Love is Where We Left It (Blue Hill)

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 Y V E TT E D E O R O

Love is Where We Left It

 First published by Independent 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Yvette de Oro

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

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mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without
written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book,
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permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and

incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
localities is entirely coincidental.

Yvette de Oro asserts the moral right to be identified as the author

of this work.

Yvette de Oro has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of

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publication and does not guarantee that any content on such
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Not answering is the answer that’s become the norm,
but I enjoy a good “no” to form
Better yet, I seek the contrary, and the curious.
The chancery, and the furious

The tired of the same ol’ shit

the “Nervous about this… but will still try it(s).”

Hold my hand and I’ll hold yours. Let us think.

Here we come. Watch out world. Another drink?

Yes! Cheers to keeping unanesthetized. Essential.

¡Pa arriba, pa abajo, pa’l centro, pa dentro!
 Contents
Acknowledgement
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Yvette de Oro
 Acknowledgement
To Sarah of Lopt and Cropt editing and my romance author pals -
thanks for your insight.
The Boudoir, the Death Doula, & the Romance author muses -
thank you.

And… I guess I should thank my husband for giving me first-hand

knowledge of what heartbreak feels like. (He made up for it though.)

Last, an acknowledgment to music (that’s always playing in the

background) -
here’s a few of the songs that were playing as I wrote this story.
 Chapter 1

The steering wheel dug into my cheek and my car’s weak air
conditioner barely reached my face as I hunched over the
dashboard.
My mom would find out I was sitting in her driveway any second
now, her dragon sensing my defeat, but I couldn’t leave yet.
“Hey!” A hand smacked the windshield, and I jerked upright,
meeting Corina’s glare.
Dammit. The other dragon.
“Que haces?” my sister yelled. “Why are you just sitting there,
Sunny? We’ve been waiting for you for hours!”
“A book.” I blinked at her. “It’s almost finished.”
Cori rolled her eyes and yanked open my door. “Get your ass out
of the car. Now, fea.”
Aww. I missed her. Her smile turned into a grin as I got out, and
she squished me so hard I grunted.
“How was the drive?” She clasped my shoulders, but her smile
faded as she scanned my face.
Ugh. Did I look that bad?
I glanced at her pillow lips that I used to try to “pop” with my
gathered fingers while she talked just to annoy her. The last time
had been right here in this driveway. When I’d run for my life, she’d
gotten in trouble for chasing me into the house. I smiled at the
memory. Maybe I should pop that frown off her face?
“Ay yai yai.” Cori hooked my arm to steer me toward the house.
“Come inside. You’re exhausted and getting lost in your head, like
always. Come talk to your mega-beast mother. She’s missed you.”
My mom opened the front door wearing her usual scrubs, and
some tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding from Dallas eased
when her arms wrapped around me. “Why didn’t you answer your
phone?”
“I was almost here when you called.”
She leaned back, eyes narrowed knowingly. “You were listening
to a book.”
“What book was it?” Mari asked, and my heart twisted for a
second when our eyes met. I hadn’t seen my baby sister in months,
since she’d traveled to Spain. Almost twenty-three now and grown.
How did that happen?
“Sweet Ruin.” I reached out to hug her. “Hi, sweetie. I didn’t
expect you. Thought you’d be at work.” Pausing, I pulled my
eyebrows together and turned. “Speaking of, why are you here,
Corina? I told you I’d stop by tomorrow.”
Heavy silence fell as my women folk slowly shifted together in
front of me like a little army. Shoulder to shoulder, they stared at me
in a way that clearly said they thought I could crack into pieces at
any moment and they’d catch them to put me back together. Again.
Heat crawled up my neck as their watchful stares continued.
“Move, you weirdos.” Propping my hands on my hips, I cocked my
head. “I’m okay. Seriously! Don’t look at me like that. Get out of my
way. It was a long drive, and I’m about to pee my pants.”
Cori was the first to step back, and I swung my eyes to Mari.
“When I come out, y’all have better cleared that look off your faces.”
I glanced at my mom. “This includes you.” She lifted an eyebrow
that probably would’ve terrified a fifteen-year-old me but I was tired,
hungry, and a little irritated that I wouldn’t be able to hear the end
of my book for at least a little while.
Pulling the dining room chair out, I sat, but after someone
poured me a big-ass glass of wine, I could barely follow the
conversation and almost face-planted twice into my dinner plate.
Still, even in my stupor, I saw them giving looks to each other.
Worrying. Plotting over me.
They sent me off to bed, blocking my attempt to help clean, and
yawning, I drifted up to my old room. Stopping in the doorway I
blinked at the rowing machine where my bed used to be and pivoted
to the guest room, stripped, and crashed. Home. Again.

***

“Look, here’s the plan.” Showered and feeling light-years better than
yesterday, I reached for a tortilla as I sat at the table. “What?”
Three blinking sets of eyes looked at me, silent and pitying, and I
frowned. “Anyway! Back to what I was saying. I kept my job and can
work from home. My company agreed that I was awesome and is
giving me a week to set up the”—I made quote fingers—“‘Tennessee
branch.’”
 It had been surprisingly easy. I’d made my pitch to work
remotely and gave them a couple of days to think it over while I’d
packed my stuff, leaving almost everything in the apartment. Victor’s
apartment now, not ours. So freaking glad I didn’t co-sign that
lease.
I glanced at my mom across the kitchen table. “I love you, Ma,
but we’ll drive each other up the wall if I stay here more than a
week or two and you know it.” She eyed me but didn’t deny it. “So! I
need to borrow one of y’alls cars to find an apartment. Too much
stuff in mine, plus she’s old and had a hard time getting here.” I
grabbed my phone, pulling up my to-do list. “Then, somewhere to
buy the basics that I don’t already have with me, set my office up
with bomb-ass internet speed, then—” I stopped at their odd
expressions again. “What? Dangit! What is with you guys looking at
me all weird like that?”
Mari raised her hand solemnly, and I gave the “go-ahead” hand
gesture, bracing myself for some reason.
“Bomb… ass?” she asked. “I mean, who uses that word anymore,
vieja?” The women folk cackled like a bunch of witches.
I stared flatly at my younger sister. “For that, I’m borrowing your
car, mensa. Give me your keys.” She rolled those big eyes but
reached into her pocket.
“No, wait, I don’t know anything about this town anymore. You’re
coming with me, and you can’t say no. I am, after all, in recovery
from a bad breakup.”
Their smiles melted.
 “Hey!” I snapped my fingers. “I’m just playing with you.” No
more shitty pity. I’d had years of it from them. No more. “Mexican
sister slash daughter guilt trip, yo.” I smiled evilly. “Let’s go.
Operation New Start for Sunny B. Vamonos.”
 Chapter 2

Graham
“Who’s the bestest bud? You are. You’re my bestest gal with the
fluffiest ears.” She leaned her head into my hand with a groan when
I scratched her favorite spot, and my dang heart melted. Every time.
Over a dog.
“Hey, so…” My dad’s voice trailed off, and I scanned him in the
doorway of my newly painted kitchen. He’d struggled going up the
back steps. His knees were bothering him, and these flashes of
seeing him older, now that I lived close again, weren’t something I’d
gotten used to yet.
“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but I think I saw Sunny the other
day.” His tone was one he might’ve used in a confessional, it was
almost funny.
“You saw Corina. Her sister. They always looked alike. Here, hand
those over.” I reached for the tool bag he’d carried in for us to do
some new shelving.
“Corina.” He frowned. “That was the older sister?”
Even though the town wasn’t as small as it used to be, I’d
already seen Cori from a distance twice, and it was just as jarring
the second time. But I’d get used to it. Everything resurfacing would
fade after a while.
 “Is the trunk open?” I asked. “I’ll get the rest of the stuff.”
“So Sunny’s not here?” Watchful eyes, a lot like mine, scanned
my face.
I paused. “No, Dad. You know she left a long time ago.”
He tilted his head. His way of saying “I had to ask.” Did he,
though? It’d been ten years. I shook my head and angled toward the
door.
I guess being back was pulling up memories, making it seem just
like yesterday for him too. He’d only ever given me that look when it
was about Sunny. To be fair, he’d only ever known me with her
during my last high school years; I hadn’t introduced him to anyone
else except Liz, the day before we got married.
I lifted my face to the warmth of the sun through the windows.
The kind of morning sun that tells you it was fixing to be a scorcher
later. A similar day to the first time I saw Sunny, when she and her
two sisters walked out of their house across the street to the park
where us boys were.
I’d tucked the ball under my arm, and all seven of us went quiet,
jostling each other.
As they came toward us, I’d locked onto her dark eyes, and
something like an awareness click happened in my head that I’d
easily brushed off at the time. I was fifteen; adjustments came
easily.
“Can’t believe I’m letting you guilt me into this, Sunny,” the older
girl muttered as she’d pulled her long, dark hair into a ponytail. “I’m
too old for neighborhood basketball games. Just letting you know.”
 “Hush it. We’re making friends,” Sunny said, then turned to us.
“Hey, I’m Sunny.” And she was. A wide friendly smile, a light
scattering of freckles over her nose. “This is Cori.” She hitched a
thumb to the older, not-so-friendly version of her. “And this is
Marianela.” I tore my eyes from the Sunny one to the other, younger
girl. Light brown hair, blue eyes. She didn’t look a lot like her sisters.
“Can we play?” Sunny asked.
My friends and I glanced at each other. No girls had ever played
with us before. None had ever wanted to. “I don’t know. Can you?”
Roscoe asked.
Before I could say anything about his dick comment, Sunny
grinned and said “Yes” with such simple confidence that some of the
guys stopped moving and got a confused look on their faces.
I huffed a laugh, and she swung her twinkly brown eyes to mine.
“We can wait for the next game if you want to finish, though?”
I saw something in her eyes that I recognized. Maybe not the
desire to win I had, but the love of competing. Love of playing the
game. If her sisters had half the spirit, it’d be fun to see these girls
show my friends up. So, yeah, if they could play, we could hang.
Why not? I bounced the ball to her. By the end of the day I knew
her voice and her laugh, as if I always had. Seamless.
Then Thanksgiving came around. I hated holidays. Nothing was
the same after my mom had died. If I hadn’t been so pissed that I’d
been forced to go over to Sunny’s house like a damn orphan, I
would’ve heard the noises of all the people inside before opening the
door like I’d already been doing a couple times a week for food. All
of Sunny’s family liked to cook and liked that I loved to eat their food
instead of another sandwich or pizza. They wouldn’t take my dad’s
money though, so I mowed their lawn as trade. I stepped inside and
stopped.
Oh shit, how many of them were there? Like in the movies, one
person saw me, and it led everyone in the living room to stop talking
and swing their eyes to me.
I swallowed and lifted a hand. “Hello…” I scanned the room for
Sunny, who launched off the floor smiling to give me a side hug like
it was normal. And it was, even though I was still getting used to it
at that time.
“Everyone, this is my friend Graham, our neighbor,” she called
out.
A chorus of Heys and Hi’s, and everyone went back to talking to
each other again. It was overwhelming at first. But then I loved it.
All the noise and food and nosiness and… togetherness that I’d only
seen on tv.
At one point, Sunny poked her head out the back door and saw
me hovering in a half circle around the grill with like nine of her
uncles and cousins, all of us with a beer in hand and talking football.
My dad had let me have some of his beer a couple times, and it
wasn’t so bad. I raised the can and took a sip, trying to hide a
grimace in front of her. Sunny smiled, shook her head, and backed
away.
I liked her. She was my friend. She was cool. And yeah, she kinda
had my attention in another way too, but not really. Not like that yet.
Again, I was fifteen.
 It didn’t happen all at once, but somehow, everything eventually
turned toward her, like she was the sun. There was no stopping it.
But that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. Those days were
gone.
 Chapter 3

