All He Ever Wanted(31)

I could see then how Etna’s situation might be intolerable — an unwanted guest in her sister’s home (once her own home), at best a governess to her sister’s children. Thus was I doubly determined to press my suit.

Etna entered the room, the lovely loops and coils of her hair now dutifully harnessed. Miriam invited me to dine with them upon their return from services, and I accepted, though Keep cast a sullen glance in my direction.

But Etna surprised us all. “Miriam, forgive me,” she said, “but I will not be attending services with you today. Professor Van Tassel has come so far, and I must speak with him now.”

Miriam looked rebuffed but had no reply. She could not reasonably insist that her sister accompany her to church. I was pleased for Etna’s sake that she had stood up to her sister, but I could also see that for Etna life in Exeter might have to be a constant series of negotiations.

There was a flurry of leave-taking then, during which Etna and I waited awkwardly, not wishing to seem rude in our haste to speak with each other. I occupied myself during this time by composing sentences I might use in my petition. Impatient to begin, I started to speak before the Keeps’ carriage had even pulled away.

“Hear me out,” I said, raising my hand to forestall any protest. “I offer you a life as mistress of your own household, as mother to your own children, as wife to a man who adores you. Though your situation may seem pleasant now, your life here will grow unbearable. Even I can see this in the short time I have been here. You say that you wish to make yourself a governess to your sister’s children, but who knows what position you will occupy when these children are grown? And would you not prefer to be a governess to your own children? I offer you everything a man has to give a woman, including his mind and heart and modest fortune. Would you turn away from such an offer?”

The more I spoke, the more heated I grew. Did she not know her own worth? I asked. Was she so willing to settle for such a life? Surely this could not be her idea of happiness. Had she given up all hope of marriage, of her own home, of her own children at her feet? My anger was honest indignation, even if it did neatly dovetail with my own hoped-for future.

I clenched my hands to my sides. The silence that followed seemed overly long and agonizing.

Finally, Etna spoke. “I could not lightly turn aside so generous an offer, Professor Van Tassel. Nicholas. What woman could, when it is so sincerely meant? And I do have admiration for you, I do. And some fondness. And …” She smiled slightly. “You are often amusing in spite of your earnestness.”

I did not quite know how to take this, but if the thought had produced even a slight smile on Etna’s lips, then the teasing surely was worth it.

“But,” she said, and stopped. To her credit, she did not avert her eyes. “This must be said: I do not love you.”

There was a great silence in the room. My heart paused in its workings. I could not move or speak. It was not that I couldn’t have anticipated such a response (indeed, I’d often feared it in my imaginings); it was that hearing it aloud and spoken in such a plain way had the effect of a blow taken to the center of my body. I had so wished for this not to be true. I had thought somehow that my own love for her might have been infectious. At the very least, I had hoped that if such a sentiment were true, she might not actually voice it, and in time would develop true fondness for me.

“You understand my meaning in this,” she said somewhat tentatively.

Perhaps I nodded. I do not know. I remember only that I couldn’t speak.

“I don’t think that I could…love you…in the way a wife must love a husband,” she said with great difficulty.

I stood immobile for some moments while she watched me. Then, to my utter shame and horror, tears came unbidden to my eyes. I blinked furiously to send them back.

She reached out her hand and touched my arm.

“Nicholas,” she said quietly, “you move me.”

I had no voice. I shook my head.

“Am I really so dear to you?” she asked.

I removed my handkerchief from my pocket. I did not answer her, for no answer was necessary.

“My poor man,” she said in a surprised but gentle voice.

We stood in that attitude for some time. In the corner, the ticking of a clock could be heard. Beyond the gracious windows of the room, a carriage passed, the driver calling to a passer-by. In an upstairs room, there were footsteps. Any minute now, I thought, we would be interrupted by a servant asking us if we wanted tea.

Etna turned away and gazed out the window. I can only imagine what was in her mind. After a few minutes, she turned back to me.