The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  It was the largest display of emotions she’d seen on the butler’s face since she’d fallen headfirst from her mare when she was ten years old. His hand went to his chest and he lurched forward to draw her back into his arms. “Miss Ashleigh, I had no idea.”

  She smiled into his shoulder and patted his back with another hug. Grandfather Dougall had hired him years ago, and he’d proven more constant than an English rain. “How could you?” Her mother had received her letter with her travel plans. Surely she’d passed it on to the staff? “Obviously the telegram didn’t come through.” A breath of doubt kept her caution alive.

  “You both must be exhausted. Come inside.”

  Ashleigh heard the exact moment Sam entered the house from his hum of appreciation. Despite the outer wear and tear of time on the exterior, the Great Hall maintained an impressive air of generations of refinement. Georgian designs carved into the oak panels in the walls and stair rails framed a two-story room with arched ceiling molded to Grecian proportions. An open terrace from the second floor allowed curious onlookers to stare down on guests entering the house, or perhaps a daughter spying for her father’s arrival.

  Ashleigh shuddered. Father was dead. She need not fear him anymore. Jackson called to a housemaid, who quickly assisted them and won Stephen over with a biscuit and the promise of a bubble bath.

  “Well, Sam, I believe you’ve completed your duty to Grandmama on seeing me safely to Edensbury.”

  He scratched his head, eyes squinted. “The last part didn’t work out so well, I’m afraid. I hadn’t planned on a torpedo.”

  The errant curls at his ears distracted her. She folded her hands in front of her to keep from touching him. Already the familiarity of running her fingers through his hair and over his face itched for repetition. Were those feelings a byproduct of her past as well? An unwholesome desire? She swallowed through her tightening throat and met his gaze. “You made certain I boarded the lifeboat, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Had it not been for your urging me to board the boat, there is a good chance Stephen would have suffered the same fate as his mother.”

  Sam winced.

  “Then I think you’ve certainly completed your duty, my dear Sam.”

  He gave her a measured look then took a step closer. “It was more than duty, Ash. Much more.”

  His expression sent messages his words didn’t, but she couldn’t respond to them. Every piece of her heart cried out to reach for it, but how could she? She’d never marry him without him knowing the truth of her past – and the knowledge would alienate him, or at the very least create an emotional rift. No, he could do much better than her. Or Catherine.

  “I treasure our friendship.”

  “And what if…” He paused and shifted his stance. “What if there’s more to our friendship. I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked past her, studying some distant image.

  “I don’t—” Ashleigh squeezed the words through her breaking heart. “You and Catherine—”

  “Ash.” Instead of retreating, he closed the gap between them, his gaze roaming her face with a sweet longing. “I came here to clarify my relationship with Catherine. Not necessarily to continue it.” He took her hand. “It’s honorable to end things in person. If nothing else, our past and friendship deserve it.”

  “End things?” The words eked out on a whisper. Her muscles tensed with the sudden knowledge that Sam might be free. What would she do if he was actually free?

  “Ashleigh?” A voice swelled from the other side of the great hall. “Is it you?”

  Moriah Dougall emerged from the shadows of the hall; her pale blue house dress billowed around her and brought out the strands of silver reflected in her mother’s soft brown hair. The red-rimmed eyes gave fair warning to her mother’s current emotional state and the strong scent of wine hinted to her amount of consumption. Ashleigh drew in a deep breath for strength and whispered the shortest of prayers. Maybe God was still listening. After all, Sam was alive.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “It has taken you long enough, hasn’t it?”

  Her mother’s harshness rained upon Ashleigh’s exhaustion. She fisted her hand at her side to maintain composure and inwardly groaned at the flush of tears in her eyes. Would she never harden to her mother’s selfishness?

  “I sent word by telegram, but I don’t believe it arrived.”

  “One can never trust the wire. Not with a war going on.” Her mother waved her hand in the air and then sent a full-length look over Ashleigh from toe to forehead. “Have you lost all sense of propriety while living in the Appalachian wilderness? You look positively wretched.”

