“Your Mama tells me you are to pay a visit to Mrs. Paget?”
Curious, Sophia nodded.
He tilted his head to one side. His brush of hair looked almost black in the dim light. The smell of cedarwood drifted from his skin. “Take a look outside. We’re in for some rain.”
Sophia peered over his shoulder where a watery sunshine lit the street at the same time as a handful of raindrops plopped onto the cobbles.
She smiled. “You will get used to an English spring. Sometimes it seems as if all four seasons sweep in on one day! I suspect it is just a sun shower.”
He lifted his head. “More than a shower I think. I’ve sent Freddy to the ostler’s for a coach and pair to take you to the Paget’s house and then back to Foxwood.”
He’d barely finished speaking when the sun vanished behind lowering clouds and the rain began to fall in a steady stream.
“Lucky you didn’t place a wager,” he said with a sideways grin that reminded her of those few short minutes on the bridge over Huggleton Brook.
How far away that morning seemed! What had happened to her in the days since? In some incomprehensible way, she knew she wasn’t the same person she’d been before she’d met Bruno Cavanaugh. There was no rational explanation, but she had the real sense that his very presence had enriched her life and at the same time exposed an aloneness she had not known before.
The shop’s intimate confines, with goods stacked either side, brought their bodies close. Light from the wall sconces flickered on his hair and cast chiaroscuro shadows across the chiseled planes of his face. Her own reflection shone in his eyes. Outside, the rain intensified, veiling the countryside beyond the green; Vanessa and Lady Cranston’s murmurings had receded behind them in the dim interior.
He shifted at her side. “I should apologise in case I intruded earlier,” he said after a moment or two. “When I spoke of your sister. If there’s anything I can do, you only have to ask. Annabelle will be part of my family too, once you and Freddy are married. When we’re in London I’ll engage the best physicians to examine her. New advances in medicine are being made all the time.” He shook his head. “You should not carry the responsibility of an incident that happened when you were so young.”
Sophia knotted her fingers but she found it surprisingly easy to confide in Mr. Cavanaugh, even something of a relief.
“I encouraged Annabelle to go outside when she did not wish to. As a result, she caught a chill and has never completely recovered.”
His black brows pleated.
“Was the weather foul?”
“No! It was summer… but I’d been given strict instructions not to go anywhere that afternoon, let alone drag Annabelle along with me. I was her older sister and should have looked after her.”
She thought she saw a shadow slide across his face but it was gone in an instant and she turned away to stare out at the rain. Anabelle’s health had always been precarious. While Sophia had been permitted the run of the grounds, allowed to ride her pony through the fields and paddle in the brook, Anabelle was so often confined to her bedchamber or on better days, brought to lie on the chaise in the drawing room.
‘You are so fortunate, sister,’ she would say when Sophia returned from one expedition or another, her cheeks flushed from the sunshine, her hair flying away from its cap.
Immediately contrite, Sophia would read to Annabelle, or fetch playthings for her, or beg tidbits from Cook and plead with her younger sister to eat.
A lump formed in Sophia’s throat as she remembered how she would bring the outdoors in, presenting Annabelle with the gifts she herself treasured: a peacock feather, a leaf skeleton so fragile it had to be carefully lifted and carried in a handkerchief, blackberries packed into an empty robin’s nest. After a perfunctory inspection Annabelle might select one of the berries and put it to her mouth but invariably her lips would pucker and Sophia’s offering would be spat out into a dish on the side table.
Sophia’s fingers tightened around the reticule she held in one hand. She slanted a glance at Mr. Cavanaugh, who was looking at her intently and she knew he was waiting for her to elaborate. His long fingers played with the brim of his hat.
“Tell me what happened,” he prompted, his eyes searching her face.
Inhaling a lungful of fresh, damp air, Sophia began hesitantly. She did not question why it didn’t seem out of place to share her remorse with Mr. Cavanaugh when she’d never spoken of it aloud to anyone in all the intervening years.