Sunny – A week later

“It’s nine on a fracking Sunday morning.” I squinted an eye
through the crack of my new apartment door.
“Finally! Dang, woman. I texted,” Mari said, practically vibrating
on my doorstep. Then, switching to Spanglish like she’d been doing
since coming back from Spain, she said, “Mira, not my fault your
grumpy morning pompis is still asleep. Mom wanted me to bring
some stuff over for you.”
“Ugh.” I turned and walked away. “At this rate, she won’t have
anything left in her house.”
“You know how she is,” my sister replied. “That’s not why I’m
really here, though. We have something to tell you.”
I kept walking toward the bathroom. We were going to have to
have a talk about them coming over so early. Boundaries. We didn’t
always have to be in each other’s business.
“K, what?” I grumbled, still half asleep a few minutes later, and
headed directly to the coffee that she’d started for me.
Knowing I was a slow starter in the mornings, she stared a hole
in my back, waiting me out, as I reached for the sugar. It didn’t help
that I’d been up late reading another self-help book.
 I supposedly had a problem with not recognizing my style of
indifference that apparently made my romantic partners feel
invalidated. I scoffed while pouring my creamer. It seemed Girlfriend
Sunny was too agreeable, too nonchalant, pairing a distracted nod
and a casual uh-huh, oh that’s cool in there for the clincher to
sabotage herself. I stirred my coffee, staring at the whirlpool. How
depressing to be called out so directly that there was no way to deny
it.
Ants In Her Pants behind me shifted noisily, pulling my attention.
What was the matter with her? Lord. “Speak, twisty britches.”
“Sunny,” she began.
“Yup?” I inhaled the delicious aroma and took a sip. Mmm.
Glorious. Coffee, the giver of life. I needed to buy a comfortable
office chair today, maybe the furniture store in—
My sister heaved a dramatic sigh. “Graham is in Blue Hill. He’s
been here for a couple of weeks now.”
My vision went sharp as I held the coffee cup to my lips.
“We wanted to tell you before you found out. You know word
travels fast around here.”
I lowered my cup and slowly turned. “But we also weren’t sure
you were actually going to stay. And we wanted to give you some
time to breathe and settle from the Victor stuff. Your up and moving
here happened so quickly, you know.”
She scanned my face. “We don’t know the details, but he’d
supposedly kept up with the Wilson twins. He stayed at Derek and
Melissa’s while they traveled somewhere before moving to a rental
house in a newer part of town.”
 Her voice changed, warming up to the gossip. “He’s been doing
attorney-type stuff. Which is actually convenient and might be
perfect timing for him too, cause we heard that Kyle Maywood is
moving on from his daddy’s…” She faded, realizing she was getting
distracted, then cleared her throat, hesitating to say what was next,
and I braced myself. “We heard he’s married.”
I flinched, barely a twitch around the eyes, but she winced in
reaction, and I gripped my cup tighter.
Dammit. Why did I even react? Why was I like this?
“His wife hasn’t come back with him yet, though. That we know
of.” She tilted her head. “Which is weird, don’t you think? It’s been
weeks. Not sure if he has kids. And that’s all we know.” Heavy
silence settled around the sounds of the brewing coffee.
“Do you want me to stay a while?” she asked hesitantly after
several seconds. “I can go buy some ice cream? Or we can get shit-
faced and, and… I can brush your hair? Or…” She scanned me,
pressing her lips together.
Clutching my cup, I watched my younger sister scrutinize me and
try to assess my emotional response. My freaking baby sister was
trying to see how she could fix things for me. And this wasn’t the
first time she’d looked at me like that.
A flush of heat rose from my chest into my face. “No, sweetie,
you don’t need to stay.” I straightened from the counter. “And it’s
nine in the morning. We’re not drinking, drunkard. I just…” I paused.
“I don’t actually really know how I’m feeling right now.”
That was true. I’d gone blank in a short-circuit kind of way. “More
than anything, though, my reaction just now and y’alls tip-toeing
around me for weeks—years now, if we’re really being honest—has
opened my eyes to how much I’ve just buried things when it came
to him or anything that made me uncomfortable.”
She nodded in agreement.
Ugh. Not even a freaking hesitation. I nodded with her and ran
my tongue over my front teeth. “Victor even said stuff every once in
a while, sometimes out of nowhere. And now that I really think
about it, this is probably why it wasn’t such a shock that he cheated
on me. He told me in lots of ways that I wasn’t giving him what he
needed, and I just shrugged it off.”
“Sunny,” she interjected, “him cheating was on him, not y—”
I lifted my hand, stopping her over the avalanche of information I
was processing. Victor. Deshawn. Other men I’d dated. And after a
few more seconds of self-reflection, I tilted my head. “Man, I’m so
bad at love. I’m fucking hopeless.”
She shook her head a hard no, pulling my attention.
“Yeah, Mari, it’s true.” I set my cup down on the counter. “It’s no
coincidence. Look where I am. I found it so easy to put the blame
off on them. Any and everyone else, but it’s me that willfully ignored
the signs. Because it made me uncomfortable. Because I wanted to
avoid hard feelings.”
Ahh, finally a bit of honesty, a voice that sounded like a worn-out
version of me said in my head.
Mari waited me out, still watching closely until I snapped my eyes
to hers. No way in hell I was having my younger sister look at me
like that a second longer. “Okay, seriously, I can see you’re working
up to console me, and I’m not having it.” Her eyes widened at my
tone. “Back to Graham being here. It is what it is. I’m a different
person now, and he probably is too.”
She didn’t reply, eyes shifting into a I don’t know what to do
face. and I leaned against the counter. “Tell me the truth, Mar. Y’all
had a huddle for who would be the one to tell me, and you pulled
younger sister rank, didn’t you?” Her expression turned sheepish,
and I shook my head. “I am glad y’all told me, though. You know
how I hate surprises.”
“But Sunny.” She placed her hands on the counter and leaned
forward. “You know you’re not that different, right? I mean, your
skin might be a little thicker from what happened, but you still can’t
hide your feelings. No, don’t frown at me like that. This is a good
thing. We love who you are. You feel and love and give with your
entire body, wholly and completely.” She smiled. “You always have,
leaving the rest of us to bask or stare in awe while trying our best to
protect you from harm.”
I narrowed my eyes, absorbing the words. “That’s the thing I just
figured out, though, Marianela. I can’t keep using y’all as a crutch.
There’s no escaping shitty things happening, and it’s the people like
me who always want the love and the good and the fun, but run or
hide from anything other than that, that make it harder on
ourselves.”
We looked at each other for several seconds. “You wanna know
what’s funny?” I finally asked in a voice that sounded flat, even to
me. “I always wanted to lead by example for you. As your older
sister, I mean. And I have. Look at me, and see that this”—I pointed
at myself over the burn in the pit of my stomach—“how I handle
men and relationships and love is what not to do. Okay? Don’t be
like me.”
She frowned, and hesitated before saying, “It feels like if I try to
counter, you’re in a headspace where you won’t hear me. So, are
you sure you want to reject my offer of ice cream and shit-
facedness? I’m down if you’re down.” I huffed a laugh, and she lifted
a corner of her mouth, then glanced at the door. “I guess… I can
leave so you can sort through things? Are you sure you’re okay,
though? It’s a lot to take in.”
“Thank you for coming.” I walked to the door and opened it.
“Love you. Mean it. Bye now.” She gave me a cautious look but
hugged me, and I closed the door behind her, leaning back against
it.
Shit. The town still wasn’t that big. Running into him at some
point was a given; it was surprising that I hadn’t already. So I had
two choices: I could search him out and preempt the surprise, or I
could let it play out how it was gonna play out and hope for the
best.
Weeks ago—heck, minutes ago—I would’ve chosen the latter. But
this time, I let myself wonder who he was now. Even that felt
strange. A friction of opposites. I’d spent so many years stopping
myself from thinking about him.
How would it be to see him after so long? A nightmare scenario
of turning into a grocery store aisle and him seeing me hauling ass
away to avoid the confrontation blossomed, and I frowned. No way
that was happening. I was a fucking grown-ass woman now. Eff
that. No more.
 My phone rang, and I sighed. Which witch would it be?
“You wanna jump him?” Cori said as soon as I answered. “And
not the fun kind, either. I mean, I will finally get the chance to kick
his ass and glory in it. Just say go. I’m serious.”
I rolled my eyes. Ay, these gals. “Y’all are a mess, and don’t think
I won’t remember that y’all left the baby of the family to relay the
news. Por verguenza. Cowards.”
“Aww, come on, not me!” she scoffed. “Fuck that guy. You’re fine
now. Let him see you and wallow in regret for the rest of his life. It
was Mom and Mari who were worried and were all, ‘We need to be
delicate about this, Corina’ shit.”
“Of course they were.” I pressed my lips together.
“So…?”
Maybe if I was younger and hadn’t just gone through all that
with Victor, I would be thinking differently? Maybe if Graham wasn’t
married, I’d try to pull up the sass that I used to have, to show out
or something. But Mari’s pitying eyes resurfaced, and I clenched my
jaw. “So, I’m thinking the best thing to do is to call him, let him
know I’m in town, then move on. Like grown-ups. Do you think you
could find me his phone number?”
“What?”
“I’m serious, and don’t get your pissy pants on. I don’t want to
hear it.” Knowing she wouldn’t cave otherwise, I pulled out the big
guns to my mother hen of a sister. “I need your help. You know
everyone here. This is how you can help me. I need you to get me
his number.”
 I waited as she strategized in her head. “But Sunny,” she finally
let out in frustration, “you don’t even have to talk to him. He doesn’t
deserve another second of your time. Just turn around and walk the
other way if you see him. You know what I mean? You’ve never
been able to hide anything. Especially not with him. Remember how
he used to—”
“Like he used to, Cori,” I cut her off. “Emphasis on the past
tense. We don’t know each other like that anymore. It’s been ten
years. And anyway, I’m not going to go out of my way to avoid him.
I’m not a fucking coward.” Yes, I was. And she and I both knew it.
“Plus, I decided”—about five minutes ago—“that I’m done with
avoiding things. It should’ve been done a long time ago. Me being
willfully ignorant has put me in all my messes. You get me?”
Stunned silence, until she started up again. “Sunny, I mean… but
I really don’t want you re-connecting with that piece of sh—”
“Corina. It’s not about you. Enough.”
“Like, really? Truly? There’s nothing I can say that can talk you
out of—”
“Alright, that’s it, we’re fighting. Tell me where you are. I’ll come
find you.”
“Ack! Mega Beast!” she yelled and hung up.
I stared at my phone over the rapid pulse beat in my ears, then
sighed. Maybe irritation would help bolster my bravado between now
and the time she got back to me.
I didn’t doubt she would get me the number. No matter how
much she didn’t want to, my sister followed through for me. And it
was time I followed through for myself too.
 Chapter 4

