"Of course, of course!" With an anxious glance, the steward at once took in Matthew's sallow tinge and the looseness of his clothing. "Let us start at once."
Trudy could hardly blame Mr. Waite for not remarking these telltale signs of Matthew's illness sooner, for the deep intelligence of his eyes, the immense force of character shining through them, nearly made her ignore the results of his ague as well. If her own thoughts had not been so focused on distracting him with the hope of vanquishing his vicious dreams, she might not remark them at all. As it was, she could barely keep herself from hovering over him, from offering him her arm or from reaching up to touch his forehead to see if his fever had returned.
Ridiculous to act like a hen over her chick, and yet something about Matthew made Trudy feel quite protective of him. Possessive, too, like a gleeful troll with his hoard of gold.
The almshouse was laid out in a long, narrow rectangle around the courtyard in which they stood. In his eagerness to engage Matthew's further interest, Mr. Waite started to lead them along the walk to its end.
"If you will, please, come this way . . . ."
Matthew offered Trudy his arm again, which she accepted with an unbidden rush of warmth. He was so tall, her chin barely reached the top button of his vest. The brush of his sleeve against her hair made her feel strangely shy, when she had not felt so last night in circumstances far more compromising. Perhaps, it was because he looked more intently at her now, as if she were an intriguing sprite. More real than she had been at night, when the reverse was true.
As much as she found she enjoyed being the object of his scrutiny, Trudy was relieved when Matthew politely turned his attention to their host.
"As you can see," Mr. Waite was saying, "these are the dormitories. Each resident occupies his own room. We have twenty-two inmates, all of them male and somewhat incapacitated by age. In general, they were brought to England as servants. Then, for whatever reason, most were left to fend for themselves, although some are living here as pensioners of the same families who brought them to this country."
"What is their occupation now?" Matthew asked, and Trudy took hope from the interest in his voice.
Mr. Waite said, "We have taught them to make yarn and to weave, which, as it appears, is done by the men in most of their countries. We thought it best to find an occupation which would not offend their religious sensibilities."
"Very wise." Matthew's brief comment held a touch of irony, which suggested that he had witnessed what sometimes happened when the opposite attempt was made.
At that moment, they reached the end of the walk, and Mr. Waite led them inside the small common rooms, which stood in place of the usual chapel. In each, a group of men sat occupied in various tasks having to do with a stage of preparing wool. Some were carding, some dyeing and spinning, some weaving. Trudy felt her own curiosity growing. However, mindful that she must appear as if these sights were familiar to her, she cast no curious glances their way.
At the sight of a group of men in long, white robes, Ahmad, who had been following them at a discrete distance, chose to stop. The men glanced up from their work.
An exchange of words transpired in Arabic. Trudy, to whom all tongues were known, recognized the greetings as cordial.
Turning back to his own party, Ahmad fixed his stare on Matthew. Trudy supposed he was examining his friend for signs of fatigue.
"Saab," he said, apparently satisfied. "If you would not be inconvenienced, I should like to converse with these men."
"Not at all. You must do as you wish. If I tire, I can wait for you in the carriage."
Ahmad bowed and entered the room where the men were working.
"You, yourself, have traveled widely, Sir Matthew?" Mr. Waite's inquiry made them turn their heads.
Trudy could feel a bunching of the muscles in Matthew's arm. "Yes."
"Then you are perhaps familiar with the Mohammedan tongue?"
Matthew gave a curt nod, and Trudy could tell he had no wish to be questioned further. His tightly compressed lips barely concealed his impatience.
A nervous flutter of Mr. Waite's eyelids revealed that he had sensed Matthew's reserve. "Forgive my curiosity, sir. I had merely hoped you would be willing to help me with a particular inmate who seems to have landed here with no knowledge whatsoever of English. Though his fellows are quite willing to act as his interpreter, none are fluent enough to make his trouble clear to me."
