According To Plan
By Seniya
Chapter Seven
You, my dear boy, are an ass. Blunt words that rang with a rather familiar tune at the back of his mind could not be ignored. For the ironic truth that they held, seemed destined to be his undoing. After all of that, that pacing, that time spent creating the conclusion that she was bloody poison and she should be avoided as such – he had actually sought her out—only to kiss her…
Again.
Was there any use in continuing to utilize the excuse of stupidity? He imagined that even the chronically foolish learnt from their mistakes. And it was now evident that his level of ignorance had surpassed even theirs.
Why had he looked for her?
Oh yes: to apologize. How chivalrous. How noble…how pathetic that he would still continue to exploit this excuse even after it's believability was been destroyed. There had been only one reason that he had come seeking her, it was the same reason that he hadn't been able to get her out of his head since last night. And that was a reason that he had chosen not to examine too closely.
No, he would prefer to blame it all on folly. It wasn't as though no one would believe his answer. Why, even now he continued to show his ridiculous state of mind.
For after embarrassing himself, after watching as that red headed girl stared at him with an obscene amount of disgust written clearly on her face …he had remained in the library and then watched as she continued to stare at him as though he was some horrible creature creeping along the floor.
Currently however, even looking at him seemed to be too horrible for her, and she had taken to adjusting the books in the shelf behind her; refusing to even acknowledge his being there. A less than subtle indication, Caleb thought grimly, that he should leave.
He frowned at her narrow back as she glided across the library floor. As if he would actually grant her that satisfaction. He still had some pride left, and the great deal of pride that had been wounded demanded retribution.
So he would stay, regardless of how unintelligent it made him feel or look. He knew that his company annoyed her more than she would ever admit, and truthfully, she deserved every ounce of it. For confusing him, for bewitching him, for still not turning around so that he at least look at her face to determine where he stood.
'Because that was the only reason that he would ever want to look at her again, purely tactical,' He ranted inwardly to an unbelieving conscience. 'I've done more than enough by looking for any other reason.' He had the plan to remember, the safety of that young girl, and those who would undoubtedly come into danger if that madman wasn't stopped.
The plan was ridiculous enough without her complicating his mind. Yes, just ignore her.
Yet, he remained in the library; seated with an artificial sort of casual nonchalance across the old wooden table as he stole occasional glances of her from the corner of his eye, all the while becoming more and more annoyed by her resolve.
Clunk, clunk, CLUNK. Those books that she was adjusting kept an unusual amount of noise as she shoved them along the shelves. Why couldn't she just run away, like she had done last night? Obviously she was still too damned stubborn for her own benefit or perhaps – she was also trying to avenge her injured pride.
Yes, that was it the reason that she wasn't running; whosoever left first would take the blame for what had just happened. Well, good, now he had a descent reason for staying.
Something within his mind told him that this wasn't ignoring her, but he pushed the thought aside. He would break her.
He would win.
He leaned further back into his feigned casual pose, blatantly staring at her now, concentrating on the exposed skin of her neck (for solely strategic motives) praying to any heavenly entity that would hear him that she would resort to her second favorite emotion (anger), scream at him, and then leave.
He had imagined his prayers answered when, slowly, unbelievably, she turned to face him. She stared awkwardly at a spot above his head for a moment, before sighing and forcing her gaze to meet his. He swallowed the surprising sensation that had temporarily lodged itself in his throat at the feel of her intense gaze on his face.
An apology would be perfect. He found himself thinking as the girl before him whispered to herself in evident deliberation. Some tears would be thrown in for dramatic effect he concluded and she would fall to her knees sobbing: "I'm sorry for bewitching you, confusing you and for being so stubborn and proud." A smug smile played across his face. Yes, that would be…
"Why did you kiss me?" the question sounded more frustrated than curious coming from her mouth. It traveled through the room, amplified, in Caleb's mind by the cobwebs and dust.
Well what the hell was that? He had thought that they had both chosen to ignore the fact that they had shared in any form of intimacy. She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head, a sign of impatience, a sign that she thought that she had the upper hand in this situation and that he should realize her superiority…
His mind began to race, tugging his heart along with it for the ride.