I’d always liked boys. My early version of flirting was challenging

them to races until, in third grade, I beat a boy named Will who’d
started crying.
Horrified, I’d thrown my arms around him, apologizing. Both of
us snot-nosed messes. Never again. Lesson learned. Be more careful
of people’s feelings. I liked boys, they were fun, but they were
delicate too, in a different way from girls.
That genuine caring made me the one my guy friends came to
for advice, and I loved that. I loved to help, even when they started
talking about stuff I didn’t know about. Like kissing.
When that started happening I’d shrug and say, “I don’t know,
Luis,” with a squinted eye and tilted head, at a loss. “Wish I could
help you, bro. I heard to maybe try on the back of your hand first?”
He’d lifted his fist, dirty from sliding into first or some such, and
we’d both looked at it until he’d grimaced. “It sounds kinda gross
with the vavas and tongue and all.” And I’d nodded my head
sympathetically, because… true. Ew.
When my mom divorced Mari’s dad and moved us from El Paso
the summer before my freshman year of high school, away from all
my friends I’d grown up with to a whole new group of mostly boys in
the neighborhood, it hadn’t been as hard for me as it had been for
my sisters. The boys weren’t all that much different from the ones
back home, and even though Graham was my favorite of them, he
was just another boy in the neighborhood. Until everything changed
that Thanksgiving Day.
“Anna,” my mom chided, pulling the pumpkin empanadas we’d
made together out of the oven.
“What?” My aunt leaned on the countertop next to me, “I’m just
asking questions. Sunny’s not that sensitive. Right?” She arched an
eyebrow.
Um, well. I tried to pretend I wasn’t anyway.
“You moved these girls to the middle of nowhere Tennessee,” she
continued, “away from all of us. The young one’s already talking
with a weird accent. And this one”—she ticked her chin to me—“La
Sportoña starts high school and invites a boy over for Thanksgiving.
A cute boy.” She smiled, but it morphed into a curled lip as she
looked at me. “Your hair, niña. All your silky, pretty hair in a chongo
like that? And you’re wearing a sports bra. Ay.”
“We’re just friends, Tía.” I sighed, shifting my feet. Bearing my
interrogation. “We play basketball and stuff. His dad had to work.”
“Friends,” my aunt scoffed, tossing her long brown hair back.
“You’re almost fifteen. I’d already had three boyfriends by your age.
Have you even had your first kiss yet?”
OMG. I hefted my backup plan—my sleeping three-year-old
cousin—up in my arms. “He’s getting heavy. I’m gonna put this one
to bed, okay?”
She narrowed her dark eyes, and I bit the inside of my cheek as
more people entered the busy kitchen. No way in hell she’d let me
go, she’d just gotten started, and I hadn’t put in my time yet.
“Graham, do you want to try a pumpkin empanada, mijo?” my
mom asked.
Oh no. I tensed as my aunt slowly sent me an Ursula-like smile
on her bright red lips. “Párate, güerito.” She turned, blocking his
path toward us, and I could only watch as this used-to-be-favorite
aunt of mine straight up shuffle-passed her two-year-old son into
Graham’s arms. “Here. He’s tired. Go with Sunny to put him to bed.
But no funny business with y’all two in there solitos. Okay?” She
winked exaggeratingly. “I’ll know.”
Everyone in the kitchen busted out laughing as my friend held
the kid like a sack of potatoes and swung his eyes from my mom to
me with a What do I do? face.
Ignoring the flush of embarrassment, I shook my head and tilted
it for him to follow me as the rest of my family lost their minds over
the football game in the living room.
“Tried to warn you,” I said over my shoulder. “My family likes to
mess with new people.”
And with me today more than usual, apparently.
“Yeah,” Graham said behind me. “Figured that out.” I liked that
he didn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it.
We laid the boys, both already in their pjs, down on their
sleeping bags, and Graham sat back on his heels. “This is your
room? You really like books, huh.”
“Mine and Mari’s, yeah.” I pulled the liga out of my hair, and tried
to smooth the lengths down to make it look nicer. For no reason…
just because.
 I’d never seen him in anything but basketball shorts and T-shirts.
He looked nice in a white button-down and jeans. Should I tell him?
I glanced at him, and heat crawled up my neck again as I followed
his gaze around the room. Mari’s side was all soft colors and pretty,
like in the magazines. My side wasn’t messy, just totally random.
Shelves and piles of books and journals, string lights, glitter stickers,
posters of hot athletes and—
“Sun?” Graham waved a hand in front of my face, a corner of his
mouth pulled up, and his eyebrows quirked like when he thought
something funny.
What had he asked? I stared with a weird something in my chest
at his lingering smile. He was really cute. I knew this already. It
wasn’t just his face. He was awesome at sports. Better than me
even. And nice, and freaking funny. Like Amy had said the other day
to him, in this soft, weird voice that had kinda gotten on my nerves.
“What’s this for?” My distraction snapped when he pressed his
thumb to the frown line between my eyebrows.
“Nothing.” I don’t know! “Why are you whispering?” I scrambled
up to shake the weirdness off. “Here’s a culture difference, Pie.” I
extended my hand, avoiding eye contact, and wiggled my fingers at
him when he paused before clasping my hand. “El Paso people don’t
over-accommodate kids.” I helped haul him up even though he
barely gave me any of his weight, like always. “There are lots of
people here. There’s gonna be lots of loud noise. It is what it is. The
kids gotta get used to it.”
“Did you just call me Pie?”
 “Yeah.” I swung my eyes to his. “Your eyes are key-lime green
with shots of light brown. Graham cracker-crust pie. Get it?”
He huffed a laugh, and I paused. His laugh always made me
want to squeeze him. He didn’t do it often so it felt like I earned
something that made me full of happy warmth every dang time.
“You’re about to hug me, aren’t you?” He side-eyed me, and I
grinned. I needed to chill the eff out. For real. This was just Graham.
The boy, only six months older than me, with sweaty blond-brown
hair plastered to the side of his head most of the time. The one
who’d taught me how to fish the other day and then laughed at me
for saying sorry to the poor worm and fish every time. It hadn’t even
bothered him that I’d caught a bigger fish. He was just a good guy.
“Do you know all your family yell openly at each other and then
laugh, hug, and kiss minutes later?” he asked.
“We’ve got tempers.” I shrugged. “But love, hugs, and besitos.” I
tapped my fingers to my lips and sent him air-kisses.
“You’re different from them too, though,” he said but in a way
that made it seem it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “Like, I think
everyone thinks you fit your name.”
“I do fit my name.” I frowned. I did. I liked when people were
happy, so I tried to help the people around me laugh and smile and
be happy.
He nodded. “You do.”
Huh? “Ya wanna explain what that means?”
“No.”
We stared, and after several seconds, the corner of his mouth
lifted again. “So, I talked to my dad.” His smile widened when I
rolled my eyes at the obvious change of subject. “He said I could be
in your quinceañera if I wanted to.”
“Yay!” Unable to stop myself this time, I trapped his arms to his
sides in a hug and squeezed. “We’ll have so much fun! You’ll be my
chambelan—that’s my escort—cause I’m your bestest girlfriend.”
Oh shit! Did I just say that? Releasing him, I cleared my throat
and stepped back. “Friend. I mean. That’s a girl. I know Derek’s your
best friend. I was just, uh…”
The silence went weird, and I tucked my hair behind my ear.
“You know what I mean.” I looked out the window to his house at
the end of the street. “It’s kinda late, and you probably gotta get
home before your dad gets home, right?”
He didn’t reply, which had me glancing at him, reading his face
and squeezing his wrist gently. “He’ll want you to be there. Told ya,
homie. We can’t help it that our parentals work all the time.”
Hooking my arm through his, I led us out of the room. “That’s why
we do what we can to not make it harder for them. Even if it totally
sucks sometimes to not be like regular kids with normal parents on
holidays.”
At least I had my sisters here. His parents had moved from the
Nashville area when he was a kid, and he’d lost his mom in an
accident sometime not all that long ago. Derek said Graham’s dad
hired a lawyer to sue a trucking company and had kinda shut down
after that.
It took him a while, but Graham eventually told me a little about
his mom. This was how he worked. Some feeling things took him a
while. And that was okay. He’d tell me when he was ready.
 “Plus, now’s probably a good time for you to go home anyway,” I
said, as we walked down the dimly lit hallway. “Any second
someone’s going to break out the mariachi music and you probably
don’t want to be here when that hap—”
“I love this song!” my Aunt Linda yelled on cue. “Subé le!
Louder!”
“And too late…” Sighing, I stopped us as a chorus of howls
started singing from the kitchen.
“What are they saying?”
“You, only you.” I met his eyes. “But it’s not a happy love story.
It’s an ‘I’m miserable in love’ song. Most every great mariachi song
has weeping and despair in it. They’re pretty awesome.”
“Who wants to be miserably in love, though?”
I shrugged. “ No clue. Like, just get over it, right?”
Someone let out a horrendous yowl. I puffed a breath out,
leaning my forehead on Graham’s shoulder that had begun to shake
in muted laughter. Stepping back, I tugged his sleeve toward the
front door, but he clasped my hand instead, stopping me and my
stomach tightened in a spiral. He’d never initiated touch before.
Smiling at my confusion, he hooked my hand at the crook of his
arm. “I’m your chamilan now, Sun.”
Oh. The world stopped for a second. Syrupy warmth grew in my
chest as I stared at him. Of course. Graham. Maybe not right this
second but he was going to be mine. One day.
It took a little while, and I was okay with that. We had nothing
but time. I’d catch him looking during a game, over homework, or
while we practiced our dance for my quinceañera. There was
nothing better than the pure rush of newfound feminine power
made by eye contact and a simple lift of the corner of my mouth.
He’d pause and blink, and my smile grew wider. It was like a secret
between us that he hadn’t discovered yet.

