Adam turned to face her. “No,” he answered, unable to completely keep the exasperation from his voice.
Persephone smiled serenely back at him, returning to her duties as hostess, and placed a small slice of lemon cake on a plate for Mr. Pointer. Something in her demeanor seemed different from what he’d seen lately, but Adam couldn’t identify it.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Grace,” Mr. Pointer offered conversationally.
“I doubt that.”
Mr. Pointer smiled as if he were quite thoroughly amused. Mrs. Pointer appeared on the verge of fainting. Her teacup had begun to rattle. Adam hoped she put the blasted thing down before it went crashing to the floor below.
“What, precisely, is the reason for your presence here?” Adam stood over the visitors, his mouth set in a very serious, interrogative line.
“A social call, of course,” Mr. Pointer said.
“Of course?” Adam repeated, making his doubt obvious in his tone. “And why ‘of course,’ Mr. Pointer? When, in the fifteen years you have served as vicar here, has Falstone Castle received visitors?”
“Not once, Your Grace.” This conversation seemed to be entertaining to the vicar.
“And what, sir, led you to believe that had changed?”
“Wishful thinking?” Mr. Pointer hazarded the guess with barely masked amusement.
“There will be no callers at Falstone Castle.” Adam’s tension at the idea of hordes of gaping guests at Falstone affected his tone. “Not today. Not in the future.”
“Falstone is not receiving, Your Grace?” Mr. Pointer asked, as casually as if he were inquiring after the weather. “Or you are not receiving?”
“It is the same.”
“Forgive me, but it is not.” Mr. Pointer rose, placing his cup and saucer on an end table nearby. “Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.”
Mr. Pointer no longer addressed Adam. The vicar crossed past him to Persephone. Adam followed the man’s progress with his eyes.
He hadn’t been able to identify what had been different in Persephone’s face earlier, but seeing her now, he knew. He knew because it was no longer there. She had been brighter, more alive and less haunted. Now the aura of sadness that had seemed to envelope her lately had returned.
“Do come ag—” Persephone stopped mid-word, her eyes darting anxiously at Adam then back at the vicar. “Thank you for—” She stopped again. With a look of disappointment, she finally settled on, “I will see you on Sunday.”
Mr. Pointer gave her a look filled with empathetic concern. “Smile, child.”
Persephone did. A smile shouldn’t look unhappy.
“Wait,” Adam grumbled, annoyed with himself for his uncharacteristic ability to be influenced. “You might as well stay and finish your tea.” He knew he didn’t sound welcoming but didn’t remotely care. He could do without the dramatic exit Mr. Pointer obviously meant to enact. And, blast it all, Persephone looked near tears, and she hadn’t cried in days. “Cook will be offended if the tray is sent back untouched.”
He expected Mr. Pointer to smirk. He was enough like Harry to do just that. The vicar looked intrigued, perhaps even a little surprised, but didn’t smirk. As if the man hadn’t known precisely what he was about leaving in such an overblown manner. Mrs. Pointer hovered half-in, half-out of her seat, rear end jutting awkwardly over the deep red upholstered sofa.
“Perhaps you would like to try some of these fine cakes.” Mr. Pointer moved quite casually back to the seat he’d vacated beside his wife. “Or a cup of tea.”
“A dram of brandy might be more helpful,” Adam muttered.
“Do sit, dear,” Mr. Pointer said to his wife, as if Adam had made no comment. “And do try the lemon cake. Delicious.”
Persephone didn’t miss a beat, offering a plate with a slice of the praised cake to the vicar’s wife with a polite smile.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Pointer’s voice shook. Adam almost wished she’d produce one of her twittering laughs. People who quaked in his presence quickly lost their appeal.
Persephone moved to his side. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care for some tea?”
Adam shook his head. The sooner this visit came to an end, the better. He still couldn’t believe he’d allowed it. He never permitted visitors.
