Whispers in the Wind

by Janet Woods

‘Sarah likes to have her own way at times, but she usually sees the sense in things.’

  He placed his hands one either side of her on the warm, splintered wood of the wagon. ‘What will you do with her?’

  ‘Do with her? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I thought she might be looking for a position?’

  ‘I haven’t given it much thought. Yes … I suppose Sarah will want to earn a wage, but there’s no hurry since I seem to have the means to keep her with me and she’s wonderfully helpful with my aunts. We were going to try and discover if she had any relatives. Her mother’s family perhaps.’

  ‘With your permission I was thinking I might employ her for the occasional task, like addressing invitations.’ A task usually carried out by the lady of the house, he recalled. Had everything gone as planned between them Adele would have been doing it. ‘Does the girl have any practical skills besides the domestic talents usually enjoyed by females?’

  ‘First, Sarah doesn’t need my permission. Second, carrying out domestic duties is not an entirely enjoyable occupation.’

  ‘Sewing?’

  She made a face. ‘That’s a necessity if one wants clothing to wear and cannot afford a dressmaker, but to sit over a frame of embroidery for hours on end and plying the needle is achingly boring. Sarah writes with a fine hand so she’d easily manage invitations. She reads well and is clever with numbers too.’

  He smiled, half his mind still contemplating the delight to be found at the notion of Adele without clothing. Not yet perhaps, since she was still thin to the point of frailty.

  There was a disturbance across the way. A shop door opened, the sunshine momentarily flashed from a small pane of glass.

  ‘Mrs Bryson has left the shop and has her back towards us. Shall we make a dash for the horse sales?’ he said.

  Adele’s closeness was disturbing. He was so totally aware of her that his throat felt a little husky. He wanted to place his mouth against the soft little hollow under her jaw and kiss it, as he’d dared to once when they’d been young and in the shy trembling throes of first love. The taste of lime became less of a smell and more of a sensation, so sharp and clean that the moisture in his mouth gave a little spurt.

  Eyes widening she took a quick intake of breath and the pink tip of her tongue touched against her top lip.

  Their eyes met and she murmured something under her breath. It was too soft to hear clearly but it sounded like his name, or the unconscious entreaty a woman made when she was aroused enough for a man to take advantage of it – or both.

  Adele wasn’t as immune to him as she pretended, Ryder thought, and then offered himself a personal revelation. What was worse, neither was he immune to her.

  He reminded himself he must try harder to maintain his anger. She had proved herself false, after all.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked, and she nodded as they emerged from behind the wagon and headed swiftly towards the horse-sales yard.

  Mary Bryson’s head jerked up as though it was on a string and her eyes narrowed in on them as she launched herself in their direction.

  ‘Quick … down this lane.’

  And then the next lane, and then another; by the time they emerged into the market place again they were on the other side of the horse pen and Mary Bryson was nowhere to be seen.

  Panting for breath they gazed at each other and began to laugh when she said, ‘Do you suppose she might have been kidnapped by pirates?’

  He laughed. ‘I didn’t intend to run you out of wind. You should have stopped me.’

  She reprimanded him between taking gasps of air. ‘Growing a pair of wings and flying would have been an easier option. You should have remembered my … legs aren’t as long as yours.’

  ‘I stand corrected, but your legs are more shapely than mine so you can’t have everything.’

  Ryder pulled her to a halt at a stall and purchased a ginger ale apiece. The liquid was poured into glass tumblers from a brown salt-glazed jug that kept it cool.

  ‘I have some scrumpy cider if you prefer, my lord,’ the stall owner said and gave a little bob.

  Ryder laughed. ‘The last time I drank your scrumpy I tried to swim to the island.’

  The woman chuckled. ‘Aye well, you were just a lad then and it was mid-winter. You had a fire in your belly, no doubt. It were my husband who fetched you out.’

