Moths, birds, and butterflies
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I know of a decent hotel where you can stay. and don't pay a fortune for it.
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What kind of hotel would Amelia Cushing consider not decent?
Yesterday night, things had slowly turned for the worse where the McMichaels were concerned. The son, Alan, had been more civil but not necessarily friendly or welcoming. Thomas preferred to not know what kind of relationship he and Amelia had, it was not his place to know. The daughter, Eunice, behaved like she had been betrayed; it seemed Lucille hadn't managed to get them back on her good graces. The mother, Ms. McMichael, seemed to be the only one agreeable until the end of the party. While Amelia and Edith thanked her for the night, they send two charming smiles to the Sharpes. Seeing his daughters having a good time, Mr. Cushing didn't seem as intimidating. For Thomas that was a major accomplishment until Ms. McMichael whispered to him. She suggested that if he truly planned to pursue her daughter's affections, he better put some distance with the Cushing ladies.
So, in the end, they had to take Amelia's offer and left the McMichael's mansion the next morning.
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Lucille was not happy with this outcome. Thomas now realized that she didn't like the Cushings, especially Amelia. He wondered if he had been too friendly, too soon. He wouldn't know. That night they discussed it at length before they came to the conclusion that the McMichael boat had pretty much sailed away. She had been cranky and brooding at him all the way to the hotel. But, as stepped down of the carriage, Thomas forgot his sister was fuming at him for he stood impressed at, as Amelia had described it, the "modest" building that stood proud in front of them.
It had been a luxurious Mansion in its early years; Thomas had noticed that thanks to the impressive size and configuration. It was only two floors tall but fairly wide. The golden fence almost made it look like a castle, the ornate statues and columns that flanked the entrance represented the French Rococo that prevailed on the building. The interior matched the extravagant look of the outside. As they walked to the lobby, Thomas noticed the aristocratic crest in the form of an H that adorned the ceiling, the doors, and some furniture. They presented themselves to the Hotel manager, who offered them the second-best accommodated suite of the building. Lucille looked at Thomas with apprehension and he moved to say he preferred a more modest location, given they planned to stay for a couple of weeks. The man smiled, saying that the owner had already arranged the prices of their stay and showing the book-in book with their names already written on them. Thomas said nothing else and thanked him. They were accompanied by three lobby boys and Lucille anxiously asked how much will all of that cost them. Thomas answered briefly -the image of the book fresh on his mind- that the suite was booked for less than half its price. That brought another question...
What kind of acquaintances did Amelia Cushing have?
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The young woman was one mystery after another. Thomas was inclined to assume that this was her father's doing, but that made no sense. He barely tolerated them, Why would he be that generous? The afternoon before the party and been a tortuous affair. Carter Cushing was not willing to risk a single cent of his daughter's money without assurance. That train of thought brought Thomas back to questions that had been bothering him since the night before.
Did Amelia Cushing had businesses of her own?
True, she was not your average wealthy Lady. She had a genuine interest in the mechanisms of commerce, economy, and even technology. She seemed to be fiercely independent, and she had traveled to a foreign country on her own while she still was very young. Maybe she had a company of her own in Mexico...
A young unmarried woman with a company or personal business? It was stretching expectations a bit too far.
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They spent the rest of the day resting. His sister was going around the Hotel, acquiring information, while he worked on a detailed report for Amelia to read, including the remaining work for his machine to be fully operational. Somehow, he had a certainty that she would understand it, or at least, seriously try to. That thought always made him consider once and twice again...
Did he trust Amelia Cushing?
In some ways, he did. Yesterday had been an odd night, between the conversation with Ms. McMichael, the dance with Edith and then, the dance with Amelia. It had felt normal and at the same time surreal. He could now say that he found the McMichaels despicable, that he appreciated Edith's presence -something he hadn't found in a couple of years...-, and that he liked the way Amelia made him relax, pulling down more walls that he would ever dare to admit. He was scared to consider the little time he seemingly needed to make some connection with the young woman. He could only explain it because maybe, in some ways, he found in her a kindred spirit. What was a bad sign about this, though, was the fate of the last kindred spirit he had ever met.
