Chapter Three

Laurie had meant to stay only a week in Nice, but now he found himself unwilling to leave. It had been three weeks already, and he had no plans to go anytime soon. He enjoyed being around Amy, receiving time and attention from one he knew so well.

Though, he admitted to himself, time spent with Amy was not always calm and easy. She seemed to discern that there was more going on than he cared to say.

Being in her presence helped, but he could not shake the gloom that followed him everywhere. Why leave Nice when there was nowhere pressing to go? No one needed him, and nothing of importance required his time and attention. He called upon Amy partly because he enjoyed her company and partly because he simply had nothing else to do. Perhaps she sensed this. He hoped it did not pain her. Amy did not cause his poor mood, as he was certain she understood.

This morning he found her alone in the parlor at the little writing desk.

“All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day. I wanted to stay home and write letters.”

“Then I have you all to myself.” Laurie lounged on the settee across from the writing table. Amy looked at him with a half-scornful, half-sorrowful expression and finished her correspondence. Her keen blue eyes often unsettled him these days.

“I am going to go to Valrosa to sketch. Will you come?”

“Well, yes, but it’s a rather long walk, isn’t it?”

“I shall have Baptiste drive us in the carriage, so you’ll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella and keep your gloves nice.”

He glanced at his kid gloves, a weakness of his. He always took pride in wearing immaculate gloves. “I will go with pleasure, of course.”

He put out a hand for her sketchbook, but she tucked it under her arm. “Don’t trouble yourself. It’s no exertion to me, but you don’t seem up to it.”

Laurie raised his eyebrows at this little speech. It was unlike Amy to be snappish.

He respectfully dismissed Baptiste and drove them to Valrosa himself. They enjoyed the drive together, taking in the gnarled olive trees and scarlet anemones that fringed the roadways. Neither of them ever remained aggravated with the other for long, for Amy was too well bred and Laurie lacked the energy.

The scent of flowers assaulted their noses as they alighted from the carriage.

“This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn’t it?” Amy said with delight as she bent to breathe in the scent of a particularly striking rose. “I shall sketch this one.”

She settled herself down on a rustic seat, and Laurie flung himself upon the grass, content to watch her. They were quiet for a while, Amy’s pencil busy with her sketch, her blue eyes sharp with concentration.

“Laurie, when do you go to your grandfather?”

“Very soon,” he answered, aware he was being vague.

“You’ve said the same these past three weeks.”

“I daresay, short answers save time.”

“You really ought to go.” She flipped over the page of her sketchbook and started anew. Only this time her eyes studied him.

“Aren’t you a hospitable creature? Do you wish me to leave?”

“You know I don’t. But you are a man of your word, and your grandfather expects you. Why don’t you go?”

“Natural depravity, I suppose.” He was being morose, but he couldn't help it. Amy didn’t have any idea why this melancholy plagued him.

“Natural indolence, you mean. It’s really dreadful!”

“Not so bad as it seems, for I’d only plague him if I went, so I might as well stay and plague you a little longer. You can bear it better. In fact, I think it agrees with you.”

“I wish you would do me the favor to rouse yourself a little,” Amy said sharply.

“Do it for me, there’s a dear girl.” He could see that she meant to lecture him, and it amused him somewhat.

“I could if I tried,” she returned, eyes flashing.

“Try, then. I give you leave.” It was rather refreshing to tease someone again.

“You’d be angry with me in five minutes.”

“I’m never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a fire, and you are as cool and soft as snow.”

“Snow produces a glow and a tingle, if applied rightly. A good stirring up might do you good.”

“Stir away then, if that sort of exercise agrees with you.” He kept his tone deliberately nonchalant, though her words chafed a bit.

Amy lifted her chin in a familiar way. “Do you want to know what I really think of you?”

“I’m pining to be told.”

“Right now, I despise you.”

He thought she might berate him for his laziness or try to shake him out of his depressed spirits, but he never expected to hear that Amy March despised him.

“Why, if you please?” He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Because with every chance of being good, useful, and happy, you are faulty, idle, and miserable.”

“Strong language, Mademoiselle.” He was hardly sure how Amy had the right to admonish him like this.

“If you like it, I’ll go on.”

“Oh, please do. It’s quite interesting.” This time he failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“I thought you’d find it so. Selfish people always enjoy talking about themselves.”

“Am I selfish?” The words slipped out of their own accord. He had always prided himself on his generosity.

“You have been abroad nearly six months and have done nothing but waste time, spend your grandfather’s money, and disappoint your friends.”

“I was four years at university! Isn’t a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-year grind?”

“I should think you would have had enough of that by now!” Amy tossed her head. “How I wish Jo were here to help me explain it to you.”

“So do I!” Laurie threw his arm over his face in embarrassment.

Amy fell silent.

When she spoke again, her voice was considerably softer. “Has something happened? I scolded because I could not bear to think that they should be disappointed with you at home. But perhaps they would understand the truth of the matter better than I do.”

He could feel the humiliation burning his cheeks. “I think they would.”

“They ought to have told me!” Amy said hotly. “I never liked Miss Randal, and now I hate her!”

Laurie clearly heard the artifice in her tone. He pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Hang Miss Randal! You know very well it was Jo.”