"If that is all you require--" Matthew again relaxed--"then Ahmad should be able to assist you. When it comes to African tongues, he is far more gifted than I."
He called Ahmad back out of the room, and they conferred to one side. Afraid that Mr. Waite would use the opportunity to try to establish who she was, Trudy kept him occupied with various questions of her own. She could not hear the other men's conversation, but bits and pieces of it floated to her ears. Matthew clearly wanted Ahmad to stay at the almshouse as long as he wished, while Ahmad was concerned by the thought of Matthew's going home alone.
At last, Matthew's strength of character carried the day, assisted by a glare from his powerful eyes. While many other men would have quaked beneath it, Ahmad merely conceded defeat with a deep salaam.
Matthew rejoined Trudy and their host and gave Mr. Waite to know that Ahmad would stay to render him whatever service was needed, but that he himself must retire.
"I have errands of my own to complete, also," Trudy said quickly, not wishing to be trapped with Mr. Waite and his questions. "I shall accompany you to the door."
Mr. Waite thanked them both for coming and begged they would do so again. At least, Trudy thought, as she and Matthew approached the courtyard, the steward of the almshouse was no longer staring at her as if she'd fallen from the sky. No doubt he had put his confusion behind him, merely grateful to have two new interested patrons for his house.
As they came out, Trudy said, "I hope this morning has not tired you excessively."
"Not at all. You quite mistake my actions."
She had offended him once again with her solicitude. Matthew, it seemed, did not care for sympathy, far less for anyone's pity; but she could not help being concerned for his health. Fortunately, as she examined him covertly, he showed no particular signs of fatigue. Instead, a hint of restlessness flickered in his eyes.
She arched a look, at once feeling conspiratorial. "Very well, sir, what was your design in escaping? Did you find Mr. Waite uninspiring?"
"No. Though at one time I would have despised a man who did nothing more than a pedestrian job day after day. But that is a young man's opinion, and I have learned that there is something to be said for devotion of any kind.
"No," he continued, not giving her time to respond to his curious statement. "I simply wanted to give Ahmad a bit of time to himself. He has been spending far too much of it alone with me."
"I see. And shall you return home as you said?"
Matthew's deep, brown eyes lit with a glimmer. His tall brow furrowed as he hesitated, as if torn between two very different options. "I had thought I might take a turn in the park," he said with his gaze fixed on her. "May I take you up?"
Trudy sighed, and a beam of pleasure bathed her lips in warmth. "I cannot think of anything more delightful than a carriage ride just now."
She had startled him with her boldness, but it intrigued him nonetheless. Eying her with a mixture of wariness and amusement, he said nothing more, but ushered her out of the courtyard and into his waiting vehicle.
Matthew had hired a closed chaise. Trudy knew it was most improper for her to ride inside it with a gentleman alone, but she also knew deeply that Matthew would care even less for the rules of propriety than she. Why would a man who had roamed such exotic parts of the world have the same ridiculous standards as other Englishmen?
Matthew sat facing the rear, giving her the forward-facing seat. He settled a lap rug over her knees and directed the driver to take them to the park. Trudy heard the crack of his whip and felt the
carriage give a short lunge before the horses settled into a sedate pace.
Clasping the seat with both hands and swinging her feet, for they did not reach the floor, she watched delightedly as the scenery rolled past. This was her first ride in a human conveyance, and she had rather hoped there would be more dash. But she found she was not disappointed, for the illicit pleasure of being alone with Matthew more than made up for the demureness of the ride.
The storefronts they saw were decked with freshly-cut greens, a sure sign the Yule was upon them. And when they passed an elegant milliner's shop, she exclaimed over the hats in its bow window. But, instead of peering outside as she did, Matthew kept his gaze fixed on her, an analytical smile curving his lips.
Trudy tried to engage him in the sights they were passing. The brisk temperature of early winter never failed to arouse her excitement since it hailed the coming year. The air in the carriage was nippy enough to chill her nose.