"We can't waste more time, Thomas. We must use this turn of events to our advantage," Her sister said that afternoon as she returned from her stroll around the massive mansion; she carried with her a letter. She let it beside the table and walked over to the nightstand. Thomas looked at her and then at the letter, his name written on the envelope. Almost no one knew they had moved to the Hotel. Frowning, he moved to open the letter and read.
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Dear friend,
I hope the accommodations of the hotel had been to your liking. If you need anything at all please, don't hesitate to ask me; and before you think it is an inconvenience I must remind you, you are also my business partner. It is in my best interest that you have the best time here at Buffalo.
Also, and since I've brought up the subject of your entertainment, I was hoping that you and Lady Lucille could accompany us to the park tomorrow morning. Here in Buffalo, some parks plant late-season flowers especially for the sightseeing of butterflies, and I thought it would be a nice distraction for you both.
Best wishes,
Amelia Cushing
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Thomas read the letter once again. He traced with his gaze the rushed but well-trained calligraphy and couldn't help but smile at the invitation. He immediately set to write back a positive reply, and enthusiastically elaborated on his interest to see the possible new species of butterflies that North America had to offer when..., he felt a gaze fall upon him, behind him. He had no need to look behind to know who it was. He looked up, his now serious face reflecting on a wall mirror. The piercing light-green of Lucille's eyes moved from him to her own reflection. He sighed and wrote his reply in a subdued manner. His mind started filling with apprehension and worry, remembering what his sister meant by not wasting any more time.
When finished, he announced he would leave the letter in the reception to send it as fast as possible and then left the room. He passed the sumptuous hallways and noticed that in this building, unlike the mansion of the McMichaels, electric light bulbs were installed instead of oil lamps. It gave out a strange feeling, the attempt to merge the styles of the old with the new; it appeared as a message that royalty could now be attained to anyone who could pay the price and it bothered him. He looked down, trying to avoid small talk and arrive at his destination as linearly as possible. When he did, a Lobby boy was in the place of the hotel manager and he asked if he could be of service instead of his superior. Thomas said he'd rather wait for the manager and leaned against the counter, moving his eyes around the lobby.
That's how he looked up the registration counter and noticed an imposing portrait of a military figure.
Thomas would ask himself later how had he not noticed before, it was rather big. The picture showed a man, possibly in his early thirties. Thomas studied the image with open curiosity. Though he didn't know much of military ranking in the United States, he could recognize the man had a high-rank thanks to the numerous plates on his shoulders. His hair was dark, he couldn't define if dark brown or black. He had a well-trimed beard and mustache that framed his face and made him look even paler. His light blue-colored eyes searched for the ones of the painting. He squinted, for he couldn't tell what color had the artist given them. He imagined it was a dark shade of blue or black. But one thing was certain; the look on those eyes had an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. Thomas swallowed some saliva, thinking it was ridiculous to feel scrutinized by a painting..., but he still did. It was the kind of look that was often directed at him during his childhood; a glare that expressed only disgust and disappointment. The side door of the counter closed and he jumped, the Hotel manager apologized.
"I'm sorry Sir; if I surprised you," the manager said with a smile, "You seemed quite lost in thought,"
"I was admiring the piece of art that you have behind you. Quite impressive," He said with a little smile and the manager laughed, giving him right; Thomas frowned and pointed to the painting again, "Would my assumptions be correct if I said that gentleman is the owner of this mansion?"
"They would be true, indeed Sir," said the manager, but soon he frowned "At least, in some way,"
"What do you mean?"
"That is the late First Sergeant, Sebastian Theodor Harrington, Sir. Sadly, our Sergeant passed away many years ago," replied the manager. Thomas nodded in understanding, "The mansion was passed down to his successor and turned into a Hotel, as you can see,"
"I wonder why would someone choose to turn such a beautiful mansion in a Hotel instead of living in it?... Of course, I don't mean to offend the current owner by asking," he commented, half-joking as he gave the letter he wanted to deliver to the manager. The man read the missive and then looked at Thomas, smiling and again leaving the counter.
"I sincerely don't think you would Sir. Perhaps you could ask the owner next time you see her," the man said, lifting the letter for a moment before guarding it in his coat, promising to deliver it himself at that same moment.
Thomas stayed in the lobby, gazing at the door long after the hotel manager was out of his sight.
