Adam's Promise (3 page)

Now, sitting next to Diana's younger sister, who had been a child the last time he'd seen her, he felt more ancient than ever, and more pathetic to have been foolishly dreaming about Diana, the one who always seemed to slip through his fingers.

Strange, how Adam had thought after all these years, their coming together again was some kind of romantic destiny.

A ridiculous fantasy, indeed.

“Where is your home?” Madeline asked, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Is it far?”

He pointed straight ahead. “Farther along this ridge, hidden in the trees.”

She sat up straighter to see as far as she could, and he sensed she was fighting the urge to stand up in the moving buggy.

He tried not to think of Diana, when there was no point torturing himself. Instead, he gazed at the landscape in all directions. “Quite a view from here, don't you think?”

Madeline gave him a cool, brief glance that told him she was going to reply only because it was the polite thing to do. Obviously, she was still upset over what had happened, and rightly so, he supposed. It had been an awkward scene in front of her traveling companions. Awkward for both of them, for if he was honest about it, he had been an ogre.

Lord, when had he become this ill-natured? It had happened so gradually over the years, he hadn't really noticed it until he was here, face-to-face with some
one from his past. Someone who had known the man he once was.

“Is that farmland down there?” she asked.

At least she was willing to make an effort. He supposed he should do the same.

“They're salt marshes. Everything down there is dyked.”

She stared in silence at the velvet green vistas below and the dark spruce forests on the uplands. Above them, white clouds sailed quickly across the vast blue sky.

“Your sons must be a help to you,” she said.

“I couldn't do it without them.”

He turned his gaze to her feminine profile and stared at her for a long moment. Her cheeks were delicately carved, her lips full. Her eyes had the look of girlish fascination at the unfamiliar world around her. She was such a child, yet she had left her home and crossed an ocean with the expectation of becoming his wife. His wife! Diana's baby sister. She had thought she would meet his sons as their future stepmother.

Good Lord. Did she know that Jacob, his stepson, was only four years younger than she?

With that thought, a tremor of uneasiness coursed through him. She couldn't actually be brokenhearted, could she? In a sense, he had rejected her romantically, and told everyone within hearing range that she was not the one he'd wanted. He considered saying something about it—offering an apology perhaps?—then he decided that it would just be rubbing salt in both of their wounds, and he should leave it be. There
was no point dwelling on it. He would let her enjoy the view.

At least there had been no true, deep-rooted romance between them. In fact, she was probably relieved to be spared marrying a man she hardly knew. A man almost twice her age.

Yes, what was done was done, and there was no sense dragging the uncomfortable circumstances on any longer. All this would be straightened out soon enough, for he was not yet ready to give up on Diana.

 

Madeline sat back in the rolling carriage, gazing in a detached way at the windswept landscape she had thought would be her home. It was everything she had dreamed of, ripe for an adventure, and the reality of that only made her feel worse—as if her dreams had been mangled and mashed in front of her eyes and now all she could do was accept it.

Adam drove the carriage down the slope of the ridge and into the thick spruce forest where all was shaded and quiet and sheltered from the wind. Little more than a narrow bridle path was all they had for a road, and only the sounds of the horse's hooves thumping and the carriage wheels rolling over the ground, snapping twigs, filled the silence.

An uneasy feeling closed in around Madeline. What would become of her? She was an ocean away from her familiar world of moors and dales and meandering stone walls, and she knew no one here except for Adam and the people from the ship. She had no family.

Not that she'd had any family that she could de
pend upon back in Yorkshire, either, but at least she knew the country. Here, she could get lost in these deep, unfathomable forests or swallowed by a bear, God forbid. She squeezed her pink-and-silver guinea purse into a ball in her hands. Partly in fear, partly in fury.

“Are you all right, Miss Oxley?” Adam asked, surprising her.

She'd thought she was more proficient at hiding her feelings. She would have to do better.

“I'm fine, Mr. Coates.”

“You don't look fine.”

