Whispers at Midnight (23 page)

“In a few days,” he answered. “I have
business downriver that requires my attention. Your boarders should
arrive before I return.”

“Yes,” Amanda answered. “The day after
tomorrow.”

“Good. I will worry less over you once they
are here.” He smiled. “Good-bye for now.”

Amanda bade him a second good-bye and
climbed the slate stairs. Even the scarlet wall panels could not
overcome the dismal atmosphere the house held. She wondered if she
would ever get used to the way the house exerted a mood of its own.
Or was it only the shadows? She would tell Gussie to light the
candles earlier or she would undoubtedly begin seeing apparitions
there as well.

She entered her room and was grateful to see
the draperies drawn open so that bright warm light flooded in.
Within a few minutes she had discarded her dress and petticoats and
loosened the lacing on her stays. She had a desire for fresh air
and crossed to the window that overlooked the front grounds and
unlatched it. The soft wind rippled the lace on her chemise and
caught her hair tousling it around her shoulders as she peered out
to see Gardner’s carriage below. He never failed to visit awhile
with Gussie. Both brothers were inordinately fond of the old woman
and she of them.

Breathing deeply, Amanda stretched her arms
languorously as she turned her back to the windows. This room had a
little of her imprint in it now. She had removed many of Elise’s
curios so that it appeared less cluttered, and rearranged others in
a way that better suited her.

She was beginning to feel the rose bedroom
was truly hers. Especially since nearly a week had passed without a
return of the dreams or the whispering. She did not expect them to
return at all now. So it was with a smile and a sudden feeling of
peacefulness that she climbed into her bed with its fat pillows and
pink covers. Here she could rest a few hours, or if she wished,
until morning.

Three-quarters of an hour after she had
fallen asleep, Gardner started his team of bays on the return trip
to Williamsburg. As his carriage rolled away, a lone rider crested
a rise of ground above a copse of trees and rode toward
Wicklow.

“What’s this?” Ryne asked, coming up behind
Gussie in the kitchen and lifting the cloth that covered the tray
in her hands.

“It’s her supper,” she answered. “Mr.
Gardner said she best be takin’ it in her room this evenin’. Said
she’d be wantin’ her rest and not care to come down.”

Scowling, Ryne shuffled over to the
fireplace and poured coffee into a pewter mug. Legs spread wide
apart, he stood staring at the lively flames while Gussie moved at
her snail’s pace toward the main house.

“No doubt,” Ryne mumbled gruffly to himself.
He took one sip of the coffee before tossing the contents of the
mug into the fire. His brother was a fool and would ruin everything
if something were not done to prevent it. And since Gardner
evidently couldn’t see beyond courting his way into Miss Amanda
Fairfax’s bed, it was left for him to take care of things. “Wanting
her supper in bed,” he mumbled. In the grate the flames sputtered
and died back for a moment, then flared up as brightly as before.
“No bloody doubt.”

***

Amanda enjoyed her rest and the light supper
Gussie served her in the bedroom. She hadn’t known the extent of
her exhaustion until she had lain down to rest, nor that the scant
hours of sleep at Gardner’s had left her so needy of more. When the
meal was consumed and she had attended her toilette, she returned
to bed and slept without interruption until morning.

It was only a few minutes after she had come
downstairs for her breakfast that she saw Ryne. His face was
completely without expression.

“The foal has come, a fine colt,” he
announced.

“How delightful.” Amanda smiled pleasantly.
It never seemed to matter how moody he was, she found him
attractive even at his worst. “Did it arrive last night?”

“No. Two days ago. The day you left.”

“Oh.” Remembering that he had promised to
take her to see the foal, she wondered if he had been coming for
her when she had passed him that day on the way to Gardner’s. “And
are you pleased with this first foal?” she asked, motioning Gussie
to hold her breakfast as she walked out with Ryne.

A tendril of ivy caught in her hair as she
passed through the front door. Ryne turned quickly and unsnared the
vine from her curls, his hand lingering to fondle a soft ringlet as
he shook his head. The slight touch sent her pulse racing.

“More than pleased,” he answered. “He’s got
the legs of a champion already, and if his appetite is a measure,
he’ll be sturdy to boot.”

