The Heart That Lies

by April Munday

  “No. I am not a rich man, Miss Smith, and even this property is not mine. It is rented.”

  Anna saw Meldon frown.

  “Yet you spend so much time away,” she said, wondering why a man who travelled so much went to the bother of renting and running such an establishment, especially when he did not keep it well.

  “At the moment. That need not be the case in the future.” He smiled at her, as if to say that his future would be with her and he would have no reason to travel away from her.

  “You also are not much at home, I believe, Lord Meldon?”

  “I spend more time at my house in London than I would wish and I visit other men’s estates where I believe I can learn things to benefit my own. Last year I went to Cumbria where I saw the most amazing contraption that would make it easier to shear sheep. Unfortunately reports about its efficacy were exaggerated.”

  Meldon went into great detail about the shearing machine. Anna had already heard the tale, so did not need to give it her full attention, but she noticed that Carstairs was also not attending as he should. He seemed impatient about something. Occasionally he looked out of the window, as if expecting other visitors. From her seat Anna could see that the room overlooked the drive and knew that Carstairs must have seen them arrive. Her lips thinned as she realised that he had deliberately kept them waiting.

  Meldon reached the end of his story.

  “I see, Miss Smith, that you do not share Lord Meldon’s interest in shearing sheep.”

  “On the contrary, Mr Carstairs, I was enchanted when his lordship first told me the story and very disappointed to discover that his long journey had ended in frustration. The larger his lordship’s flocks become, the more efficient his management of them needs to be.”

  “You have a farmer’s heart,” said Carstairs.

  He smiled, but Anna felt that it was intended as an insult.

  “Indeed, she has,” said Meldon warmly. “I know no woman who understands more about the land and husbandry than Miss Smith and few men.”

  He bowed to her and Anna was content.

  “I do not believe a woman should be interested in such things,” said Carstairs.

  “Why not?” asked Meldon. Anna recognised the tone in his voice that meant he was interested in the answer.

  “Women should be interested in the things that make their husbands and their children happy and comfortable.”

  “I’m sure that is enough for many women. I know, however, that it is not an opinion that Miss Smith holds.”

  “It is not that I should wish my husband and children unhappy or uncomfortable, just that I am interested in other things as well,” explained Anna.

  “I am sure that any man who had the good fortune to be married to you would be only too happy to accommodate your least wish.”

  Anna knew that he lied; marriage to him would be unbearable. Perhaps there would be someone else at the ball... But did it really matter who she married if she was not to be with Meldon?

  “If you’ll excuse us, Mr Carstairs, we have other visits to make this afternoon.”

  “Of course, Lord Meldon.”

  As she rose, Anna noticed the clock in the corner of the room. Their visit had lasted exactly thirty minutes.

  Meldon and Anna spent the rest of the afternoon at the vicarage, where they were greeted before they could get out of the carriage. They were both invited to sit and offered tea. Reverend Gossett and his wife were a merry, childless couple and Anna could see that Meldon was completely at ease in their company, as they were in his.

  They were laughing as Meldon handed Anna up into the carriage after their visit had ended.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it,” she said as they set off, “that two hours with the Gossetts seemed to pass quicker than half an hour with Mr Carstairs?”

  Meldon didn’t answer immediately.

  “You didn’t enjoy our time with Carstairs?” he asked cautiously.

  “Not as much as the time with the Gossetts.”

  “But I thought... I brought you to his house so that you would have the opportunity to see his character.”

  “His character is as transparent to me as it is to you, my lord.” Anna’s tone was sharp and Meldon knew that he had trodden wrong again.

  “But you asked me to investigate his character.”

  “No, you offered. I had no need of your services in that regard.”

  “Oh. I apologise for the misunderstanding.”

  Meldon was lost. What had she meant to ask him if not this? And if she understood his character, why was she considering his proposal? Could she love him so much that she didn’t care about his character?

  “May I drive?” she asked and Meldon was wrong-footed again.

  “You can drive?” Fool! She had already told him that she could drive and he had forgotten.

  “I should not have offered if I could not.”

  “Of course,” said Meldon. “Beelzebub is a spirited beast and Puck follows where he leads.”

  “You think they are too strong for me.”

  “It crossed my mind, but I think you will manage them with your will alone.”

  “There is no need to be insulting.”

  “I meant it as a compliment.”

  Anna looked at him directly. “You do realise that I can tell when you’re lying?”

  Meldon grinned, “I had hoped that you could.” He brought the horses to a stop, hoping she could not tell how afraid she had made him by her offer. Silently he handed over the reins and waited for her to set the horses in motion.

  “You have no words of advice for me?”

  “None,” he said, his mouth dry.

  “No admonition to take it slowly or to be careful of Beelzebub’s soft mouth?”

  “It is his brain that is soft, not his mouth.”

