Читать книгу Brazen in Blue - Rachael Miles - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Only two seats at the back of the chapel remained, both behind a large column. But Adam didn’t mind. He didn’t need to see Emmeline marry. He only needed to hear her speak her vows. Surely that would convince his heart what his head had known from the first: she could never be his.

Before he slipped into the pew, Adam looked to the altar at the front of the chapel. There his best dreams would soon be sacrificed. It was a morbid thought, but, as a dead man, he allowed it.

“Is this seat taken?” A woman in a violet-blue dress stood beside his pew.

He rose, allowing her the inside seat with the slightly better view.

He’d met her before. But her face, thin and wan, looked much different now. Knowing who she was explained why she’d come to the wedding.

She folded her hands demurely in her lap, but her knuckles clenched white. He understood the feeling, and he wished to offer her (and himself) a little distraction before the service began.

“Lady Fairbourne? Lucia?” he whispered. “Am I correct?”

She looked startled, almost even afraid. “Do I know you, sir?”

“We met at a lawn party when your great-aunt was still alive.” He hurried to explain. “She invited the whole countryside to celebrate your return from the Continent.”

Her hands loosened slightly, but everything else—her posture, the angle of her head, her manner—suggested she might bolt at any minute. “I regret that I don’t recall your name. I met so many people that day.” She had a right to be wary. Lord Colin, against all odds, had rescued her from a living hell, and after Lord Colin married, the duke would make sure that she remained safe.

Knowing her story, Adam wanted to set her at ease.

“My friends—the Somervilles—call me Adam.” He watched as the name loosened her shoulders.

“And are we to be friends . . . Adam?” Her voice was quiet, but no longer as wary.

“We have much in common, Lady Fairbourne, much more than you imagine.” Without touching her shoulder, he leaned in close and whispered to her ear, “Both of us are here to end an affair: you with the groom, and I with the bride. We must see them marry—must we not?—to know that our time is over?”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t object to his forwardness. She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind, allowing her silence to confirm his words.

“But we should talk of something else.” He sat back against the pew.

She nodded, her black curls framing her face. In another time, he would have found her attractive. In another time, she wouldn’t have reminded him of Emmeline.

“I was one of your great-aunt’s protégés. My father held a living on one of her Irish properties, and she sponsored my education,” Adam explained, allowing old memories to distract him.

“I would never have known from your accent.” She leaned toward him, returning their conversation to a whisper.

“My parents were English, but even so, any hint of my Irish childhood was a necessary loss. Ultimately, your aunt grew disappointed in me.” He kept his voice light, even teasing.

“Why, sir?” She sounded surprised and, once more, suspicious. “My great-aunt was rarely disappointed in anyone, other than my cousin, that is.”

“Ah, yes, the grasping Lord Marner. I was pleased to hear from Lord Colin that you escaped his plans.”

Her face relaxed. “Few people know that.”

“And I have told no one.”

“Why was my aunt disappointed in you? You don’t seem like a bad sort.”

“She had hoped I would visit the estate and fall in love with you. But by then I’d already fallen.” He looked to the front of the church, and she followed his gaze. They grew silent together. Somehow he couldn’t start another conversation, and she seemed equally at a loss.

“Sir?” A small boy tapped Adam on the shoulder and held out an envelope, the address facing down. The last time Adam had seen the boy he’d been covered head to toe with flour, his father being the village baker.

Adam took it. No one who wanted him dead would have such easy access to pen and paper. More likely, one of the Somervilles needed this or that favor. He would have to refuse; he couldn’t afford to see Emmeline again. He turned the note over to see the address and felt the blood drain from his face.

“Montclair? Adam?” Lady Fairbourne put her hand on his. “Are you quite all right? You’ve gone pale.”

“Ah, yes.” He caught his breath. “Of course.”

The address was in Em’s hand. Not the careful, even script she used for business or social engagements, or the ornate curving swirls she used for the wedding invitations, but the easy, open hand she’d used for private correspondence. That choice alone made the note an intimate act.

But how? He’d only taken a few moments to cross the yard. And why? She had to know he was dead. And yet?

A tiny spark of hope warmed his chest and belly like a shot of fine whiskey. He let his finger trace the shape of the letters.

And yet.

