Julianne MacLean (4 page)

He shook his head. “Neither have I.”

“Would it be all right if we talked?” she asked.

He didn’t say anything for a second or two. “What would you like to talk about?”

She thought about it, then rolled onto her side and rested her cheek on her hands. “Tell me
about Harold’s home—Osulton Manor. Have you been there many times?”

“Been there?” he said, sounding surprised at her question. “I was raised there.”

She leaned up on her elbow. “You grew up with Harold?”

“Yes. We’re like brothers. You didn’t know that?”

“No. Harold and I didn’t have as much time to talk as we would have liked,” she explained. “Do your parents live at Osulton as well?”

“My parents died when I was nine. That’s why I was sent to live with Harold’s family.”

“I see. I’m very sorry.”

He looked into the fire. “I suppose my life is divided in two, as well.”

Adele nodded compassionately at him. “Do you still live there?” she asked.

He seemed to require a moment to think about how to answer that question. He tilted his head from side to side. “I’m residing there temporarily, because I’ve rented out my London house for the Season, and I’m looking for tenants for my country house as well.”

Because of the money problems
, she presumed.

The conversation died for a few minutes. The wind whistled through the chimney, and the flames danced chaotically.

Lord Alcester leaned his temple on a finger and stared down at her. “Tell me how you met Harold.”

Adele was glad to resume talking. She had
spent too many days alone upstairs to enjoy any kind of silence now. “We met in Newport,” she replied, lying back on her side again. “As you know, he had taken a holiday in America over the winter, and my mother heard of his visit and arranged a ball in his honor. It was quite the affair,” she added, smiling. “Every Knickerbocker in New York was scrambling for an invitation.”

“Knickerbocker?”

Adele smiled again. “Would you like the long, drawn-out explanation?”

He gestured with his hand. “We certainly don’t have much else to do.”

She sat up, leaning back on both arms. “All right then. Let me describe the social hierarchy of America to you. There is a very defined line between Old Money and New. I—as you may or may not know—am
New
Money. My father earned his fortune almost overnight, and as I mentioned before, took us from our one-room cabin in Wisconsin to a mansion on Fifth Avenue quicker than you can blink. To get to the point, Old Money is inherited, and those who have it are called Knickerbockers because most of them are descended from the early Dutch settlers who wore knee-length trousers. Like you, they can trace their family’s heritage back through generations. They live in Washington Square in plain brownstones, and consider themselves the social elite, while people like us are vulgar because we build showy mansions in the newer neighborhoods. And I will admit, our
house is exceedingly showy, but that’s my mother.” She shifted her weight to lean on one arm. “She loves everything to be grandiose.”

Lord Alcester’s lips turned up in a grin.

“I think you’ll like her,” Adele continued, lying back down. “Or at the very least, find her amusing. She doesn’t put on any airs and sometimes ignores or protests certain social graces that have no practicality, which I suppose is why the Knickerbockers give her such a difficult time.”

Lord Alcester leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent upon hers. “I honestly had no idea there was such a pecking order in America. I had thought it was a classless society.”

“On paper, perhaps,” she replied, tossing an arm up under her head again, “but if you could walk in my shoes in Newport for one day, you would feel the divisions as clearly as you feel your own here in England. It’s like walking into a brick wall sometimes.”

He leaned back again, his dark eyes studying her with a serious intensity that unnerved her. “I am much enlightened, Miss Wilson. Was Harold aware of all this when he attended your ball? I can’t imagine he was.”

“No, I don’t believe so. And I certainly wasn’t about to tell him.” She recognized her blunder as soon as she said it, and felt her cheeks pale. “Oh.”

Lord Alcester smiled and crossed one booted leg over the other. “Don’t fret, my dear. Your secret’s safe with me. It wouldn’t have mattered to
him anyway. In his eyes, you’re either English or you’re not.”

It should have been Lord Alcester’s turn to go pale, but he brushed it off with a clever retort. “In your case, you are most decidedly
not
English, and thank goodness for that, or I would be immensely bored right now.”

