This Perfect Kiss (20 page)

“Miss Douglas,” he said in greeting.

“Papa! You visited the candy shop.”

Stepping around Christel, he lifted Anna so she could procure the anticipated treasure in his palm. “I could not find gumdrops, but I did find horehound on my way back from the warehouse.”

Looking perfectly at ease in his daughter's company, surrounded by her laughter, he flipped off the lid and revealed six large pieces. “Oh, Papa! Thank you!” She placed a piece of candy between her lips, then gave one to Mrs. Gables, Tia, Doctor White and Christel. “One for you, too, Papa.”

“Hmm.” A dimple creased one side of his mouth as he sucked on the drop. “Bitter.” He looked curiously from Christel to Tia. “We are having a reunion? Outside in the cold?”

“I was just taking Anna inside the shop, my lord,” Tia said.

“I was on my way to the livery,” Christel said at the same time.

He said something to Mrs. Gables, then set Anna down. “Now, off with you, pup. Find something for your great-grandmamma to appease her while I am away.” His gaze touched the darkening sky. “You have about an hour left before you need to be back in the coach.”

Without looking at Christel, Tia took Anna inside the notions shop. Mrs. Gables smiled kindly at Christel and followed. Doctor White bowed to her. “If I may, I have a patient to see and will escort you to the livery on my way, Miss Doug—”

“Unnecessary, White,” Lord Carrick said before Christel could respond. “Make your rounds. If you wish to return to Blackthorn Castle, you need to be back to this coach before the snow begins.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Clutching her accounting ledgers tightly to her chest, Christel watched him leave. Almost reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to Lord Carrick's. “You are presumptuous, my lord.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I am. Did you come to Maybole alone?”

She pivoted on her heel. “Nay, I did not.” Christel called Dog and started walking to the livery.

Lord Carrick hooked his arm around hers, turning her. “The livery is this way.”

Of course it was. She drew in her breath and changed direction. “You are leaving soon?” she asked after a moment. “Will you be returning?”

“I am leaving my daughter behind. What do you think?”

“Then you will be staying or returning to London?”

He chuckled. “Are you asking as my
friend
or my future lover?”

She glared at him. Touching her elbow, he shouldered his way across a busy street, stopping once as a coach thundered past. Warmth from his fingertips seeped through the fabric of her gown.

“That depends on why you are traveling to Glasgow.”

“Strictly a financial endeavor. Business.”

At the edge of town, the population had thinned and she slowed their pace. “I never gave you an answer when you asked that I tutor Anna,” she said. He stopped, forcing her to stop as well and face him.

Her arms tightened around the ledgers. She felt uncertain because of what she had learned about Saundra and the gold coin.

“The offer is still open,” he said.

She sensed restraint as he awaited her reply. His nearness made her uneasy, but only because he made her aware of herself. These past weeks, since their meeting on the hill above the cottage, she had thought of him constantly. He came to her in her dreams when she slept and her thoughts when awake. She did not want her reasons for going to Blackthorn Castle to be only so that she would be nearer to him. Taking a job also gave her purpose. She desperately needed the income.

“I pay well,” he finally said.

She narrowed her eyes. “How well?”

“The deed to your cottage. Something to consider.”

“I should have known that you cannot help but be deliberately provocative.”

“Aye.” His fingertips came alongside her cheek and, exerting only the slightest pressure, he tilted her head to meet his gaze. “But an honest provocateur.”

He smelled a little like citrus, too, warm like sunlight, and a pleasure sharp and sweet sliced through her. “Lord in heaven, you are an ass,” she rasped.

He laughed. “I am not going to kiss you,” he said. “I would hate to make you suffer by actually enjoying it. You will have to wait for me to return from Glasgow.”

T
wo hours later, Camden watched from a distant hill as Christel reined in the black gelding at the top of the rise overlooking her home. Heavy clouds shrouded the coastline. Snow had begun to fall, leaving a blanket of white covering the windswept landscape.

Seastone Cottage squatted on ten acres below her, a small piece of paradise her mother and father had carved out of the land. The cottage was a pretty house, with its stone walls and thatched roof, three stories if one counted the attic rooms. A garden once stretched along the southern exposure. On a clear day, a person could look north and see the dark towers of Blackthorn Castle. He watched as she looked that way now, toward him, and he felt a visceral tug the moment her gaze touched his.

