THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Six
THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Six
Despite the late night, I was up with the birds the next morning. I put the finishing touches on my essay, got some breakfast, and set off for class, humming to myself. On the outskirts of the main building, I saw Annisa coming from the direction of the campus bookstore. She waved to me, and I joined her for the walk to class.
“So how was your date last night?” she asked, adjusting the drape of her colorful headscarf as she shouldered her messenger bag.
“Oh, it wasn’t a date. We were just hanging out. It was fun though. Thanks for your advice, I found something nice to wear.”
“That’s good. I hope you brought something formal for the Summer Ball too. I’m so excited! My flatmates and I are going as a group. I just bought my ticket this morning. Are you going with your housemate?”
“No, I didn’t even know about it. What is it?”
Her eyes lit up. “Only the most exciting event on campus all year! There’s all sorts of food, champagne, a tea tent, carnival rides in the courtyard, live music, and the decorations are always so clever; they spend months designing even the tiniest details. This year’s theme is ‘Aloft.’ I heard there will even be a hot air balloon!” She clapped her hands in delight. “Everyone in black tie and fancy dress, dancing all night—six to two, that is.”
“Sounds awesome! When is it?”
“This Friday. If you think you want to go you should get tickets soon. They may sell out this year with the balloon.”
“How much are tickets?”
Annisa grimaced. “Two hundred pounds. But it’s worth it for everything you get. There’s a wristband you get when you come in and all the food and drink and rides are included. Most of us have been saving all summer for it. The only people admitted gratis are the donors, natch. Well, and the volunteers, but they’re expected to work all night. You’ll see them dashing ‘round mad as rabbits with their little headsets on, trying to keep it all from going pear-shaped.”
Annisa began to tell me how she got to see her favorite band perform at the ball two years ago, and had just finished describing the fireworks show when we arrived at class and settled in our seats. My imagination kindled, I began to fantasize about the Ruxbury Summer Ball. Now that was exactly the kind of thing I wanted to do while I was here. But two hundred pounds! That was almost all the cash I had left. Besides, would I want to go by myself? Maybe I could meet up with Annisa and her friends. Or maybe Adam would go with me. But how was that supposed to work? I definitely couldn’t afford tickets for both of us. Should I buy one for me and be like, “Hey, I’m going, are you going? Because maybe we could walk over there together. From your house.” Ugh—so awkward! I was still untangling that spaghetti when Dr. Mosely came in for lecture.
How he could go from plopping down his briefcase and a stack of books straight into the lesson with never ceased to amaze me. I hurried to grab a pen and my notepad and focus, forcing I forced myself to concentrate on Dr. Mosely’s introduction to Regency-era social customs. Bit by bit, the titles, terms of address, primogeniture, and entailed estates all began to solidify in my mind. But what really caught my attention was when he started to talk about rank and proposals in the works of Jane Austen.
“Marriage, then,” Dr. Mosely finalized, “would have been the one way for women of the era to effect change in their social and financial status. The influence of the Romantics gave them a bit of freedom of choice in the emotional side of things, where falling in love could be either a prerequisite or an optional accompaniment to the marriage contract. However, a woman could never forget that her choice in a husband would necessarily affect her future and her family’s fortune—possibly, for generations. Beauty, charm, and good manners might be good enough to secure a suitor’s attention, but dowry, title, and connections—that was the clincher.”
“Dr. Mosely,” one student piped up from the back, “doesn’t that seem really unfair, that people couldn’t just marry whoever they wanted?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Dr. Mosely responded. “You have to remember that the first law allowing divorce by court was not passed until 1857. Marriage, then, was a matter of practicality. If you wanted to live comfortably, have a pleasant social life, and see your children have the best opportunities, you’d find someone whom you could reasonably tolerate who also had the means to support your existing lifestyle, or augment it somehow. Again, there weren’t many means of increasing one’s income or social standing outside of marriage, so it was a weighty decision. That went for men as well as women. A poor choice in a wife could lead to financial or social ruin, or in the least, a prolonged miserable existence.”
