Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon

by Catherine Gayle

  Not only that, but the gentlemen planned to take some of David’s boats out to the estuary and try their hands at fishing today. Morgan couldn’t go along with them and be the only lady present for such a thing. That just wasn’t done.

  Besides, Emma doubted either Lord Trenowyth or Mr. Cardiff wished to allow their sister to encounter any more reminders of what had happened there than absolutely necessary.

  She didn’t know what they intended to do with her this afternoon, but she and Serena couldn’t very well keep Morgan all to themselves during this fortnight. And if they did, how would Emma possibly find a husband? She’d be forever surrounded by the two other ladies, forming a bit of an impenetrable shield which would inadvertently keep the gentlemen away.

  Serena set up her easel near Emma, placing a canvas upon it in a position which should allow for her to have a nice view of the folly. Emma smiled at her and then delved back into her book.

  She’d read a few pages and was almost fully engrossed within the story, when a disturbance coming from the main house interrupted her reading. A footman was carrying yet another easel and a board of some sort. Not too far behind him, Mr. Cardiff had one hand full with vellum and a box of pastels, with Morgan holding the other.

  Emma frowned and then turned her eyes back to her book. It was one thing for her to be out with the other ladies while they were painting. After all, she could choose to pick up a brush and try her hand at watercolors. It would be disastrous, but that would be her choice.

  But Morgan couldn’t see, so she clearly couldn’t paint. Unlike Emma, she couldn’t read to entertain her mind. If they were just going to bring Morgan out to sit with the ladies, why had the brothers insisted on separating her from Emma and Serena?

  And then it struck her. It hadn’t been the brothers who’d insisted, but just one brother. Mr. Cardiff. He’d done it because he didn’t want Morgan to be with her, without a doubt. That rankled more so now than it had before, because of supper last night.

  Emma attempted to concentrate on her book, but she couldn’t focus on it. Her eyes roved over the same paragraph at least four times, and still hadn’t even the slightest inkling what it said. She could only think about how Mr. Cardiff seemed to hate her so much, and yet he also seemed to be watching her in a different way, as well. His manner of expression left her bewildered, to say the least. But did she want him to change his mind, to stop hating her? She didn’t know any more.

  Looking up again, she saw that Mr. Cardiff had situated his easel to where Emma was directly in his line of vision. But surely he didn’t intend to do a portrait of her. No, he must be preparing to sketch the vista behind her.

  Morgan sat on a blanket at his feet, well away from the other ladies. She fidgeted with a flower she’d plucked from the lawn. She pulled a petal free, and it floated out of her fingers to land next to her feet. Emma had never seen Morgan look so bored. Distraction had always been common for her—she’d stared off into the ether all of those years ago, far more often than she did anything else, but her mind had been fully engaged in her wayward thoughts. One couldn’t simply pull her out of her head back then. Now, it seemed even the slightest little provocation would allow her some excitement.

  Yet her brother had brought her here, sat her down, and left her with nothing to engage her mind save plucking the petals from a flower. Insolent man.

  Emma was overly tempted to give him a piece of her mind, but she had already caused enough damage by speaking plainly last night. She bit her tongue—literally—when a dog’s bark broke through her thoughts.

  Her head whipped around behind her just in time to see a mangy, brown mutt loping toward her with its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

  A chorus of screams and scandalized squeals sounded all around her, and two easels fell to the ground as the other ladies rushed to move out of the dog’s path.

  “Does Lord Burington have a dog?” Morgan asked tentatively.

  “No,” Mr. Cardiff growled, even as he hauled his sister to her feet and stood between her and the animal. He ignored Morgan’s indignant huff, simply shoving her behind him…and within moments, almost every lady present had followed her of their own accord.

  All of them but Emma.

  “Emma, do come this way,” Vanessa called out from her position of safety next to Morgan. “It could be rabid.”

  “Could be might be the understatement of the century,” Mr. Cardiff grumbled.

