I'm sitting here at the bar at Rules and Lady Edith is ten minutes late.
Ten minutes is only ten minutes, it is still early, but in spite of that I have started to fear that she will not come at all.
I got here early, I didn't want her to have to wait for me, so I've been here more than half an hour already.
I ordered something to drink while I wait, to calm down my nerves, but they only seem to get worse. I don't know what has happened to me. I'm nervous about meeting her as well as nervous that she won't come.
...
Why doesn't she come? Didn't she intend to come in the first place?
Perhaps she was only annoyed that I recognised her after more than half a year. But she seemed friendly enough. Although she didn't recognise me at first.
I'm sure I don't mean anything whatsoever to her.
But I was so happy to meet her again like that. Because she means quite a lot to me. In fact I've been thinking about her constantly since that day at Brancaster. I just can't stop thinking about her. It is so unlike me, I do wonder what has happened to me.
It was a lovely day, and her presence made it lovelier. A lovely day with a lovely girl.
That day - she was so friendly and so beautiful. So fascinating. So very inquisitive, but still a little bit shy. She was easy to talk to and I felt she was really interested in what I said. That whole day and evening was enchanted, and thinking back on it so many times through the months has perhaps made it even more enchanted than it was when it happened.
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But - Lady Edith is an Earl's daughter. She is the owner of a magazine. Why should she take any interest at all in someone like me? A poor land agent with nothing to offer and no real prospects.
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Sixteen minutes late - I will probably be sitting here - hoping against hope that she will turn up - until they close Rules this evening.
But I can't believe she won't come. I'm sure she is too polite to do a thing like that. If she hadn't wanted to see me again she could simply have said no to that drink.
So I still hope she will come. Just for a drink and a talk, of course, but then I can perhaps persuade her to have dinner with me.
...
Perhaps she has had an accident...
That is a fearful thought. I do hope nothing bad has happened to her! That would be really terrible.
But she can't have had an accident, can she? She must be alright.
I'd much prefer that she just has stood me up.
...
Most probably she has simply forgotten all about me. People tend to do that. She intended to come, but then she simply forgot. She will feel a little embarrassed when she remembers it - if she ever does - and that will be all.
And I will never see her again.
...
At the same time I feel that there must be some meaning in me bumping into her like that. That it was meant to happen.
I have tried to get over her for half a year without succeeding. Then I suddenly see her. That has to mean something.
At least this could give me a chance. A chance to get to know her a little better. And then, maybe, maybe...no, I don't dare to hope for more than that to begin with.
A chance to get to know her a little better. That is all I ask for.
To begin with...
...
She is almost twenty minutes late now - who am I fooling - of course she won't come.
But - there she is!
And my heart thumps so I can almost hear it.
AN: Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment!
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I'm writing Pushing my luck in first person for Edith, and I enjoy that, so I thought I should try to do the same with Bertie. Which I find even more difficult.