Silhouetted against the turbulent sky, Camden sat astride his horse. A black cloak twined around him and draped his mount. As he saw her pause, his horse pranced sideways. He was too far away for her to see his face or for him to see hers.

He did not remain long in his vigilance of her. He reined his horse around, and now he needed to reach Blackthorn Castle before the storm. But he caught himself hesitating, pulling at the reins of the horse, at once stirred by the primal power of the world laid before him.

The same way he felt when on the deck of his ship, drawn to the view, to the raw elemental sensation that came as he looked out over the sea and drank in the sheer incredible beauty of it. And in that moment, he knew why she loved it here.

This place. This land. It was in his blood, too.

He had just forgotten.

Chapter 11

L
ord Carrick had been gone a month when a rare bout of winter sunlight took Christel and Anna to the ballroom, a beautiful empty place with tall windows and glass doors. After an attempt to teach Anna needlepoint had met with dismal failure last week, Christel hoped to impart upon her young protégée the art of watercolors.

“Why can't Dog come inside?” Anna asked for the second time.

Christel leaned on a tall painter's stool, her gown protected by a smock and her vision partially obstructed by the canvas in front of her. A bowl filled with plump fake apples, grapes and oranges shared a display with one of Anna's curly-haired dolls.

“Dog is in the barn, Anna. He cannot come inside because the last time he did, he broke a valuable vase chasing after you. I warned you he would be the one to get into trouble if something untoward occurred.”

“What if Dog freezes and we do not find him until spring?” Anna asked. “Will you not be sad?”

“Aye,” Christel agreed, smearing her brush in red and orange pigment. “I would be horror-struck.”

Anna thrust out her bottom lip, a gesture that Christel was fast coming to recognize as a pout. She ignored it and without rebuking the girl said, “I promised your grandmother I would not allow him anywhere near
anything
that is of value, which includes everything at Blackthorn Castle. Your behavior has consequences, Anna.”

“When is Papa returning?”

Swishing her paintbrush in water, Christel swiped the loose hairs from her face with her free hand. “How many weeks are in a month?” she asked, bringing in a hated arithmetic lesson. Mrs. Gables had informed Christel only last week that Anna was refusing to do her lessons, which was one of the reasons Christel had decided to come more often to Blackthorn Castle.

Awaiting a reply, Christel lifted her head and peered at Anna, who stood momentarily defiant. “Four weeks are in a month,” Anna said. “Except in February, which is shy four weeks by two days.”

Anna had her merits, to be sure. She was excellent with numbers.

“Your papa is due back the last week in March. If three weeks and five days have passed since your papa's departure, what does that leave before his return?”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Three weeks and two days, Miss Christel.”

Christel resisted a smile. “Now tomorrow, when you are bored and ask me when your papa will be home, you will already know the answer.”

“But I shall perish of boredom before he returns.”

The child was still young and tender and full of her own self-importance, and not used to being told no. But Christel knew Anna pushed because she could, and Christel had definitely worked up a tolerance to the patter of young angst these days.

“Perhaps I should set you to the task of writing a novel,” Christel said without looking up. “You have a definite flair for large words and drama. I am impressed. Truly.”

“Papa does not force me to do anything I do not wish to do.”

“Methinks sometimes Papas spoil their daughters too much.”

“But I do not
like
watercolors.”

Folding her arms, Christel walked behind Anna and observed the girl's work with a critical eye. “That is unfortunate. Especially since you are quite inventive with your lines and rather creative with your colors. I have never seen such a unique apple.”

“Grams thought it was an orange. And Grandmama said 'twas a croquet ball.”

“Hmm.” Christel managed not to laugh lest her reaction be misconstrued. “It
could
pass for a croquet ball, I suppose. But most definitely 'tis not an orange.”

Anna suddenly giggled. They shared a smile. Christel went back to her own canvas.

“Do all ladies have to know how to paint and sing and dance and do needlepoint?”

“Yes.”

“Were
you
a lady?”

