He studied what he could see of her face and wondered…
She sensed his gaze, glanced up, and briefly met his eyes…then she grimaced and faced forward. After another moment of silent strolling, she offered, “Marbury was…the only one of my suitors I…actually entertained. Years ago. He was first in the procession.” Her tone had turned cynical and bitter.
When she said nothing more, he quietly observed, “You didn’t accept him.”
“No.” Her lips tightened. “But I very nearly did. I very nearly walked, all unknowing, into his snare. If it hadn’t been for a…twist of fate, I would have.” She paused, then drew breath and went on, “One day, months after he’d first started courting me, we’d arranged to meet in Wells. Elinor and I were to meet him outside the cathedral. We were fifteen minutes early. I left Elinor outside on a bench in the sun and went into the cathedral—I’m quite partial to the quiet of the chapels.”
She paused.
Sensing the tension gripping her, this time, he held his tongue and waited.
“I was seated in one of the side chapels, head bowed, still and silent, when I heard two gentlemen walk in. They sat in a pew in the nave, closer to the front doors, so I couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see me.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “The one place in which one should never whisper secrets is a church—such buildings are designed to amplify sound. The pair weren’t talking loudly, yet I heard every word. It was David—Marbury—and one of his friends. And the friend asked David how things were going with me.”
She huffed cynically—whether at her younger self or at Marbury, Richard couldn’t tell. She went on, “The long and the short of it was that, courtesy of his openness with his friend, I learned that the only genuine interest Marbury had lay not in me but in my lands. All the rest was fabrication, a deliberate ruse to pull the wool over my innocent and gullible eyes.” Her tone changed, growing harder. “Once I’d heard enough—more than enough—I rose and walked out of the chapel and into the nave. He saw me approaching. The look on his face… If I’d needed any assurance that all I’d heard was true, his expression provided it. Of course, he recovered and tried to tell me I’d misheard or misinterpreted… I just kept walking.”
She shrugged, then glanced at him. “In hindsight, I should probably have thanked Marbury for the lesson in reality. It was he who taught me that, when it comes to offering for my hand, the first and really only thing gentlemen are after is my land. Primarily, the farms.”
He said nothing; there was nothing he could say. With respect to the would-be suitors he’d met, her assessment was correct. Yet her tale reminded him of the incident in his past—his own “coming of age,” as he thought of it. And the moment made him feel even closer to her, linked by another similar experience. “First disillusionments always hurt the most.”
The words had slipped from his lips without conscious thought.
Diverted from her own musings, she shot him a quizzical glance.
He didn’t meet her eyes but, his lips twisting in a self-deprecatory grimace, admitted, “There was a young lady who, a long time ago, taught me a similar lesson. Even though she’s no doubt married now, if I met her today, I would still cut her dead.”
Jacqueline’s lips quirked upward. Her expression lightened, and she tipped her head his way, then faced forward. “Sadly, I don’t go about sufficiently in society to cross Marbury’s path, and even if I did, in the country, I suspect the impact of cutting someone dead would simply not be the same.”
With a soft laugh, he inclined his head, and they walked on side by side.
Encouraged by the moment of unexpected empathy, he set himself the challenge of banishing Marbury from her mind. He was tall enough to see over most heads; he kept watch for distracting and amusing incidents to point out to her—like the geese someone had brought to sell that were sticking their heads out through the woven withies of their enclosure and snapping at the ankles of unwary passersby, making people jump and dodge, creating a minor pocket of mayhem. Then there was the ram who, far from appearing the least interested in ewes, had fallen asleep.
She laughed at both sights, leaving Richard with a warm glow in the center of his chest.
Jacqueline continued on her duty-bound route around the fairground, feeling increasingly…if not precisely happy, then settled. Accepting of her lot in life. Richard was intent on leaving in the morning, and there was nothing she could do—or indeed, should do—to change his mind. So she might as well make the most of the day and enjoy his company; letting go of any hope for more, she accepted Fate’s decree and did.
She drew him to the stall she always visited to buy pasties for lunch. She, he, and Elinor stood to one side looking over the milling throng and munching their way through the crisp pastries filled with succulent meat.
Afterward, she insisted on doing one final round of the Hall’s farmers’ stalls. She suspected the day had proved a prosperous one for all her people, but from what they had seen, the farmers with livestock to sell had done especially well.
“And,” she told Richard, “Higgs found four more of those black sheep. He might just have enough for Martha to generate sufficient black yarn for Mrs. Higgs to use as a definite color. She’ll be thrilled, if so.”
Richard smiled and nodded. Thus were the small pleasures of country life. To his mind, they easily surpassed the more showy pleasures of life in the capital.
He ambled at Jacqueline’s heels as she and Elinor led the way on their final circuit. At last, the ladies were ready to depart, and after glancing back to make sure Richard was close behind, the pair turned through the gap in the ropes that led to the area where the horses had been tethered under the eyes of several grooms hired by the fair’s organizers.
Some sixth sense tickled Richard’s nape as he made to follow in Jacqueline and Elinor’s wake. Unobtrusively, he paused beside the gap in the ropes and swiftly glanced around.