Justgive her an answer.
The smile vanished from his face, and all of the casualness evaporated from his posture. He suspected that she wanted a truthful answer. And the truth was simple – he didn't know.
But, by God, he'd be damned if he allowed her to witness his uncertainty.
"It's rather simple," he began, cutting her off before she could utter the word twice. "You're a girl and I'm a boy…" He crossed his own arms and tilted his head, just to show her what he thought of her superiority. "Last night, I had an itch and well…" he paused to admire her reaction before finishing quickly, "They teach you lot the rest of this in finishing school, I would imagine."
He glanced at her with mounting trepidation as several emotions made their way across her expressive face. First, there had been the moment when her perfect mouth had slipped open in outrage – that hadn't lasted long as she had soon realized that he of all people should never see her surprised, so then she had moved into fury, now that she didn't seem too concerned about hiding.
Her eyes narrowed at him, and a redness began to color her cheeks. For the first time he noticed the leather bound novels in her hands. There was no doubt in his mind that she would take to throwing them if she was allowed to come close enough. And he knew that they would make dangerous projectiles.
Just as he was beginning to create a plan of self defense, she stilled, and the anger on her face faded with the same suddenness that it had arrived with. She expelled a dry breath and looked at him again, this time with her head held upright and her arms at her side. The two books fell from her hands with a single heavy thud.
But he wasn't finished yet, in fact now the danger of a concussion seemed to have bypassed him, he added. "And just now, well that was just to prove a point."
By the time that he had finished, her lips had become twisted into a mirthless smile. "But of course." She muttered in a voice that sounded both indifferent and strained. It was a tone that made him wish that she were angry again.
She whirled her body around and prepared to leave. 'So, this was it,' he realized; he had won. He had broken her. It was odd how the success tasted so chalky in his mouth.
"Look, Will –" his bleeding pride forgotten, he rose to his feet to follow her.
"Don't call me that!" she halted her retreat, the anger that he had become so familiar with mounted alarmingly until he could sense it, being expelled from her so rapidly that in mere seconds it seemed to have filled every crevice in the room. "Only people I like can call me that." Her shoulders straightened before she quickly added, in a tone that ruined the entire effect, "And my family."
He had the sudden urge to hold her, to wrap his arms around her small body and to allow himself to drown in the spicy scent that was so uniquely hers, as he would attempt to take back all that had already been said. There was no doubt in his mind however, that if he tried she would find some way to attack him.
So he stood there instead; stupidly, he imagined. And watched her, with both pity and amazement as she rearranged the layers beneath her stony façade before turning to face him finally with a look that managed to convince him, despite everything that he had just seen, that his words hadn't troubled her in the least.
Her arms crossed, her fiery red hair tousled across her forehead and her eyes smoldering with repressed defiance, she had never looked more beautiful in his eyes. Something heavy fell through the pit of his stomach and that thing, that reason for all of this, seemed to expand significantly inside of him, until he could feel it, choking him, draining him of all logic…
He felt sick.
He wouldn't apologize; to do that would be to insult her. He saw that now…the only way to ensure that she would feel any better about this situation was to play along with her little façade.
"Well then," the words seemed strangled somehow, caught in his throat, "May I just ask you – why you didn't tell your mother about…"
She refused to let him finish, instead she began her impudent response quickly and loudly. "Perhaps I should have, certainly it would have gotten your ass out of my house." She grinned.
He lowered his head, the less than pleasant commotion in his chest rising to overwhelming heights once more.
"Oh, please don't be bashful Mister Olsen," she clicked her tongue. "It doesn't suit you; in fact I'm sure that your itch would be rather displeased with this sudden change of countenance."
Mister Olsen. Right. He needed to remember that. He sighed and forced a hand through the side of his rumpled hair. It had been such a tiring day, and it wasn't even noon yet. She watched him for a while, before growing either bored or displeased and returning to the bookshelf.
Clunk, Clunk, CLUNK.
She was ignoring him again. Not that he could blame her this time; in fact he half wished that he could disregard himself as he maneuvered his way through the discarded books and ladders.