“When I was your age, I wanted to be a lady more than anything in the world.”

“Why?”

“Because only a real lady could marry a prince.”

“What happened?”

Christel lowered her paintbrush and found herself remembering this ballroom in its golden glory days. She could almost hear the music. The unfinished chapter in her life had suddenly become a book that she had yet to close. “The prince married someone else, and I knew I had to find a way to take care of myself.”

“Truly? Were you sad?”

“To grow up? Who does not want to believe in fairy tales forever?” Christel turned. “I know 'tis hard, Anna, but you cannot let yourself quit every time something becomes difficult or does not go your way. How will you ever learn to believe in yourself?”

Anna picked up her paintbrush. “Miss Christel?” she asked after a long moment. “Am I bad?”

“Absolutely not. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because Uncle Leighton has not come to see me. He was not here for the Christmastide supper. He has not been to church with us. He did not say good-bye, Miss Christel.”

Christel swished her brush in water. “He had to go away, Anna.”

“Did Papa make him go just like before?”

“Your Uncle Leighton is a grown man. Wherever he is, he is fine. In fact, he has probably written to you, but the post just has not arrived.”

The corners of Anna's mouth turned up as she considered this. “ 'Tis only that I miss him. He plays marbles and jackstraws and takes me ice sliding with skates. He tells me the best bedtime stories. I want him to teach me how to ride my pony.”

Christel gently wiped the hair from Anna's cheek, but she made no reply, though she was wont to do so with anger at Leighton. 'Twas a simple matter to win the affection of an eight-year-old child when all a person had to do was play games and bring presents. He had been quick enough to disappear without saying good-bye or sending a note to the girl.

“I
do
know that your papa loves you,” she said quietly. “He allowed you to stay here with your great-grandmamma, did he not? When he returns, ask
him
to read you a story. If he does not know how to play jackstraws or marbles, offer to teach him. Tell him you want to learn how to ride your pony. What did he say in his letter to you?”

From the outset, Christel had not inquired after Lord Carrick because such an inquiry would have demonstrated an unseemly interest in the master of the manse. She still managed to learn by listening to others talk, but this time she found herself wanting to ask Anna about the letter the girl had received yesterday.

“Your papa must have said a lot. The letter was quite long.”

Anna shrugged a thin shoulder. “Papa mostly wrote that I was not to give you worry wrinkles and gray hair, but that if you asked what he wrote to me in my letters that I am to tell you that he would think you are very pretty even if you
did
have gray hair.”

Christel felt heat crawl up her neck. Anna cracked an impish smile. “I think he likes you, or he would not have told Grandmamma to allow you to come here.” She studied Christel with earnest blue-gray eyes. “Are you my governess?”

Christel set down her paintbrush. “I am only your tutor, and only until your papa returns. I stay here when the weather or time of day does not allow me to walk home. But my home is Seastone Cottage.”

“Cousin Tianna said that she is your half sister. If that is true, why do you not live with Grams and her at Rosecliffe?”

“Seastone Cottage is my home, Anna.”

“Will you live at Seastone all by yourself
forever
?” Anna asked. “Why can you not live
here
forever and be my governess?”

“Because nothing lasts forever. What I mean . . . is that one day, you will be all grown up and have a family of your own. You will not need me anymore.” She tipped her chin at Anna's watercolor. “Now put a stem on that apple so I can teach you something much more fun.”

Anna looked uncertain. Christel placed the watercolors back into their tins. “In the real world people learn skills to survive.”

“You mean like learning how to shoot a pistol and to fish?”

Christel laughed. “We can do that when the weather warms. How would you like to design and make a real dress for your doll?”

Making doll clothes would involve not only learning how to sketch creations from one's own imagination but also arithmetic to properly measure and make patterns. And Christel had gotten the urge to draw again.

Anna's blue eyes perked with interest. “Can my doll be a real fairy princess?”

“She can be whatever you want. That is the beauty of using your imagination. Your dreams become real.”

C
hristel's chambers at Blackthorn Castle were on the third floor at the opposite end of the sprawling estate where she had spent her first night. The room was in the same wing but one floor up from the chambers that Lord Carrick had once shared with Saundra. The corridor joined to his floor by a garret staircase near Anna's nursery, which the child shared with Mrs. Gables. One window at the end of the hall overlooked the cove and a crow colony that had taken nest in the old battlements.

