They were quiet after that, both thinking. Lizzie felt as though her heart had been shattered and her soul weeping for him. She looked up, but his eyes were fixed upon a point beyond the window, buried far away in memories of the past. He had never looked so distant, or so alone. Looking at him like that, she resolutely promised herself that he would never look like it again. Anything that happened from then on would be shared between them, halved to make the pain more bearable. She reached out and took his hand again, drawing him back to the present gently. He blinked at her, dark lashes lying flush against his cheeks for a heartbeat, but when his eyes opened they were pained.
"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, almost dreading the answer.
His eyes met hers with a flash of fear. "What if I'm a terrible husband, Lizzie? Or a bad father?" He paused, his voice becoming almost inaudible. "What if I can't love?"
"You're here, aren't you?" Lizzie's fingertips alighted on Colin's cheekbone, resting there with a feather-light touch. "And you can love. You love Mary, and you love Dickon. You love the garden, and you love your father." She looked him straight in the eyes. "And I'm also fairly sure that you love me."
Colin looked away. "But the way I feel about you is different to everything else," he said.
"Thank God," replied Lizzie.
"What?"
"Thank God," she repeated. "If you felt the same way about me as you do Mary and Dickon, I'd be highly concerned."
Colin's confused face made her smile.
"I love my parents, my sisters, my friends," Lizzie explained. "But I am in love with you, and that is completely different."
Colin's face broke into a smile so beautiful that Lizzie could almost not believe that a few moments before he had looked so utterly isolated. Her heart swelled as she realised that she had put that smile there, that it was for her and her alone. Her own smile mirrored his, and she felt so contented and happy that she wished she could stay on that window seat with him forever, hiding from the rest of the world.
They both jumped as the door to the library flew open. Lizzie put her index finger to her lips, gesturing Colin to remain silent. He grinned at her in response and wiggled his eyebrows. She shut her eyes and put her hands over her face to stop herself laughing.
"Have you found them, Mary?" asked a voice, which Lizzie recognised as Isabelle's.
"No," called back Mary's voice, from somewhere just to the right of the concealed window seat. "Perhaps they went outside again. Why don't you check the gardens at the back of the house?"
Lizzie could hear her sister's light footsteps retreating along the corridor towards the stairs. Then came Mary's voice again, though this time it was lowered.
"In future, it would perhaps be better to choose a less predictable hiding spot, Colin. I know that you seem to have a strange infatuation with window seats- and heaven knows why, because they are rather uncomfortable- but if you don't want to be found you really should be more imaginative. Anyway, you've been up here for ages and people are starting to wonder where you are- including your mother, Lizzie. She's determined to eliminate those of us who are still sober before we all head up to bed, and I really need you to save us. I don't know what you two are up to, and frankly I don't care, but if you aren't downstairs in ten minutes to save me from being force-fed brandy I will personally come and drag you there!"
Mary left the room noisily, stomping down the stairs as hard as was possible in stiletto heels. She wasn't really angry with them, but she felt like they needed to realise that they couldn't sneak off with each other when they were expected elsewhere. It was the sort of thing that she and Dickon had done when she was fifteen. She stopped suddenly in the middle of the staircase, wondering why on earth she was being so responsible. She was hardly one to stick to rules, was she? Imagine how different her life may have been if she'd always obeyed orders- she might never have found Colin for one! Perhaps she'd have been sent off to school, and now she would be married to a wealthy land-owner like the very Edmund Harries that had proposed to her. What a boring, inconsequential life she would be leading! She didn't want to think about what would have become of her cousin, uncle and Misselthwaite.
She hurried down the rest of the steps and marched into the drawing room, where she saw her uncle talking to Mr Templeton in a corner, far away from the red-cheeked, silk-gowned and stout woman that was Mrs Templeton. Lizzie's mother was steering her youngest daughter towards a man that Mary recognised as Benjamin Chester-Jones, and Isabelle looked furious. Mary considered ducking around Mrs Templeton to reach Dickon, who was chatting amicably to a man that Mary did not recognise, but Isabelle's need seemed greater and Mary set off to rescue her.
