by Mary Balogh
She had a very small waist. Surprisingly, she had felt as light as a feather when he had lifted her a few moments before.
Lord Amberley turned his attention to his other guests. And suddenly all seemed noise and confusion. His mother, Sir Cedric Harvey, Dominic, and Madeline had all materialized from somewhere to add their greetings to his.
THE RAIN STOPPED DURING the early evening, the clouds dispersed, and a weak sun appeared over the western hills. The grass was wet, but Lord Amberley suggested a stroll in the formal gardens with his betrothed after dinner.
“The walks there are gravel,” he explained, “and will not soak the hem of your gown.”
Lady Amberley, who had looked cheered at the suggestion of fresh air and a little exercise, was obliged to remain indoors when Lady Beckworth pleaded fatigue from the journey. Sir Cedric Harvey remained with them. Lord Eden too hung back when he realized that his presence would make an odd number. He won a drowning look from his sister, who had already committed herself to the walk and who would be expected to stroll with James Purnell.
Alexandra held to the corners of her shawl as they left the house, and took Lord Amberley’s arm only when it would have appeared pointedly rude not to do so. He was not a great deal taller than she, certainly not as tall as either James or Papa. Perhaps that was another reason for her discomfort with him, she thought as he led her across the cobbled terrace to the gardens, which stretched east of the house. She could not hide behind his shoulder as she could have done with a taller man.
“I am disappointed that it was raining when you arrived,” he said. “I would have liked you to see the house and gardens from the hills in all their splendor. I am very proud of both, you see.”
“They looked quite lovely even in the rain, my lord,” she said. “I had no idea that Amberley Court would look as it does.”
“I have a distant ancestor to thank,” he said, “or perhaps political conditions at that time. The original house was built in the valley here in Queen Elizabeth’s time for defensive purposes. We are only two miles from the sea, you know. Any house built on the flatland above would have been visible from the sea. And far less attractively situated, I think.”
“James said he thought we must be close to the sea,” she said. “But this is not the original house, my lord?”
“No,” he said. “It was burned to the ground eighty years ago. The fire was a great tragedy. Many old family treasures were lost. However, my grandparents had excellent taste. They had the present house built, and my grandmother directed the construction of these gardens. You can see them in all their geometric precision from up in the hills. I will take you up there when the sun is shining, and you will see for yourself.”
“You are fortunate to live in this part of the country, my lord,” she said. “I find Yorkshire somewhat bleak, though I have lived there all my life.”
“But not for the rest of your life,” he said. “You forget that this will be your home too, once we are married.”
He smiled down very directly into her eyes as he spoke, and touched his fingertips to her hand. Alexandra stiffened and looked around hastily to see that James and Lady Madeline were still close by. They had walked down a different path, but were still clearly in sight.
“I would like to think that our betrothal really begins today,” he said. “I think of you as more than an ordinary guest. Do you think you could bring yourself to call me by my name? It is Edmund. And may I call you Alexandra?”
“If you wish, my lord,” she said doubtfully. She had been taught that it was disrespectful to call any but servants and brothers and sisters by their Christian names.
“But you would feel uncomfortable doing so?” he asked. He had stopped walking and had turned to look at her. He was suffocatingly close.
“Yes,” she said. “In my family it is not done. Mama and Papa do not use each other’s names. But it will be as you wish.”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “Do you say so just because I am the man? I refuse to win your compliance on such nonsensical grounds. Mama was quite right in what she said to you at the theater. You must never give in to me just because I am your betrothed or later because I am your husband. Give in to me because you agree with me. Or else disagree with me and argue and fight to win your point if necessary.” He smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling.
But she would not relax and join in his merriment. “How can that be?” she said somewhat bitterly. “Our society and, more important, our religion are built entirely on the idea that women are subject to their fathers and husbands. Can it be otherwise?”
“I think so,” he said, the smile fading. “I disagree with your reference to Scripture, if indeed it is from there that you have taken your ideas. It seems to me that woman was created to be man’s equal. Adam was bored, was he not, before Eve was created? It was not because he needed someone to lord it over. He already had a world full of creatures on whom he could exercise his love of power. What he needed was a companion, someone against whose wits he could sharpen his own, someone to discuss with, argue with, fight with, laugh with. Someone to love, no less. And what set me off into this sermon?” He was grinning again.
“And yet,” she said quietly, “when men decide that a woman must marry, she has little choice. When men decide that honor dictates a certain course of action, honor becomes more important than a woman’s inclination.”
His grin disappeared. “Do you refer to yourself?” he asked. “I suppose you were coerced into this betrothal. But by circumstances more than by the will of men, surely. Did your father exert undue pressure on you? You said ‘men,’ not ‘a man.’ Am I the other? Or Dominic? Perhaps there is some truth in that. Undoubtedly there is. We are weak creatures, I will admit. Sometimes the problem is that it is impossible to know which course of action is right and which wrong.”
Alexandra merely lifted her chin.
