Seeking Persephone (16 page)

“Thank you, Adam,” she said, making her way to the book room door.

Adam waved off the gratitude. He hadn’t made the offer in order to be thanked. He’d done so for entirely selfish reasons—so she wouldn’t leave and so he wouldn’t have to miss her.

Trouble was, there would be other opportunities, other reasons for her to leave. He couldn’t prevent them all. He knew there wouldn’t always be an argument to keep her at Falstone, and he wasn’t about to become her prison keeper.

He needed to see to it that she wanted to stay. But how did he go about seeing that his wife was happily settled at home, was contented enough to not need to wander the country? Adam had no idea. Nothing about the home he’d grown up in had enticed his mother to remain.

“Persephone seemed in good spirits.”

He didn’t need to look over to see who had spoken. “Come in, Harry.”

If anyone knew about not leaving, Harry did. And Adam needed some expert advice.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“You’re not going to tell me to go pack my bags?” Harry dropped into his usual chair. “Are you feeling well, Adam?”

“Why don’t you ever leave?” Adam jumped right into the topic.

“I knew it was too good to be true.” Harry sighed and rose from his seat, a spark of laughter in his eyes.

“Sit down and answer the question, Harry.”

“Is this a pointed interrogation or more of an intellectual discussion?” Harry regained his seat.

“Intellectual discussion.”

“Why don’t I ever leave? Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

Harry shrugged. “Because I like Falstone.”

“Why?”

“Free food.”

“I said honestly, Harry.” Adam was having second thoughts.

“The food is nothing to disregard, Adam. Cook is a miracle worker. Aside from that, Falstone is, I don’t know, familiar. Comfortable.”

Familiar. Comfortable.
Adam doubted Persephone would describe Falstone that way.

“And do you feel the same way about the house in London? You spend a lot of time there as well. And you’ve gone with me to Kent a few times. And on the yacht—”

“This
is
a pointed interrogation, isn’t it?” Harry speared him with a look. “If you’re trying to tell me to make myself scarce now that you’re married, I completely understand, Adam.”

“It’s not that at all.”

“Then what is it?”

“I just want to know why you’ve stayed around all these years.” Adam paced back to the French doors. Why couldn’t Harry ever just answer a question?

“We’re friends, Adam.” Harry spoke as if that ought to have been obvious. “Friends don’t jump ship.”

“I think your answer about the food was more honest.”

“Did it ever occur to you, Adam, that I honestly consider you a friend? My best friend, in fact.”

“Because of Harrow?” Adam stared out the French doors. He hated to think that Harry had spent twenty years at his side because of some overblown sense of obligation.

“It may have started that way,” Harry confessed. “You saved my skin, so I sort of worshiped you for a while, like an idol who could ward off evil spirits, I suppose.”

Adam smiled a little at that. Harry had come across almost as a religious zealot those first few months of their friendship.
Friendship.
Adam repeated the word to himself. It felt right describing it that way. Adam had never really thought of himself as the sort of person who had friends.

Father hadn’t had many. It had felt like Mother had too many. She was always away visiting one or more of them.

“But then you landed me a facer for something stupid I did or said—”

Adam remembered that fight well, though he no longer had any idea what they’d been scuffling over. They were eight at the time. The two-boy brawl had been ferocious. It was as if something inside Adam had snapped. He couldn’t have been fiercer if he’d been actually fighting to save his life.

Harry had fought back, hard. By the time the scuffle was broken up—by the headmaster, of all people—they were both bloody and exhausted. And, he remembered with some unnameable emotion, he had been crying. Sobbing, really. And had been unable to stop.

No one but Harry and the headmaster had witnessed his breakdown. Neither one had ever mentioned it to him afterward.

“—and we were sent down,” Harry continued. “My parents were away on holiday so we both came here. In those two weeks of our expulsion I met Adam Boyce. The Duke of Kielder still scared the guts out of me. But Adam Boyce was just a boy like me.”

That was when Harry had started calling him Adam. Until those two weeks of punishment, which had actually been the happiest days of his life since his father had died, Harry, like everyone else, had referred to Adam as Kielder or Your Grace or the Duke—he being the only duke at Harrow. But during that time he’d become Adam. He’d never before understood what had brought about the change.

