“Oh, I do!” avowed Sophia. “If she hadn’t sent you after us I’m sure we would have been found dead in the woods like two drowned rats.”
“It was a lucky day for me,” said Gabriel. “For if you hadn’t told your Grandmama about it she wouldn’t have had me fetched from the camp to do odd jobs about the Dower House, nor to have Tom give me lessons.”
Sophia smiled. “She saw your potential.”
Gabriel gave an amused grunt. “More like wanted to keep me occupied so I didn’t have opportunity to steal her valuables.”
Sophia laughed. “Whatever her reasons, I loved escaping to Grandmama’s to practise with my watercolors and pencils in Tom’s rooms while you had your lessons.”
“Good days,” agreed Gabriel. His brow furrowed. “But it was always a mystery to me how Tom ended up living above the stables, teaching a gypsy boy to read and write. He was a gentleman. He might’ve known a lot about gardening but he hadn’t been brought up as a gardener’s boy.”
Sophia shook her head. “I also have wondered, but I don’t suppose we shall ever know the answer.”
“Aye,” said Gabriel gruffly, choosing not to tell Sophia of the time he’d arrived for his lessons much earlier than usual and found Tom and Sophia’s Grandmama in each other’s arms. He’d ducked away before they’d seen him, and never told a soul. He didn’t believe in questioning his luck, and would not jeopardize the learning he received at the Dower House, for he knew it would hold him in good stead for the rest of his life.
He listened attentively while Sophia explained the details of his mission. “I’ll leave a note here as soon as I learn what I need to do next,” she finished. “All going well, do you think there’ll be sufficient funds for you to deliver my paintings to London? The package could be quite large.”
Gabriel nodded. “Your granny’s necklace will easily find a customer. I already have someone in mind. But if it’s going to be any later than Friday I’ll send a message,” he said, giving her a brief nod before he stepped outside and let the door swing shut behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
As he rounded the corner, Bruno caught sight of a rust-colored coat above a sturdy paint-splattered boot before the door closed quietly behind Gabriel Heron. A swift and dangerous anger held him rigid for a moment.
He forgot about the bay mare he’d left at the farrier’s in Little Chippington after she’d dropped a shoe while he was on his way back to Enderby. Although the return home was a distance of some miles, he’d decided to walk. The exercise would burn off some of the restless energy that brought him wakeful nights despite days crammed with activity from dawn till dusk.
He’d expected Freddy to join him when he’d left not long after daybreak that morning to inspect the tithed cottages in a remote corner of the estate, but Freddy had barely stirred when Bruno had tried to wake him and in the end he’d set off on his own. His brother’s disinterest in the managing of Enderby and the Shropshire estates frustrated him. His intense attraction to Sophia Cranston set him on edge. The feelings he found himself harboring for her, and those he intuited she held for him, went against all the values he held dear—honor, trust, truth, loyalty to the bone. He’d had cause to question all these principles over the past months when the ideals of family, love and loyalty he’d taken to be authentic were swept away from beneath him.
He hadn’t meant to veer towards the Dower House for he was set on reaching Enderby by mid-afternoon, but from the brow of a hill a mile or so distant, he’d spotted the building, looking rather like a sugar cube at the end of Foxwood’s long drive. Remembering the disagreement between Lady Cranston and her daughter at the Pagets, he decided to take a closer look. Architecture intrigued him and England had afforded him plenty of opportunity to study more complex structures than most he had found in America. He wasn’t sure about the future of Foxwood, but perhaps there was something he could do in the short-term to make the Dower House more habitable and thus soothe relations between the two women.
Coming across what looked like a secret assignation between Sophia and the good-looking gypsy was enough to set his blood boiling.
“Heron!” he called, lengthening his stride. “Stop right there!”
The gypsy halted mid-stride. He faced Bruno with confidence, but a hint of wariness showed in his tightened jaw and narrowed eyes. From the moment Bruno had seen Sophia’s painting of Heron, he’d sensed a connection between the two that superseded the bounds of convention. Reason and logic and everything he knew and intuited about Sophia pointed away from the notion of an illicit liaison, but he would get to the bottom of whatever relationship existed, if he had to shake the pair of them to find out.
