by Tess Quinn
“Stand there a moment, Caroline, and I will free your eyes and hands.”
Caroline stood still, but breathing deeply and audibly. Her indignation knew no bounds. Sir John removed her wrist bindings, then her blindfold. Her first sight on opening her eyes was Sir John’s massive chest, so close was he to her. Some part of her noted that in this encounter, his closeness did not leave her breathless for once. But as she opened her mouth to berate him, he quickly stepped aside, and she saw the room in which they stood.
Words died on Caroline’s tongue as she beheld what was before her…
Chapter TwentyOne:
Will They, Will Not They?
W
hen the carriage stopped, Joss immediately removed the blindfold from Sara Allen’s mossy eyes. They sparkled with wonder in the lamplight of the coach, drawing an appreciative smile from the young man. When Joss had first told Sara he would have to cover her eyes for their journey, she had acquiesced without question, looking on it all as a grand adventure; and so unlike her mistress whom they could hear berating Sir John within the carriage at every turn.
Joss had discovered an additional benefit to having the maid’s eyes covered as well. Though he drove the horses with care and Sara held tightly to the driving board, she was unable to see approaching bumps or turns in the road. As such, Joss had felt it perfectly appropriate to tuck her arm through his for the duration of the journey to prevent her taking any spills. Just holding it close against his body to steady her left Joss himself feeling a bit unsteadied.
With Sara’s eyes now uncovered, Joss quickly helped her down from the driving board, and led her down a narrow mews to the back entrance of the building where they had stopped. It was all so quick that Sara had little opportunity to look around. Her brief glimpse of the building, though, made her think it a fashionable dwelling, wherever they were.
“Joss, where are we going? Should I not be needed to attend Miss Caroline?” she whispered into the night excitedly.
“No, no,” he replied. “Miss Caroline is well attended for now. I will explain when we are inside.”
With a trust based solely on instinct, Sara shrugged and followed complacently. As such she was happily ignorant of Caroline’s calls to her when the lady stepped down from the carriage, hands bound and eyes covered as well.
Joss stopped at a tradesman entrance, and knocked three times. The door was opened almost immediately by someone, who then moved off so quickly that by the time Joss and then Sara had entered the house, they were alone in a stone-walled kitchen of some size. A large fire roared in the hearth, and a kettle of water just off the boil was set on the bricks to one side.
Joss invited Sara to sit at the oak trestle table in the middle of the room. The table was so large that, when Sara’s tiny figure was seated there, she gave the appearance of a little girl with her curly blond locks and awe-filled expression. Joss gulped at the image as his heart flipped end over end.
“Miss Sara, may I do you the honour of offering you a cup of tea in recompense for your hospitalities to me of late?”
Sara could not help but laugh at Joss’ formality, his speech seemed very much rehearsed or memorised. She matched his playful airs and replied, “You may, Sir Joss, I would be most grateful for such an honour.” They both laughed then, but Sara sobered quickly to ask quite seriously, “But do we not have to find Sir John and Miss Caroline? I yet do not know my purpose in this venture tonight.”
Joss did not answer immediately. He busied himself with pouring hot water over tea leaves to steep, and avoided looking at Sara. When he had procured cream and honey from the pantry and had no more busy work with which to evade Sara’s question, he stood in front of her at the table. Eyes downcast, feet shuffling – Sara thought Joss looked like a young child awaiting a scolding for being naughty. Finally, head still lowered, he raised his eyes appealingly to look at Sara through thick lashes, and began:
“Erm... well… oh, blast!... Oh! I am so sorry, Miss Sara!” He sighed and began again. “I may as well just say it. The truth is, Miss Sara, I lied to your mistress. Sir John did not ask your attendance tonight. Only I wanted the chance to pass time in your company, and I thought you would like an adventure. So I told tale on the part of Sir John asking you to come with your mistress; and was I not half frightened to death when it looked as if she might call the whole thing to a stop because of it!” Joss grinned, and added, “So you have no duties to attend to tonight; you have only time to sit here with me, if you will, until your lady returns home.”