  Ashleigh lifted a hand to her hair and tried to smooth back a few unkempt strands. Her lack of care for her appearance had long been a thorn in her mother’s side, but with Ashleigh’s toiletries at the bottom of the sea, she hadn’t considered them.

  “Mrs. Dougall, it’s good to see you again.” Sam stepped forward and offered his hand. “You’re looking well.”

  “Sam?” Her mother’s hand went to her chest and a smile flushed her face. “Oh my, what a surprise! Sam Miller?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He kept his hand out until her mother took it, but his other palm pressed into Ashleigh’s back, adding comfort in the aftermath of her mother’s careless words. She almost leaned into him to absorb his strength.

  “Ashleigh sent no notice you’d be coming as well?” Her mother pierced her with accusation.

  “Because Ashleigh didn’t know until we boarded the ship.” The slightest edge tinged Sam’s words. “It was a surprise from Grandma Dougall. She didn’t want Ashleigh traveling alone, and I was a willing victim. A houseful of lovely ladies? How could I go wrong?”

  Her mother offered a brief smile at the compliment, but a frown quickly replaced it. “Jackson should be here to get your bags.”

  “He has already taken our items up to the rooms, Mother.” Ashleigh sighed and decided to change the conversation to safer ground. “How are you feeling?”

  “How do you suppose I’m feeling?” Her mother rubbed her forehead and produced an impressive pout, before turning and walking toward the drawing room. “I’ve been worried sick about your safety with no news to your welfare. You were supposed to be here three days ago. Three days of worry.”

  “You can imagine it was difficult to get away after the sinking.”

  “The sinking?” Mother stopped right outside the drawing room door, her face a wreath of exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

  “In my letter I told you of my travel plans aboard the Lusitania.”

  Her mother’s expression showed no recognition of the name at all. All the weariness of the past few days alighted on Ashleigh’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. Home, sweet home?

  Sam cupped her elbow. She smiled up at him, grateful he understood all the nuances and ridiculousness of her mother.

  “I don’t recall what your ship’s name was, dear, only that you would sail on one.” She shook her head. “Come, let’s sit in a more comfortable place. My feet are sore.”

  Sam leaned near her as the followed. “I knew your mother was…um…”

  “Self-absorbed? Demanding? An emotional pretzel?”

  His grin hitched to one side. Her heart twisted up like a pretzel in response. “To name a few.”

  She rolled her eyes to add some levity to her mother’s behavior. “I’m sorry to say it, Sam, but I don’t even think a yellow LifeSaver will help.”

  “That’s pretty serious.”

  Ashleigh’s smile faded as they opened the door to the Drawing Room. She faced him before entering, taking this one second to warn him. “You are in a house of actors now. Guard your heart, Sam.”

  “Are you going to stand in the doorway until winter?” Mother’s voice called from the Drawing Room. Ashleigh entered and moved to sit in a chair across from her mother, Sam nearby.

  “I’ve called for tea
,” Mrs. Dougall announced as they entered the room. “Now, I’d like to know what is going on.”

  With as little detail of the events as possible, Ashleigh told her mother the tale of their journey, carefully leaving out Michael’s conversation with her and the sleeping arrangements in Queenstown.

  To her mother’s credit, she actually paled as the story continued, and by the end had tears on her cheeks. “Oh, how horrid!” Her hand flew to her chest and her eyes bugged. “And Sam was pulled into a funnel?”

  Ashleigh looked to Sam, a swell of gratitude at the fact he sat, alive, beside her. “Yes, Mother. And I’m extremely grateful he is still with us.”

  His stare lingered, soft and sweet, stirring to life the same emotions awakened aboard the Lusitania. “You have to love those miracles.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The sound of a male voice drew Catherine Dougall’s feet to a stop within the shadows of the drawing room door. Who was her unexpected visitor? She closed her eyes, trying to place the familiar tones. American. Southern.

  Her breath caught. Sam.

