No-o, I don’t think so.”
Tobias’s face fell.
The earl seemed to take pity on him. “Of course, you must go ahead and enjoy yourself without me.”
“I couldn’t possibly go without you,” gasped Tobias. “They are strangers to me. It is likely they have only extended the invitation to me because you were their intended guest, and I am merely being included.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong, dear boy. They have been my neighbors for many years, but even that is a stretch of the definition. It is a good twenty minutes by carriage between our properties. I seldom venture out, as I am sure you know all toowell. And Mr. Grant, as I have explained, keeps his family to himself. We do not truly know each other. It is more a case of knowingofeach other. As such, I am more a stranger to them than you are, since you have corresponded regularly with Miss Grant. It is more likely they have politely included me, knowing I would refuse, to enable them to invite you, the true object of their attention.”
Tobias wasn’t sure how he felt about being the object of someone’s attention. Why did his uncle have to say it like that? His emotions were already a mess. Letters to Miss Grant were the most stressful part of his week—as much a burden to write as hers were a delight to receive. Her prose was as exquisite as her poetry. And so much of her character shone through her words. It was absolutely mesmerizing. But he never allowed himself to stray from the designated path. As instructed, he kept his replies on topic. And the topic was always the same. Miss Grant was relentless in her ambition to improve upon her writing. He did not know how to convince her that it was simply not possible. She was already at the apex of her talent. And what a talent it was!
And yet, behind the flawless lines of her letters, something else was revealed—a woman of candor, curiosity, humor—even sporadic moments of pure mischief! And always, like a dark undercurrent, the fear.
At first, he had assumed it was a form of modesty, concern that her work was somehow lacking. But though they had relaxed in their discourse, and she had come to trust his opinion, the whispering fear remained. Perhaps it was because he had—he really couldn’t help himself—hinted at a visit on more than one occasion. Whether that had made her uncomfortable, he couldn’t say for certain. She hadn’t even acknowledged his subtle references, and he had not insisted.
It had been growing difficult not to insist. Each passing week made him more dissatisfied with their correspondence. He felt he was getting to know her, in spite of the restrictions she had placed. Surely, a meeting was the logical next step?
And if shewasso afraid of him attending upon her in person, why the sudden invitation to dinner? And why only a month or two hence? Tobias could not make heads or tails of it.
Well, he decided, she had opened Pandora’s Box. If she could change her mind about them meeting, he could change the rules also. He would simply come out and ask her directly for an explanation. If they were to be friends—for whom else do you invite to dinner?—he must be able to speak to her in a straightforward manner.
And that was where his confidence failed him. He sat down abruptly, causing his uncle to look up at him through his glasses, his finger holding the place to which he clearly hoped to return in a moment.
“Was there something else, Tobias?”
“Miss Mary Dunbar,” Tobias said simply.
“Ah.” The earl sat back, peeling his glasses from his slender nose once more. “I see.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, this is different, is it not?”
“Is it, though?” Tobias was miserable. “I was a complete blockhead when I attempted to further our acquaintance. I thought the interest was mutual.”
“So you did.”’
“And I wore my heart on my sleeve.”
“I remember.”
“She didn’t like that.”
“It was unfortunate.”