The flattery came a little too close to a flirtation, Adele thought, feeling a surge of butterflies in her stomach. She was reminded of his reputation with women, and felt a sudden measure of uneasiness.

“So how did you go from a ball to a proposal?” he asked, bringing the conversation back around to her and Harold. She wondered if he’d recognized her unease.

Adele looked up at the ceiling, determined to focus on the questions instead of the man. She thought about how quickly she and Harold had become engaged, and could attribute it to one very obvious catalyst.

“When you meet my mother, I’m sure you’ll notice that she is very ambitious and often impatient about getting what she wants. She has spared nothing to be accepted by the Knickerbockers in New York—and she’s managed to accomplish that since my sisters married a duke and a marquess. When she decided Harold was the one for me, she was equally determined.”

“
She
decided?”

Adele tried to explain. “Well…yes, she was the one to suggest that he would be a good
match for me. My father came into the picture then. He was impressed with some of Harold’s ideas about chemistry, and I believe he would like to be involved in one of Harold’s experiments—something to do with a new type of dye. He sees business potential there.”

“Does he indeed? Harold didn’t mention that to me.”

“Well, it’s all just in the idea stage. At any rate, my mother held a few more assemblies and invited Harold, and it wasn’t long before we both realized that she was right, and we were very comfortable with each other. I liked his sense of tradition, and he liked my—”

“Yes?” He leaned forward, radiating an intensity she’d never seen in a person before. Lord Alcester was a very potent human being, she realized, and she supposed that was why he had such a reputation. Women were no doubt attracted to such a strong personality and such a handsome face to go with it. Even Adele found him intriguing, and certainly unnerving as well. He was her future cousin by marriage, however, so she would just have to get used to him.

“Well…” Her insides jangled. “He said he thought I would fit in here in England, and I
believe
that is why we were drawn to each other. Compared to other American girls my age, I am perhaps more reserved than most.”

He studied her for a moment. “You don’t seem sure that’s the reason.”

She shrugged. “Well, I suppose I can only
guess why Harold approved of me. He didn’t actually
tell
me.”

Lord Alcester sat back again. “He told
me
. Would you like to know what he said?”

“He told you?”

“Yes. We’re not only cousins, we are close friends as well.”

Adele found it odd that they were so close, considering how different they were in every way. Harold was gentle and never threatening, while Lord Alcester had an unmistakable hard edge to him. And he was very different with women.

Lord Alcester rested his temple on a finger again. “Harold told me he admired your goodness. He even went so far as to say you might be a saint.”

Adele plucked at the woolly blanket over her legs. “Ah. A saint.”

His brows drew together. “That doesn’t please you?”

Adele wet her lips. “Lord Alcester, it’s strange. People have always told me how good I am, how agreeable and dependable. They look at me and they think I can do no wrong. Even my parents have always thought that. I don’t know why. I don’t know where it started. I certainly didn’t
try
to be a well-behaved child. I just was. At least, compared to my sisters, who were always trying to get me to do mischief with them. The point is, I don’t know why I am perceived that way. I don’t consider myself overly righteous. Sometimes I even feel like an impostor.”

“Have you ever done anything you knew was wrong?”

She considered the question carefully. “Not really. I’ve made mistakes, of course. Everyone has.”

“Have you ever
wanted
to do anything wrong?”

A vivid memory of a red candy stick came swirling into her mind. She had seen it at the mercantile in Wisconsin when she was nine or ten, but she’d had no money.

“I once thought about stealing something when I was a child,” she said. “A candy stick.”

“But you didn’t.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. It was very tempting, though,” she added with a smile. “It was the brightest, most colorful candy stick I’d ever seen, with a cherry drawn on the tag. I knew it would fit perfectly into my pocket, and no one would know if I was sneaky enough. I kept staring at it, imagining how I would hide it and keep it secret from my sisters. I picked it up and held it in my hand.”

He smiled and nodded, seeming to understand. “But you didn’t take it,” he reminded her.

“No, I put it back. So maybe I
am
a saint,” she said, mocking insight. “If you could have seen that candy stick—”

“I’ll bet it was delicious.”

She sighed. “I’ve always wondered.”

