Elisabeth Fairchild (18 page)

He could see, by the fluttering of her lashes and the ragged quality of her breath, that she was as conscious of his nearness, as he was of hers. Tension stretched between them like a wire. His hands stilled on her shoulders, and in the instant before he released his hold on her, and stepped back off the curricle step, he bowed his head ever so slightly over the sweet crown of her hat to drink in the smell of her hair. His eyes closed for an instant. With the longing to announce himself and his feelings for her like a great weight on his chest, he pulled away, and jumped down off the step, so that the carriage rocked again, in a most unsettling manner.

“Thank you.” Her voice trembled slightly. In the dimming light he could see her tuck the garment about her shoulders, and lean briefly into the fabric, eyes shut, as though to hide tear-stained cheeks.

Intimate, that action. Beau dared to hand her his handkerchief. As she took it, she clutched the hand in which he held it out to her. “Thank you, Mr. Ferd, for putting my mind at ease about Boots, and for the beauty of this view. The road does almost appear to be paved in gold in this light.”

He returned, for an instant, the pressure of her grasp. “A-A-And in your estimation, Miss Quinby?” His voice dropped almost to a whisper, so that she leaned closer in order to hear. “Do you believe that gold paves the road to happiness?”

“I do not know.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I do know that its absence has brought hardship to my family. I should like to do important things with my life, some of which involve money, or the influence that comes with it. I cannot in good conscience tell you that I hold myself aloof from its lure.”

He made a show of busying himself with the lighting of the carriage lamps. “What important things do you think that you can accomplish with money?” He was genuinely curious.

She looked at him as if his question were remarkable. “How can you ask such a thing? There is a magic in money. Not only does it make life quite comfortable, it has the capacity, when used judiciously, to enrich the lives of all those around one as well. Why you, yourself, pointed out to me how much difference one alms house, built nearly a century ago, has made in the lives of the poor and disabled. Money is all that stood between me and the peace and happiness I would buy for Boots. What a wonderful thing to have such power at one’s fingertips."

Silence sat softly between them. What light still hung in the evening sky, was caught up in the earnest planes of her face, lending her a painterly beauty of light and shadow that any artist who had regarded her would have identified as chiaroscuro, and the man before her regarded as the irrepressible glow of her spirit.

“These things you mean to do with money? They would make you happy, even if you did not love the husband who made that money available to you?” he asked in all seriousness.

“I think it would,” she said slowly. “Yes. I believe that am I not fortunate enough to find love, I can find some fulfillment and satisfaction, some function and purpose in the works I may accomplish. I do of course realize that any husband indulgent enough to allow me free rein with my own allowance, must be worthy of very high esteem.”

“But, love does not enter i-i-into the picture?” he pressed, disappointed in her attitude.

She bowed her head into the collar of his overcoat. “It would be ideal if it did, Mr. Ferd, but while I know little of love, never having fallen prey to its lures, I am well schooled, as are all young women of my acquaintance, in the necessity of findinsuitable match. The alternatives are extremely unpalatable.”

The Duke of Heste stood back from the carriage, distressed by her words. Here it was again, marriage and money, clinging together like strange lovers. There was a moment in which he had considered telling her who he was. He might have her in an instant did he but do so, she had as much as told him so. But, then this entire charade as coachman would be for naught. He could never then be certain which she loved, him or his money. He did not reveal himself. Instead, he circled the carriage, to light the second lamp. “Any road, when viewed in the right light, can a-a-appear golden, and prove in a-actuality, to be gilded by nothing more than a trick of light,” he said softly.

“And what of yourself, Mr. Ferd?” she asked. “What road do you follow? Are you not to be taken in by the glitter of anything? Can you honestly say to me that you eschew wealth, power and marriage?”

He laughed. “I do in point of fact, avoid them.”

She looked doubtfully at him. “I do not understand.”

It seemed suddenly vital that she should do so. Beau found himself articulating feelings he had never before found words to explain.

“Money and power carry also with them great responsibility-- a crushing weight of it a-a-at times. The fate of many rest in the palm of a r-r-rich man. His blessing becomes a curse. The behavior of everyone who comes into contact with such a man is changed by his money. Money breeds jealousy and resentment and contempt. It creates grovelers and boot-lickers and beggars out of decent upstanding fellows. How does a wealthy man discern between friend and foe, when both come, hands out, ready to ingratiate themselves on his good graces, hoping for the benefits money brings while a-accepting none of its burden. In marriage too, consider how difficult it must be for a man with wealth to determine whether love is based on mutual understanding, or the thought of mutual a-assets!”

Nell looked amazed by his outburst. “You speak with great passion in regard to this subject, sir.”

“I do, for while I mean both to better myself and to marry, I will not change my circumstances blindly.”

“And what do men look for in women, Mr. Ferd, besides a pretty face and a biddable nature? I have often wondered, but possessed myself of no brothers whom I might ask.”

“I cannot speak for men in general, Miss Quinby, only for this man in particular.” There was something intensely personal in what he meant to convey to her there in the twilight. It changed the timbre of his voice as much as the loss of the sun changed the sky.

Even with the warmth of his coat about her, she shivered. “Speak then, for yourself, Mr. Ferd. What do you seek in a wife?”

He began softly, for he wanted very much for his words to fall kindly on her ears. “I seek a-a-a woman of great beauty. Not physical beauty, which suffers under the hands of time, but a beauty of m-mind and spirit that grows and matures with the passing of the years. I seek too, a female with spirit and intelligence a-a-and the patience to kindly ignore the failings of my tongue.”

Her mouth formed a little oh, as if she chanced to find said tongue rather eloquent.

