by Edith Layton
“Is Justin still sleeping…I mean to say…like an English gentleman?” Della blurted. She hadn’t asked where he was when she’d met Fiona earlier; she’d just been enjoying her company then. Fiona had been a charming companion, pointing out the various outbuildings of the hall, showing Della the gardens, nodding greetings to all the workers they passed as they strolled along together. They all knew Fiona, even though she lived miles away on her own estate. Della thought they were having fun together until Jared appeared. Then Fiona forgot her and focused all her attention on him with stunning swiftness.
“Oh, Justin?” Fiona said carelessly. “He’s out riding, since the break of day, or so I’d guess—it’s what he does when the weather’s good—and when it’s bad—whether I’m here visiting or not. Leaving me alone and to my own devices, as usual. I don’t know why we’re going to all the bother of getting married,” she said, laughing up at Jared.
“After all, we’re already behaving like an old married couple. Thank heavens I met up with your little Della, or I’d have been bored to pieces.”
“But Fiona, we’re almost the same height, and the same age, and I am not ‘little’ in any sense of the word,” Della declared. There, she thought, I’ve said it, and I’m glad.
“Oh no, you’re wrong about one thing, at least,” Fiona said, tapping her lightly with her fan. “Jared said you were a year older than I.”
“Age doesn’t matter,” Jared said. Della smiled with relief, because although she’d never thought twenty was a great age, Fiona somehow made it sound like she was an ancient spinster compared to her. “Or height either,” he went on. “Little Della’ is just what I’m used to calling you; I think I’ll still do it when you’re ninety, Dell.”
“Just so!” Fiona said on a gurgle of laughter. “It’s because he’s known you forever. But don’t fret. It’s a charming name, like Little John, an English fellow who also wasn’t little in any sense.”
“Or Chicken Little,” Jared joked. “And don’t look at me like that, Della, my girl, because when you’re a little older, I’ll bet you’ll be grateful for being called ‘little.’”
“But I am not grateful now,” Della said mutinously.
“I didn’t realize it rankled so much. I’ll never say it again. I promise,” he said, looking down at her with concern.
“That’s exactly how it is with old friends,” Fiona said merrily. “Why I packed an entire wardrobe for this visit, and yet I vow I could wear the same gown day after day as far as my own fiancée is concerned. He just doesn’t see me anymore. Don’t fret, Della; it’s just that the years work like vanishing cream on us where the gentlemen are concerned.”
“Now you have me worried. I have to see that my brother gets his eyes examined,” Jared said gallantly, offering Fiona his arm.
He offered Della his other one, and they all strolled on that way together. Fiona joked and laughed, her fan fluttering as much as her eyelashes as she looked up at him, acting as though there was nothing on his other arm but a piece of lint.
That’s what Della felt like. She didn’t say a word. It would be rude to interrupt, and what could she say, after all? She didn’t know anything about the hall and felt she’d sound stupid interjecting, ‘Oh really’ or ‘Is that so?’ whenever Fiona stopped for breath. Anyway, she was becoming too unhappy to speak at all. Jared knew her moods too well; she didn’t want him to think she was jealous or hurt. And she was so jealous and it hurt so much, she didn’t know what to do.
She tried to cheer herself up as they walked on. It probably didn’t mean anything; what did she know about English ladies? Maybe they all acted like that with men. As for Jared, Fiona was going to marry his brother; she’d soon be family, so it was only clever of him to try to get to know her better. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for him to flatter her, too. Clever Jared, Della thought glumly as she heard Fiona’s lilting laughter in response to something he said.
Then there was the fact that Fiona looked lovely as a blooming rose this morning in a glowing pink gown. Della wore green. It was a pretty gown, but it made her feel as if she were the leaves that set off the beauty of the rose. She was a perfect complement to Fiona’s looks, and her silence was a perfect background for Fiona’s voice and laughter. The only good thing about being in the background is that no one notices how unhappy you are, Della thought wretchedly.