  He’d been about eight. The lads working on the quay had fed him the scrumpy and had challenged him to swim to Brownsea Island in the harbour. He’d become disorientated and had panicked and floundered about. Rescued by a stranger he was carried ashore to discover the tide had receded and he was only waist deep in water.

  His father, the earl, had been tight-lipped when he’d been returned to him covered in stinking harbour mud.

  ‘You’ve made a fool of us, Ryder. Please remember you have the family name and the title of viscount to uphold. I will not thrash you on this occasion – but I will most certainly punish you. You will not accompany me to London; you will stay here in the charge of your governess. From now on you will not play with or approach those rough boys. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’

  He’d never seen his father again – and had been placed in the charge of Adele’s father, who had immediately packed him off to the school his father had stipulated in his will.

  It wasn’t until he’d grown up a little that Ryder had discovered that being sent away hadn’t been part of his punishment. His father had never reached London on that day, but had been killed for his purse by a murdering felon on the highway. There had been a service at the church for him, where Ryder had been required to stand still for a long time, and the reverend’s eyes had been fierce and the sermon full of fire and brimstone, his governess had said.

  After the church he’d heard the reverend and Adele’s father shouting at each other … but the reverend had left when Ryder had sought the comforting company of Squire Lawrence, banging the door behind him.

  The squire had been a close friend of Ryder’s family since childhood and had taken over his upbringing when he wasn’t at school. The squire had been rather straight-laced, but Ryder had liked and respected the man.

  He recalled Adele as being a toddler when he first set eyes on her – a diminutive creature with bobbing ringlets and a smile brimming with mischief. She was learning to walk, prompted by her nurse, and launching herself from chair to chair with an air of determination.

  He’d fallen instantly in love. Even in the face of her betrayal, a warm affection for her crept through his body. Their love had changed shape over the years – as they had, progressing from the innocence of children playing together into youth and then the awareness of the difference between them, and finally the ultimate expression of love. How could he have been so wrong? He’d never loved anyone else and had been sure Adele had returned his love.

  Even now he felt responsible for her welfare.

  He set the thought aside and said to the woman, ‘So it was your husband who rescued me from drowning, and I never thanked him.’

  ‘Your father did that. He gave him a shilling and, joking like, said it would have been a florin if he’d left you there.’

  Ryder laughed. ‘How is your husband?’

  ‘Gone some two years since. I still miss him, though our two sons run the inn now.’

  ‘You’re lucky to have them. I’m sorry to hear about your husband.’

  ‘Don’t be. I had the best years of my man and we were happy together.’ Her eyes flickered to Adele. ‘Love can make a fool out of any man, but that doesn’t mean it should be dismissed. Even a small piece of happiness is as precious as a jewel.’

  ‘It certainly is.’

  ‘If you want to know what’s bin going on in these parts in your absence you just have to ask me. It’s given some folks a real shock, the pair of you turning up together. It’s fate, I reckon. Any time you want to have your fortune told you come and see me … and you as well, young lady.’
/>   Ryder wasn’t about to embark on a philosophical conversation about love with the innkeepers’ mother, or the merits of a gem. He’d learned the hard way that seemingly perfect diamonds were quite often flawed. He handed over a coin. ‘The ginger ale will suffice.’

  ‘I’ve seen to the other little matter you asked my son about, my lord … and may I say it’s nice to see you again, back where you belong.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Adele’s smile grew even broader a few minutes later when she saw the docile little donkey called Daisy. She had a pretty coat of dark brown with a pale underbelly, and soft brown eyes with sweeping eyelashes set in fawn patches that resembled a mask. She was between the shafts of a maroon cart.

  Adele made a fuss of her and exclaimed, ‘She’s so pretty. What’s in that basket?’

  ‘A picnic … we’ll go out of town where there are fewer people and you can see if she’ll suit you. I’ve been assured that her nature is docile. But if you don’t want her I’ll find a use for her.’

  ‘I have shopping to do, and what about your coachman?’