She took a deep breath, not sure how to reply. “I was just thinking about my future and where I will go after this.”
And I've never felt more alone in my life.

“I think the best thing is for you to return to your father in Yorkshire.”

“I would rather not.”

He was quiet a moment. “Do you think that's wise?”

How was she to explain that she'd left Yorkshire because she'd been ruined by an outrageous, unfounded sham of a scandal, and her father had never made any effort to defend her?

After this little debacle, she realized he had been more determined to get rid of her than she'd thought.

And more determined to keep Diana at his side.

“I'll be frank with you,” Adam said. “There isn't much here for a young, unmarried woman. Very few settlers can afford a live-in governess and the chances of finding work, outside of keeping house for some
one, are slim. The winters are long and severe—the icy winds over the marsh can take a bite out of your skin if you're not careful. And the mosquitoes…well, I guarantee they'll come close to driving you mad. Their bite feels like a hot needle prick in your skin and it swells up like a big boil for days afterward and itches insufferably.”

“You're exaggerating.”

He tilted his head at her. “Just wait and see. In a month, you'll be jumping into the muddy Tantramar just to escape them. Sometimes, they're worse than a black cloud around your head and—”

“You've made your point, Mr. Coates, but I'm not going home. I don't know what I'll do, but don't worry, I'll find some means to make my way. If not here, then perhaps in Halifax.”

“There's no road to Halifax. It's all Indian trails and bridle paths.”

She huffed in frustration. “What would you have me do, then? Go home on the next ship? Go home to a father who wanted me gone so badly that he deceived both of us to get rid of me?”

Adam removed his hat and ran a hand over his dark, backswept hair. “You don't know that.”

“You said you asked him for Diana's hand. The man could read.”

The horses snorted and tossed their heads. “Well, perhaps he simply thought it should be your turn. Diana had already been married. I doubt he was that determined to get
rid
of you.”

Madeline chose not to correct him on that point.
He didn't need to know the truth, and at least he was no longer insinuating that this scheme was her doing.

“I still think it would be in your best interest to return to Yorkshire and be with your father,” he told her. “Cumberland is no place for a young woman alone.”

“I'll consider it,” she replied, just to end the discussion.

A few minutes later, she watched a brown squirrel shimmy across an evergreen bough overhead and leap onto a taller tree. “How did you learn about Diana's widowhood?” she asked, curious about how this deplorable situation had come to pass.

“News makes its way over here eventually. And I may have made inquiries about her over the years.”

Inquiries. Beautiful Diana. Men were always making inquiries….

Madeline gazed at Adam's mature face beside her, and even now, after all that had happened, her childish heart found it difficult to believe that she was actually sitting beside him, alone here in the forest, their thighs bumping every so often. She felt an unwelcome, impetuous thrill over it, and a twinge of hope that perhaps one day, he might forget about Diana and see Madeline differently.

Her skin tingled beneath her dress, and she wished she could throttle the sensation. She didn't want to start fantasizing again about this man who was not what she remembered. She would only wind up getting hurt, for she had yet in her life to experience otherwise.

“Did you love her that much, then?” She hoped
her tone hadn't revealed how hurt she'd been over all this, but she wanted to hear how he felt.

No. After that thigh-bumping thrill, she
needed
to hear it.

He clicked his tongue at the horses. “Yes, I did.”

Madeline tried to crush the unwise pang of jealousy she did not want to feel.

Adam continued. “And I still wish to marry her. Perhaps you could help me?”

Help you?
She tried to keep her voice light, to sound obliging. “How?”

“You could give me her address in London. I plan to notify my solicitor there, and if Diana agrees, have him arrange a proxy marriage. I want no mistakes this time.”

Feeling very tired all of a sudden, Madeline nodded. She knew that Diana had been lonely since her husband died. If it was her whim, she would be sailing into the muddy waters of Cumberland Basin on the very next ship from England—as Adam's wife—and there was no sense harboring any secret hopes to the contrary.

