Anne Barbour (28 page)

Now, as she sat in the stable office, trying to keep her mind on her accounts, Claudia recalled the conversation and sighed. Her aunt was far too sharp-eyed for comfort. An attempt to resume a cordial relationship with Jem was, of course, impossible. An aching sadness spread within her. No, she could not bear to contemplate the look of contempt that would surely blaze from those gray eyes were she to approach him.

In another of the stable buildings, Jem sat on a barrel facing Jonah, who leaned against a stall door. Jem had formed the habit of visiting the old man at least once a day, for he found him a comforting source of honest wisdom and a certain astringent kindness.

“And not only is Henry Samuels still in residence at Northbridge Hall,” said Jem, “but his son Robert is home for a visit with his new bride. Lovely girl.”

“I s’pose some of the other nobs has been t’see you, as well,” said Jonah in a ruminative tone.

“A few. I met a Mr. Winstead a couple of days ago, and Mrs. Fletcher and her two daughters and a son called this morning.”

“Squire Foster ain’t been about yet?”

“No—and I am rather looking forward to meeting him. We have much to discuss.”

“How about Squire Perrey? I hear that daughter o’ his is a lively little filly. Make somebody a good wife.”

Jem flushed. “There is plenty of time for me to consider my nuptials. Tell me,”
he continued brusquely, “how does that yearling come on? The one we have earmarked for the Earl of Litchfield.”

“Ah, Miz Carstairs is right on top o’ that sich’ation. She posted a note to the earl this very day, setting a date for him to come fer a look-over. Didn’t she tell ye?”

There was a small silence. “No,” replied Jem at last. “I—I have not seen Mrs. Carstairs for a few days.”

“Well, mebbe ye should. She ain’t lookin’ good a-tall.”

Jem stiffened in concern. “Is she ill?”

“I don’t think she’s sickenin’—just lookin’ a mite peaked.”

“Oh.”

Another, long silence fell in the stable, and once again Jem felt his insides clench at the thought of Claudia Carstairs and her perfidy. He might have known, he thought bitterly, what the results would be if he let his guard down. It was almost laughable, really. One would think that at the age of four and twenty he would have learned his lesson. Indeed, he thought he had learned it well—that to give oneself wholly to another was to court disillusion and heartbreak. Some men, he was given to understand, loved happily—found wives or mistresses to bring joy and laughter to their lives and good friends to bring pleasure to lonely hours. He very much doubted this concept—it had certainly proven false in his case. His beloved father had brought tragedy upon himself and his family through his weakness. The aunt and uncle to whom he had transferred his childish devotion, had turned his family out without a qualm when it became inconvenient to have them in their home. Others for whom he had come to feel affection, such as Burt Finch, the pickpocket, had betrayed him.

How could he have been such a fool as to forget all this over a pair of amber eyes and an understanding smile? He had let her become a part of his life—a part of his very soul, it seemed. He felt complete with her at his side and empty when she was not. Thank God he had been unable to tell her that he loved her. What a fool he had almost made of himself.

He recalled his disbelieving anguish as he had read Emanuel’s wretched list. She had deceived him—manipulated him with consummate skill, and he, self-proclaimed master of the confidence game, had fallen into her trap like the veriest greenling. He had believed her response to his kisses was genuine—a warm, innocent giving of herself. A hot current of rage and pain twisted through him at the memory of that soft mouth, her scented breath against his throat.

“Leastways, I hope there’s nothin’ wrong with her.”

Jem jerked himself back to the present as Jonah spoke.

“She’s a real nice leddie,” continued the old man.

Jem laughed shortly, and at Jonah’s expression of concerned puzzlement, found himself disclosing Claudia’s perfidy, the words spilling from him like poison released from a sore.

At the conclusion of Jem’s tale, Jonah said nothing for a long moment, pulling on the pipe he had lit moments before. At last he said consideringly, “It don’t seem t’ me the leddy did you any real harm.”

“No harm!” responded Jem indignantly. “But she—”

“She quit Ravencroft and signed it over t’ye, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but—”

“She needn’t have done so, did she? I mean, knowin’ yer case was weak without Mr. Carstairs papers, she could’ve just sat on ‘em and took her chances in court. And her chances was pretty good, by what you’ve told me.”

