Sarah blushes deeply—almost purple. But she still shakes her head at my brother—pityingly. She opens the book and holds it up near his face.
“Smell.”
After a moment, Henry leans down and sniffs the pages distrustfully.
“What do you smell?” Sarah asks.
Henry gives it another sniff. “It smells…old.”
“Exactly!” She smells the pages herself, deep and long. “Paper and ink—there’s nothing like it. The only thing that smells better than a new book is an old one.”
Someone drops a tray of glasses behind the bar, and the shattering crash reverberates throughout the room. And Sarah Von Titebottum goes very still, her eyes blank and her skin whiter than the pages she’s holding.
“Lady Sarah,” I ask, “are you all right?”
She doesn’t respond.
“It’s okay,” her sister whispers, but she doesn’t seem to hear her.
Henry presses his palm to her arm. “Sarah?”
She inhales swiftly—gasping—like she hadn’t been breathing. Then she blinks and looks around, slightly panicked, before recovering herself.
“Forgive me. I was…startled…by the crash.” She presses her hand to her chest. “I’m going to get some air and wait outside, Pen.”
Just then, a uniformed waiter brings the dinner order they’re picking up. Penelope asks the waiter to carry it to the car for them and we say our good-byes.
On the way out, Penelope reminds Henry, “Ring me! Don’t forget.”
“I will.” He waves.
Then he stares after them, watching them walk out the door. “She’s an odd little duck, isn’t she?”
“Who?” I ask.
“Lady Sarah. Pity—she could be pretty, if she didn’t dress like a monk in drag.”
Olivia clucks her tongue, like a disapproving, big-sister hen. “She didn’t look like a monk, you jerk. Maybe she’s busy with—interests, or whatever—and doesn’t have time to spend on her appearance. I can understand that.” She points up and down her luscious little form. “Believe it or not, I don’t look like this in my real life.”
I slip my arm around her waist. “Rubbish—you’re beautiful no matter what you have on.” Then I whisper in her ear, “Especially when you have on nothing.”
“Still,” Henry muses as we head for the door, “I wouldn’t mind getting a peek at what’s under Miss Sense and Sensibility’s long skirt. With a name like Titebottum, it must be good.”
MY MOTHER ONCE TOLD ME that time was like the wind. It rushes over you, passes you—and no matter how hard you try, how much you want to, you can’t hold onto it, and you can’t ever slow it down.
Her words echo in my head as I lie awake in my bed, in the gray dawn stillness, while Olivia sleeps soundlessly beside me.
Four days. That’s all we have left. The time has flown by as quickly as turning the pages in a book. They’ve been glorious days—filled with laughter and kisses, moans and gasps, more pleasure in every way than I ever let myself dream about.
For the last month, Olivia and I have truly enjoyed our time together. We’ve gone biking around the city—with security nearby, of course. The people wave and call—not just to me, but to her as well. “A lovely lass,” they say. There were picnics near the pond and trips to our other properties, Olivia’s sweet voice echoing with joy down the aged halls. I taught her to ride a horse, though she prefers a bike. A few times she’s gone clay-pigeon shooting with Henry and I—covering her ears at every pull of the trigger in the adorable way she has of doing things.
There hasn’t been much reason for Olivia and my grandmother to come into contact, but when they have, the Queen has treated her civilly, if not frigidly. But one Sunday for tea, Olivia baked scones. It was the first time she’d baked since leaving New York and she actually enjoyed it. She made her own delicious recipe of almond and cranberry. My grandmother declined to try even one bite.
And I hated her a little bit then.
But that one, dark moment is extinguished by a thousand brilliant ones. A thousand perfect memories of our time together.
And now our time is just about up.
The seed of an idea has been planted in my mind for a while—months—but I haven’t let it sprout. Until now.
I turn on my side, kissing a path up Olivia’s smooth arm to her shoulder, burying my nose in the fragrant crook of her neck. She wakes with a smile in her voice.
“Good morning.”
My lips drift to her ear. And I give voice to my idea. To my hope.
“Don’t go back to New York. Stay.”
Her reply comes a heartbeat later. In a whisper.
“For how long?”
“For always.”
Slowly she turns in my arms, her navy eyes seeking, her lips just starting to smile.
“Have you talked to your grandmother? Are you…are you not going through with the announcement?”
I swallow hard, my throat rough.
“No. Canceling the announcement isn’t possible. But I’ve been thinking…I could push the wedding off for a year. Maybe two. We would have all that time together.”
She flinches. And her smile falls into oblivion.
But I push on, trying to make her understand. Make her see.
“I could have Winston look into the women on the list. Perhaps one of them has what we have. I could…come to an understanding with her. An arrangement.”