Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  Nose in the air, Grandmother sniffed. “Very well. You may stay.”

  Resignation tinged her relief. Winter nodded. “Thank you.”

  Then Grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “Where are your pearls?”

  She raised a hand to her neck as if only just noticing its bare state. Then she dropped it again and looked at Grandfather. “I suppose one cannot expect to leave Holy Ground without paying some price.”

  Grandmother smirked. “I will go order a bath for you.”

  As apologies went, a bath was a good one on this night. But when the lady swept past, out the door, Winter felt fingers of ice slide up her spine.

  Grandfather took a few slow, even steps until he was beside her, his gaze on the door. “I underestimated you, Winter. I will not do so again. Next time you misstep, I will not waste any time and effort on teaching you lessons. I will have you killed and be done with it.”

  Winter held herself upright and still until he had gone. Then she breathed a dry, tired laugh. If ever she misstepped so greatly, he would have to wait in line for that privilege.

  Sixteen

  Ben smiled at the footman and stepped into the cool entryway of Hampton Hall. “Morning, Thomas.”

  “Mr. Lane.” The man smiled in return. “Miss Reeves is out back, I believe. If you will have a seat in the drawing room, I shall send someone to fetch her.”

  Though the servant had been reaching for his hat, Ben dropped his hand at that news. “No need for that, Thomas. We would undoubtedly end up in the garden anyway. I shall go find her out there.”

  “As you like, sir.”

  Ben hummed as he traversed the familiar corridors of the stately house, relieved when he gained the back door without running into either of the Hamptons. He wanted to see Winter. Needed to see her to determine if she had taken their talk last night to heart, but he could do without her grandparents today.

  Pushing open the door into the garden, the sound of hammer upon slate met his ears. Given the intensity of the sun beating down, Ben did not envy the workman the task of roof repair, that was for certain.

  He paused for a moment in the shade of the eaves to look about for Winter. She was nowhere, so far as he could see. Not near the roses, not on the bench beneath the arbor, not under the tulip tree, where she sometimes reposed. Had Thomas been mistaken?

  Finally he caught sight of her graceful movements at the stable door. He frowned at first, unable to imagine her grandparents allowing her to spend time out there. But then he saw Freeman behind her, and it made sense. Of course she would be at his side whenever she could manage it, he being the only tie she had left to her Long Island home.

  He took a step forward but paused when she came more fully into view. She wore a dress plainer than he usually saw on her, a light color appropriate for summer but unadorned, so far as he could tell, and her hair was in a braid. The vision made him smile. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but this seemed more like the Winter who lived beneath the mask. And if so, there may be hope for them yet. For this Winter, more beautiful than ever in simplicity, may get on quite well in Connecticut.

  She headed his way, spotted him, and lifted a hand in greeting. He saw that she smiled but wished they were closer so he could discern the flavor of it. Was it genuine? Perhaps embarrassed, after their gentle embrace last night? Regretful?

  He hoped not regretful. He didn’t know if he could suffer it if she chose, yet again, to keep her heart hidden.

  But as she drew nearer he couldn’t help but think that hers was not an expression of a woman floating on a cloud of romance. She looked tired, pained. And her smile seemed uncertain at best.

  Blast. He might as well turn and leave. What was the point of going through this yet again? The progress, the hope, and then the disappointment when she reverted back to her old ways.

  He had thought it would be different this time. He truly had.

  Winter halted halfway to him, her eyes wide and turned upward. He heard the curse from above and the chink of breaking slate at the same moment he heard her scream, “Bennet!”

  Each fraction of a second expanded, so that it seemed a multitude of observations whirred through his brain all at once. How horror took possession of her face, the sound of the slate accelerating as it slid down the roof, the knowledge that he must be directly under it, to alarm her so. He tried to send his limbs the command to move, but they seemed unable to respond.