The watcher was standing in the shadows between two stalls. Richard let his gaze move unheedingly on as if he was merely taking a last look at the fair before leaving and hadn’t spotted the man at all. Large and heavyset, the man wasn’t a gentleman.
Richard turned and lengthened his stride to catch up with Jacqueline. The unknown man had looked vaguely familiar, but Richard couldn’t remember ever speaking to him; he couldn’t place him.
There was no mounting block in the paddock. Earlier, in her own stable yard, Jacqueline had avoided Richard’s help by using the mounting block there, and when they’d arrived, she’d slid down from her saddle without assistance.
Now, he walked to where she waited by her mare’s side. Without making any fuss, she steeled herself, and he did the same, and he grasped her waist and hoisted her up, then set her gently in her saddle.
For an instant—one fleeting instant—their eyes met and held. His hands remained about her waist as his gaze and hers…
He fell into her, and she fell into him, and in that single instant of perfect clarity, both knew and acknowledged their connection—that spark of physical recognition that had linked them from first sight and which had only grown stronger over the past days.
Then, still trapped in each other’s gazes, they both drew breath, and he forced his hands to ease and drew them from her.
Her expression impassive, she inclined her head and reached for her reins, and he walked on to where Elinor waited to be helped into the trap.
With Elinor settled, the reins firm in her old hands, Richard swung up to the saddle on the chestnut’s back. He and Jacqueline waved Elinor ahead, then fell in behind, ambling.
As they left the fairground, alert and on guard, Richard glanced sharply to the side and caught the briefest glimpse of the heavyset man slipping away through the crowd.
Richard frowned, dredging his memory. Could the man be the one he’d seen in the wood with Wallace? What had his name been…Morgan?
They reached the lane that would take them south, and Elinor smartly tu
rned the trap for the Hall. She set the cob trotting, then glanced back at Richard. “Hopkins told me you plan to leave tomorrow, Richard—is that correct?”
The question jerked him from contemplating the reason Wallace might have set his man to watch them—and focused him instead on the prospect of his tomorrow. He’d expected to feel eager, keen to move on. Instead, he felt…
He forced himself to say, “Yes, that’s right. My horse’s hoof will be healed, and I need to be on my way.”
“So someone is waiting for you?” Elinor called back.
Not as she meant it. “My uncle,” he replied.
“Ah—that’s right!” Elinor nodded. “I’d forgotten.”
As they traveled through the gentle countryside, past fields and, eventually, into the wood around Nimway Hall, Richard ruthlessly suppressed the unexpected resistance surging within him. He couldn’t stay—that was impossible, and he knew it. Jacqueline had—clearly and transparently—started to hope, and it wouldn’t be fair to lead her on by dallying longer.
He was who he was. And she was who she was. It was her duty to marry a man of sufficient wealth and position to protect the Hall—she’d said it herself, that being the guardian of the Hall meant protecting the Hall was her highest priority.
If she learned his true identity, she would feel even more bound to make a bid to snare him, true affection or not.
He wasn’t about to risk that by staying; leaving was definitely the right thing to do for him and for her.
From all he’d gleaned of her past and all he knew of himself, acceding to a marriage based on considerations other than true and abiding affection would trap them both in their worst nightmare.
Over dinner, Hugh inquired as to Malcolm the Great’s recovery.
Richard seized the moment; he related his latest findings—on their return from the fair, he’d dallied in the stable to check on Malcolm—and grasped the opportunity to reiterate his intention of taking his leave of the household come morning.
Hugh harrumphed, his jowls shaking. His expression said he was disappointed, but he didn’t argue. After a moment, he huffed, “I’ll miss having you to talk with.”
A somewhat strained silence descended, then Elinor glanced across the table. “I daresay Richard has his uncle and his life to return to. Indeed, after London, being forced to remain here for…what has it been? Six days? Well,” Elinor continued, “it must have seemed quite strange, isolated and quiet as we are.”
His time there had been a blessed relief. Richard held the words back and, instead, inclined his head in silent acknowledgment.
“So it’s back to the fray.” Hugh took up the refrain, then frowned. “But I thought you were headed to the bishop’s household.” Hugh arched his brows. “Not much of an entertaining nature there, I’d warrant. Not for such as yourself, at least.”
Richard had been heading to his uncle for safety; entertainment had been the last thing on his mind. “That’s true enough,” he admitted. He couldn’t think of anything more to add and was grateful when Cruickshank appeared to remove the plates.
At Jacqueline’s signal, they all rose. Richard glanced at Cruickshank; the butler briefly caught his eye, then busied himself dealing with the covers.
Richard circled the table to take hold of the handles of Hugh’s chair. As he had for the past nights, Richard steered the older man in the wake of the ladies.
The wheels rattled softly over the hall tiles. Both footmen passed them, their expressions downcast.
Inwardly, Richard frowned. He absolved everyone of deliberately trying to darken the atmosphere of the usually serene household, yet there was no denying the news of his leaving appeared to have cast a pall over all.
Their time in the drawing room dragged. Where, before, they’d tossed comments back and forth and then settled comfortably to read, tonight, they struggled to find anything to say, and comfort seemed in short supply.
