Читать книгу The Sleeping Beauty - Jacqueline Navin - Страница 14

Some days were too winsome to bear. Everything about them was perfection, from the soft yellow of the sunshine, and the sweet smelling breeze, to the call of birdsong, sounding so brave and promising in the wood.

There wouldn’t be many of these days left in the summer. Already the foliage was beginning to wilt and brown, and the promise of cooler times ahead made the mild weather all that much more precious.

It was a day such as this when Helena and Adam left the manor and headed in a stylish curricle down to the village. Kepper must have been hard at work to get the vehicle in order. The smell of fresh paint was detectable, as was the lemon oil used to rub the hide seats clean and supple. In no way was it a luxurious conveyance such as Adam’s friends in London utilized, but it was a damned sight better than he had expected. As was Helena. She appeared bedecked in a scarlet cloak and wearing an air of indifference that was as thin as the gossamer tucker folded into the neckline of her dress.

Climbing into the open carriage, she didn’t say a word.

Adam took the reins and pulled out.

After a broad silence, he said, “The banns will be read Sunday.” He kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. “It is useful that we are going together on this outing. It is helpful for us to be seen together. It won’t come as so much of a shock to your friends, then, when the news comes.”

“There is no one I call friend.” She said it without any hint of sadness or regret.

He was startled. “How odd. Are you such a misanthrope?”

“I am simply a private person.” He heard the rustle of her dress as she twisted in her seat. It was an anxious motion. “Which no doubt meets with your disapproval. Everything I do seems to meet with your disapproval.”

“Not entirely. I like your hair that way, for instance. Your rudeness to me, however, that is an entirely different matter.”

“Oh, really? And how am I supposed to act toward the man who has so gallantly ridden all the way from London to claim a purse. Oh, and take a bride in the process, a rather minimal consideration.”

“I do not think it so unusual. Most girls of your illustrious acquaintance no doubt never met their husbands before their papas picked them for them. I always thought it an odd custom of the aristocracy to treat their children like cattle, to be matched and bred for the good of the estate. Don’t tell me you don’t know this.”

“I am no sapskull. I am rather better versed on the ‘odd customs’ of the aristocracy than you, I should think.”

“Touché. I am, after all, a lowly commoner. Completely unworthy of your exaltedness.”

Her voice was full of accusation. “You sound bitter, Mr. Mannion.”

“Come to think of it, how is it you escaped the net of marriage? Did your father never find a suitable man who was willing to brave your harpy tongue?” Adam looked over at her, his gaze taking in her stiff profile, her face turned resolutely ahead. “Or were you waiting for love, Helena?”

“For your information, I was engaged once.”

“Pray tell what happened.”

“He preferred someone else.”

The news was a jolt to Adam, wiping the smile from his face as soundly as if he’d been slapped.

Good God, what a sod-head he was! He had taunted her horribly when she had been nursing a broken heart all along.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t know.”

“I’m surprised at that. People hereabouts love to talk.”

“Actually, I have found the one person whose conversation I enjoyed damned reluctant to give me any facts aside from where the best hunting grounds could be found.”

She looked over at him then, and those large blue-green eyes softened. “Who was that?”

“Kepper.”

“He’s a good man. He’s very loyal to my father.”

Adam allowed a silence to lapse while he berated himself for his thoughtless jibes. He wondered if this were the reason for her seclusion—the oldest reason in the world. Had she retired from society to pine for the unrequited love lost years ago?

The idea of it disturbed him. He had been disturbed, however, since the moment he laid eyes on her, so he should be getting used to it by now.

Nevertheless, he was surprised to realize that he was more than a bit curious. And perhaps a tad jealous.

“I’d like to ask you more, but I know you won’t answer. I have quite a lot of questions, Helena. I wonder why there are so few servants in so large a house. Why do you live alone without seeing anyone? I haven’t asked a one of these, and I’m not asking now. I just want you to know those questions are there.”

He didn’t know what he wanted her to say. He didn’t even know why he had uttered such an inane statement—as if she would rush to explain herself if she knew of his interest.

No, it wasn’t merely interest. It was becoming an obsession. He wanted her to know he would listen if she ever wished to tell him the strange secrets that governed her hermetic existence, that he wouldn’t judge or mock, and he wouldn’t betray her confidence. He wondered if she knew that, if he had expressed it properly in his awkward little speech just now.

It was a moot point. She said nothing.

As they crossed Darby Creek, Helena became aware of a growing terror arising in her breast.

They topped a hill and she could see the large cluster of buildings in the distance. Passing a farmhouse, she noted an old woman wrapped in a shawl staring at them. Adam raised his hand in a greeting. The old woman didn’t respond. Helena wondered if she were imagining the antagonism in the wrinkled face.

Swallowing painfully against her dry throat, she clutched her reticule tightly in her fist. She had been mad to come. Why hadn’t she thought to simply summon the dressmaker to the manor? Because of Adam Mannion, that was why. She could never think properly when he was around.

On the outskirts of the village, a prosperous community that had grown by leaps and bounds in recent years, the presence of the population became more noticeable. A cart crossed the road ahead of them. While they waited, Helena scanned the faces of the children playing in a nearby field, wondering if they would recognize her. And if they did, would they flee in fear?

“Helena?” Adam’s voice was full of concern. “Are you feeling ill?”

He couldn’t know—he mustn’t know. She shouldn’t have come this far. She could have made some excuse and had him turn back the moment she felt the first twinges of fear. But now she was fixed.

A tremulous smile quivered on her lips. “Not at all. Just a bit nervous. I—I don’t enjoy going away from the house very much.”