  Finally his knees bent, he came up on his toes. His arms stretched out before him, as if pushing the air out of the way so he could get through. But already the slate had gone silent, which meant it had left the roof. Already Winter charged toward him.

  The slate knocked off his hat and caught him on the shoulder, though with the momentum he already had working in his favor, his fall took him out of its continued path. Still, its shattering on the stone patio came just as he hit the same unforgiving ground with a grunt. He had to wonder if he, too, had cracked something vital.

  “Bennet!” Time came back into alignment when Winter dropped to her knees at his side, her hands flying over his shoulder and head. “Bennet, speak to me. Are you injured? Can you move? Should I call for a physician?”

  It took him a second to force air back into his lungs. “Not the way I envisioned the morning going, but I seem to have emerged in one piece.” He winced, though, when he tried to push himself up, his shoulder protesting the action.

  “Everyone all right down there?” an anxious voice called from the roof.

  “Fine. Fine.” If one ignored the searing pain.

  “Stay still.” Winter’s voice shook to match her hands, which attempted to hold him immobile.

  Ben got himself to a sitting position. “No need for that. Hurts like mad, but I don’t think I’m terribly injured. Bruised, no doubt, but that is all.”

  She shook her head, her lips pressed together as if afraid to speak. Her eyes wide, as if they may fill with tears at any moment. And her hands continued to tremble as she dropped them to her lap.

  He must have given her quite a fright. Ben smiled and took her fingers in his. “There now, I am well.”

  Rather than answer, she squeezed her eyes shut and lifted their joined hands to rest her forehead upon them. Her breath came in unsteady heaves.

  Concern eclipsed the fiery ache in his shoulder. “Winter, really. I am fine.”

  “I know.” Yet her voice sounded unconvinced. “I know, and praise the Lord for it. But had you not moved those few inches…”

  He grimaced at the thought. “’Tis a good thing you warned me. Nasty stuff, slate—at least when falling. Why, I have even heard of people being kill—” He cut himself off with a hiss. Hadn’t Mother said Mr. Reeves was killed by a falling piece of slate? No wonder this reaction then. Confound it, what a dunce he was. “Winter, I am sorry. Your father…what are the chances that I…my poor darling. Come here.”

  She scooted closer and let him wrap his arms around her as she rested her head against his shoulder. Her hands curled into the fabric of his waistcoat. “I thought I had lost you,” she whispered against him. “When I saw that slate coming straight for you—”

  “But you did not. I am here.” He slid a hand under the thick braid at her neck and urged her head up enough that he could touch his forehead to hers. “I am here.”

  “That is what Mother said. After my father…” She sniffed as she smoothed out his waistcoat where she had rumpled it. Ben tried to concentrate on her words rather than the yearning that surged through him at her gentle touch. “She said she was there, would always be there. Then when she fell ill…I was so angry, Bennet. Angry at Father for leaving us. Angry at Mother for falling ill.”

  “Understandable.” And honest. Open. Something she surely didn’t share with just anyone, something unmarred by her mask. Perhaps it was odd to find hope in her dismay, but how could he not, when it was proof of her affection? “I cannot promise nothing will happen to me. I would be a fool if I tried. But, my darling,
while we may not be able to escape the hand of Providence, we can make the most of the time we are given.”

  “I do not want to escape Providence. His hand cradles, Bennet. It does not strike. But your larger point holds true.” Her smile wobbled, but its appearance nevertheless made his heart take wing. “I am done with wasting our time.”

  The ache in his shoulder was suddenly sweet as a promise. “If you follow that with another order that I find someone else to court…”

  She chuckled and rested her hand on his cheek. Which served to remind him that he had rushed out before his valet could fetch the razor this morning. “Not unless you proceed to order me to marry Fairchild.”

  “Nay,” he said on a light laugh. “In fact, I am grateful you are a disobedient little thing.”

  Her grin shone forth. “I will remember you said that and remind you of it at the most inconvenient moment I can find. I hope you realize that.”

  “I have no doubt.” He turned his head enough to kiss her hand.

