Of course, I wondered why and began reading. It was the story of a telegraph operator who began a flirtation with another telegraph operator fifty miles away, neither knowing what the other looked like. I became so involved in the story that I didn’t realize how much time had passed until I finally looked up at the grandfather clock and saw how late it was. Could Garland have returned and not known I was waiting for him? But then why wouldn’t he come looking for me?

I hurried out with the book, and, perhaps waiting for the sound of my footsteps, Dora came rushing from the kitchen to greet me.

“Ready for bed, ma’am?”

“Has Mr. Foxworth returned?”

“Not yet, ma’am.”

“Are there any more messages?”

“No, ma’am.”

I stood thinking and then decided I should go to bed. He’d most surely come to me when he arrived, I thought. Snuggled comfortably under the swan, I tried to read a little more but found my eyelids too heavy to keep open. When I did open them again, the light of morning had already begun to tiptoe its way into the room. I rang for Dora, who came so quickly I wondered if she had fallen asleep in the hallway right outside my door.

I assumed Garland must have stopped by and found me in a dead sleep. I decided to throw on a robe and go surprise him, wake him by crawling in beside him. First, of course, with Dora’s assistance, I washed and brushed my hair.

“What should you wear this morning?” she asked.

“I’ll choose something in a while. You can go help set the table for breakfast,” I told her. “Mr. Foxworth and I will be down in a while.”

She looked confused, like she wanted to say something.

“What is it, Dora?”

“Mr. Foxworth didn’t come home last night,” she said, and then fled the room as if she had accidentally set it on fire.

Chapter 15

Garland didn’t arrive until a good hour or so after I had eaten some breakfast. Because it was a cloudless, warm day, I sat outside with a second cup of coffee and my novel, but before I continued reading, I simply stared at the lake, mesmerized by the rolling beauty of the hills beyond it. The surrounding forest, now fully bloomed, looked like an artist had made long brushstrokes of dark green over it all. I did feel like I was captured in a painting. Someday I might hang on the walls inside and someone who was first brought to Foxworth Hall would look up and wonder how such a young, beautiful girl in full bloom herself ended up beside so many grim-looking ancestors.