I was so excited for the dinner that I could barely sleep the night before. I lay awake all night going over and over the events of the past few days. Though it had only been a few days, I felt sure that more time had elapsed. Perhaps it was because the turning of events was so awesome. In the space of a few days I had found love, shrugged off social propriety, and “dishonored” myself. There was no going back for me now. I didn’t even think Father would understand, would I ever to tell him. I had crossed a definitive and clear line.
Finally, after a few hours of intermittent sleep, the morning came. Mornings are easier than nights to wait through, I find. There are people around, with whom you can pretend that everything is not reaching a climax: with whom you can pretend life is chugging along as it always has. Charlotte and I went for a walk in the gardens before breakfast, and then ate a light meal before I wandered in the library by myself, occasionally reading, but mostly just being amongst the books.
I watched the course of the sun with a more avid interest that I normally would, and indeed I was afraid some eye strain may result from it, which forced me to close the curtains in the library and read my candlelight. When substantial time had passed, I returned to my quarters and awaited the Dukes summon. The Duke had generously supplied me and Charlotte with clothes, as we only brought enough for a day visit and nothing more. Going through these clothes, I found a floaty, almost ethereal dress woven of blue silk the same color as the Duke’s eyes. I donned this, as well as some earrings I had brought in a small pouch.
Standing before the looking glass, I found myself staring at a handsome woman whose cheeks had reddened with emotion. I looked more vital than I ever had. Love will, I had discovered, make even the most deathly pallor beam with vibrant life; and my pallor had always been on the youthful side of the scale.
Just after I finished dressing, Charlotte came charging into my room. “Sorry, Miss,” she breathed. “It’s just that I walked into the Duke by accident, and he has asked to see you. You see, I was with some of the servants who were setting up the dining room. It is beautiful, Miss, and I was wondering who the Duke was dining with, and then he asked me to fetch you. Not fetch, Miss. I didn’t mean fetch.”
“Relax,” I said, trying to soothe the girl. “I will go to him at once. That will be all, Charlotte.”
Charlotte left, and I made my way through the Castle to the dining room. The chandelier glittered with the light of the torches that burned in sconces along the walls. The curtains were drawn, and the Duke sat at the end of the long dining table. He stood upon my entrance, and I walked over to his end of the table. He pulled a seat out for me, and together we sat.
We said nothing to each other until the servants had brought our food, which they did soon after I sat down. When the food and the drink was brought, the Duke dismissed the servants so that we could be alone. The wine was a magnificent red; I felt as though Spain was on my tongue. The Duke held up his glass, and we clinked them.
“Do you like it?” he said.
“I do,” I replied. “It is beautiful to behold.”
“You are beautiful to behold,” he said impulsively.
I thought about chastising him for his hasty speech, but we had long since passed the point of proper etiquette, and so I took the compliment striding. The Duke was wearing his most elegant and becoming finery, which accentuated his handsomeness. The Duke stared down at his hands for a moment, and then looked swiftly into my eyes.
“Do you believe in attachment, Sarah?”
“How do you mean?” I said.
“Do you believe that it is possible to form strong attachments – the kind of attachment that exists between man and wife, say – without actually having gone through the traditional routes? What I am saying is, do you think it is possible for a man to love a woman without having properly and openly courted her? Many men and not a few women would have us think that it is impossible, that it cannot be done. And yet I sit here and look at you, and I know that I love you. If the word ‘love’ means anything, then it must apply to how I feel about you. I am struck with anxiety oftentimes. My heart beats frantically, and a cold sweat comes upon me, and I never know why. Most times there is nothing to be overly anxious about. But with you I do not feel that way. With you I feel as though a vital part of myself has been restored. I am like an amputee who has had his arm restored after a long absence; or a blind man who has regained the ability to see. Ah!” He slapped his hand down on the table. “If only I could make you feel what I feel, Sarah, so you could know!”
Seeing that dear Francis was in quite a state, I laid my hand upon his arm. He clasped his hand over mine and looked at me gratefully. “Don’t you see, Francis?” I said. “You do not need to make me feel anything; I already feel as you do. I care not that we do not do things the proper way. I have lost all meaning of what ‘proper’ means, anymore. All I know is that when you took me into the library, into the gardens, into the woods, when we were together in my bedroom I was happier and more content than I have been in all my days.” I stopped, breathless. My words were far too forward to be ladylike. Any man would shun me after such openness.