Straw in the Wind (21 page)

‘And I thought you were perfect.' She laughed and her hand closed around his. ‘Can you run?'

‘Rather clumsily, because I can't see the ground coming to meet me.' He huffed with laughter. ‘It sounds like a challenge, so I'll try not to fall on my face.'

They galloped down the hill in an undignified manner, leaving behind them the scent of bruised and broken plants, and she led him sploshing into the stream. The breath left his body in a whoosh. They began to laugh, splashing water over each other before wading the rest of the way across.

‘I have very little sense of distance or direction and I didn't expect that, though I did enjoy it, since there's something satisfying in being . . .'

‘Childish?'

‘Yes, hmmm . . . I should have expected you to claim retribution for that remark.'

The sun came out and once again he screwed his eyes up against the direct light. He said wistfully, ‘What does everything look like?'

‘Everything is covered in quivering, silvery drops. The meadow is full of daffodils, marsh violets, primroses and butterflies and the hedgerows are enamelled in red, gold and green. There's a rainbow arching across the sky . . .' A small lie to colour the picture wouldn't hurt. ‘. . . and some swallows darting after the insects.'

‘It's exactly as I remember it always being in early May. You're good at painting a scene with words, better than Oscar. I could almost see it.'

‘I'm not as good at painting a scene with a brush in my hand though.' The argument about her name no longer existed. Oscar must have seen them coming from the upstairs window because he was in the kitchen when they entered, grinning all over his face as they emptied the water from their footwear.

‘Miss Finn tried to drown me, Oscar.'

‘How very odd, sir. From my observations I could have sworn it was the other way around.'

‘Have you been spying on me then?'

‘Yes, sir. I considered your behaviour to be most undignified. I have some dry clothes ready for you to change into; we don't want you to risk catching a cold.'

The laugh Finch Leighton gave was spontaneous. ‘Oscar, if I do catch a cold, then that little excursion will be worth every snuffle and sneeze. There's nothing like being childish to cheer yourself up. You should try it.'

‘If you say so, sir,' and the sniff Oscar gave was so stuffy that Serafina giggled when the manservant winked at her and said, his voice laced with disapproval, ‘I don't know what Miss Chapman would make of such odd behaviour.'

‘Celia would have joined in I expect. Stop being such a bloody schoolmarm, Oscar, else I'll tell Miss Finn about the time you got yourself inebriated on my brandy and I found you in the fountain minus your—'

‘Mr Leighton! That is not something to shock a young woman's ears with.'

‘Perhaps you're right, Oscar, they might drop off, and that would be a pity. Off with you then, Miss Finn. I can hear you dripping from here.'

As she squelched off towards her quarters Serafina heard Oscar say, ‘Giles is waiting to see you, sir. I told him to come back in half an hour. He was wearing his best suit.'

‘Oh, dear, it must be something serious then.'

Adam was still living in his Chiswick house. Mostly he ate out, and his housemaid came in twice a week to do the cleaning and his washing. The idea of putting tenants in the house and renting gentlemen's rooms elsewhere had been discarded by Adam the very moment he'd met Serafina.

It amazed him that a chain of events that had initially started life as a search for the orphaned child, John Barrie, had widened into ripples that had led him to the Honeyman sisters, their husbands, and from there to an ever-widening circle of friends and acquaintances, until eventually he'd met the young woman who'd stolen his heart.

Even his mother and sister had found love and happiness within the circle. Adam was happy for both of them, but especially for his sister, who had almost resigned herself to spinsterhood. Finch Leighton was perfect for Celia, since they would be intellectually compatible. Finch wasn't the type of man who'd measure Celia's use in terms of household duties. Even when the man was in the company of Serafina – who was to all intents and purposes Finch's servant – there was lively conversation as he encouraged her to exercise her mind.

Celia also loved Leighton Manor, and was looking forward to settling there and being a companion to her husband. Adam just wished that Finch could see her because he'd appreciate her quiet elegance, especially now she was glowing with the happiness she felt inside her.