She is delightful! Jared thought as he listened to Fiona and watched her stop to admire a rose arbor. He gazed at her with pleasure. She belonged here at the hall as much as the rose arbor did. She fit in perfectly, so cultured, such a lady in every sense of the word—at ease in any company, obviously pampered since birth, sure of herself, and yet not spoiled—she had as wide a smile for his gardeners as for him.
“M’lord, lady, Mistress Fiona,” one of them said as he paused, his hoe on his shoulder.
“Griffin,” Fiona replied with a glowing smile. “I was just telling his lordship about your roses. Just see how your work pleases him.”
The man beamed, bent his head, touched a lock of hair on his forehead with one hand, and then trudged away with a lighter step. Justin was very lucky, Jared thought. It wasn’t just her manner. Her face and figure were as pure and perfect as that of a porcelain shepherdess he’d seen on a table in the drawing room. Remembering the figurine made him frown; he had to go over everything in the house in detail with Justin as soon as he could, because he wouldn’t take what wasn’t his. But which of the treasures he’d seen in the hall had come down through the years, and which were ones Justin himself had picked? He’d never take those; they were Justin’s taste, his prizes, a part of his life, and so they were his, no matter who had paid for them.
He gazed at Fiona as she leaned to inhale the fragrance of one of the roses. She was way above the likes of him, he knew. But he could admire her, and he did. He drank in the sight of the lovely girl with the snow-white wig that only emphasized her youth and beauty. He stared at her laughing mouth, her alabaster skin, her gown showing so much of it above her small, high breasts. The roses near her face showed how their subtle colors were echoed in her cheeks. She too was Justin’s choice.
But then, the traitor thought came creeping in: no, she wasn’t, not really. If Justin had been the one they’d found in the underbrush that night, if Justin had been the one sold into bondage and shipped to the Colonies, not him, then Fiona would be his. The thought was startling. But once thought, it was there: if he had never been taken from his bed that night, she might even now be in his. He’d never have waited years to marry such a beauty, the way his brother had.
She would have been mine, Jared thought, accepting the reality of it for the first time. So it was written. Fiona herself said so.
Denial came fast on the heels of that thought. Jared recoiled from the whole idea, as if it were the deed and he’d somehow cuckolded his brother. He was appalled by his ugly, ignoble musings. That was exactly it—it wasn’t noble. Whatever their father’s plan had been, it was impossible now, because Fiona was Justin’s beloved. And even if she weren’t, he himself wasn’t worthy of such a lady anymore. He was earl now with all that entailed, but Justin was the true nobleman. As for me, Jared thought resignedly, I’ll have to keep trying to be one the rest of my life. Still…if I had such a lady wife, no one would ever doubt me, maybe not even myself…
Jared didn’t like the way his thoughts were running, so he looked at Della, hoping to catch her eye. She could always divert him.
But she was oddly silent and her mouth was grim. He studied her with sudden concern. She didn’t look sick. In fact, she looked fresh and lovely. He knew her: if she were sick, her pale complexion would be sallow, not glowing with banked light the way it was now. No, Jared realized, she was only ill at ease. She seemed uncomfortable with Fiona, because she kept eyeing her strangely—enviously. Jared sighed. Of course. Fiona was a fine English lady, and Della was a colonial girl.
She was a very pretty colonial girl, to be sure, Jared thought
. Fiona might be a milk-white porcelain lady, but Della was vivid: dark and white, with dusky rose lips and unforgettable blue eyes. He had forgotten just how lovely she’d grown to be. The new setting he found himself in must have changed his perceptions of the whole world. In fact, he hadn’t even recognized Della after only weeks away from her.
He’d come in from riding, been told there were guests, and looked up the stairs to see an enchanting young woman standing there, staring down into the hall. She’d looked straight into his eyes without recognition, and he hadn’t recognized her, either—maybe because he hadn’t been expecting to see her, but in that strange instant, he hadn’t known her. He’d only been dazzled by the fresh beauty of the lovely little creature gazing curiously at them all. When her intent blue gaze swept past him as she searched for another face, he’d been deeply disturbed, struck by a pang of terrible loneliness and anxiety. No wonder, he thought now; it was mad for him to forget his friend. A second later, the world had gone right again and he’d recognized his dear little Della.