“I didn’t know, Adam,” Persephone said, just louder than a whisper, her eyes darting quickly to the Pointers before returning to him. “If you’d rather they leave—”
“Let them finish their tea.” He shook his head slightly at his continued illogical behavior. She’d given him the perfect opportunity to throw the Pointers out as he’d originally intended.
But when Persephone rewarded his lunacy with a bright smile, Adam felt nearly glad he’d slipped from his usual approach to life.
“I thought no one wanted to meet me.” Persephone kept her voice to a whisper, obviously going to lengths to keep their conversation too low for the vicar and his wife to overhear. “Bridal visits are expected. But there hadn’t been any callers. I didn’t realize they were being turned away.”
She could just as easily have sounded accusatory. Instead, she seemed relieved.
“They probably never came in the first place.” Adam surprised himself by so willingly discussing the situation. What did he care how Persephone felt about the rules? But that rang entirely false. He wanted her to understand, wanted her to know that she hadn’t been rejected. It was an odd impulse for him, but he kept on. “Every family in the surrounding area knows Falstone is closed to visitors.”
Persephone shot another look in the Pointers’ direction before saying, quietly, “But I could go visit the neighbors.”
Adam’s stomach clenched on the instant. “No. They would be expected to return the visit.”
“But I—”
“I will not have Falstone overrun by people.”
Persephone hesitated, a war of emotions in her eyes: confusion, indecision, frustration. In the end, she managed to look neutral. “Of course not. Thank you for allowing the Pointers to remain. I have been enjoying their visit.”
Adam felt like an ogre. The law gave him the right to dictate everything in his home. But his conscience began to decree otherwise. Persephone’s acquiescence had obviously been reluctantly given.
And why shouldn’t she wish for visitors, for society? She had nothing to fear at their hands, no reason to reject the company of virtual strangers. He, on the other hand, knew precisely how it felt to be stared at, whispered about. The animals at the Tower of London’s Royal Menagerie had nothing on Adam when it came to being a spectacle for the callous and curious.
“You, of course, owe Mrs. Pointer a visit,” Adam conceded, still unsure why he found himself so easily undone by the downcast look in her eyes, why he even discussed this in the same room as the Pointers. Such conversations belonged behind closed doors without witnesses. “I understand she entertains half the county on a regular basis.”
“I could meet our neighbors that way, then.” Persephone’s tone remained hesitant and cautious, almost as if she were asking a question rather than stating a fact.
“If you want to.” Adam shrugged. He’d met the neighborhood and wasn’t particularly impressed.
The smile returned to her face. Adam had to force back an answering one. He knew his face looked particularly disfigured when he smiled, the asymmetry made painfully obvious.
By the time the Pointers departed, Adam had no more desire to grin. They’d quickly settled in, looking completely at ease. If they were entertaining any thoughts of returning, they would be sorely disappointed.
Mrs. Pointer filled Persephone’s ears with news of the neighborhood. Mrs. Somebody-or-Other was rumored to be Increasing again, and Mrs. So-and-So was said to be redoing her drawing room in the French style and wasn’t that terribly unpatriotic. Adam was bored to tears.
Her parting comment, however, left Adam wincing. “I do hope you will attend the assemblies, Your Grace.” Mrs.
Pointer smiled at Persephone. “Once you have passed your deepest mourning, of course.” The vicar’s wife acknowledged Persephone’s black dress with a nod of empathy. “I understand there hasn’t been a Duke and Duchess of Kielder at our local assembly in thirty years.”
Adam nearly tossed the woman into her carriage himself at that point. He’d bent enough to allow the Pointers to visit. But he did not dance.
Chapter Twenty-One
“And Mrs. Adcock grew up in Shropshire as well,” Persephone told Harry as they sat in the sitting room after dinner a week after the Pointers’ visit to Falstone. Harry, though still not entirely his usual energetic self, had recovered sufficiently to join her and Adam for meals and wander from his room during the day.
“You’ve met Mrs. Adcock?” Adam jumped into the conversation. He didn’t sound pleased.
