Authors: Jillian Hart
The owners must have heard the carriages coming, for an older man and woman immediately came out to greet them, followed more slowly by a younger man with a thatch of brown hair and a tense, pale face. Their clothes were more serviceable than fashionable, brown wool and rough linen. Ruby liked the family straightaway.
Whit alighted first and turned to help her from the carriage. As the rest of the party exited the carriages and gathered in a circle, the couple introduced themselves to Ruby's father as Mr. and Mrs. Greaves and their son Albert.
“A very talented young man, I hear,” Ruby's father said as he shook Albert Greaves's hand. “I had the good fortune to purchase one of your pieces from a fellow who had been up this way. So, of course, I had to come meet you myself and bring a few friends along.”
Introductions were swiftly made, and Mr. and Mrs. Greaves bobbed and blushed with pride that so many fine people had come to see their son. Albert, however, turned paler and shuffled back a few steps, and Ruby wouldn't have been surprised had he fainted dead away. Beside her, Whit frowned as if he had noticed the same thing.
As the Greaveses bowed and curtsied to Lady Wesworth, Ruby nudged her father. “You take the parents, I'll take Mr. Greaves,” she murmured.
“Done,” he murmured back. “Try to put him at his ease so I can make sure he hasn't reached an agreement with anyone else.” He stepped forward and raised his voice. “Such a pleasure to meet you all. I wonder, might we see some of Mr. Greaves's exceptional work?”
His parents bubbled happily as they led the others toward their humble home. Whit offered Ruby his arm, but she shook her head. “See to the others, will you? I have work to do.”
His frown deepened, but he inclined his head and moved toward the cottage with only one look back to her.
Albert Greaves positively dragged his booted feet as he followed.
Ruby caught up to him with a smile. “Bit much, aren't they?”
He raised his brows as if surprised by her candor, then hastily dropped his gaze to the ground. “Honored to have them here, your ladyship.”
“Ah, too many names for you to keep us all straight, as well,” Ruby said with a tsk. “Let's start fresh.” She stopped, forcing him to stop, as well. “I'm Ruby Hollingsford, just plain Ruby, no lady. In fact, I'll probably answer to anything, with the possible exception of âeh, you daft girl!'”
He smiled at that. “A-A-Albert Greaves,” he said, then blushed and dropped his gaze again.
“Albert Greaves, artist,” she amended. “I saw the candelabra you made. It's beautiful. I can't imagine how you could work the stone that way.”
“It's not so hard,” he said with a shrug, still avoiding her gaze. “The stone is soft. You turn it, like wood on a lathe.” He glanced up at her. “Would you like to see where it comes from?”
“Very much!” Ruby beamed at him. “I know the others would like to see it, too. They came all this way, after all. Seems like it would be a shame for them to miss it.”
He nodded. “It would, at that. All right, miss. If you fetch them, I'll show you where I get the stone.”
* * *
Whit stood in the doorway of the cottage while the others exclaimed over the bowls, vases and gems Mr. Greaves had carved from the purple-blue stone. No one else seemed to have noticed Ruby's absence. He watched as she approached the artist, saw the fellow's slim shoulders come down, a shy smile play about his lips. How easily she melted resistance, his own included.
He had spent the first half of their trip sitting beside Lady Amelia, trying to draw her out. She was an excellent listener, but she couldn't seem to understand that conversation was better when two participated. The trip had seemed interminable, until he'd escaped to Ruby's carriage, and then he didn't know how they'd crossed the distance so quickly!
Well, that wasn't altogether true. He suspected the trip had seemed shorter because he'd been with Ruby. Like the gemstone for which she was named, she positively sparkled. Watching her now, something poked at him again.
Have I mistaken my way, Lord? Are these feelings for Ruby something You want?
He received no answer, but he stepped out of the doorway as the young artist approached with Ruby on his arm.
“Mr. Greaves would like to show everyone the cavern where he extracts his stone,” Ruby told Whit with a smile to the man on her other side. “Would you invite them, Lord Danning?”
Mr. Greaves was too lost in her smile to appreciate the fact that she just made an earl his errand boy.
“Delighted,” Whit said, holding his appreciative chuckle until he was out of hearing from Mr. Greaves.
The others were equally delighted. They kept up a steady stream of comments and questions as the entire Greaves family, Albert in the lead, brought them up the hill behind the cottage.
Ruby dropped back beside Whit on the rocky path. “And here we are on another adventure, my lord.”
Her excitement was palpable. “Because of you,” he said. “You never cease to amaze me. When we first arrived, I wasn't sure whether Mr. Greaves was going to run or expire on the spot.”
“Poor man,” Ruby murmured, gaze going ahead as if to make sure her darling was safe. “I think he just needs a little encouragement.”
