Again, My Lord: A Twist Series Novel (23 page)

“You ran away from me.” He shook his head, as much to force into it the words she was speaking as to deny them. “Every time I came close to you. Again and again.”

“I wish I hadn’t. I should have spoken immediately. I should have told you at the beginning how strongly I felt, how immoderately. That would have swiftly turned your disapproval to disgust. Then you would have left at once, and my feelings would not have grown to the extent that they did.”

“To what extent?”

“To what extent?” Her hands fisted at her sides. “What have I done to you, then or now, that merits this inquisition? Will you force me to speak of the greatest moment of shame and regret in my life? Do you need to hear me say it aloud? Is it not enough that I am equally ashamed of it now as I was then?”

He went to her and stood so close he might touch her, and his heartbeats thundered against his ribs.
“To what extent?”

“To what
extent
? I begged you to elope with me!”

Holy Hell.

He struggled to breathe.

“I did not understand,” he could only manage.

“I suppose you imagined I did such things regularly. My father told me often enough that my manner with gentlemen was far too open, that it was bound to be misconstrued. My mother was so demure, so subdued. I
wanted
to be like her. I wanted to be good. Perhaps if I had been, my husband would not have—” She halted her words. “My father was a beast and my mother was a wet rag. I understand that now. I didn’t then. Though it was not in my nature, I tried to behave as she taught me to. But I failed. I teased you about your reserve because I knew it was my fault, that you were only trying to show me your displeasure. How could you admire a lady you could not respect, after all?”

“Until that morning, I found only pleasure in your company.” His tongue could barely form words. “I thought you wished me to drive you to London to meet another man.”

Her eyes widened, and she became very still.

“No,” she only said. And then: “No.”

“You …” This was unimaginable. Unbelievable. A miracle. “There was no other man?”

“The night before I came to the inn without Evelina and Gregory, my father told me he was selling me to Richard Holland to settle a debt of fifteen thousand pounds. He said you would expect a large dowry while Richard would pay him for me, and that anyway since you had not offered for me after so many weeks you never would. But I wanted you. That morning, I wanted you to take me away.”

“To London?”

“To anywhere you wished. I would have gone. I would have gone with or without an offer of marriage.”

And then, without a plan, without another thought, without asking her permission, he was kissing her—wrapping his hands around her arms, drawing her close, and taking her mouth beneath his. She was soft and sweet and she tasted like berries and tears and, swiftly, desire. Her lips parted for him and her hands swept over his shoulders to grip his neck and slip into his hair. She was delicious, warm and vibrant and
his
. She was his now. She had always been his, had he but known it, had he not been such a colossal fool.

He pulled her against him as he had dreamed so many times, and she was perfect, her curves and supple strength against his body, perfect as he had always known she would be.

Dear God,
he hoped she hadn’t changed too much in the years since he had fallen in love with her. Because this time, no matter what came now, he would not let her go.

His kiss was a new kiss.
A first kiss. Testing, questioning, seeking, and overflowing with an urgency that Calista recognized well.

But she already knew the texture of his lips and the flavor of his kiss. She knew the strength of his hands on her. She knew the need that arose in her, so hot and desperate, when he made love to her. She knew how it felt to want him, to be touched by him, and to have him satisfy her. She knew the joy in spending all night talking with him, adoring him without even touching him. She knew that she loved everything about him.

And she knew the depth of pain that her heart would descend into tomorrow when she looked into his eyes and saw that he had never kissed her before, never touched her, never made love to her. She could not bear it one more time.

She dragged herself from his arms.

“No. I cannot do this. I cannot be with you.”

“Calista—”

“
No
. Don’t. Please.” She started up the alley again, her steps faltering.

“If it’s too soon after your husband’s—”

“It isn’t too soon. It’s not that. I simply cannot—”

“Who in creation do you think you are?” His voice grated.

She swung around.

“This is not acceptable, what you are doing here,” he said in harsh, short syllables. “Do you even know that? Do you even know that you cannot treat people like this? Perhaps when you were eighteen you had the excuse of naïveté. But not now.”