Long banished was the pride that had kept him grounded before, in fact, leaving the library he felt remarkably different than he had felt when coming in. Strange, he mused; that his epiphany seemed to have stemmed from that little red headed girl who had managed to convince everyone around her that she was stronger than she really was.
"But – honestly Corny, he said that he'd be right down," Irma tried to reach for her sister's hand, but as on the previous five attempts, she failed as the older girl yanked the limb away. Suppressing a groan and repressing the urge to collapse, Irma followed Cornelia, hoping that she would give up searching for her missing fiancé.
Because heavens knew that it hadn't been easy to make him missing in the first place. First, there had been the small matter of prying him from the deathly grip of her mother, an event that had led to her giving the poor man a thoroughly exaggerated tour of the house with a very dramatic stop at Will's room, where Irma had gone through a wonderful description of the view from her window.
All thoughts of views were forgotten however when it became obvious that her other sister, had lied about going to her bedroom. And so the search began with her tugging him through each room in the house, failing miserably to come up with new excuses as to why she was doing it.
Things had pleasantly improved however, when Caleb had actually asked where Will was. Oh, it had been perfect! He mentioned something irrelevant about them not getting off on the right foot, but by then it hadn't mattered. For Irma had finally realized where her missing sibling could be.
In the Library.
She was obviously hiding, and where better to hide than in there? After all, who would want to go down into that dark moss infested chamber?
Certainly not her; even with all of her meddling ways – so she had sent Caleb along the rickety old staircase by himself and had posted herself as a watch at the end of the corridor.
Of course things had started off incredibly well. Mister Olsen hadn't reemerged from the dark room after an half an hour…and curiosity, quite honestly, kept plaguing the back of the brunette's mind.
She had been going to check in on them, only to peek; before Cornelia had decided to make her grand entrance. Her first reaction to her sister's appearance had been shock – there was no way that that was considered as looking natural!
Her second had been panic, as Cornelia had promptly narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms before asking in a tone that demanded an answer the location of her fiancé.
Irma had managed to keep a cool head, and to begin a long show of ignorance. "Why, have you misplaced him Cornelia – how terribly unfortunate, you know I could have kept him safe for you."
Cornelia had started forward then, her long arms outstretched in a manner that led Irma to believe that she meant to strangle her. "Mother said that you took him on a tour of the house – now where is he?"
"Er…in the attic." She blurted out the first place that came to mind, her own place of refuge.
Cornelia, of course didn't bite, for all of her haughty little ways, she certainly wasn't stupid. "I said where Irma, because if you think that I'll let you disgrace this family's name anymore then you already have, then you're in for a rude awakening –"
It is always funny to receive threats from someone who is by all estimates, smaller than you are. And Irma doubted that Cornelia would win if the situation came to blows, or that she would willingly fight her if it did. But to avoid a conflict that she would undoubtedly get blamed for in the end, Irma uttered a strained, perfectly unwilling; "I don't know Cornelia, but he said that he'd be down any minute."
Cornelia seemed to believe her, but was still reluctant to wait. "What's behind you?" she asked suddenly. "The library," Irma began, and then added to halt her sister who had began to walk towards the door, "But goodness, how it smells – I think that I've found where Jeffery urinates when he's drunk."
Cornelia backed away in visible disgust. But still, she refused to remain silent, and after another ten minutes of waiting, she took off to the second floor with Irma on her heels, searching for Mister Olsen.
Which, of course was what had led to the present situation.
By now, she was absolutely murderous. "Where is he?" she hissed suddenly, whipping around and grabbing the younger girl's shoulders in her thin hands. "You said that he was coming down, well, coming down from where?"
"I told you the attic." Irma managed to gasp clutching a pain in her side, God's teeth; she was fast…considering that she never seemed to move.
"I don't believe you." Cornelia challenged. "Why would he go to the attic, when there is nothing up there!"
"Well, maybe he went to get away from you," Irma hinted with a mischievous gleam in her eye. One that Cornelia noticed almost immediately.
