Story Snip from Larksong: Chapter 24 and Fun Recommendations!

ots of recommendations today!

Scroll down for the fun stuff, after the latest story scene!


Larksong is set in Montreal, July 1914.

In chapter 1, Alice, after her grandmother's funeral, arrived at the family cottage to take care of her grandmother's aviary, only to find that her parents had already leased the cottage to another family for the summer. The only way she could have one more summer in her favourite place was to surreptitiously take on the role of governess to the two young girls...

In chapter 2, we met George, laid up at the hospital with a broken leg. Instead of joining his friends on a Grand Tour of Europe, he's being sent off to recuperate at a rented cottage in the country...

In chapters 3 and 4, we returned to Alice's point of view, and saw her bonding with George's younger sisters. Then she got a surprise -- George was arriving at the cottage that very day! We saw a hint that Alice finds George attractive and interesting -- but also unbearably rude.

In chapters 5 to 7, they had their first argument, then argued once more, but the stakes were higher: war is on the horizon. Then George attempted a rapprochement.

In chapters 8 to 10, Alice had some feelings stirring... During their first evening together, they began to suss each other out over a card game, and they reached a détente of sorts before going their separate ways for the night.

In chapters 11 and 12, we started the next morning in George's point of view, with his dawning realization of his attraction to Alice. Yet this realization did not lead to greater friendliness.

In chapter 13 (which I mistakenly also labelled as 12!), a new complication arose, in the form of the arrival of George's rather rude brother.
Meanwhile, George was busy with inappropriate (as he thinks) thoughts of Alice. (I skipped a scene where Alice takes the girls down to the lake and needs to pretend with a neighbour, Mrs Chase, that she is not a governess, but simply helping out with the girls. Then, while Alice is distracted, trying to spin her web of half-truths and discussing the threat of war on the horizon, Lucy gets up on a rickety boat tied up at the dock and fell off into the water.)

In chapter 14, on returning from the lake, Alice and the girls overheard an argument that ended with this outburst from George to his brother Albert: "I don't need your tales of self-pity. The question is, what are you going to do about it, now that you've f***ed it all up?"

In chapters 15 and, we witnessed the fallout from the argument, then shared a moment between Alice and George in the garden. Alice left George and resumed her governess role, and decided not to join the brothers that evening in the parlour.

In chapters 17 to 19, Alice went out early the next morning, to find George rowing on the lake, and joined him.

In chapter 20, following their early morning idyll, we finally had a true rapprochement. Alice, making up her mind in an instant, called out to George's sisters: "We're going on an expedition with your brother."
(I skipped the rest of chapter 20, in which we take a trip through the woods with Alice, George, and his sisters. There are friendly chats, the girls sign their brother's cast, and George begins work on a sketch of Alice. When they return home, the girls help Alice feed the birds in the aviary and clean it in preparation for the arrival of Mr Palmer, a prospective buyer visiting from Boston. Mr Palmer says he will make his decision on purchasing the aviary and return the next day. Throughout the day, there are hints of the gathering storms of war.)

In chapter 21, as Alice saw Mr Palmer off at the gate, a new complication emerged, in the arrival of Albert's friends from university.

In chapter 22, we saw Alice and George's reactions and they were close to admitting their attraction, but then George unwittingly insulted the birds and the aviary and Alice's affection for her grandmother's pets.

In chapter 23, following omitted scenes (a bit of George's reflections on Alice, and his feelings for her (as well as memories of unfavourable reactions from his parents about his hobby of sketching and painting); at the end, he decides that it might be a lark to try to lure Pixie away from his brother. He proceeds to do just that before dinner as she plays up her role of nurse and guides George through some exercises in the front parlour. This leads to an arm wrestling match between all the boys, involving both wagers for a few coins--and kisses for the winner from Pixie. That evening, they all gather in the front parlour, and agree to attend the ball and bonfire at the Hatley Manor hotel the next night. George catches Albert and Pixie canoodling in the kitchen, but decides he's in no position to say anything because he was ready to embrace Alice the governess), the next day, the crowd slept in, all except Alice, who took her charges into the village to watch a magic lantern show. On their return, George decided to show them his secret--the full extent of his artistry.
It was revealed that Eleanor is also a budding artist, and the siblings agreed to continue to develop their talent and to hide it from their disapproving parents.

In chapter 24, the girls have returned to the house, and Alice and George are alone in the enclosed garden, seated side by side on the bench... He has just asked her, "Before, when you were talking to Eleanor about the art of painting, you said 'I wish' but did not go on. What was it you wished for, Alice? Can I grant your wish?"