“So how did they know if it was a good match?” Annisa asked.
“Spent time together socially. Acquainted themselves with each other’s families. That sort of thing. Not so very complicated, really. It’s surprising how much you can learn about someone if you’re not always trying to get them into bed.” Dr. Mosely made this last point with his usual dry sense of humor. “Don’t forget, the contraceptive pill came a century after the Matrimonial Causes Act.”
Dr. Mosely gave a few more directions for our next assignment, accepted our essays, and concluded the lecture session. I slid my notebook into my book bag, chewing on the discussion. The dating game back then seemed way more complicated, but also simpler somehow. At least people knew what to expect. Nowadays nobody knew what the other person was after. A hookup, a friendship, a relationship? You could never tell. And marriage? Most of my friends were terrified of it. They wanted to be married someday, but they didn’t want to see themselves end up like their parents—divorced or ball-and-chain.
But that was all the guys’ fault, right? I mean, it was like my mom always said, “Boys only want one thing.” And when they didn’t get what they wanted, or stopped liking what they got, they took off and left girls behind to clean up the mess. Just like what happened with Trish. But I had to wonder what happened when they grew up. Adam Ratliffe wasn’t just a boy. At least, he didn’t seem that way to me. What does he want? What do I want? I felt a little embarrassed as I realized I didn’t really know.
After class I made my way through downtown Wickwood toward the Ratliffe House, making a stop at the little café to pick up two cups of coffee—one black for Adam and one cream and sugar for me. I was pushing the shop door open with my shoulder, hands full, when I almost slammed right into Olivia Bascomb.
“You nearly spilt that on me,” she sneered, not even offering to hold the door as she walked around me into the shop.
Nice to see you too, I thought, rolling my eyes as I left. I caught sight of Kevin and Allegra waiting at one of the tables outside. Kevin waved me over.
“Hey, is that for me?” he joked. “Or you double-fisting the caffeine for the next essay?”
I blushed a little. “It’s for my housemate. I promised I’d get him one.”
Allegra raised one of her thin, dark eyebrows. “Housemate? Don’t you mean flatmate?”
I was about to open my mouth when I remembered that it was Olivia who had taken my spot in housing to begin with. She probably didn’t know that, but I didn’t want to make more of an enemy out of her. And so far, it seemed like anything I said to Allegra was seconds away from Olivia’s ear. I chose my words carefully.
“Actually, I’m staying at The Ratliffe House off-campus. It’s just an alternative housing thing since summer enrollment is so high. The university set it up. It’s pretty close to here though. And I get my own room.”
“But your housemate’s a guy?” Kevin asked.
I hesitated, unsure of how to put it. I was saved by Olivia’s return through the café doors. The tabletop rattled as she slammed her pink handbag down on the table with a huff.
“The espresso machine is broken. Can you believe it? This town is such a piss pot,” she said.
Her pronouncement was my cue to leave. “Well, I’d better go before these get cold. See ya later,” I said, hurrying away before I could become the target of Oliva’s vitriol. I caught sight of the trio walking the opposite way toward campus as I crossed the street, and thought I noticed Olivia turn and take another look at me. Great. Now she’s probably hearing all about how I live off campus. More fodder for the fire. I anticipated her asking me a bunch of pointed questions depending on whether this raised or lowered my status in her eyes. Sigh. I just did not get that chick.
Back at the house I dropped my backpack at my room and was carrying the coffees to the kitchen when Adam emerged from his office, tapping away on his Blackberry phone. He looked up, and a smile spread over his face.
“Good morning, Lucy.”
“Hey,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. I wasn’t used to seeing someone smile like that just for me, and raised the cup in my hand. “I brought your coffee.”
“Oh, you actually did! And so soon. Thank you.” He slid the Blackberry into the chest pocket of his red plaid shirt before coming to accept the cup from my hand. I tried to ignore the tingle as his fingers brushed mine, which wasn’t hard to do when he immediately took a sip of the black coffee and an uncomfortable look came over his face.
