The Memory of Your Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page A

time for making an impression. I think first impressions are often instantaneous—and accurate.”
    “I would say they are mostly hasty and often downright wrong,” he said partly just to challenge her.
    “Do you not find yourself responding to people and even things—like food, or art, or books—with a positive or negative view within minutes of encountering them?”
    “Well, yes, but all too often I then must revise that initial opinion as I become more familiar with that person or object.”
    “But finding things that support your initial reaction comes more naturally, more easily, than searching for those that contradict it, would you not agree?”
    “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I at least try to be open-minded and give an artist or writer the benefit of doubt. For instance, I’ll grant an author a few paragraphs or pages before I put the work aside.”
    “Oh, generous man!” she scoffed. “And people?”
    “I hope I am not unduly harsh with people. I withhold an opinion until I feel I know the person reasonably well, but generally I find that once an impression is established, it does not change.”
    “Never? Nothing—positive or negative—changes your mind?”
    “Rarely,” he temporized. “But I will agree that an event or given behavior might well change one’s view of another.”
    “That is good to know,” she said. “I may now view our drive tomorrow as my act of redemption.”
    He laughed and their conversation drifted to other topics as he identified for her such persons as he could among the dancers and they were companionably amused by the high shirt points of a dandy that made turning his head difficult, or by the outlandish ostrich feathers on the headdresses of certain of the women. Zachary felt genuine regret when her partner for the next dance came to claim her, but comforted himself with thoughts of the morrow.
    That night Sydney pleaded a headache to forestall the bubbling Celia who wanted to rehash the evening. Sydney needed to be alone, to examine, if she could, precisely what had come over her. Never had she experienced such a visceral reaction to a man as she had toward Zachary Quintin. That tightening in her chest when their eyes first met had been as nothing to the overwhelming thrill that surged through her body when she’d put her gloved hand on his arm. Heavens! What would it have felt like had it been bare skin touching bare skin? What would it be like to kiss him?
    This thought did not shock her, but it did make her feel somewhat ashamed. After all, in a mere four weeks she would be marrying Henry. As a betrothed woman, she had no right to these feelings about another man.
    Besides, it was probably just pre-wedding nerves that had her engaging in such nonsensical imaginings. She took refuge in clichés: the die was cast; there was no going back now. Too much and too many depended on her following through with the plan two fathers had hatched between them many years before. She had accepted this marriage wholeheartedly as a solution to the problems the Waverly family faced. She had given her word.
    “What’s done is done,” she told herself, then smiled at the absurdity of applying Lady Macbeth’s famous line about murder to the happy occasion of a marriage that would resolve so many difficulties.
    The next morning Sydney arrived in the breakfast room to find only her aunt Harriet there before her. The older woman had finished her breakfast, but sat enjoying yet another cup of tea as she sorted through the mail. Aunt Harriet was of an age with her brother, Sydney’s father. With graying auburn hair, she was an attractive matron who had been widowed some ten years ago. Sydney had always liked her for her “live and let live” approach to life and for her sense of humor. Aunt Harriet had always listened intently, and non-judgmentally, as children and then young adults explored and experimented with even the most outlandish ideas.
    “Celia and Herbert are not down