***

Loud voices drifted through the ballroom doors the day of my

quinceañera as the people in my court turned to look up at me from
the bottom floor. Scanning, I found Graham, locking eyes with his
and instantly felt calmer. He looked extra cute in his suit.
I gestured to myself exaggeratingly and mouthed, Look at me,
I’m hot. He smiled back, but it looked off as he moved toward the
base of the stairs to meet me. Was he nervous? I’d never seen him
nervous before.
“Positions!” the choreographer yelled, spiking a jump in my own
nerves. Graham clasped my hand, moving us to the end of the line
as we’d practiced. Exhaling, I smoothed a hand down the beaded
silk of my ivory and emerald ballgown as my court filed out and the
doors shut again.
“You won’t mess up,” Graham said in a low voice.
I swung my eyes to his, biting the inside of my cheek. I was
totally going to mess up.
“You look great.” He scanned my face and glanced away. “Even if
you fell and busted your ass, they’d love it, and you.” Pausing, he
lifted a corner of his mouth. “They—and I—will probably laugh first,
though.”
 I let my eyes roam over his profile, lingering on his smile,
wanting to touch his lips. The firm curve of them.
He glanced at me, feeling my stare. “What? You’re not gonna
hurl, are you? If you are, tell me now. There’s a plant over there.” I
laughed, and the concern faded from his face. “Come here.”
He opened his arms, and I sighed, melting into him as I wrapped
my arms around his back. It was nice that he’d gotten more
comfortable hugging me. When I’d finally noticed that he’d go stiff
every once in a while, I’d apologize and back away, but now he’d
shake his head and say, “It’s alright, Sun,” and pull me back into the
hug.
“Hey, Sunny?” his voice rumbled from his chest.
“Yeah?”
I lifted my head when he didn’t reply. “You wanna like… be
together?”
My eyes legit bugged, and I stared.
“I mean”—he scraped his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes
shifting away and back—“will you be my girlfriend?”
“Heckfire yeah!”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah?”
“Yes! Yes, I said!” Freaking finally! I lifted onto my toes to kiss his
chin in a burst of energy, and he huffed a laugh, then leaned down
to press his lips to mine. A soft, perfect fit, and my thoughts went
blank. When he pulled back, I swayed, following him as if on a string
and paused wide-eyed—and probably cross-eyed. “You’re my first
kiss, Graham.”
A slow smile lit his face. “I know, Sun.”
 We gazed at each other as the doors opened, and my friends and
family hollered as they saw us in each other’s arms. Tearing my gaze
from Graham’s, I waved with stars in my eyes as he escorted me
forward.
I had him. I loved him, and he totally loved me. Freaking finally.
Never a doubt in my mind.
That wouldn’t come until much later.
 Chapter 5

I paused typing the e-mail draft for an agency’s RFP and glanced at
the flash of my phone notification.
Cori (aka Mother Hen): Here’s his stupid number. 865-
555-1658. I protest.
Anxiety squeezed my throat, and I swallowed hard. Should I text
instead? No. I’d already decided that felt wrong for this kind of
thing. A Monday at 1:17 p.m. was as good a time as any. Nobody
answered their phones nowadays anyway, right?
Puffing a breath out, I reached for the sheet of paper on my desk
and picked up the phone before I talked myself out of it. This way,
the ball was in my court, and I had possession. I pressed the
number and call button with only the smallest hesitation.
Gingerly bringing the phone to my ear, I braced myself as the
ringing began.
“Hello. This is Graham Campbell.”
Shit! My heart kicked into full gallop at the still-familiar sound of
his southern drawl. I mean, I was trying to do fake-brave and all,
but he wasn’t supposed to answer the damn phone! Shit.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Graham.” I stilled. Was that my timid-ass voice? Really?
Snapping my back straight, I lifted the paper in my hand which was
labeled, “IF HE ANSWERS THE PHONE (don’t freak/handle it!)” and
read, “Hello. This is Sunny Beltran. I got word yesterday that you’d
moved back to Blue Hill. I did too, actually, just a couple of weeks
ago and asked for your phone number.”
No response, so I continued in my business voice, which was
amazingly helpful. Why didn’t I think of this before? “The reason for
my call is I figured we’re bound to run into each other at some
point, and I thought it best to call you, so it’s no surprise if you turn
a corner and see me there.”
Pause here. Breathe. Easy breezy, my paper read, and I took a
much-needed breath. “Feel free to say hello, by the way. I know it’s
been a long while, but I hope you’re comfortable with me doing the
same?”
Perfect tone and delivery. Yes. I was doing amazing!
Except… more silence. Deafening silence, and I began slipping
from business mode toward awkward babble to fill the quiet. Any
second, losing the ball.
It would help if he said something. I’d prepared for a range of
responses, but this silence was brutal.
Maybe he couldn’t place me? It had been a long time. Should I
say something to help him remember? Maybe I shouldn’t have
called? Or maybe his non-answer was the answer.
“Um, well. Okay then.” The uncertainty had filtered back into my
voice. Dammit. “I hope all is well. I’ll see ya around.” I hung up
before saying something I’d regret.
Pressing a hand to my chest, I heaved out an exhale, feeling like
I’d been thrown off a roller coaster—until my phone rang.
 I glanced at it. Oh no. Tapping the speaker, I squeezed my eyes
shut.
“Sunny? Sorry,” Graham said. “You surprised me, and I couldn’t
keep up.”
A short laugh burst from my chest. This was just so weird.
“Can you meet up somewhere?” he asked. “Maisy’s, maybe? We
can catch up.”
I popped my eyes open. Meet up? This didn’t follow any of the
scenarios I’d imagined. I didn’t think I was ready to see him. “Oh.
Well…”
“How about now? Fifteen minutes.”
Now? I swallowed and darted my gaze to the clock. “Uh. Fifteen
minutes…”
“Great. See you there.” He hung up, and I stared at the phone.
“That wasn’t agreement,” I whispered.
But I wasn’t calling him back, so I guess it was? Should I
change? I glanced down at my T-shirt that read, Irish I was a lil’ bit
taller—but I’m Mexican, bitchachos!
Maybe I should change into, like, a business suit? I blinked and
pressed my lips flat. No. Why was that even a thought? I didn’t need
to impress him. I could do this.
Forcing myself not to overthink because I would spiral into
madness, I avoided the mirror, lifted my chin as I threw my hair up
in a sloppy bun, and for even more casual affirmation, decided to
walk over.
***
Ah God, I was gonna throw up.
 My cold, jittery hands clutched my purse strap to my chest as I
peeked around the corner of the building, Carmen Sandiego-style. I
was chickening out. I had to see him first. And if—
He stood outside the restaurant, hands in pockets, and I stilled
as this casually confident image interposed over how I had
remembered him.
His attention was on something in the opposite direction, but his
profile easily confirmed that he was still handsome. More physically
attractive even, as his full-on athlete build filled his dark gray slacks
and a light blue button-down shirt in business-casual masculine
appeal. I lingered on the sleeves that were rolled up to his forearms,
then scanned up to his face again. His hair hadn’t had the chance to
lighten in the sun yet, still mostly brown, and professionally cut. Or
maybe it just didn’t change any more like it used to?
Pulling back behind the building, I leaned my butt against the
building, put my hands on my knees, and simply breathed for longer
than I cared to admit. But so what? Was I just gonna not go? How
would that change the character set?
Standing, I shook my hands out, warming up. “Easy breezy,” I
said out loud to myself before squaring my shoulders and stepped
out around the corner, pretending like I’d never stopped.
After several steps, his head turned toward me, and as expected,
the flare of awareness sparked when our eyes met. My stomach
clenched, but I tilted my head slightly as I stepped closer. The
anxiety I was sure would run rampant didn’t happen.
His face was neutral. Nothing in his body language read that this
would be confrontational. It might’ve been a little dramatic on my
part that it had even been a thought.
And here is probably where a Bon Iver song would start playing if
this was a movie. Not sorrowful, not angry, just accepting. Because
this man was no longer the Graham I’d known. This man was a
stranger to me, and though it didn’t settle everything jumbled and
indescribable in my heart, it calmed something within me to realize
that.
This would be the last time we’d meet. We should’ve given
ourselves this before. What we’d had deserved it, and I accepted
responsibility for not allowing us to have it.
But we were here now, so I lifted a hand with a small smile in
greeting as I stopped several feet from him. “Hello.”
“Oh good, you’re okay,” someone said behind me, and I turned to
an older man who’d obviously been jogging.
“Sorry?”
He wiped his forehead, panting. “I saw you a ways down, around
the building. You looked a little sick bent over like that, and I
thought you said, ‘Someone help me.’”
My face went hot. “Oh… n-no, I’m okay, thanks.”
He nodded. “Okay, then,” he said, and continued running.
Great. Just great. Story of my life. I try to pretend to be cool and
look what happens. I turned back to Graham with a sigh.

