The Shadow and the Star (32 page)

When he stood in the mud amid the new foundations, he only leaned lightly on a cane. Where there had been a mass of brushy vegetation, he could see out over the ocean now. He thought of names, of christening the place in Hawaiian
Hale Kai
—Sea House—and decided that was too obvious.

She
had advised him not to be precipitate, and he trusted her in that.

He thought of her face, her throat, her supple hands and the curve of her breasts.

He stared at the horizon.

Put it aside, he thought. Put it aside.

Far below him, beyond the slope of the island, beyond the city, beyond the church spires and roofs glistening amid deep greenery, the tide was coming in, flooding the reefs and the sands.

He'd done this naming once before, thinking himself ingenious when he'd registered his own company as Kaiea—running together the Hawaiian words that meant water washing high on the land—thinking now that Dojun had made him inclined to be entirely too subtle. Kai had never caught the implication; never, for all he knew, even noticed her name in his endeavor.

He would be more straightforward with her. She was all honesty and candidness; it was his own tendency to conceal himself that hindered him. Perhaps he should name the house Hale Kai after all. Perhaps he should just go to Kai and ask her outright what she'd like.

What should I name this home I'm building for you, Kai ? And by the way, will you be my wife ?

He did neither. He watched the sun go down over the ocean in a glory of orange and gold. He couldn't even hold the question of Kai clearly in his mind; he kept seeing
her
, the drifting softness of her hair in the clouds, the scent of her body in the rain-washed earth—damn her, damn himself, blind and deaf in his visions. Dojun could have killed him ten times over if he'd been there. A child with a grudge and a green coconut could have.

The tide came in, a slow and steady force, unstoppable.
Kai ea
, the water drowning the land.

He named the house in English. Rising Sea.

And did not understand himself, knowing that for the deepest folly of all.

Leda was town-bred. The closest she had ever come to
the Sussex countryside had been an excursion to Kew Gardens once, when she was eleven. Westpark seemed infinitely amazing to her: the fine old Georgian house, huge and yet somehow friendly, full of trees planted and flourishing in the very middle of the house, strange collections of all sorts of impossible objects, stuffed anteaters, dried leaves, glass cases displaying thousands of shells and insects and stones, photographs, jars of things she had no wish to identify. And the park! In spite of the jaguars, which really weren't allowed to roam free as Lord Robert had claimed, it was pure joy for Leda to walk in it, breathing clean country air, or simply to look out her window each morning and see nothing but lawn and trees as far as the distant hills.

There was a quaint lavender house at the end of the pleasure gardens, a little octagonal building of plaster, decorated by vines of autumn scarlet and half-hidden behind the boxwood hedge. Chased out of the stillroom off the kitchens, Leda and Lady Kai had taken it over as their own, pushing the dusty old funnels and vases for lavender oil aside, scrubbing up and commandeering the long benches and the table beneath the leaded glass window for their task.

The task was Miss Myrtle's special cherry brandy. In August, when they'd first come to Westpark, the orchards had been loaded with the small cherries called brandy-blacks. Leda's memory of the beverage, and her fond descriptions of the ceremonial filling of jars and pouring off of brandy for Christmas, excited Lady Kai into action. Nothing would do but they must pick their own cherries and make cherry brandy for the holiday with their own hands.

The first stage had been Leda's and Lady Kai's exclusive occupation for all of a week. Everything was done according to Miss Myrtle's receipt, as recalled by Leda: the cherries picked and sorted, carefully cleaned, then pitted, the proper wide-mouthed jars washed, the fruit packed in and the sifted sugar with Miss Myrtle's particular combination of spices layered on top—half the jar cherries, the other half sugar.

Lord Ashland was presented with an appeal concerning the required fine French brandy. After exacting a promise that he would be the first, not counting Leda and Lady Kai who reserved to themselves the critical tastings during the process, to sample this ambrosia, he agreed to provide spirits of the necessary caliber. Upon casting up the number of their jars, Leda and Lady Kai discovered that they had been most enthusiastic in their efforts, and fifteen gallons of brandy might just cover their output.

Lord Ashland had lifted his eyebrows and cleared his throat, rather as Miss Myrtle had been used to do when she took the first sip. But the brandy appeared as promised and the labor went forward, until the lavender house was finally locked up and left alone in early September with every horizontal surface lined by jars of deep reddish-black color steeping in rich gold.

Leda was pleased at the way the summer and autumn had gone. The Ashlands—her Ashlands, she was rather fond of thinking of them—had taken quite well in London. They weren't precisely in the Marlborough House set, but Leda felt that level of society was entirely too fast for respectability in any case.

H.R.H. the Prince of Wales had, in fact, several times recognized Lady Tess by dancing with her at a ball, much to her consternation and puzzlement, for she seemed to have no notion of the Prince's much-publicized predilection for beautiful married ladies. Leda did not enlighten her. Reportedly, the Prince had spoken very kindly to Lady Kai, and asked Lord Ashland if he was interested in horse racing. Since Lord Ashland was not, and had not been coached ahead of time in polite pretense, he'd simply said no.

