My Dearest Enemy (22 page)

"Yet," he went on, "when I see those dilapidated nags she cares for, I wonder why would she risk her future for some broken-down race horses? What makes a hardheaded, unsentimental opportunist do something so utterly insane? And then, most importantly, nearly a year ago she wrote me a letter that—"
that saved my soul
, "that meant a great deal to me. It seems impossible that the woman who wrote that letter could be so callous."

Francesca had no answer for this enigma.

Suddenly Avery felt tired. Tired and drained and bitterly aware that the one woman he wanted was the one who he most mistrusted. "I appreciate that Lily has worked hard and long for something she wants. But I hope like hell that she fails. Simply wanting something does not give you the right to it."

"Is that what you're telling yourself when you look at her?" Francesca asked. "That she doesn't deserve your house? Or are you thinking about other things?"

Avery groaned. Francesca could take a debate on monetary reform and turn it into a sexual one. The fact that her words brought back with renewed impact the hunger he felt for Lily did not make the matter any less ironic. He sighed, rose, and went to the door. "As I said, Francesca, that problem I know just the cure for."

He yanked open the door. Bernard stumbled into the room. Avery closed his eyes and counted to three, when he opened them it was to find a garishly red-faced Bernard shuffling before him.

"I was passing and I heard Miss Bede's name," he stuttered miserably. Yet, Avery had to give him credit.

The boy met his gaze squarely, even defiantly. "I didn't hear much. The blasted door's too thick—"

"Don't curse, boy," Avery chided him severely. "It's not gentlemanly."

"Yes, sir," Bernard bit out. "But as a gentleman, I feel… that is, I have a duty to Miss Bede, an obligation to see to her welfare. I'm naturally concerned…"

Another Thorne male under the sway of that black-haired witch? Avery narrowed his eyes on the boy's fevered-looking face, trembling body, and heated glare. Damn!

He seized Bernard's bony shoulder, spun him around, and propelled him out into the hall. "Fine, Bernard. I have just the thing for your 'concern.' "

"Where are we going?" Bernard squeaked.

"For a swim, lad. A nice, long swim."

"Jump in!" Avery shouted. "It's six or seven feet deep here, not shallow like the north end."

"All right." Bernard dropped his boots and stood up to drop his trousers.

Avery experienced a moment of intense deja vu. He might have been looking at a photograph of himself taken over a decade earlier.

Bernard's broad, bony shoulders spread beneath his linen shirt like a clothes hanger. From under his shirt-tails stuck long white stick-like legs ending in feet that looked like some monstrous duck's paddles. With a body like that, Avery thought, Bernard should swim like a selkie.

"Come on!"

"I said, 'all right!' " Bernard shouted back irritably. Avery's grin spread.

His young jaw tensing with determination, Bernard took a step back and then launched himself off the embankment. Limbs gyrating madly, he sailed through the air, landed in the water and promptly sank. A second later he burst from beneath the surface, sputtering fiercely and noisily gulping air. Avery swam closer, concern supplanting his amusement.

"Don't swim much, do you?" He kept his tone light, remembering how important it had been to him to mask his physical infirmity. Listening carefully for the telltale wheezing but hearing nothing besides loud clear gasps, he turned over on his back and floated nearer, ready to give aid if necessary.

"I learned to swim in this pond," he commented conversationally.

The boy's breathing was settling back to normal now. He began paddling around inexpertly. "Oh? Who taught you?"

"No one," Avery said. "I fell in while I was fishing. It was a matter of swim or drown. I decided to swim. Who taught you?"

"Miss Bede."

The boy's reply caught Avery off-guard. Bernard, correctly interpreting his expression, laughed.

"I didn't realize you'd spent so much time with her," he said.

"I don't," Bernard said. "Not at all. Mother likes me to stay near when I'm home." His brows v'd over the bridge of his nose. "Mother worries. Fact of the matter is that when she found out that Miss Bede had taught me to swim Mother was so distressed that Miss Bede promised not to do anything like it again."

From the boy's sigh Avery deduced that further escapades with Lily hadn't been forthcoming.

"It's hell, isn't it?" he said.

Bernard didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "I hate it! The way the deans look at you every time you cough, all frightened and resentful, and how the other lads snicker behind your back, and wondering if you'll ever be well enough to do anything."

Avery nodded. The usually reticent lad had found his voice. He knew how cathartic that could be.

"And how it feels when your chest is all collapsed-feeling, like some invisible monster is sitting atop you, and you're sure you won't be able to draw enough air to live?"