“That’s true, but she—” He stopped abruptly as the stable door opened and Claudia stepped into the building.

“Oh!” she said, her eyes wide in startlement. “I came to see—that is, I thought you alone, Jonah.” She backed away. “I shall return when—”

“Never mind, Mrs. Carstairs,” said Jem harshly. “I was just leaving.”

He rose from his seat on the barrel and made his way past her, jerking his arm as though burned when it brushed hers accidentally. He had a hand on the door latch when he turned to face Claudia.

“Jonah tells me you have written to the Earl of Litchfield concerning that yearling.”

His tone was prosaic, but when Claudia lifted her eyes to his she felt the icy contempt in his gaze like a physical assault.

“Yes,” she replied quietly.

“Will you let me know when he is due to arrive?”

“Of course. Would—would you care to handle the transaction yourself?”

A slow sneer spread over Jem’s features. “No, I merely wish to meet him. His father and mine were friends. I have every confidence in your ability to wring the last possible farthing from him. You are so very good at that sort of thing, after all.”

Claudia whitened as he returned her gaze with a bleak stare of his own. The next moment he was gone.

It was some moments before Claudia was able to turn to Jonah. She wanted nothing more than to find a dark corner in which to weep away her hurt, but with a supreme effort she controlled her voice.

“I came to speak to you about Morrison, Jonah—one of the new men. He—” She choked, and to her horror felt tears welling in her eyes. Despite her best efforts, they spilled over almost immediately, rolling hotly down her cheeks.

“Oh, my goodness,” she gasped, dashing her hand against her face. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what—”

“Na, na then, lass.” Jonah laid an awkward hand on her arm. “I know somethin’s been troublin’ ye. Don’t be afeared to cry it out.”

The next moment, Claudia found herself enclosed in a comforting embrace, smelling of hay and horse, and throwing propriety to the winds, sobbed her heartache out against the rough fabric of Jonah’s shirt.

Jem slammed the kitchen door behind him and strode along the corridor leading to the great hall. Damn! The vision of Claudia’s stricken face rose up before him. After what she had done to him, why had he felt an almost overpowering urge to gather her in his arms and assure her that he hadn’t meant a word he’d said?

He moved through the hall, intent on reaching the sanctuary of his study, but expelled a sigh of irritation on discovering Miss Melksham in his path.

“Ah, Glenraven,” she said briskly. “I have been looking for you.” She waved a piece of paper for his attention. “I have been jotting down a preliminary list for the dinner party.”

“What dinner party?” asked Jem blankly.

“Why the one you will be giving shortly.” Her voice rose in surprise. “We discussed it some time ago.”

“I have no recollection of such a conversation, and I really do not wish—”

“But it is expected,” she said in a tone that brooked no dispute. “You have been wanting to meet Squire Foster, and this will be a good opportunity. And you must meet Sir Wilfred Perrey. His daughter—”

“Is extremely eligible,” finished Jem wearily. “I have been hearing a great deal lately about the charming and enticingly wealthy Miss Perrey.”

Miss Melksham did not respond to this, but said in a tentative voice, “It will also be a good opportunity to show the neighbors that you and Claudia are on good terms.”

Jem said nothing, ignoring the unpleasant quiver her words produced in his belly.

“Are
you on terms? Yes, I know I’m being presumptuous,” she added in a rush, her pewter-colored curls quivering agitatedly, “but—” She paused and drew in a long breath. “Glenraven, have you a moment? I would speak with you on a matter of some delicacy.”

Jem groaned inwardly. Was he about to receive yet another lecture from one of Claudia’s well-wishers? There was really nothing anyone could say to sway him. Jonah could say all he wanted, as could Miss Melksham—Claudia had deceived him. He did not hold it against her. He had merely made a mistake in not recalling that what one treasured the most was what would inevitably be lost. In a moment of idiocy, he had come to treasure Claudia Carstairs beyond anything or anyone he had ever known. And now he was paying for it. The only way he could cope with the desolation he now felt was simply to have nothing more to do with her. He wanted no more interference in his resolution.