"You are quite a mystery, Miss Meriwether." Matthew's words cut across her effusions about the high perch phaeton they had just passed.
Faye. Please," she said, hoping to divert him from the questions she feared were gathering.
"Don't you wish to know what I find so mysterious about you--Faye?"
"Of course." When her ruse failed, a nervous feeling rose in her stomach like bubbles blown by a nymph in a pond. "What woman would not wish to know the answer to a riddle such as that?"
"What woman indeed? But you are not like other women, are you?"
She tensed with the fear of discovery. "What on earth can you mean?"
"You are more than simply unconventional. You hardly seem aware of the restraints upon women of your class."
Trudy breathed as relief soothed the flutterings inside her. "I am fully aware of them, Sir Matthew, but I despise them. You have traveled, sir. You know that the restraints imposed upon women differ widely from culture to culture."
"Yes." His brow furrowed. "But how would you know?"
"Oh." She waved an airy hand. "I have been about the world a bit, too. My father was a traveler, like you."
"Let me guess. The army in India, followed by a stint in the diplomatic service?"
She smiled, pleased that she did not have to invent another lie. Matthew had done the work for her. "Precisely," she said, and then was dismayed by how bad even that small inverse lie made her feel, when she was so used to inventing tales. She sensed that Matthew would be hurt if he knew she had lied. And, she found, she did not wish to hurt him.
Feeling guilty for perhaps the first time in her life, Trudy saw that Matthew's eyes had narrowed, as if the evidence of her crime could be read on her face. She recovered and treated him to her most bewitching glance and was relieved to see him blink.
Pulling his gaze from her as if by force, Matthew shifted awkwardly on his bench, and Trudy dared to hope that a fleeting thought of ravishment had crossed his mind. Francis had been right when he'd said that Matthew would be a tough nut to crack. Any other man would have done his best to capture her after one of her saucy glances.
"Are you certain you are quite comfortable?" she probed, perversely determined to get confirmation of her hopes.
A grin quirked his mouth, but "Quite," was all he said.
"Tell me," he added, once they had gone a few more blocks, and his mood had become pensive. "Why do I get the feeling that Mr. Waite scarcely knows you?"
Trudy's heart dove into her stomach again. The vexing man! Did he notice everything? With a genuine sigh, she tried to explain his suspicions away. "Mr. Waite is a worthy individual in many ways, but I fear my free-thinking manner shocks him. Perhaps you noticed that he seemed almost afraid of me. I fear my independence is quite beyond his experience of females."
"As it is of mine. Not that I censure you for it. But I cannot help wondering how it came about."
"Oh, that is quite easy." Her words, when she produced them, had more than a hint of truth. "My parents both died very young." For elves. Though both would have been considered ancient by human standards.
"And have you no brothers or sisters?"
Trudy hesitated, but this telling the truth was addicting. "I have one brother, but we do not live together."
Seeing that some elaboration was needed, she continued, "My brother prefers the country. He is not fond of human company, whereas I--"
"Whereas, you devote yourself to worthy causes?"
"Yes."
"Which suggests that you control your own fortune."
She searched for the mot juste. "Let us simply say that I have resources under my own governance and may do as I please with them."
"What does your brother have to say about these activities--calling on strange gentlemen, walking the streets without an escort?"
Trudy gave an impish shrug, accompanied by a laugh. "I fear he knows very little about them, though he would undoubtedly disapprove. He's very stuffy."
"Stranger and stranger still. And have you no thought to your own danger?"
"No." Trudy drew herself up and folded her hands in her lap with a smile of the purest satisfaction. "I am entirely fearless."
Matthew's brows arched, and he slowly pulled back in his seat as if he did not quite know what to make of such a remark. Trudy feared that she might have given him reason for disgust. She had been carried away by the freedom that comes from telling the truth, but truth was a sticky business, one she had better have more care to.