Leda thought that
faux pas
was probably the reason they hadn't been inundated with invitations from the most glittering of the fashionable set, but there were invitations enough—more than enough—of a more suitable nature, and gracious acceptances to the house parties at Westpark which proved no one was about to cut her Ashlands cold. Even in early December, in addition to the new guests�which included Lord Scarsdale and his son the Honorable George Curzon, who were expected to arrive on the noon train—Lord and Lady Whitberry were staying on, and the Goldboroughs with their three daughters, and of course, Lord Haye.

Leda paused in her dusting of jars, glancing covertly at Lady Kai. Beneath the heavy shawl she wore against the sunny chill of the room, the other girl was dressed in a simple navy-blue wool with a white apron borrowed from the kitchen, humming and cleansing the funnels and strainers, laying them out over the table beneath the window.

Lord Haye made Leda feel guilty.

Lady Kai liked him. She liked him very much. Even now no doubt they would have been having tea in the drawing room, conversing about fox hunting, if he and Lord Robert had not joined a party of guns intent upon pheasant at a nearby estate this morning.

Lady Kai had become a great enthusiast of riding to hounds, as long as the fox got away. In September, the first time Lord Haye had been invited to Westpark, he'd been present at Lady Kai's maiden run with the local pack. Having pronounced her a bruising rider, he'd made it his particular business to explain to her all the etiquette of the field, advice which she took with good grace and cheerful common sense. He'd promptly accepted a second invitation to Westpark, and been present for a week.

The gentlemen weren't expected back until late afternoon, so when Leda had announced that the time had come to pour off the cherry brandy, Lady Kai jumped up merrily. The Goldborough girls, though game to pour, were set by their mother to write letters to a great-aunt instead. Amid woeful protests, they dragged themselves to their rooms. Leda and Lady Kai had set to work alone in the lavender house.

"That's ready," Lady Kai announced, giving an earthenware colander a final pat with the towel. "What next?"

"Now we pour off one jar, and sample it. First we put it through the colander into that bowl."

It took both of them to conveniently accomplish the job without bruising the fruit unduly. The familiar aroma of the brandy, spirit-sweet, filled Leda's nose. "I do believe this will be an excellent batch," she said confidently, just the way Miss Myrtle had always said it. "One cherry apiece from this jar."

Solemnly, they each selected a cherry from the colander, holding them on the tips of their spoons. Before Leda could warn her. Lady Kai popped hers directly into her mouth whole.

She broke into a fit of coughing.

Leda patted her back, still holding her own cherry on the spoon.

"Oh, my!" Lady Catherine straightened up, spreading her hand across her breast. "It's very strong."

Their eyes met, and they both began to giggle. Leda put out her tongue and licked at the cherry on her spoon, allowing her mouth to become accustomed to the hot, spicy richness. "Eat it like this."

She took the cherry between her teeth and bit down delicately, halving it. Then she allowed the liqueur from the fruit to slide down her tongue, swallowing the sample in stages.

Lady Kai took a second cherry and followed her example. This time, she only had to clear her throat and blow air across her tongue. "Well," she said. "It's turned out quite well, I think."

"This jar is acceptable. We must sample every one, to make certain it's ready. Sometimes the sugar hasn't quite mixed."

They looked at one another again, and at the ranks of jars arrayed across the tables. Leda put her hand over her mouth, patting her lips gently.

"I suppose we had better get started," Lady Kai said.

By the time they were halfway through pouring off the jars, Leda's hands and lips were sticky. The white cloth over the table was sprinkled with red drops. Lady Kai had put off her shawl, and everything seemed perfectly hilarious.

"Look at this cherry," Lady Kai said, holding out a particularly shriveled sample. "I believe it resembles Lady Whitberry."

Leda was determined not to laugh at anything so absurd as that. She accepted the cherry in a sedate manner. "A Lady Whitberry Cherry."

They both dissolved into giggles.

"Do you know," Leda said, opening another lid, "I really don't believe Miss Myrtle ever made more than twelve jars at a time."

"We've made twelve
dozen
," Lady Kai said grandly, sweeping her spoon round the room. "Christmas will be legendary."

Leda thumped the next jar down beside the colander. "There had to be enough for everyone."

"Of course. It's a big house."

"A huge house."

"A positively
tremendous
house."

They spluttered. They fell back against the tables, laughing.

Lady Kai put her arm around Leda's waist, brandishing the spoon with her other hand. "You're so much fun," she said. "I'm so glad you came to us."

"Thank you," Leda said. "So am I. I think—I think—" She paused, trying to gather her spinning thoughts. "I believe we should begin to strain the liqueur into the bottles." She frowned, concentrating hard. "Double this cheesecloth."