His own home was lonely without Celia and his mother for company, though he received many social invitations. Unexpectedly, due to the elevation of his position to Edgar Wyvern's stepson the interest in him as a possible suitor for somebody's daughter had also increased. His heart belonged to Serafina though.

He hoped she would learn to cope with the social side of things, though she was not backward at having her say once she'd found her confidence. Her education was patchy, but better than most females, especially one who'd spent time farmed out and who'd been moved from one place to another.

Serafina had unexpected depths though, and she was curious about things and wanted to learn. She would find her security here with him if she'd have him, and he'd encourage her to blossom. Here was the house she coveted, a comfortable nest, bigger than she'd planned for, but not big enough to scare her. She'd keep it in order, because that was her nature, and that would also suit him. But that was for the future. It didn't strike him as odd that he was planning in advance, since it was part of his nature to do so, and he could change direction if he needed to, as long as he kept his goal in sight.

Adam spent a few days at the office to consult on cases and to make sure everything was in hand and running as it should. He then travelled to Poole to see Marianne and bring her up to date with events. He hoped to bring this particular case to an end within the month.

From Marianne he learned that Erasmus was due back in port in two weeks' time, and he promised her he would try and bring Serafina to meet them by then.

He wasn't at all confident though. The more he knew of Serafina, the more Adam learned that behind her confident veneer was a frighteningly vulnerable young woman – one who'd experienced rejection from the moment she was born.

He would have to be patient with her, and gently pace the pressure he placed on that quick mind of hers, as well as appeal to her emotions.

F
inch Leighton intended to move into the family home after his marriage. He'd accepted an appointment as a local magistrate, and had gone with Oscar to sit in on a court session and make the acquaintance of his future peers.

It was a bright day when Adam arrived at Leighton Manor. He led a horse with a wicker basket attached to either side of the saddle. There was an overnight travelling bag clutched in his other fist. His honeyed curls bobbed about his hat, and his stride carried him over the ground fast. He nearly took Serafina's breath away.

When Adam lowered the baskets Joseph took the horse round to the stable. He must have walked from the station to enjoy the day, Serafina thought, though there was very little room left on the horse for a passenger, as well. Like many tall men he wore his clothes well, and his short flared overcoat was a dark contrast to his pale-grey trousers.

There was a surge inside Serafina, like a spring tide relentlessly pushing the water over the sand into an empty space, then swirling around and taking everything back with it as it receded. She felt her body separate into swirling fragments that were drawn towards him like metal to a magnet. He was here to put pressure on her, she knew.

Glancing at herself in the mirror she sighed at the sight of her unflattering servant garb and her untidy braid. She'd been tidying up the linen cupboard. Now she hurriedly straightened her apron and pinched some colour into her cheeks, then reminded herself that Adam could have no interest in her beyond her relationship to one of his clients. Well, perhaps he could, she conceded, but that didn't mean she should encourage it.

A seafaring gentleman, Mr Leighton had described her father as. She imagined him scowling, his long facial hair streaming in the wind. He was heading into the boiling sea, his boat laden down with gold, and with a skull and crossbones flapping at the mast.

‘Heave to, me hearty tar,' she muttered, and placing a mental dagger between her teeth she swaggered down the stairs when the doorbell jangled, hand on hip.

But no, her mind's diversions didn't work this time. She stood poised on the bottom step, and, seeing Adam's outline beyond the frosted glass she forgot her imaginary pirate father, forgot Adam was socially above her, and remembered instead his parting kiss in every sensuous detail. Her traitorous body reacted accordingly.

‘Damn,' she said, conceding that the sensations rioting into her were gloriously pleasurable. She hadn't allowed herself time to think about the personal problem Adam represented – hadn't actually
given
herself time, since she'd been attacked by spring cleaning fever of late. Not that there was much dirt around these days, except for
that
room, and her palms itched every time she passed it. She wondered what Celia would think of it when she came to live here. Still, as Mr Leighton had made quite clear to her, his former wife's room was none of her business. She supposed, nor were his future wife's thoughts.