“I remember Jeb Handly teaching me the finer points of fisticuffs on the back courtyard so you wouldn’t beat me so thoroughly the next time.”

“Finer points?” Adam replied dryly. “He taught you to fight dirty.”

Harry grinned at that. “Just like you. I suppose, though, when one’s lessons are given in the shadow of a well-used gibbet, dirty is the only option.”

“I thought you would faint like a schoolgirl when you first caught sight of the gibbet.” Adam chuckled at the memory.

“At least you didn’t make me sleep in the Orange Chamber.”

They’d spent the two weeks in the nursery. “Do you remember Nurse Robbie?”

“The one who used to sing that song?” A smile was obvious in his voice. “The one about the boy who was small as a dandelion or something.”

“It was a thistle.”

Just then a movement down below caught his attention. Persephone was walking in her garden. Why did she wear that old, brown coat? Certainly she had the pin money to buy herself a new one. She ought to be wearing something warm but fashionable, the way the ladies in London dressed. The black of her day dress peeked out beneath the long coat, a perpetual reminder of her grief.

Had she retreated to the garden for another bout of weeping? Adam watched her more closely, hoping she hadn’t.

“So why this sudden interest in our colorful childhoods?” Harry asked, moving to Adam’s side.

Adam shrugged, watching Persephone make her way slowly along the hedge. He could see her breath condensing in the cold, even from so far away. She had to be freezing. He ought to send word to the kitchen to have a pot of tea or chocolate ready for her when she returned.

“Looks bloody cold out there, doesn’t it?” Harry said.

“It does.”

“She must really like that garden to stay out there when it is so much warmer inside,” Harry said.

“Why does she stay?” Adam muttered to himself, not particularly thinking of the garden.

“If there is one thing I will never understand, Adam, it’s women. Why does she walk through the garden in the freezing cold? I don’t know. There must be something about it she likes, something worth being out there for.”

What, Adam asked himself, made the hedge garden so appealing to Persephone? She went out there every day. Adam had watched her wandering about when he ought to have been seeing to estate business. Something drew her back day after day. If Adam could just figure out what that was and implement it elsewhere around Falstone, then Persephone would never want to leave.

“What is it that women love about gardens?” Harry could have been reading Adam’s thoughts.

“I have no idea.”

“My mother spent hours in her garden whenever my father was away from home.” Harry shook his head. “One would think if she was lonely, she would have visited the neighbors instead of the shrubbery.”

“The garden kept her company?” Adam asked doubtfully.

“Like I said, there is very little about women that I even remotely understand.” Harry moved away from the French doors. “Persephone looks cold, Adam,” he said as he made his way across the room. “You should go keep her warm.”

“Keep her—?”

“The fact that my suggestion confuses you does not bode well, my friend,” was Harry’s parting shot.

“Didn’t confuse me,” Adam muttered, turning back to watch Persephone. He simply couldn’t imagine her wishing for the sort of attention Harry had suggested.

She did look cold. What kept her out there? Harry’s mother had been lonely. Could that be Persephone’s reason as well?

Adam thought back on the vicar’s visit. She’d been so disappointed when she thought Adam would bring the call to a premature close. She made the trip to the Pointers’ twice a week to visit with the local ladies. He’d seen her face light up whenever Barton delivered another letter from her family.

“She
is
lonely,” Adam said with bleak resignation. He watched Persephone turn another corner of the garden, walking alone. Isolation was heaven for Adam. It seemed quite the opposite for Persephone.

I require people, Joseph,
Mother had said so many times to Father, though Adam hadn’t thought about those conversations in years.
There are more people in one neighborhood of London than in all of Falstone.

So Father had hosted countless balls and dinners. Mother had been “at home” to callers every day for hours on end. Still, she’d left dozens of times, and always when Adam had needed her most. She hadn’t even been at Falstone when Adam and Harry had been sent down. Jeb Handly and Nurse Robbie had looked after them.

Adam turned his head and looked up into the frozen face of his father. “The balls didn’t work,” he said, as if his father hadn’t noticed that the endless diversion he’d provided for Mother hadn’t kept her at home. “I—” The words stuck, but Adam pushed them out. He could always talk to his father. “I don’t want Persephone to leave me.”

