Season For Desire (15 page)

Giles lifted his brows. “Ah, the moment has passed.”

Audrina caught Lady Irving’s gaze. The countess’s mouth was pinched and tight, as though she wanted to smile but regarded the expression as beneath her dignity.

No, the moment had not passed. The moment was just beginning.

 

 

“Your mother-in-law is not well.” The voice startled Sophy out of her drawing of Ganymede, the scarred gray moon of Jupiter. She had not heard anyone enter the library; she had thought the household gone to bed hours ago after their festive song.

Sophy set aside the paper and squinted up at Miss Corning. “Her body is strong.” Excuses, excuses. The refuge of the cowardly.

Lady Dudley had faded slowly for years, so slowly it seemed like nothing but ordinary forgetfulness when she asked the same question twice in a day. Then it became twice an hour; over and over, lost in her own mind. And Sophy studied the stars through her telescope to forget the wounded woman right outside her door.

She had always used science to forget the world.

Removing her pince-nez, she struggled to her feet. Somehow a shawl had got wrapped around her ankles.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs.—Sophy,” said the taller woman, a pale column of silk and grace, all blurry about the edges. “It is none of my affair, and I see that you were working on something. I have interrupted you.”

“Don’t give it another thought. The world doesn’t lack for drawings of Ganymede.”

A pause. “The youth from mythology?”

“No, the Galilean moon of Jupiter.” As though she would be drawing that scandalous tale, the youth abducted by Zeus because of his beauty. Zeus took what he wanted, male or female.

Sophy’s cheeks went hot. “I’m fond of astronomy. I have a telescope.” She gestured vaguely, as though Miss Corning could possibly have overlooked the gleaming brass tube by the library window. “Winter is the best time for looking at the sky because the nights are long and so often clear.”

Though any time was good for turning the scope away from the earth. She had never found answers here—though Jack had offered one, for a while.

“It is a beautiful instrument,” said Miss Corning, trailing across the room to look at the telescope more closely.
Millicent
.
Strong and brave
, the name meant. Sophy’s own name meant
wisdom
. Ha. “My brother owns one that is not nearly so fine.” Moonlight caught her plumes, granting her a feathery halo. “Please, you must call me Millicent after giving me the favor of your own Christian name.”

“I do not prefer to be called by my husband’s surname,” Sophy said. “But thank you. I should be glad to call you Millicent.”

Millicent inclined her head. “Truly, I am sorry for your loss.”

“There is no need.” The polite demur again tripped easily to her lips. “It was long ago.”

Long ago, yet she could never forget it.

Jack Parr had seemed the answer to Sophy’s prayer—
please, please, Lord, let me fit in; let me be like the other young ladies
. The ladies in graceful silks and sweet floral perfumes, ladies of soft curves and bell-like laughter. Beautiful faces, beautiful in form; so beautiful that Sophy’s mouth felt dry when she was flung into their company.

Jack found her standing thus at the side of a ballroom and twirled her into a dance. It was impossible not to smile at him.

No more than a week later, he told her of his plan. Were they to marry, they need never be pursued again, or pursue someone for whom their heart was not inclined. They could conduct affairs in private—though such affairs were, of necessity, very private indeed.

Sophy was slow to realize the import of his hints: Theirs would be a
mariage blanc
, never to be consummated. Instead of a true marriage, it would be a shield against gossip. An alliance. He had recognized in Sophy a heart that, like his, beat out of time with the rest of society.

He was the first to do so. Even Sophy had hardly put a name to the impossible longings of her nature. There was such a fine line between
wanting to be like
and
wanting to be with
.

“Yes,” she had agreed as soon as his intention became clear. “Yes, I will marry you.”

And so had begun several lovely years of friendship away from the peering eyes of London. At Castle Parr, Jack was blithe and reckless, but so happy in his daredevil tendencies that it was impossible to worry. He was indestructible. He could make anyone laugh, anytime. Even Sophy.

