Anne Barbour (18 page)

“I never said I would try to attract him. If you’ll recall, I said only that I would do the things you asked—learning Greek, and fly-tying and all the rest. And I said I would practice the conversational arts you taught me.”

“Well, isn’t that—?”

Sally lifted her hand. “Yes, I did mislead you—but, if I’d told you what I had in mind, you would have fled The Ridings and never returned.”

“You see,” she continued, when Charlie again made no response, “when you first proposed this incredible tontine scheme of yours, my first response was to refuse outright. Then I began to think over the possibilities. Your plan involved your spending a great deal of time with me, and I hoped ...” Sally flushed to her roots. “That is—you see, I had observed a change in you. You had become more mature in your outlook, and serious about making a life for yourself on your own. In short, my dearest, you had at last grown from a boy to a man, and I hoped the time had come for you to know your own heart as well.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, please, Charlie, don’t be angry. I know I must seem like a scheming, manipulating harpy, but...”

Charlie reached to touch her hand. “Scheming, yes, and manipulating, too, but you are constitutionally unfit to be a harpy.” He smiled. “How can I be angry at having been the target of such a—a loving plot? It is surprising to me, however, that after so much time in your company, Sedge did not fall head over tail in love with you.”

“Oh.” Sally’s eyes fell once more to her hands, which were engaged in twisting the little silver bracelet. “Actually, I did not spend all that much time with him. Most of the hours he spent here were in Elizabeth’s company.”

There was another long silence before Charlie responded with a grin. “And I suppose that was your doing?”

“Um.” By now the silver bracelet was twinkling in the candlelight as it fairly spun about on Sally’s wrist. “I noticed that when they first met, an expression came into Sedge’s eyes that—well, I thought it couldn’t hurt for them to, er, get to know each other better. After all, Sedge is, as you pointed out so assiduously, an excellent catch, and I thought it a perfect opportunity for Elizabeth. And she was in such raptures over him, I knew I would not be forcing anything to let—to let nature take its course.”

Charlie burst into laughter. “I think it is you who should take up a career in diplomacy. You will make a much better negotiator than I. With your talents, you would have every head of state in Europe eating out of your hand within moments of meeting you.”

“As to that, Charlie, I think you need not worry about a career with the Foreign Office. You see, Sedge wishes to marry Elizabeth within the next three months. He says he has no qualms about marrying without his parents’ approval, but he would just as soon present to them a fait accompli when they come home at that time. I think we can wait until after that, don’t you—for twelve thousand pounds?” She dimpled engagingly at him, and Charlie took her in his arms once more.

“If you persist in looking at me in that fashion, I fear the ceremony will come too late if it is not held within the next five minutes.”

“Charlie, you shock me,” she said, nestling further into his arms. “Actually, I was thinking we should wait until next Valentine’s Day to be married. Don’t you think that would be apropos?”

“No, I do not. I think three months and one day would be more like. And I shall make every day Valentine’s Day for you, my little love.”

“Why Charlie”—Sally giggled—”I think that is quite the most poetic thing you have ever said to me.”

“Yes,” replied Charlie consideringly. “It probably is, and I hope you won’t get used to it. That sort of thing is terribly wearing on a fellow, you know.”

With that, in order to silence the protest he saw rising to her lips, he pressed his mouth on hers once more, and silence reigned in the conservatory.

**

…AND A SIXPENCE FOR HER SHOE

It was a glorious day in Hampshire. The June sun spilled its warmth on parkland and fields, bees buzzed contentedly among the blossoms, birds filled the air with song glorious enough for a cathedral, and a soft, scented breeze stirred glossy green leaves in the trees that sheltered a certain country residence.

The watcher in an upstairs window, however, remained oblivious to the beauty that lay before her. She stood, tall and slender, the polished coils of her auburn hair reflecting shafts of sunlight. She stared intently at the carriage that approached the house down a long graveled drive, and instinctively, her hand went to a small pendant tucked, as always, beneath her gown of jonquil muslin.

