Elisabeth Kidd (6 page)

“Good God,” was all he could say, thunderstruck, when she had finished explaining the contents of the will to which she had been a witness when it was last amended.

“Just so,” said Dulcie dryly. “I was instructed by the solicitors not to reveal this to the family, but no one thought to warn me about you. Yet, I take it that this is not entirely an appalling notion to you?”

“She will never consent,” he said.

“The circumstances are not propitious,” Dulcie agreed, and he had to smile at her understatement.

After some thought, he had said he would not be present at the reading of the will after all. “I cannot see that my presence will serve to do more than set Lady Sabina even more firmly against me than ever. We must contrive some way to present myself as the most favorable of her options.”

Dulcie agreed to think about how this might be achieved, but neither of them expected an answer to materialize as it did, and so soon. Unfortunately, Sabina’s accident was now beginning to look to Robert more like an exacerbation of the original problem than a solution. And when he informed Bill and George that they could return to their boat until the next morning, he was no nearer an answer. He went directly to the village and sent an urgent request to Dulcie for a meeting.

The two conspirators had maintained an active correspondence since immediately after Sabina’s accident. Robert had given her the particulars of Sabina’s condition, and Dulcie had told the family that Sabina had gone to stay with Dulcie’s mother until she could come to a decision regarding her part in her father’s last wishes.

“We must think of some way to restore her memory without making you the cause of her misfortune,” Dulcie said over afternoon tea two hours later when they met again at the inn in Ashtonbury village.

“I fear I have already sunk myself too deep in the circumstances of her accident to extricate myself with any grace,” Robert lamented. “I am fairly certain that she would not have recognized me had I walked into Bromleigh Hall on the day the will was read, but there is no question now that when she regains her memory, she will know that I have deceived her.”

“It seems to me that you had a perfectly good reason not to reveal yourself to her,” Dulcie said bracingly. “We should not want to
shock
her into returning to reality, after all.”

“Nonetheless, I suspect that may be the best course at this juncture,” he said, adding wryly, “Indeed, it has been my justification for every half-truth and downright lie I have told her. But how?”

Dulcie was silent for a moment, pensively stirring her tea, before saying, “I have a plan….”

Robert heard her out and made further suggestions, and they parted shortly thereafter with the intention of putting their plan into action the following day.

It was not until the canal came into sight again that he remembered his goal of making Sabina fall in love with him, in the hope that she would forgive his deception when she became aware of it, as was inevitable. He had very little time left, yet too much had perhaps already passed.

* * * *

Sabina paced the deck restlessly. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He had said he would come again in the morning. It was almost noon!

She had lain in her narrow cot the night before scarcely able to sleep—or so it had seemed, for she dreamed of James Owen whenever she dropped off to sleep, only to wake herself with the joy of her dreams. She remembered coming up on deck at least once in the night, when the moon was still up and the light on the canal gave the scene a magical quality. The air was sweet and warm, and she slept briefly in a chair on the deck, until something awakened her.

It was darker then, and she felt a distinct sensation of panic, as if some disaster were about to befall her. Would she inadvertently give herself away? Would James despise her when he learned the truth? Should she tell him herself before it was too late? Or was it already?

By morning, however, she had nearly forgotten the trick she had played on James—and on Rose and George, too, for that matter—in pretending not to know who she was. That gave her slight pause, for they were nothing but hospitable towards her, and she much regretted the possibility that they might think badly of her.

Yet she contrived to put her contrition aside, and as the morning wore on could think only of seeing James again. Would he be the same? Would he make her feel as she had when she woke to find him hovering over her in concern the day before? She wanted nothing more at this moment than to prolong that feeling—even to persuade him to return it.

Despite her eagerness, she did not see his approach until he had boarded the boat, for at that moment she was waving to the crew of another narrowboat edging past them on the canal.

“You look as if you belong here, Miranda,” James said beside her.