Sophy was not in the habit of laughter, and she had fallen out of it again after his injury.

What a relief it had seemed when, after being thrown during a match race on unbroken colts, Jack returned home uninjured. He had struck his head and lost consciousness for a few minutes, but soon was standing and laughing with friends.

Not for long, though. Within a day, an apoplectic seizure shook him. Then another a week later, and then they came more and more frequently. Each one took a little more of Jack away, leaving a dark and bitter stranger. A violent man whom she knew not at all and to whom she would never have given a single dance, much less her hand in marriage and her deepest secret.

Lady Dudley took in the first two dogs at about this time. Sophy bought a telescope. It came to be a comfort spending the long nights not alone, but with the bright lights of planets, of dying stars like Aldebaran and of the twins, Castor and Pollux, who made sure the other always had company.

For brief moments, Jack returned—her dear, sunlit friend. But she could almost hear thunder in the distance. His departure was always sudden and swift, a lightning bolt. Often she was struck.

She forgave him readily, for he didn’t know what he was doing. Until one day he taunted her:
Unnatural. Unwomanly. Not fit to be any man’s wife
.

That was when she knew he was truly gone. Their alliance was ended, and she was alone.

“What I am, you are, too,” she had told him. In the resulting rage, Jack broke her arm. When he was restrained, he thrashed so hard that he broke his own.

His parents could no longer deny that their son was beyond control. He never returned to Castle Parr, though a few years later he made one final trip to the churchyard. There, he seemed to have found peace.

But that had been almost a decade ago. So many years. Sophy’s arm had knit well, and there was no physical sign of how he had hurt her.

“It was a long time ago,” she said again, forcing herself to look up into Millicent’s perceptive blue eyes.

“I see.” Millicent tipped her face up, moonlight limning her features. “It’s nearing Christmas; have you found a new star in the heavens?”

“I’ve found many that are new to me.” Sophy resettled her pince-nez on her face. “But what good is that? I don’t think any of them are new to the world. Everything has been charted.”

“Maybe it just means that salvation can come from any number of sources. I never expected mine to come from strangers after my letter went astray.” Millicent touched the scope’s tube, tentatively, as though the cold brass startled her. “Do you like searching the stars for their own sake? As long as what you find is new to you, then it’s as new as though it was never seen before in the world.”

“The search is all I have,” said Sophy.

“It’s all I thought I had, too, until I arrived at Castle Parr.”

Sophy had to laugh. “Nonsense, Miss Corning. With a fortune and independence—”

“Ah, but those came at the cost of all the family I had left in the world.” Millicent’s smile was brittle. “It is sobering to know one’s exact value. I confess, I’d rather hoped to be thought priceless.”

“I am sure that you are.” Sophy bit her lip.

Millicent hesitated before she spoke again. “While I am staying here, would you mind if I came into the library some nights? If you care for music, I could bring the guitar.”

The promise and pain of Jack had been a long time ago. A long, long time ago.

“Thank you,” said Sophy. “I should like that very much.”

The usual tangle of half-packed bags, forgotten items, and prolonged good-byes delayed the travelers the following morning, and it was almost noon before they finally set off in Lady Irving’s carriage. Lizzie and Jory, the servants, preceded in the Rutherfords’ hired carriage with the array of trunks.

Audrina was not prepared for the damage a week of difficult weather could wreak on Yorkshire roads. Absent was the macadam of London, the punctilious care to smooth any path on which wealthy feet might walk. The drive back to the Goat and Gauntlet took hours longer than the drive away from it, on roads of such rutted misery that Richard Rutherford was not the only one fearful of disgracing himself with illness. All the while, the sky seemed to spit and cry with frustration, alternating between drizzle and a heavy rain that dropped like marbles.

The days were at their shortest, and before they caught sight of the yellow-gray building blocks of the York walls, early twilight had blanketed the world and the moon had risen.
Waning gibbous
, Sophy would say of the moon.