Isabelle gave one last attempt at releasing herself from her mother's firm hand, and gave up. Her mother was pushing her towards a dark-haired and handsome young man that Iz vaguely recognised, although her memories of him were fuzzy.
"Isabelle, this is Benjamin Chester-Jones. You were only a child when you last saw him- he's been in America for a while, though why one would wish to spend time there I haven't the faintest-"
"Benjamin," smiled Isabelle, mainly to shut her mother up. "I thought I recognised you."
"Well, like I said, you were only a child, Isabelle-"
"I heard you the first time, mother," said Isabelle tightly.
"There's no need for rudeness, young lady-" began Mrs Templeton, before Mary appeared.
"I believe Lady Huttlestone would like to ask you which florist you used, Mrs Templeton," interjected Mary smoothly. "She says that the floral displays are simply divine and begs you to reveal your secrets in time for Sophia and Edmund's wedding."
"Lady Huttlestone?" Mrs Templeton flushed a little. "Well, you must excuse me." She bustled towards a tall and rather haughty woman with a spectacular nose, who looked as though she had very little interest in the floral decorations.
"Thank you," whispered Isabelle as Mary winked at her.
"We meet again, Miss Lennox," interrupted Benjamin Chester-Jones with a smile.
Mary looked at him with a disdain that Isabelle did not understand. Benjamin seemed perfectly pleasant.
"It's hardly surprising when we have so many mutual acquaintances," Mary replied coldly.
He looked somewhat affronted. "I really don't know what I have done to offend you, Miss Lennox," he said, with his American lilt.
Mary muttered something which sounded very much like 'breathing', and Isabelle hid a smirk beneath her hand.
"I am very much interested in your friendship with Harry Dennel," Mary continued. "I have no wish to associate myself with him or his friends."
"Oh, I can assure you that we are not friends," Benjamin answered darkly. "I am merely unfortunate enough to belong to the same club as him."
"I see," said Mary.
"Our family has known Benjamin's for a long time, Mary," said Isabelle, now feeling reproachful. "He is a good friend of Teddy's, and I rather think Mama was hoping that he'd make a good match for Lizzie."
"Where is Lizzie?" enquired Benjamin- he seemed keen to change the topic of conversation.
"She's with Colin somewhere," replied Isabelle. "I'm sure they'll appear soon."
"Colin?" Benjamin made the name a question.
"My cousin," said Mary icily. "And Lizzie's fiancé."
"Lizzie's engaged?"
Isabelle looked from Benjamin's disappointed face to Mary's now-triumphant one, and decided that enough was enough.
"Mary, stop being so cruel. I don't know what there is between you two, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't offend my sister's guests. Benjamin, there is no need for you to look so terribly wronged. You were hardly courting Lizzie, were you? Honestly, some people just expect girls to fall gratefully into their laps with no work at all! She's engaged, and I'm afraid there is nothing that you can do about it, so please stop looking like a kicked puppy!" Isabelle took a deep breath and pushed her hair away from her face. She was feeling rather warm.
"Why are you shouting, Iz?"
Isabelle turned to see her sister approaching, dragging a reluctant Colin behind her. Somehow, she didn't think that Colin would take too kindly to a competitor, so she plastered her face with a brilliant smile. "No reason," she said.
"Shouting for no reason? Are you missing Emmeline so much that you feel the need to embody her? She's only been gone for a few hours!"
"Hilarious," muttered Isabelle. "My sides are splitting."
"Now you sound like Mary!" laughed Lizzie. "Perhaps we should keep you separate- we don't need another Lennox around- Oh, hello Benjamin!" Lizzie smiled politely. "I don't believe you've met my fiancé, have you?"
Isabelle saw Benjamin's eyes narrow slightly, and turned to see Colin mirror his expression. Their handshake was stronger than was necessary. Isabelle sighed inwardly and resigned herself to an evening of continued peace-making, thinking longingly of her sketchbook and pencils. She hoped that she wasn't blushing too much- her mother might get the wrong idea.