“At the vicarage.” She’d made the three-mile journey twice in the past week. A handful of ladies from the area had been present on her first visit. More than a dozen had greeted her upon her arrival that afternoon. “She extended an invitation to us to take supper with them.”
Adam looked thunderous on the instant.
“She seemed to be expecting me to turn the invitation down,” Persephone quickly added. “So I had little difficulty in doing so.”
He relaxed a trifle.
Persephone tried to keep her disappointment buried. The Lancasters had ofttimes dined with the families in their neighborhood. She missed that interaction, missed knowing that she had friends nearby.
“Who else was at the vicarage?” Harry asked.
Thankful for the approval she heard in his tone, Persephone took up the conversation again. “Mrs. Milston and her daughter. Lady Hettersham.” Adam mumbled something unintelligible at that. At least he was listening, Persephone told herself. “Miss Greenburrough.”
The sitting room door opened, cutting off the list Persephone had only begun to relate. Barton entered with his familiar silver salver bearing a rather thick letter.
From Artemis? Or Papa, perhaps? Persephone watched his entrance with eager anticipation. Barton stopped at Adam’s side.
So not from home, after all. Persephone tried to refocus her mind but found the task nearly impossible in her disappointment. The longer she was away from her family, the more she missed them.
“What did you think of our resident spinster?” Harry asked.
For a moment, Persephone fumbled over the question but then realized he referred to Miss Greenburrough, whom she’d mentioned meeting during her visit that afternoon.
“She was very quiet, so I was not able to form much of an opinion of her.” Miss Greenburrough’s head of gray hair had reminded Persephone so forcefully of her grandmother that she felt certain she would like the lady.
“Persephone.” Adam cut into the conversation. He held his letter out to her.
“It is for me?”
“It is addressed to me,” he answered. “But it will explain the other letter.”
“The other letter?”
Adam all but dropped the letter into Persephone’s lap, at which point she realized that along with a single sheet of high-quality parchment was a second, sealed letter. She began with the opened missive.
Your Grace,
Lord Barham, First Lord of the Admiralty, has relayed to me your inquiries regarding two midshipmen aboard the HMS Triumphant. As captain of the Triumphant, I will make every attempt to provide you with the information you seek.
Midshipman Evander Lancaster, as you have been informed, succumbed to injuries sustained at Trafalgar and, as with most lost at that time, has been buried in a cemetery on Gibraltar alongside his fallen shipmates.
Midshipman Linus Lancaster—
Persephone held her breath. How long she had waited to have news of Linus. Her uncle’s inquiries had produced nothing. She’d alternately pictured him lost at sea and horribly injured or ill. There would be no more wondering now, and in a way that frightened her.
“Go on, Persephone.” Adam apparently noticed her hesitation. She would have expected impatience from him but heard none in his voice. “It is not bad news.”
Midshipman Linus Lancaster sustained only minor wounds in that battle and remains aboard the Triumphant. He will, of course, be granted shore leave when we return to home port. Our navigator has begun tutoring young Lancaster, as he has found the lad to have a natural aptitude for nautical mathematics.
The Admiralty has instructed me that should Midshipman Lancaster wish to leave the navy and return to his family, he will be permitted to do so and receive an honorable discharge from the Royal Navy. Should he remain, however, I am further informed, upon completing the required six years of service, a lieutenancy will be purchased for him.
I have enclosed a brief missive from Lancaster to his sister, the Duchess of Kielder.
I am pleased to have been of service in this way to Your Grace and remain,
Your humble servant, etc.
Captain Gregory Hattfield, HMS Triumphant
Persephone eagerly grabbed the letter sealed and lying on her lap. She studied the handwriting but didn’t find it familiar. Evander had always written in behalf of both brothers. Could this truly be a letter from her baby brother? The brother she’d feared for weeks was lost forever?
She pressed the letter to her heart, fighting back a fresh flood of tears. She hadn’t cried in days.
“I thought you said it was good news,” she heard Harry say under his breath to Adam.
