Anne Barbour (31 page)

She forced herself to meet his gaze, and once more she knew a quivering sensation in the pit of her stomach. There was no mockery in his jeweled gaze, only a perceptive sensitivity that drew an unthinking and wholly unguarded response from deep within her.

Instantly, she stiffened, marshaling her defenses. He was being kind to a spinster with an unfortunate burden, one who was hopelessly flawed and without prospect. Yes, that was it. She felt a surge of resentment that he should see her as such an obvious object of pity, but the next moment, she chided herself. Compassion was a virtue, and the earl could only be commended for his consideration. She must not mind his clumsiness in choosing words that could only make her more painfully aware of her defects.

She gulped. “Thank you—Josh. It was—nice of you to say that.” She removed her hand from his, experiencing a strange sense of loss as she did so. She rose awkwardly. “I must say good night to you now.”

She turned to leave the room, but was stayed as Josh lifted his hands to her shoulders. He smiled into her eyes. “You think I am offering you Spanish coin. I am not, little lark. You are a jewel, albeit glowing unnoticed, and you must never think otherwise.” Bending his head, he brushed the scar with his lips, then bent to her mouth. So light and so impersonal was his touch that it could hardly be called a kiss, but Melody jerked as though he had bitten her.

Uttering a strangled sound, she whirled and ran from the room, leaving Josh to stare bemusedly after her.

What the devil had possessed him to behave so? he wondered. My God, he had actually kissed a woman he had met but a few hours earlier. A gently bred maiden to boot. Had he taken leave of his senses?

Yes, he had. He had acted in a moment of complete mindlessness, guided only by an instinct that had been as insistent as it was unpremeditated. To be sure, he had felt a connection with Lady Sandborne’s unprepossessing companion from the moment he had been caught up in the beauty of her song in the churchyard. He was angry, as anyone would be, at the way she had been virtually ignored by her family and now her employers. He was even angrier that Melody apparently felt compelled to shroud her gifts in a submissive demeanor and an unflattering style of dress.

That was no reason, however, for him to maul her as though she had been a flirtatious chambermaid.

But no, surely he was making too much of this. He had not really mauled Melody Fairfax. His kiss had been—well—almost paternal. Yes, that was it, a mere salute of friendship. Surely, despite her startlement, Melody had received it as such and would think no more about it. Nor would he.

Casting one more glance at the piano, he left the music room and repaired to his bedchamber.

In her own room, Melody stood motionless, her fingers pressed to her lips. How could he have behaved so? How could he have followed what appeared to be a genuine attempt at kindness with such an assault? Did he see her as that humorous stereotype, an ugly old maid, desperate for the attentions of a man? A convenient outlet for his base passions?

Even as these reflections whirled chaotically in her brain she realized their foolishness. His kiss had been totally lacking in passion. It was almost brotherly, in fact, although she had rarely received such a sign of affection from anyone in her family. The earl had not assaulted her. The kiss had been merely a gesture of kindness, but… His lips had been warm against hers. And firm.

And she was making entirely too much of the incident. He had acted in a spirit of distant kindness and that was all there was to it. She would place no further significance on what had been, after all, merely a careless gesture on the earl’s part.

Her resolutions firmly in place, she began her preparations for bed. Once she had retired, however, it was many minutes before she was able to compose herself for sleep.

VI

The following morning Lady Sandborne strode briskly into the breakfast room as Josh was finishing a hearty repast of eggs, a largish beefsteak, and scones. Melody entered behind her, blushing when her gaze encountered that of the earl.

Pinning an impersonal smile to his lips, Josh greeted both ladies and urged them to seats at the table.

“No, my dear,” caroled the countess, “we have already breakfasted. I merely wished to see if you are ready for your tour. I thought we’d better get to it before Mr. Brickley arrives.”

“I shall attend to that correspondence, my lady,” interposed Melody, backing out of the room. “If you will just ring when you—”

“Nonsense,” retorted Lady Sandborne. “You know as much or more about the house than I. You can repair any of my omissions and add anything that comes into your head. Come along, both of you.”

