As though he can read my mind, Livingston leans in. “We will talk.”
Finally, I look directly at Livingston right as the car comes to a stop. “No, we will not.” At once, I open my door. I’m so anxious to get away from him that I nearly stumble but then quickly right myself. Droplets of rain begin to hit the crown of my head and shoulders.
Growling, he surges out of the car and hurries after me. If I was home, you could place a blindfold on me, and I’d find my way inside. But here, my steps aren’t quite as fast, and Livingston’s quickly catching up to me.
“Rainey, stop. Rainey. I said stop!”
I begin to walk up the steps when his hand curls around my arm. I whirl around right as his feet land on the first step. Our bodies are inches apart.
“I’m tired,” I announce somberly with my shoulders held high. “I believe it’s time for me to retire.”
“Perhaps this is why Pleas created your dowry. You are far too inexperienced for this world. Look at you now. I found you at the home of someone you just met and now you are refusin’ to explain what could make you so bothered with me!”
His words are meant to light my anger. He wants to get a reaction out of me, and I want to give him one. Desperately. But I also want to show him that I have many weaknesses, but with each year I discover my strengths and tell myself, “Look at you now. Look at how you’ve grown.”
“Go about your business, Livingston. What I do doesn’t pertain to you.”
“You are my business, Raina!”
He gazes at me the same way he did all those years ago in the dimly lit hallway at Belgrave. And although he might not remember what he said, I do…
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Rainey
1914
“Checkmate.” I smile victoriously, and lean in. “Inquirin’ minds want to know. Did you intend to lose two games in a row?”
Sitting back in his chair, Livingston nearly growls in frustration. He’s always been terrible at losing. “Let’s play again.”
I sigh and glance at the clock on the mantel. “I can’t. I need to be goin’. We played almost eight games.”
“And now we’re preparin’ to play the ninth.” He begins to line his pieces back into their correct positions.
My neck is stiff, and my buttocks have gone numb from sitting in this chair for so long. Do I have the energy in me to play another game? No. I could fall asleep right here if I close my eyes for too long.
But will I play another game? Yes.
On the lounge is my brother. He sits forward and closes the ledger in his lap. He’s been there for as long as we’ve been playing chess, calmly going through the family accounts, a weekly routine of his. He’s so quiet the only times I remembered he was in the room was when he took a break to stretch or get a drink.
Miles pulls out his pocket watch, takes one look at the time and shakes his head. “It’s half past one.” Twisting around, he looks at me. “I take it we’re stayin’ here for the night?”
“Yes,” I reply my eyes already on my pieces, considering what my first move will be.
Sighing, he stands and grabs the ledgers. “Then I believe it’s time for me to turn in,” Miles announces.
Livingston and I watch him take his jacket that’s draped over the back of a chair. At the beginning, my brother’s visits to Belgrave were several times a week. But when I began to stay overnight at Belgrave, so did Miles. I think Momma made him stay for propriety. She didn’t say it, but I knew her far too well and knew she thought it was too unseemly for me to stay at Belgrave unchaperoned.
However, this was Livingston. And even if Livingston couldn’t remember, we all knew he was Miles’s best friend since childhood. He’s been in my life since the day I was born. I recognized Livingston was handsome, but I had no intention of being forward. The man had been in a terrible accident. All I wanted was to see him get better.
“Good night, Miles,” Livingston says, his voice cordial.
My brother stops midway to the door and shakes his head ever so slightly. It’s still jarring for him to hear Livingston not call him Pleas. “Good night.”
Miles walks out of the room and up the stairs. Lately, the guest rooms have become our rooms. In the last month, I’ve lost track of the number of times we’ve stayed here overnight. I knew Livingston was in good hands. He had his twin and his doctor on call. Not to mention a slew of servants who could help.
But I felt responsible for him, and I didn’t trust anyone else for that matter. He almost died. I almost lost another person. Someone I didn’t know the world without. I wanted to protect him from any harm and shield him from the curious eyes of society until he regained his memory.
Everyone in Charleston couldn’t help themselves but speak on the attack of Livingston Lacroix. Who was his assailant and why? How long would it be until he showed his face in public? People visited Belgrave, but Nat was just as vigilant over Livingston as I was and would only allow close family and friends to see him.
Her protectiveness was valid. She was his sister.
What was my link to him?
Exhaustion suddenly gets the best of me. I sit up straight, bring my arms over my head, and yawn. When I lower my arms, I’m tired but prepared to play one last game with Livingston. But across the table, I find him regarding me with curiosity. His eyes linger on my throat and drift across my chest. As though he can sense me watching him, he meets my gaze. His curiosity has turned to interest.
Immediately, I look away. My heart’s racing far too fast. I need to get away from his probing gaze. Suddenly, I push my chair back from the table. “I’m very tired. I can’t play another game.”
Livingston sits back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re quittin’ on me?”
“Afraid so,” I reply and stand. “I think I will follow Miles’s lead and turn in for the night.”
“Very well then.”
I stand there, look down at his coal black hair. I’m not going to leave him by himself. Left to his own devices, he’d roam the halls of Belgrave all night if he could.
I place my hand on his shoulder. “You need sleep.”
Beneath my palm, his muscles bunch. “No, I don’t.”
“Everybody does, Livingston,” I say gently.
He lifts his head. Those hazel eyes may not have years of memories behind them, but he can still feel emotions, and his frustration is palpable from the set of his shoulders to the rigid set of his jaw. “Why sleep when I can aimlessly walk through the halls of a home that is unfamiliar to me?”
My heart lurches at his words. “Someday, they won’t be unfamiliar, and everybody and everythin’ will become clear.”
Resting his elbows on the table, he leans forward. His head drops as he rubs the back of his neck. “When will someday come?”
“Soon.”
At my reply, he looks at me from the corner of his eye and smirks. “You sound so sure of yourself.”
“Because I’m positive it will happen.”
“Why?”
“Because you were born to survive this,” I say without hesitation.
There’s no immediate recognition in his eyes. It would be naïve to expect him to remember those words. However, it doesn’t stop me from saying them because he needs the reminder. And so do I.