M
adeline and Adam drove out of the woods and down a gentle slope onto the low, windy grasslands. A herd of black-and-white cattle grazed nearby, and they lifted their heads and stared, as if they were perplexed to see Madeline, who was not the woman they had been expecting. Knowing it was a ridiculous notion, she turned her face away from them and looked the other way.

In the distance, up on another hill overlooking the marsh, stood a large, majestic-looking red brick house. Madeline wondered if this was the place she had dreamed about, and wondered further how close her fantasies had been to reality. Judging by the look of the place, her fantasies had been eerily accurate indeed.

They turned into the tree-lined driveway that led up to the house, and barely made it to the door before a young boy came racing out of it to greet them.

Adam obviously wasn't the only one who had been looking forward to Diana's arrival.

“My youngest son,” Adam explained with an apologetic tone.

The boy bolted across the front yard. Madeline shifted uncomfortably in her seat, dreading the matter of explaining the mistake and telling him that the woman his father had planned to marry hadn't even known he'd proposed.

They rolled to a gentle stop in front of the house. The boy approached and took hold of the harness. “Hello, Father!” He gazed timidly at Madeline as he waited for an introduction.

Adam stepped down from the buggy and came around to help Madeline. “Miss Oxley, this is my son, Charles.”

The boy suddenly lost his enthusiasm. “Miss Oxley? But where's Lady Thurston?”

“She didn't come. There was a misunderstanding, and Lady Thurston's sister came to visit instead.”

“Her sister?” Charlie gazed uncertainly at Madeline. “Will
you
be marrying my father?”

Madeline was thankful that Adam answered the question before she had to. “No, Charles. She's just visiting. I'll be sending another letter to Lady Thurston to clear everything up.”

While the boy led the horse and buggy into the barn, Adam escorted Madeline into the house, the wide center hall decorated with teal wallpaper and dark cherry columns. An older woman wearing gold spectacles appeared from the back kitchen. She smoothed her skirt with her hands. “Mr. Coates, you've returned.”

“Hello, Agnes. This is Madeline Oxley. Diana's
sister.
”

Looking bewildered, the woman stared at Madeline.

Madeline saw the situation work itself through the woman's mind, until finally she nodded in understanding. Madeline forced herself to smile. She would be glad to get these awkward introductions over and done with.

“Madeline, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Agnes Dalton.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.”

At that instant, a dark-haired girl came running from the kitchen. “Father!”

She flew into Adam's arms. He scooped her up and squeezed her before setting her back down. “Miss Oxley, this is my daughter, Penelope. Penelope, this is Miss Madeline Oxley.”

“Are you Lady Thurston's maid?” the little girl asked. “Father said she might bring one.”

Could this possibly be any more humiliating?

Adam quickly interrupted. “No, Penelope. This is Lady Thurston's
sister.
There was a misunderstanding about my marriage proposal, but it will all be cleared up soon enough.”

If Madeline heard him say
sister
with that overly explanative tone one more time, she might decide to swim back to Yorkshire!

“So, you'll be my aunt, then?” Penelope said.

Despite the setbacks, Madeline couldn't help smiling at the girl. “I suppose I will be.”

“Will you be living with us, too?”

Madeline tried to imagine living here after Diana arrived, married Adam and became stepmother to these children.

Could she live here, too? As the spinster aunt?

She glanced up at Adam's handsome face, noticed the line of his strong jaw, caught the scent of his shaving soap.

No, definitely not.

“I'm just visiting,” she replied.

“For how long?”

“Very briefly.”

“How briefly?”

Thank goodness the housekeeper stepped forward and cut off the interrogation. “You must be exhausted after your journey, Miss Oxley. The crossing wasn't too unpleasant, I hope?”

She was the first person not to make Madeline feel like a huge human blunder. “As smooth as can be expected.”

“Let me show you to your room. You can freshen up and rest a while, then you can meet Mary.”

“My daughter-in-law,” Adam offered.

He gave Madeline a melancholy look that she wished she could read. Was it an apology for their awkward beginning? Or was it simply disappointment that Diana had not arrived?

He nodded at her, and she knew he was passing his duty over to the others. He was finished with her.

Madeline followed Mrs. Dalton to the staircase, peered surreptitiously over her shoulder at her once future husband.

Without a backward glance, he walked out the door.

 

The afternoon sun moved across the sky and glistened outside Madeline's lace-covered window, shining in her eyes and waking her from her nap.

She stared dazedly at the dappled light upon her quilt. It was a muted, golden glow, unlike anything she'd ever seen in Yorkshire, and she wondered how in the world the sun could be different here, when it was exactly the same sun.

Sitting up, she yawned and realized how exhausted she was after the long journey and the horrible, mortifying end to everything. She hadn't taken any lunch; she just hadn't felt like eating. Not that she was pouting. She was never one to wallow in self-pity. All she'd wanted to do was drift into a deep, rehabilitating sleep, then wake up and feel ready to begin again.

But as she looked around the bedchamber at the dainty writing desk in the corner—stocked with stationery and a goose quill pen next to a bottle of ink, and a silver candelabra with five new white wax candles just waiting to be lit after sunset—she knew the room had been lovingly prepared for Diana. Madeline found herself, at that moment, quite unable to pick herself up, as she usually did, and dust herself off.

She thought about Diana then. How everyone loved her and praised her, while comparing Madeline's shortcomings in the very next breath.

Madeline had never been bothered by it before, not deeply anyway. She'd not permitted herself to be bothered by it, and she was always firm when it came
to her emotions and keeping them in check. She could sweep away the most painful insults or degradations with a mental wave of her unfalteringly strong will.

On that account, in childhood and adulthood, too, she'd crushed any interest in wishing for—or competing for—the kind of attention Diana received. Madeline had never expected to participate in the same game, nor had she wanted to; she was much happier going her own way, spending time alone, outdoors in the garden, while Diana preferred to socialize and charm anyone and everyone who crossed her path.

Today, however, for the first time, Madeline felt the sharp claws of envy boring under her skin. Adam had not been charmed by her, not in the least. He'd looked right through her, just as he had all those years ago when he'd come to the house to court Diana.

Determined not to spend another beastly moment feeling sorry for herself, Madeline rose, slipped her tiny stockinged feet into her black buckled shoes and prepared to venture downstairs.

At the top of the wide staircase, however, she heard someone call her name. In one of the rooms, lying on a huge, fluffy, canopied bed, was a pretty and very pregnant young woman. She couldn't have been more than eighteen.

“You must be Madeline,” she said cheerfully. “Mrs. Dalton told me you were sleeping. Come in, come in.”

Madeline moved all the way into the room.

“I'm Mary, Jacob's wife. He's off in the fields to
day, planting the spring crop. You'll meet him at supper.”

“I'll look forward to it,” Madeline replied. She glanced discreetly at Mary's full belly with an open book leaning upon it. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I'm fine. I've had some pains and the doctor suggested I rest until the baby comes next month. Please sit down.”

Madeline sat in an upholstered chair beside the bed.

Eyes warm and caring, Mary leaned forward and gently touched Madeline's hand. “Mrs. Dalton told me what happened—that you thought you were coming here to marry Mr. Coates. I felt terrible when I heard it. It must have been very distressing for you. Are you all right?”

Surprise, more than anything, shook Madeline. Mary may have been young, but she was astute.

“Of course, I'm fine. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstandings can sometimes be more than that.”

Madeline swallowed hard over the lump that suddenly rose in her throat. “Yes, but honestly, Mr. Coates and I were strangers to each other. There were no hurt feelings. I should have guessed something was wrong initially, before I set out for Nova Scotia. I should have known he would want Diana. They were close once, after all.”

Mary nodded and leaned back, but Madeline suspected that the young woman knew what was really going on.