At this, he read genuine shock on Amy’s features. Had she really been in ignorance of his feelings for Jo? Everyone had known, even Jo.

“She…she would not be kind to you?” Amy’s voice was almost a whisper.

“Oh, she was very kind, but not in the way I wanted.” He could hear the bitterness in his voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she had refused you.”

They were silent for a time. Amy had stopped sketching and was looking out on the horizon with a worried expression. When she did speak, her tone was gentle. “I can’t help wishing you would bear it better.”

He sat up abruptly. “I thought and planned for her! I went to college, abandoned my dream of being a composer, prepared to follow Grandfather’s footsteps and go into business—all for her! I feel adrift, like a ship without a captain.”

“I understand.”

“I cannot think that you do. You have your Mr. Vaughn, after all.”

Amy closed her sketchbook and looked at him earnestly. “You must choose your own path, Laurie, as I have done.”

“Pursuing your art? It’s an admirable thing, to be sure, but it is not quite the same as my current problem.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“Then what path do you speak of, if you please?”

“I believe Fred means to propose. If he does, I shall accept him. It is the life I have chosen.”

This bothered him, though he could not say why. “That’s all very well, if you love him. Do you?”

Now she began flipping through her sketchbook. “What a question! I am fond of him, and he is a respectable man.”

“That is not love, my dear.”

“One does have a choice of whom one loves.”

“And what of Fred Vaughn? Does he love you? Or is his choice as disinterested?”

Amy looked him square in the eye. “I am not a fool, Laurie. I am content to think that we may come to love each other in time.”

“That doesn't sound like one of your mother’s daughters.”

“And you act nothing like your grandfather’s charge! Drifting about Europe. Wasting your gifts because of one foolish girl who could not see the gift that you were offering her!”

Laurie blinked at this passionate response. But Amy was not finished yet.

“We are not so different, you and I. Only I have made the choice to be respected, if I could not be loved.”

There was a beat of silence. On impulse he took her hand and pressed it, saying earnestly, “Who is it that has denied your affections? Tell me, and I will make him love you.”

For a moment it looked as though she might cry, but then she gave him a small, sad smile. “Do not trouble yourself, Laurie. I will be fine. And you will too, if you would only exert yourself.”

She carefully detached the sketch from her book and turned it to show him. He looked upon himself as she saw him—a long, listless figure stretched out upon the grass, his eyes half-closed. It wasn’t how he thought of himself at all.

“And this is how you were.” She pulled out a smaller, much older sketch and handed it to him. “I found this among my drawings and kept it to show you.”

He looked at the rough sketch, a strange feeling growing within his heart. She had drawn him taming a horse. His hat and coat were off, and every line suggested movement, life, and vigor. It was a stark contrast to the drawing she had sketched today.

“It was years ago. Do you remember? Beth was so worried you would come to harm.”

He stared at the drawing. He had been completely unaware that Amy had been watching him that day. He had been intent on impressing Jo with his devil-may-care attitude. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “That was so long ago. It feels like a lifetime.”

Amy said nothing. When he glanced up, she was looking at him with a seriousness that she rarely displayed. “I plan to give up my pursuit of artistic fame.”

Laurie blinked. “What?”

“I have talent, I know, but it is not genius. Studying in Europe has taught me humility.”

She looked away, staring at the scenery once more. He wasn’t sure what to say; her honesty left him nonplussed.

Long moments passed with Amy looking out to the horizon and Laurie lost in thought. Finally, he spoke. “Amy, are you happy?”

She turned to look at him but said nothing.

“You say you are giving up your art and that you do not love Fred Vaugh, though you plan to marry him if he should ask. It makes me wonder—are you happy?”

She held his gaze for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I am well, Laurie. You need not concern yourself.”

“I do concern myself, Amy. We are friends—old friends. I care about you.”

She glanced at him sharply. “I know. Do not worry, Laurie. I am making my own way in this world.”

“You will not confide in me?”

She hesitated. “Laurie, there is nothing that I can confide. I have told you about my plan to pursue a marriage I can be proud of. Though I may not love Fred, I do care for him as a friend. That is a better foundation than many marriages.”

“I suppose you are right.”

She closed her sketchbook and stood up. “Shall we return?”

“Of course.” He stood and offered her his arm.

Amy took it easily enough, but Laurie knew she could feel the tension between them. They had just shared confidences in a way they never had before. And Amy had shown him what no one else had been able to: his true self.

She was utterly correct. He had allowed his heartache to go on too long; he had become lazy and dissolute, and perhaps worst of all, selfish. The grief in her eyes when she spoke of her own heartache and her noble intention of living well despite it—it all left him a little dazed.

When he returned to his chateau that afternoon, he made plans for his immediate departure for London. It was time to return to his grandfather and make his own path.

He sat down and penned a note to Amy. He kept the tone purposefully light, though his heart felt anything but.

My dear mentor,

Please make my adieux to your aunt and exult within yourself, for Lazy Laurence has gone to his grandpa, like the best of boys. A pleasant winter to you, and may the gods grant you a blissful honeymoon at Valrosa! I think Fred would benefit from a rouser such as the one you gave me. Tell him so, with my congratulations.

Yours gratefully,

Telemachus