Graham
She’d been sick? “Hey.” I scanned her, still trying to catch up
from seeing her again. Her face was a little red.
“Hi.” She laughed a weird laugh and shrugged her shoulders.
 Should we hug? She wasn’t sure either, and we did this weird
shuffle-step that was so awkward, both of us just huffed a laugh.
Get it together, man.
It wasn’t nerves. I’d learned how to handle that a long time ago,
but whatever it was in the pit of my stomach had me all kinds of off-
balance. I opened the door to the restaurant for her, trying my best
to not stare as the hostess sat us and took our drink order. It
couldn’t be helped, though. I hadn’t had time to prepare. She’d
called out of nowhere.
“How’ve you been?”
I guess the way I asked, and the whole situation, made her huff
a laugh again. I gazed at her, remembering that smile, and seeing
the Sunny I’d known. Almost the same, but… not. And her face was
telling me she was thinking the same about me.
She was wearing eye makeup, had professionally polished nails,
and there were more freckles scattered over her nose and
cheekbones. More on her arms. An image tried to surface, but I
shrugged the memory off.
“My adult life story, huh?” she asked, meaning it as a joke, but I
nodded curtly, and her smile faded.
I should’ve smiled back. And now I made her think that I just
wanted to get this over with. Her face was still so readable. My eyes
fell to her nails. The times she—or I—had painted them had always
been rainbow glitter colors. Never this professional pale pink.
“Graham.”
I lifted my eyes, and she met them steadily. “We don’t need to
do all this, you know. I just wanted to contact you since it was
highly likely we’d run into each other again here and—”
“I want to know, Sunny,” I interrupted, and leaned back in the
booth casually. “You said you just moved back. What’s the job
situation like? Are you looking for something around here?”
It was good I went that route because her shoulders lowered a
little.
“I kept my job from Dallas to work remotely.”
When I nodded and took a sip of water, she continued, “As an
account manager in the politics channel for a growing neutral news
source. You might’ve heard of us? The Standard?”
“Politics?”
“Yes, we’re different in that we’re backed by science journalists
and other professionals in their fields.“ Her eyes took on a sparkle,
clearly confident in her profession. “We partner with various sources
to delve deeper into what’s happening in Congress. Why things
matter and simplifying it so the general public can understand.”
“Interesting.”
She nodded, so I asked another question because she went into
detail using her entire body, like she used to when she felt
comfortable enough about the subject. And I listened but couldn’t
help but register her on another level. There were multiple situations
that I’d made up in my head if this were to happen. The most logical
one being that her family still lived here, and I’d run into her during
the holidays. But her calling me out of the blue and my knee-jerk
reaction to meet up within fifteen minutes with no planning was not
one of them. Now, seeing her in person after all this time, carrying
this conversation with memories from the past circling around my
head like a carousel, was … something. But I guess the time had
finally come to play it out.

Sunny
He kept asking questions about my job. Maybe his way of
avoiding the elephant in the room, but that one hundred percent
worked for me. I could totally do this.
I’d forgotten how easy it was to talk with him. Even with
everything left unsaid, he’d put me at ease, just like he used to.
That hadn’t changed. And if I could be at ease with him again, it
meant I could be at peace with the past, didn’t it? Something else in
my chest unclenched.
“How is your family?” he asked.
Heat flashed up my spine, and I looked at my watch. Nope.
“Do you mind if I order something to eat?” I picked up the menu,
seeing our server come our way. I’d missed lunch, and had a
conference call in an hour and a half. “I have about thirty minutes. If
you have somewhere to be, don’t let me keep you.”
“I could eat.” Something in his tone had me glancing at him, but
it must have been my imagination. Neutral.
“What about you?” I asked after we ordered and I began making
my second cup of coffee. This was going to have to be my last cup,
for sure; I was getting too jittery. “What have you done with your
life?” Taking a small sip, I looked at him questioningly when he
didn’t answer.
“You drink coffee now, huh?”
 I raised an eyebrow and shrugged. He didn’t need to know I’d
started drinking coffee to keep me awake after many sleepless
nights during my last year of high school.
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I went to Penn State, did debate
and played rugby, got my undergrad in international business.” He
paused, thinking about what to say next. “Moved to California.”
“Oh yeah? Did you finally learn how to surf?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “A little. I actually moved to play
rugby for the US 7s team.”
“What!” I almost spewed my coffee. “US team like professional?
Wait, like the Olympics?”
He scanned my face and slowly nodded. “Japan.”
“Holy wow.” I stared, wide-eyed. “That’s freaking awesome! I
recorded all the channels, but I only watched a fraction of
everything, rugby included. Would I have seen you on TV? Tell me
all the stories from the beginning. Where is US Rugby
headquartered?” I wiggled my fingers in a “Come on” gesture,
squirming in my chair.
His smile widened, and he stayed quiet. He used to do this back
then too. Just look at me and not tell me the story, knowing the
suspense would drive me nuts. I’d told him he did it just so he could
prolong my undivided attention on him, and he’d grinned and said,
“I just like to see you worked up.”
“Based in Colorado,” he said abruptly, “but we train in the San
Diego area. Yeah, I made it onto TV.”He continued with an overview
of his Olympics journey, answering my questions.
Another random document with
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have her thirty thousand pounds; ’tis so much dirt and dross to me.
And she may be Lady Vernon yet. Do you know that old rapscallion
Sir Thomas Vernon’s estate is in this part of the country? though
nearer York than Scarborough. On our return from our honeymoon I
have a great mind to take my Arabella to Vernon Court, and show
her what may one day be hers.”
So he raved and roared out snatches like,—

“In Bacchus’ joys I’ll freely roll,

Deny no pleasure to my soul,
Let Bacchus’ health round freely move;
For Bacchus is the friend of love—
And he that will this toast deny,
Down among the dead men let him lie.”