Joss looked particularly at Sara, sheepishness giving him a rosy blush, to see how she took this news. Noting the delighted wide smile on her face, he felt bolder, stood a little straighter, and went on. “When we stopped to put your eye-covers on, Sir John asked me quietly about you being on the driving board. I shame myself to admit I let him believe Miss Caroline would not come without you.”
The sound of Sara’s giggling filled the kitchen, and Joss breathed again. He loved her laugh – it made him think of birdsong in the early morning, light and musical and playful. To cover his mounting embarrassment, Joss poured their tea, then sat at the table opposite Sara.
“Do I conclude, then,” she said, “that you are not required tonight by Sir John either?”
“Oh, no,” replied Joss, “except as driver when he returns your mistress home.”
“And when will that be?” asked Sara.
“That very much depends on your mistress, love. I know she is sorely vexed with Sir John. If he cannot talk her ‘round, it could be any minute he will call for the carriage. But if he can convince her of his sincerity? Well,” Joss blushed a moment, “perhaps you will be here forever!”
Now it was Sara’s turn to blush as Joss gave her a hope-filled smile. Sara took a sip of her tea, and then sat back, crossing her arms as she got comfortable in her chair.
“Well,” she said finally, “if we are to be here a while, may as well make use of our time. So, where are we exactly?”
~~~~~~
While Sara was being ensconced in the kitchen, Sir John had led Caroline upstairs and over the threshold of a door, then stood in front of her to remove her bindings and mask. The lady remained resolutely silent throughout, at a disadvantage to him yet again with her temporary blindness. As soon as the covering was removed, she could see Sir John’s chest but little else, he was standing so close to her. She made to take a step back to distance herself even as he turned and stepped away from her. Caroline opened her mouth to complain bitterly of her abduction yet again – but stopped cold and stared, her jaw slackened in surprise.
Though it had been some few months, she recognised the room absently as the gentleman’s study to which she had been brought by a then-unknown Sir John on the night of her first abduction. The bank of mullioned windows on one end with a large oak desk taking pride of place in front of them; the large fireplace with a worn family crest etched into the stonework and deep club chairs on either side facing it; one full wall of old books with others stacked in piles throughout; a long library table set against a wall of art hanging on burgundy paint above dark wainscoting. In everyday observance, a very impressive and rich room indeed. But none of that took Caroline’s especial notice as Sir John had stepped away from her field of vision other than as a quick recognition of place.
In the middle of the room had been placed a round table, which was covered in white cloths and set very formally for supper with two places; china, pewter, crystal and silver covered almost every inch of the surface. Straight-backed dining chairs augmented with soft velvet seat cushions of deepest green had been placed at the table settings, one facing the windows, the other a quarter around the table facing the fireplace, allowing for intimacy between the occupants of the two seats. In the centre of the table rose a candelabrum layered with candles and cascading with flowers, fruits, and ribbons. Covered dishes gave just the tantalising scent of well-prepared comestibles awaiting tasting. And all around the room – on
every surface that could possibly hold one – or more than one – were candles. There were thick pillar candles; delicate tapers in candlesticks of crystal, silver, pewter; low, fat beeswax candles on sconces and candle stands. There must have been hundreds of candles in the room, emitting so much warmth that the blazing fire in the hearth seemed superfluous. The effect of their myriad flames throwing dancing light around the room and flickering shadows on the dark walls gave one a feeling almost of being in Ondine’s underwater kingdom, to be waited upon by mermaids and nymphs.