“But why are we so serious?” he said. “I believe the question was whether we call each other ‘my lord’ and ‘Miss Purnell’ or whether it is now appropriate to become ‘Edmund’ and ‘Alexandra.’ We will keep to formality for now, since it seems to be what you wish. But not after our marriage. Not without a fight on my part, that is. I do not believe I could call my wife ‘Lady Amberley’ or ‘my lady.’”
“You may call me Alex,” she said hastily. “It is what James calls me. I prefer it to my full name.”
He took her hand again and drew it through his arm. He smiled. “‘Alex’ it is to be, then,” he said. “Thank you. I am doubly honored if I am to share the shortened form with your brother. You are fond of him, are you not?”
“He is the dearest person in the world to me,” she said. “Many people do not like him because he is serious and frequently silent and cynical. He has lost his faith in the world, you see, and that is a dreadful thing to happen to any human being. But I know him as he really is. And as he used to be.”
He was silent for a moment. They were standing looking into the rainbow colors created by the spray of water from a marble fountain at one side of the garden. “From what I have seen,” he said, “I think he returns your regard. I am glad of that. I think it must be a good feeling to inspire such loyalty and affection in you, Alex.”
She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips. Almost as if he had caressed her. “I am afraid I have not known many people in my life,” she said. “James has been everything to me. I have lavished all my love on him. Edmund.” His name was blurted out at the end of her speech, embarrassing her and causing her to pull her hand from his arm and move forward to the edge of the basin into which the water spilled. She held out a hand to the spray.
“Tomorrow I will show you the house,” he said from behind her. “I hope you will grow to love it as much as I do.” His voice sounded almost wistful.
MADELINE FELT AS IF THE SMILE ON HER FACE must be petrified. She would not be able to remove it if she tried. She chattered determinedly on despite the fact that she
had little more than monosyllables in reply from her companion. What could she talk about? She could not remember ever having had to think of a topic of conversation. Talk usually flowed from her and around her. But then, she had never met anyone quite like Mr. Purnell: taciturn, brooding, and disturbingly handsome.
“Do you like the sea?” she asked. She had led him down a different path from that taken by his sister and Edmund. She was afraid that they would overhear her conversation, or lack of it, and think her very foolish. “We are very close, you know. Only two miles.”
“I like it,” he said. “It represents escape from this island.”
She looked up at him, startled, and felt the urge she had had since the start of their walk to reach up and put back the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his brow. She resisted the urge now as she had done then.
“But do you wish to escape?” she asked.
He inclined his head stiffly. “There is only one thing that keeps me on these shores,” he said.
“Oh?” Madeline gave in to curiosity before she could check herself. “What is that?”
She did not think he was going to answer. He looked at her, his face a blank mask. “My sister,” he said curtly.
“Miss Purnell?” she said, turning onto a path that led even farther away from the other two. “But she is well settled now, sir. She is betrothed to my brother.”
He did not reply. When she stole a look into his face, she could not fathom his expression. Contempt? But no, she was reading what was simply not there.
“Any lady would be fortunate indeed to have Edmund as a husband,” she said a little more hotly than she had intended. “He is kind and utterly trustworthy. You need have no worries for your sister.”
He inclined his head again. “As you say,” he said.
Madeline was feeling anger in addition to the irritation his earlier silence had provoked. “If Miss Purnell turns out to be just half as kind and responsible as he, they will be happy indeed,” she said.
Again she thought he would not reply. He stopped abruptly beside a fountain that was the companion to the one at the opposite side of the garden, and trailed his hand in the water of the basin. “Alex is not an ordinary girl,” he said quietly. “She has had no ordinary upbringing. She has goodness and sweetness and, yes, a great number of other qualities too. But they are deeply repressed. I do not know if any man or woman has the skill or the insight to draw them out.”
It was the most Madeline had ever heard him say. She felt an almost overwhelming impulse to place a consoling hand on his sleeve. She clasped her hands very tightly behind her.
“She is to be my sister,” she said. “I am determined to try to make a friend of her. So is Mama. And so is Dominic. Where would you go, Mr. Purnell?”
“Where?” he asked blankly, shaking his hand dry and walking on again beside her.
“If you left England,” she said. “Where would you go?”
He shrugged. “It does not matter,” he said. “Away from here. Away from England. That is the only important thing.”
“Away from yourself?” she asked tentatively. “Is that what you wish to escape, sir? It cannot be done, you know. You have to take yourself wherever you go.”
She was sorry as soon as she had spoken. It really was a presumptuous and insulting thing to have said, even if it seemed likely to be true. Those very piercing dark eyes looked through her so that she was convinced that he must see the flowers behind her through her head. The mask came down over his face again.
“You are a philosopher,” he said curtly. “I thought you were merely a very pretty and silly product of fashionable society.”
Madeline winced. She supposed they were now even, having exchanged lowering insults. Though she had not meant hers to be an insult. Mr. Purnell was so hard to like that it seemed probable that he did not like himself. If he could learn to do so, perhaps other people would treat him more warmly and he would be happier. Then he would not feel the need to escape.