  Her smiled faded, and again he noted what had struck him when he saw her walking his way. Circles under her eyes, and an echo of pain within them. Yet she didn’t pull away. “Bennet, I’m glad you are here. That I have not scared you off as I meant to do.”

  Another admission that surely cost her. “When I awoke this morning, I nearly disbelieved what transpired last night. I thought you may have decided not to…”

  “I did.” Her eyes slid shut, but her fingers remained on his cheek. “Not at first. First I decided to do whatever was necessary to ensure we had a chance to get to know each other. Then I…let us say I remembered all the reasons I had not done so to begin with. But now…”

  He covered her fingers with his. “Hmm? Now?”

  Her breath shuddered out and she opened her eyes to look into his. “I do not want to lose you. Certainly not to what is beyond our control, but how much worse would it be if I chose it? I cannot. Perhaps I still should, perhaps that would be the wise thing, the fair thing. But I cannot.”

  “Who would have thought ‘I cannot’ would be the most precious words in the world?” He smiled and reached to smooth back a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. And regretted it when his shoulder screamed. He barely stifled a word not fit for female ears. “Forgot it that quickly.”

  She sent him a glance that combined rebuke with amusement and dropped her hands to hold his—no doubt as much to keep him from raising it again as for the sentiment. “Bennet—”

  “Don’t fuss, my love. I will be more careful.” Not to mention that he had no desire to call for a doctor, thereby interrupting this time with her. And he had logic enough to think that if he was more concerned with that than the pain, then the injury could not be so terrible.

  Sighing, she shook her head. But a smile teased her mouth again, tempting him to lean in and give her that third kiss he had withheld last night. Make it a habit. He settled for stroking his thumb over her knuckles. “Did you truly not know my Aristotle reference last night?”

  That earned him a laugh that banished a few of the shadows from her eyes. “Aristotle was never my favorite. Descartes I liked. And Lavoisier.”

  His pulse galloped. “You’ve read Lavoisier’s papers?”

  The gleam in her eyes said she knew how much that meant to him. “Those that reached us before I came here, anyway. My father enjoyed chemistry, you see, and he loved to read scientific papers with me during the winters. I find Lavoisier’s new theories on the elements quite intriguing.”

  He raised their joined hands to his heart. Perhaps he ought to propose here and now. Just think of it—a beautiful young woman he admired, and who admired Lavoisier. Perhaps they could be like them, even, with her assisting him in his laboratory as Madame Lavoisier did her husband. Dare he dream such? Hope such?

  He had so much he wanted to ask her, now that she may actually answer. Questions of literature, of her family, of her dreams. What she hoped for from life, what she feared.

  Why she had given in so long to her grandparents’ demands on her.

  And she smiled at him as if she knew every bookish thought in his head and still wanted to converse with him. Why, then, did it have to fade again, all the way into a frown? “Bennet,” she said, voice quiet. She squeezed his hand. “There are still things…I cannot…” She sighed to a halt.

  He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it.

  ’Twas apparently an encouragement. Her expression softened again. “You said last night you have patience aplenty. I pray that is true, because it will not be easy for me to emerge from this place into which my grandparents have put me. To step from the darkness of the cave into the light.”

  He chuckled. “You are unfamiliar with Aristotle, yet you have obviously read Plato’s Republic.”

  Her lips quirked up. “With all the talk flying around of independence and new governments, Father thought it a wise idea to see what some of the great minds had to say on the subject.”

  “I should have liked to meet your father, I think.”

  A strange mix of emotion surged through her eyes—hope, fear, uncertainty. It settled on caution. “I can imagine the two of you getting along famously.”

  Perhaps he ought not to have reminded her of that loss, given the slate incident. But soon enough her expression moved back into sweet, and they fell to staring at each other in that way he had always scoffed at when he saw other couples doing it. Little had he known how fulfilling it could be to simply study the woman one loved.

