She glimpsed his hand caress a pile of fur in his lap. The black Sir Eber and the multi-colored Rue lay curled around each other. Long fingers rested protective and tender over the kittens asleep on him.
She hesitated, watching as Lady Mist sprawled upside down at Sir Ashten’s booted feet. He reached down to scratch the kitten’s gray stomach, saying to the boys as he did so, “Now feel the edge of the card for the difference between it and the one I shaved. The mark’s a subtle thing, and designed so that a fellow who’s had a glass too many won’t notice. And that, my lads, is why a steady head in this world will serve you far better than any dependence on luck.”
Her anger drained out of her, leaving her weak limbed and shamed face. It wasn’t gambling really, but a lesson how not to be taken at the tables. Suddenly, she could not help but wonder if such lessons would have kept Newell from losing the house, his fortune, and even his family’s respect? What if Uncle Walter had not ranted so much about sinful ways, but had shown his son more patience and reason? Would it have made a difference?
Only if Newell had not lost the house, Sir Ash would not have come to them.
Suddenly, she no longer knew if the man was the devil’s temptation or the Lord’s blessing in disguise. Perhaps he did not have to be either of those things. Perhaps it was she who had too long viewed the world in darks and lights, in rights and wrongs. Perhaps Sir Ashten could be what he was—just another soul struggling in this world like herself.
She bit her lower lip and hung back in the doorway. The kittens, it seemed, had placed their trust in Sir Ash and looked content to keep it there. They, she knew, judged the man, not his reputation. They sensed a hand that would care for them with kindness.
Something loosened in her. Some inward constraint that had left her for too long awkward and defensive. She looked at Ash for once without seeing a gamester, and what she saw made her heart clench as if his hand had tightened over it.
For what lay before her was a man with an easy smile, a way with her children and a heart too long dormant—just like her own. And for once it was enough to have him be so.
Straightening, she came forward into the room, asking brightly and determined to atone for her near mistake with him, “What mischief do you three plot now?”
Ash swung around, waking the kittens on his lap and frowning. Oh, damn, of all times for her to arrive. He stood, scooping up the limp kittens in his hands. Sir Eber stirred and his eyes—which had turned from kitten blue to dark green—opened. Lazy Rea merely yawned and relaxed, as limp as if dead.
A belligerent desire to defend himself rose in Ash, and he stamped it down. He didn’t need to explain himself to her and her prickly loathing of anything pleasurable. In fact, it was a good thing she’d caught him here with the cards in his hands. It had been inevitable. Perhaps it was even what he had wanted when he’d suggested this diversion to the boys, for he had known in his heart that she would not approve. This way they would have a good fight about it. Then he could feel happy about taking the ten thousand Lord Rustard had offered him, and he could quit this place without another thought.
Stiffening, he waited for the inevitable hot contempt from her for his sinful ways.
She smiled up at him, tousled Thomas’ hair, and bent over the makeshift card table. “Who is winning?”
“We’re not playing, Mother,” Thomas said, his tone scornful, as if she had not seen the obvious.
“Sir Ash is showing us how to avoid Captain Sharps,” Will added.
“Well, perhaps he can also show you a little bit of whist as well. It has been, oh, since well before I married that I last played, but I used to like it quite well. Your grandmother and I used to play for the meringues that Cook made, so perhaps Mrs. Crawley will make some for us.”
“Meringues!” Will jumped up at the mention of his favorite treat of baked sugar and egg whites. “Can I ask her now?”
“You may,” she said, and the boys thundered out with only a last-minute-remembered polite bow.
Ash watched this, uneasy and still braced for war. What was her game? Had she not wanted to trim him down before the boys? His tone hostile, he asked, “Well?”
She smiled again, a little hesitant, and reached out to stroke Sir Eber’s black head, her hand coming so close to his that it distracted him.
“Your arm seems better,” she said.