“We ride down to the sea quite often,” she said. “There are magnificent cliffs and a lovely wide, sandy beach. Perhaps you would enjoy a visit there tomorrow. I think Dominic is planning to invite Miss Purnell. Do you both ride?”
He nodded curtly.
And that was that for that particular line of conversation, she thought with an inward sigh. What next? The weather? Reminiscences of London? The house and its splendors? His journey? His home? What?
“Dominic wants to join the army,” she said, “though both Mama and I vigorously oppose the idea. Mama lost two brothers in the wars, you know, and cannot bear the thought of the same thing happening to Dom. And I cannot let him go. We are twins, you see, and there is a special bond between us. I would not know a moment’s peace if he were in Spain. I have heard that the heat and the rains and the mud there are quite as dreadful as the attacks of the enemy, though I do not suppose that is quite true. Not many men would actually die of mud and rain, would they? Though I have heard that the heat has killed men because of all the marching they have to do with heavy equipment and the lack of water and other supplies.”
Prattle, prattle, she thought, listening to the sound of her own voice. Very silly, he had just called her. Why was it that she felt very silly with him? Other gentlemen had always made her feel interesting and witty.
But James Purnell, strolling along beside her, his eyes passing over carefully cultivated box hedges and flower beds and gravel walks, was scarcely listening. What had made him say that about wanting to escape? He had never put his deepest desire into words for anyone before, though he thought Alex knew. And now he had bared part of his soul to a young lady he despised himself for finding attractive. He had sworn to himself years ago that he would never again allow another person a glimpse into his inner self. He would never give anyone else a chance to hurt him.
“Soldiers must take risks,” he said. “But then, so must we all, to a lesser degree. Life is a risk.”
But one can minimize the risk, he thought, by putting on armor and being careful never to take it off.
ALEXANDRA CAME DOWNSTAIRS after breakfast the following morning, feeling almost cheerful. The sun was shining, transforming the view from her bedroom window from lovely to breathtaking. And she was to go riding with Lord Eden, Lady Madeline, and James. Lord Amberley was to be busy at estate business during the morning, so that he could devote the afternoon to showing them the house.
Riding had always been her favorite outdoor activity. Indeed, it had been almost her only outdoor activity. She liked to ride out onto the moors and drink in the wildness of it all with her senses. She had never been allowed to go alone and she was strictly forbidden to gallop, a wild and unladylike activity, according to her father. But it was one command that she had frequently disobeyed. When she was with James, they had often challenged each other to races, and gone galloping over the moors in neck-or-nothing fashion so that it was amazing that neither of them had ever had an accident.
She went out onto the terrace knowing already that she was going to enjoy the morning. They were going down onto the beach, Lord Eden had said. That would be a new and surely glorious experience.
Her three riding companions were already there, all mounted. So were Anna and Walter Carrington and Lord Amberley, the latter holding the head of a dark mare fitted with a sidesaddle. Alexandra loved it on sight.
“Miss Purnell.” Anna, her face alight with eagerness, brought her horse forward as soon as Alexandra appeared at the top of the marble steps. “Walter and I rode over to see if you had arrived safely. Mama said we might, though she warned us that we were not to disturb you, as you were likely to be tired after your journey. But you are to ride to the beach. May we come with you? Dominic says we may if it is all right with you. Please?”
Alexandra smiled. “Hello, Anna,” she said. “Of course I have no objection to your coming. But have you ridden a distance already this morning?”
“Only three miles,” the girl sa
id, pointing vaguely up the hill behind the house. “You will see our house soon. Mama is going to invite you, though you do not need an invitation. Dominic or Madeline will bring you anytime you wish. Do come soon. I want to show you my colt and my dog. The dog has just had puppies—four of them. They are the prettiest things.”
“Anna.” Lord Amberley, leading the mare up, was laughing. “Pause for breath, dear. And may not I bring Miss Purnell to see the colt and the puppies? Why have I not heard about them, by the way? No, don’t answer. I think everyone else is ready to ride.”
“May I ride with you, Dominic?” Anna asked, walking her horse across to him.
Lord Amberley turned to Alexandra. “I wish I could come with you,” he said. “Unfortunately, I have an appointment with my account books. Somehow they do not seem nearly as inviting as a ride. I shall have to keep reminding myself that I will be spending all the afternoon with you. I look forward to showing you the house. I warn you that I am inordinately proud of it.” His grin was almost boyish.
Alexandra felt decidedly guilty as she placed her booted foot in his clasped hands and allowed him to help her into the saddle. She could not wait to get away from him. She felt suffocated by his presence, and so aware of him—his broad shoulders, his thick dark hair, his intensely blue eyes—that she could concentrate on nothing else. She wanted to ride free, to be alone with her own feelings, as she usually was. She did not know how to cope with such intense physical sensations.
“I shall see you at luncheon, Alex,” he said, standing back so that she could join Madeline.
“Yes,” she said, his use of her name catching at her breath. She could not bring herself to use his. She tried to smile at him. Why was it that her face felt stiff when she was with him, so that every expression was formed with a conscious effort?