“Tastes like victory,” Adam said hoarsely, clearing his throat. I tried not to giggle. “You didn’t happen to add any cream or sugar, did you?” he asked, sounding like he was suppressing a cough.
“It’s black. I didn’t know how you liked it.”
“Ah, well that’s easy enough. Care to join?” I followed him to the kitchen where I watched him heap in four spoonfuls of sugar, followed by a long pour of milk. He stirred the concoction until it had the color of sand, set the spoon aside, and took a long drink. “Better,” he pronounced, then continued to take short sips of it while smacking lips a little, as if unsettled by the flavor.
“Sorry if you don’t like it,” I said. “Don’t feel like you have to drink it all.”
“No, no. It’s quite good,” he said, eyeing the sugar bowl. “Did I put in four spoonfuls, or only three?”
“Four.”
“You’re sure? Perhaps a bit more milk, then.”
I laughed. “Seriously, you don’t have to torture yourself. I don’t even like mine. I’m just used to it by now.”
“How’s that?” he said, trying another sip.
“I go get a cup every Sunday. It reminds me of home. Except home coffee is way better than this.” I gestured to the cup in front of me.
Adam cracked a smile. “Sort of a low bar, isn’t it?”
“Not to brag, but I’ve made better cups with Folger’s crystals and lukewarm tap water.”
He put down his drink for a moment. “Well, if that’s all it takes, why don’t you make your own here? You could ask Mrs. Scott to add coffee to the grocery list. Tea drinking’s not mandatory at the house, though I can see how you might get that impression.”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind tea. ‘When in Rome,’ right? Besides, going to the café gives me something to do.”
I took another long drink of my coffee, and when I looked up again Adam’s face had taken on a studious look. He seemed like he was going to say something pitying, and instinctively I braced: Don’t feel sorry for me. Then, he merely raised his cup and said, “Then I appreciate you going out of your way to bring me this trophy. I’m determined to drink all of it in your honor.” That boyish smile lit up his face, and I laughed again.
“I’ll settle for half,” I said, gamely.
“You’re a gracious woman, Lucy. I accept. To your health—” he lifted the cup again, took a final sip, and coughed out, “but definitely, ahem, not to mine.” He regained his composure and held out a hand. “Shall I end both our miseries?”
I took a final gulp and handed over my cup. “Thanks.”
Adam went to the kitchen and poured the remaining coffee down the sink. He offered a glass of milk to cleanse our palates and I accepted, pleased again to find he’d chosen to sit beside me at the island.
“Lovely weather out,” he commented.
I agreed; it was perfectly warm and sunny, with just a few clouds to offer occasional shade. “My dad used to call it the perfect weather for a Sunday drive. Except it’s not Sunday.”
“Do you drive?” Adam asked. “That is, do you have a license?”
I swallowed a little sip of milk. “Since I was sixteen. Between afterschool stuff and then college, it was easier for my mom to get me my own car so she didn’t have to depend on the bus or carpools. It’s just an old Honda Accord, but it gets the job done.”
Adam nodded in approval. “Manual or automatic?”
“Manual. Drives better in the snow.”
With a last sip of milk, Adam appeared to consider this, as he tapped his empty glass. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever driven in the UK.”
“Nope.” That was an odd question. Why would I be driving around here?
“Would you like to?” he asked.
Now I was confused. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said, a nervous tension seeping into my shoulders.
“Except last night?” he said with a grin.
I suddenly cringed, remembering how I accidentally went to the wrong side of the car at first. “Oh, that was just an accident. Force of habit, y’know.”
Adam smiled. “I’m only teasing you, Lucy. But honestly, I have a little time before my next conference call. Would you fancy a driving lesson? Quick jaunt around the block?”
At first, I was afraid he was still making fun of me. But he seemed sincere—confident, even—so my foolish desire to spend more time with him overcame any fear. Just another moment with those green eyes…
“Okay,” I said eagerly—hopefully not too eagerly.
Adam looked pleased. “I’ll fetch the keys if you fetch your license and passport. Meet you at the garage?”
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