I put everything in the basket of the bicycle. I also took some change from the register, and rode out to the Nightingale House. I have heard people in the pharmacy talk about the Nightingale House and Mr. Carrington. It sounds like Mr. Carrington is not well regarded. It can only be because they are jealous of him. How could they not be? He lives in one of the grandest houses in town and it’s only his summer home. I’ve heard that he has homes in New York and Richmond. Not to mention the fact that he is the handsomest man in Kingsbrook.

As I passed beyond the limits of town and into the grassy fields on the way to Willow Lake, I wondered if Mrs. Carrington would be there. I really hoped that she wouldn’t. I also became aware of the sweat that was running down my back in the summer heat—very unladylike.

All was forgotten, though, when I saw the Nightingale House. It really is beautiful. It looked like it was lording over the lake and surrounding hills.

I stopped in the street at the beginning of the stone path that led to the front door. I rested the bike against the bushes, gathered the powders and tonics from the basket, and carried them to the porch. I had to awkwardly shift them to my right hand to pull the chain. The bell rang from somewhere inside.

“Come in,” a voice answered. His voice.

The interior of the house was gorgeous.

I made my way through the living room, which had high-backed chairs and a sofa arranged around the fireplace, and found him in the dining room, sitting at the table, gazing out at the lake. He looked at me and smiled. No. It wasn’t a smile. It was that vicious little smirk he wore at my party.

“I see my little plan worked,” he said.

I tried to hide my satisfaction at being proven right. He wanted to see me.

“I have the items you requested. Where would you like me to place them?”

“Over there is fine,” he said with a wave to the dustbin.

I wasn’t sure if he was serious, which he found amusing. He told me to put them on the table.

“How is the pharmacy business?” he asked.

I told him it was good and he scoffed, saying that his order probably doubled Father’s business.

“Your home is lovely,” I said.

“More so now that you’re here.”

So wicked!

I blushed and asked when Mrs. Carrington would return from Boston.

“In a few days. She’ll be back for the Fourth of July Celebration and then she’ll return to Boston. My mother-in-law’s health isn’t well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I guess I’m stuck here, all by myself. So lonely.”