Judith’s fingers tightened on her hare’s foot. A month ago, she had been content with the thought of marrying Adam Yorke. More than content, she had been awestruck at how lucky she was to have won the regard of so fine a man.
The explosion and Antonia’s careless actions had brought about a result that tarnished that happiness. For the rest of Judith’s life, she would live with a secret regret born of these last three weeks.
Yet if it hadn’t been for Antonia, Judith would never have met either Adam or Simon. She would be a governess, locked in the bleak life of a permanent outsider in some great house.
The gracious chamber in which they stood, the very gown on Judith’s back, came from Antonia. And her employer had given freely, asking only honest friendship in return. “As the bible says, we reap what we have sowed. You have sowed love and generosity. How could I return less than that?” she said in an even voice. “There is nothing to forgive.”
Antonia whispered, “Thank you.” There was a shine of tears in her wide eyes.
“Have you and Simon reconciled?” Judith girded herself to hear the answer that she was sure must come.
Antonia nodded. “He is the most incredible man. Amazingly enough, he is willing to overlook my mad starts and to begin again. I’m not quite sure why.”
Looking at Antonia’s lush, provocative loveliness, Judith knew why. What man could resist that combination of beauty and spirit?
Glancing at her mantel clock, Judith said, “It’s time we went downstairs.” With effort, she made herself add, “Dinner should be something of a celebration. After all, aren’t we both getting the man we wanted?”
Antonia’s face was very still for a moment. “Yes,” she agreed softly as she turned to go out of the door, “we are both getting what we wanted.”
* * * *
Champagne was served that night and wedding plans discussed. As honored guest, Ian Kinlock had an enjoyable evening, though his ever-lively curiosity wondered at the current alignment of lovers.
Why had the beautiful Lady Antonia gone from her cousin to the equally beautiful Lord Launceston? Did Adam Yorke’s injury have anything to do with the switch from Lady Antonia to her sweetly pretty companion?
Though he had never been known for tact, the doctor did not quite have the temerity to ask. As he continued his journey to London, Kinlock mulled over the difference between what he saw and what he sensed under the surface.
Thornleigh held four very attractive young people, and strong currents of affection ran between them. That being the case, why did he have such a strong, visceral belief that all four of them were miserably unhappy?
Chapter Thirteen
Life at Thornleigh settled into a new pattern. Simon worked on plans for converting an outbuilding into an observatory. Judith and Adam visited an estate that was for sale on the far side of Buxton, discussing its pluses and minuses as a future home.
Wedding plans were finalized. Both couples would be married from Thornleigh, Adam and Judith in four weeks, Simon and Antonia a few days later.
Since the Continent was effectively closed to English travel, no exotic honeymoons were planned. After the Launceston wedding, Adam and his wife would journey to the Lake District, while Simon would take his bride to visit his own family seat in Kent.
On the surface, everything was mirror-smooth. Underneath, Judith felt a growing sense of utter wrongness. She tried to deny it, but the feeling expanded until it occupied her thoughts every hour of the day and interfered with her sleep at night. Her nerves stretched tighter and tighter, until a fortnight before the wedding, they snapped.
Antonia and Simon had gone on an overnight trip to visit her aunt, Lady Forrester, leaving Judith and Adam alone at Thornleigh. The situation was somewhat lacking in propriety, but Judith was a widow, not a young girl, and they were so close to marriage that even a high stickler would not be too concerned.
After a leisurely dinner, they withdrew to the music room, where Judith played her harp at Adam’s request. The melodies rippled from her fingers, expressing the longings of her heart and bringing her buried emotions to the surface. By the time she stopped playing, she felt fragile, on the verge of inexplicable tears.
When the last note had faded, Adam rose and crossed to where she sat by the harp, pulling a small box from his pocket as he did so. “This is for you, Judith. I had sent the stone to London to be set before my accident.”
As Judith accepted the box, he explained, “It was intended as a betrothal gift, though with everything that happened, I’m afraid the matter had slipped my mind until it was delivered today.”
Inside the box was a ring, a blue cabochon in an elegantly simple silver setting. When Judith lifted the ring out, the gem caught the candlelight and a shimmering pattern of radiance flickered deep inside. She made a soft admiring sound and tilted the ring, watching the play of light in the heart of the jewel.
“It’s called a star sapphire. I bought it in Ceylon, mixed in with a number of other unset gems,” Adam said. “I thought you would like it.”
Judith glanced up into Adam’s tanned, pleasant face, thinking how ruggedly attractive he was in his evening dress. How fortunate she was. Since he had recovered his memory, their interactions had been superficial, but she hoped that in time they would regain the ease they had known before his accident.
That hope died with shattering suddenness when her gaze caught Adam’s, forcing her to acknowledge a grimly unwelcome truth. While his desire to please her was sincere, in the changeable depths of Adam’s gray-green eyes was soul-deep sorrow. Recognition was instantaneous and undeniable, because it echoed the corresponding sorrow in her.