And I took up the chorus and bawled it out; for I, too, looked for
no more crosses in this life, having Daphne for my wife.
So the time passed until ten o’clock; and at ten o’clock we sallied
forth.
It was a starlit night in early December. The cold high blue
heavens above us seemed to radiate happiness; the myriad stars
twinkled with joy; we scarce felt the ground under our feet.
The two post-chaises awaited us on the highway, the postboys
full of confidence; the horses, the best in the town, were eager to be
off. We jumped together in one, and were whirled into the town, and
were at the door of the playhouse almost before we knew it.
One of our postilions speedily found the coach which had brought
Lady Hawkshaw there, and, in pursuance of his instructions, got the
coachman off his box to drink in a neighboring tavern, while one of
our postboys stood watch over the horses. Giles and I remained in
the chaise until it was time for us to make our descent.
At half-past ten the play was over, and then began that hurry and
commotion of the dispersion of a crowd in the darkness. We heard
loud shouts for Lady Hawkshaw’s coach, but the coachman did not
make his appearance. There were many officers and ladies from the
garrison, and a number of equipages; but soon they were driving off,
while half a dozen men at once were shouting for Lady Hawkshaw’s
coach. At last my lady herself came out of the entrance, followed by
Arabella and Daphne, and at that moment Giles slipped out of the
chaise, and appeared before Lady Hawkshaw as if he had risen from
the earth. I, too, was on the ground, but out of sight.
“Pray, my lady,” said he, in his most gallant manner, and hat in
hand, “allow me to show you to your coach.”
“Mr. Vernon!” cried Lady Hawkshaw, in surprise. “I thought you
were in London. How came you to Scarborough?”
“By chaise, Madam,” he replied politely; “and I hope to see the
young ladies before I leave,” (the hypocrite!). “Is Sir Peter with you,
Madam?”
“No, he is not,” replied Lady Hawkshaw, her wrath rising at the
idea. “Had he been with me, my coach would have been awaiting
me.” And then turning to Arabella and Daphne, who were behind her,
she said sternly,—
“Arabella and Daphne, this does not happen again. Sir Peter
comes with us to the play, after this.”
I caught sight, from a corner behind the chaise, of my dear
Daphne, at that moment. She stopped suddenly, and turned pale
and then rosy, and glanced wildly about her. She knew I was not far
off.
How Arabella received Giles’ sudden appearance I never knew,
as I could not see her. But in another moment he had placed Lady
Hawkshaw, with the utmost obsequiousness, in the coach; then
folding up the steps like magic, he slammed the door, and shouting
to the coachman, “Drive on!” the coach rattled off, and the next
moment his arm was around Arabella, and mine was around
Daphne, and they were swept off their feet; and in less time than it
takes to tell it, each of us was with the idol of his heart, whirling off
toward Gretna Green, as fast as four horses to a light chaise could
take us.
Now, what think you, were Daphne’s first words to me?
 “Unhand me, Mr. Glyn, or I will scream for assistance!”
“My dearest one!” I exclaimed, “you are now mine. By to-morrow
morning we shall be over the border, and you will be my wife.”
“An elopement! Gracious heaven! I never thought of such a
thing!” she replied.
I might have answered that she had not only thought of such a
thing, but talked of it. I refrained, however, knowing a woman’s
tongue to be capricious in its utterances, and, instead, assured her
that my passion was such I could no longer bear the thought of
existing without her.
“And do you mean to marry me, sir, without my guardian’s
consent?” she asked with much violence.
“I do, indeed, my angel, and I thought it was agreed between us.”
This was an unfortunate speech, and she again threatened to
scream for assistance, but presently remarked that as there was
none to come to her assistance, she would refrain. And then, having
done what propriety required, she began to relent a little, and at last
she lay in my arms, asking me, with tears, if I would promise her
never to love another, and I told her, with great sincerity, that I never
would, provided I got out of that alive.
Deep in our own happiness,—for at least the dear girl admitted
that she was happy to be mine,—we yet thought of Giles and
Arabella, and I would have got out of the chaise at each of the three
stages, where we made a rapid change of horses, except that
Daphne would not let me,—afraid, she said, lest I should be
recognized and get into trouble. She afterward told me it was
because she feared we might be stopped. We did not forget the
precaution, in our brief halts, to pay the hostlers well to do some
harm to any pursuing vehicles which might be after us; and our plan
seemed to be prospering famously.
So all night we rattled furiously along, and at daybreak we
crossed the border, notified by the huzzaing of the postboys. It was a
dank, dismal morning, the weather having changed during the night,
and we saw that we had passed the other chaise in the darkness. It
was some distance behind, and the horses seemed much spent. We
continued on our way, to the house of a blacksmith at Gretna Green,
who, so our postboy told us, usually united runaway couples. We
dashed up to his cottage,—a humble place, surrounded by a willow
hedge,—and he, warned by approaching wheels, came out, half
dressed, in the murky morning.
“Come to be marrit?” he cried. “Step out then.”
I assisted Daphne out of the chaise, and then, as we stood on the
damp ground, in those squalid surroundings, looking at each other,
the possible wrong I had done this innocent girl suddenly swept over
me. And in her eyes, too, I read the first consciousness of having
committed an impropriety. This dirty, unkempt blacksmith, the
coarse, laughing postboys—this, a way to make the most solemn
and spiritual of all engagements! I felt an uncomfortable sense of
guilt and shame.
It was only momentary. The more depressed she, the more
should I support, and therefore I called out cheerfully, “I take this
woman to be my wedded wife,” and such other words as I recalled of
the marriage service—and I said it so heartily and promised so
devoutly, removing my hat when I made my vows, that it heartened
up Daphne—and her response, so full of faith and love, gave a kind
of holiness to it all. We were two rash and foolish young people—but
we loved each other truly, and we made our vows solemnly,
determined to keep them. Perhaps that counts for more, in the eyes
of God, than all else; at least, we realized the sacredness of our
vows.
Scarcely was the brief ceremony over—for ceremony we made it
—when the chaise containing Arabella and Giles drew up. And the
sight I saw, I can never forget.
Arabella’s face was quite pale, but her eyes were blazing. There
were some drops of blood upon her cheek—they came from her
wrists, which Giles held firmly. The door of the chaise being opened,
she stepped out willingly, disdaining the assistance Giles offered her.
His face, too, was very pale, and he looked and moved like a man in
a nightmare. The blacksmith grinned broadly; he thought his gains
were to be increased—for I had not forgotten to pay him
handsomely.
Giles seized her hand. “Arabella,” he cried desperately, “surely
you do not now mean to throw me over?”
For answer, she gave him a glance of ineffable hatred.
“This man,” she said, turning to me, “your friend, your intimate—I
blush for you—has dragged me here. Rather would I die than marry
him. Look!”