“Drew.” Catherine Edgebrooke breathed the name. In just a few moments, he would enter her home for the first time in three years. Would he greet her courteously, taking her hand in his and brushing her fingertips with his lips? Or would he merely murmur a careless, “Good morning,” as he handed his hat and gloves to the butler. Lord, what if he would not speak to her at all? It would hardly be wondered at, she thought with an uncomfortable squirm.

Sighing, Catherine turned away from the window, glancing at her image in the mirror. She had taken a great deal of care in preparing for this visit. Perhaps it had been foolish to array herself in her most becoming gown, for it certainly would not matter to Drew. She moved, to the other side of the room and reached for the handle to the door of her bedchamber, only to be brought up short as a vigorous knock sounded. It was followed almost immediately by the entrance of a tall, lithe gentleman whose red hair seemed to blaze ahead of him into the room.

“Cathy! He’s here. Are you ready?” The young man grasped her arm and turned her about for his inspection. “Well, you’re looking quite toothsome, indeed. If Drew doesn’t respond to that very fetching gown, we’ll know you’re in trouble.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, John.” Catherine wrenched herself from her brother’s grip. “You know perfectly well he hasn’t come to see me at all. And what we are to tell him when he finds out that Helen—”

“Never mind that,” said John peremptorily. “The thing you must keep in mind is what you’ll say to Drew when you see him. He is changed, you know. War does that to a man, even without the—the disfigurement he suffered. You’d hardly recognize him. His face—well, the scar is not as bad as he described to me. Even his arm—there is some mobility there, even though his left hand is almost totally useless—and the rest—Lord, I don’t know. He’s changed—inside, and outside. He seems totally ruined. As for Helen”—he added after a moment—”Drew will have to be told the truth almost immediately.”

“Dear God,” whispered Catherine. “How am I—?”

But they had reached the head of the main staircase that led to the entrance hall below. John patted her arm. “I’d better go hunt down Mama and Papa. They will want to be on hand to greet Drew.” He turned away.

“No!” Catherine clutched at him, panic-stricken. “Don’t leave me.”

“Nonsense,” replied John reassuringly. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

The next moment he was gone, leaving Catherine to stare after him in agonized indecision.

The sound of voices in the hall below caused her to whirl in that direction. Seldon, the butler, had just opened the door to admit a man who limped noticeably as he entered.

Andrew Carter, the second son of the Earl of Barnstaple, replied gravely to the butler’s murmured words.

“Yes, thank you, Seldon, It’s good to be home.”

It was not, of course, thought Drew, but one glance at the servant’s horrified demeanor led to this hurried assurance. Damn, it was still hard to get used to the effect his face had on people, or to the sick sensation their response created within him. Handing his hat and gloves to the man, he proceeded into the hall and then toward the morning room that he knew lay to his right. He halted suddenly at the sight of the slender figure moving toward him down the great front stairway.

His throat constricted despite himself as he watched Catherine’s approach. God, she was more beautiful than ever. He had expected that her willful selfishness would have displayed itself by now in a sharpening of her features or a hardening of her expression, but no, her eyes were still glowing pools of silver and her face—with its straight nose and wide, generous mouth—was that of an engaging gamin. She was all the vital warmth of the summer day, wrapped in a gown the color of sunshine.

Almost defensively, Drew’s thoughts flew to Helen. His gaze swung about the hall. Somehow, he had expected that she would be the first person to greet him at Greengroves.

“Drew.”

He started at the sound of his name. Her voice, too, was unchanged, still retaining that unique blend of melody and a certain seductive smokiness. He turned back to her and lifted his face. Silently, he absorbed the expression of shock in her eyes and the revulsion that surely lay beneath it.

“Catherine.” he said, as she floated toward him down the stairs.