Something she excelled at giving, Whit realized. From the seating arrangements at dinner to the activities she'd planned, she'd helped manage the demands of an overfilled house with poise and grace. Indeed, this entire house party could have been a disaster without her.
But now was not the place to acknowledge that. The rest of the party had gathered before a wooden door set into the side of the hill. He couldn't help his sense of anticipation as Mr. Greaves senior took a brass key and opened the portal so they could all file past him into the very hill itself.
Gray rock enclosed them immediately, lit from above by an iron chandelier set with thick candles. The drippings littered the rough floor at their feet and scented the still air with tallow. But wax wasn't the only thing to drip. Nearby Whit heard the sound of water on rock, slow and steady.
“Watch your step, now,” Mr. Greaves senior was saying, lighting lamps and handing them about. Ruby accepted one from him, as did Stokely-Trent and Charles.
From there, the path angled down on stairs carved into the rock, and the walls rose around them veined in dun and black. Their shadows followed the rough curves. In places, it appeared that clay had melted and run down in rivulets, but when Whit put a hand to it, he found the material hard. The voices of the others quieted, as if awe filled the narrow way in the still, cool air. Ruby gazed about her, wide-eyed, as if she'd wandered into a cathedral.
And then they did.
The space before them opened up into a vast cavern, the top and bottom of which were lost to view. Yellowed spires hung down from above and poked up from below, glittering in the light from the lamps. The path hugged one wall, leading them along past underground mountains and streams. It was as if the Lord had granted another earth below the one where He had walked.
In the stunned silence, Ruby spoke first. “How do you even know where to start?” Her voice echoed into the darkness.
Albert seemed to be in his element at last, his feet as sure on the rock as those of a goat. “It all depends on what you want to make,” he explained. “If you're after a cup, this small piece might do.” He took a little hammer from a stash of tools along the wall and tapped at the stone here, there and there. The force seemed insufficient, but a chunk broke off and fell into the lad's outstretched hand. Albert turned the dark stone to show them the underside. The purple, blue and yellow of Blue John gleamed in the light.
“Amazing,” Lady Amelia breathed.
“What if you want something larger?” Charles called from in front of Whit.
“Perhaps those columns Mother and Father saw at Chatsworth,” Henrietta agreed, moving closer to him.
Charles stepped back to make room for her on the crowded path. “Say this size,” he explained, gesturing with his hands to show the shape he imagined. His hand hit Whit on the shoulder, and Whit moved aside to get out of the way.
“Watch out!” Ruby cried, darting forward, lamp wavering.
Whit felt his right heel sinking into the path. He flailed for purchase, but the soft limestone crumbled, pulling him down. Then he was tumbling backward into the unforgiving depth of the cavern.
Chapter Thirteen
R
uby snatched Whit's hand as he fell, heart in her throat as she locked her fingers around his. Her feet slid, and for a moment, she thought she would follow him over the side. She dropped the lamp, which hit the ground with a tinkle of metal, clasped her other hand to his and braced her feet against the rock.
Whit hung, his back out over the chasm beside them, mouth open as if to cry for help. An answering cry rose up inside Ruby.
He said You were rock, Lord. Be that for us now!
Before she could cry aloud for help, Charles whirled to stare at her. Why did he hesitate? Couldn't he see they were about to go over? Ruby felt every second straining her arms, yet Charles paused to set his lamp carefully on the ground, as if it were more important than his cousin's very life.
Then he was crowding next to her, reaching past her. She could feel his muscles bunching where his shoulder pressed against hers. With a heave, he brought Whit up beside them.
Ruby released her grip, stumbling back to fetch up against the stone wall behind her, breath ragged. As she embraced the strength of the rock, Charles caught Whit close for a moment before letting him go and putting out a hand to steady him.
“Well done,” Whit said, clapping his cousin on the shoulder.
At the sound of Whit's comment, Henrietta looked back with a frown, as if wondering what was keeping them. The others didn't even notice the short-lived disturbance, peppering Albert Greaves and his father with questions about the cavern, their cheerful voices grating on Ruby's overshot nerves. They had no clue that a tragedy had just been averted. Beside her, Whit adjusted his cravat as if it had been the most affected by the incident.
Ruby wasn't fooled. Even in the golden light from the lamp Charles bent to retrieve, she could see that Whit's face was ashen. He knew the danger he'd avoided. He was simply trying not to frighten her.
But she was frightened. He could have been killed! Just the thought of his body dashing against those yellow spires made her stomach clench, her breath stop. Her hands were shaking so hard she didn't dare bend to pick up her own lamp.
Her one consolation was that Charles Calder looked even more shaken than Whit did.
“You must watch yourself more closely, cousin,” he said, rubbing his free hand along his leg as if to try to still the trembling. “You've had a few too many accidents of late.” He offered Ruby a smile. “And you won't always have a lady knight to look out for you.”