The thought of Sophy and her telescope, offering a look at unimaginable places beyond, brought a watery smile to Audrina’s face.
Gibbous
again, as though no time had passed since she had looked through the telescope and imagined a world that wasn’t worth more, but was . . . different.

So different, she hardly knew its form. And the only person who might help her trace it was someone she could not have. Someone who would leave and go back to his dutiful
shoulds
until his life wound down.

At last, the post-house they had been so eager to leave beckoned them back, the lit windows on the ground floor winking at them like an old friend. A chill wind swung the Goat and Gauntlet’s sign until it was a blur, but there was no mistaking the building that had last swum into Audrina’s awareness through a laudanum spell. When the travelers piled out, the innkeeper and his wife welcomed them with some relief.

“Pleasu’ to have you all stay.” Their host, who introduced himself as Joseph Booth, took wet wraps with an anxious look out of the window. The public room into which they had trooped was almost empty.

Bathsheba Booth performed a neat curtsy. “Everyone’s trying to get home ahea’ of the weather. A powerful snowstorm’s comin’ in tonigh’, so says the mister’s knee. And his knee weren’t never wrong abou’ snow an’ such. Better than a almanac, so ’tis.”

The couple matched as well as any set of chess pieces: both barrel-shaped and simply clad, with strong limbs shaped by constant work. Her graying hair was tucked under a mobcap; his was cropped short about a balding crown.

“We shall require the use of your private parlor,” said Rutherford. “And a simple meal, with—”

“Is anyone awaiting us?” Lady Irving broke in.

“We are to meet a Mrs. Daniel . . .” Audrina trailed off, not knowing the surname for which to ask.

“A Mrs. Daniels? No one by that name, m’ leddy.” Bathsheba Booth tipped her another curtsy. “No one waitin’ a’tall, to tell ye true. If soomeone coomes for ye, I’ll shoo her righ’ up.”

Audrina blinked her way through the bouncing Yorkshire accent. “Thank you, ma’am. That will be very good.”

When the quartet entered the inn’s private parlor, Audrina recognized its simple form from endless days ago. Just being in the room reminded her of being afraid, tired, fuzzy-headed, helpless.

A fool.

She lifted her chin. There was nothing so frightening about a room, after all. It was not as though it contained corpses and ghosts. It was a low-ceilinged space with a gently uneven wooden floor, a mullioned window, and a large table. A cloth of gratifying cleanliness had been laid over the table, and Mrs. Booth—eager to give her wealthy guests every courtesy—promised to send up tea
and
coffee, along with what she vowed was a
loovely
shepherd’s pie.

Once the travelers were braced with hot beverages and hearty food, a variety of reactions began to leak forth.

“Damned wild goose chase.” Lady Irving poured something from a flask—
where
had she hidden a flask?—into her tea. “Jaunting off to a post-house on the say-so of someone whose name we don’t even know.”

“I didn’t note you making this complaint earlier,” said Giles. “My lady.”

Her ladyship sniffed. “Because we were all far too busy trying to keep our innards under control.”

“Vulgar,” said Giles. One of the countess’s favorite words—when applied to others, that was. Audrina could not help but smile, and after a moment, Lady Irving nodded her approval.

“Can you build up the fire a bit, son?” Richard rubbed his hands together. “This chill cuts right through the walls, doesn’t it?”

Giles poked up the fire, but to little effect. “It’s because the window lets in a draft. I noticed and cursed it the last time we were here.”

Audrina marched to the window. “Is that all you did? I can do more than curse it.” She struck the warped sash with the flat of her hand. When this resulted in nothing but a stinging palm, she allowed herself one glare at the window, and then considered its size.

“Hmm.” She unknotted the fabric fillet that laced through her hair. A long, thin rectangle, it was the perfect size and shape for pressing into the gap about the frame. “There, problem solved. Once your hands and feet warm, you may thank me.”