“Mama and Papa were in Town. Anabelle and I had been left in Nanny’s charge. I’d gone out early that morning when the rest of the household was barely stirring. I’d discovered a fox earth deep in the copse and I wanted to sketch the cubs. There wasn’t a breath of wind and the sky was so clear, not a hint of a cloud anywhere. The earth smelt heavenly.
“When I crept up to the den, the cubs were already playing outside, and I sat sketching quietly for a long time—I lose track of time when I’m drawing or painting—” Mr. Cavanaugh’s slow smile and absorbed expression motivated her to continue.
“It must have been almost noon when I smelt wood smoke. I knew it was the gypsies. Nanny had warned us never to go near them because they’d steal us away and sell us in a faraway country, but I loved to watch them when they traveled through our county. To be truthful,” she said, the thought bringing a smile to her lips and drawing soft laughter from Mr. Cavanaugh, “I loved the notion of being carried away in a gaudy caravan pulled by a pony with ribbons in its mane.”
Her mind turned inwards and the spectacle played across her memory as clearly as if it had happened the day before. The acrid smell of wood smoke came to her nostrils and she could hear the sound of music, and muted voices above the chime of the swift-flowing stream beside the gypsy encampment.
“I crawled to the top of the hillock and hid behind some ferns. Their camp was laid out like an embroidered cloth: the green meadow and painted caravans. Ponies lazing in the shade by the stream. The bright colors of the women’s dress, gold and silver jewelry swinging from their ears, glittering from their turbans…”
Fearing she might be boring him, she cast a swift glance towards him, but his attention remained fastened on her, his gaze alert and interested. He shifted his body slightly, turning his back to the corner of the lintel so she was obliged to look up at him, rather than keep her gaze on the falling rain outside.
“There was an old man playing a fiddle; younger men, all brown and sturdy sat about mending harness or whittling and children ran about squealing with laughter in a way we would never have been permitted. They seemed so carefree. I couldn’t help but envy them.”
“You paint a vivid picture.”
“It was entrancing—almost magical. I had this notion that if only Anabelle could see the gypsy camp for herself she would be quite hauled out of her lassitude so I—”
Before she could say another word, Freddy came swinging up the street, at the helm of a light carriage. The horses’ hooves sent up sprays of water as they clipped along the cobbles. Wearing a caped coat, Freddy sat in the driving seat, his face a picture of happiness as he skillfully steered the pair close to the doorway.
This is where he is in his element, thought Sophia, her emotions an unsettling mix of exasperation and fondness. She could put herself out to be the most attractive, willing, tractable wife in the world but in Freddy’s eyes marriage would never equal the delights of riding a spirited gelding, driving a carriage or hunting a well-trained pack of hounds.
He drew rein within inches of the shop doorway. “Might buy these two off old Johnson,” he said, referring to the matched pair pulling the barouche. “Good sturdy stand-bys.”
“Why, Freddy, you must already have a dozen pairs of good sturdy stand-bys!” Sophia hadn’t even noticed Vanessa had stepped close behind her.
Looking shame-faced but happy, he tipped his hat at the duchess. “Your Grace!” he said with a smile. “I have been wanting to ask your advice a
bout one of my hounds. Hair’s slipping off and I recall you had the same trouble with one of your pack some months ago.”
Sophia drew back so Vanessa could slip past her into the small portico where she was out of the rain but within conversing distance of Freddy. Vanessa was an excellent horsewoman and she and the duke considered their horses and dogs as much members of their household as most of the humans that resided at Northbridge Castle.
Remembering an earlier request Lady Cranston had made, Mrs. Nighy had drawn her attention to a cabinet packed with lace near the back of her compact emporium.
Mr. Cavanaugh tilted his head forward, a half smile on his lips, his expression genuinely interested. “…and was Annabelle ‘hauled out of her lassitude?’”
“Not in the way I had hoped,” replied Sophia, quickly reeling in the thread of their conversation.
She remembered how she’d slithered quickly down the slope and raced homeward, pencils stuffed into her pockets and sketchpad tucked tightly beneath one arm.
