Carousel of Hearts (23 page)

Numbly Simon made his way to the summerhouse. There he found Antonia curled up on the bench like a child, her knees hugged to her chest, her face marked by tears. In fact, she looked rather like Simon felt.

Antonia glanced up at his approach, tensing as if she expected a scolding.

He sat down not far from her. “Has it been difficult?”

She gave him a twisted smile. “It has, rather. I’ve made a horrible muddle of things. In particular, I’m afraid that Judith will never forgive me.”

“She was the most injured party in our little carousel of hearts,” Simon agreed, “but I saw no sign that she was angry. Judith has Adam back, and her nature is not a vindictive one.” He stopped, afraid to say any more about Judith. It was self-indulgence to talk about her. “She is well, but how are you?”

Antonia hid her face against her knees. “I feel such a complete fool. I took what seemed like a minor liberty with the truth, and the repercussions were disastrous.”

Tenderness touched Simon as he looked at the downcast red-gold head. “You mustn’t be so hard on yourself, Antonia. No one’s life or reputation was irreparably damaged. None of us were being really honest, except for Adam.”

Startled, Antonia raised her head again. “What do you mean?”

“After Adam’s accident, I talked to Judith before coming out to Thornleigh. She told me of her betrothal to Adam and about your alleged betrothal to him,” Simon explained. “We made an educated guess about what had happened, and decided to see if we could encourage you to change your mind.”

Having started, he might as well make a clean breast of it. “When I called on you and said that I had accepted the fact that you and I would not suit, I wasn’t telling the truth.”

She eyed him curiously. “You were very convincing.”

“I was surprised myself to learn what a talent for duplicity I have,” Simon admitted. “I planned all along to return to Thornleigh after you had had time to recover from your anger. Adam’s accident just brought me back a bit sooner.”

Lord Launceston’s explanation clarified a few things; if Simon and Judith were playing roles, that overseen kiss could have been simulated in an effort to make Antonia jealous. It would have worked, too, under other circumstances.

“I think I see Judith’s fine strategic hand at work,” Antonia said reflectively.  “Such plotting seems too devious to be the product of a masculine mind.”

Simon smiled. “Perhaps women are better students of human nature and better able to predict how others will act or react.”

“There is some truth to that. Certainly Judith knows me well enough to have a fair idea of how I will behave most of the time.” Antonia admired the harmonious planes of Simon’s face. Having him at Thornleigh would certainly have ended Antonia’s engagement to Adam, had it not been for the minor fact that she had fallen in love with her cousin.

It was all very dismal to contemplate. With a lightning leap of illogic, Antonia said abruptly, “I’ve always wondered how you can be so exquisitely dressed when you obviously haven’t the least interest in fashion.”

At Simon’s startled glance, she colored and his her face. “I’m sorry. My mind isn’t working too well just now.”

His voice held amusement, not perturbation. “One of the best things about you, Antonia, is your unexpectedness.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s also one of the worst things about me.”

Simon considered her words gravely. “I wouldn’t disagree with that,” he said at length, but with humor in his deep blue eyes.

Antonia’s smile became genuine. She wouldn’t have thought it possible a few minutes ago. After Adam, Simon really was her favorite man in the world.

“To answer your sartorial question,” he said, “when I returned to England, my older sister said that she had no hope that I would ever be a man of fashion, but that she would not permit the head of the family to look like an underpaid country curate. She then informed me that she had found the perfect valet, if Stinson could be persuaded to work for me.”

Curious, Antonia asked, “What makes him the perfect valet?” Conversation with Simon was starting to leaven her black depression of guilt and loss.

“The fact that he is a true artist,” he explained. “Almost all first-class valets want their masters to be seen and admired as a reflection of their own skills. My sister knew I was unlikely to spend much time in fashionable circles, so most good valets would not deign to waste their time on me. Stinson, however, believes in art for its own sake.”

“So as long as you look wonderful,” Antonia guessed, “his sense of satisfaction is so profound that he doesn’t need the admiration of others?”

