The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(66)

However, she was mistaken, as attested to by that untimely missive promising her the impossible in neat handwriting. Apparently, Gilmore had decided to continue wooing her in an even clumsier fashion. He had been too lazy to send her flowers or jewelry and had concealed the fact beneath unpleasant bluster that irritated her even more. Gilmore deserved a rebuke more than any of the others, one that would put him in his place and, with any luck, finally dissuade him from wooing her. There was no lack of marriageable young ladies in New York, and Gilmore could devote himself to annoying someone more long-suffering than she.

After four o’clock tea, Emma went up to her room to devote the afternoon to the tedious task of writing thank-you notes to her suitors for the gifts they had regaled her with that morning. For the choker, she thanked young Robert, whose father was grooming him for the family business with the same rigor he used in training his mastiff dogs. And for the cameo, she thanked Gilbert, a wealthy young man who liked to vex her with his forwardness, and yet who became intimidated when she pretended to want to go further. For the theater tickets and sweets she thanked Mr. Coleman, an extremely sophisticated gentleman who was intent upon dragging her to the city’s theaters and galleries with the aim of improving her already charming mind by exposing her to the arts. And for the flowers she thanked Walter, the brilliant lawyer who bored her with his political ambitions, his social gossip, and his plans of their shared future, which Emma envisaged as a display case filled with luxury items where a special place had been reserved for her. She was very careful to show equal politeness and lukewarm affection to all, as she was aware that many of them would compare letters in the hope of discovering some sign that they were favored. A similarly thankless task occupied her maids’ afternoon as they ran hither and thither delivering envelopes. She left until last her reply to Gilmore, who besides saving himself the trouble of speculating about her preferences, had the audacity to challenge her by inviting her to ask him for something he could not possibly give her. Emma thought for a few moments, her latest-model fountain pen poised over the crisp white notepaper. No doubt he was expecting her to ask for something he would spend a fortune on. But Emma had no intention of stooping so low. At last, she wrote:

You are too kind, Mr. Gilmore. But my heart’s desire is something no one could ever give me. And I am afraid anything you might be able to give me I would not want.

Her reply satisfied her, for not only did it show off her skills at wordplay, but it portrayed her as a young woman who desired something beyond material possessions. It would make Gilmore realize she had no interest in playing his game and, more importantly, that she disdained anything he might have to offer. The message was perfectly clear; Gilmore could not possibly misinterpret or ignore it. Emma placed the note in an envelope and handed it to the last of her army of maids whom she had yet to send out into the city: the uncouth Daisy, whom Emma’s mother had still not gotten around to dismissing.

The maid walked off hurriedly toward Gilmore’s house, where she was received by his footman, a stiff, haughty youth who condescendingly instructed her to wait at the door while he carried the note to his master’s study on a silver tray.

Gilmore picked up the note absentmindedly, but as soon as he saw it was from Emma, he tensed in his chair. Emma, his Emma, had deigned to reply! He held his breath as he read the note, as if he were underwater. Emma, it seemed, had a fortunate talent for irony, which, even though he was the brunt of it, pleased him. There was every indication that when at last she agreed to join her life to his, he would never be bored. Moreover, while Gilmore was not versed in the art of gallantry, he had overheard many a gentleman in his club declare that for some unknown reason women were capricious creatures, capable of expressing themselves only by means of complex riddles, which men had to waste their time and energy deciphering. Faced with men’s undisguised simplicity, women, perhaps because they wished to feel superior, liked to hide their true desires behind a veil of irony. And Emma’s letter exuded irony, so Gilmore could only conclude that while the true meaning of her message unfortunately eluded him, one thing was clear: her words could mean anything except what they actually said. He reread the note twice, hoping its true meaning would leap out at him, but no such miracle occurred. Then he placed it very carefully on his desk, as though any brisk movement might dislodge the letters, rendering her words permanently illegible. Now then, he said to himself, contemplating the note, how would he reply to her? He decided to play safe and take up the challenge clearly laid down in the second sentence. He picked up a card and, taking advantage of the chance to pay her a compliment he would never have been bold enough to say outright in the middle of Central Park, he wrote:

Miss Harlow, do not make something impossible simply in order to deny me the opportunity to make it possible. I assure you I can make any wish of yours come true, unless you desire to be more beautiful than you already are.

Contented, he handed it to Elmer, his young footman, who passed it on to Daisy, who stood idling in the doorway. In less than a quarter of an hour, the maid was back at her mistress’s residence. Emma opened the small envelope, convinced that at last she would find Gilmore’s polite surrender inside. She gave a sigh of frustration when she saw that this was not the case. What must she do to put him off? Any other gentleman, realizing that not only was she not interested in him, but that his wooing was beginning to annoy her, would have given up. But not Gilmore. He insisted on throwing down the gauntlet. This was no courtship; it was a battle of wills. And not content with that, Gilmore accompanied his challenge with a compliment as inappropriate as it was absurd. Emma took out another sheet of notepaper, and, biting her lip so as not to shock the maid by letting out a string of oaths, wrote: