A Curse Dark as Gold (19 page)

"Best to just go with it," he said under his breath. "You know how these country crowds can get out of hand." So we had another around of cider, this time with our neighbors, and just for good measure, I threw in one of Mrs. Carter's famous pickles for Randall.

Afterward, breathless and still laughing, we left the crowds and walked along the ridge of the river. I stopped to lean against a tall poplar. The world was spinning just slightly, and I had to catch my breath.

"I say, are people around here always so friendly?" Randall said.

"Village life," I said. "You're indelibly linked to Stirwaters now."

"Ah. Shall I check my coat for black marks?" He grinned, but I shook my head.

"No, indeed. I shall not be held accountable for any misfortunes you suffer as a result of your association with Stirwaters. Let it be said now."

He frowned, a furrow appearing between the sandy brows. "Come again, then?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? Well, let me give you the full accounting. The winter after Stirwaters was built, the river upstream changed course. A landslide diverted the water through flatter land, dispersing much of the water's power." I clapped my hands together sharply. "Just like that. Overnight, this little bend in the Stowe became an impractical site for a mill, and Harlan Miller became first in a long line of hard-luck Millers."

"Oh, come now! That sort of thing could happen to anyone."

I smiled grimly, "That sort of thing happens to the Millers with regularity. Once there was an epidemic that killed almost all the sheep in the Valley, and another year there were floods all summer so the wheel couldn't turn. Believe me, your mortgage is no more unsettling than any other catastrophe Stirwaters has weathered."

He turned his gaze to me from the river, and something flashed in those changing-color eyes. "But you've got something those other Millers never had."
"Oh? And what's that?"

"You've got me."

My mouth fell open, but I had to laugh. "Are you going to change my luck, then, Mr. Woodstone?"

He looked me straight in the eye. "Miss Miller, you may count on it." Before I realized it, he had slipped his hand behind my waist. Nothing more -- he held it there, barely touching me. I held my breath for two or three heartbeats before speaking.

"What is that for?" I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

He smiled slightly. "I wanted to see if I'd like it."

"And?"

He leaned in. "I like it." And that smiling mouth was suddenly upon my own, kissing me, one of those ink-stained fingers tipping my chin up to meet him. I've no idea what
I
did; surprise overwhelmed me, and I only remember the feel of his lips against my mouth and the sweet cidery taste of him.

He turned away after the briefest moment and stared out over the river. I said nothing, listening to the blood roar in my ears.

"Charlotte," he said after a long, long moment. "Randall," I whispered.

The golden sunlight bounced off the water, and the crisp breeze carried the sounds and scents of the festival to us. Very aware that his hand was still on my waist, I couldn't move. I wasn't sure I wanted to.

"There's a lot about this village to like," he said softly. "I think there might be enough to make me stay here." And I could think of nothing at all to say to that.

"Did we see everything?" he asked suddenly, his voice returning to normal.

"What?" The word flew out of me, louder and sharper than I'd intended.

"Is there more to the fair? Did we see everything?"

I let my breath out in a long rush. "No," I answered slowly, grappling for self-control. "No, there's much more. The food stalls, and a church blessing -- but that's tomorrow -- oh, and the round dances."

Slowly he slipped his hand away from my back. "Then shall we continue?"

I threw up my hands. "Oh, why stop now?" I said, and if I'd known what was coming later that night, I
might
have said that with considerably less tartness. I might have.

The rest of that mad afternoon passed in a confusion of revelry and absolute stone-faced ordinariness from Randall. He said nothing at all about the scene on the river bank -- no word about his bold touch, certainly nothing about the kiss. Perhaps he routinely kissed young ladies by the riverbank, and I was to think nothing of it. By the time we'd collected his winnings from the bullock's stall (a bag of apples and a voucher from the butcher's), I had resolved to do just that.

We sat together at dinner, with no less than a friendly distance between us. His mood at least served to steady my own nerves, and I managed not to spill stew on myself and kept up my end of the conversation with dignity.

"How do you suppose Rosie's getting along at the mill?" he asked, mopping up broth with a hunk of brown bread.

"Good heavens, I'd forgotten all about her!" I said.

Randall's eyes widened. "That must be a first."
"Are you deliberately distracting me?"

"Is it working?"

I glared at him. I wanted him to know I was not some silly country maid, to be seduced with one stolen kiss. "Hardly," I said, in what I hoped passed for dignified tones. "In fact, I must be getting back now. Thank you for an ... entertaining afternoon, Mr. Woodstone." I pulled my feet free of the bench and turned away. He caught my hand.

"Charlotte, don't --" he said. "It's been a lovely day. Let's not spoil it. I'm sorry."

"Just what are you sorry for?" I said, pulling free from his grip.

He rubbed his hand with the other and looked at me. "I -- I'm not sure, exactly." He sounded so helpless and forlorn that I burst out laughing.

"Oh, come on. The round dances are starting, and you don't want to miss those."

Randall was a fine dancer, certainly better than I, but that wasn't surprising, with his rich city upbringing. Moreover, he was fun. He passed between partners with cheerful ease, handing each girl off to the next man with a laugh and a smile. I must admit to paying him rather more attention than I ought; I wound up treading on Edward Handy's foot, missing a turn, and nearly colliding with Josie Hale and Robbie Lawson. Finally, I gave up and excused myself, retreating to the edge of the stage to watch. But Randall saw me and bowed out, too, handing off his partner to mine as the music started up again. He was flushed and breathless, and for some reason that made my heart falter in its rhythm.

Night had fallen, the chill returned. I wrapped my arms round my chest and noted that Randall made no overtures to assist me. I told myself I was glad of it, and concentrated on watching the dancers.

"I heard a rumor on the dance floor," he said.

I looked at him sharply. "Oh?"