Startled, she turned laughing eyes at him. “I feel as if I do,” she said. Impulsively, she reached around his broad shoulders to give him a hug, then, suddenly aware of the impropriety of her action, flushed and stepped back.

“I do beg your pardon—”

“Please do not. I am delighted.”

“I mean—that is, I
am
glad to see you. I feared you would not be able to come.”

“I’m sorry I could not come earlier. Is that Rose’s pinafore?”

She laughed and spread out her skirts. “She let it down for me—not enough, I fear, although one of her larger jackets is precisely the right size. And of course her boots would not fit me, but happily mine have dried and not shrunk. Do you like my hat?”

He put his hand on his chin and pretended to study the wide-brimmed straw hat which covered a borrowed mob cap and said, “Very fetching.”

She laughed. “Well, at least it will keep me from getting freckled in the sun.”

“Have you had your nuncheon?” he asked.

“No, Rose wanted to wait for you, and I agreed.”

He took her hand and led her to the corner of the deck where they had taken breakfast the day before. “Sit down. I’ll help Rose with the food.”

Sabina half rose, protesting, “I am much better, truly—let me help.”

“Nonsense. I like to wait on you.”

She blushed again and sat down, but he had not yet let go of her hand, and for a moment longer he held it as he backed slowly away, his eyes never leaving her face.

“I won’t be a moment,” he said, breaking the connection at last. Then he disappeared into the galley.

A short time later, he emerged with a straw hamper covered with a cloth and held it up for her inspection.

“Sustenance. I told Rose we would walk up into the hills to eat it. Are you up to such exertion?”

She smiled. “I think so—if you carry the basket, of course. I think I prefer to take advantage of my invalid state a little longer.”

He returned her smile. “I should mention, by the way, that Rose offered to chaperone us on this venture, but I assured her that I could be trusted. Of course, if you…?”

Sabina laughed and shook her head. He picked up a blanket before leading her across the gangplank and a few steps up the towpath. Then they turned off the path at an angle up a slight rise, James protectively on Sabina’s downhill side in case her footsteps were as yet unsteady. She put her hand through his arm, as if to lean on him. She did not really need the support, but she liked the feel of his strong arm holding her and wanted to retain for a little longer that novel sensation of fragility and being looked after.

When they reached the top of the rise, a charming view of the Avon valley spread itself before them. In the distance, the water of the canal glinted in the sun, but otherwise there was no sign of human habitation. James stopped beneath an oak tree just coming into its summer fullness of leaf, and spread the blanket on the grass. Sabina pulled off her hat and flung it on the ground, but remained standing a moment longer, her gaze drinking in the peaceful view. Then she turned and caught him looking at her, a longing yet wistful expression in his blue eyes.

“It’s as if—as if we are the only two people in the world,” she said, sinking down onto the blanket beside him.

“I wish we were,” he said softly. He leaned across the hamper and took her face in his hands.

“Perhaps we should have brought a
dueña
,” he whispered. His mouth moved closer to hers and she waited breathlessly for his kiss. But then he only touched her lips lightly, teasingly, and pulled away again. Disappointed, she opened her eyes and found him unpacking the hamper.

“I’m starved,” he said, not looking at her now. “What about you, Miranda?”

“I don’t think I’ve stopped eating since I met Rose, but everything she makes is so delicious that I can’t resist it.” She laughed, trying to match his mood, and patted her waist. “I daresay I’ve put on inches. I shall never get into my own clothes again.”

That was the wrong thing to say, for it reminded him of the world they were trying to forget for today. His face closed down, and she felt he had somehow moved even farther away from her. This was not what she had intended—somehow she must make him forget everything but her!

She said little as he spread the feast between them on the blanket and they devoured the bread and cheese, cold chicken and meat pies, and fruit compote that Rose had packed. When they had finished, James poured a cup of cider for her and then lay back on the blanket and closed his eyes.

She gazed at him for a long time after his steady breathing told her he had fallen asleep. She was not offended by his doing so in her presence, for she liked the idea that he was as comfortable with her as this. She wished it could be this way after he learned who she was, but she feared it could not be. What would he think of her? Would he be angry at her deception? Would the difference in their stations be, after all, the stumbling block? Would he regret the necessity of their parting or be relieved to be rid of necessity to make a decision about their future?

A radical notion came to her suddenly. What if they need not part? If she refused to honor her father’s wishes and marry Robert Ashton, she would be left penniless—well, nearly so, in comparison to her previous comforts—and more nearly a match for James Owen, lockkeeper. He was certainly a well-schooled and well-dressed lockkeeper. Or would her name still be an obstacle? Peter Ogilvey had not been a peer’s son, after all, and no one had objected to that match. She imagined herself living on her own narrowboat or in a lockkeeper’s cottage—she must ask him to show her his—and for a moment, the world did indeed go away and she could imagine living only on love.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, and she realized that he had been awake for some time. “Have you remembered something?”

The sun was lower in the sky now and cast golden light over the landscape and the distant water of the canal. Still smiling, trying to hold on to the charming image in her mind, she shook her head.

“Not precisely. But my life since I came to you feels so—so familiar, somehow. It is as if we lived it before.”

“Perhaps we did,” he said, smiling, “in some distant time and place.”

“A distant time, yes,” she said, taking up his fancy, “but not a distant place. Perhaps we lived on this very spot in medieval times.”

“Why not before the Conquest?”

“Oh, no, then we would have been painting our faces blue or some such silliness. I refuse to think I ever had anything to do with people who did that.”

“But you feel a kinship to some medieval Miranda?”

“Yes, I think so. I lived in a castle nearby—in ruins now, of course—with my mama, who was a queen, and my brothers, all gallant knights.” Sabina began to enjoy embroidering her tale. “My father was a tyrant, yet loving to his children. He gave me everything I wanted but insisted on choosing a husband for me. You were my knight in armor—and when I would not marry the wicked lord from across the border, you fought him.”

She stopped when she saw a slight frown cross his forehead. She was about to ask what was wrong when, seemingly with a conscious effort, he cleared the frown and smiled instead.

“Wrong regiment,” he said. “I might have been a knight errant, I suppose, and carried you away from all that. I can see myself traveling about seeking adventure and rescuing fair maidens.”

He plucked a nearby daisy and presented to her. She took it and, holding it to her breast, struck a dramatic pose.

“You rescued me, but I shall be your last maiden. No more errantry for you, sir.”

“Ah, Miranda, you take all the romance out of knighthood.”

“Do you mean you would prefer riding out in all weathers, and never having a proper bed to call your own, to cosy domesticity with me?”

“With all those brothers and sisters hovering about, we would have to find a castle of our own in order to live happily ever after.” He was gazing at her with that intent look again, but she chose to disregard it. She did not care for anything but enjoying this moment while it lasted.

“You would fight a dragon for me,” she said dreamily, “one who guarded a golden castle, with diamonds in the turret windows, and we would move into it after you slew him.”

“Then I would lock you up in it to be sure you never went off with some other knight.”

She began to tire of the game and leaned over him and took his hand.

“You would not have to lock me up. I would stay for you—always.”

He attempted to pull his hand away, but she held it fast and raised it to her face. She looked into his eyes as, boldly, she rubbed his hand gently across her face, feeling its roughness against her cheek, its warmth against her mouth. She pressed her lips to his palm.

He did pull away from her then, and sat up abruptly, almost upsetting her balance. Sabina, although surprised at her own temerity, could not back down now.

“James, please—”

He stood up, and she rose too, without his help.

“I cannot take such advantage of you!” he exclaimed, running his hand agitatedly through his hair. “You must regain your memory before we can think of… Anything else would be villainy on my part and foolishness—at best—on your own.”

“Oh, no.” She took his hand again and held it to her breast. “It is not events or history or dates that matter, my dear, but feelings. I know—I feel—that it is right for us to love each other.”