The countess led the way from the breakfast room to the main hall, and from there up the sweeping staircase to the floors above. With sporadic interpolations by Melody, she chattered all the way of Restoration staircases, Jacobean galleries, and Grecian anterooms. Josh was swept into drawing rooms and other assorted chambers, as well as guest bedchambers and, of course, the State chamber in which, he was assured, had slept three kings, a queen, and the odd princess or two. At the end of an hour, they arrived in the Long Gallery, which stretched the length of the house.

The walls of this vast chamber were lined with family portraits, and as the countess led him along, Josh’s interest increased, for several of the gentlemen pictured might have been hosed and bewigged versions of himself.

Reaching the far end of the gallery, they stopped before a group portrait. In its center, a boy stood within the protective curve of his mother’s arm. He was about seven years old, and he stared gravely out at the world through a pair of expressive gray eyes.

“Is this my father?” asked Josh softly.

“Yes. All four of the brothers were included in this portrait. The oldest, of course”—she indicated the tallest boy, standing straight and proud next to his father—”is George, my late husband. Next to him is William, and then your father, John. Seated in your grandmother’s lap is their youngest, Foster. They were a handsome group, do you not agree?”

“Yes.” Josh whispered the word as a hot, pricking sensation rose behind his eyelids. These people meant nothing to him, really. Not even the boy who had grown up to become his father, for he had never known the man. Yet, it was impossible not to feel the bond of kinship that seemed to reach out to him from beyond the canvas and paint. These were his people! They were not important to him, of course, but still he felt drawn to the portrait.

He turned, aware that Lady Sandborne was speaking once more.

“I remember the boys very well, you know, for, as I told you, our parents were good friends. They rarely let me in on their games when we visited, but I can still remember them—in this very gallery. They used to run races, screaming with laughter. George always won, of course, but occasionally he would let the others catch up to him. John always tried harder than the others. I can see him now—his face red with effort and determination.

Josh turned to look down the length of the chamber. He could almost see them, too. George shouting encouragement, little Foster struggling to keep up on his short, stubby legs, and William and John trying valiantly to outdo each other.

He caught Melody’s glance on him, her gray eyes warm with empathy. Was she reading his thoughts? He shifted uncomfortably. Dammit, he didn’t want her inside his mind. He had spent a lifetime guarding his feelings, and he preferred to keep his own counsel.

He nodded curtly. “Again, I thank you for your time and trouble, ladies, but if you will point me to the earl’s—or, rather, my study, I must be on my way. That is where I promised to meet Mr. Brickley in— good Lord, fifteen minutes ago!” he exclaimed, pulling out his watch.

The countess directed Josh to a handsomely appointed chamber on the ground floor of the house, and he arrived somewhat breathless to find his steward awaiting him.

Their conversation was amicable and informative. Josh was pleased to discover that, according to the accounts spread before him, Sandborne Court and the other estates now in his possession, were in good stead.

Following their discussion, Mr. Brickley drove him about the estate. Their travels, encompassing the park, the Home Farm and various smaller farms and tenancies, took the remainder of the day, and at the end, Josh was pleased at the confirmation of his initial assessment of Mr. Brickley’s husbandry. Good, he thought, he could leave the Court in short order, secure in the knowledge that his lands were in good hands. By the first of the year, his work in England might be done and he could return home in good conscience.

Return home? Well, no, not precisely. He would simply be going back to the place where he had lived all his life. A different thing, altogether.

He would have, he considered some days later, little compunction in leaving his new family, for he seemed to make little impact in their lives. As he familiarized himself with his new domain, he saw Arthur only infrequently, for his scholarly cousin spent most of his time in a crowded little study in his own family quarters. Upon visiting him there one day, Josh was astonished at the depth of the man’s interest in Roman Britain. The room was laced with bookshelves that overflowed with moth-eaten tomes bearing Latin titles. Almost every surface was covered with crumpled notes, old maps, and such impedimenta as models of ancient forts, coins, and even pieces of rusted armor.

