by Kruger, Mary
“Well, you did. Do you think women are without honor, sir?”
“Sometimes, yes. But not you,” he added, hastily. “I am sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Here. You take it.”
Alana hesitated, and then reached out her hand for the heart. “I imagine we’re both a little tired, and thus might say things we don’t mean.”
“Probably. And you’re right. It doesn’t look particularly valuable.”
“No. Only to the person who treasures it.” She rose. “I must find Sir Gabriel and tell him.”
“Dash it, Alana.” He clattered down the stairs after her. “It seems all I do is follow you down these stairs.”
Alana stopped. Into her mind, unbidden, came the memory of the last time she had done so, and with it the awareness of him she had tried so hard to subdue. In his eyes she saw the same memory. “Sir Gabriel will want to know.”
“Drat Sir Gabriel.” He reached out to grasp her arm. “He can wait. We have things yet to do.”
“We’ve time. We’ll see to them later.”
“I hardly have any time with you as it is, everyone in this house keeps you so busy. Now you prefer to run off to some figment of your imagination.”
“Figment—.” Alana at last raised her eyes, a smile dawning on her face. “You’re jealous.”
John took a step back. “Fustian. I’m angry that you’re leaving me alone with all the work.”
“No, you’re not.” The smile blossomed. “You cannot bear it that someone might prefer another man over you,” she said, and whirled away.
“Alana! Dash it.” He ran after her, catching again at her arm. “Do you? Prefer him?”
“A figment of my imagination?”
“Alana—”
“I must go.” She slipped from his grasp and turned. “Lady Honoria will be waking soon. She’ll want me.”
“Oh. Then you’re not—dash it, I must look every kind of a fool.” His smile was sheepish. “I thought you were serious.”
“I am,” she said, from the top of the stairs, enjoying again the startled annoyance in his eyes. “Oh, and John?”
“Yes?”
“I do find Sir Gabriel rather attractive,” she said, and ran down the stairs.
At the bottom of the flight, when she was certain John hadn’t pursued her, Alana stopped, hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter. Oh, that had been unworthy of her! But he had looked the very picture of masculine pique, so outraged, so—jealous.
Her hand dropped; her laughter stilled. Jealous. Was he really? Oh, no, it was absurd. She was a plain little dab of a woman, certainly past her last prayers, with little to recommend her but her fortune. John didn’t know about that. How would he react, if he did? Thoughtful, she began to walk towards her room. She feared she knew the answer to that, too well. He was, after all, a penniless scholar, apparently of good family. There must be times when his position galled him. Yet, he worked for his living, rather than batten off a relation. That showed him to be a man of pride, and honor. Perhaps he wouldn’t rise to the bait of her fortune, if he knew. She had no way of knowing, however, unless she asked him, and that she was reluctant to do. If he proved to be a fortune hunter, she would be hurt again. Better not to take the chance. Better to go to Sir Gabriel, as she had planned, and much, much safer.
“Sir Gabriel?” she said to the empty air in her room. “Are you here? I’ve something to show you.”
“What is it?” his voice boomed behind her.
Alana spun around, her hand to her heart. “Heavens, I do wish you wouldn’t do that! Oh, never mind. Wait until you see what we found.”
“What are you doing with that young man, madam?”
Alana paused in the act of pulling the crystal heart, again wrapped in tissue, from her pocket. “What do you mean? We were looking for costumes.”
“Ha. Called it something else in my day.”
“What are you insinuating?” she demanded. “And what gives you the right to do so?”
“Pray do not play the innocent with me. I am thinking only of your best interest. I do not trust a man like that.”
“Like what?”
Sir Gabriel removed his hat. “Like me,” he admitted, not meeting her eyes.
“Like you!”
“Aye. You do not see it?”
“He’s flirtatious, I’ll grant you—”
“Watch out for him, Alana. I know his sort too well.”
She frowned. “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”
“For your own good.”