Sir John had stood to the side for some moments to let Caroline take in the scene. When after some time, still she stood silent in awe, eyes moving around the room but settling nowhere, Sir John stepped forward and lightly claimed Caroline’s hand, positioning himself so close as to warm her cheek with his breath. Softly, he spoke into her ear, “We had too many distractions this evening, our dinner pairing was woefully lacking in intimacy. I wished to offer us what we could not obtain at the Fenchurch house: privacy to talk, an atmosphere free of prying eyes and petty gossip.” Still Caroline had not moved and barely seemed aware that Sir John had her hand engulfed in his own. “Will you allow me to escort you to the table?”
Finally with some effort, Caroline took her eyes from the enchanting scene and looked at Sir John. “Why?” she asked, though it was said softly.
“I do not understand.”
“Why this?” said Caroline, nodding towards the room, still caught up in its dreamlike quality.
“Caro,” Sir John countered, “do you not know by now that I am trying to sweep you off your feet?”
This remark brought Caroline back somewhat to her senses. “By trussing me like a bird?” She paused, but when Sir John said nothing, only looked at Caroline with his intense gaze, unfathomable at this moment, but certainly without regret or apology, Caroline snatched her hand from his as though his touch burned and she stepped back from him. “By abducting me?”
“Abducting?” Sir John was the one now displaying annoyance. “It was hardly abduction this time, Caroline. Joss appeared at your house, by the door I might add as you so often demanded, and issued a written invitation! Nay, indeed, I surmise that with your natural obstinacy, he even found himself pleading his case with you, did he not?”
“And why should he not? It is hardly a conventional time of night for a summons to a dinner engagement. I should not have come at all but for his pleading; but then to be subjected to the indignity once more of…”
“Stop! Enough!” Sir John pulled himself up to an intimidating stance. Both were now elevated to full height, jaws clenched, eyes riveted to the other in anger. “Caroline, you exasperate me. Look at what is before you, woman! Does this speak of abduction?”
Caroline had a different idea of what it spoke of with herself an object of devouring as much as the elegant dishes on the table; but she had no opportunity to remark it to him before Sir John continued, in a somewhat quieter tone: “It was your own doing. If you had simply agreed to a light blindfold, there would have been no need for the rest. You know that.”
“There was no need as it was!”
Sir John shook his head violently to one side, then with a controlled sigh he stilled his agitation. “Whether or no, can you not now discount it, forgive it? You are here – I am here. You agreed to this meeting when I left the Fenchurch house, I saw your nod of agreement. You knew we would, in some manner, face each other tonight.”
He stopped, regarding her closely a moment. “I see now that it scares you to have this encounter - this is why you act affronted!”
“Act?” Caroline shook with rage; then with a deep breath, finally achieved a cold, calm posture of indifference. “This is pointless. And all the candles in the world will not shed light on why I allow you such liberties! Take me home… this instant.”
“Not until we settle this – “
“Settle what?”
“This. Whatever lies between us. Not until you tell me if you love me –“
“Love you! You are mad!”
“I dare say I am; for what man in his senses would attempt to scale the walls of that heart of yours? What sane man would desire above all else to love a vixen?” Caroline raised a hand to strike Sir John, but he caught it easily and held it in impotence. “There is time for that later, my dear. You may rail at me all you like once we are understood. Once you have told me if you love me!”
“Well, of course I love you,” Caroline cried, “you stupid fool! Do you think I would tolerate this if I did not? You insufferable, boorish, presumptuous, infuriating lout! You take liberties with my person without leave or shame; you only appear at ungodly hours and have yet to enter through the front door with any legitimacy to my knowledge; you spy on me and my family, Lord knows where you have been in search of confidences about my person; you have made a mockery of the last three months of my life. You and your…” Caroline stopped mid-sentence to gape at Sir John. “How dare you laugh at me?” She stamped her foot as she threw the question at him.
Sir John was indeed laughing. He had thrown back his head and begun a throaty chuckle that escalated into spasms of amusement while Caroline continued her tirade.
Caroline glared at Sir John until the loudest of his waves of delight had faded. When he was once again in control of himself, he said lightly, “Now was that truly so difficult, Caroline?”
