Chapter 9
It was the real Anna. Faery Anna never spoke. She was there, actually there before him on the damp lawn, her nightgown covered by a sweater, her feet in soft slippers, her hair in that loose braid he remembered. She was more beautiful than he remembered and imagined.
John composed himself. It was time. He hoped it wasn't too painful for either of them.
"Mr. Bates."
"Anna. I nearly took you for one of the good folk."
"Best keep a bit of iron about you then so you don't get snatched away."
"I don't know that I mind spending seven years in the company of certain members of that race."
This was going to be hard. John couldn't help saying these things when she was near. They came unbidden to his lips and were out before he had time to consider. As did the smile and lowering of his voice.
Anna sat next to him on the temple stairs. He turned to consider her face more closely than he had recently. She looked tired, a little haggard.
"Why aren't you in bed?" he wondered aloud while marveling at her beauty and her timing. No chance of interruption.
Interruption of what? Nothing more than an unfortunate confessional.
"I might ask you the same question."
Indeed.
"I felt like some fresh air was in order." No need to explain he couldn't sleep for being haunted by her. She didn't want to know.
Anna looked at the sky. "I couldn't sleep."
John couldn't think of safe response, so he looked at her again, deep into her eyes this time. His resolve was crumbling. Should he? Could he? Did she even want him to?
Anna turned. She looked straight ahead. John was content to let her lead; just that she was outside with him the night was enough for him to follow anywhere.
"What were you and Mr. Molesley talking about this afternoon?"
Not what he expected. He had expected something about his own lies to her, perhaps an accusation, or even something about what changes the war might bring to their little world. John swallowed hard. He looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees. He looked at the sky. Now or never.
"We were discussing you. He asked me if I knew if you had someone special, or if I thought he might have a chance."
Silence.
"And what did you tell him?" Was her voice a little shaky? Was she blinking fast while she gazed at the stars? Was there hope, in this hopeless mess?
John swallowed again, his eyes following hers to the sky. Was that Lyra overhead?
"I told him I knew you did, and that if I were him, I wouldn't take the chance as the person in question is very keen on you."
Silence. John was sure she could hear his heart beating. A fox ran by. He hoped the rabbits were safe.
"Do you know who this mysterious person who is said to be so keen on me might be?" The lilt was back in her voice, barely. It shouldn't be. He was getting to the hopeless part. Hopeless when she was outside with him in the perfect still night and they were alone and it felt right.
"As it happens, I do know. The trouble is, he isn't sure what to do about it." There.
"This person can't just be happy to admire and be loved in return?"
John had never considered it that way. Just to love. What an interesting idea. What was she suggesting? The trouble was she deserved more, and he wanted more. The trouble was she was still interested, knowing him to be married and to have made a false confession for a wife he didn't love and couldn't find. That was his mother's truth, which was as good as Anna's truth.
He kept starting and stopping. He looked down. Her fingers were intertwined with his. When had that happened? He turned to her. Her gaze was still fixed straight ahead. Could he possibly put his arm around her and hold her close to his side and tell her there was no hope? Would that make it better or worse?
"Anna, I…well, I…I shouldn't have said that to Mr. Molesley. I can find him tomorrow and tell him I was mistaken."
"So this admirer isn't keen?" Her voice quivered a little. John cursed himself. Repeatedly. He heard an owl. It was a beautiful and eerie sound. He did it. He put his arm around her and pulled her close to his side like he'd dreamt of doing so many times. She felt perfect. Small and snug and solid and perfect.
"Anna, this admirer has made a mess of his life, and can't contemplate making a mess of someone else's. You deserve better, and you also deserve better than Mr. Molesley, but at least there's something he can offer you."
"Would that make you happy? If I were to receive Mr. Molesley's attentions while you know I love you?"
John chuckled to himself. He drew her closer. Maybe he was a hypocrite, but she felt so good. He put his face to the top of her head and breathed in. Her hair was so soft. She smelled like roses and lavender and furniture polish and Lady Mary's perfume. She was intoxicating.
He would endeavor to be happy for Anna's sake if he thought she could or would be happy with Mr. Molesley. He would ache and burn with jealousy and frustration and longing. He would feel hollow. Empty. He would lose weight and color and humor. He may as well take Vera back and start drinking again.
"No." He whispered, half-choked, into her hair.
"Can't you just love and be happy to be loved in return?"