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Amelia laid on her unmade bed, looking at the ceiling of her four-poster bed, a letter resting over her chest. The oil-lamp had gone off around an hour ago. Jane had forgotten -again!- to fill the oil compartment that evening, and now Amelia found herself embraced in the deep blue darkness that painted the sky just before dawn. Her deep brown eyes unfocused on the lack of color, and she meditated. A little current of wind came over and she shivered, pulling the covers over her once more but never moving as if she would sleep. She lifted the letter, it was too dark to look past the white of the paper, but she didn't plan on reading every detail. Instead, her mind worked to remember the words she had read earlier.
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Dear friend,
greetings, I've received your letter and my sister and I would be delighted to accompany you tomorrow. The fall season can be quite windy back in England, so it would be fascinating for us to see the strange and fantastic species of butterflies the young continent has to offer. Maybe they could put the natural museum's collection to shame.
Regarding our accommodation, I wish to give you my most sincere thanks. The place is absolutely beautiful, our room fantastic. I also wish to thank the owner of such a fine establishment, he has been quite generous with us.
Well then, dear friend, until tomorrow,
Thomas S.
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She, for the lack of better words, have been confused the first time she read it. Sir Thomas Sharpe was polite, sometimes playful and with surprisingly good humor; however, he seemed to be a man of few words. That was why when she read the letter, she feared that someone else had gotten hold of it and was playing some sick prank on her. She read it again and noticed some quips that the English man would actually make if he were talking, and she smiled. She read it a second time and laughed at the image of the British natural museum, assuming that some Monarca butterflies could outdo their bug collection at any time. Then again, maybe they could find one or two new ones. Amelia was certain she was not going to touch any of them. She finally read it one last time and traced the neat signature from the aristocrat. She couldn't help but feel embarrassed, thinking that her calligraphy wasn't that pretty, that her lines weren't that straight, and that her signature was far less polished than his. But she preferred to write the letter and send it before she realized what she was doing.
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She invited him to spend some time together and she had received a positive answer. She would have never done this, given the circumstances, and yet... Why was this time different?
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She danced around a concrete answer. She would not openly admit it, but she wished to see the Baronet again. One logical reason was that she, as a financial partner, should build a stronger relationship with Thomas. At least that way her father would stop saying she didn't know a thing about him.
A more childish part of her only wished to meet him for the sake of meeting him. He was openly offering his friendship and Amelia seemed more enthusiastic to have a new friend than she had previously imagined. Over the years, she had remained with fewer and fewer people as friends, being Edith and Alan the closest. Thinking Thomas could make a new friend gave her some kind of excitement that almost bordered on embarrassing.
Lastly, a part of her wished to test a theory regarding her sister. At first, she wished to bet all her intuition's worth on the fact that maybe Thomas was interested in Edith. She had some evidence, and after returning home yesterday night she was sure the romantic interest was not one-sided. This discovery excited her. Even if Edith tried to deny her interest in a romantic partner Amelia knew the young woman would resent not having married once she was older. She deeply wished her sister's happiness, and she had started thinking that Edith needed something more in her life.
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But then..., there was Alan.
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Maybe that would be the only thing that could stop her. Alan had a life-long crush on Edith, Amelia knew, but he had never tried to build anything on it. For being so assertive and outgoing, Alan could be truly shy at times.
She sighed, and sat again, setting the letter to the side. Edith didn't know about the invitation, and Amelia just hoped she would have nothing important to do that morning. She didn't want to go alone. That made her think of something else completely. She thought of pale green eyes on an ivory white skin, dark waves of long hair and a dress of crimson red like blood itself. She shuddered and this time there was no cold breeze.
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What kind of person was Lucille Sharpe?
Deep inside her, she wished to trust Thomas. Even if she tried to put as many barriers and tests as she could think of, she knew that she would favor him facing her own harsh judgment.
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But why?
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Maybe... it was because every time she looked at the young Baronet she felt he was contained... as if he wasn't allowed to do many things when he was a child, and that moved her compassion even more than his financial status. Somehow, she didn't feel the same thing about Lucille. Maybe it was the fact that she ignored Amelia's self-righteousness back at Ms. McMichael's party, maybe it was something else; she simply didn't like Lucille. She was polite and gracefull, virtually perfect. But she was also fake. Amelia felt like an amateur beside lady Sharpe, she was sure the woman could charm anyone if she just as decided so. There was also some kind of strength on her bearing; some kind of hardness that a person that has experienced terrible things in life would carry along. She realized she had identified all those things in Lucille just because of her gaze, a gaze that she was oddly familiar with and once she placed it, Amelia felt as if her insides were forming knots in fear.