“Exactly. First he interviewed me.” Simon smiled reminiscently. “My sister brought him to my hotel in London. He circled me two or three times, muttering very personal remarks. Then he went through my wardrobe, fingering my coats as if they had just been fished out of the Thames and sneering at my linen.”

Antonia chuckled. “Lord, I wish I had been there!. And you permitted this?”

“You don’t know my sister,” he said. “Besides, I was amused. After making me swear I would buy only from the merchants he approved of, wear only the garments he allowed, and generally follow his orders precisely, he consented to take me on. Within two hours, he had me at Weston’s and was ordering a complete new wardrobe.”

“One can see why he decided that you were worthy of his efforts,” Antonia agreed, scanning Simon’s lean, elegant frame, from beautifully shaped head to perfectly formed calves.

“Whatever,” Simon said indifferently. “I wear what he hands me. He seems happy, and in return I never have to waste a moment’s thought on clothing. It’s an ideal arrangement.”

Antonia gave him a affectionate look. “Thank you for cheering me up, I feel a little less villainous now.” Belatedly becoming aware of her unladylike posture, she set her feet back on the ground and made a token gesture toward straightening her rumpled muslin dress.

“You don’t look villainous. You look quite enchanting.”

Antonia gave him a look compounded of shyness and uncertainty. “Simon, are you courting me?”

He looked blank. “I’m really not sure.” Long silence. “You seemed very happy with Adam.”

“I was. But that Adam doesn’t exist anymore. Divine retribution of some sort, I imagine.” Antonia brushed her hair back with a tired hand. “Do you think that you and I could rub along comfortably?” She smiled faintly. “I shouldn’t be asking you that. If there were to be problems, they would be my fault. Your disposition is much better than mine.”

“You really are much too critical of yourself,” Simon said gently. Antonia looked so vulnerable in her loveliness that he felt an impulse to take her in his arms. On further consideration, he did so.

Antonia nestled gratefully into his familiar embrace. It felt very good to be held and cared for. It also helped her lacerated emotions to know that when Simon left Thornleigh it had not been because he despised her. It was just another example of their dissimilar approaches to problems.

“I’ve learned a lot in the last few weeks,” she said in a small voice. “I wouldn’t plague you anywhere near as much.”

Simon chuckled. “That’s a very unromantic declaration, if declaration it is.”

“I have given up on romance.” Antonia leaned back in his embrace, her cinnamon-brown eyes meeting his. Adam and Simon were different in many ways, but one thing they had in common was a deep and abiding kindness.

Next to love, she wanted kindness more than anything. “Shall we try again, older and wiser?”

Why not? They had come full circle. Simon was no longer dazzled by infatuation, but the mixture of tenderness and desire that he felt was very potent. While no other woman could fit his mind and spirit as well as Judith, Antonia would come closer than any other. And he did care for her, a great deal.

“I still have the telescope, and I don’t know anyone else who would appreciate it as much as you.’’ Antonia’s flawless countenance was a study in contradictions, with both doubt and longing visible.

Simon had to laugh. “What astronomer could possibly resist a woman with a dowry like that?” He dropped a kiss on top of her bright head. “It seems that we are meant to marry.”

“Thank you, Simon,” Antonia said, resting her head on his shoulder. It was an odd way to reach an agreement to marry, but then, it had been a very odd day.

* * * *

When he had talked with Judith long enough for civility’s sake, Adam went riding, needing to stretch his mind and muscles alone among the hills. He felt brittle, as if a hard knock might shatter him.

After a mad gallop burned off the worst of his restless energy, he slowed to a more civilized pace.  It was the worst irony of his life that he should briefly obtain the one thing he desired above all others, yet not remember a single damned moment of it.

To marry Antonia was more than a dream. It had been his lifelong obsession, though he had known the chances of achieving his goal were almost nonexistent. Then, by an absurd set of circumstances, Antonia had decided to accept him.

More than accepting—she had looked happy.  The one recollection he retained was waking up in the summerhouse to the sight of her face smiling down into his.  The feel of her lips lingered on his forehead and her body was softly welcoming.

