Alas, with most of the night gone, she only succeeded in flipping to one side, then to another, as uncomfortable as if she were lying on the firm ground in an open field, not on a mattress and a featherbed.

The events of the longest day in her life flooded her memory, overlapping until her heart throbbed in sweet pain. Everett's profile blended with the starry skies, and her fingers itched to capture the proud line of his forehead and the crinkle of his eyes on paper. Next Miss Carter laughed, kneeding Amelia's shoulders. Her lips transformed into Hazel's sucking on a strawberry. And there was Everett again, his etched lips parting to take a bite out of the fruit held between her sister's thumb and forefinger.

Mabel gasped, biting her own lip.

Who, who can sleep on a night like this?! And, regardless, it wasn't even a little bit dark. The grey light filtered through the curtains, gaining warmth and intensity with every passing moment. The night went and gone. She couldn't stay prostrated in bed a moment longer, ignoring the new day.

Her feet landed on the floor with a thump, the dress rustled, pulled overhead and straightened by a rushed hand. She slipped down the staircase quieter than any mouse.

The desire to sketch Everett's likeness while his features were fresh in her memory—not that she would ever forget them!—drove her. Nay, it tormented her. Sang to her. Overwhelmed...

She rooted through the living room like a pig searching for truffles, but Miss Carter didn't have any drawing paper or sketching charcoal out in the open. Plenty of books and musical sheets, to complement her accomplishments... with all those talents, why couldn't she take interest in drawing as well?

With a sigh, she picked up a book, read the first paragraph and dropped it immediately. Everett was right. Modern English novel was all fustian and fantasy!

A peal of laughter drifted through the window, opened wide by a maid taking advantage of the early summer light, to do the cleaning.

Smiling, Mabel dashed into the garden and down the gravel path, attracted by the murmur of the distant conversation like a moth to the lamplight. She couldn't make out the words, yet the sound was so lighthearted, she was sure it was friendship, not business being discussed.

Lighthearted? Is it...?

Though she couldn't hear the words, the undercurrent shifted, as if a new theme appeared in a musical composition. A strange tension weighed after each gap, and what had been said lost the sparkling quality of Miss Carter's banter.

It wasn't lighthearted; it was... seductive.

She huffed her dismay. It was Everett's fault that she sensed romance in the air, as if it was a scent. Whom would Miss Carter flirt with, anyway?

'Caliban perhaps?' Hazel's imaginary whisper weaved between the real voices. She shooed it away like a wasp. Lord Chesterton stayed in London, a few days' travel from the Lake District. He couldn't appear on a drop of a dime.

Short of other candidates for Miss Carter's secret lover, Mabel still froze in the shelter of an apple tree already in the fullness of summer leaf. Carefully, she peeked around its trunk, for civility cannot fend off curiosity indefinitely.

Miss Carter and Amelia shared a picnic blanket, though instead of food, it was littered with combs and ribbons. Amelia's freed hair ran down her back all the way to the waist in waves. This supported the theory that the ladies were amusing themselves with their coiffures.

But no! Instead of reclining to allow Miss Carter to brush out her tresses, Amelia mounted into her lap, facing her lady, yet arching backward, opening her pale throat to the nuzzle of Miss Carter's lips. The flicks of the tongue and the delicate smooching reminded Mabel of how Hazel had savoured the strawberry.

This resemblance intensified as the sun touched the fan of Amelia's hair and set it to shine brighter than polished copper.

Red... all Mabel could see was red next to the translucent skin, the red of the prettily parted mouth, hair and... she blushed red too, as the shift slipped down Amelia's shoulders and the tips of her breasts opened up to Miss Carter's pursuits. As soon as they were touched, no matter how lightly, she moaned and arched even further back, as if offering herself up to the pagan sky gods.

Mabel knew she should leave, that what she was looking upon was both private and forbidden, but she filled with cotton. Her wobbly legs sank into the turned soil around the base of the tree. Her eyes stuck just as stubbornly in the transformation of humble Amelia into a succubus. The loose skirts obscured whatever Miss Carter's hand did, but the gyrating motions of Amelia's torso and the rolling of her head was like nothing else Mabel had seen except on the paintings of rapture. But this was opposite of the saints beholding God. Such fervor for a mortal... how was it possible? The only answer was sinful temptation.