"He's in the library isn't he?" it wasn't a question, and before Irma could formulate and answer, the blonde was already thundering down the stairs, her satin slippers slapping against the wood as she went.
Irma swallowed a curse and followed. "No, Cornelia, he really isn't…" She had hitched up her skirts by now and had started running. The thought of what would happen to Will if Cornelia found her in a dark room with her soon to be husband was less than appealing. Their mother would kill her, and then she'd turn on Irma, because, well she had been looking for a reason to do so for the last few days. Oh, she wouldn't get to go to the ball!
This hadn't happened in Sir Edmund's Betrayal, she thought wearily. "Cornelia, do you remember that blue evening gown that you loved so much, the one that made you look like Queen Victoria, well I threw it in the pond, and those slippers with the gold stitching, I buried those outside next to your silver looking glass and…"
Her confession was cut short when Cornelia, oblivious to her sister's admittance to her various sins, stopped suddenly. "Oh, there you are," her voice, drowning in honey, swept over Irma's head. "I was looking for you."
Breathless, Irma wandered over to the pair of them on her shaky legs and glanced behind Mister Olsen. Where was Will? She looked at him through the curls that had tumbled from the knot she had tied them in this morning, looking for an answer.
He didn't seem to have one. "We are to have a picnic outside," Cornelia continued, now reaching for his arm, "Mother has suggested it and I cannot bear to resist her wishes."
"Mister Olsen," Irma gasped, still stinging all over from the lack of air and the excessive exercise, "Did you find what you were looking for?" she managed.
He looked at her blankly for a second, before answering, "Yes, I did actually."
Cornelia's steely blue gaze moved from her sister to her fiancé before resting somewhere in between. "Come now, Mister Olsen." She grabbed his arm in both of hers and pulled him along, "We've wasted enough of this day."
Irma watched them go, too tired and frustrated to follow. Well, that had been completely uninformative. She frowned; all of that running around would not be for nothing, she promised.
One did not spend nearly an hour in a dark room with a member of the opposite sex only to emerge, perfectly composed! Never, not in any romance novel that she had ever poured over!
Or Will could have just been being Will again.
It was true; none of the heroines that had been brought to life on those pages had ever been like her sister.
Irma groaned, really, the girl was impossible, she would never get married this way! What about there being more important things than marriage Irma. Her conscience mocked, and she chose to ignore it. Well, obviously there were more important things, hadn't she proven that by writing that letter?
Wasn't she still proving it by doing this? Will needed to leave this house, being here was killing her. Irma had watched, for years now as Will's personality had deteriorated into nothingness. And if marriage was the only way out, then so be it. She just obviously needed a little shove in the right direction, or more accurately a huge push.
She would thank her later when she was far, far away. She was certain of it. Besides she fancied Caleb that was clear. And she deserved him far more than Cornelia did, even if their mother couldn't see that; she told the guilt that was quickly forming at the back of her mind.
"You are doing the right thing Irma." She whispered to herself, before commanding her legs to move towards the Library.
'Well,' thought Cornelia as she began the less than pleasurable walk across the gardens, 'at least the weather has cleared up.'
That was true, for when she had looked out the window earlier this morning; she had thought that she would drown in the downpour that had been hovering outside. Now, she saw that she was wrong, for God obviously intended that she should bake in the sun instead.
The parasol for all of her mother's doting, was utterly useless in the Virginia climate – and Oh heaven have mercy – was that a bee?
She cringed. What was her mother's obsession with the outdoors anyway? Certainly men didn't really enjoy all of these picnics and walks. Well, perhaps at their house in…wherever he was from…she could have large roofs constructed, all over the gardens, so that the sun would never have to touch her skin again.
"Oh for pity's sake Emily," Cornelia scolded the young girl who was carrying the wicker basket, "Don't jump about so, you might drop the basket."
She frowned at the other girl who had the blanket folded in her arms, she couldn't find anything to criticize about that and hence, no one else to take her bad mood out on. So she concentrated instead on the picture of her future house, where she would defiantly hire better servants that these.