  ‘I hope you won’t mind, since I wanted to spend the day with you, but my coachman has your shopping list and instructions to buy everything on it. He’ll deliver it to Duck Pond Cottage and wait for me there. Will you take the reins or shall I?’

  She laughed. ‘You’re impossible, Ryder. I haven’t driven a cart since … well, for several years.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to learn all over again.’

  He helped her into the cart, joined her there and picked up the reins. He was aware of her thigh, soft and warm against his and enjoyed the tension that transferred from her to him. There was no room to move anywhere else.

  ‘Hold on to the rail, Del. I don’t want you to fall off.’

  Soon they’d left Poole behind and were in the countryside. Bringing the cart to a halt he placed the reins in Adele’s hands then knelt in the body of the cart behind her. His arms came round her from behind and his hands covered hers.

  They were small and soft and he leaned over her shoulder and lifted one to his mouth. He kissed her palm, then the other.

  She pulled away, resisting his advances. A shiver racked through her and he kissed the back of her neck, where a silky chestnut ringlet sprang against her skin, so delicate and pale. Circling it around his finger he straightened it and then let go, so it bounced back against her neck.

  Again she shivered. She must be totally aware of him now … yet she offered him only a mild resistance. ‘Stop playing games, Ryder.’

  ‘You think this is a game?’

  ‘What else can it be?’

  He told himself that were it really love he’d declare himself now, and to hell with her past indiscretion – something he must take the blame for, because Adele had been so young and innocent at the time and he’d robbed her of that. Guilt repeatedly stung him, like an angry wasp.

  He waited for enlightenment but all he could think of was the soft curve of her mouth, the length of her eyelashes and the way she glanced at him from under them. Her breasts were filling out a little, which was a further distraction, and the soft nubs were enticing. He wanted her, but why, when she’d treated him with such contempt?

  He sighed. Suitable women were everywhere, and finding one when he was a man of breeding, considerable wealth and passable looks should be easy. It was easy … except the woman he’d chosen wouldn’t cooperate. He should move on, but he couldn’t tear his attention from a minx who’d already proved herself unfaithful.

  His emotions fluctuated between loving her and loathing her.

  He told her, ‘I haven’t decided yet. What I do know is there’s a little curl at the back of your neck and I couldn’t resist it. It’s totally distracting.’

  She flung his arms away and rounded on him, her eyes sparking with anger. ‘Don’t touch me again, I’m not some trollop you’ve paid to be familiar with.’

  Taken aback by her ferocity he fell backwards, bumping around in the cart like a sack of turnips as she set the donkey in motion at a fast clip.

  He managed to get a grip on the side before he bounced out into the road, in the meantime, shouting, ‘For pity’s sake stop punishing the beast. She’ll break a leg if she steps into a pothole, or worse – I will. Calm down.’

  She slowed Daisy down and he scrambled to his knees, controlling his anger at her unexpected outburst.

  When they reached a bend in the road, he said, ‘I know a nice little picnic spot not far from here, so stop the cart just round the bend. We need to have a serious talk.’

  When she brought the cart to a halt he held out his arms to help her down.

  She folded her arms over her chest. ‘I can get down by myself.’

  Lifting the picnic basket out he growled, ‘You’re acting like a child, Del. Follow me if you want to eat.’

  ‘It would choke me to eat with you at the moment.’

  ‘So choke, and if you can’t manage to do the deed without me, just say. I’ll gladly offer my assistance.’

  ‘Hah!’ she flung at him as he walked off, his back stiff.

  After a while he began to realize that the nice little picnic spot he’d remembered, having now been left to its own devices for several years, had become a rambling wilderness of bramble bushes.

  A few minutes later she called out, ‘Enjoy your picnic, Ryder.’

  He swore, and headed back to the lane at a run, stumbling over roots and leaving crushed wildflowers and toadstools in his wake. He swore again when a bramble snatched at his sleeve.

  Too late to catch her up, Daisy had been put to the trot. After all he’d done for her the wretched woman had thrown it back into his face.

