Emily Greenwood (25 page)

“I have been rather taken up with all the things that need to be done here, but never so busy, I hope, that I do not make time for my favorite aunt.”

She smiled at the familiar old endearment, then her expression turned more serious. “Have you heard from Felicity? I do like her so very much. She will make you a fine wife.”

“Mmm,” he said.
If
she was going to be his wife. He had explained Felicity’s abrupt departure to Miranda only by saying that she’d needed to take care of something at home, but that James was sure nothing was seriously wrong. Was she pregnant, he wondered for the umpteenth time? He quite wished she were, since that would tie her to him. Not that he wanted her to marry him only out of necessity. But he knew she cared for him, and if only she would give him a chance, they would surely get on very well together. Maybe he should just write that in his note to her.

He picked a few blades of grass, absentmindedly observing their varying heights, feeling the dry juice made by his picking, then tossed them aside.

He could sense Miranda’s clear blue eyes considering him and he glanced up from the grass. She fixed him with a penetrating look, and he was reminded of many a sober talk she had given to him as a rambunctious youth.

“James, how did Felicity feel about you selling Tethering Hall?”

He pressed his lips together. He had studiously avoided spending much time thinking about his selling of Tethering, which had begun all the trouble. He shrugged. “Well, she was not pleased when she discovered what had happened, but I imagine you noticed.”

“Did you explain yourself to her? She must have felt terribly betrayed.”

Betrayed? Hadn’t Felicity called him a traitor? “I did apologize about the way she found out. I agree now,” he said slowly, “in hindsight, I should have told her much earlier. But of course I knew she wouldn’t like the idea—she’d been so focused on Tethering for so long that I don’t think she could see there was anything else in the world. And telling her wouldn’t have made any difference in the outcome—I had to sell it, you know that. Our engagement changed nothing; I couldn’t pay off the debt without selling. Granton is much finer than Tethering, or at least it will be once I take care of everything. Surely in time she will come to realize that.”

“I’m not so sure. Tethering is charming, and what’s more, it was her home. You can’t put a price on that.” She sighed rather dramatically. “Is that all Felicity is to you, James, part of your plans, an arrangement?” She shook her head. “You are so used to arranging things, to taking care of things that need to be done.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. He felt tense these days, as if something were relentlessly winding him up inside.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being busy, James?”

“Tired?” Being busy made him feel invigorated—hadn’t it always? “No. I enjoy being occupied. Ilike accomplishments.”

She laughed, but she looked almost sad. “Yes, even as a youth you seemed to have boundless energy. It exhausted me just watching you go from one thing to another, even staying up until all hours studying when you were on holiday from school. But don’t you ever feel that you can’t always be going here and there in life? That at some point you will want to alight somewhere and stay?”

“But I am going to do that,” he pointed out. “I plan to be mostly at Granton Hall, sometimes in London, and sometimes in Spain.”

“You have always seemed determined to dominate whatever life might send you through sheer hard work. When you lived with me, you were always doing as many things as possible at the same time. As if you didn’t want to leave any room in your life where something you were avoiding might creep in.”

The portrait of him that she was painting made him deeply uncomfortable. “But I do enjoy my life,” he insisted. “What could be better than accomplishing something, like improving the vineyard, or reestablishing the good name of Collington, which Charles all but ruined?”

“You are right to be satisfied and proud. I am very proud of you,” she said seriously. She paused. “But, James, we are so much more than what we
do
in life. The older I get, the more I see that we are meant to be able to just
be
, that that is the greatest gift, to just be who you are fully. But you can’t do that, you can’t even really see who you are, if you are always moving.”

He looked puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Miranda.”

She sighed and pinched off a spent bloom near her arm before looking back at him. “No, I can see that. Forgive me, James. Perhaps now is not the time for this conversation.”

***

James held a dinner party the next night for some of the local worthies. A judge, a prominent lawyer, two small landowners and their wives. They seemed very excited by his return to Granton Hall. During dinner they tactfully did not mention his brother, but instead were eager to talk about Smithfield, the local MP whom they expected James to unseat in the next election. James tried to keep the conversation of general interest to the entire party.