“I’ll thank you now,” said Giles. “I can only hope that if I’d had a pretty cloth sort of thing in my hair, I’d have thought of stuffing it into the window.”

Did he linger over the word
pretty
? Did he trace the tumble of her hair with his eyes? Audrina touched the tangled curls, feeling somewhat undressed with her hair down.

Fortunately, a distraction arrived in the form of a knock at the parlor door. When the person was bade enter, a bedraggled woman opened the door. With a sigh of pleasure, she stepped inside. “Ooh, this is nice and warm.”

When she closed the door behind her and turned to face them, she revealed herself to be much younger than Audrina had expected, perhaps twenty years of age. Her belly showed noticeably pregnant beneath her too-thin cloak. This visitor had got a soaking outdoors, but her exhaustion seemed to run deeper than one tiring walk. Her skin was pasty and translucent, and the shadows under her eyes were purple-dark.

“You’ve brought the puzzle box?” When the young woman nodded at Lady Irving, the countess said, “What’s your name, girl?”

“Kitty. Kitty Balthasar.” She shook her head. “Mrs. Balthasar.” Tilted it. “Mrs. Daniel?”

“Too many names for one person,” Lady Irving replied. “Though I suppose you’re collecting names for two now. Even so, pick something and stick to it, girl. Not Kitty. It’s better suited to a pet than a human.”

The wan face took on a bit of color. “I can’t help what my father named me.” Her crisp accent belied her coarse and simple clothing. “If you have a dislike of my name, you’d best talk to him.”

“I’m old and I’m rich and I’m bored, so don’t think I wouldn’t consider it. But”—Lady Irving gestured toward the window—“the weather is terrible, and the innkeeper says snow is coming. I’m not going to hunt anyone down in that mess.”

“Oh!” Kitty’s thin hands crept to cover her mouth. “Oh, Daniel—I didn’t tell him I was coming here. I wanted to surprise him with the money, if I could get some.”

“He’ll be surprised, all right, to find his wife gone when he gets home from the day’s labor,” Lady Irving said drily.

Audrina stood and took the younger woman’s arm. “Do come sit, Mrs. Balthasar, and have something hot to eat and drink.” Kitty’s dark-haired fragility reminded Audrina of her sister Petra. A drifting soul, she was far better suited for the warmth of Italy, where she had lived and studied art for the past year.

Kitty would probably thrive in a warmer clime, too, but for now, a warm beverage would have to do. It was pleasant to—well, not to mother her. That sounded odd for someone only a few years younger than she, someone already married and with child. But to elder-sister her, maybe. To introduce her to everyone in the room, to fix her tea just as she wished, and ease her into a chair that caused her to sigh. “Thank you, my lady. This babe’s been kicking me something fierce all day. It feels good to get off my feet.”

“When you feel quite ready, Mrs. Balthasar,” said Richard Rutherford, “we would like to see the box you inherited from your mother. Maria was her name, wasn’t it?” He pronounced it in the proper English way, with a long
I
vowel.

“Yes, sir.” After one more sip of tea, Kitty set her cup aside with a look of regret. “It’s in my cloak, if—”

“Please, remain seated. I’ll get it for you.” Giles was on his feet in an instant, grabbing the wet cloak from the hook near the door. He carried it to Kitty, where with a murmured thanks, she pulled an oilcloth-wrapped package from a deep pocket.

“Who wants it? You, sir?” As Giles draped her cloak over the back of a wooden chair to steam dry before the fire, Kitty extended the small parcel in Richard Rutherford’s direction. “Or should I send it to Miss Corning? She was the one who wrote to me.”

“We will all take a look, if we may.” Richard’s calm voice seemed to reassure Kitty, and she handed it to Giles to be unwrapped on the table amidst the leavings of their dinner.

This was how the end of the Rutherfords’ quest would come, then. Not with a fanfare in an elegant setting, but with a rain-soaked cloth beside a half-eaten shepherd’s pie. Audrina had to smile at the thought.