  Emma’s head shot up to stare at him. “For all the indications you’ve given, Mr. Cardiff, you could be rabid as well.”

  He leveled her with a stare and placed himself between all the other ladies and the dog.

  The animal didn’t seem even the least bit dangerous to Emma. Dirty and unkempt, certainly, and possibly a bit flea-ridden. She’d been rather unkempt more than she ought to have been in her life, too, and she wasn’t even remotely dangerous. Granted, she was a human and not a wild animal. But still. Emma held out her hand as the animal came closer to her. He shoved his head into it straightaway.

  She scratched behind his scraggly ear, and he let out a whining sort of sound.

  “Do you like that?”

  Of course, the dog couldn’t answer her, so she scratched harder. He shoved his head into her hand more insistently than before. Emma dropped her book and used both hands. Within moments, he was happily panting and rubbing against her.

  “He’s harmless,” Emma called out to the other ladies, hoping that they’d relax and resume their painting once they realized he wouldn’t hurt them.

  Instead, she heard them all talking beneath their breath.

  “If she considers fleas harmless…”

  “I can smell the mutt from here.”

  “It’ll serve her right if he bites her.”

  Good heavens, they were being ridiculous. Emma kept petting the dog and scratching him, and within minutes he’d curled up at her side, calm as could be.

  “I think he’s decided to join us.” She almost laughed at the horrified expression on Lady Portia’s face. “I don’t think he has any intention of doing anything but sitting next to me. You’ll all be fine.”

  Serena was the first to venture out from behind Mr. Cardiff, who’d been scowling in Emma’s direction the whole time with his arms crossed over his chest like a disapproving papa.

  “Miss Hathaway is right,” Serena said authoritatively. “He just wants a little affection. I’m sure he won’t cause any harm.” With that, she made her way back over beside Emma, bent down to give the dog a scratch, and then took up her spot behind her easel.

  Slowly, the other ladies returned to their spots. Morgan tried to move forward, but Mr. Cardiff put out his hand, perhaps in an effort to stop her. She skirted around him, as though she’d felt his interference. “Miss Hathaway?” she called. “Pray tell, are you reading a book this afternoon?”

  “Rob Roy,” Emma replied. “I haven’t gotten very far into it yet. Would you like me to read it aloud to you?”

  The smile that lit Morgan’s face could rival the sun…until her brother said, “I don’t want you to go anywhere near that dog.” Then Morgan’s expression fell into a near pout.

  Vanessa stepped in and offered her arm for Morgan to take. “Come along. I’ll sit with you both and be sure you’re safe from the dog.”

  The simple suggestion yet again visibly lifted Morgan’s spirits, and Mr. Cardiff relented. They sat, the three of them with the dog, in the middle of the circle of ladies, reading and petting the dog, and laughing each time he’d nuzzle one of their hands.

  Even though Mr. Cardiff had forced his way into her day when he brought his sister to paint with them all, Emma felt it had somehow turned into a pleasant one.

  Kingley.

  She’d named the damned mutt. One more bit of proof that Miss Hathaway was absolutely not the sort of chit Aidan wanted his sister spending much time with, and yet she was precisely the one Morgan seemed drawn to. Well, one of them. Miss Weston wasn’t so b
ad, and Morgan had spent time with her as well. But Miss Weston, likewise, spent altogether too much time in the vicinity of Miss Hathaway. And now, Miss Hathaway thought she needed to make this beast into a pet.

  The dog surely had fleas and it stunk to high hell, and yet she’d allowed it to curl up beside her as she read aloud to his sister, and he was supposed to find this in some manner acceptable?

  It had even ruined the delicate pink muslin of her gown! Not even the best laundry maid in all of England could possibly save the fabric after the beast had rubbed its filth and grime all over her, slobbering and drooling on her to boot. It wasn’t until he saw the stains against the pink of his vellum that he realized he’d been doing her portrait, which only infuriated him more. He’d been putting her to canvas, as he’d done time and again, and all she wanted to do was sit with a mangy dog curled up at her side instead of—

  Aidan stopped himself before he completed that thought. It was ludicrous. He needed to move on from that. It was better for his sanity’s sake to think about how she’d given the beast a name. Like a pet. Like an animal she intended to keep and coddle and croon over.