They watched the fire for a few more minutes until Lord Alcester stood. He picked up the
cushion from the chair and tossed it onto the floor close to the fire, but a few feet away from where Adele lay. “I think if I’m to sleep, I’ll need to stretch out,” he said.

Adele shifted to get more comfortable. “The floor won’t be too hard? Or too cold?”

He lay down on his side, facing her. “Not at all. This is a fine pillow, and my coat is warm. I’m just glad to be able to finally take a breath and close my eyes.” He stared at her for a few seconds. “Good night, Miss Wilson.”

“Good night.” Adele lowered her head onto the pillow but continued to watch him in the firelight. She had to admit she was intrigued by him, and wanted to know more about the way he lived, which was so different from the way
she
lived. He seemed very different from Harold as well, yet they were close. She would like to know why and how.

I’m just glad to be able to finally take a breath and close my eyes…

She pondered that. He was glad because he had been on a mission to rescue her. He’d had to contend with the prospect of facing a kidnapper, or the prospect of finding her harmed. Or dead. He had worried over that prospect.

And now, he had fulfilled his duty to Harold. His cousin and friend. She turned her thoughts to
him
. Her fiancé…

Adele could only assume that Harold had been worried, too. She did not know because he had not come himself, but surely he had lost
sleep as well. She certainly had. She was exhausted. Yet tonight, like the past three nights in this house, she did not want to close her eyes.

This ordeal had been very difficult. She would be glad to return to her normal, safe life.

Waking to the budding light of dawn the next morning, Damien opened his eyes. He lay on his side, looking at Miss Wilson across from him. She was still asleep, facing him, her cheek resting on her hands, the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her lips were parted slightly, and her breathing was slow and steady. It would be best, he decided, if he could rise without waking her, and simply leave as he had said he would, to fetch a coach and driver.

He leaned up on an elbow and looked around. The fire had gone out sometime during the night, and the cottage was cold. Damien blew into his fists to warm his hands. Miss Wilson made no sound, so he quietly rose to his feet.

He stood gazing down at her moist, full lips in the early light of the morning. Thick locks of curly, golden hair were spread out around her on the rough-hewn floor. Damien noted the delicate shape of her face, her tiny nose, and the soft, smooth texture of her skin.

She was astoundingly beautiful. He had known it last night in the firelight, and the gray light of dawn did not diminish it in the least. Harold must have been enormously distracted
by something to have forgotten to mention such a thing.

Damien wondered suddenly if Harold realized how lucky he was, and if he’d been fighting lustful thoughts ever since he’d met her in America last spring.

It was difficult, however, to imagine Harold having lustful thoughts about anything except his chemistry experiments. He had never described Adele—or any other woman, for that matter—in such a way. But he got a certain lusty look in his eye when bubbles started to form in a beaker.

Harold should have come
, Damien thought suddenly with a slight twinge of reproach as he thought about what Adele had gone through. How could Harold have trusted this important task to someone else, even if that someone was Damien, his cousin and best friend? How could Harold sleep at night, not knowing if his beautiful fiancée was dead or alive? He, at the very least, could have accompanied Damien.

But Damien supposed that Harold had always preferred to keep his head in the sand, and likely always would. Damien and the rest of the family even helped Harold bury his head on occasion. They had often dealt with certain household problems themselves, keeping Harold in the dark, knowing he would have preferred it that way.

Damien felt guilty all of a sudden for thinking badly of Harold, his friend, who was a kind
hearted and principled person. Like Adele. Perhaps they were a good match. Damien swept the critical opinion away.

When it didn’t appear that Miss Wilson was going to stir anytime soon, Damien combed his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. He went outside and fetched a fresh bucket of water for Adele from the well, then brought it back and set it down gently in front of the chair. He stared at her for another few seconds, admiring the slender curve of her hips and the feminine shape of her hands. He imagined her as a girl, staring longingly at that candy stick, and felt an odd mixture of amusement and pity. He wondered how many cherry sticks she had resisted in her life, how many she had never tasted. Then he thought of Harold again. Harold would probably be very pleased that she had not taken the candy stick.