She fell against the tree, trembling. One tiny green apple lost grip on its branch and plummeted to thump her on the shoulder, hard as a pebble. All that was missing was a snake, but given the size of the unripened fruit, an earthworm would suffice.

Squelching her face and fingers, Mabel glanced at the dirt, but nothing squiggly and disgusting crawled there. It broke the spell, restoring breath to her. She should go back to the house. She had to! What if they noticed her eavesdropping? Worse than that; watching!

It was unlikely, but the seed of embarrassment sprouted into fear.

With her head hanging low to conceal her burning cheeks, Mabel scooted back inside, picked the book from the shelves at random, and dropped into an armchair as far from the window as possible. Her memory subjected her to the whispered words and kisses betwixt the two lovers, smouldering her innards. What was it like? How did they even come to this if a man had to... a man was always the one who--

The book fell open on whatever page it would open. She stared at it unseeing. After the tremors of excitement over her accidental snooping subsided, her arms and spine drooped. Her mind did quite the opposite. The books lied. Everyone lied.

The airheaded, cruel Hazel, had been right. Hazel, from all people! She'd seen through Miss Carter's affected indifference to love. She'd scoffed at her aversion to the matrimony as a transparent lie, where Mabel had been blinded by her friendship with the woman.

'How could I have been so gullible?' she queried one moment, chewing her lips, only to reply immediately: 'but how could you have known? This is such a singular thing.'

Miss Carter was no more elevated than Hazel or her, no less hopeful of a tender attachments to another person. Yes, yes, she couldn't have been honest about a liaison this scandalous and so fully inappropriate for a lady. Mabel understood that, but what mattered to her, was the revelation that Miss Carter was not a breed apart from all the other women altogether.

How could she have been such a dreadful fool? A shuddering whimper escaped her. How it crashed her spirits that an ideal of Miss Carter, something entirely novel in her life, tarnished like the silver tarnishes! She almost couldn't stand it.

Fool, she was an awful fool.

A shadow fell across the page, and Hazel's mocking voice sang into her ear, "Good book?"

Then Hazel took the book away from her, turned it the right side up and replaced it in her hands.

Mabel gasped. She didn't care that she got caught out.

The book, which she picked up at random, was Mrs. Johnston's novel, the same tome that had rested against Everet's white shirt not even two days ago! Oh, Everett.

She traced the title embedded into the spine gently with her finger. It must be an omen, as sure as a telling of fortune. Unbid, she had imagined his hair spilling loosely, his mouth playing the game of catch with his nubile prey. His hands...

"I believe you had guessed it right, Hazel," Mabel said, shaking with a faked laugher. "I do like Mr. Chesterton very much."

"Ah, that's unfortunate, because I imagine that Mr. Chesterton will never marry anyone," Hazel said. "Put him out of your mind."

"I might as well order my heart to stop beating."

"Mr. Aldington has a cousin visiting from Cumbria. He is a doctor and a widower, and perhaps he might like you, since you have found no rapport with any available gentleman in our parts."

Mabel shivered again. This time it was the sin of pride, rather than lust that beset her. Her entire being rebelled against the idea of anyone save for Everett liking her. And also of her liking anyone else. "Piffle, I don't like this cousin of Mr. Aldington already."

"Because he isn't Mr. Chesterton?" Hazel's lips folded into a mocking grimace. "My dearest Mabel, there are plenty of gentlemen who are not Mr. Chesterton. Unlike him, they are not impossible to encourage to pursue the favourable course of actions."

Mabel lowered her head under Hazel's relentless gaze. Was this infatuation with Everett just another foolishness, similar to being taken in by Miss Carter's deceptions?

Then, her chin jutted up. "If you are so clever about that, Hazel, why aren't you married to Mr. Aldington yet?"

"Pooh!" Hazel replied. "I am going to see if there are scones left in the kitchen. Care to come?"

The very idea of eating made Mabel queasy. "No, I want to read a little bit."

"Enjoy your reading then." Hazel ran away before Mabel could spank her.

With the impossible brat gone, she cradled the book to her heart, until its leathery corners dug into her chest. It was to be either Everett, or no one. There was no other possibility—and she was perfectly resolved that this was so. Nothing could change her mind.