by Sawyer North
“Someone I love.”
“Someone?”
“A husband, Adam. A husband that I love. With such company, I could be content here for a lifetime.”
“Even with a mousy, condescending man whose overly large nose whistles when he breathes?”
Jane snorted, recalling their earlier conversation about what each found attractive. “No. But I thank you for remembering, even if what you recall was said in jest.”
“You are welcome.” He peered at her with interest. “So, then. What do you really seek in a man?”
The question brought her immediate discomfort. How could she answer truthfully without admitting how much Adam currently fit the description? She opted for frankness.
“Very well. He must be kind to me and to others. He must be confident, yet humble. He must display a functional sense of humor. Oh, and I do not at all mind a man more primitively constructed. With, say, the build of a field hand.” She forced a laugh. “Too bad you possess none of those qualities, Mr. Ashford.”
He cocked a single eyebrow so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline. A grin spread across his face. “Yes. Too bad.”
“See here. As you appear to possess no fear of social boundaries, let me turn your question back on you. Unless, of course, you were not jesting earlier and do prefer a frivolous woman without an original thought.”
He grinned. “Yes, I was jesting earlier.”
“Let’s have it, then. The truth.”
He sighed and stared ahead. “Ah, the truth. How it inconveniences me at the worst of times.”
“You are evading my question.”
“Right.” He gazed upward. “She must be strong but sympathetic. She must be able to engage in witty conversation at a moment’s notice. She must be curious, and well-read, and determined. Oh, and I do not at all mind a woman who wears well a blue riding habit.”
She reached instinctively to pull her blue riding habit closed, only to find it already latched. His description of her strengths as objects of his admiration seemed a thinly veiled compliment. She glanced up at him, suddenly unnerved.
“Is Miss Rutley all those things?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Some. Not all.”
“What does she lack, if I may ask?”
He peered at her briefly, intensely, before returning his attention to the path. “I find her too compliant. Too unwilling to express an opinion. In short, she lacks backbone.”
Jane laughed nervously. “Is that not the dream of all men for a wife? One who serves without complaint, supports without contradiction, and makes her husband’s opinions her own?”
Adam shook his head gravely. “Not this man. I like the fire, the challenge, the contest. If the one who knows me best cannot tell me when I am wrong, then I am destined for a life of one foolish mistake after another.”
His continuing description of what she could offer a husband drove her into mild panic. The urge to change the subject consumed her.
“Mistakes?” Her voice trembled. “Such as the time you poured honey into my hair while I dozed in the park?”
To her relief, he laughed heartily. “Yes. A fine example. However, in my defense, I poured honey into your hair because of what you did to me on the day of my confirmation.”
Now that the unspoken rules of their game had been established, she did not wish to deviate. Pushing aside the disquiet, she lifted her chin to engage. “Oh? Your confirmation, you say? I have not the foggiest notion of the incident to which you refer.”
He smiled warmly, clearly seeing through her charade. “Very well. Allow me to remind you.”
“I listen eagerly, sir.”
He shot her a mock glare. “I was twelve at the time. You would have been about nine years old.”
“Your mathematic skills continue to impress.”
“They are impressive, I know.” He stopped to tug Beelzebub, who’d decided to partake of a brief respite. “Anyway, day of my confirmation and all that. There I was, near the altar of St. Bartholomew’s Church, dressed in my finest before the priest. My family, friends, and various well-wishers and community members looked on proudly. Of course, had I known one of that latter group was you, and that you had slipped deep into enemy territory to stand directly behind me, I might have been more prepared for what happened.”
Jane cocked her head and smiled. “Something happened. I seem not to recall. Do tell.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “Something happened. The priest droned on for a bit before laying his hands upon me to pray. He prayed loudly, dramatically, and portentously about how the Holy Ghost would descend upon me and fill me and otherwise subsume me. At that very moment, I experienced a sensation behind my right ear that I mistook for the Holy Ghost physically attempting to enter my body. In my surprise, I jumped into the priest and knocked him backward.”
Jane swallowed a laugh. “No!”
“Yes, as you well know. And to further my shame, I did not jump into him silently. Rather, I let loose perhaps the most auspicious curse ever uttered in the assembly hall of St. Bartholomew’s church. I believe my mother well and truly fainted.”
Jane failed to restrain her laughter. After recovering her decorum, she wiped a tear. “Indeed, your mother did faint, and came to rest atop me.”
“Serves you right. For it was you and your blasted feather that I mistook for an indwelling of the Holy Ghost.”
She laughed again, recalling the resulting pandemonium and her successful attempt to slip from beneath Mrs. Ashford to escape mostly without notice. However, as she suspected, Adam had witnessed her flight. He eyed her balefully.
“Laugh all you like. Did you know the vicar postponed my confirmation for one year and required me to attend weekly tutoring sessions as a result of my ill-timed outburst?”
She gathered her laughter into check. “No, sir. I did not know. You have my sincerest apologies for the pain you suffered as a result of my misdeed.”
He lifted his chin and looked away from her. “I will never forgive you for that indiscretion.”
She quickened her pace so she could look back at him as he attempted to remain affronted and aloof. “Never? You will never forgive me?”