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Amelia hugged her legs, thinking about that person was the last thing she wanted to do that night. Deciding that late morning would prove to be exhausting, she took one drop of Alan's medicine and turned to face the window, looking at the lighter blue of the sky before letting her eyes drop in a restless dream.
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"Amelia owns the Harrington Hotel,"
They left the hotel too late for Thomas's liking. Lucille turned her icy glare towards her brother, not liking the lack of formalities on that woman's name. Thomas looked nonchalant, but years of growing up with him hadn't passed in vain, and she knew he was annoyed. Still, she only smiled.
"Did you know?" He proceeded but she remained silent. "Please, Lucille. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"How soon is 'sooner', brother," she teased, Thomas limited himself to frown, "I only got hold of the situation once we were lodged at the mansion. Though it is rather an interesting turn of events..., did you know that this man, Harrington, was at least 15 years older than her? " she paused, they had reached the park where they'd be meeting with the Cushing sisters. Lucille made the gesture as if she was looking around for them and Thomas only huffed, silently clenching his jaw.
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"I'm not choosing her-"
"I'd think you no longer have options left to choose from," she cut her brother short. Her forceful tone made Thomas look away; he had no way to prove Lucille wrong. The McMichaels were easy to manipulate, but they were no longer in their favor. The Cushings seemed far wealthier, but Carter Cushing was a man that could not be easily fooled. Thomas sighed.
"But then, what about the sister, Edith-"
"No, not her," she cut him off again. Thomas raised his eyebrows, and then pulled them down in a confused frown. Why would a sister be better than the other?
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"I don't see the difference," they reached a tree and stopped. It was on a hill, that made them fairly visible. Thomas looked at her sister but she ignored him, favoring the people on the garden; then, her smile turned bigger, a predatory smirk that unsettled him. Thomas tried to follow her gaze and understood.
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On the other side of the hill, he spotted a yellow dress, going along with a large hat... it was Edith. She walked looking to her side, smiling. Beside her was Amelia Cushing in a light blue dress, far more comfortable than Edith's. She was eagerly explaining something to her sister, gesticulating vivaciously. She seemed to be constantly interrupted by Alan McMichael, who had joined the two women. Every time Amelia got interrupted she only smiled and gave a playful shove to her escort, who laughed and seemed to rebel in the attention.
Thomas swallowed a lump that formed in his chest, his jaw now continuously tensing under his skin. Was there any need to do this? Was there any need to force themselves in such a picture?
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He could barely look at it. He felt envy, resentment, and longing... all at the same time.
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"I couldn't blame you if you didn't notice, but let me aid you, brother mine," Lucille said; Edith was the first one to spot them and she waved, Lucille smiled, returning the gesture. "Amelia Cushing is not beautiful, and she knows it, that's why she acts the way she does so she can get attention," Edith had given her sister notice and this one looked upfront. When she spotted the Sharpes she waved also, and this time Thomas raised his hand, trying to answer the gesture; "A woman resigned to never finding love will welcome one that is freely offered, pathetically thinking is fate or meant to be,".
Thomas let his hand fall and looked at Lucille with a clear expression of disagreement. She ignored him, and her smile grew larger to welcome the ladies that now were only some steps away from them.
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"Lady Lucille, Thomas; I'm glad you could make it," Amelia said with a warm smile. Edith made a courtesy and so did Lucille, who then greeted Alan, he politely smiled.
"We wouldn't miss it for anything; gardens in America are quite beautiful," she answered, then looked at Amelia for some minutes. Noticing that no one was going to say anything at all, Alan cleared his throat.
"This one is one of the late autumn gardens, flowers are arranged to bloom far later in the season," commented Alan giving Amelia a little smile.
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This was turning out to be her worst idea yet. The awkwardness was almost comical. Amelia noticed that, again, Lucille was gazing at her and that unnerved her even further.
"I wonder if people still do that in England," she commented and looked at Thomas. Having his cue to talk he straightened and smiled.