Catherine felt her insides clench. She couldn’t do this. She simply could not do it. She could not bear to utter vapid nothings as though Drew were a stranger come to call. Though, he was, of course. A stranger. Dear God, if she had met him on the street she would not have known him. John was right. The laughing young man she had known since she was a child had been transformed into a gaunt, stony figure who fairly radiated pain and weariness. He seemed larger than when she had last seen him. Certainly, his shoulders had broadened during his absence, she mused almost abstractedly. His hair, dark as midnight was longer than he had used to wear it, and slightly shaggy. His eyes were as expressionless and black as coal chips. And then there was the scar. It ran, harsh and jagged from high up on his left temple to a point just under his jawline. Her gaze dropped, only to encounter the sight of his left arm, hanging uselessly at his side. She almost put out a hand to him, before withdrawing it quickly. What he must have suffered!

“It’s good to see you. Drew.” She almost cried aloud at the inanity of her words. What must he think of her? Once again, she noted his searching glance about the hall. Of course. He was not thinking of her at all. She took a deep breath. “Please, let us go into the morning room and I’ll ring for tea.”

Without waiting for a response, she swept past him, and, wordlessly, he followed. In the morning room, Catherine gestured Drew to a comfortable settee and took a chair near him.

“John will be here presently,” she said. “He has gone to fetch Mama and Papa.” She hesitated. “I am so sorry about—what happened to you, and—” she lifted her hand, only to be met with a furious scowl.

“It is not necessary,” he growled, “to mouth meaningless platitudes, Catherine. I know precisely how grieved you must have been at hearing of my, ah, contretemps.”

“Oh, Drew! No! I would not—

“Never mind,” he continued impatiently as she lifted a hand in protest. “I remember, even if you do not, your singular benediction when I left, after, of course, your vows of vengeance.” Catherine flinched, and he took a deep breath. “In any event, I am here this morning to—

“My dear boy, you are here at last!”

The voice issued from a plump, middle-aged woman who bustled into the room. Behind her hurried a gray-haired gentleman, and, bringing up the rear, was John.

The woman fairly flung herself into Drew’s arms, but a moment later, when she tilted her head to look up at him, she gasped. “Drew! Oh, heavens, what have they done to you? My dear boy, does it hurt terribly?”

As though embarrassed by his wife’s gaucherie, the gentleman surged forward.

“Rose! That will do.”

Gently thrusting the woman aside, he grasped Drew’s good hand and shook it awkwardly. “Never mind, my boy, she means well. And we are glad to see you, of course.”

Drew bowed courteously. “As I am to see you, Sir Martin—and Lady Edgebrooke.” He widened his greeting to include the plump little woman, now twittering in agitation.

“Yes—yes, but do let us sit down,” she said breathlessly, fairly hurtling into the settee next to Catherine.

“Please do not distress yourself, my lady,” continued Drew, “I appreciate your concern. No, the pain is minimal now, except for an occasional twinge.” He bent a reassuring smile on Lady Edgebrooke, who returned it with unspoken gratitude.

“Still,” she continued, patting his knee, “it must have been perfectly wretched for you.”

“Yes. Mama,” interposed John, ‘‘and I’m sure Drew would rather not discuss it just at the moment. I say,” he continued hastily, turning to his friend, “now that you’re here, perhaps we can steal away for a little fishing. We have plenty of time before luncheon.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, John.” said Lady Edgebrooke in some displeasure, “Drew will wish to talk with Catherine. They have much to discuss.”

Sir Martin nodded in agreement, and everyone glanced expectantly at Drew, except for Catherine, who flushed and cast her gaze to her fingers, twisting in her lap.

Drew said nothing, however, and an awkward silence fell. When Seldon arrived with refreshments, he was greeted with an almost audible sigh of relief. Over the cups, however, the silence seemed to grow louder, and when Drew spoke at last, Catherine jumped.

“I do not see Miss Carstairs,” he said, an odd note in his voice.

Catherine’s breath caught and a chill flooded through her.

Sir Martin and his wife stared blankly at Drew. “Why.” said Lady Edgebrooke, “Helen is no longer in my employ. She left us not two weeks ago to be married.”

“Married!” Drew almost gasped the word. “Helen Carstairs is—? But she never—I don’t understand.”

Oh, God, thought Catherine, he looked as though someone had just struck him a terminal blow. Oh, God, oh, God. What had she done? She turned her attention to her mother, who had continued in the bright tone of one trying to control a conversation that is slowly unraveling.