Under The Wishing Star

by Farr, Diane

  “How can you be so accepting?” he whispered. A strange little laugh shook him. “I tried so hard to keep the truth from you. I wanted to believe that even if you married me, you need never know what happened to Catherine. I’ve kept my head firmly buried in the sand for months, and now it seems I was hiding from a mere bogey. I’ve told you after all, and you still stand my friend.”

  “I will always stand your friend.”

  He was still holding her face in his hands. His eyes searched hers, wonder and pain reflected equally in the blue-green depths of his gaze. His thumbs traced her cheekbones. Natalie held her breath. And then he did the oddest thing: his gaze traveled to her hair, and he reached to wrap a loose strand of it around his finger. He stared at the curl hugging his finger, his expression rapt and fascinated. “I’ve been itching to do that since the first time I saw you,” he murmured.

  Natalie was confused. “Do what?”

  “Touch your hair. All those maddening little curls.” His gaze traveled back to her eyes. “They are even softer than I dreamed they would be.”

  Electricity suddenly seemed to arc through the air between them, a hot crackle of need that jolted through Natalie like a lightning strike. She was utterly unprepared for the knee-weakening power of it. She felt her eyes widen with shock even as her eyelids drifted down. Through the haze of feeling she sensed his face coming nearer, his head bending to hers. She instinctively tilted her chin to lift her mouth, fully in the grip of desire’s blinding force, and helpless to resist it.

  “Papa,” whispered Sarah in the low bed beside them. The two adults froze in place at the sound, Natalie still with her face uptilted, Malcolm’s mouth hovering inches above hers. “Papa, I’m thirsty.”

  Natalie’s eyes flew open. Malcolm’s face, slightly blurred from its closeness, wore a look of chagrin that was almost comical. She bit her lip, fighting an almost hysterical urge to laugh.

  “The pitfalls of having children,” he muttered, pulling back from her with obvious reluctance.

  Natalie, now seized by a wave of embarrassment, hastily turned to Sarah. The little girl’s eyes were closed and a fretful frown creased her forehead.

  “Are you awake, lamb?”

  “Yes. Thirsty.”

  Natalie moved quickly round the foot of the bed and back to her own place, where a carafe of water and a small tumbler stood on the nightstand. “I’ll pour you a little water, Sarah. You mustn’t try to sit up. Let your papa help you.” She was glad that her voice sounded normal. She felt extremely rattled.

  Malcolm carefully lifted Sarah and Natalie helped her to drink, then quickly fluffed her pillows. As he lay her gently back down, Malcolm said gruffly, “How are you feeling, duckie? Shall we give you a little more medicine?”

  “No,” said Sarah peevishly. “Makes my head hurt.”

  “You’ve a bump on the head, darling,” said Natalie softly.

  “Makes it worse.”

  Natalie and Malcolm exchanged glances. Malcolm frowned. “She may be right. I took laudanum once and it gave me a ferocious headache.”

  Natalie smoothed the hair back from Sarah’s forehead, being careful not to touch the swelling. “What about your arm, sweetheart? Don’t you want the medicine for your arm?”

  Sarah murmured something indistinguishable, but it sounded distinctively negative. She was already drifting back to sleep. “The last dose is still helping her,” said Natalie, as quietly as she could. “And it’s almost morning.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Will you move her back to Larkspur tomorrow?”

  He smiled a little. “Today, you mean. Yes. I think my traveling coach is well-sprung enough to give her an easy ride. It hasn’t rained for a while, so the roads are probably in the best shape they will ever be. I’m anxious to have her safe at home.”

  Natalie nodded. “Yes, she’ll be more comfortable there.”

  “Natalie.”

  She looked up. Malcolm was gazing very seriously at her. “Thank you. For everything.”

  She felt herself blushing. “I was glad to help. You needed an extra pair of hands.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said softly. “Not entirely.”

  She looked away, her cheeks burning. “It has been a long night.” There were times, she thought wretchedly, when she wished she were French. Or Italian. What was there about the English? The hardest thing in the world was to acknowledge emotion, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why.