  Or how frustrating it could be when a clearing throat interrupted them. He looked over toward the noise, expecting Mr. Hampton or perhaps Freeman, who seemed to be her usual guardian. But it was Robert Townsend who stood at the corner of the house, frowning as he looked from one of them to the other.

  “I seem to have a knack for interrupting the two of you. My apologies. I can return later.”

  Why, then, hadn’t he simply turned around and done so without making his presence known?

  Perhaps that was uncharitable.

  “Robbie.” Winter squeezed Ben’s fingers and then reclaimed her hand as she pushed to her feet. “Mr. Lane had a bit of scuffle with some falling slate.”

  Townsend’s gaze felt cold upon him. “I do hope you are not injured, Mr. Lane.”

  Ben pushed carefully to his feet as well. “Probably a bruise on my shoulder, but I was fortunate enough to have gotten my head out of the way in time.”

  The newcomer nodded. Given the pulsing of his jaw, he looked to be clenching his teeth. He turned that harsh gaze on Winter again. “I came by to check on you. See how your head was faring.”

  Ben’s brows drew together. “Yours?”

  Winter sent Townsend a look loaded with meaning Ben could not discern. Then that empty smile of hers took possession of her mouth. “Just a bump. Freeman told you about it when he came to your store this morning, Robbie?”

  Townsend stared her down a long moment. What in the world were all these wordless messages? Ben tried to convince himself not to be bothered by it, but…

  At last Townsend nodded. Curtly. “I was worried.”

  “’Tis nothing. Still sore, but Grandmother had the physician in last night, and he assures us it will heal nicely.”

  “Physician?” Ben had been trying to discreetly brush off his posterior but halted at that. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Winter agreeing to a physician over nothing. “What exactly bumped you? And why did you not say anything?”

  Her smile turned genuine, if a bit too mischievous. “I hardly had the chance, Bennet, what with you stepping into the path of falling slate and all the moment you arrived.”

  He lifted his brows. “An injury that only could have been should not take precedence over one that is.”

  Townsend cleared his throat again. “So you are feeling better?”

  Her grin faded when she looked back to her old friend, the contemplation in her eyes making Ben think he was not the only one confounded by the man’s to
ne of voice. “Better, yes. It still aches. But the physician stitched the gash closed—”

  “Gash?” Ben went tense as he tried to find the wound on her head. She must have hidden it under the mass of mahogany hair…though that probably explained why she wore it differently today. “How did you get a gash upon your head?”

  “I…I’m really not sure.” She shrugged, and while she seemed to be truthful in her statement, he suspected ’twasn’t so simple as that. “I must have fallen, though I cannot remember what happened between turning around after you left, Bennet, and waking up with a pounding head.”

  His hands clenched at his sides. If he were a betting man, he would have wagered on her grandfather having something to do with it. And if he were a violent man, he might toss aside respect for the man’s age and station and challenge him.

  Because he was neither, he contented himself with thinking up a few formulas that could make Hampton as miserable as he made Winter. Not that he intended to use it, but a little spirit of salt could cause serious pain. An acid burn was surely deserved if he indeed injured her so severely.

  “Well.” Townsend jerked his head again in a move too cold to be called a nod. “I am glad to know you are on the mend. Good day to you both.”

  When he pivoted and strode toward the corner again, Winter frowned and went after him. “Robbie, wait.”

  Ben held his ground, clasped his hands behind his back, and prepared to watch their interaction. The concern upon Winter’s face was genuine, but of a different sort than what she had shown him earlier. Warm, but with a more muted kind of affection. Ought he to be jealous? He thought not.

  And yet he couldn’t help but think that the same observation was what had put Townsend in such poor spirits.

  Ben rubbed his shoulder and halfway wished he had fallen for a homely girl who did not have so many other young men in love with her. Or perhaps he ought to wish he had the good sense not to make friends with those who were. Not that he and Townsend were particularly close, but they always got on well enough when in company.