The Davenports(62)

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was an ambush. I want you to know that I had no intention of putting you in that situation.” Olivia fought to keep her breaths even. “I’m not sure that I’m ready.” Behind him, she could see her parents watching them. She turned and began walking along the path between the trees. Mr. Lawrence, hands now in his pockets, fell into an easy stride beside her.

After she got her anger under control, Olivia apologized again. She was mortified.

Mr. Lawrence sighed. “It’s all right. I think we both knew there would be some sort of expectation from our courtship.” Olivia made a noncommittal sound. He seemed to have relaxed under the canopy of trees. The forlorn look in his features was gone, replaced by mild amusement.

“I’m glad you find this funny, because I don’t.” His faint smile gave her the courage to ask a bold question. “Do you mind if we let them believe we’ve arrived at an understanding?”

Olivia watched his pace slow to a halt. His face was now blank, unreadable.

What have I done? she thought.

It was an indecent proposal, not at all what her parents had hoped for. Perhaps not at all what Jacob Lawrence had hoped for. But she needed it—she needed the time it would buy her. Her encounters with Mr. DeWight left her mind muddled. She suspected that Mr. Lawrence was as reluctant as she was. Perhaps she’d misread him? But at least if they were still courting, her mother would not revert to her desperate search to find Olivia a husband. Olivia could take the summer to figure things out.

She turned to Mr. Lawrence again, calm and focused, praying he could not sense the stress at the root of her request. She had expected a proposal, but one that resembled the grand gestures in her novels. Not a thinly veiled nudge from her parents, where her potential fiancé was blindsided. Where had it all gone wrong?

Her English bachelor looked now as she felt. Panicked. “There is something I need to tell you, Olivia,” he said. “You should know—”

She peered around him. Her parents busied themselves with their lunch, giving them the illusion of privacy.

“Olivia.”

Her eyes snapped back to his. He seemed to weigh something then, looking at her.

“Whatever it is,” she said at last, “it’s okay. At least until the fundraiser? That’s six weeks from now.”

He regarded her. “I suppose we could,” he said hesitantly, “allow them to believe a proposal is forthcoming. That we want to do it on our own terms.”

Olivia felt herself relax a fraction. She searched his face, surprised at his gentleness. “Thank you.” She glanced behind him again. “We can’t tell anyone,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Your word, as a gentleman?”

Mr. Lawrence straightened to his full height, his face solemn. “You have my word.”



* * *



—

“I’m glad you came with me,” Olivia said. After Mr. Lawrence left, she had Tommy take her to Ruby’s. Nursing a headache of her own, Ruby first turned down the idea of walking downtown. She was sitting in a lounge chair with a cold compress over her eyes and feet propped up on a settee. Olivia loudly refused to leave until she agreed.

“You hardly gave me a choice,” said Ruby. She lightly bumped Olivia with her hip. “But you were right. I do feel better. Was there anywhere in particular you wanted to go, or are we supposed to wander aimlessly down Wabash Avenue?”

“Wander,” Olivia replied. Tucked away in her purse was a leather-bound journal for Washington, with his initials embossed on the cover. She hoped he would use it to draft his speeches. They were too important, too moving not to be recorded somewhere special. She’d ordered it after she spotted the tattered one he carried. It was the perfect way to tell him she wanted to be more involved in the Cause, in any way she could. People who looked like her, survived like her father, loved like her mother, they all deserved to build the life they wanted with the same freedoms and protections as any American.

The streets of the South Side were full of people. It was a beautiful day and she hoped if she and Ruby walked along the storefronts near the community center, they might eventually run into him. Sure enough, outside one of the Black-owned bakeries that opened onto the street, she caught sight of him. Or maybe it was the other way around. He stood at the corner, a hand shading his eyes from the sun as he looked in her direction.

“Ruby, do you mind going in and getting us a pair of sweet rolls?”

Her friend rounded on her. “And incur the wrath of Jessie? You know better than to eat pastries outside of your kitchen.”

Olivia laughed. “I know, but I have a craving in the worst way. I barely ate anything at lunch.” This was true. Olivia found it difficult to take a bite of anything after the enormity of what she’d done—what she’d said to Mr. Lawrence. But the two of them would never truly be happy together. Not while she had feelings for Washington DeWight. As if in agreement, her stomach growled. She handed her friend a coin from her purse. “I’ll wait out here.” She nearly pushed Ruby inside.

“Your funeral,” Ruby called over her shoulder.

Once she was sure she wouldn’t be seen, Olivia looked back to find the corner was empty.

Mr. DeWight was already heading in her direction. His steps were sure and measured. As they got closer to each other, he had a hint of a smile that made her stomach flutter. She held her breath until he was close enough to touch. Her hands ached to find his.