The charade she’d been living collapsed as her doubts and fears and rationalizations disintegrated beneath the knowledge of what she must do. She held the ring out to him, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Adam. I can’t marry you. It was wrong of me to accept your offer in the first place.”
Through the tears blurring her eyes, she saw him stiffen with shock when she dropped the ring in his hand. “Why, Judith? Is it something I have done?”
Her resolution wavered at the sight of his bewilderment. She could still change her mind, accept the warmth and kindness between them, the security of marrying a wealthy man. The only price would be hating herself for the rest of her life.
Judith slid sideways and stood, needing to be farther from Adam. If he touched her, she would cling to his kindness and never have the strength to carry through.
A safe distance away, she said, “You have done nothing wrong.”
Judith knotted her hands into fists. A hard life had taught her to do difficult things, but never more difficult than this. “Can’t you feel how wrong things are here at Thornleigh? We are all being so careful with one another, as if we’re mourners after a death.
“No one is talking or listening to anyone else, except in the most superficial way. Antonia and Simon are watching every word to avoid any more rows, but you and she never look at each other. Simon never speaks to me, while you are being so kind to me I can’t bear it.”
Her gaze was beseeching as she tried to will Adam to understand her. “Everyone is being kind and honorable, and no one is being honest. It’s wrong!”
Adam put the ring back in its box and set it on a table, his movements mechanically precise. “I’m sorry, I must be very thick-witted. I still don’t understand your meaning.”
His deep voice was as stiff as his movements, his face a numb mask.
Judith hid her face in her hands for a moment, trying to define her thoughts. “Adam, you and I have agreed to marry each other, made plans for a future, without ever once mentioning the word ‘love.’ I know that there is kindness between us, respect, and caring.”
She raised her head to look at him. “But the real reason we agreed to marry was because we decided to settle for what we could get rather than that we wanted.”
When Adam made an involuntary movement toward her, Judith lifted
her hand to stop him. “Please, let me finish. You loved Antonia and thought you couldn’t have her. I gave you sympathy and understanding when you needed it badly, and in gratitude you offered me a life better than I had dreamed possible. I have neither beauty, nor youth, nor fortune to offer a man, and was greatly honored and gratified that a man like you could want me.
“Our reasons were not bad ones. Though neither of us was in love, at the beginning there was honesty between us. Now that is gone, and with neither love nor honesty, it would be horribly wrong to marry.”
Rubbing the heel of her hand across her eyes, she added in a husky whisper, “I married once because I thought I could do no better, and I accepted you for essentially the same reason. You are a kinder and more honest man than Edwin Winslow was, and I care for you much more than I cared for him. Perhaps I do love you, but not enough. Not in the right way.”
Adam sat down and leaned back in his chair, unconsciously massaging the scar on his head. Judith ached at the expression on his face.
“Is it such a bad thing to settle for what is possible?” he asked finally. “Is it really better to cry for the moon? I have wasted half a lifetime yearning for what I can’t have. I want to be done with that. Perhaps I can’t offer you the romantic love a woman craves, but I swear I will give you everything I am capable of.”
At his words, Judith folded onto the bench in front of the harpsichord and buried her face, giving way to wrenching tears. This was even more painful than she could have guessed, but she knew to the marrow of her bones that she was right. “Adam, why should you settle for less?”
She looked at him, willing him to believe. “If you love Antonia, fight for her! You demean yourself by giving up without trying.”
His darkly shadowed eyes met hers. “Why should Antonia marry her bastard cousin? Granted, I’m a rich bastard, but that is the most that can be said, and Antonia doesn’t need riches.” He sighed and glanced away. “She regards me as a brother, and I am grateful to have that much.”
Judith felt like swearing. “Adam, the greatest barrier between you and Antonia is your own self judgment. Have you ever tried—really, truly, heart-and-soul tried—to win her? From what I have seen, you surrendered without even making the attempt. And by not being brave enough to risk losing, I think you are hurting not only yourself, but Antonia.”
His face froze, and she wondered if she had gone too far. His voice bitterly edged, he answered. “You seem to forget that Antonia is in love with Simon. Apollo himself would have trouble winning over competition like that.”
Judith shook her head in negation. “In the beginning, she was infatuated with Simon. As handsome as he is, any woman will fall a little bit in love with him at first sight.” Thinking of Simon caused her throat to close for a moment.
Doggedly she made herself continue. “Certainly she cares a great deal for him now, enough to marry him.” She sought Adam’s eyes, wanting him to believe her next words. “But I doubt she loves him as much as she does you. You may not remember those three weeks when you were betrothed, but I do. And I swear, Antonia did not behave as if you were her brother.”
He leaned forward, his posture strained. “What did you see? I have scoured my mind, but don’t know if what I find are memories or dreams.”
“Antonia was content as I had never seen her before,” Judith said slowly, trying to define the subtle differences she has sensed at the time. “And you were not apologetic about yourself. As soon as you awoke after the accident, Antonia told you that the two of you were to marry. Because of that knowledge, you had a kind of confidence with Antonia that was not there before or since. Perhaps the amnesia freed you of the ingrained belief that to be illegitimate is to be inferior.’’