"I'm afraid there aren't as much as there were before. The climate in autumn does not kindly sustain the flowers for much longer. I believe gardeners favor the early winter bushes for cooking and decoration,"
There was another silence, and Edith moved to comment on something when Alan interrupted.
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"Ladies, Sir Thomas, I'm afraid I'll have to leave you," he turned to look at the side and Amelia almost rolled her eyes. As if invoked, Eunice and Lady McMichael were also strolling around.
Not wanting to turn this any more tortuous, Amelia moved fast to say."Would you like to stay here, Lady Lucille? Or maybe somewhere more illuminated,"
"We could walk around a little and see if we find somewhere nice," she agreed and soon parties were made. Before being able to join his mother and sister, Alan gave a last look in Edith's direction. Amelia noticed this but her sister didn't and, before she knew it, Lucille had walked to her side. She looked to her side and noticed that Edith had lingered to be beside Thomas; so.., with a little smile and no protest, she started walking beside the English lady.
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"I must apologize" Amelia looked at the beautiful woman beside her, her ivory skin shining pristine against the clouded sunlight; "I didn't fully understand what Ms. McMichael meant to say the other night until it was too late," she turned to glance behind her. Edith had brought her manuscript and was eagerly talking about it with Thomas; "Still; I didn't know what to do, I was afraid to contradict her, being so generous as to let us stay at her home,"
"It's alright, I shouldn't have reacted as I did. Ms. McMichael and I have never gotten along, I understand your predicament" Amelia rushed to say, realizing the young lady was right and that she had put her anger on the wrong person, "I hope the suite given to you is to your liking,"
"It is magnificent, thank you," Lucille smiled and Amelia mimicked that smile the best she could. She frowned then, looking at the front, and wondered if the feelings she had been getting out of the English lady up until that moment were wrong. Sure, Lucille Sharpe had been raised among the aristocracy, she knew how to be charming. Yet, she had a strong presence, something that told you you wouldn't contradict her for long. Indeed, she was far more mysterious than her brother; Amelia couldn't tag her as a dangerous person, but at the same time she couldn't bring herself to trust her.
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"I couldn't tell you yesterday, you were fantastic at the piano,"
"You were also proficient with the violin, we could make a duet sometime," she offered and Amelia agreed that would be nice. "We no longer get to assist to many parties; so our life back at England can be quite boring," she said with a resigned sigh.
Amelia just nodded, looking at her. Truth was that many old English families thought that their position in society would be enough to secure them a place in the new industrial world. In the beginning, it had been like this, but after the installment of democracy many started to gain wealth on their own, common people could afford to make a name for themselves. The number of products was more important than quality.
"The world is changing," Amelia said, "Not everyone is ready or fast enough to adapt to change, but we hope that there is enough time for them to figure it out,"
"We can only hope," Lucille agreed, "Even so, there are certain things I'll miss about the old times, how things were done before...,"
"Like what?"
"Like romance,"
"Oh, to tell you the truth I wouldn't know," Amelia replied, suddenly feeling anxious. Lucille didn't seem to notice her distress and looked behind her. They had walked maybe too fast, Edith and Thomas had fallen behind.
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"Do you think this could be a good place to take a rest?" the English lady asked, and Amelia looked behind her. She agreed and waved for her sister to come over. Edith replied to the wave and turned to Thomas, he had the manuscript in his hands and Edith signaled a passage before they started walking again, catching up to Amela and Lucille.
"What is the book about?" asked Lucille suddenly, Amelia smiled.
"Edith says it is about a ghost story, but to my impression is more like a coming-of-age tale," Lucille only looked at her, expecting Amelia to go on, "The ghosts Edith created are a metaphor for hurtful memories that prevent the protagonist to forgive, forget, and move forward," Amelia completed with a wistful expression.
"Forget? Can you really do such a thing, I wonder..." commented Lucille as she moved to sit, "Happy memories can get fragmented and nebulous... but hurtful ones, those... those stay with you forever," She looked at Amelia stood completely still, "After all, out memories make us who we really are, and running away from them is only a childish wish that won't be fulfilled." she turned to look down as if in deep thought, until she gave Amelia a little smile, "At least, it is what I think. Don't you think the same?"
