“Patricia, stop it.”

“What? He is. There’s no denying it. Lots of women fancy him, and as I said, I’ve heard stories. He’s even told me that he fancies me.”

“You really are a terrible gossip.”

“It’s not gossip if you know.”

Just then, the door to the kitchen swung open and Father poked his head inside.

“Darling, you’re being rude. People are asking where you are.”

At the sound of Father’s voice, the girls below the window hurriedly walked away. The one named Patricia glanced back and our eyes briefly met before they rounded the corner of the house.

“Come on,” Father insisted.

I went to join ‘my’ party.

Once the party ended, Father and I waited at the end of the drive to see the guests off and individually thank them for coming. When I spotted the man towards the end of the line, I pretended as though I wasn’t anticipating our formal introduction and farewell. That blonde woman hung on his arm. I tried to concentrate on the people to whom I was saying ‘goodbye’, but my attention kept flicking back to him.

At last, they reached Father and me.

Father shook their hands and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Carrington, thank you so much for coming.”

The woman thanked him for the invitation to the party and again welcomed us to Kingsbrook.

Then, they turned to me.

I thanked them for coming and for the journal.

She took both my hands and said, “It was our pleasure.”

She let go and I offered my hand to Mr. Carrington. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Carrington. So nice to meet you.”

He locked me with those eyes and gently took my hand. “And you,” he said.

No one could see it, but when he said ‘you’, he applied the slightest pressure with his finger to the palm of my hand. It was distinct and deliberate. “You should come visit us some time at the Nightingale House.”

Unable to help himself, Father suddenly jumped in. “Well, if there is anything you need from the pharmacy, don’t hesitate to contact us. We’ll even make deliveries.”

His attempt to casually insert business into the conversation went over like a stone, but the Carringtons remained polite. I couldn’t prevent my eyes from rolling as Father rambled. Mr. Carrington shot me a sideways glance and gave me a sly wink. Afterwards, Father and I watched them ride off in their carriage, driven by a man I heard her address as ‘Theodore’. Then, we saw the rest of the guests off.

I’m in bed now, and I can’t stop thinking about him. This journal is such a perfect gift. Although I only shared a few words with him all night, I feel like he gave me the most attention. This town may not be all bad.

Good night.

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