The gentlemen toasted him and chuckled about local things, nice enough men if somewhat provincial. After dinner, the men left Miranda and the wives to retire for port, and then his visitors really got down to business, discussing the details of his campaign. But their long list of disagreements with Smithfield added up to little more than evidence of competing business interests. And when James probed them for concrete conflicts with Smithfield that might form the basis of his platform, the issues all seemed so lacking in compelling urgency. He didn’t really care where the new road was built, and all their talk of what the newspapers said sounded like a whirligig of opposing interest going round and round. He began to see that getting elected would mean spending a lot of time with these gentlemen.

He waved away the last of the party at a not terribly late hour and stood on his own front steps, looking out across the lawn. The moon was bright and he could see a good portion of the surrounding country. It was familiar, handsome. He knew Granton looked stately among its surroundings, and he had always been proud of that. And inextricably linked to Granton had been his pride in his family, in the achievements of his grandfather, his father, and for a while, his brother. Now it was his turn to take up the mantle of influence.

Miranda came to stand beside him. He looked down at her, and she yawned delicately.

“Well, James, was that a satisfying evening?”

“Mmm,” he replied thoughtfully. “Perhaps.” He paused. “Perhaps not.”

She cast a sideways glance at him. “I never thought of you as a political sort, James. Charles thrived on deal-making, selling ideas to people. He lived to get people to do what he wanted them to do.” She shrugged. “It was his talent, whether he used it for good or ill. But you,” she said gently, linking his arm in hers so that he looked down at her. “I always thought of you as more substantial. Charles talked about doing things, talked magnificently and confidently and got people to like him and want what he wanted. You were always a doer. You did brilliantly in your studies, while Charles cultivated connections. And you used to be a very good listener.”

“Used to be?”

She smiled. “I remember when you were perhaps sixteen, I had mentioned how much I loved cherries. And for my birthday that spring, I found a young cherry tree planted below my window, with a red satin bow tied around its slim trunk.”

He nodded slowly, remembering his younger self, all those years ago. “And you find me a poorer listener now?”

“I doubt any of us loses the gifts and talents we were born with, but they can grow rusty from disuse. Perhaps,” she said, looking at him ruefully, the moonlight twinkling in her brilliant eyes, “it’s simply that your mind has been so taken up with recovering Granton and undoing the damage Charles did that you have not left room for other, quieter thoughts to intrude.”

He weighed what she said. “You think I’ve not listened well to Felicity.”

She shrugged, and it struck him how delicate her shoulders were; she looked more fragile with age. “Only you two know all that has passed between you. But if two people are to love one another, they must listen not only to words, but to all the other signs and senses.”

He said nothing in reply, and they stood together on the doorstep, looking out across the estate.

Was this what he had wanted and fought for over three long years in Spain? All those days bent over in the fields, learning through his hands what it took to grow good grapes? Those days had been good times, he thought now, satisfying times—and had he ever even noticed, driven as he had been by his goals? He had thought then that his efforts were bringing him closer to restoring Granton Hall and his family’s good name. Closer to the respect that would be due him as a Member of Parliament, closer to wiping the scorn off the faces of those who’d delighted in his family’s fall from grace.

He looked up to the wide, dark sky above him, brilliant with the specks of the eternal stars. Stars that had looked down on mortals and their choices since before antiquity. The same stars that were shining down on Felicity, miles away from him. Felicity, who’d brought light into his life in a way no house or land ever could. She was his home in a way no building could ever be.

All night in bed he tossed and turned, exhausted but sleepless, wishing every moment that the silence would give way to creaking floorboards that would signal a visit from Lovely Annabelle, even though Lovely Annabelle would never have visited Granton Hall. Well, damned if he didn’t want to be haunted by her now. He already was haunted by Felicity. He knew this now: that he loved her. He yearned for her, and she was not there.

The dawn at least brought resolve; he would leave that day for Blossom Cottage. But the morning brought news—a message from Felicity delivered to his breakfast table.