He stared at her for a long moment. She could feel the touch of his eyes and it made her skin prickle. “Another question that wants answering.”

Jerking her head about to face him, she snapped, “There is no exotic mystery, just sordid truth, and you’re better off not knowing. And when you do find out, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He leaned in closer, inclining his head so that he was staring at her through those lashes that were ridiculously long and thick for a man. “Since you say you want to be rid of me so badly, why not tell me all of these dastardly horrors you keep hidden? Maybe I’ll just run like a madman all the way home to London, pulling my hair out all the way as I think of how close I had come to unmitigated disaster.”

He made a face of such exaggerated dread that she burst out laughing before she could help it. Sobering quickly, she ducked her head and plucked nervously at her dress. “Joking will not cure a thing, Mr. Mannion. And I suppose you will find out what you wish to know soon enough. As for myself telling you a single thing, you can dispel that notion immediately. I’ll never explain myself to a reprobate and wastrel and admitted fortune hunter.”

“Ouch!” He grinned and sat back. “I believe my pride has been pummeled quite soundly.”

He didn’t look as if his pride had been pummeled. He looked, in fact, as if he were inordinately pleased with himself for having goaded her.

She settled back into her seat. Her fears returned as they drove into the village square.

“Where is the modiste?” he asked.

She made a sound alarmingly like a snort. “There is no modiste, Mr. Mannion. You confuse us with posh London. There is a dressmaker.”

Helena saw a woman walking on the side of the road stop in her tracks and gape at the passing carriage. Jaw slack, eyes wide, she dropped the basket of baked bread she was carrying. The golden brown loaves rolled in the dust. The woman she had been walking with noticed Helena at about the same time. Her reaction was just as dramatic. She stumbled and stared without any care for manners.

Helena wished she could look away with a haughty lift of her chin, but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from them. Miserably, she watched helplessly as the two women ducked their heads together and commenced whispering vigorously.

“Ah, I see the sign,” Adam said, oblivious to the little dramas taking place all around them.

Across the street, the butcher had rushed out of his shop. The thin, fussy tobacconist hurried over to confer with him. Their gazes seemed to blaze clear into Helena’s forehead.

Adam continued, “I’ll bring you inside, but I won’t wait. Can’t stand that sort of thing. Can barely manage to keep my own wardrobe up. What do you say we meet at the tea shop at…oh, say, twelve? We’ll lunch there. If you are too busy and can’t make it, send word and I’ll go ahead without you…Helena?”

She sat motionless. Adam took her hands, his own warm and strong. She fought a sudden desire to fling herself into the protection of his arms.

What would make her have such a thought? Her terror had her too confused to think properly.

“Something is wrong.” Adam’s voice was demanding. “Don’t play the martyr now, for God’s sake. Tell me.”

“The people…” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eye. “They are looking at me, talking about me. They frighten me.”

“Nonsense. They are merely looking at you because you are so lovely today.” She did glance up then, incredulous and painfully suspicious that he was mocking her.

There was kindness in his eyes. True kindness, not a false show or, worse, pity. His well-formed mouth was slightly curved in a smile that was soft and seemed to be genuine.

Her hands felt warmer already. “This is why I never come out,” she said in an emotion-roughened voice. “The gossip. The dreadful staring. I cannot stand it.”

“Well, you see, that’s the trouble.” His tone was low and reasonable, yet without a trace of patronization. “They never see you, and since you live so close, they no doubt find this odd. Now that you appear, they understandably take notice. It is a temporary condition. It will surely pass as soon as they become used to you being about. Come now. Let us go into the dressmaker’s—which, thank you for correcting my error, is not to be confused with a modiste.”

He leaped down and put the box up against the side. With a flourish, he handed her down. Once her feet touched the floor, he held her a moment longer—long enough to bestow a quick kiss on the gloved knuckles. He raised his head and said, “If it’s gossip they desire, that morsel should do nicely to keep them busy for a while.”

She wanted to weep with gratitude. She might have if she weren’t still so afraid. But, somehow, he made it easy for her to ignore curious faces as they walked down the street to the dressmaker’s shop.

The word had apparently spread. Shopkeepers were coming out of their shops, mothers rushing outside with squalling babies, tradesmen pausing—all to stare at her. She could feel their gazes crawl over her like a swarm of slugs.

“Did you arrange to make an appointment?” Adam said. She latched on to his voice, so sensible among the madness growing inside her. She wanted more than anything to flee. It took all her concentration to put one foot in front of the other. Keep your eyes fixed straight ahead. Steady on.

At the door of the dressmaker’s, he paused. “If you don’t have an appointment, then I will wait to see if she will see you. You don’t mind if I do? I know I said I have an aversion to dressmakers and such, but in this instance I shall make an exception, as I’d hate to see you lose the morning to waiting.” They entered, setting the little bell tied over the door tinkling furiously. “I come by it honestly. My aversion, I mean. You see, my mother used to drag me about as a boy when she did her shopping. It was horrible torture for a rambunctious lad.”

His voice was like a touchstone. Helena forced herself to listen, to concentrate on what he was saying. She suspected he was talking to distract her from the churning apprehensions burning in her belly.

How odd that he should come to her rescue. He had been her enemy from the moment he had stepped foot on the doorstep of her house. Now he was her unexpected ally.

A pang of guilt grabbed her. He didn’t even know why it was she feared the village folk, or going out among them. He didn’t know the answers to any of her secrets—all those questions he had admitted plagued him. And still he had been kind to her.

If he knew, it would change things. It would change everything. He would no longer be solicitous, and he surely wouldn’t be cajoling her so effectively out of her terror.

No. One was never kind to a murderess.