Owen tipped his head back in laughter of his own. I was reminded of last night at dinner, how easily we had laughed, and how heartily. His chuckling subsided and he looked at me with a broad grin. “You have the most unique and infectious laugh.”
“What? I do not.” I shook my head sharply.
“You do. It is unlike any laugh I have ever heard. Haven’t many people told you that?”
I shrugged, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Not many people have heard it.”
He stared at me in silence for a long moment. “Then I must be among the most privileged.”
I dropped my gaze to the grass. The dimple was back, and it was paired much too handsomely with the warm, admiring look in his countenance. I didn’t know how to respond.
His voice recalled my eyes, carrying a much lighter tone. “Would you like me to give you a tour?”
I waved off his offer and said, “I don’t wish to rob you of your time any longer.”
“It would be my pleasure. Please.” His cajoling smile made the offer nearly impossible to refuse. I had planned on asking Mrs. Kellaway, but Owen probably knew the home just as well.
“Very well,” I accepted, trying to hide just how glad I was that he had offered.
“Would you like to start with the grounds?”
I nodded, sweeping my gaze over the surrounding land. There was so much to see!
Owen beckoned me forward with a smile and a wave of his hand. “Come. We’ll start with the gardens.”
We set off together, snaking our way through the beautiful gardens; he allowed me time to admire each. My favorite was the rose garden. We stopped in front of a tall bush, adorned with miniature white roses. They looked like little flakes of beautiful snow.
Its neighboring bush, covered with soft pink roses, caught my admiring eye more than once. I quickly banished the admiration, telling myself that pink was an awful color, and that I wasn’t allowed to admire it anymore. Melancholy pooled in my heart as I remembered all the things I tried everyday to forget. Pink did that in a way that nothing else could.
Owen reached forward and broke off a pink rose. “For you.” He smiled knowingly. “I noticed you admiring them.”
Unrest surged within me. “Oh, um … ,” I didn’t know what to say. Something inside me was begging me to accept it, to put it in my hair just as I always used to do. It was beautiful. The gentleness of it, the way the sun illuminated its most attractive hues …
I quickly stopped myself. No. It was not beautiful. It was ugly. “It must have been the white roses you saw me admiring.”
He held up the rose in his hand, glancing at it from different angles. “Are you not fond of this color?”
“No, I’m not.” Remembering my manners, I added, “But thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for a rose you find unsightly.” He chuckled. “Would you like a white one?”
“That would be much better.”
He reached down to pluck off a rose near the base of the bush, smiling over his shoulder. A movement flashed in my vision from the right. I turned my head and looked twice. A robust, angry-looking woman was bounding swiftly across the grass.
I was stunned by the resemblance she bore to an animal I had read about. I believe it was called an elephant. By the way she bounded with hefty footfalls, and carried herself with such powerful authority, it seemed to me that she was the very personification of an elephant.
I jerked my gaze to Owen. I was surprised to see that he was watching her approach with a calm, if not amused, expression.
“Owen Kellaway, don’t you dare take a rose!” The elephant woman yelled, shaking a finger. “How many times must I tell you?” Her face was ruddy and her voice sounded gruff and quite terrifying.
Owen turned his head around to flash me a mischievous smile.
I knew mischievous smiles better than most, so from his I knew that he intended to pick the rose anyway. He grasped it by its stem and pulled up sharply, releasing it from the bush. Then he stood up straight and looked at me with wide eyes brimming with laughter. “Run!”
He grasped my hand and we took off, racing across the grass. The wind flew at my face, muffling my laughter along with my breathlessness. I glanced back at the woman, holding my bonnet against my head with my free hand so it wouldn’t blow onto my face again. She was advancing with great haste, pumping her arms far too high to look natural.
We reached the broad stables on the northwest lawn and Owen pulled me inside, laughing and trying to catch his breath. Two grooms, busy feeding the horses, glanced up lazily at our entrance.
I leaned against the wall, laughing between my quick breaths. “Who was that?”
He grinned with amusement, his breathing heavy. “The groundskeeper’s wife, Mrs. Berney. The woman of my nightmares.”
“And now mine.”
He laughed and leaned toward me as if to tell me a secret. “When I was a young boy, I was quite like your brothers. Nothing pleased me more than good mischief. But you have experienced that firsthand, haven’t you?” He shook his head slightly as if he had forgotten.
I raised an eyebrow. “It seems that is still the case.”
He chuckled. “That may be true, but I used to pick roses everyday. I told Mrs. Berney that I picked them as a gift for my mother, when really I picked them solely to make her angry.”
“Well, she certainly seems angry now.”
Owen nodded in agreement and smiled down at me. Under his penetrating gaze, I felt as though his eyes were taking in every feature of my face—every flaw. I was suddenly very aware of how unbecoming I must have looked, for I had spent less than two minutes getting ready. My face grew hot.
It was then that the door flew open and Mrs. Berney entered, still upholding her scolding finger. She was even more terrifying at closer range. “Owen Kellaway, you give me that rose this instant.” She narrowed her eyes in deep malice.
Owen quickly threw his hands behind his back. “What rose?” His mischievous grin had returned.
