“I don’t know.”
“When did the man come?”
“Some ten minutes ago.”
I set the book down, walked to the window, and looked out. No one was about. “What did he look like?”
“John answered the door. I didn’t see him.”
“Is there a card?” No one had ever delivered flowers to us before. It was the thing to do in London, of course. But here in the country?
“Yes. There it is.” Mary held the flowers out, card facing me. In a fine, flowing script was written only one word: Flowers.
“Flowers?” I glanced between Mary and Alice. “Perhaps this is some sort of joke. Or a mistake. Are you certain they aren’t meant for Daniel? Louisa was leaving flowers for him down by the lake.” I had to stop thinking of that area as the lake. It had already drained lower than it had ever been during a dry season. “Or maybe someone sent them for Alice, as a sort of get-well token?”
“Oh.” Mary glanced down at the flowers in confusion. “That could be. The man said it was for the miss of the house. I just assumed. . . .”
“It’s all right, Mary. Alice, why don’t we set them right here where you’ll be able to see them without too much effort? They really do brighten up the room, don’t they?”
“They’re lovely,” Alice responded in a tired voice. “Who would have sent them?”
“I don’t know.” I picked the book back up. “Perhaps Mr. Johnson? He is still in awe of your recovery. Or . . .” I leaned over. “Perhaps you have a secret admirer.”
She coughed. “Now you are teasing me.”
“I am not teasing you. You are a young woman of intelligence, beauty. . . .” A certain disregard for modern sensibilities. . . . I shook my head. I couldn’t seem to silence the sound of Gregory’s voice. “Any man of sense would be won over by you. Perhaps he’ll introduce himself at the wedding.”
Alice smiled. “Maybe you’ll dance with him at the ball.”
I smoothed the hair off her forehead. “If I do, I’ll be sure to act the perfect lady.”
Alice shook her head. “Don’t be like Louisa. Be yourself.”
I leaned over and kissed her head. “Deal. Now should we get back to this story?”
There was a package next to my plate at breakfast the following morning. “What is this?”
Daniel shrugged. “It was there when I sat down.”
I untied the ribbon and unfolded the paper.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A book.” I opened it.
“Who gave you that?”
It wasn’t just any book. It was the companion to my favorite book of poetry. I flipped through the pages and the book opened to a poem near the center. A piece of paper had been stuck between the pages. I tilted the book to read it. Gifts.
I frowned. Gifts?
Flowers. Gifts. Kisses.
I stood. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Where is Lord Williams?”
Daniel shrugged again. “He left after we’d ensured the trenches worked according to plan. There was no reason for him to stay around.”
“But is he in town? Is he coming back? Surely the project needs checking on a second time.”
Daniel shook his head. “It’s been three days. The project is just fine.” He regarded the book as he raised a cup to his lips. “Is that who the book is from?”
“It has to be.”
Daniel set his glass down without drinking. “Now, Margaret. Don’t go getting your hopes up. I admit I had wondered if his coming for the draining might have brought you two back together. But he seemed wholly focused on the project. Didn’t even ask after you. I’d hate to have you hurt again.”
I wouldn’t be hurt again. This was from Gregory.
Our father walked in. “Father,” Daniel said, “did you order a book?”
“What book?”
“The one in Margaret’s hands.”
I held up the book.
“What is it?”
I tilted it so he could see the spine. “It’s the companion to that book of poetry.”
“Oh. Yes. I hadn’t known it had arrived. It came rather quickly. I’ll have to send my thanks.”
I lowered the book. “You ordered this?”
Father took his seat. “Yes. It seemed a shame we didn’t have a copy, don’t you think? Though they must have had one already on its way to town. I didn’t expect it for another week or two.”
Opening the book again, I stared at the word. Gifts.
Sinking into my seat, I removed the note and held the book out to my father. “Here.”
“Oh, no,” he said, lifting his hand as though to block me from giving it to him. “I ordered it for you. You liked the other one so much.” He paused. “I hope it helps ease all that’s happened.”
I frowned. This couldn’t be a coincidence. If the book wasn’t from Gregory, why was the note in there?
That night, Alice and I finished the book we’d been reading together.
“What will we read now?” She’d eaten a few bites of dinner, and it showed in her voice—still weak, but with a promise of growing stronger.
I stood and adjusted a bit of the bedcovers. “What would you like to read?”
“Daniel said father gave you a new book today. Should we read that one?”
“If you’d like.” I had brought it in with me in case she fell asleep before Mary came. Mother still insisted someone be with Alice through the night as a precaution.
I opened it, intending to begin at the first, but instead turned to the page marked with the paper.
“Who knows not hope, that light eternal showing
The lake from which churns true love’s fire aflowing?
It is that which makes all past mistakes begone.
This, the one true note, of Love’s eternal song.”
I sat back in silence. It was a poem about lakes and rivers and music. About hope and forgiveness and love. How did someone else’s words fit my feelings about Gregory so perfectly?
Silently, I read over the poem again. Hope truly was the eternal light. It just wouldn’t die. Even when I wanted it to.
“I’m sorry I stayed out in the rain,” Alice said, fingering her lace handkerchief, and I realized I’d been quiet for some minutes.
Reaching over, I placed my hand on hers. “I think, between the two of us, I have much more reason to apologize.”
“Do you miss him?” Her expression was honest and a little sad.
There was no reason to hide the truth. “Yes.”
“What will you do now?”
I didn’t know. I had no prospects and no plans of discovering any. I would become what my family had feared—a liability for Daniel and Louisa. “I will go to the ball tomorrow and see if I can’t find someone interesting. And then I will come home and relay all the details to you and let you be the judge of his worth.”
Alice’s tired smile was a grayed version of her former brightness. The delight that used to light her entire being seemed smothered by exhaustion.