Realizing that he had pulled off his sling, he glanced down. He gestured with the near comatose Reu to a chair and when she sat, he also sat down, settling the kittens back to their napping locations. Lady Mist jumped up onto Emaline’s lap and Ash watched her stroke the kitten, thinking all the time—lucky cat.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” he blurted out, unable to bear the waiting.
She dimpled. “About your arm? Or about the cards?”
“The dam—dashed cards. I know you despise them...” And me as well for being so impossibly linked to them.
She hesitated a moment, glancing down to the gray kitten in her lap and seeming to choose her words with care. “Despise is a rather strong word. And while I may despise what they did to my cousin—or, rather, what he did with them, I fear that perhaps I have been as wrong in my condemnation of them. Does not the Bible tell us that it is those without sin who should cast the first stone at another? And self-righteousness is such an awful sin.”
Deliberate and provoking, he said, “I wouldn’t know about that. I haven’t read a Bible in years.”
Still she smiled at him, as indulgent as if she were dealing with Will, not a man grown. And she said, “Then I shall take Bea and her kittens for my examples, for you do know them, and they offer nothing but love to those who care for them.” She ducked her head low, seemingly to pet Bea who had come out of the cupboard with her other two kittens. With the slightest tremor in her voice, she added, “Do you not think that is a good example to follow?”
He sat still, numb, his throat dry and wondering why she was doing this to him. She could not be possibly hinting at what he thought she was with this talk of love. Not with him. His voice harsh and low, he asked, “What do you want from me?”
She put down Lady Mist and rose, and came over to stand before him. He started to rise, but she laid a white, slim hand on his shoulder. It stayed him as if she had tied him with weights. “Do not disturb the kittens again. They look so comfortable. And there is but one thing you can do for me—just be happy, Ash. You are a gentleman who deserves that and far more, you know.”
Leaning down, she kissed his cheek, a flutter of softness against his face. In a swish of skirts, she was gone, slipped away like a dream of springtime.
He sat for a very long time, slowly stroking Eber’s soft fur and scratching behind Reu’s left ear, and thinking about his life, about her, and about too many other things.
* * *
Emaline had to come back the next day to collect Lady Mist for Squire Wilberforce. The kittens were old enough to head to new homes, and it was best they go before they began to think the manor their lifelong residence. They would most likely take after Bea in their attachment to place.
Just like me, she thought as she walked through the bare beech woods.
And she wondered if she would go with Ash if he asked?
She looked around her, seeing a winter-bleak world ready for snow and rain. It seemed that as a woman she was making up for not having been a foolish girl. She had fallen in love with a man she could not have, and her heart both ached and soared. How was it possible to feel both the thrill of love and its heartache? But she did. And she feared, if he did ask, she would say yes. Could she do that to the boys? Could she uproot them for a wandering existence?
The only answer that came to mind was that her heart would bleed if he left here without her. And so would the boys’.
A few last leaves still clung to the trees, tenuous and determined to hang on. Am I like that? Clinging to place when I ought to let go, and let God guide me to what is next? Tilting her head ba
ck, she stared at the trees. If she left, how she would miss seeing them leaf out in the spring. And she would miss Mrs. Crawley, and what would she do with Bea? She had so many deep roots here.
She paused at the turn that led up to the manor.
A carriage stood in the drive, blankets laid over the horses to keep them warm against the bite of winter that lay in the wind. Pulling her cloak closer, as if it would hide her, she watched Lord Rustard and Sir Ashten came out of the house. They paused on the steps to shake hands, Lord Rustard smiling with smug satisfaction. He got into his carriage, grooms hurried to pull off the horse blankets, and the carriage moved off, clattering past where she stood, hidden by the trees.
When she looked back to the steps, Ash had gone.
So it is done. He has sold.
With her heart beating fast in her throat, she started toward the house again, half dreading that he would ask her to go with him, and praying he would not so she would not have to decide.
Ash stood in the library, dangling a ribbon for the kittens to chase. They were still kittens enough to be easily lured into mock chases, and they pounced the ribbon—and each other—with more comic clumsiness than skilled grace. Bea lay nearby, cleaning her coat and keeping an eye on the games.