James,

I am not carrying a child. This being the case, I will announce the end of our engagement.

Felicity

His heart plummeted down to his shoes at the news and the cool, bland tone of her message. He called for his horse and left immediately, though not before jotting a quick note to be sent elsewhere by messenger.

The day of the annual midsummer party was glorious, a trifle warm, but after all it was midsummer. And who would not enjoy the pure summery glory of the white-blue sky with its puffy clouds, the deep green of the orchard in full leaf, with tiny apples already forming on the trees? It was a perfect day, Felicity thought as she stood at the top of the hill behind the mansion and gazed on the orchard below. It was also a bittersweet occasion—the last time her family would host the party that had been a tradition for generations.

She began walking downhill toward the green meadow, where the fete was being held amid the clover and honeysuckle. In the past few years, the fete had been more of a potluck picnic, with friends and neighbors bringing dishes to pass and a bonfire blazing at night. There had not been funds for much else. But this year, since it was the last that she would organize, she decided to make it a grand farewell from her family. And so the party evolved as a cross between a community picnic and a way to raise funds for the church and school, and she received help from Mrs. Stokely, Mrs. Rossiter, and an entire committee of church ladies.

She smiled with pleasure as the small band of musicians installed in the meadow struck up a lively air whose strains drifted up to her before she emerged from among the rows of apple trees. How good the music sounded. Here, at least, was one benefit of her connection to James. Considering all that had passed between them, she had felt no compunction in directing that all the bills for the annual party be sent to him at Granton.

She reached the meadow, where people had already started to gather. It had been transformed into a glorious fairyland. Tables swathed in yards of rich, cream-colored fabric presented selections of cold meats, fresh breads, fruits, and tarts. A festive cake sat alone on its own table, prettily decorated with delicate wildflowers. A crystal bowl filled with punch sparkled in the afternoon sunlight next to an enormous vase of pale pink roses.

Nearby, a modest wooden platform had been erected for dancing, its sides decorated with garlands of flowers. An area had been set aside for croquet, and already children were running and shouting happily along the course, among them Simon, who was home on holiday. It would be a perfect farewell party. And it was farewell—at the end of the next week, though she had said nothing about it to anyone, Felicity was to join the Carlton family as governess and travel with them to Rome, to teach the children while the family stayed there for a year. She was looking forward to the travel, and to the distraction the whole undertaking would provide. She was very much in need of distraction these days.

She had decided that today at the fete she would reveal the end of her engagement and her plans to leave, not as an announcement, but individually. Gossip would take care of the rest. She had not said anything yet to anyone, in fairness to James, so that he would have time to receive her message. But he would have read it by now, and she would not wait any longer than today to tell her family and friends.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Crispin, who was moving a table under the direction of Mrs. Stokely. Felicity knew he must have decided that he could not in good conscience neglect this annual community event. He must have felt her gaze, because he looked up at her as the table was finally placed in the shade of a tree to Mrs. Stokely’s satisfaction. She thought he would look away, but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped away from the table and came toward her, his dark vicar’s suit in perfect accord with the sober set of his features.

“Crispin,” she said quietly as he drew close. “I am so glad you came.”

His eyes were shadowed as she looked at them, but not as hard as they had been when they spoke in the garden all those weeks before. They hadn’t seen one another since.

“Felicity,” he said. He inhaled thoughtfully. “I trust that you and your family are well, and your fiancé.”

She bit her lip. Should she say something now, reveal that her engagement was over? It was the truth, and she hated the idea of lying to her old friend. But she sensed the truth would only complicate matters between them right now, after that conversation in the garden.

“Thank you, yes,” she said. “That’s kind of you.”

He gave her a faint smile then, a mere shadow of his usual grin, and said, “If your vicar cannot wish you well, things have come to a sorry state indeed.”

“Oh, Crispin,” she said, reaching a hand toward him.

He shook his head. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “I do wish you well, but distance is better.” And ducking his head in parting, he strode off in the direction of the archery table.

She sighed, thinking that love was the reason for much quiet bravery in the world, something of which she had never been so fully aware before this summer.