Shading his eyes with his hands, Adam pressed his nose against the glass like an inquisitive boy. He wouldn't see her in the shadows.

‘The doorbell has rung, answer it, Serafina,' she reminded herself, and lifting the edge of her skirt she trotted across the hall with some anticipation.

She sighed as she opened the door. Adam's mouth had curved into a smile of great charm at the sight of her. She kept her happiness at seeing him again carefully controlled, but if she'd been a puppy dog she'd have run around his ankles in circles of yelping delight.

‘Mr Chapman,' she said calmly above her inner turmoil. ‘Do come in. Mr Leighton isn't at home at the moment, but he shouldn't be much longer. You know where the drawing room is; I'll bring you some tea.'

Adam placed a basket on the floor. Within seconds he was in front of her, gazing at her through eyes shining like winter sunshine.

She gazed back at him, feeling more flustered by the minute, and breathless with anticipation. Don't look at me like that, her thoughts begged, as if scared by her reaction to him.

The day darkened as though a cloud had moved over the sun. His mouth didn't move but she clearly heard her name whispered in one, long husky breath, so it sounded as though it had been carried on the wind.

‘Serafina . . .'

Dust, leaves and hawthorn petals swirled in a circle on the tiled floor of the porch. The day lightened and she felt as though something momentous had happened.

His eyes widened and the black irises in his eyes intensified. ‘Did you say your name?'

‘No . . . I thought you did. It must have been the wind.'

‘So it's true . . . Marianne was right and she did hear your name on the wind. Perhaps you're being called back to the place where you were born . . . did you know you have gypsy blood in your veins? It came through your mother's line.'

And practical Sara Finn remembered the old woman when she was still alive – her aunt, whose eyes had been sometimes strange and full of wisdom, her tongue full of lore as she'd told her tales of travelling folk, and of a gypsy princess called Serafina after whom she'd been named.

She'd thought of her aunt in the copse just a week ago when she'd run from Mr Leighton, and Serafina knew she'd been running away from the old woman too.

‘They told me I was unclean,' she whispered.

Now she couldn't deny what was in her blood. She could feel it inside her, pulling at her . . . and in the nature of the landscape around her, as if they were tied together and her soul had a connection with it. It was no good running from it because it was part of who she was. The good thing was she was no longer afraid of it, and that alone had a cleansing effect.

‘You remember, don't you?'

He could see inside her, make a connection to where it mattered. ‘I remember that my name is Serafina and that a long time ago my ancestors were gypsies. At least, I think I do. You will tell me the rest, no doubt, and I'll decide whether in my heart I am what you want me to be.'

‘I spoke to your sister Marianne, and she wants you to come home. She has sent you a gift.'

Home?
She closed her eyes . . . was home the place where she'd been created in an act of love . . . or of hate perhaps. If so, it was the place where she'd been born, with mother, father, sisters . . . death, grief and . . . pain, that had become a lost memory.

Or was home being with someone she loved and who loved her in return? Someone like . . .
Adam
. But hadn't she learned that hoping for too much from people could disappoint?

‘Tell me of Charlotte . . . what does she want of me?'

He hesitated. ‘Charlotte has shouldered a great deal of responsibility over what happened in the past. When your mother died it hurt her badly, and she needed to hate somebody for what had happened.'

‘Dear God . . . it's me she hates, isn't it? All this time Charlotte has hated me.'

He didn't deny it. ‘She despises the man who hopes you are his daughter. It's hard for Charlotte to reconcile herself to the fact that you might be alive after all this time. She knows she's being unfair and is trying not to be. She has much to commend her.'

‘The seafarer . . . what's his name?'

‘Erasmus.'

‘What's he like?'

‘Straightforward, and a bit taciturn. He's been at sea since he was a child. As a result he's superstitious. He's of above-average height, and muscular. Erasmus has eyes that can see a long way. He enjoys the sea and his ship
Daisy Jane
, and has only ever loved one woman in his life . . . and she happened to be married to someone else. He would have given up the sea for your mother, I think.'