But he had been confused and disoriented, and the incident was over before he had time to savor it. A lifetime’s hard experience had taught him just how dangerous it was to be near his cousin. Had he understood what was happening, he would not have been so quick to stand and move away from her.

It would have been easy to reach up and pull her head down for a kiss, and she would have welcomed it… His stomach knotted from the devastating knowledge that he had wasted the opportunity of a lifetime.

Inevitably, Adam made his way to the Aerie. Too restless to sit and admire the sky, he paced the length of the small ledge, thinking of the many times he had been here with Antonia, most recently to comfort her on the loss of Simon.

Then she had been racked with grief. Yet when he looked at the grass, what he imagined was making love to her. With heart-stopping clarity he saw her laughing up at him, her exquisite face shining with love and framed with the red-gold richness of her hair. The image was so realistic that he could taste her lips, feel the silken warmth of her skin beneath his hand.

He turned away, aching. While more vivid, it was the same dream he had experienced countless times during the years of exile. During bouts with alien fevers, in tropical hellholes where tormenting heat prevented sleep, Adam had always dreamed of England—and of Antonia.

It was better to be moving, so he returned to his horse and made his way along the narrow trails he had known in childhood. He was unalterably committed to Judith, a woman he esteemed and cared for. He could never betray her.

By now Antonia would have reconciled with Simon, a man who had a thousand times more to offer than Adam did: legitimate birth, a title, a face like a young god, and the more enduring assets of intelligence and character.

Antonia’s happiness meant more to Adam than his own. If Simon would make her happy, the couple would have Adam’s sincere blessing.

Yet surely as a reward for painfully difficult and honorable behavior, Adam should be allowed to remember a few more moments of Antonia looking at him as if they were truly lovers?

* * * *

It was late afternoon when Adam returned to the house. He entered the hall just as the butler was greeting a visitor, an energetic man with prematurely white hair and a Scots burr.

The newcomer recognized Adam, though recognition was not mutual. A few sentences established the conditions under which they had met, and that Antonia had asked Dr. Kinlock to visit Thornleigh on his return trip to London. Within a few more moments, the physician was cheerfully taking stock of his erstwhile patient in the drawing room.

The examination involved a cursory look at Adam’s head (“Healing well. You must have a skull like an elephant, Mr. Yorke,”) and a much more lengthy set of questions about his amnesia and memory recovery. When the doctor began to take notes, Adam asked in an edged voice, “Now can I ask you some questions and get some answers?”

“Of course.” Kinlock grinned disarmingly. “Sorry to be taking so much intellectual pleasure in what has been a dangerous and harrowing experience for you, but amnesia is a rare condition, and a fascinating one. It raises so many questions about the role of memory in personality and identity.”

He set his notebook aside. “Ask away, and I’ll do my best to answer.”

“Will there be any long term effects of the head injury. And will I ever remember the three weeks between the injury and full memory recovery?”

“Given the completeness of your recovery, I think you are unlikely to have serious physical problems in the future. Headaches for a while perhaps, but that would be the worst.”

Kinlock paused for a drink of the tea that had been brought for his travel-weary throat. “As for the three weeks you lost, there’s a good chance you’ll remember at least some of that time. Eventually, you might recollect almost everything except the time directly before and after the accident, but I can’t guarantee that.”

Adam nodded, satisfied. After convincing the physician that it was too late in the day to continue his journey and that Lady Antonia would take it as a personal insult if Kinlock didn’t spend the night, Adam summoned the butler to escort the guest to a bedchamber.

Then he retired to his own room. It eased some of the ache to be able to hope that in time he might remember some of what he had lost.

* * * *

Judith had gone to her room to rest when Adam went riding, and she didn’t see Antonia until just before dinner. Judith had just finished applying a subtle rouge to her pale face when a knock on the door heralded Antonia’s arrival.

Her employer was wearing the sari that Adam had brought back from India, and her apricot hair was dressed high on her head with a gold chain woven through. She looked quite staggeringly beautiful.

Antonia halted just inside the door, her back braced tensely and her face reflecting uncertainty. “Judith, I owe you the most profound apology. Can you ever forgive me?”