Her father found her then, to ask her for the second time if she was sure Miranda had been sent an invitation.

“Yes, and she wrote that she was coming.” She smiled at this indication of how much her father was looking forward to seeing Miranda. He wandered off absentmindedly among the guests.

“The fete is magnificent, Felicity! Well done,” said Josephine some minutes later as she came toward Felicity.

Josephine took Felicity’s hands affectionately and smiled, holding her at arms’ length and looking her up and down in assessment. “It is so good to finally see you in something other than mourning colors. Yellow becomes you perfectly.”

Felicity blushed at the compliment and the affection behind it. She and Josephine had grown to be surprisingly good friends. She didn’t want to think how the end of her engagement would affect their friendship. They would be unlikely anyway to see each other in the future.

“I must thank you again for the gift of this beautiful gown,” Felicity said. “You have been so kind. I feel like a fairy princess.” She smoothed her hands against the fine material of the gown, as pale and delicate a yellow cloth as any fairy could dream up. It had a scalloped bodice, cut femininely low and edged in small lace, and it was trimmed here and there, as if scattered, with tiny pale pink rosebuds.

“And so you should,” Josephine chuckled. “And you needn’t thank me—it was entirely selfish on my part. I’ve been desperate to see you in something pretty from this century.”

Felicity laughed, so glad that Josephine had accepted her invitation. Since she was planning the party in James’s name and he was paying for it, it made sense that his friends should be invited. Of course she had sent him an invitation too, out of politeness, but she did not expect him to come. He would be happily installed at Granton Hall, getting his new life established.

She had half wished that he would write back, or simply appear once he’d received the invitation, but she had heard nothing beyond the demanding notes she’d received and quickly destroyed. She hadn’t trusted herself not to go running back to him. And he obviously was not coming after her, which was for the best, she had told herself every day, even as her besotted brain continued to hope she might be carrying his child. When she knew finally that she wasn’t, she had allowed herself one good, long, sobbing cry, and then she had written to him.

“Ah, Felicity,” came a masculine voice from behind her, “you look as tempting as a fairy cake that I might very much wish to sample.” She turned even as a hand brushed against her bare arm.

“Hal!” she scolded, laughing, as delightedly scandalized as he always made her feel. He grinned, looking as much Lord Perfect as ever. He was an imp, but a good-hearted one. Underneath all that flirtation beat the heart of a serious and romantic gentleman.

Josephine’s eyes were raised upward in dismay at her cousin. “Hal, you are very lucky no one has called you out of late. You become more forward each time I see you. Why, if James were here, I don’t doubt he would plant you a facer, cousin or not.”

Hal squinted, casting a quick glance around the fete. “And where is Cousin James, anyway? Not going to miss the party, I certainly hope.”

“Oh,” Felicity said, startled. She hadn’t thought about people asking after him, but of course they would. They were still engaged, as far as everyone knew. And that left her to prevaricate. Maybe she should tell the truth now, she thought with a rush of emotion.

But looking at the happy faces of his cousins, at her father, who stood some distance behind them, and at all the guests who were looking forward to a pleasurable afternoon, she knew it would be best to wait until later. She wouldn’t spoil the festive mood with talk of broken engagements. Neither did she want to answer questions or be consoled.

She put on a smile and said as breezily as she was able, “He is quite taken up with Granton Hall right now, after being away for so long.”

Josephine’s eyes lingered on her a moment, but then she shrugged and said, “Just like him to miss all the fun. He can be rather a drudge.”

“Well, I’m not,” Hal said. “And I believe I see some archery butts over at the far end of the meadow. Tell me, Mistress Wilcox, what is to be the prize for winners of the archery contests?”

“Hmm, prizes,” she said, thinking. “There were some little trinkets for the children’s games.” She pondered a moment. “Oh, yes, I remember, we have some little bookmarks contributed by the church ladies.”

Hal rolled his eyes. “That will not do at all. If I’m to compete in a manly contest, I must have a manly prize. A kiss from a maiden would, I think, be a fair prize.” He lifted an eyebrow wickedly as he looked down at her. “And since you are by far the prettiest maiden, Felicity, it will have to be you.”