“I was on my way—” he began, but Miss Melksham, grasping his arm, led him out of the hall and into his own study, where she virtually pushed him into a chair before seating herself in one near him. Jem found himself in unwilling admiration of her masterful tactics.

“This won’t take a moment.” She gazed into her lap for some moments before continuing. “I was wondering—you and she were spending a great deal of time together—sorting out the estate affairs—did she ever speak to you of herself?”

“Herself? Why, I suppose she must have—that is, no,” he said in some surprise. “Actually, beyond telling me something of her husband, she divulged little of her background.” Despite himself, he leaned forward in his chair. “I take it she was a somewhat unusual girl.”

Miss Melksham permitted herself an affectionate smile. “Yes, she was. In a world full of peahens, she was a young eaglet. Wild and independent to a fault, and loving and giving and vital. How she came to be born to a pair like Walter and Eliza, I cannot imagine. They certainly did everything within their power to press her into the same mold into which they’d fitted Rose so nicely. Walter, in particular, found her behavior inexplicable and utterly unacceptable. She had few children to play with near her home, but when she joined the village children in their games, her father forbade it. She loved to roam the fields and forests near her home, but when Walter discovered her habit of disappearing for hours with a fishing pole in hand, he decreed that she should not stray beyond the garden wall by herself.

“Rose was sent into Gloucester to a young ladies’ seminary, and Claudia looked forward to the time when she would go. I think it was not so much her desire to become more accomplished in embroidery and singing that prompted her eagerness, as an ardent desire to escape Walter’s smothering environment. It was not to be, however, for her father decided that, in view of her hoydenish behavior in the past, it would be better if she were kept at home until she was of a marriageable age.”

“I suppose,” said Jem quietly, “that she did not accept her confinement easily.”

“Heavens, no! The battles that used to rage in their home were positively Homeric. Claudia did not win one of them, but that did not stop her from protesting the next ukase to come down from on high. For a while,” continued the old lady reflectively, “she sought refuge in books. My, how that child loved to read. There was little to stimulate her mind in her father’s library, but the vicar opened his to her, and soon she was absorbing all kinds of dangerous notions. When Walter discovered this, he shut Claudia in her room for two weeks, with nothing to occupy her except the mending of household linen.”

‘Two weeks!” exclaimed Jem, appalled. Miss Melksham nodded. “But did no one come to her aid? Surely her mother—”

“Tchah! Eliza’s only action on her daughter’s behalf was to murmur, “There, there, dear, I’m sure it’s all for the best.’ “

“And her father culminated his career as a father by marrying Claudia to Emanuel Carstairs.” Jem’s voice was a rasping whisper.

“Yes. Of course, none of us knew at that time what he was really like, but he was thirty years older than Claudia, and she was afraid of him without quite knowing why. When her father confronted her with the completed fact of her betrothal to Carstairs, it was as though he had struck her a mortal blow. I was visiting in their home at the time, and I saw her emerge from Walter’s study, a look of such blind misery on her face that my heart went out to her. She did not plead or rage this time—she knew the futility by now of such an action. It was I who interceded for her with Walter, and was ordered from the house for my pains.”

Miss Melksham rose and went to stand before one of the long windows that overlooked the south lawn. “Her years with Carstairs were pure, unmitigated hell.”

“Thank God there were not many of them,” said Jem in a low voice.

“Yes,” she replied with some asperity. “One would think that she had finally escaped the prison her life had been up to that point, but she had no sooner buried Emanuel than Thomas Reddinger strode onto the scene. He had always been a thorn in her side, of course, but now she saw him as merely the next man in a progression of males whose only use for her was to serve their needs, and who were determined to wring every ounce of spirit from her because it interfered with their comfort.”

Miss Melksham returned to her chair and folded her hands in her lap. She cast a level glance at Jem.

“She was, however, no longer the green girl who had been forced to do her father’s bidding and then her husband’s. Ravencroft had been picked bare, but she was fierce in her determination to make a success of the horse-breeding operation. Never, she declared, would she be at the mercy of any man ever again.”

She rose again. ‘That is all I have to say, Glenraven. She does not know that I planned to speak to you. She would not want me to do so, but I felt you should know.” Silently, she left the room, leaving Jem to take up her position at the window.