  She took a deep breath. “I am glad you confided in me,” she said softly. She looked down at her hands for a moment, then realized it was cowardly to refuse to meet his eyes. She looked up and met them. “Thank you,” she said steadily, “for telling me about your late wife. It was not an easy thing for you to do. But I needed to know.”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “I have shot down every chance I ever had of winning your hand, but I suppose it had to be done.”

  She smiled. “Oh, quite the contrary. If I ever do marry, I would rather have a husband who confides in me than one who does not.” It was true, but she hated to see the gleam of hope her words kindled in his eyes. She shook her head at him, almost laughing. “I said if.”

  He had given her much to think about. She felt closer to him than ever.

  The irony was, of course, that the better she understood him, the less likely it seemed that he would ever care for her in the way she already cared for him.

  Chapter 15

  Natalie was standing before the mirror in the foyer, pulling on her gloves, when Hector strolled in from the library. He scowled at her. “So there you are.”

  “Were you looking for me?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I was. Mabel and I see precious little of you these days. Where do you think you’re going?”

  Natalie raised her eyebrows. “I think I’m going to visit Sarah Chase, as I usually do in the mornings.”

  His glance flicked contemptuously down her person. “Fairly natty dressing, to call on a pint-sized halfwit.”

  Natalie flushed with annoyance and embarrassment. She was, in fact, very prettily gowned. And it was not, as Hector had obviously guessed, for Sarah’s benefit. But that was none of Hector’s business. “There is nothing wrong with Sarah’s intellect,” she informed him coldly. “It is only her arm that is broken.”

  “That’s not what they say in the village.” Hector leaned casually against the doorjamb, folding his arms across his chest and studying Natalie through narrowed eyes. “People say there’s something wrong with her.”

  She finished buttoning her gloves and picked up her hat, shaking out the ribbons with an angry snap. “I don’t give two pins for what they may say in the village.”

  “Oh, it’s obvious that you don’t,” he said, with false pleasantness. “But you should.”

  “Rubbish. People will say anything.”

  “I daresay they will. They did say, not so long ago, that you had taken up a governess position at Larkspur. Mabel and I nipped that little rumor in the bud, of course. Since you assured me that you wouldn’t. And hadn’t.”

  Natalie felt a blush stealing up her neck. She set her hat on her head and watched herself in the mirror as she adjusted it, carefully avoiding Hector’s eyes. “What I promised was that I wouldn’t leave your roof. Pray notice that I do, still, reside here.”

  “Yes, but you’re scarcely ever home during daylight hours. I think you had better tell me, once for all. Are you working at Larkspur?” His tone was insulting. “Or are you not?”

  She concentrated, with great care, on tying her ribbons. She hated answering to him, but Hector was, when all was said and done, the head of the family. “I am not Sarah’s governess,” she said at last. “I am her friend. And, I suppose, her teacher. But Lord Malcolm and I have no formal arrangement—”

  “Oh, I’ll bet you don’t,” he said contemptuously.

  “A governess is paid for her services. I receive no payment. Ergo, I am not a g
overness.” She met his gaze in the glass and lifted her brows at him again. “Satisfied?”

  “Hardly,” snapped Hector. “If you aren’t Sarah Chase’s governess, what the deuce are you doing at Larkspur all day, every day?”

  “Visiting.” She closed her mouth firmly, determined to say no more.

  Hector’s voice was silky with menace. “Visiting whom?”

  “My neighbor. My neighbor’s child. What difference does it make?” She set her jaw stubbornly. “Make of it what you will. I am doing nothing wrong.”

  He straightened, then, abandoning the elaborately casual pose. She saw his hands ball into fists and knew he was truly angry. “I’ll tell you what they say, Natalie—these people in the village whom you choose to ignore! They say that you and Lord Malcolm are flirting with each other. And that’s the polite way of putting it! Don’t think it went unnoticed, the fact that you spent a night with him at the inn.”

  Natalie gasped. She whirled to face him. “How dare they? How dare you? Nurse was there! We were tending Sarah that night, the three of us.”