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Amelia said nothing, Edith and Thomas had finally caught up to them. They sat, Edith on the side of Lucille and Thomas next to Amelia. She gazed into gree-blue eyes; he was frowning and Amelia looked away.
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"Amelia was telling me about your novel, I must admit, it's quite intriguing," Lucille commented, Edith smiled and started talking to the young Lady. Amelia limited herself to gaze down at her still trembling hands. It terrified her, Lucille's words. They had seemed so innocent and at the same time so poignant. In the end, it was as she said... She left Buffalo, seeking to be someone else, and when she realized it was a fruitless effort, she returned. Then, another thought plagued her mind. The sole idea that maybe the English lady had already figured out her secret made her feel almost physically sick.
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"...and we hope to send it to the Atlantic monthly as soon as possible. Isn't that right, Mimi?"
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Amelia looked up, her confused face quickly disappearing into a warm smile. "Indeed, I'm certain it will be a success," she conceded subtly flexing her fingers that now were cramped and screaming in pain. "I wonder if Sir Thomas will give us soon his verdict," she teased in a playful tone.
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"I would be honored to be the first reader," he said with a bow of his head. "Maybe I can read it out loud; do you know where we can get a chair to be more comfortable,"
"Oh, I should have offered sooner. We brought some chairs and a small picnic. I'll go to Jane and bring them here,"
"Please allow me to help you," Thomas said, leaving the manuscript in hands of Edith and swiftly standing up. Just as the first time they met, Amelia looked at him with a closed up expression..., but when she took his hand and lifted her on her feet, she could feel a wave of reassurance. She warmly smiled and gave a last look at the ladies that remained sat while they walked away.
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"You are trembling," he said, after a couple of steps. Amelia frowned confused, ready to deny such an assumption until she lifted her hand and noticed. She had lept holding his hand as they walked away. Thomas huffed when she let go as if burned, looking to the front, her eyes wide in panic, her cheeks red.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't notice,"
"The hand? Or your trembling?" He inquired further. Amelia glared at him, annoyed. Thomas retracted, his concerned gaze turning more guarded..., just like hers. Amelia sighed, all mistrust disappearing and leaving behind a sense of guilt.
"Um, both?... I really didn't notice. If I made you uncomfortable then-"
"But I think the uncomfortable one is you," Thomas cut her off, "I offered my friendship genuinely, but if you feel like I'm trespassing you better say. Rest assured I won't be offended,"
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Amelia stood still and wide-eyed in surprise; the glare on the young baronet contrasting with the gentle nature that she was starting to associate him with. She opened her mouth but closed it again, unsure of what to say. She then took a deep breath. "No, you are not trespassing, and yes I feel... bothered but not because of you," she added in a more matter-of-fact way. Thomas gave a little smile, and they both started walking again.
"Then, was it something Lucille said?"
"It was more about her views than anything else. She meant no harm by her words... I know but, she said one truth that I've been trying too long to avoid." she confessed. They soon were leaving the center field of the park and reached a cobblestoned path flanked by tall trees.
"Is it something you wouldn't mind telling me?"
"Honestly, I prefer to forget about it. Maybe some other day..., " she looked at him, a sad smile on ger lips. Thomas noted, true to his word, he didn't appear offended. Amelia took another deep breath and kept on walking.
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"Did you like the hotel?"
"Oh we certainly did," Thomas said with a little smile, though for a moment he hesitated to continue. Amelia frowned, clearly confused but the Baronet added then, "The suite we are staying in is of exquisite taste, although we would have been just as comfortable with something more modest," Thomas teased, Amelia puffed in mirth, "Am I safe to assume the electrical lights were your idea?"
"Oh, well...; that house was already too large for candle lighting, the smoke had left nasty burn-marks on the wallpaper and-" she rambled on until she realized Thomas already knew. She turned, a surprised and confused expression on her face, just like when she had been caught by her sister trying to lift a typewriter all on her own. Thomas gave a hearty laugh, one that Amelia hadn't heard before. She felt a sudden warmth wash over her body and she instinctively smiled.
"You thought I wouldn't know?" he whispered a small playful smile on his lips.