When he turned the envelope to loosen the seal, something inside shifted. Through the paper, he felt a hard oval lump. A medallion of some sort, and when he shook the envelope, he could feel a chain attached to it. Stunned, he placed his hands in his lap, still holding the envelope. It couldn’t be . . . She hadn’t . . . A dozen fragmentary sentences rushed through his mind, none connecting to the others.

Adam broke the seal and let the envelope’s contents fall into his palm. A necklace with a delicate unicorn wrought in silver. He could hear her voice again, reading to him the fight of Guyon against Pyrochles from Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene. He’d teased her that she was becoming the rebellious unicorn, fearless against the imperial lion, and she’d smiled. Em, his leveler.

It was his gift to her—she’d promised never to take it off, unless . . .

He wrapped the silver chain around his palm and carefully unfolded the note.

I have need of a scoundrel. You came to mind.

He read the words with surprise, then hope. In their last conversation, the one before she’d threatened to shoot him, Emmeline had growled that she could imagine no situation in which she would ever wish to see his face again. But, even then, she hadn’t given back his promise, and now she’d sent the silver necklace to call him to her.

Adam opened the pocket watch that hung from a fob at his waist. The ceremony wouldn’t begin for another twenty minutes. Plenty of time to go and return, or simply to go.

The baker’s boy held a second letter, and he scanned the room for its recipient. Adam could see Colin’s name, lettered in Em’s even, formal hand. If that letter meant what he suspected, then he pitied his old friend. He looked around the church filled with friends, family, and neighbors.

Adam dug a shilling from the slit pocket in his waistband. “Are you looking for Lord Colin?”

The small boy—only nine or ten—smiled at the coin, then at Adam. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a brother?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your brother look out for you?”

The boy answered without hesitation, “Yes, sir.”

“For a shilling, would you deliver that note to Lord Colin’s brother, the duke?”

The boy thought for a moment, then nodded.

Adam searched his memory for the boy’s name, then found it. “And, Bobby, can you wait a quarter of a hour before you deliver that letter?” He held out another shilling.

The boy, grinning at the small fortune, nodded agreement.

Fifteen minutes was very little time. He would make it be enough.

He stepped into the aisle. Lady Fairbourne, staring toward the altar, looked so sad that he leaned toward her.

“Lady Fairbourne, I must be going. My luck appears to be changing. Perhaps yours will change as well.” He smiled at her one last time before hurrying out the chapel doors.

* * *

Outside the chapel, Adam stopped short. He’d assumed Em would be in her study. But he didn’t know, and he had no time to be wrong.

“She’s in the drawing room of her mother’s suite. There, on the end. Her windows overlook the chapel on this side and the river and forest on the other.” Jeffreys stepped away from the chapel wall and fell into step beside Adam. “She moved there last spring. After the verdicts against Squire Fletcher’s cottagers, she found her view over his fields troubling.”

“I see,” Adam replied, not liking the turn in the conversation.

“I hope so, sir. She also preferred rooms less . . . accessible to guests.” Jeffreys’s tone was flat and emotionless.

“A wise decision.” Adam understood the butler’s message.

“It’s been a difficult year for her ladyship. In fact, I’ve wished many times that I’d killed you and fed your body to the pigs when I had the chance.”

Adam studied the terrain, watching for wandering pigs. “Does Lady Emmeline share your wishes?”

“I cannot say, sir.” Jeffreys unlocked a door leading into a narrow stairway. The squeak of the hinge reminded Adam of the squeal of a piglet. “I merely thought you should know my position, should, by chance, you do anything to harm her.”

“I never intended to harm her.” Adam paused, wondering how much Jeffreys knew. “I was merely . . . fulfilling an obligation.”

“Yes, sir, I imagine so.” The long-legged butler took the stairs two at a time. “But you also have an obligation to Lady Emmeline. I hope you fulfill it with as much energy. If not, I must warn you . . .”

“I know: the pigs.” Adam shook his head. He should have expected Emmeline to confide in Jeffreys.

“Exactly, sir.” Jeffreys unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, then pointed Adam to the end of the hall. “I will return after you speak with Lady Emmeline.”

“Jeffreys, one question more. The other servants . . . How many are aware of the events of last year?”

“Well-fed pigs yield ample bacon, and the estate has enjoyed a surplus of it this year.” Jeffreys disappeared down the stairs.

