by Linda Banche
“Even now?” Robert gave a mock shiver. “Looks stark to me.”
He released her hand and walked a little way around the pond. “Pretty spot, but I imagine the area will would look better in the spring, when the trees leaf out.”
He stopped. “Wait a moment.” He reversed his steps and then pivoted to view the cove from a different angle. Eyes narrowed, he paced back and forth. “I have never been here before, but the place looks familiar.”
Her little game had him intrigued. How wonderful. Let him tell her how he recognized the scene before she told him about her painting. “Since we are on your land, you probably have been here. You just do not remember.”
“No, I do not think so.” His eyes widened. “I know where I have seen this before.” He grabbed her hand and started back up the hill at a run.
Her breath came in gasps, and then her pelisse caught on a piece of uncooperative undergrowth. “Slow down. Whatever you remember, the matter will keep for a few minutes.”
He jerked to a halt. “Right you are.” He kissed her.
And they returned to the gig that way: running, and then stopping and kissing. And laughing. They laughed so much.
She was as light as the filmy clouds in the sky. Pray this would last forever.
Within a few minutes, they reached Tyndall House. They left the carriage at the front door and then he hurried her into the house and down the main corridor. “You must see this.”
She laughed. “Can I remove my pelisse?”
“In a moment.” Robert opened one of the closed doors off the passage. With a bow, he ushered her inside.
She stopped in the doorway. “So many books.” She crossed to the nearest bookcase and stroked the leather bindings. “You are most fortunate to own such a library.”
“You are a reader. Something else we have in common. But this is what we came for.” He strode to the far corner. On the floor sat an unframed painting, its front to the wall. “I have not yet had time to hang this.” He propped the canvas on the desk chair and then swiveled the chair toward her. “Look at this.”
Julia smiled at him before turning her attention to the painting.
Her smile froze.
The painting was Morning Mallard.
All her happy reveries fragmented into tiny pieces blasted away on a frigid wind.
Although she had asked many times, the art dealer had refused to give her the buyer’s name. She had cursed the unknown person whose credit purchase of her artwork had denied her payment, leaving her to starve. In her imagination, a fat, selfish aristocrat whose tenants froze in tumbledown hovels while he dined on turtle soup owned her canvas. And all the time, Robert was the culprit.
He doesn’t know you’re the artist.
She hadn’t signed the painting with her real name, and she had made the dealer promise not to reveal her identity. But still, Robert hadn’t paid for the artwork. All her distress of the past months was due to his miserliness. If not her, some other poor artist would have suffered.
Or had he found out her identity? Her blood iced. Had he known of her financial problems and deliberately withheld payment, and then courted her in order to acquire her farm? Other landowners in the area had asked if she wanted to sell. Why shouldn’t Robert—Lord Tyndall—also covet her property?
If he knew all along, why show you the painting now? Why not wait until he had married you?
Her thoughts tumbled to and fro like a dangling piece of string a cat batted with its paws.
How could she love such a man?
Her hands shook, and she clasped them tight. God help her, she did love him. She had built him up until the moon and the stars bowed to his whim, a god from on high come to consort with her. And all the time, he was just another grasping nobleman. Her heart shattered.
Tears pricked her eyes. She must leave!
***
“Yes, this is the same scene.” Robert turned to Julia. “Whoever the artist is, he painted this here.”
Julia, white as bleached linen, stared at the picture as if the entrance to Hell yawned before her.
He frowned. “Is something amiss?”
“Nothing.” She swallowed. “I should go home now.”
“But why? We have not had dinner.”
“I am not hungry.”
Coldness skittered over his skin, but he forced a smile to his lips. “Then we can do something else. Visit the aviary, or walk around the grounds, or sit by a blazing fire. I know I am chilled. You must be, too.”
Still looking at the picture, she picked at her skirt. “No, I have to leave.”
He narrowed his eyes. She had been fine until she saw the artwork. “Does something about this painting overset you?”
“No!” The word was a shriek. She clutched at her throat as she brought her voice down to a more normal volume. “No.”
Ice gripped his heart. “You look pale. Are you ill? ”
She gave a weak smile. “Yes, I do not feel well.”
“I will send for a physician.” He reached for the bell-pull.
“I am not that bad. I will just go home.” She backed away, never taking her gaze from the painting.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. But how could he help? “Very well. Come, I will take you home.” He extended a hand.
She flinched as if he had struck her. Then she turned and fled.
“Julia!” He caught up with her at the front door and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Please, tell me what is amiss.”
“Nothing.” Tears streamed down her face and she dashed them away. “Good-bye, your lordship. I will not see you again.”
“Your lordship?” His heart lodged in his throat. “You call me ‘your lordship’ after…” All the chill in his veins ignited and blazed into a raging inferno.
Within the space of a few moments, she had altered from a summer-warm lady into a wintry stranger, all without an explanation. For a few dazzling hours, he had inhabited a fool’s paradise, drunk on the glory of his perfect lady. How wrong he had been! “If you wish to leave, then good day to you, madam.” He waved away the hovering butler and opened the door himself. “I will not be so inhospitable as to let you walk home unescorted.” He had to get out of here or he would explode. “I will summon a carriage. Please wait here.”