  When Aidan and the ladies had all packed up their easels and supplies to go back into the house, it took every ounce of restraint that he possessed to refrain from reminding her that the animal was not welcome inside. And it wasn’t even his home! He had no right to make such a pronouncement, and yet it nearly fell from his lips as easily as his own name.

  At least she’d left her dear Kingley outside, where he belonged. The last thing Aidan needed was for Morgan to become overly attached to a wild, mangy dog. When she became attached to things and then lost them, nothing good came of it.

  Once the ladies went off to whatever they were to spend their afternoon doing, he made his way into David’s library. He flipped the page of some massive tome on animal husbandry he’d picked up, not that he’d read a single word of the last page, or the page before that, and not that he intended to read even one word on the new page…but if a servant were to walk into the library and find him doing nothing but brooding with a murderous glower upon his face, he surely would hear about it later from David. Or Niall. Possibly both of them.

  Aidan already had enough things plaguing his mind without his brother or his friend adding their voices to the ever-present voice in his head.

  He’d been alone for a good half an hour or more after the ladies retired inside. The other men were still out on the river. It was likely for the best that he’d stayed behind with the women, despite the taunts a few of the men had sent his way when he’d informed them he would prefer to work on some art with the ladies. It had allowed him to keep an eye on Morgan and that dog.

  He trusted Lady Burington well enough. But it was a large beast. All of the women combined might not have been able to pull it off, should it decide to attack one of them, which only made Miss Hathaway’s befriending of it all the more troubling. How could she know it was tame? How could she guarantee it wouldn’t harm anyone? What would she have done if it had attacked?

  Devil take it, why was he thinking about Miss Hathaway again?

  When Aidan turned what must have been at least the tenth page without having read a single word, the door to the Heathcote Park library swung open and David stepped inside, then stopped abruptly.

  “What are you doing in here? I thought I might find Miss Hathaway.”

  “So terribly sorry to disappoint you,” Aidan drawled, unable to hide his irritation at hearing her name on David’s lips. Good God, it was like she followed him everywhere here, even if she wasn’t present. “I needed somewhere to think. Your library was quiet and, for once, empty.”

  “Too many ladies out on the lawn chattering? They can be a little overwhelming when they’re all together in a flock like that.”

  Aidan scowled. They had actually been rather quiet, all things considered. Well, aside from the shouts of dismay when the mutt had come upon them. That part was enough to leave him with a ringing sensation in his head, like church bells that never ceased.

  He shook his head. “They weren’t so bad as all that.”

  David strolled in. The door closed behind him, and he moved closer to the armchair beside Aidan, then peeked over Aidan’s shoulder. “Christ, what are you reading?”

  “I’m not.” No one would believe he had an interest in such a thing, so there was no point in pretending otherwise. “I’m just holding it so I give off the appearance of being occupied.”

  “You’re giving off the appearance of being a sullen, angry fool.” David dropped into the chair and crossed one ankle over his knee.

  “That’s hardly an act or a mere appearance.”

  “It’s good you recognize the truth for what it is.”

  Aidan gave a wry grin. “One must call a spade a spade.”

  “True.” David narrowed his eyes. “So what is your foul mood really about?”

  But he couldn’t give voice to that. He hadn’t sorted it all out in his own head yet. All Aidan knew was that he wanted to let Morgan live again, but he couldn’t seem to find the fortitude within himself to trust her to do it all alone. He knew that, no matter how he tried to twist things around in his head, somehow he was always at the crux of every matter…and he hated that. He knew he wanted to continue to hate Miss Hathaway because it was what was comfortable and familiar. At certain turns she made such a task entirely too easy, and at other points she made it as impossible as removing his own heart from his chest and somehow continuing to live. He’d begun to notice things about her, such as her kindness to Morgan, and the way she seemed to attract outcasts and then take them under her wing, and how she didn’t look altogether ungainly any more when she wore such pretty frocks. Yet he didn’t want to notice any of those things at all—which begged the question: why didn’t he want to notice?