Adam had always considered Jeffreys’s humor a bit wry, even dark, and he was certain the estate’s bacon surplus did not result from servants murdered and fed to the pigs to preserve Emmeline’s secrets. Even so, he understood Jeffreys’s message: Lady Emmeline was loved, and Adam had threatened her sense of security and even her happiness.

It was much the same as Emmeline’s note. However clever, she hadn’t offered him any olive branch. Instead, she’d used humor to set the limits of their engagement: her righteous anger against his guilt. It wasn’t the best start to a second chance, if such a chance was even possible. Besides, how much penance was he willing to pay for another heartache?

It might be—he acknowledged—that no matter what he did, none of their possible futures included affection, much less love. Too much had passed between them. Too much trust had been lost before it had fully taken root. It would not be easy to start anew.

No, Jeffreys was right to frame it in terms of an obligation. Adam had deceived Em before, and he had a duty to put that right, whatever the outcome.

* * *

She heard the doorknob turn softly and composed her face. Since Colin’s proposal, she’d cultivated a look of benign joy: a slight, thoughtful smile that barely upturned the corners of her mouth. The expression convinced the staff and her friends that she welcomed her coming marriage.

But it wasn’t Jeffreys or one of the staff.

It was Adam. He’d come.

For the first time in months, she felt as if she could breathe. Her heart leapt up at the sight of him, all lean muscle and dark, mischievous eyes. The sensation reminded her of how much she had loved him—before the weight of his deceptions had forced them apart. She tamped the emotion down.

He shut the door silently behind him. Even with Jeffreys’s help, she knew Adam hadn’t been seen. She knew all too well how easily he could slip into and out of rooms without drawing the slightest notice. Bess raised her head, then, seeing Adam, set it down again, beating her tail against the floor in greeting.

“A scoundrel, am I?” His voice, supple like red wine, taunted her, teasing.

She shrugged. “I haven’t time to debate the legality of your actions. I simply—”

“Need my help.” He bent down to scratch Bess’s ears. Em couldn’t see his face.

“Yes. Regrettably.” She looked at the valise Jeffreys had brought her, and Adam followed her glance. “I can’t do what I need to without your aid.”

“You wish to run away.” He took a seat in the most comfortably overstuffed of her chairs and pulled her necklace out of his pocket. He ran the silver chain across his fingers, straightening it out. The unicorn dangled, catching the light. He didn’t appear too willing to help, and the thought made her anxious.

“I would like to leave the estate—quietly—and in such a way that no one can trace my movements.” She wanted to snatch the delicate necklace from his hand, but held herself back. After all, she’d sent the token to call him to her.

“By no one you mean both your fiancé and his brother’s agents.” Transferring the necklace to his opposite hand, he opened his watch.

“Yes.” She looked from the necklace to her valise.

“You do remember him—your fiancé? The man who shortly will be standing before the whole community, your mutual friends, and all the bon ton, waiting to see his bride walk toward him.” He left his watch open on the table beside him. “Are you certain you wish to desert him? The man you chose over me?”

She should have expected he wouldn’t make it easy. “Yes. I mean no. I broke it off with you months before my engagement. Besides, you made it clear that marriage wasn’t part of our game.”

Bess sat up, watching the pair.

“You still chose him.” He held the necklace gently between his fingers.

“And now I’m choosing you.” She watched the necklace, her frustration threatening to overflow. She forced herself to breathe and start again in a more moderate tone. “We haven’t time to debate old wounds. If you will help me escape, perhaps even take me to my father, I’ll let you harangue me on my choices for as long as you wish. And I’ll pay you . . . whatever you want.”

“Ah, my lady, be careful what you offer.” He scratched Bess’s neck. “I don’t see how any scoundrel could refuse such a bargain.”

“Can you do it?” She needed to see his eyes, to read affection or enmity there, but he kept his face turned to the dog.

“Better than anyone else.” Unfolding his long legs from the chair, he stood. “Take the gate at the bottom of the churchyard to the woods.”

“I know where the woods are.” She watched the necklace and the watch disappear into his pocket. “This is my estate.”

“Then I’ll meet you at the great oak.” Adam ignored her petulance, or rather he seemed to enjoy it. He must know it wasn’t in her character to run from her responsibilities. It must tell him that she found the thought of marriage to Colin almost unbearable.