Caleb was extraordinarily silent for the duration of the walk. His dark green eyes seemed clouded with some unmentionable thought as Cornelia pulled him along next to her. Maybe he too was concentrating on the thoughts of their future…no, that couldn't be it, if that were the case then he certainly wouldn't appear so gloomy.
So, Irma must have done something to him. It was the only other clear conclusion. That little – oh she could already see it, how she had lured him into her bedroom, wait no, the thought faded away…Irma hadn't been anywhere near him. So then what could it be?
No sense wondering, she decided as the two girls began to set up the picnic…on the grass. No, surely they couldn't intend for them to eat on the grass…not when they were tables over there.
She opened her lips to question this absurd decision before clamping them shut almost immediately after. Her mother, brandishing a pair of clippers pranced past them both. "Oh Cornelia," she began pointedly, "The day is so lovely that I thought that I would come outside and do a bit of gardening. I know how you love to accompany me on these trips, but really, sit and enjoy your picnic."
"But –" the blonde began to protest.
"I said to sit!" she nearly hissed, her dark eyes now burned with something far more threatening than the ants and bees that Cornelia feared.
Cornelia nodded and untangled her arm from Mister Olsen, who paused strangely, before helping her to the ground. "Good girl!" he mother applauded, before turning her attention to the hedges across the walkway, "I'll be over there…near those…er…those pink flowers." She hurried away, but not before catching Cornelia's eye and giving her a very noteworthy look.
Caleb sat in the space across from her soon after, but not before saying something to Emily, something that made the young girl blush furiously before giggling.
Cornelia frowned; there would be none of that either when they returned home.
"I do so love picnics." She smiled, hoping that words sounded far more sincere to him than they did to her.
He nodded briefly, but didn't reply. "So where were you before?" she questioned suddenly, mentally reprimanding herself for being so blunt.
"In the Library," he replied, but he still appeared distracted. Really, Irma's face paraded through her mind, muttering the word attic, over and over. Cornelia found herself wondering if this all had something to do with their last encounter, when she had attacked him with a parasol.
Had he run to her over endowed sister for comfort after thinking that she was uninterested?
She shouldn't jump to conclusions, Cornelia decided, no; although Irma may be that way…she doubted that Caleb was. Although, she wouldn't apologize for her behavior either, well, not yet at least. There was still much more that she wanted to know about his behavior as well as Irma's, and somehow, she knew that they were linked.
"What were you doing in there?" she pressed.
"What do you do in a Library?" there was an undercurrent of sarcasm in his words, it aggravated her, that he thought her so foolish. But she let it pass, that glare her mother had sent her way still chilled her bones.
She didn't fell much like talking to him anymore, and felt even less eager about making an apology. So she instead decided to pour herself some tea and try to numb her mind to the fact that her legs, presently curled underneath her, were falling asleep.
It was he who broke the silence that she had inflicted. "Your mother seems very enthusiastic about our…wedding."
There was something about the way he said it, something that told her that he didn't share in the excitement. She felt her back stiffen, well she certainly couldn't be blamed for him feeling bored about the nuptials.
She had sacrificed more than enough trying to please him. And now he was actually unsatisfied. There was no doubt now that had a hand in this! She had always been opposed to her getting married first. When she found her Cornelia swore to herself she would pay for her meddling.
She had never met any man who hadn't been immediately interested in pleasing her, and now to think that the only man who was supposed to be…wasn't.
She clicked her tongue, wondering if it could be possible that Irma hadn't told him anything, what if he was, she swallowed a mouthful of the bitter tea, genuinely uninterested. Even before Irma had gotten him alone on her little tour he had never seemed to care that much about her. In fact, she frowned unintentionally tightening her grip on the tea cup, he had once chosen to play around in the barn than spend time with her, he had gone away on a mysterious journey for an entire day rather than come on this picnic with her. And now that he was here, he claimed to be bored.
"Of course," Cornelia managed to speak over the anger now burning her tongue, "It is natural for a woman to feel interested about her wedding, in fact, some men might even share that interest occasionally."
She hoped he picked up on her point.
He looked away from her burning gaze, so apparently he had; well she prayed that it was guilt now clouding his eyes – those gorgeous eyes.