Without hesitation, Mrs. Berney raced behind him and snatched the white rose from his hand. She glowered at him, the expression making her lower teeth jut out in front of her lip and her eyes shine venomously. Perhaps it wasn’t an elephant that she personified, but a very hefty snake. She held this terrifying expression for several seconds before turning on her heel and storming out the door.
Owen turned to me with a wry grin. “Can’t you see why she would haunt my dreams?”
My wide-eyed gaze still held on the door from which she had just departed. “Yes, I most definitely can.” I turned to him with a smile. I was surprised to see that in his hand he held the pink rose he had first removed from the garden.
“This one will have to suffice.” He extended the rose to me.
I didn’t move. “How did you—”
“I held it in this hand the entire time,” he explained. “Mrs. Berney didn’t even notice.”
I eyed the rose with careful scrutiny. It sat so innocently in his hand, and I could have sworn I heard it begging me to accept it. But surely nothing so beautiful could be so innocent. It was trying to trick me.
Owen tilted his head to look more directly into my eyes. “I can assure you that it isn’t poisoned.”
I glanced up at him from under my lashes, a small smile creeping onto my lips. But I said nothing.
“Annette, what do you have against this color?” He asked, apparently sensing my resentment.
“Nothing.”
“Then take it. Please. And you will learn to love it.” His smile felt like a gift in itself.
I accepted it, only because I knew he wouldn’t relent until I did. I held it far away from me, making a note to dispose of it later.
His gaze flickered from the rose to my face, confusion written on his features. Thankfully, he moved his eyes from mine without asking for an explanation. He nodded to the stalls. “Would you like to meet the horses?”
Excitement surged within me
. There had always been a special place in my heart for animals. “I would love to.”
I followed him down the aisle to the nearest stall where a tall, dark horse stood, shifting restlessly. “This is Cosmo,” Owen said. “He belongs to my elder brother, Edmond.”
I rubbed the horse’s muzzle and ran my finger along the space between his eyes. My father once told me that a horse would become your best friend if you did that. Cosmo’s fur was short and coarse, and the fuzzy skin on his snout was slightly wet. Owen moved down the row, naming off each horse. I paused at every stall to greet each, being sure to stroke them between the eyes.
Owen stopped at the stall second to the end to rub the muzzle of a copper-colored horse. “This one is mine. I received him from my father when he was only a foal.”
“What is his name?” I asked, leaning toward the horse in curiosity.
“First, you need to understand that I was very young when I named him.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
I turned around to face him. “Now I’m really curious.”
Owen dropped his gaze and scuffed his boot across the floor. He glanced at me with a small smile. “Horsey.”
I laughed. “Horsey? You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
I looked at the horse again. He had large, round eyes and a playful expression. “He certainly looks like a Horsey.”
“That is precisely what I thought.” Owen laughed and gestured to the last stall. “And this lovely mare’s name is Eve.”
I walked up to Eve’s stall and stroked her head. She had a black, shiny coat with friendly, delicate features. She whinnied heartily and it almost looked like she was smiling. I rubbed between her eyes and down her muzzle, her short whiskers tickling my hand.
“I think she likes you,” Owen said, leaning against the wall.
I smiled at her. “She’s beautiful.”
“I agree.” There was something about the way he said it that made me glance up at him. He was staring at me with an expression that made my heart skip. I moved my gaze away quickly and cleared my throat. I had never been looked at the way Owen was looking at me. I found it painfully unsettling. The heat in the stables was suddenly too much.
“I should go check on my brothers.” I turned for the door quickly, eager to escape that unnerving look in his eyes.
“Wait—” Owen grasped my arm before I could escape. “I cannot allow you to leave until you have seen the orchard. Trust me, you do not want to deny yourself the opportunity.”
I turned around. Thankfully, his light expression had resurfaced. This I was more comfortable with. “Fine. But we need to hurry.”
Owen led me across the lawn to the iron gate at the entrance of the orchard. It was situated on the east side of the property. He pushed open the gate and extended his hand in a gesture for me to precede him. Inside the gate was a small set of stone stairs, and walking down the steps, I stopped in awe at the beauty of the little orchard around me.
Tall apple trees flanked a pathway of sun-golden stone, each tree standing wide and in full bloom, extending a broad canopy of shade across the path.
Owen walked to a carved wooden bench that was positioned under a tree halfway down the path. “Would you like to sit down?”
I nodded and took a seat beside him on the bench, looking around at the magnificent beauty of the place. “I have never seen an orchard.”
He looked at me, half his face in sunlight, half in shadow. “You haven’t?”
“No.”
He stood and walked to the nearest tree. “Then you must taste a fresh orchard apple.” He plucked two apples from the tree and returned to his seat beside me.
I took an apple from his extended hand and returned his warm smile. “Thank you.” The apple felt like a gift of the most thoughtful kind. How had Owen changed so quickly? Only a short time had passed since I had been tempted to inflict serious damage on his much-too-handsome face.
We ate our apples in silence—not uncomfortable silence, but the relaxing kind. The kind that settles all nerves and banishes all doubt. I listened to the birds chirping and the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. I had no desire to break the silence, but Owen’s voice snapped it right in two. “Tell me about your aunt.”