“Take these.” He lifted some hothouse flowers from a vase before the window. “If anyone asks, you wish to lay them on your mother’s grave before the ceremony.”

She took the flowers, then looked up into his eyes. She saw only amusement, but what else could she expect from a man who every day skirted the law and social obligation?

“You will meet me? You won’t send me off to miss my own wedding and then abandon me to the scandal?”

“I will not abandon you, mavourneen.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead, a slight touch, but one that gave her the reassurance she needed. It made her long for more.

She snapped her fingers, signaling Bess to come to her side.

“No, leave Bess here. I have a plan.”

“Leave Bess?” She wanted to object. She couldn’t travel out of the county without Bess beside her. But she didn’t want to explain.

“I’ll bring her later, but you must go. You have little time.”

“You promise.”

He nodded, and she saw the first hint of kindness in his eyes.

She held her hand out to the dog, palm down. “Stay, Bess.” The gentle dog sat on her haunches, watching her mistress’s every movement.

“Once in the woods, keep to the shadows.” He held out a heavy shawl. “Take your wrap. It may be some time before I can join you.”

At the door, she picked up her new walking stick.

* * *

Emmeline hurried down the stairs, grateful she was going down, not up. Even in haste, she was careful to place her foot and knee just right. At the carriage yard, she slowed to a walk, one suitable for the solemn occasion of visiting her mother’s grave.

But it didn’t matter. The carriage yard was empty, and all the household servants were already in the chapel. Jeffreys guarded the chapel door, giving her time to escape. As she entered the churchyard, she looked back, and Jeffreys, nodding, crossed the courtyard to the family wing, returning to help Adam.

She placed the hothouse flowers quickly on her mother’s grave. What advice would her mother have given, if she’d lived? Would she point out the quality of the match? The generosity of the wedding settlement? The rich alliance with a powerful and respected member of the aristocracy? Or would she tell Emmeline to follow her heart? That each new society scandal is quickly replaced by newer ones? That the real shame in the marriage would come from marrying a man she could not love or could not love as he deserved?

Knowing other aristocratic mothers, Emmeline assumed Titania would recommend wealth, reputation, and alliance. But, as she had every other time Emmeline had visited her grave, Titania kept her own counsel.

Grateful for the evergreens that shielded her from the view of the house, Emmeline hurried past the other gravestones, bidding a quiet farewell to her sisters, all long buried in a neat row.

On the other side of the graveyard, a well-graveled path sloped down to fork at a pleasant stream. One fork led across winter fields to the village. The other led deep into the forest. There, even without leaves the branches formed deeper and deeper shadows. Looking over her shoulder, Emmeline plunged into the trees, followed only by the reckless songs of the forest birds.

She knew the path well from her childhood.

In the months after the accident, Emmeline had consoled herself that her friends in the forest waited for her to return. Her grandfather, though finding her obsession strange, had still indulged it, buying any book or ballad that mentioned the faerie folk. And she’d read them, every one. Eventually, he’d bought her so many books on England and its antiquities that he’d had to set aside a large section of the manor library for Emmeline’s books.

Confined to her bed as her injuries healed, Emmeline had used all her inventiveness to make the faerie folk gifts. She’d sketched the scenes outside her window, knit (badly) a long scarf, and made up songs she thought they might like, carefully drawing a musical staff, then writing out the notes as best she could. She spent her days in her imagination, dreaming of all the pleasures they would share when she could walk again. Perhaps, she had even hoped, when they saw she could no longer dance, they would repair her leg with their healing magic. It was the sort of dream a lonely child would cling to. Believing it had kept her from despair.

When Emmeline’s leg had healed enough that she could leave the house, she had insisted on going to the oak and placing her gifts on the rock altar. She had sung her mother’s song and waited, her grandfather, silent, at her side. Hours later, having watched the shadows remain shadows, her grandfather had taken her home.

But she didn’t give up. Believing that the faeries wouldn’t appear if her grandfather were with her, she would slip from the house alone, limp to the great oak, and wait. But each day, her gifts lay unaccepted on the rock. Eventually, when the rain had returned her paper to pulp and the birds had taken her yarn for their nests, she’d realized her old friends were not going to return. She’d wept as if she’d lost her mother and sisters all over again.

After that, she had stayed mostly out of the forest. As she grew, her obsession with faerie land became nothing more than an armchair interest in ancient antiquities . . . until the night when Adam’s music had drawn her back in.

