‘Ask me some other time,’ Lily said. ‘Suffice to say that everything you’ve heard about me wanting to tread my own path, find myself, be free from responsibility … It’s all true. But walking away from things– fromrelationships– that seemed too hard to handle has quite rightly had consequences for me. Doing the easier thing, the thing that feels like it’s going to protect you … It isn’t always easy, in the end.’
‘Oh,’ Amy breathed, thoroughly taken aback at what this implied.
‘One thing I’ve learned,’ Lily went on, ‘is that when you love someone– in whatever capacity– you shouldn’t hold back. You shouldn’t play it safe, or try to hoard that love in case you lose it. Love doesn’t work like other things– it’s not mathematical. When you hoard it, it withers and dies. When you give it away, your hands are free to receive and you end up with more. It comes back to you in some form, bigger and stronger, even if it’s from a source you don’t expect.’
‘That might be the wisest thing you’ve ever said to me,’ she told her mother.
‘And I saya lotof wise things,’ Lily said, less serious now, ‘whether or not you recognise them as such.’
Amy glanced at her clock. ‘I should probably get going,’ she said. ‘But thank you, for your advice and for being so honest with me. It’s helped. I’m glad I called.’
‘Anytime, darling,’ Lily said. ‘Maybe come and see me for a holiday when you next get time off work. Or perhaps I could come and see you in the UK sometime.’
‘Either, or both,’ said Amy, ‘I’d really like that. I love you.’
Chapter 28
Amy arrived at Rowton Hall just after seven o’clock, ready to help with whatever last-minute preparations were needed before the gates opened at nine. Amazingly, the event was a sell-out– and several magazines and newspapers had stated their intent to turn up, take photos and report on what one feature had already called ‘the RomFest phenomenon’.
As Amy wandered around the stalls, stages and food and drink stations that had been set up over the previous week, she felt pride surge in her chest. She and Sam had done this: between them, they’d taken what had seemed a crazy idea and created something that promised to be great. As usual, Carolyn had been right. They made a great team.
He saw her coming and ducked into the house before she could reach him, clutching a clipboard as if to indicate there was something urgent he had to attend to. Dismayed, Amy got stuck in to helping one of the drinks vendors unpack stacks of recyclable cups, then with writing out the romance-themed cocktail menu in chalk paint on several large blackboards. As she artfully scribed the words ‘Ice Queen: £6’, she was confronted by how much had changed since she and Kit had drunk giant G&Ts in his kitchen after she’d refused Hugh’s marriage proposal. He’d insisted then that there was a soft centre beneath the chilly persona she affected, and he’d been right.
She caught another glimpse of Sam as she surveyed the various stages that had been set up for authors’ talks, then checked the T-shirt stalls to see if they needed any help. There was a variety of slogans on offer, all linked to stations around the festival that celebrated beloved romantic tropes: #historicalheroine, #forbiddenlove, #friendstolovers, #enemiestolovers and #soulmates. Again, he found an excuse to avoid her. It was miserable; every time he disappeared from view, determined not to be anywhere near her, felt like a punch in the stomach.
‘This is fuckingcrazy,’ Kit said when he arrived just after nine. His eyes swept up and down the fields to the rear of Rowton Hall, already alive with traders, volunteers, RomFest employees and the first guests. The car park was filling up, the distant windows of stationary vehicles glinting in the late-August sunshine. ‘I’m amazed, Amy, and not because I didn’t expect this to be great– but because even I hadn’t imagined the size and scale of what you’ve achieved. Carolyn must be cock-a-hoop.’
‘She seems pretty chuffed,’ Amy said. ‘She’s coming later, so I hope she’s as impressed in person as she’s been from a distance.’
‘Something tells me you have nothing to worry about,’ Kit said, eyeing a nearby food stall that sold pancakes topped with edible prints of famous heroes’ faces. ‘As a young lad, I used to dream of smothering Mr Rochester in something edible,’ he sighed immediately after buying one and squeezing a bottle of maple syrup over his plate. ‘You, Amy Perry, have made a dream come true this morning.’