Ash laughed aloud as Sir Eber caught the ribbon and had to let it go as the marmalade Lady Sheba Salah pounced him, igniting a battle.
Some instinct made him turn to the door.
She stood there much as he had first seen her, tousled and with that wretched cloak hiding most of her from his view. He gave up the ribbons to the kittens and moved to her.
“If I had an ounce of wisdom I should have tossed that cloak of yours onto the Guy Fawkes bonfire.”
She put up a protective hand to the ties. “My cloak? I will have you know this is fine Shropshire wool, and has seen me good service.”
“Too much service.” He took it from her, tossed it aside and led her toward the chairs by the fire. The kittens chased after the flung-aside cloak and started a game of hide-and-seek beneath its folds.
“You see,” he said, “Bea’s kittens know a better use for that antique of yours.”
She had to smile as Sir Eber poked his head out, only to have it slapped by Lady Mist. She glanced at Ash, her expression sobering. “I saw Lord Rustard leaving. I beg your pardon for asking, but since it rather affects me, I would like to know if you have reached an agreement with him on a sale?”
Ash frowned. He rose from his chair and went to stand by the fireplace. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he shoved them into his breeches. He pulled one out again and drag his fingers through his hair. Damn, how did he put this? The words he had rehearsed all night in his mind suddenly stuck in his throat.
What would she say to his offer? What if this was a dreadful mistake?
He turned and picked up the poker to jab at an already burning fire. The movement gave him an instant to pull together his courage.
When he turned back, he saw a streaking black form chased by an orange one dart under Emaline’s skirts. The kittens distracted her, bringing laughter to those tawny eyes, and he knew this was no mistake. It would never be one so long as he could see those sherry eyes lighten with delight. He knew the name for the desire, the longing that had driven him home to England. But could he have what he wanted? He certainly did not deserve it.
“Emaline?” he said, and she turned her gaze on him, her glance full of the longing that lay in his own heart.
He was across the distance between them in an instant and had her in his arms as she rose up to him. Her mouth met his with the same urgent desire, the same hot need, the same trembling uncertainty. He lost track of all else.
Until sharp claws slapped at his boot, and a small furry body careened between his legs.
Pulling back, he looked down at Emaline’s face. Her golden lashes slowly pulled open, and he stared at her, searching her expression for the certainty of her heart.
“Take me with you,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “The boys need a home. And you...you, my pretty housebreaker are as married to this house, this land, as your precious Begat, and as her kittens after her shall be.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but a small frown tightened on her brow. “Her kittens?”
His arms tightened around her. “Yes. And her kitten’s kittens. And the kittens that come after that. I’m afraid I’m tangled in a cat’s cradle here.”
“But Lord Rustard...?”
“Bought some of my property by the river, and two tenant farms. I haven’t the funds to mend them as they need, but he has the wherewithal, and he was quite satisfied that he is now the largest property holder in the county. He also seemed pleased to take me under his wing with advice. I think he has ambitions to see me made over into a gentleman farmer, and he likes the notion that he shall be viewed as the mentor who reformed me. Of course, we’ll know that’s not true.”
She stared up at him, her expression confused. “You’re staying? You will not tire of this place?”
He smoothed the trouble from her face. “Tire of it? I think that you—yes, and those imps you call sons—are what I’ve been searching for my whole life. I’m home, my sweet Em. That is, I am if you say I am. For it all rests in your hands now.”
He took her hands and kissed each palm.
Emaline pulled them away from him, but only so she could wrap her arms tight around his neck.
“You are always home in my arms,” she whispered. Delight swirled in her as his lips claimed hers again.
From beside the hearth, Bea watched, indulgent, her tail twitching as her kittens romped around the entwined forms, smug in her sense of home and place.
* * *
Copyright 2011 © Shannon Donnelly
Cat’s Cradle
For other stories by Shannon Donnelly visit www.sd-writer.com
Cat's Cradle Page 7