"I thought you would take a little longer to figure it out," she pouted, the light blush on her cheeks seemed too light for the baronet to notice. He smirked to the front, certainly proud of himself. "It's not like I wanted to hide it from you, but I was unsure you would accept my offer if you knew from the beginning,"
"You did well; I wouldn't have accepted," he added and Amelia nodded extending her hand in front of them as if stating she was right all along. Thomas only smiled.
But his smiles could only go that far, and he soon started to sober, giving the young woman side glances. Amelia wondered why it still seemed like he wanted to ask her something but didn't bring himself to do so.
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Then, she realized it must have been about the painting. She also looked at the front worried, she didn't want to answer that question... she didn't want to lie to get away from it. Instead, they kept on walking, until they reached a large fountain. There, a butler and a maid waited alongside a large basket and some flyable chairs. At the sight of the young Cushing lady, the butler straightened and Jane stood from the bench she was in.
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"I'm sorry I kept you waiting for me, Jane... this is Sir Thomas Sharpe,"
"Good day Sir," the maid said, head down and with a small courtesy.
"Good morning miss," he smiled and also greeted the butler.
"We came to retrieve the picnic basket if that's alright with you" Amelia announced. Her statement was soon followed by two surprised expressions and a stern gaze.
"Miss Amelia, you only need to tell us where you are and we shall take all that is necessary," the old butler said, Jane looked between him and Amelia.
"Oh, Mr. DeWitt that's nonsense. Father will soon take his mid-day break for lunch and he'll go back home. You two need to be there for him," the butler did not seem convinced, "It will be fine, Sir. Thomas has offered to help me" Amelia was fast to answer. The old man only grunted and motioned for Jane to obey the young Cushing lady. A nervous Jane looked back to Amelia before giving her two small pliable chairs. Pulling himself out of his reverie, Thomas Sharpe walked forward and offered to take one while she took the other. Then, they both took one handle of the basket to even the weight and started walking.
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The basket was not as heavy as he had imagined being; even so, he begrudgingly thanked Amelia in his thoughts for preferring to share the weight. If he had to be honest, he immediately regretted to accompany the young lady once he realized that Amelia would prefer to dismiss the maids that came along. If he needed any indication she didn't want any kind of help, the typewriter she tried to lift alone the day they met would have been enough.
Apprehension filled him suddenly... if she accepted his help, would she make him carry all the weight? Was she searching for an excuse to make fun of him?... Many women assumed men to be strong enough to carry all on their own, and he had come to avoid these kinds of situations just because he knew he would only disappoint them. He was then angry at himself, for he had stood up and offered his help on pure instinct, he had let his guard down, and he was beginning to notice he often did so when he was around the Cushing lady. Now he had no way of escaping without looking inadequate.
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And yet,...; it hadn't turned out that way. Amelia didn't even hesitate when she offered to share the heavy load. Thomas then understood she would have shared it with her maid would she had gone alone. This should make him feel relieved, but... he actually felt bothered.
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It was more clear to him than ever before. Amelia Cushing was different. Her lack of delicacy or even apparent weakness should have rubbed him the wrong way, it should have not appealed to him and should have pushed him away.
Amelia Cushing is not beautiful, and she knows it; she acts that way so she can get attention.
But he didn't feel that way. She was strong-willed and energic, she was headstrong and he could even bet she was stubborn to a fault. She was all that a young lady shouldn't be, and to him, that made her unique. She intrigued him... especially because he didn't feel that this attitude was a facade, he felt it was natural and part of her essence. She was open-minded and a visionary; she supported him with an impartial point of view, she didn't care for his title nor his upbringing. She wasn't prejudiced, or at least, she tried not to be. She seemed to be strategic and analytical, the most emotional he has ever seen her was when she was either laughing in unfiltered happiness or glaring in the purest flaming rage.
.
She reminded him of the strength Lucille had always had since she was a child, but he had started to notice a single and clear difference. Amelia was kind-hearted, where Lucille more often than not, wasn't. At the core of it all, that's what bothered him the most; that was the reason he didn't want to choose her to pursue his sister's plans...
Amelia was good, and they weren't. He would never be good enough for the kind of life she represented, and he had never felt that as strong as he felt it now. Every time he thought of her success, he longed and wished to have something like it. But then, he would be consumed by envy and resentment, reality would hit him like cold water, and he would admit that kind of happiness was never meant for him.
He wasn't that sheltered, he would never be.