Mary made her excuses when Lizzie and Colin appeared, feeling that she had done her duty to Isabelle. She turned away from the group, not before smirking at the hostile look in Colin's eyes as he sized up Mr Chester-Jones. She wasn't quite sure why she disliked him so- perhaps simply because he had seemed interested in Lizzie when Mary had been quite sure that Colin was in love with her already. Perhaps she considered him a threat to the perfect Misselthwaite universe that she imagined, one where she, Dickon, Colin, Lizzie and all their children would reign, supremely happy. Or perhaps it was just his irritating pleasantry, where he lacked the fire and passion that she herself so championed. Dickon was good too, she reasoned, but he had none of the blandness of Benjamin Chester-Jones. Dickon's temperament could be misleading in that sense. He may appear a cool and gentle stream, but people forget that streams run into rivers and oceans, with powerful currents. He may be far less confrontational than Mary, but he was no less passionate when it came to those he loved.
Mary drifted across the room and wound her arm through Dickon's. His warm hand rested on hers and Mary felt a feeling of calm settle around her. Water as he was, he could always quench her unreasonable fire.
"Would you excuse us?" she asked the man Dickon had been conversing with. He nodded and smiled genially, turning to join the conversation behind him instead. Mary led Dickon through the crowd and out into the courtyard garden.
"What's ailin' thee?" he asked her, wrapping her gently in his arms.
"Nothing, really," she replied. "I just miss home."
Dickon laughed and pulled her closer, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "Tha's been away two weeks, and we're goin' back tomorrow. Tha managed when tha was here for whole year, remember? Making thy introductions to society?"
Mary rolled her eyes. "Pfft, society. It all seems rather pointless now. I was always going to marry you."
Dickon tried to look stern, but his wide mouth and round blue eyes could not quite manage it. He gave her a brief smile, though his eyes were a little more serious than usual.
"Well it mattered to thy uncle, and tha mun respect that. Remember tha' he grew up in a different time t' us. Things were different then, an' they'll be different again i' th' future."
Dickon's eyes grew distant in the way that they did when he was remembering his time at war. His arms were still around her, and Mary suddenly felt very selfish and ashamed of herself. She busied herself examining the paving stones beneath her feet, wishing that she had his capability for selflessness. She only hoped that he was good enough for both of them.
Dickon looked down at Mary's face, which was pulled into a little frown. She wore that frown a lot, though rarely in anger any more. It was an unconscious expression, one that she acquired when she was thinking hard. He smiled his wide smile and traced the furrows in her forehead with his thumb.
"Careful," he said, "or thou'll get wrinkles."
Her eyes widened indignantly at that and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He bent to kiss her, his movements as easy as breathing.
"Would you still love me if I had wrinkles?" she asked him, and he pretended to think hard, knowing that she would protest and probably nudge him with her elbow. She did, and he chuckled.
"Well, will you?" she demanded, lips pressed together and eyebrows drawn into a scowl.
"Of course, Mistress Mary," he replied, grinning again when he saw her frown deepen at the mention of her old nickname.
"My cottage boy." Mary winked at him, pressing herself closer. He rolled his eyes and wrapped her in his jacket, remembering the first time he'd met her, when she'd asked if he could keep a secret. He'd thought her a strange little thing, an odd mix of fierceness and vulnerability. His mother had told him to be kind, but Dickon hadn't needed telling. He had known straight away that he would fall in love with her- how could he not when he watched her earnest face as she dug in the earth, the serious way in which she listened as he told her the names of flowers? Perhaps the moment when it had truly struck him was when she came hurtling into the garden, full of joy and throwing foxglove seeds all over the place because her uncle had granted her 'a bit of earth'. He would never forget the irresistible and vivacious energy that she had exuded as her blonde hair flew everywhere. He looked down at that same blonde head and hazel eyes, nestled against him like a resting bird. His missel thrush, he remembered.
Oh wow, an update- it's only been 9 months! Having not writtenfor a long time, I wanted to quickly catch up with all the main characters in this chapter and remind myself of what was actually happening! ;) I also just wanted to say thankyou again for all the lovely reviews from previous updates- re-reading them sparked me into action, hence why this chapter is actually a thing! Thanks very much for sticking with this story, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. CityWilderness x