The question unsettled the relaxation that I had felt from the warm silence. I really didn’t want to lie to him too, but I didn’t want his pity. “Well, she is kind, accommodating—”
“Don’t try that with me, Annette,” he interrupted. “You may have convinced my mother, but it won’t work on me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked sheepishly.
“What kind, accommodating woman threatens two little boys for being imperfect?” His eyes housed a fire that I hadn’t seen before. “And sends them off with their sister to change their entire disposition in only a few weeks? Please tell me the truth about her.”
He held my gaze with determination that demanded an honest answer. He had behaved decently today; perhaps I could confide in him. I fixed my sights on an apple in the tallest tree across the path. It sat far apart from the rest, on the highest branch. It rested singular and defiant, alone and unreachable—just as I was supposed to be.
I stared at the apple with determination in my own gaze that I wouldn’t look at Owen, for fear of seeing pity in his eyes. “She is horrible,” I began in a hushed voice. “She spends most of the day out of the house, visiting friends, traveling. When she is home, she … well, she threatens to throw us out, or starve us.” I swallowed, fighting an unwelcome memory and continued quickly, trying to dispel the unrest that I could feel rising in Owen.
“Sometimes I fancied the idea of being thrown out. I was certain that we could fare well on our own, without a penny to our name.” I laughed lightly, though I did not feel it. “But it’s all right. We have what we need, and she doesn’t beat us anymore.” I regretted the words as soon as they escaped me. I had said too much. It was as if I could feel Owen’s anger break free and rise into the breeze.
“She beat you?” His voice was quiet and dangerous.
“I can usually prevent it now that I am older,” I stammered. “She rarely attempts to strike the boys.”
“Rarely?” He got up quickly and stood in front of me, obstructing my view of the apple, forcing me to look at him. “You can’t go back to her. You can’t.” He paced in front of me, fists clenched at his sides. I didn’t like seeing this side of him, not one bit. “How long has it been since she hurt you?”
My gaze flickered to the new bruises on my arms. For a moment I thought my movement went unnoticed, but Owen’s sharp blue eyes caught everything. He leaned forward and set his fingers on the bruise so gently I hardly felt it. But I certainly felt the shiver that his touch sent down my spine.
“It’s nothing.” I pulled my arm away, trying to reassure him with my eyes.
He must have noticed my discomfort, because the intensity of his gaze softened and he took his seat beside me on the bench. I was a little shaken. From what I had seen of him, I wouldn’t have guessed that he had this side to him.
In a softer voice, he asked, “How long has it been since your parents passed away?”
My heart lurched at the question. Why did he have to ask me so many questions? It was only another way for him to make me vulnerable. I replaced my sights on the apple. The combination of his piercing gaze and the ache in my heart would be too much. “Nearly five years.”
He didn’t speak for several seconds. “They were always very kind to me. I am sure they were kind to everyone.” His voice was so gentle it made my heart ache deeper.
“They were.”
“How old are your brothers?” I could hear his curiosity.
“Peter is seven and Charles is five.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “So Peter was two years old, and Charles was only an infant?”
I nodded, being sure to keep my gaze fixed on the apple.
“And you have looked after and taugh
t them all on your own.” He stated it as a fact and I couldn’t detect any pity in his voice. Something else lingered in his voice, though—something that I couldn’t find a name for. He fell silent for several heartbeats until I could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of my face. It felt as though his eyes were boring a hole into it. What was he doing? Why was he trying to make me uncomfortable?
Without warning, he moved his fingers to the side of my face and turned my head so that I was forced to look at him. My heart jumped furiously and my cheek burned under his touch. He took hold of a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind my ear. His fingers brushed my jaw so softly it sent fleeting chills down my neck and spine.
“You are so brave,” he said in a hushed voice.
The unexpected tenderness of the gesture struck my heart forcefully and I realized that I had been very wrong in my first appraisal of him—he most certainly could be serious. I would prefer his atrocious teasing over … this any day. I knew that whatever this was, I didn’t like it. It tugged at the tender parts of my heart and made me feel completely defenseless in a way that I never remembered feeling before. In fact, I felt strangely close to crying, which would not do.
But I could feel battling forces within me, one ordering me to pull away, the other tempting me to lean closer …
I immediately pushed away the unwarranted desires of that other force. I had learned which one I could trust and which one would deceive me.
So I turned my head away from Owen and stood to walk in front of the tree with the unreachable apple. Away from him as I was, I could take hold of my emotions again, I could think clearly. I placed my hand on the ragged bark of the trunk and listened carefully to the beating of my heart as it sought ceaselessly to regain its normal rhythm. I didn’t dare turn around, so I just stood there, waiting for Owen to break the agonizing silence. When he did, however, I wished he hadn’t.
“Is that why you insist on doing everything on your own?” Although his voice was gentle, his words struck me with the panic-ridden feeling of being unarmed. He was uncovering buried truths from the deepest recesses of my heart, and I felt completely exposed by it. I heard him walk up behind me. “Because you’ve had to? Because, for the past five years you’ve had no one to depend on, and no one to trust?”
Mischief and Manors Page 8