The night she first met Adam, she and Bess had been returning from the village, the sun already low in the sky. As they had reached the turn to the forest, Bess had stopped, ears pricking up. Staring into the forest, Bess had stepped forward, then whined, refusing to return when Emmeline called. Looking into the forest, then back at Em, Bess gave Em no choice but to follow.

Once in the trees, Emmeline had heard the faintest hints of music. At first, she thought the wisps of song were a product of her imagination, until deeper in the forest, she recognized the song as one of her mother’s old ballads. She quickened her step. Emmeline’s mature judgment had told her to be wary, that it was impossible that the faerie folk had returned to her. But Emmeline’s childhood heart, wishing against hope and reason that it could be true, followed Bess into the growing dark.

At the great oak, she’d seen him. His face, dappled in the half-light, had been striking, with strong angular features and a soulful expression that spoke of a kind heart. His voice was a deep mahogany wine, caressing the syllables of each poetic line.

When we were frae the hunting come,

That from my horse I fell.

The Queen of Fairies she came by,

Took me wi’ her to dwell.

She knew the song—“Tam Lin”—the story of a young man loved by a human maid and enthralled by the Faerie Queen to be sacrificed for the harvest. His lover had saved him by pulling him from his horse and holding him tight as the Faerie Queen changed him into various forms. Through all his transformations—wolf, bear, lion, then finally fire—his lover had refused to release him, until the Faerie Queen conceded and turned him once more into a human man. Emmeline felt the story deep in her chest as he sang, his voice a rich baritone smoke that enveloped her.

Was he a human man enchanted by the faeries? Or was he a daemon lover come from faerie land to seduce her? In that moment, enchanted by his voice and the place, and spurred by a loneliness she rarely acknowledged, she’d met his eyes. Deep pools of amber and green. She felt dizzy, as if their souls—through their eyes—had touched, revealing him as alone and lonely as she had always been. The sense of connection, of knowing, had caught her breath.

Setting his lyre down carefully on the stone, he’d stood to face her, never letting his eyes leave hers. He’d remained several steps away, watching her.

His eyes had asked, and hers had answered.

She’d closed the distance between them, and he’d spoken to her in a mahogany whisper. Mavourneen. My darling.

When he’d leaned forward, she met his lips. His kiss had been soft, tentative, but, as she’d met him passion for passion, their kisses had turned hungry.

Had his song not touched her memory . . .

Had they met at noon, not twilight . . .

Had she not been so alone . . .

She shook off the memory.

A tall root of a tree inched its way across the path. Lost in her memories, Emmeline caught her foot on the root, and she stumbled, righting herself with her walking stick. She paused, her heart beating hard. She carefully tested her leg; it twinged but didn’t ache. She needed to move more slowly. If she hurt herself, she would be trapped. She listened for anyone following her through the woods, but heard nothing. She slowed her pace.

Her fancies always failed her.

Then, as if by magic, she was at the clearing. The giant oak’s branches made patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. The branches didn’t extend to the altar rock, and there, the light fell in a warm pool.

She made her way to the rock. To keep from soiling her dress, she laid out her shawl, then pulled herself up to wait for Adam. The winter birds whose song had accompanied her through the forest were quiet here.

The silence left Emmeline with only her thoughts and memories. What did it say about her that she’d chosen to run from Colin, a supremely honorable man, with Adam, his opposite? Colin was committed to safeguarding the nation (and her), while Adam was intent on disrupting every social and political more, all in the name of reform.

She’d spent months refusing any thought of Adam, except in dreams. But now, knowing that she needed to be honest with herself, she let herself remember everything, each day from their first kiss to their last encounter. She retraced it all, every moment. Her memories of their passion warmed her like a physical touch. Her fiancé’s kisses had never felt so decadent or so necessary. And the knowledge of Adam’s deception tore at her gut once more.

Loss, grief, abandonment, hope: all had led her to behave foolishly with Adam. But none of them offered her a way forward.

She couldn’t forget that they both had blood on their hands. Would he think that helping her to escape also reconciled their other differences? Could she travel with him without wanting either to love him or to kill him? She could tell herself it was a second chance to prove to him that they could build a future together. But would he believe it now when he’d rejected it so soundly before? And did she even want him to?