His dear unhappy little Della. She was obviously uncomfortable with the world she found herself in now. Alfred had made his fortune in Virginia, but living in the Colonies had obviously hampered Della socially. That was a pity, because there was so much she could enjoy here. But there was no reason she couldn’t grow to be as fine a lady as Fiona. He’d see to it, Jared decided. That was one good thing his new title could do for him immediately. He’d take her to London, see she was introduced to the right people. She was quick; she’d get used to it. She could take her rightful place, too. The thought pleased him. Being around Fiona would help. He’d make sure that continued, too.
“How long are you staying with us?” he asked Fiona suddenly.
Della’s eyes widened. Not because of the question, but because of the way he’d said ‘with us,’ as though he was again the earl she didn’t know.
“Tired of me so soon?” Fiona asked playfully.
“Tired? Mistress Trusham, if the men of England haven’t let you know by now how impossible that would be, I think I really did come home in time.”
Fiona’s fan wagged in front of her sparkling eyes. “I usually stay on until I think of someplace more diverting to go, but now that you’re here, I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”
“You think that’s possible? No, you’re in exactly the right place. I want you to behave just as you would with Justin.”
“Just as I would with him?” she asked, her fan fluttering and muting her giggles. “My goodness! What would people say?”
“‘Lucky fellow,’ probably,” Jared said, grinning. Her flirting went beyond that of any decent girl he’d ever met at home—in the Colonies, he corrected himself. But he couldn’t judge her by those standards. This was her world; she was protected by family and friends, and she was promised to Justin. Surely she wouldn’t think his brother would ever overstep his bounds. In her world, men of breeding did not. Jared was deeply flattered she even considered him such.
Della had to remind herself to close her mouth as she listened.
“I just wondered if you would come to London with us,” Jared said. “I have to go sooner or later; it might as well be sooner. Justin and the uncles have been nagging me to go, and Della would enjoy it, too. It would be nice for her to have some feminine company on the trip.”
“London! Oh, delightful!” Fiona said, her eyes shining. “It’s the best place to be in the autumn. So much to see, so much to do!”
“Well, I haven’t said yes or no yet,” Jared said, “but Justin says I have to take my place eventually. He wants to introduce me around, and I’d like to see my townhouse.… Della doesn’t know the city any better than I do. I wondered… I thought you might take her to some dressmakers—maybe come with us to some social events, too.”
“Say no more!” Fiona said excitedly, letting her fan drop and swing from her wrist, entirely forgotten in her honest excitement. “Yes, of course I will. Oh, won’t we have fun!”
“London?” Della said, looking from one of them to the other. “No one said anything about that to me.”
“I was going to,” Jared said.
“But we just came from London,” Della said nervously, remembering that her next step from London was to go home. “I thought we were going to stay on here for a while.”
“Oh, pooh!” Fiona said, stamping a little foot. “What’s here? Cows and sheep and vegetables.” She laughed. “But in London? Musicales and theaters, masquerades and balls, not to mention shops! My goodness, do you call that a choice?” she asked, looking up at Jared, her face alight.
She could hardly defend vegetables, Della thought miserably. But a spark of rebellion flared to life. She raised her chin. “Fine,” she said, “but don’t bother taking me around, Fiona. I don’t need a dressmaker, Jared. You may have forgotten, but we don’t exactly live in a cave at home. I have more than buckskin dresses and loincloths in my wardrobe. I’ve brought some fine gowns along.”