  She slid further into the shadows to gather herself. Sam? Here? Her thoughts shot into a flurry of possibilities. Oh, this would prove most unpleasant, especially since breaking their engagement through a letter. She bit her bottom lip. He deserved more than a letter. She knew it, but breaking his heart in person was a situation she had no desire to experience.

  Another peek around the doorway brought doubts with it. Though disheveled, Sam’s good looks had only matured over their year-long separation. His boyish smile sent a delightful thrill of warmth over her skin, pricking sweet memories of lingering kisses and sincere affection. Dogwood summers and spring dances with the scent of cherry blossoms. Gentle touches and tender words. She leaned back against the wall, pressing her palm to her chest. Oh how she’d missed his sincere attention--unglossed by society’s rules and her family’s broken reputation.

  She frowned. If only he were rich, or titled at the very least. Poor people were trampled on or forgotten, their homes stripped from them, and their families’ reputations tattered into gossip and cynicism. The sting of her family’s return to Edensbury burned a deeper need to save her name, her family’s name. When they’d left in shame and near poverty eight years before, the townspeople had not forgotten. They’d snubbed her mother, but Catherine’s attempts to repair their wounded reputation were slowly working.

  The past year she’d learned how to use her assets well – staging dances and refining her flirting to impress earls and dukes … and their sons. She’d spent opportunities hosting simple teas with those influential women in the community who would come, slowly building a small selection of supporters, Elaine Cavanaugh – Drew’s mother, being one of them. Mother had made it perfectly clear that the only way to keep from losing their home and what little respect their name still held was to marry rich. Couldn’t she be the daughter to redeem her family?

  She lifted her finger to her lips, a plot stirring to light. Perhaps Samuel Miller was exactly the spark Drew Cavanaugh needed to set his tardy marriage proposal into motion. Their little intimacies and his continued liberties promised a wedding ring soon, and even his notoriously hostile grandmother seemed accommodating. All he needed was the proper incentive. Her grin tipped again.

  Sam’s laughter spilled from the next room. She quelled a sliver of guilt gnawing at the edge of her stomach and peeked around the corner. His gaze fastened on Ashleigh with such intensity, it paused Catherine’s approach. Guilt darkened inside her chest. Attraction? For Ashleigh?

  The golden charm bracelet at Ashleigh’s wrist mocked Catherine, stabbing the anger deeper into a childhood wound. Father had given the expensive Italian bracelet to Ashleigh for no apparent reason than to flaunt his love for his favorite daughter. Some of the intricately designed intaglios seemed to be missing from the golden chain, but there was a new charm added – shaped like a locket. Ashleigh had never learned how to take care of expensive things. How could she have lost so many of the charms? It fueled Catherine’s animosity.

  The hurt crashed alive from its one-year sabbatical and nursed the ache of insecurity – a poignant reminder of how unloved and insufficient she’d been. Until now.

  No, she’d not be reduced to second in his death as she’d been in his life. She would marry well, and first, if it was the last thing she did. Prove to them how they’d underestimated her.

  “Sam, darling, what a pleasant surprise.”

  All heads turned, an aspect she always enjoyed experiencing, but her attention remained on Sam. His response encouraged her. Wide blue eyes, sharp intake of breath, palm to his chest. A perfect welcome. But the genuineness of his unadulterated sincerity surprised her into a stumble. He was quick to her assistance, scooping her into his arms before she slipped to the rug in an embarrassing heap. What on earth just happened? Stumbling?

  “Catherine.” Her name emerged on a rasp.

  An awareness of something real and sweet trembled to life in her chest. What had she forfeited for the right connections? The taste of wealth? She shoved the thought aside and used her blunder to her advantage.

  “Sweeping me off my feet, I see?” Her attention trailed slowly up to his eyes, halting only a split second on his lips for good measure. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

  He tilted his head and examined her with as much focus as she had him. She squirmed beneath the intensity of perusal, hoping her downcast expression communicated shyness, instead of discomfort. What was wrong with her?