“Rather would I die than marry him.” Page 171

She held up her wrists, and they showed marks of violence.
 “’Twas to keep her from jumping out of the chaise,” said Giles
wildly. “She would have had me leave her at midnight, on the
highway—alone and unprotected. Dearest Arabella,” he cried,
turning to her, and trying to clasp her, “will you not listen to my
prayer? How can you scorn such love as mine?” And he was near
going down on his knees to her, in the mud—but I held him up. I
confess that the most painful thing, of all this painful business, was
Giles Vernon’s complete surrender of his manhood, under the
influence of his wild passion. He, an officer in his Majesty’s sea-
service, a man who had smelt powder and knew what it was to look
Death in the eye and advance upon him, who would have answered
with his life for his courage, was ready to grovel in the earth like a
madman for the favor of a woman. Nothing was it to him that low-
born creatures like the postboys and the blacksmith beheld him with
contempt and disgust; nothing to him that a woman like Daphne, and
that I, a brother officer, witnessed his degradation. He seemed to
have parted with the last semblance of self-respect.
Arabella answered his appeal by a laugh of scorn, which seemed
to cut him like a knife; and then, shaking me off, he shouted to her,—
“I know why you will not be mine. It is that pious, hypocritical
hound, Overton. But I tell you now, my lady, if you marry him, I’ll
have his life. Take note of what I say—I’ll have his life.”
To which Arabella, after a pause in which her face grew deeply
red and then pale again, said,—
“Your own life is in jeopardy. The abduction of an heiress is a
capital offense, and you shall be tried for your life if it takes every
shilling of my fortune to do it. You shall see what you have done!”
I shuddered at these words, for I saw it was no idle threat. If Giles
contemplated violence toward Overton, I had not the slightest doubt
that Arabella was fully capable of keeping her word in the dreadful
business. Daphne thought so too; for she ran forward, and, putting
her hands over Arabella’s mouth, cried,—
“No, no! dear Arabella, take that back!”
 “But I will not take it back,” replied Arabella; “and I shall lodge
information against this wretch, as soon as I can return to
Scarborough,—which I shall do in the post-chaise; for, luckily, I have
money with me.”
Under the terrible threat of prosecution, Giles recovered himself
surprisingly. He lost his frantic air, and, drawing himself up, remarked
quite calmly,—
“Just as your ladyship pleases.”
His change of manner seemed to infuriate Arabella, who shrieked
at him,—
“You shall be hanged for this!”
“Anything to oblige your ladyship,” responded Giles, as cool as
you please.
I felt that this painful scene could no longer continue, and said so.
“Lady Arabella,” said I, “my wife”—how Daphne’s eyes glowed as
I spoke—“and I are returning immediately to Scarborough; you had
best go with us; and when you have seen and consulted with Sir
Peter and Lady Hawkshaw, it will be time enough to determine upon
your course.”
“My course is already determined upon,” she replied; and no one
who saw her could doubt it.
“And so is mine,” said Giles, now in possession of all his usual
manliness. “I return to London, where I shall duly report myself to the
Admiralty, and later to Sir Peter Hawkshaw; and if the lady thirsts for
my blood, begad, she can have it.”
“Giles Vernon,” said I, “you have been unlucky. I can not say
more, because I am in the same boat with you. But you have done
nothing unworthy of a gentleman, and nothing to make either
Daphne or me love you the less, no matter what befalls. So here is
my hand upon it.”
We grasped hands, and, turning to Daphne, he removed his hat
and proceeded to kiss her, saying to me, “By your leave.” And
Daphne said to him,—
“Good-by, dear Giles.”
The proceedings seemed to fill Lady Arabella with disgust. She
haughtily refused my hand to assist her into the chaise, and
announced that she would go to the village of Springfield, near by,
for rest and breakfast; and willy-nilly, Daphne and I had to follow in
the post-chaise.
Never shall I forget that dismal wedding journey back to
Scarborough. I began, for the first time, to fear the reproaches of the
world in general, and Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw in particular, in
regard to running away with an heiress. I had one comfort, however;
Daphne fully believed in my disinterestedness; and I can sincerely
say I wished Daphne’s fortune at the bottom of the sea, if I could but
have wooed and won her in the ordinary course of events.
Lady Arabella traveled just ahead of us, but took occasion to
show her anger and resentment against us in every way.
About half the distance to Scarborough we met full in the road a
traveling chariot, and in it were Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw.
We found that the hostlers had earned their money, and that the
Hawkshaws’ chaise had broken down at least once in every stage.
When we met and stopped, Arabella alighted, and so did we, and
so did the Hawkshaws; and the first word that was spoken was by
Daphne.
“Uncle Peter,” she said, “don’t fly at Richard. If you must know it, I
ran away with him; for I am sure, although he is as brave as a lion, it
never would have dawned upon him to run away with me, if I had not
put the idea in his head, and kept it there.”
“Sir,” said I, “and Madam,” turning to Lady Hawkshaw, “I beg you
will not listen to this young lady’s plea. I am wholly responsible for
the circumstances of our marriage. I can, however, and do, call
Heaven to witness, that her fortune had nothing to do with it, and I
should have been happy and proud to take her, with the clothes on
her back, and nothing more.”
 Sir Peter began to sputter, but Lady Hawkshaw cut him short.
“Exactly what you said, Sir Peter, within an hour of our marriage.”
Thus were Sir Peter’s guns dismounted.
“And, Richard and Daphne, you are a couple of fools to run away,
when, if you had only had a little patience, I would have had you
handsomely married at St. George’s, Hanover Square. But least
said, soonest mended. Sir Peter, kiss Daphne, and shake hands with
Richard.”
And as I am a sinner, she actually forced Sir Peter to do both,
although I saw he mortally hated it.
Arabella’s turn came next. She advanced and said, with a
bitterness that struck a chill to my heart,—
“Sir Peter, as you know, I was carried off by that wretch who
disgraces his uniform, Lieutenant Giles Vernon; but he did not
succeed in forcing me to consent to a marriage. And I call upon you,
as my next friend, to aid me in the prosecution which I shall
immediately set on foot against him for the capital offense of the
abduction of an heiress; and I hope to bring him to the gibbet for it.”
 IX
Lady Arabella Stormont was as good as her word; for that day,
two months, Giles Vernon was put on trial for his life, at York Assizes,
for the abduction of an heiress. Sir Peter Hawkshaw refused
absolutely to countenance Arabella; and my Lady Hawkshaw, who
never had bowed her head or abased her spirit to mortal man or
mortal woman before, went upon her knees, imploring Arabella to
give over her revenge,—for revenge it was, pure and simple,—but
Lady Arabella laughed at her. Lady Hawkshaw rose from her knees,
crying out,—
“You have some deep and unknown reason for this; but it will
come to naught, it will come to naught!”
But Arabella found a person ready to her hand, who was most
active in the matter. This was Sir Thomas Vernon, of Vernon Court. It
was he who lodged the information with the public prosecutor
against Giles, and assumed the part of Lady Arabella’s champion. Of
course, there was some ground for the version of the story which
was started in Arabella’s interest, that a frightful outrage had been
committed by dragging her off against her will; and that only the most
determined courage had saved her from a marriage repulsive to her;
that Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw, her next friends, had basely
deserted her; and that Sir Thomas had chivalrously taken up her
cause. It is true that the relative characters of the Hawkshaws and
Sir Thomas Vernon discounted much of this; but the actual facts in
the case looked so ugly for Giles, that there was no trouble in
securing his prompt arrest and delivery in York jail.
The breach between Lady Arabella and the Hawkshaws, as well
as Daphne and myself, was too great to be bridged over; and,
having thrown herself, so to speak, in Sir Thomas Vernon’s arms,
she accepted the protection of a relative of his, one Mrs. Whitall, a
decayed gentlewoman, and went to live at a small town near York,
until the Assizes, when she would be called upon as the chief
witness for the prosecution. Great stories were immediately put forth,
that Sir Thomas Vernon was deeply smitten with Arabella’s charms,
and that, after a visit with Mrs. Whitall to Vernon Court, she looked
very kindly on Sir Thomas. All this might be true, and Sir Thomas
might flatter himself that he had won her favor; but, knowing Arabella
well, I did not credit her with any sincere desire to be kind to Sir
Thomas Vernon, although she might make him think so, for her own
purposes. I suspected, however, a motive far deeper, in any matter
connected with Sir Thomas Vernon. Overton was the next heir after
Giles; Sir Thomas was extremely rickety, and not likely to be long-
lived; and if, by merely telling what had happened, Lady Arabella
could sate her resentment, which was deep and furious, against
Giles, and at the same time greatly benefit Overton, I think she
would not have weighed Giles’ life at a penny. My Daphne, whose
faith in human nature was angelic, in her belief in ultimate good,
prayed and besought Arabella to leave the country before the trial
came off; but Arabella only said contemptuously:
“You are a child and a chit. Giles Vernon contemplated doing me
the greatest wrong a man can do a woman. Do you think I shall let
him go unpunished? If so, how little do you know Arabella Stormont!”
Then I, from loyalty to Giles, and not from any hope I had from
Lady Arabella, went to her and made my appeal. She heard all my
prayers without the slightest sign of relenting, playing with her lap-
dog the while. At last, I said to her,—
“Tell me, at least, who is to be benefited by the conviction of Giles
Vernon? Not you, certainly; for you will be loathed and shunned by
all.”
“The person dearest to me in the world,” she replied; “the person
I love better than my life or my soul,” and then, as if she had
admitted too much, she stopped, turned pale, and seemed
altogether disconcerted. She had, in truth, admitted too much. The
person she had ever loved better than her soul was Philip Overton.
I had the self-possession to leave her then, and went off by
myself to think over the strange motive which had been revealed to
me. Arabella’s infatuation for Overton had always been abnormal,
touched with unreason. And could fate have woven a closer web
around Giles Vernon than in making him fall so madly in love with
Arabella Stormont?
Giles had promptly surrendered himself, rightly judging a trial
better than being a fugitive from justice and a deserter from the naval
service. He repaired to York, after having duly reported to the
Admiralty, and was jailed immediately, and indicted.
The Hawkshaws, my Daphne, and I remained in Scarborough
during the two dreadful months that passed before the trial came off.
Sir Peter easily got leave from the Admiralty for me, hoping, not only
that my testimony, but the example of the felicity in which Daphne
and I lived, might not be without its effect upon the jury that tried
Giles.
Offers of money to assist in his defense came from many
quarters and from several ladies,—two in especial, her Grace of
Auchester and Mrs. Trenchard. Lady Hawkshaw, however, claimed
the privilege of bearing the expenses of the trial out of her private
fortune, which was large. Sir Peter and she had it hot and heavy, he
desiring to contribute; and for one of the few times in his life, he
carried his point against her. Two great barristers were to be brought
from London to assist Giles in his defense, besides another one in
York itself.
As soon as Giles was lodged in jail, Sir Peter and Lady
Hawkshaw, Daphne and I went immediately to see him. We drove in
state, in a coach and four, with outriders, Sir Peter in his uniform,
with his sword, and I also in uniform; for our object was to testify
publicly our regard for Giles and detestation of the prosecution for
his life which was on foot.
We reached the great gloomy building, and the turnkey
immediately showed us to Giles’ room. It was one of the best rooms
in the place, and would have been comfortable enough had it not
been in a prison.
 He was delighted to see us, kissed Lady Hawkshaw’s hand, and
gave Daphne a hearty smack on the cheek. He looked well, and I
expected to find him hopeful; but he seemed to regard his fate as
fixed, although it in no wise disturbed his cheerfulness. Sir Peter at
once told him that everything possible should be done for his
defense, and that eminent counsel were then on their way from
London for him; and he with Lady Hawkshaw would bear all the
costs of the trial.
“And we,” cried Daphne, “claim the right to help; and when you
are acquitted, you will find all your debts paid, and need not trouble
yourself where the money comes from.”
Tears sprang to Giles’ eyes at this, and he looked gratefully upon
us all.
“Dear friends,” he said, “I thank you; but I shall not be acquitted.
Sir Thomas Vernon and Lady Arabella Stormont thirst for my blood,
and by my own folly I have put the noose around my neck. But I say
to you from the bottom of my heart that I rather would die upon the
gibbet than be married to Lady Arabella. God was good to me in
giving her to me as my enemy instead of my wife.”
There was something in this; for what man could think, without
shuddering, of taking Arabella Stormont to wife?
I saw that Giles had completely recovered from his madness. He
blamed no one, frankly acknowledging his own folly, and bore
himself as became an officer and a gentleman.
Sir Peter would by no means admit there was the smallest
chance of an adverse verdict; but although I could not bring myself to
believe that the extreme penalty of the law would be carried out, yet I
thought it very likely that the case was too plain for Giles to escape
conviction. The conduct of Daphne and Lady Hawkshaw to him was
such that I came out of the jail with a deeper reverence, a higher