“My own good! With your history, you’ve the nerve to say that?”
“A lady would not point out such a thing.”
“This lady is tired of your spying on me!” How much had he seen? Had he witnessed that kiss the other day? Just the thought of it made her want to squirm. “You’ve no right.”
“Someone needs must watch over you, madam.”
“Pray cease at once.” Her voice was icy. “I will not help you fulfill your vow, unless you do.”
Alarm flared in his eyes. “You gave me your word.”
So she had, and she had no intention of going back on it. To think of his following her and watching her every move was intolerable, however. “And I am now asking for yours.”
“Damme, but you have a temper!” He strode a few steps away and turned. “Tell me this, Alana. Do you love him?”
“Of course not. But I will live my life as I please, sir, without any interference from you.”
“Not every man is like your grandfather, Alana.”
That hit closer than she cared to admit. “Your word, sir?”
“Oh, very well. My word I will not spy on you.”
“Thank you.” Turning away to check her appearance before she went to Lady Honoria, she shoved her hands into her apron pockets. Her fingers encountered the lump of tissue. “Oh! I completely forgot. I did not come in here to brangle with you,” she said, smiling. He returned the courtesy by inclining his head. “I’ve something to show you.”
“What?”
“We found the crystal heart.”
“What? You found mention of it?”
“No.” She withdrew it from her pocket. “We found it.”
He frowned. “Here? But I understood it was gone from the house.”
“You understood wrong.” She held it out to him. “Here. Look at it.”
“I cannot, dear lady.” His smile was wistful. “I no longer have the power of touch.”
“Oh.” She stared at him. “I am sorry.”
“It is of no moment. Hold it up for me to see, if you please.”
“Of course.” Fumbling at the tissue, she unwrapped the heart and held it, dangling from her fingertips.
Sir Gabriel leaned forward, his eyes at first bright, eager; and then, to her surprise, dull. “That is not it.”
“What?” Alana stared at him. “But it must be. We found it in a chest with clothes from the right time, and—”
“It is trumpery! I would never have given my love such a thing. Silver instead of gold—bah.”
Deep inside, Alana felt a curious relief. “I didn’t think so,” she said, tentatively.
“Tell me this. Does it have anything engraved upon the clasp?”
Alana squinted at the chain. “No. No, it doesn’t.”
“Then it is not my heart. Our initials were writ upon it.”
Alana looked at the heart again, and then back up at Sir Gabriel. He stood proud, aloof, and looking somehow very lonely. “I am sorry.”
He shrugged. “A mere setback. I have every confidence in you.” He reached out as if to touch the heart, and then abruptly faded. “Do not let that Jack-a-dandy seduce you,” his voice floated back.
“Sir Gabriel!” Alana exclaimed, though his voice had been almost more imagined than heard. As if there were any danger of that! John was handsome, she’d grant that, but he was a flirt. She knew better than to allow herself to become involved with his sort.
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br /> Still. She sighed, scooping the heart up from her writing table, where she had dropped it. He would have to know, so that they could continue the search. A hopeless thing that was beginning to look, too, she thought, leaving her room. Time was growing short. She doubted very much that Sir Gabriel’s vow would be fulfilled this Valentine’s Day.
Camilla Hart’s journals and letters were spread out on the table before him, detailing the mundane events of life more than a century ago, in a wry prose that ordinarily delighted him. This afternoon, however, John could not seem to interest himself in them. For all her fascination, Camilla was long dead. Alana, however, was very much alive, and very much on his mind. Strange. In town he’d not have given her a second glance. Here, he thought about her constantly. He liked her, dash it! He couldn’t remember ever feeling that way about any other woman, but it was true. He liked her.
Maybe that was why he’d got so angry when she walked away from him in the attic. Certainly no woman had ever done that before, leaving him for some other man. No matter if that man were the product of her imagination; it was annoying. Of course there was no truth to her accusation. Jealous of a ghost? He snorted. Ridiculous. This churning, baffled lost feeling wasn’t jealousy. It was anger.