  Hector’s eyes were hot and beady. “I’m telling you what people say. And they say something else, too. They say I ought to demand that Lord Malcolm marry you. I’m beginning to think they are right.”

  “No!” Natalie swallowed hard. She must not let Hector guess how important this was to her, or he would never let go of it. She must not give Hector such a potent weapon to use against her. She tried to speak calmly. “Do not make a guy of yourself, Hector. Lord Malcolm has not compromised me. If you stir up trouble in this quarter you will only look foolish.”

  She saw Hector’s crafty look appear and knew she had made a misstep. She had overreacted. He had guessed, after all, that he had found a sore spot he could use to torment her.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled, studying her. “There’s a deal of talk in the village. I daresay he’s been expecting to receive a call from me. If I fail to make a push, he might think I’m shirking my brotherly duty. Might think he was at liberty to insult you in whatever way he chose.”

  Natalie tried to laugh. “Oh, very amusing. So you will ride over to Larkspur and bully Lord Malcolm into offering me marriage?”

  “Why not? I know it’s a stretch, but after all: nothing ventured, nothing gained. And it might very well work.”

  Anxiety tensed her shoulders. He is talking idly, she told herself desperately. He is only trying to needle you. But it was working. She was thoroughly ruffled. She could not keep herself from blurting out, in a high-pitched, breathless, voice, “Don’t do it, Hector. I am warning you, you are putting your foot in a hornet’s nest. If you think there is gossip now, that is nothing compared to the gossip that will ensue if you browbeat Lord Malcolm into making me an offer. You’ll look like a nincompoop when I decline it.”

  “Decline his offer?” Hector stared at her. “Are you mad? No, even you would not be that imprudent! Good God, what are you thinking? What difference does it make why he offers, as long as he offers? I was only half serious, but I’m beginning to think—” He broke off, shaking his head as if marveling at her idiocy. “If I did convince Lord Malcolm to take such a step, and you were stupid enough to turn him down, I’d have you clapped in Bedlam.”

  She managed a rather sickly smile. “You are joking, of course. But one does hear of families who try to pull stunts of this nature. Sending their females to deliberately tempt great men, so as to enrich themselves in covering up the scandal. I assure you, it’s no laughing matter.”

  “I should say not!” He took a hasty turn about the room. The foyer was small, so he quickly ended up back where he began. He rounded on her, looking a little pale. “If I thought for one moment,” he said slowly, “that Lord Malcolm had already offered marriage to you—” He broke off. Something in her face must have given her away. Rich color suffused his face and he shouted at her. “Oh, my God!” He rushed toward her and seized her arm in a painful grip, giving her a violent shake. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve turned him down! You’ve already turned him down! You turned down the most eligible—the wealthiest—bloody hell! A duke’s son!” Words seemed to fail him; he began spluttering incoherently.

  “Let go of my arm,” she said sharply, trying to hide her fear. “For shame! Hector, control yourself.”

  His fingers pinched her cruelly, but he fell back a step, panting as he fought to control his rage. “If this were a civilized country,” he hissed, “I could lock you up for this. I could starve you into submission. There ought to be remedies a man could take, by God. Even if I can’t take a buggy whip to you, there ought to be legal steps. Things I could do to you, to make you see reason.”

  “Well, there aren’t any,” said Natalie crisply, anxious to throw cold water on such talk. She yanked her arm out of his grip and stepped out of reach. “You cannot force me to the altar against my will. This is the nineteenth century, not the Dark Ages! I am sorry if my decision upsets you, but the choice is mine to make, not yours.”

  “Oh, it is, is it? So I’m to be saddled with you for the rest of my life?” He ground his teeth with fury. “I must house you, and feed you, and clothe you, and put up with your interference and defiance! You’re at liberty to refuse every man who offers for you—even a duke’s son! I must pay your bills forever, eh? I have no say in it whatsoever?”

  “I was prepared to leave Crosby Hall,” cried Natalie, stung. “You stopped me! I was willing to take a governess post to escape this place—do you understand how desperate I was? I felt I would be happier almost anywhere than here.” She pressed her hands together to stop their shaking. “It is unfair,” she said in a low tone, “for you to hold that against me now, when it was your threats that forced me to stay.”