“Hal!” cried both Felicity and Josephine together at his outrageousness.

“Done,” said a deep voice from behind them. They all turned to stare in surprise at James.

Astonished though she was, Felicity forced herself to remain impassive. Still, his presence and his familiar air of energy worked upon her. He was as devastatingly handsome as ever, the black hair, the perfectly formed features, the muscular, tall physique. And the deep chocolate brown eyes regarding her—no, more than regarding her; he was weighing her reaction, seeking her.

She focused her thoughts. “James, I didn’t know to expect you. When did you arrive?”

“Just in time to hear of an archery contest with an irresistible prize,” he said, still looking at her intently, as though they were not in the middle of a crowd but somewhere alone.

Hal spoke, breaking the spell, making her aware again of James’s cousins, who were both regarding them with different expressions. Josephine looked amused.

“Ah, cousin,” Hal said lazily, “you have torn yourself away from the old homestead.”

James merely gave him a crooked smile, his opposing eyebrow flicking up briefly, a gleam of challenge in his eye. “But of course. I wouldn’t miss the midsummer party for the world, especially if there are to be manly prizes. And most particularly, I do not wish to spend another moment away from my fiancée.” He shot Felicity an astonishing look of pure devotion. Josephine gave a small sound of amused satisfaction.

Felicity just stared at him, her mind swirling. He was acting as though he had not gotten her note, as though she had not secretly escaped from Granton Hall. Surely he had gotten the note?

But she had no chance to speak to him, because he and Hal were leading the way to the archery butts.

Two butts were set up side by side at a reasonable distance from a table where stood a cash box and a pile of needlepointed bookmarks. Mr. Pringle, the choir director, was manning the contest.

“A shilling each, please,” he greeted them, a jovial grin on his face, his toes tapping to the lively music that was now being played by the orchestra.

Hal and James paid their money and were duly installed in front of a butt each and supplied with a bow and quiver. Alice and Lydia had trailed along behind Felicity and now stood by her, both cheering for James in their little girls’ voices as he tested his arrow against the bow. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves for the contest, and she could not help but notice the outlines of his upper arm muscles straining against the white shirt fabric, the sprinkling of dark hairs on his tanned forearm, the strength of his large hand as it clasped the bow.

“What’s this?” demanded Hal in mock dismay as he fitted his arrow to his bow. “Will not you cheer for me?”

“Cousin H-a-a-l,” the girls giggled until Alice soberly pointed out that as James and Felicity were engaged, James should have the prize.

“Ah, but it will not be worth bestowing if it’s not a challenge to win, eh, cousin?” he asked, turning what Felicity thought was a not entirely jesting face to James. James merely raised a haughty eyebrow to his cousin and gestured for Hal to begin.

They each promptly sent four arrows in their turn to their bull’s-eyes.

“Well, gentlemen,” chuckled Mr. Pringle, shaking his head with admiration, “I guess it’s to be a bookmark apiece. They are very handsome, though starting out like this, I begin to wonder if we’ll have enough.”

“Move the targets back, please,” James said. “Twenty yards.”

Hal lifted an eyebrow in surprise but nodded his approval, and a lad hoisted first one target and then the other, carrying them to the very edge of the meadow. They looked tiny indeed now, and Felicity did not see how anyone could hit them at all. Mr. Pringle looked skeptical but amused.

“Very well, gentlemen. You may begin again. As before, four tries each, best score wins.”

Hal shot first, dispatching each arrow with a brisk, fluid motion and barely a pause. A small crowd had gathered to stand a few paces behind the archers with Felicity and Josephine. There were soft cries of appreciation from several young boys as he sent his arrows flying. Considering his usual demeanor, he was remarkably focused on his task and did not indicate by any sign that he noticed anything but the targets.

She watched him shoot two bull’s-eyes and two of the next highest, red.
Well, I shall likely be getting a kiss from Hal when this is done
. Having finished, he rested his hand atop his bow and gestured with his familiar lazy air for his cousin to proceed.