esteem for women than I had known before, although I had always
believed them to be God’s angels on earth (with a few exceptions).
So gentle and caressing was Daphne, so boldly and determinedly
friendly was Lady Hawkshaw, that it did one’s heart good. Daphne
announced her intention of going to see Sir Thomas Vernon and
pleading with him, while Lady Hawkshaw threatened to give him her
opinion of him publicly, which was, indeed, a dreadful threat.
The trial came off at the February Assizes, and on the night
before was the great assize ball. The word was passed around that
all of Giles Vernon’s friends were to attend this ball, by way of
showing our confidence—alas!—in his acquittal. Therefore, on that
night, we—that is, the Hawkshaws, Daphne, and I—were to go to the
ball in all the state we could muster. We had taken lodgings at York
for the trial.
The evening of the ball found the streets crowded as I had never
seen them before. The great case, which would be reached within a
day or two, brought crowds to attend the Assizes, many persons
coming even from London. These were chiefly gentlemen of the
nobility and gentry who were friends of Giles Vernon’s, for never man
had so many friends.
It was a cold bright February night; and the street in front of the
assize hall where the ball was held was packed with chariots,
chaises, and people on foot, flaring torches and bawling footmen, as
if it were a London rout. As our carriage passed the entrance, the
way was blocked by the judges’ chariots, from which they descended
in state. Our coachman, whipping up to get the next place in line,
locked wheels with the coach of Sir Thomas Vernon. He sat back,
his face visible by the lamps in the courtyard, and as unconcerned
as if the case which had brought us all to York was one of his
servants beating the watch, instead of the trial of his relative and heir
on a capital charge.
The crowd showed its disapproval of Sir Thomas by hurling
abusive epithets at him, which only caused him to smile. But he had
another enemy to encounter, which was Lady Hawkshaw, and in full
sight and hearing of the judges, as they stepped with stately tread up
the stairs, occurred a battle a mort between her and Sir Thomas
Vernon, to the intense enjoyment of the crowd, which was
uproariously on Lady Hawkshaw’s side. Neither Sir Peter nor I took
any part in the fray, seeing Lady Hawkshaw had the best of it from
the start, and that, woman against man, the populace was heartily
with her.
It began by Lady Hawkshaw’s putting her head out of the coach
and saying at the top of her voice,—and what a voice!—“Good
evening, Sir Thomas. We are called here upon a sad occasion, but I
hope that English justice will prevail to save the life of that gallant
young man, your heir, Giles Vernon.”
To which Sir Thomas, with a wicked grin, replied,—
“We may safely leave that to the jury and to their honors, the
lords justices, Madam. But if a young villain steals an heiress against
her will, he incurs the extreme penalty of the law.”
“Yes,” replied Lady Hawkshaw, “I dare say you think the law will
deal by Giles Vernon as it did by poor Jack Bassett, whom you got
transported for life for killing a hare which was already half dead; or
as it served Tobias Clark, the blacksmith, whom you got hanged for
stealing one of your sheep.”
These things were true, and the crowd gave three loud groans for
Sir Thomas Vernon. Before he could get his breath to reply, Lady
Hawkshaw continued,—
“No wonder you are afraid to sleep without candles burning in
your room all night. Sir Thomas.”
Sir Thomas ground his teeth, and called,—
“Back your horses, coachman, and drive out.”
But the crowd would by no means permit it, holding on to the
wheels, and shouts resounded of “Good for your ladyship!
Hawkshaw for ever!”
Sir Peter lay back laughing, while Daphne, by way of
encouraging the people, clapped her hands and kissed Lady
Hawkshaw on the cheek.
“And let me tell you, Sir Thomas,” continued that excellent and
indomitable woman, “that because no woman could ever be induced
to elope with you, there is no reason why runaway marriages should
not be the happiest in the world. I defied my family and as good as
ran away with Sir Peter Hawkshaw, and he was as poor as Giles
Vernon; but, like him, he was a true and gallant gentleman, and God
bless the day I married him!”
At this there was tremendous cheering for Sir Peter, and he took
off his hat and bowed, kissing Lady Hawkshaw’s hand.
Sir Thomas responded by calling out airily,—
“May I ask your ladyship if Sir Peter was a free agent in the affair
of your marriage? for I believe he is not generally held accountable
for his actions since that day.”
Sir Peter’s eyes flashed at that, but Lady Hawkshaw cried back,
—
“Right you are, Sir Thomas, for have him I would, and if he had
not agreed to marry me I should have died of disappointment. Nor
has he been a free agent since that day,—not for one moment free
from my love, my admiration, and my solicitude. I knew you well, Sir
Thomas, forty years ago” (this was a cruel thrust, for Sir Thomas
was notoriously touchy about his age), “and I would no more have
run away with you then than I would this night—and God knows no
woman in all the three kingdoms would go with you now!”
The delight of the crowd was extraordinary. I believe they would
have mobbed Sir Thomas, except that they felt that Lady Hawkshaw
could inflict the more exquisite misery on him. The judges, still going
up the steps slowly, probably heard every word of this controversy.
The crowd then parted, and taking Sir Thomas’ horses by the bits,
forced them to give place to Lady Hawkshaw’s coach, and she
descended amid the loudest cheers of the populace.
Within the splendid ball-room Lady Hawkshaw’s triumph was
even more marked. Numbers of great people flocked around her;
many of them had been witnesses of her battle royal with Sir
Thomas, and the story had quickly spread to the rest. Lady
Hawkshaw, in spite of her oddities, had always maintained the
respect of all who knew her, and never saw I a woman who bore,
under all circumstances, more unmistakably the air of a great lady;
whether squabbling with Sir Peter, laying down the law to the world
at large, or speaking bad French, she was invariably the woman of
quality.
The scene of the ball was so gorgeous that even my sad heart
took note of it. The hall was ablaze with wax lights, and a huge band
of musicians brayed and trumpeted. The lords justices, the lords
lieutenants of the three Ridings, and many other persons were in full
court costumes, and the ladies’ trains of brocade and velvet were a
sight to see. And I may be pardoned for saying that Mistress Richard
Glyn was by no means the least handsome of the women present.
By Lady Hawkshaw’s command we were all to look cheerful, and,
when I saw the outpouring of popular approval upon us as Giles
Vernon’s next friends, my heart grew less heavy.
Lady Hawkshaw seated herself in a large chair at the end of the
hall, where she held a kind of court. She wore a gown of some sort
of crimson stuff, with a great tail to it, and on her head was a turban
with a bird of paradise in it, and on top of that, her huge diamond
tiara. Everybody flocked to pay her court, and the lord lieutenant of
the East Riding asked the honor of her hand to open the ball. She
promptly agreed, with the added remark that she had not danced for
thirty years. Sir Peter attempted to interpose.
“You can not do it, my lady,” he said. “You will trip up and break
your leg.”
“Not unless you trip me up, Sir Peter,” responded her ladyship,
who was totally unable to keep up the turtle-dove style toward Sir
Peter for any appreciable length of time. “My legs are as good as the
lord lieutenant’s, thank God! and I shall have the pleasure in dancing
with his lordship.”
Obeying a look from her, Daphne accepted a partner, and I
secured one in the lord mayor’s daughter. Sir Thomas Vernon, who
was then in the hall, had the ineffable impudence to wish to dance in
the country dance with us, but he was met everywhere with cold
looks and refusals. The ladies of the lords lieutenants were all
engaged; so were their daughters. It was a picture to see him going
along the line of ladies sitting against the wall, being repulsed by all,
and his composure under these embarrassing circumstances was
the most extraordinary thing I ever saw. He wore a smile upon his
sickly, but handsome face all the time, and, at last, he found a
partner in the person of a monstrous ugly woman, whose husband
was in the hides and leather trade.
We took our places, Lady Hawkshaw and the lord lieutenant, a
fine, handsome man, many years younger than she, at the head of
the room. And then the musicians struck up, and Lady Hawkshaw
began to dance.
Such dancing! It was of the kind that was fashionable before the
American war, and introduced so many cuts, capers, pigeon-wings,
slips, slides, and pirouettes, that it was really an art in itself. And her
agility was surprising. With her train over her arm, her tiara blazing,
and her bird of paradise nodding violently, Lady Hawkshaw’s small
high-bred feet twinkled. She was a large woman, too, and she
proved that her boast about her legs was well founded. When she
came face to face with Sir Thomas Vernon in the dance, instead of
turning him, she folded her arms and sailed around him, carefully
avoiding touching his hand. And he, the old sinner, being acquainted
with that ancient style of dancing, made a caper so exactly like her
ladyship’s, with so grave a countenance, that the whole ball-room
was in a titter. But although the people might laugh at Sir Thomas’
excellent mimicry, the sentiment was totally against him, and he
found difficulty in getting gentlemen to notice him, or ladies to dance
with him. With Lady Hawkshaw, on the contrary, it was every man’s
desire to dance; she was besieged with partners, young and old; but
having shown what she could do, she rested upon her laurels, and
sat in state the rest of the evening, fanning herself with vast dignity
and composure, and occasionally snapping at Sir Peter, who, it must
be admitted, made no great figure at a ball.
At last it was over, and we returned to our lodgings. The next day
but one we were on our way to the assize hall for the trial of Giles
Vernon.
 A tremendous crowd was present, and there was difficulty in
gaining an entrance; some one, however, in the multitude set up a
shout of “Way for Lady Hawkshaw!” and the people fell back, leaving
us a clear path to the door, and into the hall itself.
Within that place of judgment all was dignity and decorum. The
lords justices in their robes and wigs sat like statues; and, presently,
when we were all seated and the crier had pronounced the court
open, Giles Vernon was brought in, and placed in the prisoners’
dock. He looked pale from his late confinement, but I thought I had
never seen his plain features so nearly handsome. His fine figure
was nobly set off by the identical brown and silver suit which the
poor fellow had bought for his wedding with Lady Arabella, and, in a
flash, came back to me that strange vision I had had at his London
lodgings on the night that this unfortunate elopement was first talked
of between us. My heart stood still, and I grew sick and faint at the
recollection of the rest of that dream, or revelation, or whatever it
was.
Giles, meanwhile, had bowed respectfully to the judges, then to
the assembled people, who very generally returned his salutation
with every mark of politeness. Turning to where we sat, he bowed
and smiled. We all rose, and Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne made
him deep curtseys. A jury was soon selected and sworn, and the first
witness called was Lady Arabella Stormont.
In a moment she entered, leaning upon the arm of Sir Thomas
Vernon, and was by him escorted to her place in the witness-box.
Her beauty was almost unearthly. She wore a black gown and a
simple white cap, under which the curls of her rich hair shone like
burnished gold. She was perfectly composed, and, after being
sworn, began her story in a manner the most quiet and calm. A deep
stillness reigned through the vast room, and every one in it caught
her lowest word.
Her testimony was entirely clear and straightforward. She related
the circumstances of her being dragged off, while coming out of the
playhouse at Scarborough; of finding herself alone in the chaise with
Giles Vernon, who told her he was taking her to Scotland to marry
her; that she struggled violently and endeavored to get out of the
chaise, and that she was withheld by force by Giles, who severely
hurt her wrists, causing blood to flow; and finally, that when she
began to scream, Giles put his hand over her mouth and stifled her
cries. She said that this conduct was kept up the whole of the night,
until they reached Gretna Green at daylight; that all the time Giles
was imploring her to marry him, then threatening to kill himself or
her; and that she told him many times she preferred death to
marriage with him; and at last, on reaching Gretna Green, she defied
him and escaped from him.
When she had concluded, there was an ominous stillness for a
time, and then I saw something which struck a chill to my heart. I had
stealthily kept my eyes fixed on the judges to see whether they gave
in their countenances any signs of lenity or severity. They were
altogether unmoved, except one, who was reported to be a most
merciful man. He grew pale and paler as Lady Arabella’s story
progressed, and I saw him several times wipe the cold sweat from
his brow, and at last a sigh broke from him; but I think no one noted it
but me, for the multitude of people were absorbed in the sight of this
beautiful young woman, so coolly swearing away the life of a man
who had loved her.
Giles Vernon bore the ordeal unflinchingly, and when at intervals
she looked toward him with a quiet hatred in her glance, he gazed
steadily back at her.
She was then to be cross-examined. Many questions were asked
her by the great London barrister, who was one of the three
defending Giles. One query was, whether she had ever given Mr.
Vernon reason to think she would marry him, to which she replied,—
“No; never in my life.”
She was then asked if there was another gentleman in the case,
and for the first time she showed confusion. Her face grew crimson,
and she remained silent. The question was not pressed, and she
was soon permitted to retire. When she passed out of the hall, she
was the divinest picture of beauty and modesty I ever saw. Her eyes
sought the floor, and a delicious blush mantled her cheek. I believe