“Such a woman would have a neatness about her, a sense of taste and refinement. She laughs a-at life-- and values honesty a-a-and compassion. She is one who recognizes what is morally right, and has the courage to stand by it.”

A small frown affected the angle of her brows. “This woman you seek sounds a paragon. Do you think she exists? And, if she does, will she have you when you he found her?”

Beau laughed. “That remains to be seen. Money may stand in our way. Tell me, would you marry me, Miss Quinby?”

She frowned at him, as if she could make out neither his face nor his meaning with any clarity. Then she smiled, and gave her head a little toss, and said lightly, as if it were no great thing he asked her, “I do not think you should be happy if I did, Mr. Ferd. I am not at all the ideal female you describe.”

With a bow, for there was something in her tone that spoke unmistakably of dismissal, Beau returned to his bench, touched up the horses, and took her back to her aunt’s home.

All the way there, he thought of what she had said about the happiness that his newfound wealth and power could bring. He had never considered his inheritance in such a light, regarding it always as more of a burden than a blessing.

Behind him, Nell seemed equally occupied with her thoughts. She allowed him to hand her down when they reached the steps that led to her aunt’s house, and she thanked him prettily for curing her headache, easing her mind with regard to Boots, and for loaning her his coat, which she returned to him. She would not meet his eyes, in the light from the doorway however, and fled quickly up the steps and through the door as if making an escape.

It was not until he threw the greatcoat about his broad shoulders, that the new Duke of Heste realized how devastated he would be if this fair creature did in the end refuse him, for trapped in the folds of fabric, almost overpowered by the smell of horses, and his own musky scent, was, very faint, a trace of her; of soap and violets, enticingly feminine.

As a light bloomed in the window above and he chirruped to the horses to drive them back to the mews, Lord Brampton Beauford thought long and hard about truth, and half-truths, and his own golden road to happiness.

Chapter Thirteen

Nell felt troubled and elated as she fled up the stairs to her room, where she paced about, flinging aside the confinement of her clothes, that she might breathe more freely. Conversation with Mr. Ferd left her feeling strangely winded. Her dress lay in a puddle on the floor, and then one by one her petticoats, stockings and corset. Only when she roamed about her room like an impatient ghost in flowing chemise, hair unpinned, did she feel as if her breath came easy. She had spent the entire week in conversation with a whole host of eligible bachelors. Why should the one man she might not have, a coachman of all things, make her heart leap and stomach flutter?

Why was it he who concerned himself with what mattered most to her? With no other gentleman did she plunge so fluidly into the very heart of discussion. Why did she long for the sound of his voice, his whistle, his step? Why did she yearn for blue-eyed looks that would seem to make her very backbone go soft? No other hand burned so hot against hers. No other set of lips would seem to beckon. In torment when he was beside her and even greater torment when he was not, Nell felt she had been knocked off balance. She hadn’t the faintest notion of how to regain equilibrium. Was this what it meant to fall head over ears? Could it be that she tumbled headlong in love with a coachman? Unthinkable, and yet she thought of nothing and no one else.

The idea was preposterous, even frightening. Could she honestly see herself happy as a coachman’s wife, withstanding the certain censure of family and friends in sinking so beneath her station? Nell paced the room, until exhausted by the whirl of insistent thoughts she extinguished the light, convinced that in so doing she symbolically snuffed out all feeling for Beau Ferd as well. The part of her mind that formed dreams was not so convinced. She woke halfway through the night, to pace again.

It was, strangely enough, the easy intimacy of her conversation with Mr. Ferd, that made Nell profoundly uneasy in his company the following day. She had emotionally undressed herself before this young man. How terrifying, such nakedness. He had gone so far as to ask her if she would have him. Unsure just how she should go on with a coachman she had so stripped herself before, Nell sought safety in withdrawal, both in person and in speech.

Such a distancing, she reasoned, was not only prudent but necessary, as an affirmation of all they had discussed. She had allowed herself to become far too familiar. She had allowed too much to be revealed to a pair of penetrating blue eyes. If she did not rein in tongue and emotion, she would find herself embarrassingly compromised.

On the following morning, in order to accomplish this desired detachment, Nell carefully avoided the unspoken language in Mr. Ferd’s blue eyes when he asked how her head was.

“Fine, thank you,” she lied, for she felt far worse this morning than she had the night before. Coolly, she turned her back on him as her aunt outlined her requirements for the carriage that day, and with every fiber of strength she resisted the impulse to watch him go. With a great show of self-control she refused to look out of the window as he crossed before it, and tried very hard not to listen as he cheerfully whistled a bit from Beethoven’s second symphony in passing through the garden gate.

Such restraint required concentration. Nell had not realized how great a toll such effort took, until her aunt turned to her over their nuncheon to ask, “Are you feeling quite all right, Nell? You are looking most dreadfully pulled, and I have yet to hear a single light-hearted or teasing remark pass your lips. It is most unlike you. Perhaps you had best forgo Mrs. Lowden’s tea this afternoon, in favor of a bathing cure. I shall send Mr. Ferd back with the curricle if you like.”

Nell blanched at the prospect of an afternoon in which she and Mr. Ferd should have the curricle to themselves. She meant to avoid him, not take herself off alone with him again.

“I do believe I shall cry off from the tea, Auntie. There are some letters I have promised myself I shall write.”

Ursula Dunn patted her cheek. “Quite right, my dear. I forgot you are unaccustomed to so much activity. A quiet afternoon with nothing to do is just the thing to calm your nerves. We cannot have you losing all your looks right before the Prince and his crowd descend upon the town, now can we?”