“I didn’t get the opportunity to tell Annabelle about the gypsies until luncheon when Nanny was momentarily out of earshot. By then, I was jumping with impatience. I’d literally bolted down my lunch—Cook had made one of my favorites—cold turbot with rhubarb flummery for pudding—” she detected the flicker of a smile in his eyes and smiled back, slightly self-conscious as she realized just how detailed her memory was about that day.
“As usual, Annabelle just pushed her food about her plate and stirred her pudding into a slippery mess. Watching her made me even more determined to take her to the gypsy camp.”
She paused for a moment, as the memories swam back then carried on quickly, encouraged by his expectant gaze.
“I had to keep a close eye on Nanny, because I knew she’d veto the plan. The instant she retreated to a corner of the nursery with her basket of mending, I whispered, “Annabelle. I have a surprise for you.”
In her mind’s eye she could still see the lack of enthusiasm on Annabelle’s face.
“What is it?” her sister had asked.
“I’m not going to tell you,” Sophia had said, shivering with excitement, convinced that the spectacle of the gypsy camp would rouse Annabelle’s spirits. “You must come and see for yourself.”
“Where must we go?”
Sophia leaned closer and lowered her voice even more. “Outside. Through the woods.”
Annabelle sat up and scowled. “Outside! I do not like going outside.”
“You will like it this time. Oh, do come, sister. The air will be good for you.”
Annabelle’s mouth set. “Last time I went outside I caught a chill.”
“You will not catch a chill today,” said Sophia. “Only look how bright it is!”
Annabelle turned to look out the window where the sun did indeed shine brilliantly from a clear cerulean sky, marred only by a few wispy clouds so high up they were scarcely noticeable. But Annabelle’s expression remained doubtful.
“If you come,” said Sophia, “I shall give you my new bonnet—the one with lily-of-the-valley and pleated satin ribbon on the brim.”
A shrewd look crept into Annabelle’s wide blue eyes. “I should rather have the length of fabric Mama sent up from London—the lavender sprigged muslin.”
“You shall have both.” Sophia smiled with satisfaction. Neither the bonnet nor the fabric was any great loss to her. She could not wait to see Annabelle’s delighted expression when they came upon the gypsy camp.
After shooting a quick glance at Mr. Cavanaugh, who kindly gave every appearance of remaining engrossed, she resumed her account.
“But it was much later than I’d hoped by the time Nanny left us in our bedchamber with strict admonitions to rest quietly for at least one hour.”
She bit her lip, remembering how eager she’d been to begin their expedition, but Annabelle had delayed them further by fussing over every detail. She’d had to change her boots twice; the light cloak she first selected was dismissed for another, although in Sophia’s eyes their clothing was already quite suitable for a summer afternoon’s outing.
“I took Annabelle by the hand and led the way, making her tip-toe down the stairs into a room that was scarcely used but opened onto a terrace where we were unlikely to be seen. By the time we crept away, we were both giggling and even Annabelle was caught up in the spirit of our adventure. I was elated to think I’d be showing her something that would truly inspire her…”
Her voice fell away and when Mr. Cavanaugh shifted, his eyebrows drawing sharply together, Sophia knew it was because her own features had dimmed, just like the bank of stormclouds she’d registered out of the corner of her eye but chose to ignore the day she’d pulled Annabelle through the gardens and into the woods.
“Through my own stupidity, Annabelle’s health has been permanently affected and Nanny, whom I adored, was dismissed without a character.”
“A hard lesson for one so young,” said Mr. Cavanaugh. “But if you don’t mind me doling out some advice—”
“—as a brother?” Sophia could not resist asking.
His expression softened. “As a brother.” He searched her face for a moment before continuing. “I reckon it’s a lesson to leave behind you now. When I watch you looking at her, I get the impression you still see your sister as a frail little girl. Thing is, you’ve both grown. For your sake and hers, try to see her as the grown-up young lady she is today. I have no knowledge of her as a young girl, so to me, she seems pert and healthy and no less bright-eyed than the friend she’s devouring hot chocolate and cream cakes with right this minute.”
