"Miss Trevelyne, if I m-may speak f-frankly," stuttered the young man, " I would give you the moon itself, if only to see it match the stars in your eyes."
Amy let out sigh and spared the naive suitor a pitying glance. I'll never understand what Jacky finds so appealing about a legion of moon-eyed school boys jostling at your feet for affection, Amy thought to herself as she carefully slid her bookmark between the pages of her book and closed the novel with a soft thud. The suitor was a new addition in Dovecote; the country cousin of someone or other's. He reminded her a little of her brother Randal, but in all the ways that she detested her sibling and most others loved him. This boy was slightly charming, mostly adolescent, and completely dim.
Since he had arrived at Dovecote a few weeks before, the boy had attempted to woo Amy with increasing vigor, no doubt egged on by her dear darling brother. He trailed her on her early morning walks around the grounds, rode beside her when she took her horse for out for a rides, and sat diligently at her elbow when she read out in the garden before the sun went down. For all this, he got little more than the pleasant, vapid banter all society girls were trained in and a third of her dance card at a ball held during his stay.
This seemed to please him quite a bit, but Amy could barely remember his name and always referred to him as "my good sir" or simply did not address him by name. In fact, she actively resisted any attachment she might develop for him; even it was the same attachment one might acquire with a stray dog. She tolerated him, and had even found his affections almost amusing and the tiniest bit flattering at one point, but now as he interrupted her reading at the very climax of the story with his woefully clichéd poetic, she could bare it no more.
"My good sir," she begun, lowering her eyelids into what Jacky so affectionately called The Look, " As much as I appreciate your affections and all the time and effort you have taken to –ahem- better know me, I find, increasingly that we are not in any way compatible. You are undeniably charming and an exquisite dancer, and I am in no way making any comment on your personal character when I say that I can see this courtship going no further. I am, in fact, at fault for all this. I think that I am far too bookish and boring for dashing gentleman such as yourself. You would do much better with a fun loving girl who was not so wrapped up in dusty books so much. But, you have been altogether cordial and proper these past weeks, and for that I thank you."
With this, Amy gathered herself and rose, giving her suitor a slight nod before starting back towards the main house. Once there, she continued straight up to her room, and would have stayed there until dinner if only to finish her reading that had been so rudely interrupted, if it had not been for a rather skittish looking maid who stepped in front of Amy with a nervous curtsy.
"Pardon, ma'am. But there's a lawyer here to see you. Named Puckery, I think."
"Must be Ezr-..er… Mr. Pickering," Amy mused almost to herself, before placing her book on a nearby table and turning on her heel to greet the attorney in the parlor.
She didn't make it to the parlor, and was, in fact, halfway through the foyer when she passed Mr. Pickering on his way out.
"Mr. Pickering!" she called, doubling back slightly to address the man, " You're leaving so soon?"
"Just came to drop this by for you," he said, holding up a small leather bound book, "But your maid informed me that you were with a…um… suitor."
"Oh, no," Amy said with a slight blush, waving hand as if to dismiss any such accusation. There was a pregnant pause before Pickering handed the slim book over to Amy.
" Ovid's Metamorphoses," Ezra explained, " Garth edition. I remembered you had mentioned a particular interest in Ovid's work."
"Yes, thank you," Amy said, tracing the gold lettering on the cover.
" It was my father's." Ezra fussed nervously for a moment before catching Amy's eye.
"I shall certainly be careful with it, Mr. Pickering." Ezra bowed at this, and turned to exit through the front door. Before the heavy oak door could close, Amy rushed towards it and flung it open calling, " You won't stay for dinner Mr.Pickering?"
The lawyer stopped for a moment, basking in the blue twilight before turning to respond, "I'm afraid not, Miss Trevelyne. I must be getting back to Boston." With this, he gave a courteous bow and returned to a waiting carriage.
Amy watched the carriage pull away, and waited for it to be a good way down the road before calling, " Have a safe trip." From behind her, there was a loud snort. " Shut up, Randal." She turned to see her brother halfway down the stairs, ruddy faced and clutching a crystal decanter. "Isn't it a littler early to be drinking, brother?"
"Bah!" Randal laughed, taking a swig, " That –hic- Pickering is an weird one."
"He is three times the man you will ever be!" Amy stormed suddenly, then immediately blushed at the sentiment. She took a deep breath, clutched the Ovid volume to her chest and sighed, "Please just sober your self before dinner. There's no reason to break our mother's heart by vomiting halfway through the second course."
"Hey! I haven't –hic- done that in years!" Randal protested as Amy breezed by him on the way up to her room. Once she had disappeared down the hall, he held up his decanter and stared lazily at the approaching bottom, musing, " They almost deserve –hic- each other."
He then promptly vomited all over his new calfskin riding boots
A/N I found that amusing… I don't know if you guys did.