“Oh, it is.” Persephone quickly answered for him. “I am only . . . oh, overwhelmed, I suppose. My brother Linus is alive and well, you see.”
Harry smiled at her. “That is good news.”
“I will probably weep like a baby when I read his letter,” Persephone said with an amazed laugh, the shock of actually holding a letter from Linus, almost as if he were back from the grave, had her wits at loose ends. Persephone stood, still clutching the letter for dear life. “If you will excuse me, I’d rather do so without witnesses.”
Harry and Adam rose as she did. Only then did Persephone realize that Captain Hattfield’s letter had fluttered to the ground when she’d risen. She scooped it from the floor. “I am sorry, Adam,” she said, unsure why she kept smiling like a ninny. “I’ve dropped your letter.”
He shook off her apology. “It is truly more yours than mine.”
She realized in that instant just how true that statement was. Adam, according to the letter, had written to the Admiralty inquiring after her brothers. How had he known her uncle’s attempts were proving fruitless? What had inspired him to take up the effort? The First Lord of the Admiralty himself had become involved, all resulting in the precious piece of paper Persephone knew she would treasure always.
Adam was uncomfortable with gratitude; Persephone had seen that before. But she couldn’t possibly let such an enormous gesture go unrecognized. She felt almost giddy with relief and budding joy.
“This is by far the kindest thing any person has ever done for me.” Persephone knew she was gushing, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She knew Harry wouldn’t mind, would likely simply smile. He had, in fact, quite tactfully wandered to a far window, allowing her to offer her gratitude in relative privacy. “Thank you, Adam.” She ignored Adam’s immediate dismissive gesture. “Thank you so, so much.”
She felt like spinning, the way she had as a little girl when ending a game of bowls the winner. Then she would jump up and down and squeal in delight. And Papa would lift her into his arms and demand a kiss as recompense for his disappointment in being trounced so thoroughly.
In that moment, Persephone felt the same heady feeling of triumph, filled to overflowing with gratitude toward the gentleman who so often seemed not to care one ounce. He did. She knew he did. He cared enough to write a letter, and that letter had brought her the one she still held to her heart.
“Thank you,” she said once more, stepping to where he was and lightly kissing his left
cheek, placing her hand on Adam’s chest for support.
She felt her face heat at the gesture of gratitude but did not regret her actions. She needed him to know that what he’d done went beyond the ordinary polite interest most people took in the suffering of others.
Relieved that he, at least, didn’t object to her offering, Persephone smiled a little shyly and stepped away, determined to run all the way to her rooms and devour Linus’s letter.
She didn’t manage a single step. Adam reached for her—something he’d never done before—and with a look of intense determination, he pulled her back to her previous position, hand pressed to his chest.
He kissed her. Not on the cheek, not a friendly greeting, but a kiss unlike any she had experienced before, made even more remarkable by the fact that it was entirely unexpected.
Persephone felt certain that, even outside in the dead of night during the winter, if Adam were to kiss her that way again, she wouldn’t feel a hint of cold. It was warm and comforting and unsettling.
As abruptly as he’d pulled her to him, Adam released her, stepping back. He looked shocked, even confused.
“You do that very well,” Persephone heard herself whisper. Then, mortified that she’d spoken the thought out loud, she stepped further away from him. “I . . . um . . . I’ll just go . . . read my letter.”
“That would be a good idea.” Adam sounded oddly distracted.
Persephone didn’t need to be told twice. She stepped from the sitting room, head spinning, heart hammering.
Suddenly Persephone understood why her dear friend Harriet Upton had allowed their lifelong friend George Sanford to kiss her in the apple orchard three years earlier. And, she thought as the heat spread through her cheeks, it was no wonder Harriet had married him a few short months later. If George had kissed Harriet the way Adam had kissed Persephone, it was only a wonder that Harriet had had the ability to speak clearly enough to accept his proposal.
* * *
Adam dropped into his chair the instant Persephone left the sitting room. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d just kissed her. And for no particular reason, except that he’d wanted to. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he’d wanted to.
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