She inclined her head at his quip, but it was his first comment that held her against the stone. There
had
been a number of accidents on this visit. Too many accidents.
Was someone trying to kill Whit?
Ridiculous! Much as she had come to dislike and distrust nobs, much as some of Whit's visitors had treated her unkindly at first, she could not see his guests as homicidal. Surely these accidents were simply a factor of putting too many people in too small a placeâthe stables at Hollyoak Farm, the path by the Edge, the way through the Blue John cave. Few of the accidents could have been planned. Very likely, Whit would be fine as soon as they all left him in peace.
Yet she would know no peace until she was certain.
“Ready to move along?” Charles asked, glancing between the two of them.
Whit shook his head. “Give us a moment. We'll catch up shortly.”
Charles eyed him as if uncertain of Whit's state of mind, then he inclined his head and turned to follow the others, the glow of his lamp dimming.
Whit watched his cousin move away, then turned to Ruby. With her lamp out, she could not be sure of the look on his face.
“What were you thinking?” he asked. His voice shook, but she couldn't name the emotion it held.
Ruby raised her head, pushing away from the rock at last. “I saw you start to fall. Would you have me simply stand and watch you die?”
“I would have you show some care for your own life!” As if he knew his voice was rising, he puffed out a breath and ran his hand back through his hair. “Surely you must realize how dangerous that was. I outweigh you by a stone and a half at least. If Charles hadn't grabbed my other hand, I could have pulled you over with me.”
She hadn't thought of that when she'd reached for him. All she'd known was that he was in danger, and she'd acted.
“But you didn't,” she protested. “So no harm done.” She tried for a smile as she took a step forward.
He pulled her against him, held her close, his arms as warm as a wool blanket in the cool of the cavern. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of leaning against his strength, feeling his chest rise and fall against hers, inhaling the clean scent of him.
He was the first to break away. She searched his face in the deepening twilight, but she could find no sign of an emotion. “We should go,” he said, bending to take up her battered lamp. He stepped aside to allow her to precede him up the path. It was as if he meant to ensure she'd have no opportunity to help if he fell again.
But he didn't fall. She could feel him following her as she hurried up the narrow path to join the others and finish the tour of the cavern. He even carried a chunk of Blue John back to the cottage for Albert Greaves. Several of the others held stones as well, and Lady Wesworth and Mr. Stokely-Trent commissioned items. Ruby's father rubbed his hands together as they waited before the carriages.
“You see?” he all but crowed. “I knew Albert Greaves would be popular. I spoke to him on the way back from the cave. He's agreed to sell everything through my shop from here on out. A very promising beginning.”
Ruby was glad for her father, but she couldn't help wondering as they traveled back to the Lodge whether her father's promising beginning would mark the dismal end to her friendship with Whit. He was polite and congenial to everyone, but she caught him gazing at her from time to time with a slight frown, as if he wasn't entirely sure what to make of her.
As he had when they'd traveled out, Whit rode the first stretch of the way back to the Lodge in the Wesworth coach, leaving her to the mercy of his cousin. At least Charles had no trouble filling the time. He positively glowed as he described the sights he'd seen. Unfortunately, his monologue only gave Ruby more time to stew.
She thought perhaps Whit would switch coaches again when they stopped to rest the horses, but he returned to Lady Amelia's coach after only the most polite conversation with Ruby.
She'd clearly offended him. How?
She could not believe he was so proud as to refuse the help of a woman, or that he disdained assistance from the daughter of a shopkeeper. And if he thought she should mind her own affairs when he was in danger, he had better think again!
“Is everything all right, Ruby?” Charles asked as they headed north toward the entrance to Dovecote Dale. “You seem uncommonly quiet.”
Her father barked a laugh, and Ruby couldn't help smiling. “Is that your polite way of telling me I generally talk too much, Mr. Calder?” she teased.
He held up his hands. “No, indeed. I find your conversation delightful.”
“Ah, you better watch out, Ruby,” her father joked. “It seems you've made a conquest.”
“Not at all, Father,” Ruby said with a look to Charles. “I believe Mr. Calder's heart is already engaged elsewhere.”
He had the good grace to look away. “If it is so obvious to you, I can only wonder why she doesn't seem to notice.”
“She notices,” Ruby said, remembering how the bluestocking brightened every time Charles was near. “But she may not wish to let you know, for fear of the reactions of her parents, who clearly expect an announcement of another sort.”
“Sweet on the Stokely-Trent girl, are you?” her father asked, leaning back. “She's a rare handful.”
Charles agreed with such a wistful sigh that Ruby was sure he'd taken the ambiguous term for praise. He was clearly smitten. The only question was whether Henrietta would have the courage to defy her parents and declare her feelings for Whit's cousin.