He rose and paced across the room, his muscular body taut with barely contained energy as he struggled with what Judith had told him. She watched in silence, knowing how difficult and painful this must be.
“Even a bastard should have some honor, and Simon is my best friend,” Adam said, his voice strained. “Trying to steal the woman he loves is hardly the action of an honorable man. It will certainly destroy our friendship, whether I am successful or not.”
Judith replied even though his question was more for himself than for her. “The tragedy of a lovers’ triangle is that it cannot be resolved without someone being hurt. At worst, everyone suffers. If Antonia loves you but marries Simon, only he will be happy, and in the long run he may be miserable because she doesn’t care for him as much as he cares for her.”
She sighed. “At least if Antonia loves and accepts you, two out of three people have a chance for happiness.”
Adam stood in the shadows at the far end of the room, but she could see his faint, humorless smile. “Does honor come down to a simple matter of numbers? If more people benefit, does that make an action right?”
Judith shook her head, drained. Only Adam could decide whether to act on the information she had offered him. “Honor can be defined in many ways. Remember your Shakespeare? ‘To thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.’” She stood and made her way to the door. “Be true to yourself, Adam. Please.”
Her hand was on the doorknob when his voice came softly, the deep tones dark with grief. “You say that I demean myself by not daring to fight for what I want. You equally demean yourself by saying that you have nothing to offer a man.”
She turned, and her eyes met his for an endless moment as painfully real affection and respect pulsed between them. Anguished, she whispered, “I wish it could be different.” Then she left before her resolve could crumble.
It was time to leave Thornleigh. Judith did not belong here anymore. One way or another the triangle would be resolved, but she could not bear to stay and witness the inevitable.
Judith’s own guess was that Antonia would choose Adam over Simon, if her cousin dared try to win her. If that happened, Simon, whom Judith loved, would be the one left suffering. His pain was agonizing to contemplate. Only the fact that she cared deeply for Antonia and Adam could justify her interference.
She prayed that eventually Simon would find someone else who would make him happy, even if he could never love another woman as he loved Antonia.
Shuddering, Judith broke her mind from the painful circle of thoughts by forcing herself to concentrate on what needed to be done. First, she ordered a carriage for five o’clock in the morning. She received a surprised look but no questions; her orders were accepted as readily as Antonia’s.
Then she packed. The abigail whom she and Antonia shared had gone on the overnight trip, but no matter. For this journey, Judith herself must make the decisions of what to keep and what to leave behind. Amazing how many possessions she had accumulated in two years of security. Choices were hard but not impossible. She would hire a post chaise in Macclesfield to take her to Liverpool, so a reasonable amount of baggage could be carried.
She worked swiftly. Most of her books must go, but her more elaborate gowns were not likely to be needed in the colonies. Judith reminded herself to think of her destination as the United States, or the natives might take it amiss.
Because she had been contemplating leaving for several months, she had a substantial amount of money at hand. The rest of her account could be transferred when she had decided where she would settle. Antonia had paid her companion very generously over the years. Judith had saved a large proportion of her salary, enough so that she could go for a long time without another situation.
The most difficult part was writing her farewells. Judith had already said more than enough to Adam. She considered leaving a note for Simon, but what could she say? That she felt privileged to have known him, that the days of their conspiracy had been the happiest of her life, and that she would love him forever?
Unthinkable. Worse than unthinkable, pathetic.
In the end, she wrote only to Antonia, explaining that she had broken her betrothal to Adam and was
leaving immediately to prevent awkwardness. It was time to pursue her longtime ambition to visit the New World. She would write eventually. In the meantime, Judith gave her sincerest thanks for everything Antonia had done for her, and wished her all joy in her marriage.
She did not specify which man Antonia would be marrying, since that issue was still in doubt.
* * * *
Adam sat alone in the music room long after Judith had left him, thinking of what she had said. Eventually he moved to the library, where a glass of brandy could be found to aid his deliberations.
Over the last fortnight Adam had been too absorbed in his own unhappy thoughts to pay much attention to what the others were doing. In particular, he had avoided watching Antonia and Simon together. But Judith was right. They had all been walking on eggs.
Adam could not remember having a single significant conversation with anyone since he had regained his memory. Not with Antonia, his cousin. Not with Simon, his friend. Not even with Judith, his betrothed. They had been avoiding interaction like an assembly of polite ghosts.
Judith’s words about his cowardice were painful, but he could not deny their harsh reality. It was indeed his own fears that had stopped him from ever declaring himself to Antonia. To do so would have been impossible before he left England, and when he returned, he had lacked the courage.
At first, he had rationalized that it was too soon, that they needed time to become reacquainted. Then, with appalling suddenness, it had been too late.
Yet, if Judith was to be believed, for a few short weeks he had been different, freed of the shackles of the past. Vaguely he recalled that Antonia had told him of his illegitimacy in her attempts to reacquaint him with his history. But the simple knowledge of bastardy was not the same as recollection of the thousand small slights that he had suffered because of his birth, nor of that one enormous, life-changing rebuff.