"Oh, yes." He sounded very serious, but there was a playful gleam in his eye. "Nora Butcher told me that Robbie Lawson is going to marry the apothecary's daughter."

"That's Josie." I pointed her out. "She's the village beauty. Every lad in Shearing has wooed Josie Hale at one time or another." Miss Hale was at that moment dancing with our Harte, her dimpled cheeks pink with exertion, her dark hair falling loose from its pinnings. Mine was as well, for that matter, but Josie made it look like an asset.

"And," Randall continued, "Mrs. Butcher also says that Prudence Sharp only won the mince pie ribbon because she adds laudanum to her sauce."

"My goodness, you're learning everything tonight."

He leaned back and examined his fingernails. "I also heard that a certain foreign-bred banker has designs on one of the miller's daughters."

"Oh, well," I said lightly, "you can't believe everything you hear."

And then I looked at him, and all levity fell away. Randall watched me, finally serious for the first time in that long, long day together. I took a step back. He grabbed my hands. "Charlotte, let's do it. Let's get married."

Had I heard him right? I pulled my hands away and gripped the railing behind me. Married? Could he mean it?

But as I looked at him in his fine brown country suit, his city hair trimmed away, the relaxed way he leaned against the fence -- even
now,
of all moments! -- suddenly, it didn't seem like such a strange idea. He was a good man: kind, reliable. He came from a well-set family and had secure employment. I wasn't likely to find a better prospect among the men in Shearing; in fact, I'd never dreamed of making so good a match. Marrying Randall Woodstone could solve so many problems. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. I was not so foolish as to pass it up.

I met his eyes at last, to see him watching me, gently, with his clear, easy gaze. It was a nice face, one I could be happy looking into every day.

"All right."

He swept his arms around me and lifted me bodily off the ground, my heart beating frantically against his chest. How long he held me like that, I cannot say, but I think one song ended and the next began, and before long, the dancing brought Rosie round to us. With the barest glance at the expression on my face, she abandoned her partner and joined us at the gate.

"You look like you've swallowed a live fish," she said. "Where on Earth have you two been today?"

"Your sister is going to marry me," Randall said, his voice thick with emotion behind the grin. Rosie let out an absolutely unrestrained whoop of delight.

"Never!" she said, and fairly jumped into his arms. I had to drag her off him; she was beating him on the back with her fists. She fell back and, hands on her hips, she looked him over appraisingly, as if she'd never seen him before.

"When?" she demanded. "When did all this happen? Oh, I don't care!" Whereupon she smacked poor Randall once again, hard on the shoulder. "I've always wanted a brother.
I can't imagine one I'd like more than you. Oh!" she cried. "I must tell
everyone!
Can I tell everyone?"

Randall and I stood there, grinning like fools. "I suppose so," I said, and before I could say another word, Rosie had kissed him on the cheek and dashed off across the dance floor. I thought for a moment she would interrupt the dancing and make a very public announcement, but we were spared that. She stopped and whispered something to Rachel Baker, who turned to stare at us, grinned, and ran off the stage.

"Rosie," I said, smiling and shaking my head. I looked at Randall. Smiling still, I crept in closer to him, and he put his arm around my shoulders. His arm tightened around me. It was nice; I found I liked it very much.

"Are you quite sure you don't have a brother at home for Rosie?" I sighed, laying my head back against his shoulder.

"Rosie's well taken care of already, Charlotte." He pulled his arm free and pointed across the stage, to where Rosie was deep in conversation with Harte. Their matching golden heads were pulled close together, a slow smile spreading across his broad face, her cheeks flaming red. Of course ... Rosie and Harte. How could I have missed it? My heart felt altogether too full, as if it would burst should anything else wonderful happen that night.

"Oh!" I said, a little helplessly. "Oh! Oh!"

Randall pulled me in tighter, and kissed me again.
Chapter Fourteen
I didn't
sleep at all that night, and no wonder, I suppose. The festival mood had evaporated, leaving the old cautious Charlotte in its wake. How could I marry Randall Woodstone? I barely knew the man; he certainly did not know me, and I was sure he would not want to. And furthermore, he lived in Harrowgate! I hadn't been thinking clearly -- somehow I had overlooked the fact that the moment we were married, Randall Woodstone would sweep me away from Shearing and Stirwaters and everything that meant anything to me.

Whatever the morning brought, I would have to seek out Mr. Woodstone ... and go back on my word. A new pain stabbed through my breast, and I told myself it was only the inconceivable thought of a Miller breaking a bargain.

Morning finally dawned, exactly as yesterday had not been: damp and drear, a heavy fog down across the valley floor. Rosie woke at last, and the smile she gave me almost undid me. Well, if I were going to tell Mr. Woodstone I couldn't marry him, it certainly couldn't go any worse than telling my sister.

I broke the news as she did up my stays, and in her shock she gave the laces a yank that almost cut off the blood supply to my head.
"Have you lost your mind?" She gave the laces another mighty heave and tied them off. "You must have. Are you running a fever?"

I sat on the edge of the bed. "No, but I think I must have been yesterday."

"No. No. I will not have this! For once in your life you made a quick decision -- and it was the right one, for pity's sake. I will
not
let you talk yourself out of this!" But she looked more sad than angry -- a red, wilted version of herself as she fought to hold back tears. I drew her down beside me and put my arm around her.

"Hush, love," I said. "It's for the best. It wouldn't work."

She hugged me back, but whispered, "It
would
have worked. That's what scares you."

Dressed at last, I came downstairs and bypassed even the thought of tea, certain that any small delay might just finish me off. Say thanks for small blessings -- Uncle Wheeler was nowhere to be seen. I practiced my lines in my head, kept my composure as best I could, and stepped out into the cold foggy morning.