“What… What can you mean?”
“I am talking of you, my beautiful Caro.” Sir John smiled, his countenance a mixture of joy and victory. Caroline’s frosty grimace could not shake the triumph of this moment from Sir John. “You love me.” Sir John approached Caroline, coming within inches of her, yet not daring to touch her. “You admitted you love me.”
“I admitted no such thing!” she said. A hush fell between them as the intensity of their stares continued to burn as they crossed. After a moment, Caroline’s gaze began to falter. “Or… if I did… it was not in earnest!” This last was said in a manner suggesting that even she was not certain of the veracity of her words.
“Oh, yes; you were in earnest,” he grinned at her. “You cannot hide behind your society airs here. Perhaps you were goaded into the admission, but you cannot help yourself with me. I have broken through your façade – and you told the truth in your anger. Perhaps it has been so long since you were able to speak truth that you cannot recognise it when it escapes your own tongue.”
Caroline said nothing, but turned her head violently to the side, looking down at the Aubusson carpet, desperately attempting to concentrate on the swirl of reds, blues and gold in its pattern to block out the impact of Sir John’s words; she saw nothing but felt her ears ringing with his allegations.
“Caroline. Look at me,” he said. Caroline closed her eyes petulantly. “Caroline, look at me!”
Finally, Caroline looked up into the bronze eyes of Sir John, darkened now with desire despite the candlelight, and he returned her intensity, measure for measure.
“Look at me now, if you can,” he said in a low voice, “and tell me you do not love me.”
Caroline began to look away again but he held her eyes with a sharp “No!” Then, more gently, “No, look at me directly, honestly, Caro, and tell me you do not love me. If you can do that, it will be over. You can return to your safe little world, to your disingenuous and pretentious friends, and the tedium of playing housekeeper for a brother who no longer needs your services. And you will need never see me again.”
“I…” Caroline started to say it, defiant purpose at the forefront of her tone. But she hesitated, unable either to finish her sentence or indeed to know how she wished to finish it. Once again, she began, but the certainty driving her voice had receded. “I…”
Sir John released Caroline’s hand and brought his own to her face. He caressed her cheek, then moved his hand to cup her chin and tenderly tilt her face up to meet his own, presenting a gentle and calm smile. “I will help you, shall I?” he cooed softly. Caroline said nothing
, confusion written in her eyes. Sir John bent his head to hers, kissing her lightly on her brow. “It is not difficult to say, Caroline, when once you have learnt the meaning of the phrase. I love you. Lord help me, because I fear you may be the death of me – I have met my match and more. But I love you.”
Caroline still had not moved, indeed appeared once more to be in shock. Sir John chuckled yet again, but low and soft and its accompanying smile was hesitant. “Say it,” he coaxed. And he kissed Caroline, tentatively at first until he felt her yield to it and respond. He moved closer into an embrace and all Caroline’s defences crumbled. “Say it,” he whispered into her ear, and Caroline found her voice against her will.
“I love you,” she said simply. “I hate myself for it, but I love you.” She smiled ruefully.
“Ah, Caro. Hate and regret serve no purpose, I have learnt that too well in my life. Love me… and I will love you enough for both of us.”
~~~~~~
The warmth of the fire suffused Sara’s cheeks with colour, but the warm feelings in her heart had a different source. Joss McMahon (for he had imparted his surname to Sara, though he never used it) had been born in London, but his mother Molly had been Irish. When she was sixteen in Dublin, Molly McMahon had fallen in love with a visiting English Lord’s youngest son, and had succumbed to his advances. When she found herself with child some time later, she scrubbed floors until she had earned fare passage to England, and proceeded to seek out her paramour. But the ‘gentleman’ would have nothing to do with her, and his imposing father threatened Molly with destruction – after offering her a pittance which she declined – if she should try to make trouble for his wayward son. So she settled in London, penniless, and once again scrubbed floors where she could find work in order to make a home for the son she bore.