Admitting it out loud somehow drove home how true the words were. The thought of Persephone disappearing the way Mother had made his stomach knot. The thought of hundreds of people prowling around Falstone Castle—be it a ball, a dinner, or a neighborhood invasion—made him feel ill.

“Blast it!” Adam crossed to the fireplace, throwing himself into a chair. Being married wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.

A wolf howled outside. Howling during the day wasn’t entirely unheard of. The noises of the household generally drowned out their cries. But that howl had been uncommonly close to the castle.

Persephone! She would be insane with fear. Adam jumped to his feet again and crossed back to the French doors. He didn’t see her in her garden. A second howl sounded.

Adam spotted her running back toward the castle. She
was
hysterical, he realized.

He moved swiftly across the room and out into the corridor. A moment later he reached the first-floor landing and watched as Persephone flew through the front door. Barton stood in obvious confusion, but Persephone didn’t seem to notice.

Adam met her halfway up the stairs. Persephone nearly knocked him over. She wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face into his lapel. She was trembling. So was he, but probably for entirely different reasons.

“I heard them, Adam!” Her words cracked with fear. “The wolves are inside Falstone!”

“No, Persephone.” Adam held her a little closer. She was cold, he told himself.

“I don’t know how, but they must be inside.” Her voice rose in alarm. “They were so loud.”

“They aren’t inside the castle walls, Persephone.”

“Are you certain?” She buried her head more deeply against him.

“Positive.” Adam spotted Barton near the door watching the exchange rather too closely for Adam’s tastes. “Barton, will you send tea up to my book room?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” That took care of the butler.

Adam kept one arm around Persephone and led her up the stairs.

“The wolves sounded so close,” she whispered.

“I will have my steward check on the pack,” Adam assured her. “They always give the castle a wide berth.”

Adam walked her directly to the book room’s most comfortable chair, grateful it sat so near the fire. She’d been out in the cold too long. “Tea should come soon.”

“Thank you, Adam.” Persephone smiled up at him as she sat, but she still looked worried.

“Persephone?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“I think . . . I think we should have a ball.”

“A ball?” She couldn’t possibly have sounded more shocked. Adam was a little surprised, too.

“Unless you don’t want to.” Adam shot a look at Father’s portrait. He should have known the ball wasn’t a good idea.

“I assumed
you
wouldn’t want to,” Persephone said. “It would mean a lot of people in the castle.”

“Every bride should have a ball,” Adam muttered.

“We are still in mourning.” She spoke uncertainly.

“I think a wedding ball would be permissible.” Anything he did was considered permissible by society. No one dared contradict him.

“Really?” The hint of hope in her voice tugged a smile from Adam’s lips.

“Really.” He allowed the smile to remain, small as it was.

Again a look crossed Persephone’s face, one that seemed to hint that she held something back, a word or a gesture. In the end, she simply smiled. “I think a ball would be nice.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Harry actually had to sit down. “Adam
suggested
it?” He shook his head almost convulsively. “
Adam?
The Adam I know?”

“I don’t understand it, either,” Persephone admitted. “I never would have thought that Adam was capable of suggesting a ball at Falstone Castle.”

“He didn’t mention this at dinner last night.” Harry continued his head shaking. “When did he propose this scheme?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I fully expect to hear he has changed his mind.”

“No doubt.” Harry’s expression grew ponderous. “Adam has been doing a lot of uncharacteristic things lately, come to think of it.”

“Has he?” Her quest to understand Adam better had only left her more confused than before. Hopefully, Harry could provide her with some insight.

“Just yesterday, in his book room, in fact.” He gave her an ironic look. “He talked for twenty minutes, at least, about our days at Harrow and his old nurse, Nurse Robbie. He kept asking me why I haven’t dropped his acquaintance. Adam doesn’t talk about things like that. He doesn’t talk about anything remotely personal.”

She’d wanted insight. That was certainly a great deal to think about. Adam didn’t discuss personal things. Persephone had noticed that herself. Apparently, however, Adam had been doing just that—insisting upon it, if Harry was to be believed. It was entirely out of character, and Persephone wondered what had instigated the sudden need in Adam.

