But the words had the ring of prophesy. She almost felt them in her chest, as one might feel the vibrations of a church bell.
She stared at him.
Unaccountably stirred, she swiftly looked down at her sketchbook again. It was inconvenient to have no drawing to pretend to inspect.
She simultaneously and equally wanted nothing more than to ask questions and to not ask any questions at all.
Curiosity killed not only cats.
“What manner of ‘empire’?” She gave this last word an ironic lilt, too, for the same reasons.
He took a breath, as though he were about to embark on a story. “Well, it began with my friend, Mr. Woodley. He’s in shipbuilding, and American ships are the finest in the world. I’ve learned a good deal about trade and imports and exports from him and I’ve been tempted to join Delacorte, Hardy, and Bolt in the Triton Group. But I think railroads are the future. I’d like to build a consortium in New York to bring the railroads to the United States. Canals we have, and they’re a start, but moving goods and people across a growing country will be a perpetual and increasing need. I want to be part of building it—and shaping laws and policies—which is why I want to run for mayor, and then Congress.Everythingis new in America. The possibilities are infinite.”
She’d heard both awe and relish, flavored with the faintest hint of censure—even condescension—in those words: “New.” “Infinite.”
The implication was that everything in England was old and had been done, of course.
No man had ever really spoken like this to her before—about trade and business and plans. She was at once full of more questions; ideas of her own began to form. And perhaps that was the reason no one had spoken to her like this—in her experience, few men liked to answer to much, particularly to women. But she could see how each of Mr. Cassidy’s ambitions connected to and supported the next. His plan was like a well-drawn map or a network of roads that fanned outward. She was impressed despite herself. She suddenly wanted very much to hold such a map in her hands.
She’d been sheltered from his world of work and trade and men and striving and ambition. But it existed parallel to her own; it in fact made her world of elegant ease—well-sprung carriages, servants, marble floors, new dresses every season—possible.
But she had a point to make.
“I’ve always found a sense of strength in being surrounded by centuries of history and tradition, Mr. Cassidy. England feels eternal. As if it has always been and always will be. I find all of this quite safe and... peaceful.”
“Mmm,” he said again. He paused at length. “Do you?” he asked quietly. It seemed a genuinequestion. Flustered, she dropped her eyes again, briefly to her blank page.
He noticed. “Speaking of tradition, what does Heatherfield look like?”
Interesting that he’d remembered that, too. Speaking of Heatherfield would be like grinding her thumb into a bruise. But it would help her to illustrate her point, and for this opportunity she would suffer.
“The house is... well, as stately in its way as St. Paul’s Cathedral, or Westminster Abbey. Its history stretches back more than a century. And when you step inside... you can feel the age of it, and sense the centuries of Bankhams who’ve lived there. Carrera marble and Savonnerie and Axminster carpets are everywhere, and vast windows hung in yards of brocade and velvet... and the grounds are comprised of miles of soft grass, and fine, lush gardens. There’s an oak forest surrounding it... and it’s quite old. A long drive lined in cypresses leads up to it, and they always reminded me of soldiers. I am not doing it justice, I’m afraid.”
“Sounds very nice,” he damned with faint praise.
She looked at him askance. A little silence followed, which would have been a fine time for either of them to depart.
“Do you know, Lady Lillias... the first thing I did with the money I earned was buy land.”
“I suppose one would have to do that if one doesn’t inherit land with a title,” she said offhandedly.
“Yes. One would,” he said, ironically amused, after a pause during which he clearly decidedagainst saying something he was tempted to say. “And . . . well, we haven’t churches like St. Paul’s . . . and cypresses don’t line my drive, as I haven’t a drive and cypresses don’t just spring up out of nowhere in New York. But the trees on my land, Lady Lillias . . . they’re like cathedrals.” He lifted his hands up, like a God summoning rains. Illustrating. “Ancient. Their spires reaching high, up into an endless sky. I’ve oaks, too. My land is surrounded by these magnificent trees . . . and it overlooks the Hudson River Valley.”
She was riveted.
He closed his eyes briefly, as if he was in fact dreaming of it. There was a tension in his face, very like yearning, and it started in her a surprising ache she could not name. “The mountains begin their days in deep blues and purples—the colors of the sky around midnight—and the sun paints gold light right up them as it rises. And then when it’s high in the sky all you see is dense green velvet mountains, fields and forests as far as the eye can see, and the colors change with the season. The scale of everything is...” He gave a short, awed laugh, and spread his arms wide. “...majestic. As if everything is aware of how much room it has to grow and breathe. It’s beautiful and unforgiving and mysterious. Makes a man want to... tame it and worship it all at once.”
The words sifted down around her like a shimmering net. She was transfixed. She half suspected if she closed her eyes now, at once, she would see it, too. But she would need to do it quickly, before it drifted away.
She didn’t. But she knew he was going to beagiftedpolitician. He was even more formidable than she’d thought. Mainly because she was certain he not only sincerely felt every word he’d just said, but also knew precisely the effect they would have. Which is why he’d said them.
Particularly that last sentence.Tame it and worship it all at once.
She ought to look away just to prove that she could.
She could not. Nor did he.
She wondered how he’d gotten the little crescent-moon-shaped scar next to his lip. She imagined tracing it.