Every day as she passed the nursery, Christel stopped at the window to look out at the cove. Tonight clouds drifted across the sky, blotting out the stars. Water and sky blended as one, and she could see nothing in the darkness. She had just left Saundra's bedchambers, having searched drawers and cubbies, beneath the bed and in her armoire. The room was empty of most everything, so Christel had had no high hopes that she would discover anything significant that might shed light on Saundra's activities or troubles. She'd found no correspondence or journal.

Christel entered her chambers and closed the door. She had left a fire burning in the hearth when she had taken Anna to her rooms and put her to bed. She stopped. The dowager sat on the green damask chair in front of the hearth, looking more genial than she had before. She held Christel's drawing tablet, which contained all the fashion plates on which she had been working these past evenings when she'd been alone in her room.

While designing the wardrobe for Anna's favorite dolls, Christel had gotten the idea to expand the concept. After all, what were doll clothes but miniature versions of adult attire? Though wonderful for little girls to indulge in, dreams did not put food onto one's table or pay one's bills, and if Christel had become anything these past few years, it was realistic about her circumstances. She had once owned a successful dress shop in the heart of Loyalist Williamsburg that had catered to the former lord-governor's wife. Someone would be lucky to have her ideas.

“These are quite acceptable,” the dowager said without looking up.

She continued to thumb through drawings depicting polonaise-style overskirts looped back and pinned behind, revealing an underskirt, or open-robed higher-waisted gown with no trained overskirt. “A bit of Parisian finesse to add a worldly flair to the styles. Not what I expected from someone just come from the colonies.”

“Thank you, my lady. Your praise warms me.”

“Hmpf
. Always a cheeky one. Are any of these Anna's ideas?”

“The dress that is made of ruffles, gauze and a bounty of glittering jewels, feathers and seashells is hers. Her doll is a fairy princess, you understand.”

The dowager's mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “She has told me so on occasion.”

The last drawing was of Lord Carrick. But before Christel could remove the tablet from the dowager's hand, she turned the page, and Christel had a sudden wish for the ground to swallow her.

She had drawn Camden's hair slightly shorter than it was in reality, and she'd streamed it like a shadowy cloud behind him. His eyes were a pale reflection, like moonlight. She had sketched him wild and shameless, the way her mind had captured him on the deck of his ship with the storm clouds behind him.

“Does my grandson share your fantasy of him?”

“All art is fantasy.”

The dowager folded up the portfolio and set it on the small round table at her elbow. The candle flickered with the draft of the movement.

“ 'Tis only a drawing, my lady,” Christel said.

The dowager rose with a rustle of black bombazine and glanced at the sparsely furnished room. “You have been spending much of your time with us of late. Are you comfortable in this room?”

“Why are you here, my lady? Have I committed some crime?”

“I came to give you this,” the dowager said, offering Christel a folded length of vellum.

Confused, Christel popped the seal and leaned nearer to the candle.

The dowager walked nearer to the hearth, where she stood within the radiant warmth of the fire. “Seastone Cottage is yours,” she said. “No lien. No mortgage. No taxes due. As of today, everything is yours.”

Heat burned across Christel's cheeks, as if she stood within reach of the flames in her hearth. She closed her eyes.

This was what she had wanted after all. Did it make a difference how the gift had come to her? Was her heart not as mercenary as any man's? Had she not proven that over and over again throughout the war? Had a part of her
not
wanted the thousand pounds the dowager had offered to her to
entice
her grandson to stay? This was far less. Christel refolded the vellum with a calm she was far from feeling.

“My grandson pays his staff well,” the dowager said. “In a year, you will have earned enough to make your work here a trade for the taxes on your cottage, at least.”

“A year?”

The dowager faced the hearth. “My grandson hired you to be Anna's tutor. But I wish that you be her governess. She needs you. You are very much earning your keep. I have been told that you have already taken over many of Mrs. Gable's responsibilities.”

“Only until her gout subsides. Doctor White has tasked me to keep an eye on her.”