“You sound like a proud father,” she said
gaily. “Don’t forget you have promised to show me this foal.”

“No,” he said, his eyes narrowing
speculatively as he looked away a moment. “I have not forgotten. If
it is amenable to you, I’ll come back at three to drive you to the
lodge.”

“At three, then,” she replied. “I shall be
ready.” She smiled. She would enjoy the trip. Not only to see the
foal and the other horses on Ryne’s farm but also to be with him
and to prove to herself that the magnetism which seemed to draw
them together was only her imagination. And deep back in her mind
she wanted to satisfy herself that the lodge was indeed being
repaired and that the family Ryne spoke of was actually in
residence in the cottage.

Emma Jones and Trudy were to arrive the
following morning. Cecil Baldwin had spoken to Amanda at Gardner’s
house and promised to drive them out himself. Amanda had many
things to do before three o’clock, not the least of which was to
discuss the purchasing of household provisions with Gussie. She
wanted also to assure the old woman that other than increasing the
amount of food she prepared, nothing more would be expected of her
when the women were in residence at Wicklow.

After lunch, Amanda found a pair of shears
and set about the task of trimming the heavy growth of ivy around
the front door. She had been at her work for some time, having
brought out a footstool from the library to aid her in reaching
those spots above her head, when she decided she had done all that
was possible without a tall ladder.

She was pleased with her labor and she
thought that Evelyn would have preferred this neater appearance. At
least now the vines did not seem to be reaching out menacingly at
anyone who approached the door. And though the work left her hot
and in need of a cool drink, she was satisfied she had made another
step in returning Wicklow to its best.

The gilt clock in the drawing room chimed
out two bells. She had only an hour to change her dress and freshen
her appearance before Ryne came. Hurriedly she selected a light
blue gown of chintz that looped over a white petticoat, trimmed
with yellow bows and box plaiting around the hem and sleeves.

She combed her hair and pinned it high on
her head and had just splashed a bit of scent on her throat and
wrists when she heard Ryne’s voice from below.

“Amanda,” he called, and she heard his heavy
steps on the stairs and then a silence as he stopped. Not wanting
to keep him waiting, she hurried out of her room and toward the
staircase, the light slippers she wore not making a sound as she
walked.

“Fill the cup,” Ezra squawked. “Fill the
cup.”

“I endeavor to do so, you green-feathered
devil,” Ryne quipped.

He stood on the first landing, where he was
almost at eye level with Ezra’s perch on the king’s shoulder. Ryne
had not seen Amanda approach, nor did he notice that she stopped on
the first stair and watched as he leaned dangerously far over the
rail in an attempt to reach the bird.

“Fill the cup.” Ezra opened his hooked beak
and ruffled his feathers threateningly at Ryne.

Amanda frowned. Did he intend to harm the
bird? She started to cry out a protest but silenced it as Ezra
fluttered his wings and took flight. The bird landed on the rail
beside Ryne and thrust his beak into Ryne’s outstretched hand to
quickly devour some delicacy.

“There now, you stuffy old beggar,” Ryne
said softly as Ezra flapped his wings. “Thought I’d forgotten,
didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know Ezra could be so friendly,”
Amanda commented as she caught up her skirts and started down to
the landing. “I think he only tolerates me in the house. You seem
to have him charmed.”

“He likes the apple I bring him. Here”—he
placed a small chunk of apple in her palm—”Hold out your hand.”

Amanda placed her open palm on the rail.
“Here, Ezra,” she offered. As he had before, Ezra flew to the rail
and made a show of ruffling his feathers before he devoured the bit
of apple. When he had finished he made a quick hop to Amanda’s
shoulder.

“I believe you are the charmer. He used to
ride Mother’s shoulder as she walked down the stairs each morning.
I’ve never seen him do it for another. He would say—”

“Lovely,” Ezra interrupted.

“Now what am I to do with him if we are to
leave the house?” Amanda asked.

“If he abides by his old tricks, he’ll fly
back once you are down the stairs. But I think you must now expect
his attention each morning.”

As Ryne had predicted, Ezra lifted his wings
and flew away when she stepped to the hall floor. Actually it
pleased her that Ezra had decided to treat her as he had Aunt
Elise. It seemed to bring her closer to truly being mistress of
Wicklow.