Her gaze on her stitching, Elinor finally remarked, “I expect, Richard dear, that after your visit in Wells, you’ll be heading back to your accustomed life. Back to London—or, given it’s summer, are you expected somewhere else?”
He’d left a veritable stack of invitations to house parties on his desk in London; he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t be accepting any of them. Finally allowing himself to think of what, exactly, he intended to do after spending a few days, at least, with his uncle, after several seconds, he slowly shook his head. “I really don’t know. I doubt I’ll want to return to London, not in this season, but I have no other plans…” Quickly, he added, “At present. There might be a summons from the family waiting for me with my uncle.”
He doubted it, but the last thing he wanted was for Elinor to voice the thought he was sure had just passed through her head and invite him to return to the Hall. He couldn’t do that—not to himself or Jacqueline. Through long experience, he’d learned that a clean break was best.
Elinor glanced at Jacqueline, then returned her gaze to her embroidery.
Surreptitiously—warily—Richard followed Elinor’s gaze. Jacqueline appeared absorbed in her embroidery, but he felt certain she’d heard every syllable of their exchange. Neither by word nor expression did she evince any reaction.
He returned his gaze to the book he’d balanced, open, on his knees. And pretended to read.
Freddie came and, after Hugh had extracted a promise that Richard would not leave without breakfast and bidding them all goodbye, Hugh consented to be wheeled to his bed.
Elinor sighed, then set her needle in her work and started to fold it up.
Jacqueline glanced up, then did the same.
Finally, it was time for them to retire. Elinor climbed the stairs, and Richard, with Jacqueline beside him, followed more slowly.
They reached the first landing, and Jacqueline drew breath and said, “Although I’ll see you tomorrow, of course, I wanted to personally—and formally—thank you for all you’ve done for the household and estate while here. All the considerable help you’ve rendered us.” Through the flickering shadows cast by the candles ahead and below them, she met his eyes. “On behalf of Nimway Hall and all those on the estate, I thank you most sincerely for all your assistance, and I hope you’ve enjoyed your time with us.”
It felt strange and stilted to revert to formality with her, but he inclined his head and replied, “It was my pleasure to be able to render that assistance, to be in a position such that I could help both you and your people. And I have, indeed, enjoyed my days here.” More than I suspect I will appreciate until I’m far distant.
With those unspoken words echoing in his head, he glanced up and saw that Elinor had paused at the head of the stairs. Briefly, she met his eyes, and he could almost see the question on her lips: If he had enjoyed himself, why was he leaving?
Elinor held his gaze for an instant more, then, confusion in her face, she turned and headed along the gallery toward her room.
Leaving Jacqueline and Richard to step into the gallery, more or less alone.
At the point where they would part ways—she to go one way to her room while he headed down the corridor to his—they both halted.
Paused.
Through the soft shadows, their eyes met, their gazes held.
And both remembered with crystal-edged clarity the moment they’d shared the previous night.
Like a cloud of suppressed need, the compulsion of that moment swelled and engulfed them—even more intense than twenty-four hours before.
For one finite instant, he wanted nothing more than to take one step forward, sweep her into his arms, and taste her lips.
Taste her—a prelude to learning all he now hungered to know of her.
The impulse was so strong, so insistent, he trembled and almost gave in.
But it couldn’t be. He knew that.
Slowly, he forced his lungs to expand, to draw in much-needed air. To clear his head so he could remember his resolution.
He had to leave. H
e couldn’t remain.
No matter the temptation.
He straightened, raising his head.
As if she could read his decision in his eyes, she held his gaze for an instant more, then smoothly yet rigidly, she inclined her head. “Goodnight.”
She turned and moved toward her chamber.
He stood, helpless in the face of his own reality. His fists slowly clenching, he watched her go—watched her walk into her room and close the door.
Chapter 9
Richard’s departure from Nimway Hall was a great deal more awkward than his arrival.
Breakfast proved to be a desultory affair. Even with Elinor there—she’d come down especially to see him off—they still struggled to find anything to say.
He’d been up since dawn and had been out to the stable to check on Malcolm the Great, then he’d sought out Crawley, and they’d walked to the lake and discussed in detail how to create a controllable tunnel system to link the lake to the stream. The solution had come to Richard in the small hours, and he hadn’t wanted to leave without passing on his insight.
Before breakfast, he’d taken his packed saddlebags to the stable. Consequently, when, immediately after they’d risen from the breakfast table, he walked out of the great hall and into the sunshine, Hopkins was holding Malcolm the Great, saddled and ready to ride.
Jacqueline, Elinor, and Hugh in his chair with Freddie propelling him followed Richard onto the front porch. Even as he turned to take his formal leave of them, he saw others hurrying from the depths of the hall.
In short order, the entire household had assembled, from Cruickshank and Mrs. Patrick to Young Willie, who came loping around from the stable.
They all lined up across the porch.
Clinging to his easy expression, Richard ran his gaze over them all—and felt an odd tug at the way they all looked back at him. Trusting. Certain. As if they had unwavering confidence in him always doing what was best for them.