Sophia stared at him. “But she tires easily…”
“She doesn’t look too tired to me. Looked as if she enjoyed the walk today.”
“She has a cough.”
“I have never heard it.”
“She’s frail.”
“She’s slim.”
“But…” Just as Sophia was about to protest, Annabelle herself dashed past the window, a borrowed parasol held aloft to keep off the rain, and stepped through the shop doorway.
“Sophia! Mama!”
“What is it, Annabelle?” Sophia held out her hand while Lady Cranston swung around to observe the commotion.
“Mrs Hilliard has invited me to stay the night! They have friends and cousins arriving tomorrow and there’ll be a party with games and dancing! I shall return with Mrs. Hilliard and Susan, and a footman will be dispatched to Foxwood for my things—I can send a list for Mrs. Brixton and Sarah. Oh, please do say yes!”
With Mr. Cavanaugh’s words ringing in her ears, Sophia observed Annabelle with an altered perspective. Her eyes shone, her curls bounced beneath her bonnet and her cheeks were flushed with enthusiasm. True, her breath came quickly but then anyone would be inclined to breathlessness after hurrying along the street in a downpour.
She took a deep breath. “That sounds like a splendid idea,” she heard herself say at the same time as she heard Mama’s murmured assent from behind her. “If you go back to the teashop and write your list this minute, Mama and I shall have your things ready for the footman to collect later today.” A lump had formed in her throat but she forced it away with a smile. “Make sure to include a warm shawl.”
“I shall!” Annabelle’s joyful smile lit up her face before she swung away and raced back up the street to the teashop.
“Good work,” Mr. Cavanaugh leaned down and drawled in Sophia’s ear. “She’ll be all right, you know,” he added as Sophia leaned out to watch her sister hurrying along the cobblestones, calling out excitedly to the Hilliards even before diving into the tea shop.
Sophia turned to Mr. Cavanaugh. “I believe she will always be vulnerable, and I shall always feel responsible, but I am realizing she is not an invalid. Thank you.” She felt a tremor on her lips for it had been a strangely emotional moment, as if she’d opened her hands and released a baby bird to the vagaries of the world.
* * *
Although the
rain had eased to a light drizzle, Bruno was glad of the caped coat he’d borrowed from the ostler. He wondered briefly if he’d ever get used to the changeable nature of this English climate. One moment he’d be in shirt-sleeves, the next covered up against a sudden storm. A pang of homesickness struck him for the city he’d been raised in, the wide plains and rivers and mountains he’d explored and the people whose hardships he’d both shared and prospered by.
But this green landscape pulled at him. He would return to the New World but he knew England was where he belonged for the foreseeable future. He’d ridden through the rolling hills and walked the corridors and towers of Enderby, breathed in the history, and sworn allegiance to these lands and to the ancestors he did not know and the descendants who would succeed him.
And Sophia Cranston, who could have born these descendants, belonged to his brother. He cast a glance sideways but all he could see of her through the window of the carriage was the shape of her cheek against her bonnet and a froth of dark curls about her collar.
He dragged his eyes away and rubbed the scar on his face, relishing the ache for it served as a sharp reminder of all the reasons he must set himself apart from her. Her appeal for him had not lessened in the days and weeks since he’d first set sight on her but he’d convinced himself he could trammel that attraction into a concern that was purely brotherly. He had committed himself to being of service to both Sophia and Freddy, fostering their happiness as a married couple and keeping their combined interests foremost in his heart.
A raindrop trickled beneath his collar and he hunched his shoulders. If only Freddy would express at least as much interest in his fiancée as he did in those dratted dogs of his. In fact, Bruno had spent a good part of the previous weeks lauding Miss Cranston’s evident virtues—her looks, her talent, her breeding, wit and elegance.
“Elegance?” Freddy had interjected, looking up from the bristle-faced bitch that pressed itself against his legs. “Looks a damn fright sometimes. That bit of cloth she had tied to her head the other day—”
The Beaumont Betrothal: Northbridge Bride Series Book 2 Page 12