At the knock on the door, he raised his head. “Come in,” he called, and rose as Alana walked in. “Alana.”
“I’ve come to return this.” With little ceremony, she dropped the heart upon the table. “It isn’t the heart.”
“Of course it is. What else would it be?”
“It isn’t. Sir Gabriel’s had a gold chain with his initials engraved on the clasp. He was rather disappointed.”
“Alana.” He made his voice patient. “There is no Sir Gabriel. When will you admit that?”
“I know you don’t believe me.” Her fingers toyed with the silver chain. “I wish you would.”
“I can’t.”
She looked up at him, then, her eyes clear and direct. “Do you still believe I wish it for my own gain?”
“No. That was a stupid thing for me to say. You’re no adventuress.”
“How do you know? I might be very clever.”
“I think you would choose something of greater value. Greater apparent value, that is. Besides, I’ve met adventuresses in my time.”
Alana opened her mouth, as if to ask where, and then closed it again. “Oh.”
“I think you should have this, though.” He lifted the chain, stepping around the table. “Clean the chain and polish the heart, and it’s a pretty thing.”
“But it’s not mine, sir. It belongs to the family.”
“Just for now.”
“John,” she protested, and then her voice trailed off, as he reached around her to fasten the chain at the nape of her neck. This close to her, he was acutely aware of everything about her: the softness of her skin; the tendrils of hair that had come loose from her cap; her sweet, feminine scent. To no one else would he ever have given this heart. No one else would have deserved it so.
“It suits you, I think,” he said, his voice husky.
Alana looked down at the heart, sparkling against her bosom, and then back up at him. “It is pretty.”
“So it is. Alana.” His fingers, still at the nape of her neck, shifted, pressing just a little harder, slipping into her hair. Her eyes, huge, luminous, never left his as he bent his head. “You are pretty,” he said, and slowly brought his mouth down on hers. And, in the moment when their lips met, he knew that what he felt for her went far beyond mere liking.
Chapter Eight
Three hours later, Alana was still thinking about that kiss. Strange, for it had been brief and rather sweet, not like the kiss they had shared the other day when they had quarreled about his flirtatiousness. That had been born of anger and possessiveness. This was—this was more like affection. Lightly she touched her lips, smiling to herself. She could still feel the touch of his mouth, demanding in its gentleness. Demanding what, though? She did not know.
“You are paying me no heed, miss,” a testy voice said, and Alana straightened.
“My apologies, ma’am.” She bowed her head in acknowledgment of Lady Honoria’s rebuke. “I fear I was woolgathering.”
“Hmph. That is the problem with you young people nowadays. You’re flighty, do you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Hmph.” Lady Honoria shifted in her chair, her expression so cross that Alana suspected her rheumatism was bothering her. “It is a young man, is it not?”
“Ma’am?”
“That foolish look on your face. Only a young man could have put it there.”
“Oh, no, ma’am! I promise you, I was merely daydreaming.”
“Of Mr. Winston?” Lady Honoria’s smile was sly. “Handsome devil, ain’t he?”
“Oh, no! I mean, yes, he is handsome, but I wasn’t thinking of him.”
“Hmph. Say what you wish, miss, but I know the signs. You’re carrying on a flirtation with him.”
“No!” Alana eyed her with alarm. “Please, you must believe we are not. I do not want to lose this position.”
“Fond of me, are you?”
“Actually, yes.”
Lady Honoria cackled. “You lie exceedingly well, miss. Very well, I’ll keep your secret.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Alana looked down at her hands to hide her expression of relief. She was fond of Lady Honoria, though she knew better than to say so again. Her feelings for John, however, were more mixed. She couldn’t say exactly what she felt. He exasperated her; annoyed her with his roving eye; but then he would do something such as giving her the heart. Even if it weren’t his to give.