“You followed
me
. I tried to avoid you—”

“And yet you managed to pause long enough to tell me a story that has altered history for me. You are entirely duplicitous. What story will you tell me tomorrow, I wonder? That you never felt anything for me years ago and I imagined this entire conversation?”

Tomorrow
.

“No. No.” She returned to him swiftly and when she placed her palms on his chest he remained still. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I will explain everything tomorrow. Everything that I cannot explain now.”

“Tomorrow?” He did not lift his hands to touch her, but his heartbeats were swift and hard beneath her palms.

“I promise it. Tomorrow. I will not retract what I told you about the past. It is all true. But you must allow me until tomorrow to explain.” Tomorrow that would never come. “Today …” She lowered her arms. “Today you must let me be.”

“The locals say that the ford will be low enough to cross tomorrow. Will I awake to discover you already gone?”

“No. I will be here.” Every day. Forever. “Believe me, I long for tomorrow. If there were anything I could do to make this day end quickly, I would.”

His eyes seemed to search hers. “Something isn’t right. I don’t know if it is your doing, or otherwise. But … Allow me to help you.”

Even
now
he offered this. Even hurt and angry and confused, he was kind. She closed her eyes.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Not today.”

She went away from him, and he let her go.

She found Dr. Appleby and bade him hasten to Mrs. Cochran’s bedside. Then she searched the village for gifts for Tommy and his brother and sisters. Returning to the inn, she went into the rear yard, found the pail, and milked Nell. Then she ate a piece of toast and cheese in the kitchen and went to her bedchamber to feed the cat. Walking out again, she crossed the village to Tommy’s house, sat with his grandmother, and gave the gifts to the children.

She did not see the Marquess of Dare again.

When night fell she turned the key in the lock on her door and curled up on the bed and pretended that she could not go to him now and be with him, for even a few hours. And she pretended that it was better this way.

A soft knock came at the door and her heart jerked into a gallop. She unlocked it with unsteady hands.

Tommy stood in the corridor, his shoulders slumped.

“Gram’s passed,” he said, and his face crumpled.

He thanked her for what she had done for his family today. When his words broke into a sob, she took him into her arms and cried with him.

~o0o~

“Lady Holland, you must come away now.”

Sounds seemed to come through a tunnel, the doctor’s words echoing from somewhere very far away.

“This cannot be happening. Not again. Not today.” She swung her gaze around the tiny cottage lit by the fading sun, to where the children sat huddled and weeping. “Not today,” she repeated.

Dr. Appleby lifted the blanket to cover Mrs. Cochran’s face.

“She cannot die today,” Calista said to him.

“Lady Holland—”

“What was it, Doctor? You must know what illness took her. Are there medicines in your office that might have helped, had she been dosed earlier in the day?”

“You summoned me at sunrise,” he said gently. “I gave her all the care I could today.”

“Then why is she gone?” she whispered. “Why has she left these children all alone?”

“She was old.”

“No older than my mother, who is perfectly hale.”

“I suspect your mother has lived a different sort of life than Mrs. Cochran.”

“But—”

“The human body does not last forever, Lady Holland. Sometimes people simply die.” He set his hand on her shoulder. “Tommy tells me you have been here all day. You must return to the inn and take a meal before Mrs. Whittle closes her kitchen for the night. I will walk back with you.”

Calista told Tommy she would return in the morning and went with the doctor.

“What of the children?” she asked him as they trod the path to the village center in the falling light. “Who will care for them now?”

“I will write to the mine and inquire after their father. If he cannot be found … We must wait and see.”

“Thank you for your help today.”

“I did what I could. In truth, the children seemed more comforted by your presence than mine. Tommy is a strong lad, but sometimes a boy needs a mother. Here we are,” he said, opening the door of the Jolly Cockerel.

“Doctor.” She touched his arm to stay him. “What if you had only one day to heal others? Only a single day. What if tomorrow never came, as it will never come for Mrs. Cochrane?”