  ‘You come back here, Del,’ he called after the disappearing vehicle.

  Laughter floated back to him on the breeze and she kept going.

  Be damned if he was going to lose the remaining shreds of his dignity by running after her like some besotted schoolboy.

  He was through with chasing after her!

  He mocked himself with a short, sharp laugh. Like hell he was. If she wanted to play games he’d oblige her, and he knew exactly where she’d wait for him to catch her up.

  Seven

  Adele had barely gone half a mile when the humour of the situation hit her. She couldn’t remember Ryder ever holding a grudge for long and was tempted to go back for him. It was the height of bad manners to make him walk home when she’d already taken advantage of his time and generosity.

  All the same, he’d brought it on himself. How dare he assume he could start again where he’d finished off? He’d already warned her that he wanted her in his bed. She supposed it would be a reasonable assumption, considering she’d already demonstrated to him how lacking in morals she was – though that particular bed had been a haystack in a thunderstorm! It seemed that Ryder had been discreet enough to keep her fall from grace to himself, while remaining in ignorance of the sad result of their careless behaviour.

  The consequence of that encounter was the anguish and the caution it had taught her, but Ryder had the air of a tomcat on the prowl about him, as if he expected to take up some intimacy from where they left off.

  She must not let it happen again, though it somehow seemed inevitable. Perhaps it would be a good idea to sell the cottage and move away from the district. No … she couldn’t do that to her aunts unless it was a last resort. They had given up any notion of marriage and were resigned to spinsterhood. They didn’t have the dispositions to transplant easily and would be mortified if her past caught up with her.

  She brought the cart to a halt in the cool overhang of a willow tree, where the stream trickled across the road and widened into a small pool. It was on Ryder’s land and used to be one of her favourite places to sit and dream.

  The willow tree was much larger now. A grassy bank with a weathered seat kept her partially concealed from the road. She waited for Ryder, her stomach giving an undignified, hungry rumble as she co
ntemplated her own foibles. She began to compose a suitable apology.

  After a while she heard a crunch of footsteps. They stopped suddenly and she laughed. ‘Ryder? I’m here, under the willow.’

  The only answer she got was a chuckle. Her throat dried and the air around her seemed to quiver. She’d never heard Ryder laugh like that, so high-pitched.

  ‘Who is it … who’s there?’

  The reply was unexpected, unbelievable, a quietly whispered, ‘Edgar Pelham.’

  Had he come back to haunt her? Panic sliced through her veins like iced lightning. It rooted her to the spot and turned her throat to dust. A scream gathered force inside her. When she found the courage to move she cautiously drew the curtain of weeping branches aside.

  There was nobody in sight, apart from Ryder who was rounding the bend, unconcernedly munching on a pie and with the picnic basket balanced on his shoulder with the other hand.

  It reminded her stomach that he carried their food supply, and he was obviously making the most of it. She supposed it served her right.

  Though reassured by the sight of him, Adele was far from convinced that she’d imagined the voice and footsteps.

  A rustle in the bushes on the other side of the road attracted her attention and the uneasy feeling came back.

  She picked up a stout stick lying on the bank of the stream. ‘Whoever you are, show yourself,’ she said, her voice husky with fright, though she was feeling a little safer now Ryder was in sight.

  A gunshot was the cue for an explosion of sound and movement. Everything happened at once. A handful of birds took to the air with a whirring of wings. A deer crossed the road and she could almost hear its heart pump with the panic it was in. Its soft eyes looked into hers and they were filled with pain as it lurched across the stream, blood oozing from one of its rear legs, its hoof held at an awkward position. The bone was splintered and clearly beyond repair. The animal disappeared into the bushes giving panicky coughs. The cart jolted and then rocked on its springs.

  Adele cried out and Daisy brayed loudly a couple of times. Adele grabbed at the bridle so she could steady her. Her own heart was thumping so rapidly she could barely find a breath with which to soothe the animal, but luckily the donkey settled easily.