“Never.”
“Then I question the effectiveness of your confirmation. Should not a pious man be willing to forgive anything? Have you not actually read the Good Book?”
He cut his narrowed eyes toward her with one eyebrow cocked. “Are you challenging me?”
“Most assuredly. Does my inappropriate forwardness offend you?”
His expression softened into a smile. “No. Have we not already discussed my preference for backbone over the lack of it?”
“We have.” She stared at the road ahead and sighed deeply. “However, my backbone is particularly weary today.”
Before she knew what was happening, Adam’s hand wrapped around the back of hers, gently. She inhaled a stuttered breath and stared down at the layered hands, his tan with long fingers, hers encased in a worn riding glove faded from use. She swept her gaze upward to lock with his. She must have appeared the very picture of startled panic, for he abruptly released his grip and dipped his forehead.
“My apologies, Jane.”
She continued to watch him intently. “Mr. Ashford. Are you not promised to Miss Rutley?”
“I am.”
“Then why did you take my hand just now?”
He expelled a frustrated breath. “Because when this journey ends, although we may no longer be mortal enemies, neither can we maintain a friendship. We have only this moment and nothing more.”
The woeful nature of his statement aroused a powerful yet indistinct response in Jane. She blinked rapidly. “Do you consider us friends at this moment, then?”
He gazed at her intently. “I do.”
A wave o
f relief swept through her soul as the burden of the feud abruptly lessened. Without thinking, she took hold of his hand, this time palm to palm. His long fingers responded, interlacing with hers to form a sacred pattern of tan and ivory. They smiled foolishly at each other while exchanging shy glances, bereft of sensible words. With her hand firmly locked in his, she focused again on the road ahead. Her head seemed to swim, and not solely due to weariness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
For most of his life, Adam’s concerns had proved mostly selfish. As a child, he had basked in comfort as a son of gentry, preoccupied mostly with his next diversion. For the previous ten years, his interest had turned to whatever expanded the prominence of his family. At times, the rise of his family had required the reduction of another, most notably the Hancocks. Only during the past few days had the limited confines of that life begun to weigh on his conscience. Such an existence proved miserable in its meagerness. In that context, he found only mild surprise in his worry over a particular Hancock.
By the time the traveling party entered the picturesque village of Grasmere during early afternoon, Jane was looking rather flushed and struggling to maintain pace. He continued to grip her hand as he had for much of the past three hours. The excuse he recited silently stated that the hand-holding was merely to keep her steady along the path. He nearly believed it. Only with some reluctance did he release his grip.
“Jane,” he said, “wait here with your aunt and Mr. Barlow. I will inquire about a place for you to rest.”
Until a half hour earlier, she had refused coddling of any sort, insisting that she was perfectly well. However, this time she nodded and leaned against Hester. He left them on the main street of Grasmere and knocked on the door of one of the houses crowding the road. An elderly man opened the door and squinted at him.
“Can I help you, lad?”
“Yes, sir. Might you direct me to a nearby inn?”
The man cupped an ear. “Eh? You’re near buying what?”
Adam raised his voice. “No. An inn. Is there an inn nearby?”
“An end? An end to what?”
“An inn,” he shouted. “A place to sleep!”
The man’s face lit. “An inn! Why did you not say so?”
Adam sighed heavily. “Apologies, sir. About that inn. Where is it?”
The old man shook his head. “Sorry, son. There’s no inn at Grasmere these days. You should try Ambleside.”
“How far is Ambleside?”
“Forest animals hide? What?”
“No,” Adam practically leaned into the man’s ear and enunciated slowly, “How…far…is Ambleside?”
The man arched his eyebrows again. “Oh, how far! Yes. About five miles, I’d say. You’ll be there well before sundown if you start now. Good day.”
The man shut the door in Adam’s face, barely leaving him time to avoid it smacking his nose. “Well!”
He returned to his traveling companions. Barlow met him. “What did he say?”
“He suggested we make for Ambleside without delay.” He studied Jane, who swayed unsteadily on her feet. “She won’t make it that far. We must let her ride.”
“Agreed.”
He and Barlow removed two bags to create a space behind Beelzebub’s neck. On finishing, he found Jane watching him defiantly.
“I need not ride, Adam. I can walk alongside everyone else.”
“You are not well, Jane. Please, ride the horse.”
She straightened and lifted her chin. “Do you question my fortitude?”
He shook his head. “I would never question that. I recognized your fortitude the day we met, and nothing has changed. However, even the strongest must sometimes quit the field for a while. To rest the backbone, as it were.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Very well.”
Then, with only minor resistance from her, he lifted Jane onto Beelzebub’s back. She fussed briefly with her hem to cover exposed ankles before giving up and leaning onto the animal’s neck with another sigh. Hester watched her niece with grave concern.
“She’s running a fever, you know. We’d best hurry along.”
“Right.” Adam and Barlow each hoisted a bag onto their respective shoulders. Hester stepped into the gap by seizing and tugging Beelzebub’s tether. “Come along, bothersome beast. Give me no trouble and I will not be forced to sell you to a coal mine.”