Her fingers reached up to touch the heart, and Lady Honoria’s eyes sharpened. “What is that you have there?”
Alana started. “This? Oh.” She reached behind her to unfasten the clasp. “‘Tis something I found while looking for costumes. I meant to ask you if you remembered it.”
“Let me see it.” Lady Honoria held out an imperious hand, and Alana placed the heart in it, watching anxiously. Without it she felt lost, bereft, which was ridiculous. It meant nothing to her. “Now, let me see—ah.” Lady Honoria held the heart up. “I remember this.”
Alana leaned forward. “Do you, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes, very well.” The old lady’s eyes were soft with memory. “So long ago. I was young. Yes, I was young once, and don’t you doubt it.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Alana murmured.
Lady Honoria chuckled. “I like you, girl. You’ve got spirit. That daughter-in-law of mine. Bah. Thinks she’s the first one to ever celebrate Valentine’s Day in this house. I’ll have you know, miss, that that is a tradition that goes back many years. We have even had masquerades before. But we never painted the house pink.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ah, me.” She sighed. “So many parties, and so long ago.”
“Tell me about it, ma’am,” Alana coaxed. “Was this your heart?”
“Sir Cedric gave it to me. My husband, you know, though he wasn’t at the time. ‘Twas at a masque, right in this house. A Valentine’s Day token, it was. It was the first time I knew he had feelings for me. We were married the following summer.”
“What a lovely story, ma’am,” said, after a moment.
“I haven’t thought about that for years. Or this.” She looked at the heart. “When he passed on, I put it away and forgot about it. To see it now...”
“Oh, ma’am, I’m sorry if it’s brought back painful memories.”
“Not painful, girl. Pleasant ones. When one has lived as long as I have, one learns to treasure the pleasant memories. Ah, me.” She sighed again, and then her eyes sharpened. “How came you to be wearing it?”
Alana felt her face color. “I, ah, thought I would see how it looked. Forgive my presumption, ma’am.”
“Pish! He gave it to you, didn’t he? Young Mr. Winston?”
“Ma’am-”
“I though
t as much. Here.” She thrust the heart back at Alana. “Take it.”
Alana recoiled. “Ma’am, I cannot-”
“Take it, I say! It is mine to give, is it not? Take it.”
Alana stayed still. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Right. Hah.” Lady Honoria reached out and grasped Alana’s hand, placing the heart in it. “I’ll decide that. What would be wrong is for me to hold onto the past. My day is over, girl. Yours is just beginning.”
Alana glanced down at the heart, and then nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. I shall treasure it.”
“And well you should, if a handsome young man gave it you.”
“Ma’am-”
“Listen to me, girl.” Lady Honoria leaned forward. “Life passes very quickly, and sometimes we haven’t a second chance at what we want most. Don’t make that mistake.”
“No, ma’am, I’ll try not to.”
“Good.” She leaned back, closing her eyes. “I am tired. Leave me now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Alana rose, settling the knitted blanket more comfortably around the old lady’s knees. “Sleep well, and I’ll come when you need me.”
“You’re a good girl. Alana.”
Alana turned from the door. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Remember this always. Follow your heart. Always follow your heart.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Alana said, and went out, mystified not only by the old lady’s advice, but by her own feelings. For, if she followed her heart, where would it lead her?
###
Daylight was fading. John’s eyes burned from deciphering the old, faded handwriting in the letters spread before him. Interesting though they were, he doubted his mind would absorb much more tonight. One more letter, and then he would stop for the day. Then he would be free to seek out Alana. No. Better not. Not when his mind, and his heart, were in such turmoil. He turned his attention determinedly to the letter.
Unusually for her, Camilla had written volubly and pleasantly of a long-ago wedding held at the village church, though she hadn’t known the young couple. The bride, however, had a connection to this house; her grandparents had once lived here, and she had chosen to marry in this church for sentimental reasons. Her name was Belinda Follett, and she had married a Mr. Alfred Carstairs.