But when Rutherford unwrapped the parcel, Audrina’s smile fell away. “Why, it looks nothing like the other two.”

Judging from the expressions on the others’ faces—ranging from dismay to confusion—they, too, had been expecting a box of glossy, intricately patterned elegance. Though obviously still of foreign make, Kitty’s box lid bore not a carved pattern, but a clean and curving inlaid image of a snow-covered mountain behind a wavering sea. The wood was of a yellowish hue, and the front face of the box was adorned with false book spines, seven stacked side by side.

“Is that from Lady Beatrix?” Audrina asked.

“I am almost certain,” Rutherford said, “that it is. This is a characteristic Nipponese design of which I saw prints, long ago. It’s called a
ruiji
box, if I recall rightly. Something to do with the false books across the front.” When he picked up the small box with one careful hand, a rattle sounded from inside.

“There’s something in there?” Lady Irving craned her neck, as though the box would spring open at the sound of her voice.

“I believe the rattle we’re hearing is the key.” Rutherford shook it gently. “It’s hidden behind a moving panel, as is the keyhole.”

“So your son’s notes on Miss Corning’s puzzle box won’t help us a bit.”

“
His son
”—Giles sounded testy—“can figure out a thing or two on his own, though
his son
is quite willing to let you have a try.”

“I’m not done eating.” Lady Irving forked up a bite of what must have been cold-as-rain shepherd’s pie, because she grimaced when the food touched her lips.

“Do you know how to open this, Mrs. Balthasar?” Audrina turned to the puzzle box’s owner.

“No, I never tried. My mother told me there wasn’t anything in there, and she never put anything in it because it was so tiny. It smells good, though, doesn’t it?”

Giles bent over the box in his father’s hand, inhaling. “Sandalwood. Audrina, would you care to see?”

He plucked the box from Rutherford’s hand and gave it to her. Audrina’s hands closed around a solid of surprising weight. When she breathed in, a woodsy aroma stung her nose, followed by a powdery, spicy note that made her blink, unsure if her eyes were watering.

“Do you want to buy it?” Kitty spoke up. “I didn’t know it had a special name. Does that make it worth more money?”

“To the right buyer,” Rutherford said quietly, “it would be worth a great deal. I would like to try to open it, if that is all right with you.”

“It’s all right with me.” Kitty reached for her teacup. “But if it breaks, you will pay for it?”

“Money, money,” said Lady Irving. “Goodness, girl, can’t you think of anything else?”

“I’m sure I could if I had more of it.” Kitty drained her tea, chasing the last drop with her tongue. “Me and Daniel—we just got married, because of the baby. And I’ve been poorly, more and more with every month.” The deep shadows under her eyes stood out like bruises.

She’s afraid
. What was it about this simple room that brought such fear to young women? Or no, they were already afraid, and in this plain, isolated parlor there was no distraction from the fact. Kitty’s knotted hands, her frailty, her secret attempt to gain a little money—it all made sense. She was afraid—no, she was
terrified
—that she might not survive.

Audrina knew nothing about this particular fear, but she knew about being afraid and pretending not to be. She smiled at Kitty as she would have at Charissa, were her fluttery sister here.
Take your time. It’s all right.

Kitty pulled in a slow breath. “I thought if the box is worth something, maybe you would want to buy it. And that would be a nice Christmas surprise for Daniel. It would help, a little, in case . . .”

“In case of need,” Giles finished the sentence when she could not. “Because babies need so many odds and ends.”

“Well, let’s see what we have.” Richard Rutherford began to slide seamless panels in away that had become familiar to Audrina. “Giles, would you care to do the honors?”

Giles had seated himself next to his father, and he was pressing his hands against the hot metal of the coffeepot. “Go ahead, Father.” As he held the coffeepot, his brows knit; pain rising or easing, Audrina wasn’t sure.