"Have I shocked you, Sir Matthew?" Anxiety tightened around her heart. They had made two rounds of the park now, and she feared their ride would soon be over, and she wondered whether he would ever want to see her again. She could always appear to him at night and try to engineer his desires, but she had far rather the idea come from him.
"No." He relaxed his challenged posture. "I simply have never met a woman quite like you, with the exception, perhaps, of one African princess, the wife of a vizier."
"Was she beautiful?" Trudy didn't know where the question had come from.
"Yes. Very beautiful. And intelligent, too, which is much more important. She saved my life more than once with her advice and intervention."
"Did you love her?"
"Completely, but not in the way you mean. My feelings were greatly tinged by respect and a healthy dose of fear for the power she wielded."
"Oh." Trudy sighed, inexplicably relieved. "Then, what you felt, Sir Matthew, was not love. It was awe."
A glint of respect lit his eyes. "You understand the situation perfectly, which in itself is curious. How a lady of your age, who acts for all the world as if she's never ridden in a carriage before, can be so wise is more than a bit mysterious."
"I wasn't acting as if I'd never been in a carriage before-- Was I?"
Matthew felt a laugh burst from him. Her indignation, followed so closely by doubt, enchanted him. "Forgive me," he said, with exaggerated politeness. "I must have been gravely mistaken."
But the smile that had visited his lips lingered in his chest. It felt strange after so many months of bitterness, but he could almost feel the strength of his amusement in his blood. Never before had he met a female with so many contradictions, all delightful.
Faye was daintily built and as a fresh of face as a wood nymph, yet she showed the same confidence in her cause as a battle-hardened general. She could not be more feminine or graceful, yet she acted with the sweeping freedom of a man. If she had one fault, it would appear to be conceit, for he'd often heard a certain smugness in her tone. Yet, her version of conceit had none of the viciousness displayed by petty women. It seemed so much a part of her, he could not even fault her for a weakness he usually despised.
But--Matthew felt the pain from old wounds urging him to caution--he did not really know her or know who she was. She'd appeared on his doorstep without so much as a letter of introduction, and had gained entry with the use of artifice. Even today, there had been times when he had sensed she was not being truthful. She plainly would have preferr
ed to evade his questions, and her nervous glances had given her away more surely than her otherwise polished answers.
Her entire appearance and her performance were so perfect, in fact, as to seem ephemeral. Where her charm and her rare beauty might have tempted him to pursue her, were he a healthy man with glowing prospects, there was something about her very perfection that gave him pause. Strangely, it was those very moments of doubt and unease that had made her more real and all the more appealing.
He did not want to expose himself to a woman without principle again. Faye might still be a fortune-hunter. He was not a wealthy man, but his modest estate was enough to maintain him in a certain comfort for the rest of his life. He was not such a fool that he did not perceive how attractive such a life would be to a woman who needed it.
He shook himself from these dangerous musings, asking abruptly, "Why did you call on me, Faye?"
She looked startled. "I have already told you, and now shown you, that our charity was in need--"
"No, you misunderstood me. I was asking, why me?"
Her eyes widened. Where once he had thought them green, they now appeared a deep, brooding violet. But after he pressed his eyes closed and felt fatigue sweeping suddenly through him, he discovered they were green again. His fever must be returning.
Fighting to keep this knowledge from her, ashamed to be betrayed by his own weakness, he sat as still as possible. But a softening of her face told him she had noticed that all was not well.
"I had hoped," she began, "to persuade you to approach your friends on behalf of my society."
"Friends?" Matthew knew that harshness had sprung into his voice. "Whomever can you mean?"
Faye blinked. "The African Association? Are they not the group that sent you on your expedition? I had hoped they would take a particular interest in our almshouse."
Matthew fought the gripping fury that name always evoked, leaving shakiness in its wake. At once, he knew he had overtaxed his ravaged body today.
"I am afraid," he said, with a terrible stillness, "you have been grossly deceived. I have lost whatever influence I once wielded with that group."
The Christmas Spirit Page 5