He gently pulled the door shut behind him when he wanted to slam the panel so hard the hinges fell off.
Damn and blast, what was wrong with her? He stalked to the stables, the flames inside him burning hotter with each step.
A stable boy had unharnessed the horse from the gig, but the animal still stood in the traces. Robert directed the confused servant to harness the beast again, and then paced until the vehicle was ready. He drew several calming breaths before he drove to the front door. Mayhap now he could find out what disturbed Julia so.
He bounded up the front steps and inside. An empty foyer greeted him.
The butler strode down the passage from the back of the house.
“Phillips, I left Miss Shaw here. Did you see her?”
The butler shook his head. “No, my lord. I have just returned from the kitchen.”
Damnation, she must be on her way home. “Have someone take the gig back to the stables. I will not need it now.”
At the butler’s nod, Robert exited from the front door. He strode around the house toward the path leading to Shaw Farm. She wasn’t in sight. He broke into a run. She might be halfway home by now.
One of the underkeepers, a box on his shoulder, tramped down from the aviary. He tipped his cap as he passed Robert.
“Jem, a moment, please. Did you see Miss Shaw come this way a few minutes ago?”
Jem, forehead creased, nodded. “Yes, sir. She came along right quick like, as if she was arunning away from something.”
“Where did she go?”
He pointed to the track leading to Shaw Farm. “She met up with Mr. Borland, and they both went down that path there.”
Borland! Robert
clenched his fists. Julia wasn’t interested in Borland before, and now she was? Did she play him for a fool? Did she play both of them for fools?
Or mayhap she ran into him and he is escorting her home.
“Thank you, Jem.” Robert spun on his heel and stormed back into the house, straight to the library and the brandy decanter. He splashed a tumbler full of the caramel-colored liquor.
Women! He swilled the drink, the burn of the alcohol on his throat whipping the fire in his heart and mind higher. Then he refilled the glass. Without even removing his greatcoat and hat, he slumped into one of the chairs before the fireplace. He gulped down more brandy.
The flames in the hearth leaped and crackled, each snap knotting his already tangled nerves tighter.
Hellfire and damnation. He wanted nothing more to do with Miss Julia Shaw for the rest of his life.
Chapter 19
“Julia!” Will ran and caught up to her at the edge of the woods. He stepped in front of her, blocking the way down the path.
Head down, she stumbled to go around him. A sob broke from her lips.
Everything bright in his day went dark. He caught her from behind by the shoulders and gently turned her around. He brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “What is amiss?”
She covered her face with her hands and wept.
He drew her into his arms. Who had done this? He would tear the villain to pieces.
She huddled against his chest. “Please, just leave me be.”
Her tears shredded his heart. “You would not be this overset about something minor. But, first, where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Then I will walk with you, and you can tell me the whole story, if you wish.”
At her nod, they turned down the track, his arm around her shoulders.
Head down, she set a slow pace. She lifted the edge of her pelisse and wiped her tears away.
Will gave her his handkerchief. “Feel better?”
“Somewhat.” Her voice quavered.
They descended the path in silence, the forest of the Downs giving way to cleared fields, which flattened as they entered the valley of the Len. Cawing crows rooted for food amidst the stubble left from the harvest, a mallard duck winged overhead, its quacks filling the air, and the smoke from a distant chimney teased their noses.
Julia lifted her head and sniffed back her tears. “Thank you for accompanying me, but you need not come any further. I can see my house from here.”
He shaded his eyes with his hand. “Yes, far on the other side of the river. In any case, a gentleman always escorts a lady to her front door. And I am a gentleman.” He grinned.
Her lips curved up in a woeful attempt at a smile. “Yes, you are always the gentleman, and I very much appreciate your kindness.”
“A smile.” He cocked his head to the side. “Not a very good one, but I suppose we can make do.”
She laughed.
His heart turned over. This woman could take his feelings and wring them dry. Drive him higher than the stars or into the deepest, darkest pit. How could anyone hurt her?
Ask her to marry you.
Not now. She was too upset. After that comedy of errors last night, he would have run down to her farm today if the peacock hadn’t caught a burr under its wing and he had had to remove the irritant. Trouble was, for such an ungainly bird, the peacock was as adept at avoiding capture as any wild goose. Will and his underkeepers had spent most of the day cornering and then treating the curst bird. “I am surprised Lord Tyndall did not walk you home. He is also a gentleman.”
“No, he is not.” Her voice was harsh. Most unlike her. “I just found out how much he is not a gentleman.”
Will raised his eyebrows. “Do we speak of the same man? I have known him for several years, and, to my knowledge, he has never done anything mean or deceptive.”
Don’t defend your rival! Agree with her!
Will tamped down the voice. He had to find out what overset her.
“There is always a first time.” She sniffed and then dabbed at her eyes again.
He shrugged. “I suppose so, but such behavior is out of character. Why not tell me what happened?”
As she related the scene in Tyndall’s library, they made their way to the stone bridge over the river. The water gurgled a cheery song and sunlight sparkled on the surface, but Julia remained as steeped in gloom as if she walked in the cold of the blackest night.
