Elizabeth was quite unsure why her father had invited this strange man to their home. He appeared as if he would never leave, always at her side. His stares made her uncomfortable, and he spoke to her like an actor in a play, talking with the utmost decorum. She believed he thought over the words a million times before speaking them, or reading from some sort of manuscript.
Though she always was desirous of the company of one her own age, there was never a casual moment with Mr. Otis and made her feel as if she herself had to watch her every action, each of her words, never letting her guard down. In past years, she had been romantically fantazising about loves and affairs of the heart, playing with certain characteristics of a man in her lonely, quiet hours. Mr. Otis was certainly not the sort that she imagined, or any type of acquiantance she fancied.
Mr. Otis knew naught of her slight distaste, or rather, dissatisfaction and disappointment, of him. He was completely enveloped in her being, passion of the likes he had never felt before. Desire for her set him encompassed his soul, her lovely dark eyes sending such a fierce fiery feeling through him. He pulled everything he knew upon her, to make her smile, to make her eyes brighten, to hear her laugh.
Such went their courtship, Elizabeth continuing unaware of their upcoming arranged marriage, or even why Mr. Henry Otis was here. For a month she felt around like a blind man, Mr. Otis her constant shadow.
Indeed, she would not like the news he and her father would bring one evening.