The day unfolded almost exactly as planned. By lunchtime, Rowton Hall’s grounds were full of people in hashtag T-shirts, flower crowns (a last-minute innovation, and a popular one) and carrying ‘RomFest’-stamped paper bags, presumably containing merchandise they’d bought. Food and drink vendors were doing a roaring trade, while the author talks and Q&As Amy had set up were going smoothly. People were smiling and laughing … There was joy in the air. Hope. A belief that love, whatever form it took and however it might end, was always worth celebrating. In spite of Sam’s continued coldness, Amy felt elated.
As the afternoon wore on and Philippa’s much-anticipated talk drew nearer, Amy’s nerves began to fray. She met Nisha at one of the large caterers’ tents, where she’d kindly been allowed to store her costume for the dance showcase. As Nisha helped her into her stays and gown, then fiddled with her hair until it had been coaxed into an impressively authentic updo, Amy tried not to nibble on her nails or tap her feet.
‘There,’ Nisha said. ‘You look perfect. Go get him.’ Amy didn’t bother to ask what she meant.
Walter had been given the job of compèring the dance showcase, and he made a great fuss of praising Sam and Amy’s efforts before calling them to join him on the hardwood portable dance floor that had been laid especially for the event. Amy gulped and made her way towards him at the same time as Sam emerged from a crowd on the opposite side of the spectators’ circle. It was all she could do not to gasp.
He should have looked ridiculous. He was dressed up like the lord of the manor she’d always sneered at him for being: leather boots, black breeches, a white shirt, plus a silk-fronted waistcoat and jacket with tails. The effect was magnificent. Heart-stopping.
When Amy got closer, she could see that the blue pattern on Sam’s waistcoat almost exactly matched the shade of her dress. Had this been Thomasina’s plan all along? If so, Amy couldn’t help wondering why the hell she’d foisted the Quality Street monstrosity on her.
She smoothed down the soft fabric of her dress nervously and felt his eyes follow her hands, skimming over her body in precisely the way that the original designers of such gowns had intended. Silently, she thanked Thomasina for convincing her that the ‘put them on display’ stays were a must, if she was going to look authentically Regency.
This was the first time Sam had properly looked at Amy all day, and now it seemed he couldn’t tear his gaze away. When his eyes met hers the familiar current of their mutual attraction sparked. Pure and perfect heat filled the space where witty barbs or complaints would normally be discharged to dampen it.
The small ensemble of musicians, positioned to the left of Philippa’s little stage, struck up. The sweet, now familiar melody of the waltz sang through the air, and Sam took Amy’s hand as they joined the rest of the dance troupe.
They didn’t speak. As they began the dance, Amy found that anything more than remembering her steps would have been impossible. She slipped into a mesmerised, almost dreamlike state, only vaguely aware of Pearl standing at the edge of the dance floor, clapping and grinning.
Amy had been horrified at the thought of dancing in front of so many people, but now she was barely registering their presence. As the sound of string instruments soared, filling the warm summer air, she was utterly consumed by the magnetic ebb and flow of herself and Sam as they moved together.
She followed the steps Walter had taught them, briefly joining hands with other members of the dance troupe and circling them as she was supposed to. But she couldn’t meet the eyes of the men who, momentarily, were her partners: her gaze was locked on Sam, just as his eyes were fixed on her.
As they returned to one another, Amy revelled in the familiar, almost gravitational pull of him– the fragrance she could detect rolling off his skin, the feel of his fingertips grasping hers and the firmness of his hold on her waist. As they stepped together, arms raised so that their hands were almost palm to palm, the intensity of Sam’s stare was almost enough to ignite her. Their hands weren’t supposed to touch, Walter had told them– but maintaining the prescribed few millimetres of distance was agony.
Each time the music drew them towards one another, their faces were so close that she could feel him breathing, taste his air– so near she could see the different shades of dark in his eyes.