Heron returned his gaze without faltering and Bruno had to admit shaking such a man would be no mean feat. In fact, with his bright intelligent gaze and powerful build, Heron appeared to be exactly the type of man Bruno would value at his side whether in battle, business or friendship.
But he cast aside these charitable sentiments and came to a halt just a foot or two away from the younger man. He did not bandy words. “Why are you here?”
“Business,” returned Heron, without aggression but equally uncompromising.
Bruno frowned. “What business?”
“With all respect, my Lord, not yours.”
At any other time Bruno would have clapped the man on the shoulder in admiration at such a frank rejoinder. Now, he merely deepened his resolve to unearth a truthful response, whether it was the one he desired or one he despised.
“Miss Sophia Cranston’s business then?” In his mind’s eye he saw again the flash of her rust-colored coat, the paint-spattered boot withdrawing behind the closed door. There had been something so clandestine in that movement and in Heron’s stealthy survey of the immediate area before he’d left the shelter of the building. Bruno could not believe their meeting here was wholly innocent.
The door behind Heron swung open so suddenly a breath of musty air brushed Bruno’s cheek, and banged shut so forcefully, specks of dust flew against his face.
Even Gabriel Heron swung around with a start when Sophia Cranston herself stalked out onto the rough path. Her eyes were bright and angry, glittering like splintered glass.
“Miss Cranston,” Bruno removed his hat and bowed, coolly civil.
She marched towards him chin up. As usual, her bonnet hung uselessly down her back and her hair made a cloudy aureole about her face. Tiny splatters of paint embellished her throat.
“Gabriel has informed you, Sir; it is not your business what he does here.”
She was certainly not dressed for seduction, thought Bruno, his bemusement edged with admiration. Under her unbuttoned coat she wore a linen dress the color of putty. The fabric was wrinkled and grass stains marred the frayed hem of her skirt. A smear of dust sat just below her right eye.
Bruno held his ground. “What business is it that binds the two of you together?” he demanded. “You are, after all, my brother’s fiancée. I will not have him cuckolded!”
Heron snorted like a startled horse, his face a picture of disbelief.
A wash of relief overtook Bruno as he realized his instinct had been spot on. But if not a sexual liaison, then what brought these two together in such a covert way? He had no time to develop this train of thought for Sophia flared up at him.
“Freddy would be more concerned if one of his prize hounds went astray than if his future wife did the same! As I do not have four legs and a hairy coat, he wouldn’t care a jot. Why should I not enjoy myself while I have the freedom to do so?” She lashed out at him with bravado, but her gaze did not quite meet his. Color scored her cheekbones.
Instinct and the experience he’d gathered over years of working with men from all walks of life told Bruno she was lying. Heron’s reaction confirmed it.
The gypsy blenched. “Miss Cranston! You’re giving the wrong impression!”
After a moment’s thought, Bruno leaned forward. He smiled. “Do not try to give me the slip,
clever Sophia Cranston. There’s a reason for your meeting here and it is not the one you’re implying. Look. You have terrified poor Mr. Heron.”
Beads of sweat stood out on Heron’s brow. The wild animal in him now looked in dire need of escape. Contrition immediately marked Sophia’s features. She touched the gypsy’s arm.
“Oh, Gabriel. I did not mean to put you in an impossible position.” After a short, intense pause she said, “I’m sorry to keep you from your business. You must have things to do.”
Bruno watched carefully. Heron’s ebony gaze met Sophia’s in a taut, silent communication that lasted less than a moment. Then, with a brief nod to them both and a hasty farewell, he turned and swung away, striding out across the rough grass as if the devil himself rode on his shoulders.
Chapter Fourteen
Standing just a short distance away in her dilapidated coat, Sophia cut a proud but vulnerable figure as she watched Heron slip through the gap in the hedge. When the shrubbery closed behind him she turned towards Bruno. The breeze ruffled her hair, loosening fine tendrils across her face.