She felt certain Adam had spoken with Harry on the topics he had because he needed to for one reason or another. Artemis became that way at times. Generally, she preferred not to talk about the mother she had never known. The subject invariably left her quiet and unusually distant. Persephone suspected that Artemis silently blamed herself for their mother’s death, passing as she had in childbirth. But there were times when Artemis simply had to speak of her, to hear of her. Those times nearly always came when Artemis felt most needy, when she was ill or upset or frightened.

Persephone wondered what it was that Adam needed.

“Barton says Cook is in tears.” It was an uncharacteristic entrance for Adam, who, generally, chose the more formal and impersonal approach. He raised his eyebrow the way he always did when he found something humorous. Adam never actually laughed. Except, Persephone remembered with a secret smile, for the time they’d spent a few nights ago planning a fictitious attack on the neighborhood.

“What did you do to her?” Harry asked.

“I didn’t do anything.” Adam walked to the windows of the sitting room, his back now turned to its other occupants. “She was informed about the upcoming ball.”

“She is that upset about it?” Persephone’s heart sunk.

“She is that
pleased
about it,” Adam corrected. “She’s been reduced to weeping at the kitchen table.”

“How has the rest of the staff reacted?” Persephone kept her amusement at Cook’s response to herself.

“Mrs. Smithson is acting as urgent as though the ball is this evening instead of three weeks from now. Barton has simply begun grinning when he thinks I am not looking.”

“Three weeks from now?” Persephone rose to her feet as she spoke. “But, Adam, Linus is supposed to be coming in three weeks’ time. Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind about his visit.” She stood watching him, knowing her face had probably gone unflatteringly pale.

Adam looked almost hurt at her words. Hurt? She’d never imagined that Adam could be injured by anything any person said. “Of course not, Persephone.” His eyes connected with hers, and she felt a twinge of shame for doubting him, so obvious was his frustration at her assumption. “I thought Linus would like to be part of the celebration.” Adam looked away from her. “He is a little young to dance at a ball, but he might make an appearance, at least.”

“I think Linus would appreciate being included,” Persephone answered as Adam walked away.

She wanted to be Adam’s friend and, thus far, had managed only to isolate him further. The silence in the room grew heavy. Harry, Persephone noticed, watched Adam with a degree of perplexity that did not bode well. If Adam’s closest friend found his behavior confusing, then Persephone did not stand a chance.

She searched her mind for the right thing to say, the right topic to pursue. Harry had said Adam seemed determined lately to discuss his childhood.

“Would you have enjoyed a ball when you were thirteen?” Persephone asked him.

“He does not enjoy a ball
now,
” Harry said.

Persephone gave Harry a frustrated look.

“So why the sudden urge to entertain, Adam?” Harry pushed the subject.

Adam paced to the window but didn’t answer.

“You’ve invited Persephone’s little brother. And, now, with the ball, I imagine every family of consequence in the northern half of England will be at Falstone at the same time.” Harry’s comments were not having a positive effect on Adam’s mood. “That is precisely the sort of thing that makes you miserable.”

Miserable?
“I don’t want you to be miserable, Adam,” Persephone said, her attention entirely focused on him.

“I will not be miserable,” he grumbled.

He seemed miserable already.

“You will simply make the rest of us miserable,” Harry said. “Perhaps you should call the entire thing off and save us the suffering.”

Call it off? Not extend the invitations? Including Linus’s?
Persephone’s eyes were glued to Adam. He wouldn’t actually do it, would he?

“I, for one, am in favor of keeping Falstone as quiet and undisturbed as possible. For then, you will be as quiet and undisturbed as possible, and that is best for all concerned,” Harry continued.

Persephone could feel her alarm growing. Suppose he managed to convince Adam to take back his invitation?

“And I don’t believe any of the invitations have actually been sent yet,” Harry added. “So there should be little difficulty preventing any visitors from actually arriving—”

“Shut up, Harry.” Persephone barely recognized her own voice, choked as it was by a sudden influx of emotion.

Both gentlemen’s eyes fixed on her, shock apparent in Harry’s, surprise mingled with something nearing amusement in Adam’s.

“So help me, Harry, if you talk him into turning my brother away,” she said, her voice unnaturally high, “I’ll . . . I’ll have you put in the gibbet cage!”