If she revealed herself to him, she would have to reveal the truth of herself as well. It would never do for a governess to ask for what had come to mind as she described the joys of painting to Eleanor.

She'd never experienced an artist's satisfaction herself, though she'd made attempts now and again, when a particular image struck her fancy and she tried to replicate it. Once or twice she'd succeeded in developing a photograph that replicated a light or a scene she was pleased to have captured forever, but never had she found such a pure form of expression as George and Eleanor seemed able to produce on a whim. Amd what she wished for now was well beyond her meagre ability.

"What I said to Eleanor comes near to it," she began, finding her way as she picked out her words. "You must feel so...free." Encouraged by his attentive expression, she added, "To be able to put down on paper or canvas an image or a moment that means a lot to you."

"Is that what you would wish for, then, the ability to draw?" He flexed his fingers, as if considering anew his own capability. The fingers of his other hand played up and down her spine and a heavy heat sank low in her belly. "If you already possess the talent, I can help develop it. I might offer you lessons, in shadow, or perspective."

"I don't think I have enough of a talent," she said, struggling to master speech with his face so close, the shadow of his stubble visible as a line across his cheek. She willed her mind to focus. "I can draw a stylised fir tree, at best. Certainly never a landscape––nor a face."

He drew his cheek from hers and tilted his head to look her in the eye. "Then what you would wish for?"

"A painting of you," she blurted. "The way you've painted my figure."

He searched her face, as though seeking to further understand her words.

She'd been blunt enough, and did not elaborate, but held his gaze.

Finally, he answered, in light-hearted fashion. "Would you have me stand on the dock with my crutches?"

"You'll not wear that cast for much longer." She used the reference as an excuse to rest her hand on his good leg, just above the knee. What an alarming liberty to take! "Why do you talk as if it's a permanent part of you?"

"I can't look that far ahead. At least another two weeks of its weight, and then––how many weeks passed before you regained your usual strength?"

Now she saw what else he'd caught on canvas; the figure on the dock wasn't a frail wisp, but strong enough to withstand any wind off the lake. Her thumb shifted back and forth over his knee, almost a caress. "I won't sugar coat it. It took me longer than I'd expected it to." She gave him back the gift of admiring his strength. "You're an athlete; I'm sure it will be easier for you."

"I'll have to work hard to get back to championship level."

"Did your team..." She kept her gaze on his cheek, on a curl of hair at his nape, anything to avoid his intense stare. "Did they win, at least?"

"Yes, they did. No thanks to me. I was taken off in the first period."

It rankled, evidently; he arrested his hand on the small of her back. She said, quickly, hoping to divert him from a funk, "But you'd helped lead them to the championship, hadn't you?"

"I guess I had." His mouth lifted at one corner, a sort of wry acknowledgement of her praise. "You weren't working when you broke your leg, were you? I hope you didn't return to your duties as soon as your cast came off. I hope you had someone to look after you properly. I've been rather fortunate in that regard––since I came here."

His hand fell away and his other hand jerked in his lap, as though he'd raised it to take hers, then instantly thought better of it, on recalling yet again her position as governess.

Now was the time to tell him. It was the perfect opportunity. Why should she be tongue tied? She'd blame his eyes, blue-green and clear as lake water, holding hers. Or his hand––he'd changed his mind again, it seemed, and now his fingertips returned to rest on the small of her back, the gentlest of pressure drawing her closer. Yet it wasn't either of those.

She had to know whether he was teasing her, simply as Albert toyed with Pixie. Yet she also didn't want to break the magic George wove over her. Revealing her name would lead to more talk. He would pull his face away, take back his hand, leave her cold.

She opened her mouth––to say who knew what––and he touched his lips to hers. Whatever she might have said came out only as a soft moan, and then he was no longer gentle, questing, but firm, his mouth hard on hers, both his hands in her hair, thumbs moulding her cheeks.

He tasted of spice and cinnamon, and she wanted him to continue, and he did continue, kiss after gentle kiss, and there was nothing else worth thinking or feeling but the taste of George, the soft demand of his lips, his arms about her on the bench in the silent seclusion of Gran's garden.

He grazed his lips across her cheek and breathed her name. "Alice. I have longed to do that for days." He held her chin with thumb and forefinger. His eyes were half-lidded, but still clear. "So you would have a painting of me, would you? Where would you hang it? Where do you lodge when you don't have a situation with a family?"

His question tipped her over to the other side. She could not abide that he should have any incorrect image of her, that his artist's eye should imagine in her in all sorts of unlikely locations that had no connection to the person she truly was.