A part of her wanted to confide in Mary, but Madeline bit back the urge. If in time, Adam did marry Diana, Madeline would never want anyone to know how she herself had loved him. She didn't want everyone to pity her as the poor, brokenhearted spinster sister. That would be the worst fate imaginable. Her pride would never be able to endure it.

Madeline politely stood. “I should go downstairs to see if I can help with supper. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you. Mrs. Dalton usually brings me supper on a tray.”

Feeling a little shaken, Madeline nodded and left the room, promising to return later for a visit and perhaps a game of cards. She walked down the stairs, sliding her fingers along the smooth oak handrail that swept round in a scroll to the newel post at the bottom. She ventured into the stone kitchen at the back of the house to find Mrs. Dalton at the large fireplace, spooning drippings over a crispy-looking hen on a spit. The glorious smells of roasting poultry filled Madeline's senses and her mouth began to water.

Mrs. Dalton wiped her hands on her apron and straightened, then noticed Madeline in the doorway. “Hello, dear. Come in and sit down.”

Madeline moved into the room. “After six weeks at sea, Mrs. Dalton, this kitchen smells like paradise. Can I help you with anything?”

“Not today. You've just arrived. Tomorrow you can help.”

Just then, footsteps pounded over the wide floorboards in the center hall and stopped in the doorway.
Madeline, somehow recognizing the sound of Adam's boots, turned with a sudden nervous sensation in her belly.

“Miss Oxley, may I speak with you, please?” His tone was serious and steely.

She swallowed. “Of course.”

He led her into his private study, a large room with dark green wallpaper and a fireplace flanked by bookcases built into the walls. The rug was soft under her shoes.

Adam stopped in the center of the room, faced her and clasped his hands behind his back. “I realize you've barely had a chance to settle in, but I would like to send Jacob back to the fort this afternoon with the letter, to see that it gets to Halifax with the next traveler.”

“The letter?”

Distracted, she gazed at Adam's dark features—the set of his jaw, the straight line of his nose. His black coat was gone now, and he wore a white linen shirt with plentiful gathers off his broad shoulders, and a navy silk embroidered waistcoat that hugged the masculine shape of his torso.

He had filled out since the days she'd known him in Yorkshire. He had been slender then. Now he seemed stronger, more muscular. She suddenly thought of all her romantic daydreams during the crossing, how she had imagined Adam kissing her and touching her on their wedding night. She'd imagined all of it in great detail—the way he would look at her with desire and love in his eyes. She'd imagined him laying her onto his bed and covering her
body with his own. The feelings of love she'd experienced at those moments had seemed so true. They
still
seemed true.

“The letter to my solicitor in London,” he said. “I wish also to write to Diana, of course. You mentioned you had the address where she is staying.”

Torn abruptly from her fantasy, Madeline felt a heaviness settle in her stomach. “Yes, I have it. In one of my trunks. But I haven't unpacked them yet. I don't know where—”

“They're upstairs in Penelope's room. You were resting when they arrived and I did not wish to disturb you.”

“I see.” Speaking to him now, she had to remind herself that whatever she had fantasized about during the crossing was just that—a fantasy. She and Adam were strangers. There was nothing between them.
Nothing.

“I'll get it right away,” she replied in a congenial tone, then turned to go.

“Madeline—” He took what sounded like an anxious step forward.

She stopped but didn't turn around. She didn't want to see his face.

Nor did she want him to see that her smile was not real. She didn't want him to know that she was disappointed or unhappy or affected in any way. She didn't want him to know anything.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and there was a hint of regret in his voice.

Regret? Over what part of the day, exactly? she wondered.

She nodded and walked out of the room, all the while trying to ignore the questions and hopes still dashing about in her brain. Trying to ignore the way her skin had erupted in gooseflesh just from the mere sound of his voice and the way he looked, standing before her, here in the flesh.

Oh, it would not do her any good to continue her fantasies about him. To continue to think of him in a romantic way. She had to stifle these reactions. She had to remind herself ten times a day if necessary that he was likely going to be her sister's husband one day soon.