  “Everything has changed now,” he shot back at her. “Everything. The world condemns a man who turns a spinster sister out on the world. But you are no longer quite the pitiable figure you were! What if I wash my hands of you?” His eyes narrowed. “I daresay no one will blame me at all, once it’s known that you refuse to marry.”

  Natalie stared at him in horror. “You would spread such a story?”

  “Why not?” he flung at her. “It’s the truth.”

  “Dastard! Have you no shame?”

  She knew immediately that she would live to regret her hasty words. She should have kept her temper. He advanced on her, livid, and seized her by the shoulders. She cried out as his fingers dug into her flesh.

  “I’ll give you forty-eight hours,” he told her through clenched teeth. “Make up your mind. You will either accept Lord Malcolm’s very flattering offer, or you will leave Crosby Hall forever. And I don’t give a tinker’s damn where you go. Or what becomes of you.” He flung her from him with such force that her shoulder struck the wall. “I want you out of my house.”

  Natalie was so stunned that she could not even reply. She held one hand over her mouth, trembling, as she fought to regain her composure. Hector had been gone for several minutes before she managed to stand erect and face herself in the mirror again.

  She took a deep breath. The eyes staring back at her from the glass were dilated with shock and fear. And, as she watched, they filled with tears as well. She blinked the tears back, furious that Hector had succeeded in hurting her feelings. My house, he had called it. Never mind that she, too, had been born there. Never mind that she had lived here her entire life while he dwelled in London with his mother. Never mind that she had cared for it and tended it and loved it, while Hector displayed only indifference toward the family home. It was, in fact, his house, and he could evict her at his pleasure.

  Saints alive. What was she going to do?

  She considered, for a few seconds, the possibility that he hadn’t meant it. That he would change his mind when his temper cooled. But this idea brought her no comfort. Even if he did change his mind, what was to prevent him making the same threat, or worse, in the future? Must she walk on eggshells for the rest of her life, fearing to inc
ur Hector’s displeasure? Intolerable.

  She walked blindly to the door, opened it, and left the house. Her footsteps headed automatically toward Larkspur—and Malcolm. She did not stop to question the logic of this, nor what words she would use to explain her embarrassing predicament when she reached him. She simply headed toward him as a stray lamb heads for home, instinctively.

  * * *

  Malcolm was in his study when Miss Whittaker was announced. His spirits lifted immediately and he rose with a smile of pleasure, extending his hand as she walked in the door. He noted with approval that she was wearing an extremely becoming frock and a very smart, deep-brimmed hat with wide satin ribbons. He opened his mouth to compliment her on her modish appearance—but then he glanced beneath the hat brim and saw her face.

  His smile vanished. “What is it?” He crossed swiftly around the wide desk and went to her side, taking her hand in both of his. “Something has happened.”

  She gave him a rather wavering smile. “Trouble at home, I’m afraid.”

  “How can I help you? Tell me. I’ll do anything in my power.”

  Her gloved fingers wrapped around his hand and clutched it, as if she were drawing strength from him. “My dear friend,” she said gratefully. “I knew you would say that.” Then she gave an almost hysterical little choke of laughter. “It has just now occurred to me, however, that you are the last person on earth I should turn to—for help with this particular mess.”

  “You may turn to me for help with anything,” he said. “Come into the library with me. I’ll ring for tea. Or would you rather have lemonade?”

  “Lemonade, please.” She looked a little better. “Thank you for the thought.”

  He held her hand as he escorted her into the library. She clung to him like a lifeline. Even when he paused in the passage to drop a word to Howatch about the lemonade, she did not pull her hand from his. That simple fact told him more about her state of mind than mere words could have expressed.

  Once in the library, he turned her to face him and untied the wide satin ribbons that held her hat on. As he had hoped, the gesture made her laugh a little. “Thank you, Papa,” she said teasingly. “But I think I can remove my own hat.” She lifted the straw confection off her curls as she spoke and set it aside on one of the library tables.