She drew her shoulders back and stared at him. “You do not own me,” she said in a low voice.
I don’t want to own you, thought Bruno. But I’d like to hold you and feel your breath on my skin. He was almost afraid to meet her eyes lest she see the wanting in them.
The scar on his cheek throbbed but he did not put his hand to it. Let the ache remind him of Garrett. He could not allow Sophia Cranston, with her wild hair and stormy eyes, to find her way through the perimeter of the guilt that sometimes felt like a bottomless well in his heart. He raked his fingers through his hair. “My brother’s happiness means everything to me. It’s more important than anything else in my life.”
Her stare grew brittle. “And mine? Is my happiness not important? To anyone?”
“You could be happy with Freddy,” urged Bruno, though everything in him had begun to recoil at the thought.
Sophia sniffed. “That at least, is something Freddy and I have in common.”
Bruno frowned.
“I too would be happier with something hairy and four-legged.”
The absurdity touched Bruno. He allowed his features to relax, grateful for the easing of tension between them. “A rough-coated terrier?” he ventured.
Sophia’s dimples showed. She shook her head. “Terriers are too skimpy. I prefer a well-muscled animal with meat on his bones.” She swept her gaze over Bruno. “A large beast with good lines and a hint of menace… something wolfish perhaps.” She brought her hand to her throat. “What kind of dog do you prefer, Mr. Cavanaugh?”
She was flirting with him! Bruno growled softly. Sophia’s particular blend of innocence and sexuality aroused and interested him more than that of any other woman he had encountered. He shook his head. If he was not careful she would have him sitting up and begging and wagging his well-muscled tail.
One thing was for sure; he couldn’t allow the conversation to continue along these lines. There was a keen awareness between them. She had touched something elemental in him that no other woman had done before, but he needed to make her understand why he could never step between Freddy and his fiancée.
Before he could speak, Sophia stepped forward. She fixed him with a ferocious stare. “Do you have any idea how much I do not want to marry Freddy?”
Taken aback, Bruno shook his head. “He’s not a bad person,” he said, at a loss.
Sophia threw up her head. “He is a very good person. But I doubt he will be a good husband. He cares more for his dogs and horses than he ever could for me. I had thought I must marry him for the sake of my mother and sister. But is it so selfish to want at least a scrap of happiness for myself?” Her expression clouded. “Am I so terrible a person that I resent forfeiting all my happiness to that of others?”
She pressed a fist to her heart. “In here, and here,” she touched her forehead, “I have always felt different. I have always wanted something other… other than what is blatantly expected of females in our society.” She bit her lip. “I never dreamed of marriage like other girls of my acquaintance. Balls and parties and fine gowns cannot hold my interest.
“I know it was rather dull-witted of me, but while Papa was alive, I thought I’d be able to simply remain at home and paint. But once Papa was gone and it became apparent what dire straits we had been left in, I began to understand that I truly was little more than a commodity. A trifle long in the tooth compared to some of the other fillies on the market, but healthy and well bred. You can have no idea how powerless I have felt… a woman is duty-bound to marry, but marriage to someone for whom I have little regard is a dreadful prospect!” Her breath caught and it was all Bruno could do not to take her in his arms.
“You are not a terrible person,” he said instead, and kept his arms to himself.
“I’ve taken to pilfering the family heirlooms,” she announced baldly.
Bruno jerked his head back. “What?”
“That’s why Gabriel and I meet here from time to time. I’ve just handed over my grandmama’s diamond necklace. Gabriel will find a buyer, take his commission and give me the remainder.”
Bruno whistled. “Can you trust him?”
“With my life,” said Sophia with such certainty Bruno was again pierced by a jagged spear of envy.
As if to pour salt into his wound, Sophia continued: “Gabriel once saved my sister’s life. If the occasion arose, I have absolute faith in his ability to save mine as well.”
Bruno’s interest quickened. “You didn’t finish telling me the story of Annabelle’s illness the other day. Tell me now,” he urged, acutely interested to learn how Sophia Cranston had developed a relationship with Heron that crossed the boundaries of sex, class and extraordinarily divergent cultures.