“Loincloths!” Fiona said, with a faint blush showing on her cheeks. “My goodness. I’ve never seen them. But if they’re coming in, London will have them, never fear.” She laughed at her own joke, and then grew serious. “Much of the fun of going to London is getting new clothes, Della. I don’t know about the Colonies, but the fashion changes every season here. I hear skirts are rising in front to show the ankle and hair is rising to show off how big the hats are going to be this year, too. Mustard yellow’s still the rage, but white is coming in as never before for gowns.…
“You must think I’m trivial,” she told Jared with a pretty pout, as if daring him to agree. “But it’s so comforting to know the lace at one’s sleeve is exactly the right length.” And then she burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.
Jared smiled. Della sighed. She might as well be angry at a butterfly. It wasn’t Fiona’s fault that she cast a spell over Jared even as she cast other women into the shadows with her brilliant smile.
“And as for you, my lord,” Fiona said merrily, “even if you don’t care a fig about fashion, you must be a teeny bit excited about going about town, showing the world you are returned. It’s one thing to come back to the hall, but if you return to London as earl, you will be returning to the world! I thought you wanted that.”
“I do,” Jared said, but then he hesitated, dark-gold eyebrows lowering over troubled gray eyes. He thought of what his reception might be in the clubs and halls of power in London. The story would have gotten out by now. They’d know he had been an indentured servant, lower than any of their valets and footmen; lower even than the men who toiled in their fields at home, because at least those men were free. Yet now he was an earl, preparing to sit at their sides in their houses, at their tables. Would they accept him? Should he care? Was he ready to find out? That was why he’d put off the trip to London. Maybe it could wait.…
“She’s right,” Della said suddenly, seeing his face and guessing his reasons for hesitating, and knowing he would do a thing for her father that he wouldn’t for himself. “You should go. We will, too. Father will be delighted; he has unfinished business there. He couldn’t take care of it before because we were in such a rush to see you. And…I do want some new clothes, actually, and I’d like to really see London once before I die—go home again.”
“Die?” Jared said, laughing again. “I don’t think so, Della. Virginia’s not the end of the world, or of life. We’re not talking about Virginia, anyway; we’re talking about London. If you want to go, we will—soon as we can.”
It was decided then, and he was glad. It was easier if he was doing it for Alfred and Della. But he wondered why Della didn’t look happier now. His heart grew heavy as he gazed at her. She was his family as much as Justin was. He’d longed to show her the hall and his triumph. He had, but it wasn’t the way he’d thought it would be.
She wasn’t happy here, and her unhappiness clouded his pleasure. With that ebony hair and her bluebell eyes, she was as lovely no
w as she’d been when she was the little girl he’d promised to protect and care for. But much of her darkling beauty came from her vivaciousness, and that was gone now.
He found himself remembering a fawn he’d once found and taken from the forest after its mother had been killed for meat. In spite of all his care, it had faded and was gone before the end of a week. He’d never enjoyed venison again or forgotten those sad, knowing eyes, filled with a wisdom of how futile his efforts were, filled with a knowledge far beyond his.
“Do you have a blue gown?” he asked Della suddenly. “I mean something blue as bluebells—or the wild asters we have at home?”
She looked up hopefully. He’d said home again, but this time he was talking about her home. “I have a blue dress, yes, but not the exact shade you mention,” she said, thinking hard.
“Well then,” he said, “that’s what you have to find in London. You had such a ribbon once, remember? I got it for you in Charleston. I saw the flowers by the roadside on the way there and they made me think of you; so when I saw the ribbon, I knew I had to get it for you.”
“Yes! I loved it. You brought it back from your very first trip there alone,” she said, pleased that he remembered.
“Deep blue will be difficult to find this year,” Fiona said thoughtfully, “As I said, white is all the rage. But don’t worry! I will contrive to find what you seek. But such a gown won’t be very fashionable in London. I fear you’ll have to keep it for when you’re back in Virginia, Della, dear.”
Della grew quiet, thinking of Virginia, thinking of how she wished she were there now—and how she wished she never had to go back. Jared would be here from now on.
Jared grew thoughtful, too. If Della found a life for herself in London, she would never have to go home again.… He stopped, frowning, wondering what in God’s name he meant by home now.