Avery nodded. He knew.

"Sometimes"—Bernard's head bowed but then he looked up defiantly—"a few years ago, I used to think that it wouldn't be so awful if I didn't."

"Bernard—"

The boy looked up, his face angry. "I know. It was cowardly. But I got so tired of worrying Mother and Miss Bede, of being afraid myself."

"And how did that change?" Avery asked quietly, relieved when he realized that Bernard was speaking in the past tense.

"I just got tired about worrying about whether I'd live through the night or not. You know what the funny thing is?"

"What?"

"The less I cared about dying, the easier time I've had of it. I mean, I used to stew a bit." He looked away, coloring slightly. "You know. Lie abed and worry whether I'd be around to wake up the next morning."

Avery's heart ached for the boy.

"Then I'd remember how Aunt Francesca said you'd had the same thing when you were my age," Bernard continued, "and think about how you are now, and I'd swear I'd get strong, too. And then I'd feel better. Not just in here." He tapped his head. "But in here." He thumped his chest. "At least that's the way it seems. Tell me, did you… did you really have this thing, too?"

"Yes." The relief the boy felt was palpable. "And it stopped?"

"Not entirely," Avery said, picking his way carefully. "There are still situations and places I eschew. Things I won't attempt. I avoid them like the plague."

"You?" Bernard said incredulously. "Like what?"

"Horses. A few minutes anywhere near them and it feels as though I've a steel band tightening around my chest."

The boy took a few strokes closer. "Really?"

"Really. And I think you should avoid whatever things bring on your attacks."

The boy snorted. "There's no reason for my attacks."

"I disagree. You just told me the reasons. Upset. Worry. Fear. I know it sounds preposterous to think that one's thoughts can so profoundly affect one's body, but I've seen things that not only suggest this to be true, Bernard, but offer categorical proof of it."

The boy didn't look too convinced and Avery knew better than to press the issue. Bernard, like all Thornes, must come to his own conclusions. "Tell me about your swimming lessons."

It was the right tack to take. "It was the second summer Miss Bede was at Mill House. Mother and Francesca had gone to have tea with someone and left me in Lil—Miss Bede's care. It was hot and Miss Bede had spent the morning in the stables—"

"Is she really so devoted to those nags?"

"Oh, yes." Bernard flipped over on his back and let the water buoy him up. "She quite dotes on them. Anyway, she was hot and I was, too, and we sort of ended up here at the pond and she asked if I knew how to swim and I said 'no' and she said I ought to and one thing led to another…" The lad's gaze grew dreamy. "She was so beautiful," he whispered.

Yes. She was, Avery thought.

"When she's wet her hair gleams and her eyes shine. She'd have me float on my back and then hold me up and I'd feel…" Bernard's voice trailed off as his eyes glazed over.

Avery felt a bit glazed himself. No wonder the boy was so entranced by the black-haired termagant. Lily Bede, wet. It made his mouth go dry and the icy water seem tepid.

He turned over and plunged beneath the surface of the water, pushing down toward the bottom and through the ropy tangle of waterlily roots. The cool silky water filled his eyes and ears, muting sound and blurring shape. Shimmering bands of sunlight pierced the greenish gloom with golden corridors. Minnows darted past, losing themselves in the forest of weeds. He gave himself over to the calm, cool,
reasonable
beauty of it—in direct contrast to another heated, dangerous beauty. A few minutes later, he swam back to the surface.

"Where were you?" Bernard's frightened voice demanded. Avery turned. The boy stood waist deep in water. "You were down so long. I thought—"

The boy had worried about him. When was the last time someone had fretted over him?

"I'm sorry, old chap," Avery said mildly. "I learned to swim here, but I refined my skills on a Polynesian island. I never could hold my breath for as long as the pearl fishers, but I could match any European there. My comrades used to make wagers on that talent." For drinks mostly, but the boy didn't need to know that.

"You were in the French islands?" Bernard asked. "I don't remember you writing about them."

Avery shrugged. "Only there for a month or so. A stopping off point to Australia."

"You haven't talked about your adventures hardly at all since you've come here."

"Hmm." Avery swam lazily toward him. Above the sky was clotted with thick ivory-colored clouds. A robin sang from a nearby hawthorn. It was so beautiful here. So familiar and healing. He wanted it. The beauty, the calm, the very
Englishness
of it, more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

And so did she.

"No need to bore the females with my—what is it Miss Bede calls my stories? Oh yes, 'tales from a superannuated childhood.' "

"She's wonderful, isn't she?"