She looked away, as if staring into the past, but he put a finger under her jaw and tilted her face towards him. Her chin was firm but her skin was like velvet beneath his touch.
“Will you tell me about it?”
She gave him a clear-eyed look then nodded her assent and he took her arm and led her to a stone bench at the foot of an old apple tree. Its branches spread out like arms above them and dappled light dropped onto the rough grass beneath. Although the fruit was long gone the air still held the cider-scent of apples.
He removed his jacket, dropped it onto the bench and watched as she sank with careless grace onto the rudimentary cushion he’d made for her. The contrast between her natural grace, eccentric clothing and spiky manner appealed to him enormously but he resolutely subdued his emotion.
She remained silent for a few moments, facing him but with eyes downcast and her hands linked together in her lap. After a little while she raised her eyes.
“Gabriel rescued us the day Annabelle and I were lost in the woods.” Her expression dimmed. “I had registered a bank of dark clouds on the horizon, but I was so set on showing her the gypsy camp, I wouldn’t be deterred, even though I knew blue skies could turn into summer storms so quickly—”
She shook her head and he could not stop himself from taking her clasped hands and and folding them in his. She swept him a surprised look, studied their joined hands for a moment then raised her lashes and continued.
“We crept up to the crest of the hill and peeked down into the camp. I waited for her to give some sign that she was as thrilled as I—”
“And?” Bruno urged.
She gave him a ragged smile. “She told me the gypsies were dirty. She couldn’t conceive the magic I saw. All she saw was a group of women sitting on the ground, and barefoot children with grubby knees.”
“Perhaps that’s because she doesn’t have your artist’s eye.”
“Perhaps. But I was shocked! I genuinely thought she’d be as captivated as I was. It has taken me many years to realize my sister is a much more practical person than I.”
Bruno chose not to comment. He did not tell her, but Vanessa had supported his opinion that Annabe
lle took every advantage of Sophia’s remorse, frequently dropping less than subtle reminders about Sophia’s supposed debt to her.
“Annabelle is not as frail as she pretends,” Vanessa had said on a recent evening when he’d dined at Northbridge. “When Sophia is present, Annabelle is all dramatics: lolling on sofas with prolonged sighs and dainty sniffs, but I have observed her when Sophia and her mother are absent, and she is as lively as any young woman.” Vanessa’s expression was perceptive. “I think her quite happy to carry on this pretense, because it keeps Sophia at her beck and call.”
“So, how does Gabriel Heron come into the story?” Bruno asked now, determined not to be swayed from his chief interest.
Sophia smiled. “We’d only been there for a few moments when Annabelle leapt up crying out something about gypsies stealing children. Gabriel was one of the boys playing around the campsite. He saw the movement and heard her call.
“I noticed him staring up at us, and I remember lifting a hand to wave, but Annabelle had already turned away and was racing down the hillside. I couldn’t believe how fast she could run! All I saw was a flash of her pink cloak between the trees. By the time she’d reached the bottom of the hill, the rain had started in earnest and Annabelle had disappeared into the undergrowth.
“I thought I knew every inch of those woods but with all the twists and turns I had to take to follow her, I truly didn’t know where I was. When I finally caught up and managed to grab hold of her skirt, for she’d lost her cloak, she was soaked to the skin. I can still see her face—all staring eyes and her teeth were rattling against each other.
“I grabbed her hand and told her to stay close but she kept tripping over—she was only little, you know.” She gave a painful smile.
“In the end I ducked down and told her to climb onto my back. But when I looked around, I didn’t know which way to turn.
“Gabriel came up behind us and when Annabelle saw him, she gave a terrified yelp, and I’m ashamed to say, I shrank away from him too.” She smiled drily. “I could not help but think, perhaps Nanny had been right and the gypsies really did steal children away. When Gabriel held his arms out and said, ‘Give me the little one,’ Annabelle screamed and clung to me even more tightly.”
The Beaumont Betrothal: Northbridge Bride Series Book 2 Page 15