"Your sister gave me a tour of the house this morning." He picked at the cloth beneath them, unaware of the fact that his companion was currently choking on her tea.
He wasn't serious, how could still mention her, when he was supposed to be focusing on…oh that was it wasn't it, he was thinking about Irma. Her initial thought sprang back to mind, the thought of her sister leading him into her chambers…she snorted into the cup in a very unladylike manner. She honestly didn't care anymore; soon he would start mentioning Will!
If her mother hadn't been so close by she would have stormed off.
"The paintings in the parlor," he continued, although now fixing his gaze atop of her face, she briefly felt her anger subside, even if the sensation was fleeting. "There is one of a man who resembles you…one with long blonde hair."
Oh, so he had thought of her! The whisper of anger vanished entirely now and her face softened to welcome his gaze with a smile. "Oh no, the man you mean is my mother's last husband, Count Phobos."
"Husband?" his face wrinkled in surprise, she noticed that he had the most adorable dimple in his forehead when he did. "But he seemed so young."
"Oh he was," Cornelia placed her teacup alongside her flattened palm and went on, "He was only a few years older than Will and me."
"Is that why they are no longer together, because of that age difference – the immaturity?"
She shook her head. "Goodness no, he wasn't immature but he was so sullen, he never talked, well," she took a deep breath, trying to remember, "Not really."
"I don't really know why he left, he just did," she clasped her gloved hands in her lap, trying to overlook the fact that they were clammy with sweat, "One morning we awoke and he was gone – Mother took it very badly." Her voice stilled in her throat. "I'm sorry, Mister Olsen," she felt her cheeks redden, "I'm not usually such a gossip."
"By all means Cornelia," her stomach fluttered at the way his lips looked as they moved over her name, "Go on, I can see that this entire situation has been bothering you."
Well, it hadn't actually, but she felt no burning need to mention that to him, she was enjoying the attention that he had finally decided to give her far too much. "Well we haven't heard from him since, not a word – sometimes I worry that something might have happened to him." She sighed, "He was always so kind to me, but Will thinks that he just went home to Greece, she never knew him at all."
He was quiet for a while after that, now she looked upon his silence with new eyes. He wasn't ignoring her, rather, he was thinking about new ways to entertain her with conversation. The poor man was probably just shy.
"Why do you call your sister Will?" he asked finally, although this time he didn't look at her.
She ignored it, again passing off his odd behavior as bashfulness. "Oh," Cornelia laughed shortly at the memory, "When she as younger she couldn't spell Wilhelmina, so the governess had her write Will instead, and when she grew older she would just behave as a boy would, so we just continued to call her that."
He didn't laugh with her, she couldn't blame him, Will was seldom ever an interesting topic. "Why do you ask?"
"I thought that it was an odd name for a girl, that's all."
"Oh." She nodded. "Did I tell you my love of fishing?"
Will, Irma decided was being even more uninformative than Mister Olsen had been, if that were possible. The oldest sister had developed a particularly annoying habit recently of ignoring a person completely when she didn't want to be bothered, a habit, as you can imagine, that made it increasingly difficult for Irma to pry anything interesting from her lips. And on this occasion, any delicious details of dark and sordid Library exploits.
She had questioned her incessantly for the last quarter of an hour, only to be met, each time by either a distracted grunt or an expressionless stare.
Now, Irma had all but given up. Sometimes she could be so ungrateful. The brunette sighed, preparing to return to the Study where she knew that her mother must be angrily awaiting her return to help plan that damned wedding. She frowned, feeling the same twinge of guilt from before, if her mother were to ever find out about any of this, she was certain that…
"Irma?" a voice shocked her back to her surroundings – her musky, damp surroundings that Irma suddenly looked at with a new appreciation. So she was finally going to talk.
"Yes, Will." She answered, trying and failing to keep the excitement in her voice concealed.
"I was just wondering…" her voice trailed away, and Irma watched as she raised an awkward hand to her hair.
"Yes…" Irma prodded. Go on; tell me about how he professed his undying love for you…
Her hand fell limply to her side and she shook her head. "No, never mind…it's silly,"
"Oh no, Will," Irma practically flew to her sister's side, propelled by the wings of curiosity, "You mustn't say that – nothing is too silly."