“If tomorrow never came? I suppose I would do my best to help those who needed me today.” He patted her hand atop his arm. “You have done a fine service to your fellow man today, Lady Holland. Do not allow grief to deny you the satisfaction of helping others. Good night.”

She ate dinner in the corner of the kitchen, feeding bits of meat to the cat and absently listening to Molly and Mrs. Whittle chatter about this and that—dirty dishes and tomorrow’s meals and the new cow Mr. Whittle would bring home as soon as the ford could be crossed. And she thought of her son.

Back in her bedchamber, she undressed slowly, crawled under the covers, and invited the cat to join her at the pillow.

“Why do you disappear each night, like everything else, when I know you are living these days just as I am?” she mumbled as she stroked its round belly. “Is it because I haven’t named you? Was he right to think me odd for that?”

It purred.

“I don’t understand what that purr means. But I suppose I shall have to accept that.”

~o0o~

Old Mary’s boom resonated through the little bedchamber. Calista slowly opened her eyes.

“Well,” she said to the ceiling swathed in shadows. “Here I am.”

She sat up and the patter of rain filled the silence between the tolls. Then she set her feet on the floor. With a simple curve of her lips, she drew in a long breath.

“Let the day begin.”

Calista paced the distance
from the millinery’s front door to the parlor.

“Fourteen feet … and a half. Which means this room is not actually rectangular. Harriet, who built this shop?”

“Oh, dear, I’ve no idea. My husband will know. Shall I go ask him?”

“No. I think we can do well enough here without his assistance, despite the disadvantages of the space. When we are finished, people will come to Swinly expressly to visit Tinkerson’s Millinery.” She set her hands on her hips. “Are you prepared to trust me?”

“But of course, Calista darling!” Harriet’s curls bobbed. “I am ever so grateful you would do this for
me,
after so many years. How wonderful it is that the flood has trapped you in Swinly.”

“How wonderful indeed.” She pursed her lips. “All right. Let us begin.”

~o0o~

“Well, my lord, I’m not right clear about it,” the carpenter murmured. “She said she’s just learned the lathe today. But she cuts the neatest bead I’ve ever seen, I’ll tell you.”

“Mm.” Tacitus watched from the doorway, the drone of the rain and the scrape of the turning tool louder than their whispers. “It took me three months to learn the best technique for cutting a candlestick. And she is making a—what did you say she’s making?”

“A decorative hat stand.”

“And she claims to be a novice?”

The carpenter bobbed his head. The woman inside the shop, bent over the table, worked the blade while turning the wood as though she had been born to it.

“Mayhap she’s a natural,” the carpenter mumbled.

“It seems so,” he mumbled back.

Lady Holland straightened, detached the wood from the lathe, and ran her gloved hand across the grain. As she tucked a loose satiny tress behind her ear, she noticed them.

“Good day, Lord Dare,” she said with a smile that made his lungs melt. “Look at this hat stand I’ve made. Isn’t it marvelous? I am especially proud of these coves.” She hefted the piece, then grabbed up an umbrella from a table and came toward them. “Thank you for the use of your tools, Mr. Briar. You were kind to halt your work to allow me to do this. Mrs. Tinkerson will reimburse you for the wood, of course.”

“Allow me,” Tacitus said, taking the umbrella from her full hands. He opened it. “May I escort you … somewhere?”

“Oh, thank you, but no. I am in something of a hurry. Good day, gentlemen.” With another bright smile, she took the umbrella from him, went into the downpour, and strode swiftly up the puddle-strewn path.

The carpenter shook his head. “Women.”

Tacitus was inclined to say instead, “Calista.” But he didn’t know the fellow well enough.

~o0o~

Calista wrapped the knitted wool around the boy’s neck and tucked the ends into his coat.

“There you are, Fred. I hope you realize this is a momentous occasion. That is my first completed muffler. If it does not unravel immediately, it is because Mrs. Elliott is a superb teacher.”

“It’s wonderful warm, mum. Can I go now?”

She smiled. “Yes. You too, girls. Mrs. Elliott’s greens need you to defend them from the sheep.”