"I don't lodge anywhere," she murmured and then, as she continued, her voice picked up strength and speed. Her words tumbled one after the other as though she were rolling down the hill once more and about to break her leg again. "My family lives on Victoria Avenue in the McKerrow House. I'm not Alice Underwood––there's no such person. I'm Alice McKerrow."

His eyes had clouded over as she'd spoken, but he'd not drawn his hands from her––yet.

"I know the McKerrows," he said, and a line deepened between his brows. "Or rather, I know of them. Not sure from where."

"Your brother––James, I mean––is of an age with my older sister, Grace. Perhaps they've attended a few of the same salons. Her husband is Smithwick, the brewer."

"Yes, that must be it. I might have met her myself; I certainly know Arnold Smithwick. But why are you telling such a story?" His eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied her. "About being a governess, if you aren't one."

She ducked her head to hid her smile, of relief that he seemed to believe her; she didn't want him to think she was laughing at having gotten away with such an elaborate falsehood. She wanted more of his kisses, as herself from now on; wanted to hurry past these mundane explanations. "I'm not completely unqualified as a governess. I have my BA and I do charity work at the General Hospital, in the children's ward, and volunteer at the Westmount Library. I never meant to call myself a governess here in this house. I'd just come from Gran's funeral––"

She stopped abruptly, choking on the word as her throat closed up. Mundane, had she called them? Her need to remain close to Gran had been anything but. The image of Gran's coffin filled her mind, yet she could just as easily see her grandmother striding up the hill towards them, gardener's basket swinging on one arm.

"Gran? Was that the––"

"Mrs McKerrow," she interjected, before he could choose an epithet he might regret using. "It was my father that let the house to your parents just before she passed away. She looked after me when I was laid up with my broken leg. I'm her executor."

"I still don't understand. Why would you lie? You would have been welcome in the house as yourself––Miss Alice McKerrow."

Her name sounded right in his voice, so much lovelier than the mantle she'd worn since she'd arrived. If she'd been herself from the beginning––but no. She'd never have been able to spend the summer here as herself.

"As a guest, yes," she told him. "But for how long? I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I couldn't let go of Gran's house. Everything I've told you about my broken leg is true, but it's not the only time I was with Gran here. I used to come here as a child, every summer, for weeks at a time. The thought of having to leave, to never return, never again wake up to the chatter of the birds, to tend to this garden with Gran––oh!" She covered her eyes with her handkerchief and bent her head.

"That's how you came to know so much about the hotel and the parties. Where everything is in the house."

She nodded, still snuffling unladylike into her kerchief. What would Gran think of the mess she'd gotten herself into? Such a slipshod way of honouring her memory.

"Hey there, sweetheart." George tugged the kerchief from her hand and gently dabbed at her cheeks. "No harm done, you know," he said, and gave her another wry smile. "You're welcome to stay in the house as long as you like. As a guest, and not a governess. My sisters'll be––"

"No! You mustn't tell them." She took back her kerchief and swiped at her cheeks, tears drying quickly at the thought of the humiliation were the entire household to discover the silly ruse she'd begun.

"But you've told me."

"I had to tell you, because––" She dropped her hand to her lap, wadding her kerchief in her palm.

"Alice McKerrow." George spoke slowly, as if testing the weight of her name on his tongue. He covered her hand with both of his. "Alice, it's a relief for me, too."

"Is it? What would you have done if you still thought I was a governess?"

He drew her in. "I'd already done it, hadn't I?" He spoke gruffly, as if the thought overwhelmed him. "I shall do it again, now that you are a McKerrow rather than an Underwood. Let's see if you taste different."

She kept her eyes open this time, to see how he looked with his eyes closed, but could not control her hands, which roamed across his back and shoulders, clutching, feeling every shift and bunch of his muscles as his arms wrapped around her. His hand tightened on the nape of her neck under her chignon and he deepened the kiss.

The taste of him, and the sweet pressure of his mouth, overcame her then and she closed her eyes and pushed into him, keeping the image of his long dark lashes resting on his sun-bronzed skin.

He parted her lips with his and his tongue slipped inside her mouth. She gasped with both surprise and need, and met the tip of his tongue with hers, thinking only that she must find a way to draw him even closer, to keep holding him.

"Miss Alice!" Elsie called down the path.

George's hands dropped from her shoulders as Alice jumped back onto the bench. She swiped furiously at strands of hair that had come loose, even as she did her best to smooth down her sleeves. What a mess!

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