Will stopped in the middle of the bridge. “Tyndall didn’t pay for your painting? I find that hard to believe. I grant you, many of the aristocracy buy and then conveniently forget about their bills. But Tyndall is not like that.”
If you continue in this manner, you will lose her.
No, I will help her.
She fisted her hands on her hips. “Then why did he not pay for Morning Mallard?”
“Why, indeed? Did you ask him?”
She hung her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
She blushed. Despite her current wrath, she retained strong feelings for Tyndall.
His fists clenched. Was she in love? “Did you tell him you are the artist?”
She shook her head.
“Do you not think he should know?”
She thrust her chin into the air and resumed walking. “I will think on it.”
He hurried after her. “I can talk to Tyndall, if you wish.” Bite your tongue!
“No!”
Hang it, what maggot had bored into his head? He wanted Julia for himself. If she was angry at Tyndall, she was ripe to fall into his own arms. All he had to do was nothing.
Do you want her that way?
“Are you sure? Perhaps I can ease things for you.” Since he had made the offer, he had no choice but to play along.
“Perhaps.” She halted and buried her face in her hands again. “Oh, I do not know what to think.”
A moment later, she lifted her head. “Yes, speak to him. And I will also think about talking to him.”
He nodded. “As you wish.” Mayhap he had ruined his chances with her, but he couldn’t let her hate Tyndall.
They resumed their walking until the path merged with the main road. Then they followed the thoroughfare to her house.
“And here we are, at your front door.” He bowed with a flourish, the courtly bow he had learned for his presentation to the king, and hadn’t used since.
She laughed, as he had hoped. “You are remarkably good at that.”
“I spend all my spare time practicing.”
At the top of the steps, she gave him her hand. “Thank you for being such a good friend.”
I want to be more than a friend. “I will always help you, Julia.” He brought her fingers to his lips, holding them there a fraction of a second longer than politeness dictated. Now might be the time to urge her to accept his offer of marriage.
“Will, I need to talk to you—”
His renewed proposal was on the tip of his tongue when the door opened and Mrs. Henry peered out. “Come in, you two. It’s freezing out there.”
With a wan smile, Julia pulled away and then walked inside.
Will demurred, and Mrs. Henry, her forehead puckered, withdrew, the door closing behind the women with a soft snick.
He almost bounced down the front steps. He still had a chance! While he regretted his lost opportunity to renew his proposal, his heart leaped. After last night’s debacle, he feared he had lost her. But she and Tyndall had had a disagreement. When he saw her tears, he had been ready to drag Tyndall to the aviary and feed him to the golden eagle. But if he was the sympathetic listener, he might lure her back. She was unhappy now, but she wouldn’t be miserable forever. He had to prove he was better for her than Tyndall.
He passed Machiavelli’s pen on his way back to the path. The goose swaggered around the enclosure as if his adventure at the aviary had never occurred. But the goose was of no importance.
Will’s quick steps, spurred on by the
cold, ate up the distance home. He had to plan his actions to his benefit.
He had promised to talk to Tyndall, but he didn’t have to. He could lie, saying Tyndall hadn’t listened. That might buy him enough time to convince her to marry him.
His conscience pricked. Even contemplating such an underhanded deed left a foul taste in his mouth. Besides, eventually she would speak with Tyndall and catch him out. She might hate him then.
His shoulders slumped. He could make her happy, but would she always wonder about Tyndall?
He stopped so quickly he stumbled over a branch in his path. Even if she accepted him, would she consider him second-best? Would he wonder if she considered him second-best? As much as he adored her, he didn’t want to be her consolation prize.
He kicked the branch aside and strode up the North Downs and into the forest. He wanted to be her first choice. He also wanted to court her with a clear conscience. So, he would talk to Tyndall as soon as he returned and do what he could to mend their fences.
He just wouldn’t try very hard.
“There you be, sir.” Jem waved as Will emerged from the woods near the aviary. “More trouble with the birds. The pheasant’s picked up a burr, from that benighted peacock, most like. With the plaguy bird snapping and biting, none of us can get anywhere near. Mayhap you’ll have better luck.”
So much for talking to Tyndall now. But he would as soon as possible.
***
Will didn’t enter Tyndall House until almost dusk. The curst pheasant didn’t want to be caught, even more than the peacock didn’t. He had needed the help of two underkeepers before he was able to extract the burr from under the bird’s wing.
He was annoyed, hot, dirty, and the last thing he wanted was a confrontation with Tyndall. But he would help Julia, no matter what the obstacle. He stopped before the library door and adjusted his cuffs. According to the butler, Tyndall was inside, but no sounds emanated from within the room.
He squared his shoulders. Now or never. He knocked on the door.
No reply.
He knocked again, louder this time.
A scratching on wood answered him. Probably Tyndall. Will unlatched the door and entered.
The room was dim, the only illumination from the low-burning fire. Tyndall sprawled in a chair by the hearth, one leg over the arm, and stared into the flames. He still wore his greatcoat, and his hat lay on its side by his chair. A partially filled glass dangled from his fingers, and an almost empty decanter of brandy sat on the floor beside him. He swung his head toward the door and blinked.