Ruby did not have a chance to spend time with Whit again until the group reassembled that night for dinner. Most of his guests laughed and reminisced about their trip as they ate the braised lamb the chef sent in as the crowning glory of the first course. Whit rarely looked her way, spending so much time in conversation with Lady Amelia that Lady Wesworth positively beamed from her place at the foot of the table.
Ruby knew she should leave be. If he was annoyed, her silence would give him time to calm. Certainly a young lady of the
ton
might be expected to ignore such behavior, to rise above it, to focus on some other gentleman instead. But Ruby wasn't a young lady of the
ton.
So after dinner, while Lady Amelia played at the spinet, the older people played cards and Henrietta played at flirting with Charles, Ruby approached Whit.
He was standing by the door to the veranda and looking out at the night as if wishing he might be down at the stream fishing even then.
“Have I offended you?” Ruby asked without preamble.
He turned from the view to eye her. Tonight he was the perfect gentleman host, his evening black as spotless as his pristine cravat. Mr. Quimby must be proud.
“Not in the slightest,” Whit assured her, although his smile did not quite reach his purple-blue eyes.
“Something's wrong,” Ruby insisted. “You've been remarkably quiet since the accident in the Blue John cave.”
He inclined his head, but she had the feeling the movement had more to do with a desire to keep her from seeing his emotions than from any attempt at politeness. “Forgive me. I hadn't realized my thoughts were so apparent and so easily misconstrued. You could have been killed today, Ruby. I find that disturbing in the extreme.”
Ruby frowned. “You're still worried about me?”
“How could I not be? When I think of you falling, of seeing your joy snuffed out...” He turned his gaze out the window as if he didn't want her to notice the concern on his face.
But she had seen it. She'd heard it in his voice, as well. He was more shaken by the possibility of harm to her than to himself.
“Well, you wouldn't have seen my joy snuffed out,” Ruby pointed out. “You'd have been dead first.”
He humphed. “Small comfort.”
Ruby touched his sleeve, drawing his gaze back to her. “I am fine, Whit. You are fine. We have much to be thankful for.”
He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “I am well aware of that.”
The caress of his lips against her hand made her breath catch. Ruby pulled back.
“Perhaps that's why I'm quiet,” Whit said, straightening. “Coming so close to death made me realize how fortunate I am, in my family, my friends and my circumstances. With such blessing comes responsibility. And one of those responsibilities is to marry and ensure the line.”
Ruby wrapped an arm about her middle. “I thought you said you weren't looking for a wife.”
“After today, I am forced to change my mind. Charles isn't ready to be earl. If I die, there's no one else to inherit.”
Ruby made a face. “Practically speaking, if you were to marry tomorrow, there wouldn't be anyone mature enough to inherit for a good nineteen years.”
“Sixteen,” he countered. “I became earl at fifteen.”
She still found that ridiculously young to be expected to shoulder such responsibilities. Small wonder he'd all but forgotten to do other than his duty, that he chose to run away from time to time.
“Sixteen, then,” Ruby acknowledged. “That seems a great many years to be concerned about today.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “But if I don't begin the process, it will be longer still.”
Ruby swallowed. He was right. She knew he was right. It shouldn't hurt so much to think of him marrying another. She was the one who had removed herself from consideration. If she had other thoughts, now was the time to state them.
“Your cousin Charles is enamored of Henrietta Stokely-Trent,” she heard herself say. “It appears you are wise to focus on Lady Amelia instead.”
He said nothing, merely gazing down at her. In the candlelight, his eyes were as deep as the Blue John cave, and as dangerous.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I find myself more drawn to another young lady.”
Ruby's mouth was dry. “Then by all means, pursue her.”
He did not move, but her heart started beating faster. “I'm not assured she would be amenable to another proposal. She's already refused me once.”
“Perhaps she isn't certain either.” The words came out in a whisper, and she could not look at him. All her reservations rushed up, shouting for her attention. He was a nob; no one in his social circle would accept her place at his side. She'd be belittled, ridiculed, made the target of every jibe and insult Society could invent if she married him. And what solace would she find in her husband? He would come to see the gulf between them, and his affection for her would fade.
Then there was the matter of the money she'd receive on marriage. He would squander it on gambling. No, drink. No, fishing accoutrements. And he would expect her to be the perfect Society wife, smiling even when her heart was breaking, no more than an ornament on his arm. He didn't love her.
He lowered his head, even as his fingers lifted her chin. “Allow me to court you, Ruby. Please.”
Please. A decided concession from any aristocrat, and said so sweetly, so yearningly. How could she refuse?
Here You go, God.
The thought popped into her mind.
Here is the perfect opportunity for You to show me what is right, to prove You care about my life. Would I be right to accept him or would I be diminishing my convictions? Is this something You've planned as my father keeps saying, or am I on my own as usual?