  The only answer which came to mind was that it was easier to continue hating her than it was to admit she hadn’t done anything to deserve his hatred. The more he noticed how pretty she was or how kindly she treated Morgan, the closer he came to being forced to admit that, at least to himself.

  But he couldn’t tell David any of that. Not until he’d worked it all out within his own mind. So he blew out a breath. “I’m frustrated, is all.”

  “That much is obvious.”

  His cheek and lip pulled at one side, almost in a grin, despite himself. “I think it would be best for everyone if I tried to separate myself some. Get some space.”

  “You could have distanced yourself from the people who are frustrating you so much if you would have come out to the river with us. You could have left Morgan with the ladies, and everything would have been just fine.”

  That was the problem. Trusting that she’d be all right without either him or Niall to look out for her…it was too difficult right now. It might always be too difficult, though he didn’t want to allow his mind to dwell on that possibility.

  When he remained silent, David stretched out both legs before him and loosely crossed his arms over his chest. “I have an idea,” he said thoughtfully, “that might grant you some space and allow you to sort through whatever it is that’s plaguing you.”

  Aidan didn’t know what to think of that tone. It was like David was being cautious with him. Like he was afraid of what Aidan’s reaction might be. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never experienced the like.

  Good God, had he become so despondent now that even David, who’d known him since they were boys, feared what he might do? Lifting his brows, Aidan said, “Go on,” though he half dreaded what his friend might suggest.

  “I’ve got an area set up for you in the hermitage, on the far side of the estate.”

  “Devil take it.” He’d be damned if he locked himself away in seclusion while Morgan tried to find her way in society again without him. Even as he started to voice that very thing, though, David held up his hand.

  “You’ll have everything you could possibly need. Chisels,
hammers, marble…even the piece you were working on when you left your studio.”

  Sculpting. The mere thought of it had his hands rubbing together involuntarily until he felt the calluses still lining his fingers and palms. Yet he shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “You can. I sent my men to London, and they brought everything you left behind. It’s all in place. All it needs is you.”

  He shook his head, baffled by the suggestion, by the mere thought of it. All it needed was an Aidan Cardiff who could devote the time, and energy, and emotional wherewithal to something of that nature. He was no longer that man. Since the day he received an urgent letter from home, telling him that Morgan had thrown herself before a racing carriage and was inconsolable over Stoneham’s rejection, he’d invested every ounce of emotion he had in caring for her.

  To renew sculpting would require far more than he had to give.

  And it would keep him locked away, in seclusion, for hours and hours at a time. So often, back when he allowed himself the opportunity to sculpt, he would lose his grip on time and space, until he’d been at work for hours or days, without stopping for anything but the barest of necessities.

  Yet his pulse kicked to life in his veins at the thought, and he couldn’t deny that the thought of sculpting again was calling to him. Drawing him closer.

  To what? To the life he’d thought to lead, once upon a time? He’d turned his back on that long ago. He couldn’t possibly allow himself to become so sidetracked by anything. Not now.

  How could he live with himself if something happened to Morgan and he wasn’t there? He couldn’t. Never again.

  Something which so thoroughly absorbed him had no place in his life ever again.

  David stood, dragging a hand over his jaw before looking down at Aidan. “Niall told me you’d react this way. I think I knew you would, too. But I had to try.”

  “Why?” Aidan croaked, no longer recognizing his own voice.

  “Because I miss my friend.” He let out a mirthless chuckle as he made his way to the door. “It’s all there. No one else will go to the hermitage. It’s locked, so even if they went they couldn’t get in. If you change your mind…”