***

They took the town road, which forked about
a quarter mile down from the house and ran almost parallel to the
river. It was less than an hour’s drive to Ryne’s lodge, though he
said the time could be shortened if one rode across the fields
rather than kept to the road. Her exhilaration grew with each mile.
Ryne had such a potent vitality about him that it was impossible to
sit so near and not be affected. She loved the feel of the wind on
her face and the rhythmic clumping of the horses’ hooves striking
the packed dirt road. The land they passed was lusciously green
with forests, or else the fertile fields had been cultivated and
were abundant with crops. Ryne pointed out extensive acreage
planted with tobacco and told her the field was his.

Eventually he turned off into a narrow lane
that ran under an avenue of tall oaks. Beyond the trees,
pasture-land was fenced on each side. Where the lane ended, a stone
house of two stories stood, its roof blackened and collapsed.

“How did the fire start?” Amanda asked,
mindful of the relief she felt that he had been telling the truth
about the lodge.

“Lightning hit the roof and started the
shingles ablaze. We hadn’t enough men here at the time to get it
out before the roof was gone.”

“You don’t seem to have made much progress
on the repairs.”

“More than is evident,” Ryne answered,
turning the horses to the left and heading them toward another
stone structure. “We’re replacing the timbers inside and cutting
new rafters.” He pointed to his left. “That’s the cottage over
there in the trees.”

Amanda spotted the house, which to her mind
was somewhat large to be called a cottage. Several small children
played on the porch.

“Mrs. Deane is much improved,” Ryne
said.

“Mrs. Deane?”

“The overseer’s wife. Mother of the five
little ones. She’s on her feet again.” So he had been truthful
about that as well.

A turn in the lane took them out of sight of
the cottage, and a few minutes later Ryne had halted the buggy
beside the stable, a wooden structure with a wide gambrel roof. He
helped Amanda down and led her around the side and through a wooden
gate that opened into a large paddock.

She heard the anxious whinny of a black mare
as Ryne fastened the gate. The foal, a long-legged sorrel colt with
a bold white blaze, bounded to the mare’s side. Though he pressed
against his mother for protection, his head was high and his small
ears tilted curiously forward.

“He’s beautiful,” Amanda exclaimed. “What a
magnificent stallion he will be.”

The mare gave the foal a comforting nuzzle
and started forward, leerily at first, until Ryne spoke to her.

“We’ve come to see your baby, Libelia. You
won’t mind showing him off now, will you?” he said softly and
melodically. At the sound of his voice, the mare perked up her ears
and whinnied again. “It’s her first, and she’s nervous about him,”
he whispered over his shoulder to Amanda.

Ryne put his hands on the mare’s neck and
stroked her soothingly until she was calmed. He hummed the song she
had heard him singing in the stable at Wicklow, a sweet blending of
notes that made the mare blow out a deep, slow breath and rub her
head against his arm. The foal, seeing his mother had no fear of
these strange creatures, approached them too.

He seemed puzzled by Amanda’s wide skirts,
and when he got close to her he planted his feet firmly and
stretched out his neck, with its dark tufts of mane, to sniff at a
frothy ruffle. A moment later his soft lips nibbled one of the
yellow ribbons on her petticoat.

“Well, you’re a fine one,” Ryne said softly,
placing his hand gently on the foal’s withers. “Already taking a
liking to the ladies.”

Amanda raised her brows and smiled. “Have
you given him a name?”

“No,” Ryne replied, “though I’ve searched my
mind for one that suits. What do you think? Red Glory or—”

“Too stuffy.” Amanda interrupted.

“Sullivan’s Pride?”

“Lacks character.”

Ryne arched a brow. “Then what?”

“Cavalier. Sullivan’s Cavalier, if you
must.” She gave a light laugh as the foal nibbled at her sleeve.
“See what a flirt he is.”

Ryne cocked his head to one side and watched
the sorrel foal rub his soft muzzle against Amanda’s arm.

His laughter rang out. “I believe you have
aptly dubbed him. Cavalier it is.” He gazed pointedly at her. “I
may need you to choose a name for each of the new foals. You have a
curious talent for it.”