.
.
He glanced around him and noticed many heads turning to look at the odd pair. He sighed, not welcoming the attention. He turned to Amelia to tell her but she seemed to pay no mind at all. Actually, she was trying to keep his pace, lifting a little her dress to match his long steps. Berating himself and feeling even more inadequate, he slowed down, desperately trying to hide his contraried expression.
.
"Oh?... Are we going the wrong way?" She asked, looking around trying to orientate herself.
"No...," he paused "but I didn't notice you were struggling to keep my pace, I apologize,"
"Well, I wasn't really struggling...," she said, giving him a small and rather sweet smile, " You see, I was more worried I would trip and so was being extra careful,"
She giggled, and Thomas came to the conclusion that he also liked that calm but content expression. Seeing she was distracted once again, Thomas used that change to stare unabated. Her hair was a chocolate brown, wavy locks that disappeared in a voluminous bun; it was once again decorated with a small brooch made of feathers. He tried to remember her eye color... it was a shade of brown, a little clearer than the ones from Edith. Unlike Lucille, whose eyes were a light shade of green, Amelia's eyes fell in harmony with the light tan of her skin. Said skin had a golden tint in the sunlight, it spoke of endless mornings under the sun, of exotic places where the sky must be as blue as clear water..., places as Italy in summer.
.
She wasn't beautiful to any standards, but that was fine. She was free from said standards, she was free from societal constraints. She was freedom.
.
And he longed and resented that freedom.
.
"Thomas," she asked and he noticed that she was looking at him. This time around, he couldn't hide the blush he sported, failing at pretending to not have been staring.
"Yes, what is it?"
"We are almost there, but maybe we could take a little break," she offered. They had stopped, and Thomas nodded, letting the basket fall and piling the chairs against a tree. She walked to it and reclined. Thomas decided to stay on the road. They were only a couple steps away from the clearing and Thomas could see Lucille talking with Edith over a bed of dead butterflies.
.
Around all that yellow and color, the black gown of his sister looked as if it didn't belong.
"May I ask you something?" Amelia said suddenly, her eyes also focused on the clearing.
"Ask away,"
"Do you think Edith is beautiful?"
.
Thomas turned to look at Amelia with a confused expression. She also looked at him, she was serious. Suddenly he felt completely exposed, thinking that there was no right answer. If he said Edith was beautiful... Would Amelia feel that she wasn't?. If he said Edight wasn't beautiful... Will Amelia gey upset?. He looked at the blonde woman, who almost merged with the dry leaves of autumn and decided he would be honest.
"She is beautiful," he began, "she is intelligent and determined. She is delicate, and I bet she is sweet and a caring sister,"
He sustained his stare despite the horrendous amount of anxiety he was experiencing. Amelia looked surprised for a moment but then smiled warmly at him. Thomas frowned confused, "If you don't mind me asking, Why would you want to know my opinion?"
.
Amelia looked again at the horizon, she was probably looking at her sister. "I wish for Edith to find all the happiness she can. I wanted to know if you thought of her as beautiful to know if she is attractive to the opposite gender... if there were chances a respectable man would pursue her affections properly,"
Was she trying to tell him to pursue the affections of Edith? Thomas blinked dumbfounded. What an odd question to make. Was she trying to tell him something else? Was she comparing herself to her sister?
Amelia Cushing is not beautiful and she knows it...
"We should keep going," She said and moved to lift her chairs again. Thomas followed her lead and soon they were walking down the cliff to where both their sisters were. Thomas swallowed some saliva, and dare to say one last thing before the conversation topic was forgotten.
"I think she is not the only one to be attractive to the other gender," he commented, almost offhandedly. Amelia turned at him, an eyebrow frowned. Did he dare? "I think you, Ms. Amelia, would also have high chances of drawing the affections of a respectable man,"
.
She smiled and then giggled. Thomas wished to believe there was a blush coloring her cheeks.
.
"Well, I hope that isn't the case... I would have to reject him," She said suddenly, and Thomas felt as if he had frozen over. He turned to look at her once again, confused.
"But, why would that be?"
Amelia turned to look at the front, a contemplating look on her eyes. She turned to him then and smiled. Her smile was a sad one.
.
"Because..., I know that kind of happiness is not for me,"
...
...
...