They scampered out the door, and Calista returned her attention to the old woman on the cot. With a kerchief she wiped a tear from the corner of Mrs. Cochran’s eye and took her emaciated hand gently into her own.

“There now,” she said softly. “The children will be well. Reverend Abbott has made a place for them in the vicarage, and Dr. Appleby will write to everyone he must until he finds your son.”

The bony fingers twitched in hers.

“I know, dear,” Calista said softly. “I have a son too. I understand.”

~o0o~

“It’s good of you to come along, my lord,” Smythe said as they traversed the street that was finally empty of sheep.

“My pleasure, Smythe.”

“I could be wrong, but you don’t seem the sort to hang about in ladies’ dress shops.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

Smythe chuckled. They came to the shop door. A bell tinkled and a mild scent of roses came to him as they entered.

“Mr. Smythe, I am so glad you are here.” Lady Holland moved toward them. “Mrs. Cooke, here is Mr. Smythe from the inn today. He has been in London for several months and has a great lot to tell you about what everybody is wearing there.”

Tacitus watched her take Smythe’s arm and lead him toward the dressmaker, then release him. As the others began talking she turned to him.

“Lord Dare. What a lovely surprise. Have you come dress shopping, too?” Her eyes assessed his clothing, a spark of mischief in the clear blue.

“Why, yes,” he said. “My riding habit has a tear in the skirt, you see. I think I’ve got to have a new one.”

“Then you are in the right place.” Her eyes danced. “Do you have a preference as to color or fabric?”

“Not really.” He set down his hat on a counter. “It might surprise you to learn that I have never done this before.”

“Is that so? I admit myself astonished, really,” she said with another perusal of his clothes, and, he supposed,
him
. She was as bold in her teasing as she had been years ago.

“Until now, of course, I have typically preferred breeches.”

“I see. Then I recommend this.” She went to a bolt of cloth and stroked it so slowly that he saw the ripple of the fabric beneath her fingertips. “Gray velvet,” she said in a hush.

“Aha.” His voice felt as tight as the fall of his breeches. “Is that especially fashionable?”

“I’ve no idea. I chose it to match your eyes.” Then her attention seemed to shift away. “There is the hour. I must be going.” She took up her cloak. “Mrs. Cooke, I hope to see you later to discuss that idea I have. Good day, gentlemen.”

Her smile hit Tacitus like sunshine in the chest. As she opened the door and departed, the toll of Swinly’s church bell could be heard clanging along the street.

~o0o~

“Oh, Lady Holland, it is perfect,” Penny said reverently. “But it is so mysterious. What does it mean?”

“It means,” Calista said, setting down the sketchpad, “that I should like to introduce you to an acquaintance of mine, a gentleman who shares your interests in helping those in need.”

“In London? Papa does not intend to return to London until the autumn.”

“The gentleman is here in Swinly. The trouble is, I don’t think your mother will approve of him.”

“Why not?” Penelope touched her fingertips to the drawing of herself surrounded by children, with the silhouette of a man coming toward them. “Is he not a nobleman?”

“He is the third son of a very fine gentleman. But, no; not a nobleman.”

Penny darted a glance across the parlor and then leaned in and whispered, “Mother told me that I must fix Lord Dare’s attention, but I think he admires you. He has been watching you all evening, despite my father prosing on and on about politics.”

“I don’t know about that. But I do have a strong feeling that you and Mr. Curtis will like each other very much.”

“We are continuing on to Leeds as soon as the road is open again.” Penny’s shoulders drooped. “Mother insists I must marry well before I’ve lost my bloom, and I’m sure she means to make it so this spring. I try to tell her I don’t care about carriages and parties.”

“But she won’t listen. I understand.”

“Does …” Penelope’s cheeks glowed. “Does Mr. Curtis like children, do you think?”

“In fact I know he does. We simply must find a way for you to become acquainted without your mother intervening.”

Like the oncoming toll of the church bell, Calista could sense the marquess’s gaze on her now. She looked across the room at him, and could not resist smiling.

“Penny,” she said. “I have just thought of the ideal plan. And I know the perfect man to help us.”