  “Well, I should make Fanny aware of our addition to supper.” Mother stood, her gaze disapproving of Catherine’s obvious flirting. Well, her mother branded practically every conversation with the subtle mantra; the right connections marked the difference between power and poverty, so falling into Sam’s arms probably didn’t elevate expectations.

  Catherine sighed. And a furniture maker’s son didn’t hold connections to restore the Dougall reputation, but he might be the perfect means to that end – especially if it meant besting her ‘perfect’ sister in the process.

  Catherine turned to Ashleigh. “I see traveling doesn’t agree with you, does it, dear?”

  Ashleigh didn’t even flinch. “As you know, I’ve never been one for flaunting fashion.”

  “No, certainly not.” Catherine laughed. “With your shapeless nursing frocks and such, you were more akin to the Bloomer Girls than anything else.”

  Ashleigh raised a brow in answer and slowly stood, less troubled by Catherine’s slight than Catherine wished. “I think that’s my cue to freshen up and make myself more presentable.”

  Sam released his hold on Catherine and stepped to take Ashleigh’s hand. “Ash-honey, there’s no one who has faced the last week with as much beauty and strength as you.”

  A look passed between them, barely a second, but it spoke volumes. Catherine’s pulse jumped to the defense. He cared for her in a very different way than when she’d left a year ago. Then it had been simple brotherly fondness, but now...? Why did she suddenly regret the loss of his sincere affections?

  “I think your eyes are still clogged with sea water.” Ashleigh’s grin tipped before glancing back at Catherine. The lighthearted glow died an immediate death. “Excuse me.”

  Catherine would not lose the affections of another man to her little sister. She turned her full charm on Sam. “Well, what have you to say about showing up without notice?”

  He pulled his attention from the doorway and shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze examining her face again in his unnerving way. “I thought you wouldn’t be happy to see me, since your last letter brought an end—”

  She placed a finger to his lips. “Oh, you poor dear, did you take my indecisiveness to heart? Surely you know me better than that.” She trailed her finger from his lips to palm his cheek. “All true engagements are broken at least once to ensure their sincerity, you know.”

  “Is that so?” He raised a brow and a hint of th
e sweet glow in his eyes dimmed. “I’ve been pretty sincere from the start.”

  “Yes, of course,” she whispered, hoping the doleful look on her face translated her regret. “A year is a long time, and I’ve never been separated from you like this. How was I to know the response of my heart?”

  His silence pricked at her conscience … and her fear.

  “You’re right. It has been a long time.” He lowered his voice. “We need to talk.”

  “Of course,” she repeated, and wrapped her arm around his, drawing him close and allowing her fingers to make subtle circles across the inside of his arm. Her year in England had taught her one thing: she had the power to get what she wanted from men. Maybe she’d lost the opportunity with her father where Ashleigh was concerned, but not with Sam. She could win him back, if she wanted.

  “Tell me of your journey. Was the dining as fine as I’ve heard?”

  He hesitated. The look in his eyes paused her. What was it? Disappointment? Fatigue?

  The contents of Ashleigh’s telegram came to mind. The Lusitania. “You were on the ship that sank?”

  He nodded, slowly, and Catherine launched herself into his arms, determined to help him forget her oversight. “Oh, Sam, I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  His arms settled around her and nudged a gentle peace she’d never been able to duplicate in her other conquests. There was something safe in his embrace. True. Her heart opened to the feeling like greeting a long lost friend. Had she missed it? Yes. Could she keep it? She squeezed her eyes closed. No, it offered only temporary solace as she awaited Drew’s decision. She smiled against his shoulder. But why waste beautiful admiration, though.

  “Did you receive the telegram?” Sam’s voice rumbled in his chest at her ear.

  She stilled at the question. A coin given to the proper person here and there secured all mail was delivered to her instead of her mother, controlling what news passed to their weak-willed mother. But Sam? Grief and compassion edged into her heart, tools as unfamiliar to her as cooking pots and electric toasters. He brought them out in her. Always had. “I’m so sorry for the loss and pain you must have experienced.”