As if understanding, the horse trundled into motion without resistance. They quickly cleared Grasmere and followed the line of a small lake seemingly carved from crystal. However, Adam failed to appreciate its loveliness. Vanished from his thoughts were estates, gold, and riddles. His only regard was for Jane. She continued to lean against the horse, gripping its mane for support, swaying dangerously with each rock of Beelzebub’s hips. For once, the horse moved along without resistance.
They made good progress, walking faster than they had before, anxious to find an inn for Jane. They left the small lake behind only to encounter another. Adam was watching Jane when she finally sat up for the first time in three quarters of an hour. Her feverish eyes found the lake to her right.
“Oh, how lovely.” A delighted smile grew upon her face as she surveyed it. Then, her eyes rolled up. Adam dropped the bag and caught her before she hit the ground. He carried her limp form into the grass beside the road and set her down. Her skin was indeed warm. Hester nudged him aside.
“Oh, my dear girl!” She placed a hand against Jane’s forehead and began to fan her. Her eyes turned up toward Adam. “What can we do, Mr. Ashford?”
He just stared at Hester, then at Jane, briefly helpless. The sight of her flushed cheeks finally pushed him into frenetic motion. “Remain here. I will find help.”
Without another word, he ran up the road toward a large house perched on a hillside. He had covered only three hundred strides when a middle-aged woman and an adolescent girl descending from the house met him on the road. The woman spoke before he could implore her help.
“Sir, we saw your companion tumble from the horse. Is she well?”
He stopped to catch his breath. “She is not. She is with fever.”
Her face drew tight. She turned to the girl and gripped her hand. “Dora. Hurry to the house and tell your father we are bringing in a stranger with fever. Ask Aunt Dorothy to take you and your brothers to Mrs. Gable’s house for a few days.”
Without question and without a word, the girl nodded and ran up the hillside toward the house. The woman seized his wrist. “Come, sir. We must attend to your friend.”
As they hurried toward the place where Jane lay, he glanced at the stranger. “My name is Adam. Thank you…”
“Mary.”
“Thank you, Mary. We did not mean to inconvenience you.”
“None at all, sir.” She looked up at him gravely. “I lost two children to fever not so long ago. This is the least I can do.”
He understood then why she had sent her remaining children to a neighbor. Yet despite the danger, she had not hesitated to offer her home. After meeting so much hardship and resistance along the road, a stranger’s willingness to help touched him deeply. When they reached Jane, Mary squatted to touch her forehead. Her concerned gaze found Adam. “Can you carry her? My house is just there. The Gardens.”
She pointed to the fine house on the hill. Without so much as a nod, he scooped up Jane and cradled her to his chest. Her eyes flickered open. Surprise seized her features when she seemed to grasp where she lay.
“Where are we going?”
“To a safe place. All will be well. I have you.”
She nuzzled her face into his shoulder with a sigh and draped her arms around his neck, an action that nearly shattered his heart. His feet grew wings as he strode desperately toward the house on the hillside.
…
The onset of chills forced Jane to
melt into Adam’s chest and shoulder. Worries of impropriety flitted along the edges of thought but did not manage to move her an iota from his embrace. Warmth emanating from him only pulled her intimately nearer. She drifted in and out of sleep while he walked, remarkably content despite the discomfort of fever. Conversation flowed around her, the topic seemingly involving her.
After a time, she became vaguely aware of going indoors. When she allowed her eyes to blink open, an unknown woman was standing behind Adam, concern written large on her features.
“Follow me, sir.” Adam did as the woman instructed. Within moments, he set Jane gently on a bed. Only with great reluctance did she release his neck. She forced her eyelids open and resolved to understand where she was. The ceiling and walls of a well-kept house met her gaze. She lowered her eyes to find Adam hovering above her, his face lined with worry. A pair of hands gently moved him aside and the strange woman reappeared.
“Where am I?”
“A guestroom of my house.”
Jane attempted to rise. “I mean not to impose…”
The woman prompted her to remain prone. “You are no imposition, Miss Hancock. However, you are ill. You must rest while we attend to your health.”
Even in her bleary state, the kindness nearly overcame Jane. Her voice broke as she spoke. “Thank you, Miss…”
“Wordsworth. But you may call me Mary.”
“Call me Jane, then.”
Within seconds, a balding man with a sharp nose and intense gaze came to stand beside Mary. “This must be the mysterious impending guest Dora so earnestly described before she fled with the others to Mrs. Gable’s place.”
Mary glanced at him. “Yes, William. Now, stand aside before you frighten the girl.”
Without thinking, Jane shot out a hand to snatch the man’s wrist. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “May I be of assistance, young lady?”
Only then did her mind catch up to her instincts. Her eyes flew as wide as encroaching delirium would allow. “William Wordsworth?”
“Yes.” His stern expression softened mildly, expectantly.
She huffed a short laugh and glanced around Adam to find Aunt Hester and Barlow smiling with recognition. Adam continued to watch her, seemingly oblivious to the identity of the man standing next to him. Only upon returning her study to her host did she remember her fingers clutched his wrist. She released him abruptly.