Chapter 17 March 1774
Charles' sitting room: soft blue walls, and green furniture. In all honesty, it was a very tasteful place. Today was the first time it ever occurred to me to wonder why Charles, a man who would never care about the color of his furniture, had a beautiful sitting room in the middle of beautiful living quarters.
I was sitting on a plush green couch, very comfortable. But I was too tense to take advantage of this comfort: Thomas was coming to "tea" (no actual tea could be allowed in Charles' household, but we made do with some sort of substitute, God knows what was in it). My mind wandered, until finally, there they were. I rose to greet them. Charles entered the room first, followed by Thomas. Oh, Thomas, Thomas! He wore a gray suit, as pristine and handsome as ever.
"Miss Atkins, you look lovelier each time I see you," Thomas said from behind Charles. Charles scowled, and Thomas grinned, his white teeth showing. He winked; lucky Charles' back was to him. A smooth eyelid closed over one of his crystal blue eyes, and I wanted to fall straight back onto my brother's plush, green couch and wait for Thomas to wake me up—with a kiss, perhaps.
"Mr. Melville, you flatter me," I said. I fluttered my black eyelashes over my green eyes, and gave a slight, graceful smile.
Charles glared at me, and Thomas opened his mouth to speak again. "Enough!" Charles said, looking at me pointedly with his steely, blue eyes. I swear, that man could have cut me apart piece by piece with his eyes alone. I sat down on that infuriatingly green couch.
After an hour or so of Charles and Thomas talking politics, all the while Thomas and I exchanging glances, smiles, and winks—flirting, as Susan would put it, Charles had had enough.
"Oh for heavens' sakes, Thomas!" he burst out, after a particularly loud giggle on my part. "If you want to court her, ask me!" I wiped the grin off my face immediately. As amusing as an exasperated Charles was, this was the moment of truth. Had all Thomas' gestures been simple fun, or did he feel as strongly for me as I did for him? I looked into his swirly, blue eyes, and prayed to God that I hadn't been deceived.
He ran a hand through his beautiful, blond hair, and there was a moment's silence that seemed like hundreds of years. He coughed, that cough I had come to realize signified some emotion in his chest. Without any further hesitation, Thomas spoke. "Charles, you are the closest thing to a parent Abigail has. Even were this not true, you are the closest thing to a parent of Abigail's who I will ever be able to speak to. As such, I would like to ask your permission to court her." I realized I had been holding my breath since Charles had spoken, and now gasped—hopefully silently—filling my lungs with much-needed air. "That is, of course, if Miss Atkins is off accord?" Thomas looked at me, a half grin on his face.
I tried to steady my breathing, and willed myself to speak. "Yes," I said. It came out as a faint murmur, a puff of air exiting my shaking lips.
Charles smiled, and held out his hand for Thomas to shake. "I couldn't think of a better man," he said.