“Do not forget my crossbow, Persephone.” Adam moved to stand directly beside her. “It would be an efficient means of silencing him.”

“But the gibbet is crueler,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes to hide the sudden sheen of moisture that entered them.

Persephone realized in that moment that despite her determination otherwise, she had her heart firmly set on seeing her brother. Should Adam back out of his offer, she would be devastated.

“I had no idea I deserved such a fate.”

Persephone glared at Harry but couldn’t prevent the slightest tremor in her chin.

“Harry is not nearly persuasive enough to convince me to cancel Linus’s visit, Persephone.” Adam sounded frustrated anew. Persephone listened without looking up. “I have told you before that I do not say things that I do not mean. I told you Linus was coming to Falstone. There is no need for you to worry over that.”

“But there is.” She turned to face him, her own frustration nearly boiling over. “You tell me to trust you, but I don’t know that I can. I don’t know anything about you, Adam. I have no idea what kind of man you are. And that . . . that frightens me.”

“I frighten you?” His voice was low, a troubled look in his eyes.

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It really isn’t,” Harry confirmed.

“Shut up, Harry,” Persephone and Adam snapped in unison.

He smiled as if entirely amused by the situation. “I am happy to see I am a unifying force.”

It was too much. Feeling her resolve crumble, Persephone spun away from them both and began a flight for the door. After one step, a hand caught hold of her wrist.

She glanced back, surprised, confused, and a little concerned. Adam held her there, forehead creased in apparent frustration. “Don’t go,” he said, his voice full of command and authority.

Persephone attempted to pull free, but he held her fast. “Let me—”

“Please don’t go,” he amended.

Persephone ceased struggling the moment she looked into his face. There was that look again, the one she would have sworn came from pain or fear or both. It was subtle, almost lost in the detachment and sense of superiority he exuded.

Sometime along the way, Adam had been hurt, and the pain still clung to him. And in those rare moments when a gentler Adam emerged from beneath the hardened surface, Persephone thought she was seeing who he truly was.

“Now would be a perfect opportunity, Harry, for a timely exit.” Adam didn’t look at his friend. He still held Persephone by the wrist, though not at all painfully.

“Hint taken.” Harry swept an overdone bow before gliding from the room.

“Now listen to me, Persephone Iphigenia.” Adam gave her a very determined, almost fierce look, his tone one that brooked no arguments. “I have faults, like any other man, but I am not a liar. I have promised that your brother will visit you here and no one, not Harry, not anyone else, will browbeat me into going back on that promise. Is that clear?”

She felt her chin quiver even as she nodded her understanding. And in an instant the duke seemed to melt away, and she felt almost as though she were looking at an ordinary man.

“Don’t start crying,” he said, sounding confused and concerned.

With her free hand, Persephone brushed at an escaping tear. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I want to see my brother until I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to.”

Adam seemed to study her for a moment, indecision flashing through his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Adam muttered uncomfortably as he released her wrist.

Persephone shook off the apology. Neither of them moved, but they stood not more than an arm’s length apart, eyes darting around the room, settling occasionally on one another, though never remaining there for more than the length of a breath. It was not a comfortable silence. The air around them seemed jumpy and anxious.

“Have you walked through your garden today?” His voice was almost unrecognizably soft.

“My garden?”

“The hedge garden,” he awkwardly corrected. Adam even looked a little embarrassed.

He thought of it as
her
garden just as she did, Persephone thought with awe. Did he understand why it had become so important to her? Why she treasured it the way she did? “It has been snowing,” she answered his question.

Adam actually smiled. “This is Northumberland.”

Heavens, he looked so much more pleasant when he smiled. The smile reached his eyes that time. His blue eyes. Divinely blue.

“It will snow for months.”

“In other words, I need to grow accustomed to snow.” She smiled back.

He nodded mutely, studying her the way she studied him. How she wished mourning attire allowed for blue. She felt prettier with blue eyes, and Persephone couldn’t remember a time when she wanted to look pretty more than she did at that moment.

That thought hit her hard. She had to close her eyes against the realization. If Adam continued being kind and gentle, and if she wasn’t very careful, Persephone was in very real danger of developing feelings for him, feelings that went far beyond friendship. A one-sided love was not at all what she wanted.