Mary, while profoundly uninterested in her husband’s avocation, spent most of her time as well in the family quarters. What she did there, Josh was unable to fathom, since she seemed to have no hobbies of her own. She maintained her chill disapproval of Josh’s presence at the Court, and on the rare occasions when she and Arthur graced the huge dining chamber with their presence, she turned a resolutely cold shoulder to her new cousin.

Aunt Helen, while more visible, was usually immersed in village activities. She took her duties as lady of the manor seriously, and made frequent social calls. She also busied herself in visiting tenants or planning charity events with the vicar’s wife, usually with Melody at her side.

Josh found this situation, somewhat to his surprise, highly unsatisfactory. On the occasions when he was permitted conversation with the little companion, he found her company pleasant in the extreme. With her, he felt he could be himself. He relished the sparkle of interest that would appear in her gray eyes when he spoke of his homeland across the sea.

He spent a great deal of time with Mr. Brickley, a tall man with perceptive brown eyes, who had served the Weston family for most of his three and fifty years. Josh also became acquainted with various and sundry neighbors, all of whom apparently found it necessary to visit the Court on some pretext or other during the first week of his arrival.

With the rest of the family, he attended church in the village on Sunday. At his first Sunday service, he was obviously the focus of attention from the county gentry down to the lowliest laborers. Josh was made more than somewhat uncomfortable by this, yet another indication of his sudden rise in status. On the other hand, he discovered to his surprise that he enjoyed the service. The vicar, a plain, no-nonsense sort of man, delivered a plain, no-nonsense sort of sermon, and the occasion was further enhanced by the offertory delivery of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” by Melody. Unfortunately, her accompanist, the village’s oldest inhabitant, he was told, played very badly, her arthritic fingers stumbling over the keys of an ancient organ, rendering the morning hideous with discord.

Afterward, Josh stood on the steps of the church, exchanging pleasantries with his new neighbors, the county landowners. These worthies, he soon discovered, were not so different from their American counterparts. Bluff and hearty, their minds seldom rising above the current crop conditions and the prices thereof, they were nonetheless good people, and ones with whom he soon established a surprising rapport. Their wives, to a woman, determined immediately that what was supremely lacking in his life was a wife. They seemed to come to a unanimous decision that their first priority in life was to assist him in remedying this sad want. Josh found himself the recipient of invitations to countless dinner parties, balls, routs, and soirees, all made the more frenetic by the imminent approach of Christmas.

Indeed, Josh noted that the season was beginning to creep into his house in hesitant increments, heralded first by bits of greenery swagged in the entry hall and pine boughs over the mantelpieces.

One morning, he entered the breakfast room to find Melody dining in solitary state. He lifted his brows in surprise.

“You are not with Aunt Helen this morning?”

Melody’s eyes twinkled. “I have been banished. Lady Sandborne has declared that she’s full of crotchets today and plans to spend the day catching up on her correspondence. I usually help her with that, but she says she would rather write to her particular friends herself.”

“Ah,” replied Josh, unaccountably pleased. “Then perhaps you would care to join me after breakfast for a ride. Brickley is a hard taskmaster, but I find that if I creep out early enough I can usually elude him for a good gallop before taking up my daily chores.”

The idea seemed to take Melody by surprise.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “But—but, I am not dressed for riding. I don’t think—”

“How long would it take you to change?” asked Josh mildly, not to be put off.

Seeming to come to a decision, Melody rose abruptly. A smile like the dawning sun spread across her features. “Not very long at all,” she replied in a lilting tone. “If you will wait, I shall join you in just a few minutes.”

As Melody hastened up the stairs, her heart beat wildly. She was being foolish beyond bounds, she chided herself. The prospect of a couple of hours spent with a man was not enough to cause this sense of exhilaration, this singing in her blood. The earl, of course, was not just any man. She had come to enjoy his presence at the Court far more than a spinster of limited expectations should. She relished the intelligence that shone from his extraordinary emerald eyes, and his kindness, and—oh, the solid, reassuring strength of him.