Will threw her a dubious look, one that Irma repelled with a shrug. Her dark eyes rolled around in her head before coming to linger on the floor. "Do you think that…I'm pretty?"
The silence following the statement must have been uncomfortable Irma realized, but currently, she was far too taken aback to try to rectify the situation. Will immediately tried to take back her words, but it was too late, Irma had already heard.
How terrible it was that the thoughts thundering within her mind were nothing like the ones Will expected.
Pretty. What did she mean by that? Certainly this wasn't a question asked after such a lengthy time spent with an Adonis in the Library. Ugh. Reality was so confusing. Never one to hide her intentions Irma blurted out something very similar to just that.
"What do you mean by that?" she questioned, roughly grabbing her sister's arms. "Who told that that you weren't pretty – was it Caleb?"
Sweet Napoleon, now she had done it. It took a little over half of a second for Will to piece together a question. "How did you know that he was down here?" her eyes narrowed suspiciously, darting from the floor to Irma's face in record speed, trapping the latter's gaze in her own.
"Well…I…" she stammered, releasing the grip on Will's shoulders so that she could back away.
"You sent him down here didn't you!"
Irma could see now that it had been wrong to worry about her mother's reaction, when truthfully it was Will's that would be worse.
"Will, just listen to me." She pressed her back against the bookshelf that prevented her from moving any further, "I know what this must look like – believe me, I know, but…"
"You have no idea what you've done!" she practically hissed.
Even through the panic, Irma saw an opening to find out more, "You're right, maybe you could explain it to me…"
That didn't work. "You and your meddling – when are you going to learn that life is nothing like your little fantasy world!" it was only now that Irma realized that her sister had never tried to pursue her, so she moved forward. "There are no happy endings and rogue knights who will come gallivanting in to save you…there's just this!" she indicated the dusty bookshelves.
Obviously, Will had lost her mind. "Will, there is more to life than bookshelves." She nodded earnestly, oblivious to the fact that she had entirely missed the point. The redhead still managed to crack at smile at her ignorance, despite her anger.
"Really Will, can you forgive me?" Irma took another tentative step towards the fuming girl, "I thought that you fancied him and that –"
"I don't." Will stated loudly and plainly, so that there was no question to her sincerity. "I hate him."
Irma fell silent. The single question buzzing through her mind begged to be uttered. "Why?" she yielded to the pressure, searching her sister's face where she imagined she would more likely find the answer.
She would be disappointed however, because Will's face presently resembled an iron mask. She shook her head but gave no answer. "We have a wedding to plan don't we?" And before Irma could prepare another question she had darted out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time.
Irma followed her silently, feeling more confused about this entire situation than ever, and of course far more interested in it as well.
Author: Matchmaking Irma versus matchmaking Susan, I wonder who will win?
Which brings me to my next point, I don't get the idea that some of you realize that Caleb will never marry Cornelia. Remember, he's PRETENDING so that he can spy on her family in order to find Phobos. The conflict here is not whether or not he chooses Will over Cornelia, it's Will's reaction should she ever find out who he really is.
Other than that, I think you're pretty good. It's summer now, so more updating time for this story. I am seriously going to try to get a chapter a week for as long as that's possible. So that hopefully this can get finished by September. I won't have any time to write next year (senior year) if my teachers have anything to do about it.
That's it. Thanks for the reviews and such; you are honestly the sweetest lot!
And to Ruberta, thanks for the link. Hahaha. It was a funny video. And there is absolutely no need to worry about me jumping ship after the Will and Caleb ship continues to plunge to its demise in the sea of canon. Remember, before I came aboard I was a member of the woefully proof less coupling of Phobos and Will. Sigh.
I write for my readers, and as long as they enjoy my ranting, then I'll keep writing.
Dedicated: To the lovely Lys. Who drew the most fantastic picture of Will in her pink dress from chapter three (I think/she said). I don't really know if I have permission to show it off, but if she allows me I'll post the link come next chapter.