  He didn’t like the way that Anna’s lips curved into a smile. Carefully she set the horses to a sedate walk. She and Beelzebub tested one another for a while and after Anna had won they moved into a trot.

  “You handle him well,” said Meldon with relief.

  “He is too tired to fight me much.”

  Meldon laughed. “It seems I have developed the gift of recognising when you lie.”

  “I am newly come to lying,” she said, “I do it ill.”

  “Please do not feel that you need to improve.”

  “There seems little point if you can tell when I do it.”

  He laughed again. “I shall not always be able to tell,” he said, eventually.

  “I think that is just as well,” said Anna, “for we must each have our secrets.”

  And Meldon was defeated again.

  They arrived safely back at Meldon Hall and Anna allowed Meldon to help her down from the carriage.

  “Do I shock you?” she asked as they crossed the courtyard into the house.

  “Not all the time. I wish, though...”

  Meldon stopped walking and Anna turned to him. “What do you wish?”

  “I wish you were happy enough not to feel the need to shock me.”

  Anna bit her lip. “I wish I could say that it was not you who made me unhappy.”

  “Hence the duel?”

  She nodded. “I know that it is settled between us, but...”

  “But the origin of the quarrel remains unresolved.”

  “Yes.”

  “Until I know the reason for the quarrel... until you tell me, I can do nothing about it.”

  “You can do many things, but you cannot put that right.”

  She made to walk away from him, but he caught her arm. “Miss Smith, I told you I would do anything you asked me to. I should like to make you happy. Please test me.”

  Anna hesitated for a moment and his heart lifted as he thought she would tell him and he would find a way to make it right.

  “In this I will not test you, for only your death would make it right and I would not have you dead.” Her voice had fallen to a whisper, but Meldon found
the hope that he had been looking for. As he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and continued walking with her, a plan began to form in his mind.

  The next morning, after an hour in the estate office, Meldon went to the library and knocked on the door. After a moment it opened and Anna stood before him.

  “Lord Meldon!”

  He bowed, “Miss Smith. I’m sorry to disturb you and I’m afraid it’s for a purely selfish reason, but I recalled that you said before I went to Kent that you might have a poem that I could read when I returned... Forgive me, but have you been crying?”

  “Oh, I didn’t realise.” Anna began to rub the tears from her cheeks, but he handed her a handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes more effectively. When she offered it back to him, he took it carefully and put it into a pocket. Meldon entered the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

  “I’m afraid my thoughts have not been happy this morning.”

  That much was obvious to him.

  “I’m sorry. Would you prefer it if I left you alone?”

  “No,” she smiled weakly at him, “I feel in need of company today. Come in, please. Oh I’m sorry, this is your house.”

  “But your sanctuary. I am well aware that I am the intruder here.”

  “No, my lord, but...”

  He thought he saw renewed tears in her eyes.

  “You are, as always, so kind,” she said demurely.

  “I think I might slap you if you say that again.”

  Anna laughed. “How else, then, might I express my thanks for all that you have done?”

  “You do not need to. It is my pleasure to provide for you.” He saw, from the look in her eyes, that she also knew that he was on dangerous ground here. She was capable of providing for herself if he would only let her go back to being Jonas Smith. “The poem,” he continued quickly, “does it exist, or were you misleading me?”

  “Yes, you’re quite right, I did promise you a poem. I quite forgot in the excitement of your presents and ... well, my indiscretion, but I have a gift for you.” Anna went to the shelf where her locked box stood, unlocked it and took out some papers. After she had locked it again, she gave the papers to Meldon.

  “I wrote this for you.”

  Meldon saw that his hand was shaking as he reached for the sheets. There was no title, just the dedication, “For Lord Meldon”. He started to read. He recognised Meldon Hall and his estate and even himself riding across it. One reference he thought was to Jonas Smith, but he could not be certain, but surely that was Anna herself waiting for him in the library. Waiting for him? Did that mean she wanted him to visit her here? He reread that section and was certain that he was right; she was waiting for him. He was breathless when he had finished.

  “This is a wonderful gift,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Anna said nothing. If anything she was paler than before.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Your hand shakes. Has something angered you?”

  Meldon was stunned. How could someone who knew his heart so well that she could set it out on paper for him think he was angry because his hand shook?

  “My hand shakes, because I find I am an open book to you, Miss Smith. I have never been given anything so magnificent. And if I do not smile, it is not because I am unhappy, just that it is too small a thing with which to thank you.”

  Anna nodded, but said nothing.

  Meldon thought over what he had said to find out how he had offended her.

  “You know that I am deficient in my appreciation of poetry, but it seems to me that this is a very good poem.”

  Now she smiled. “I think it is the best thing I have ever written.”

  And she had written it for him. It really was a magnificent gift.

  “I know that this is your sanctuary,” he began hesitantly, “but would you object if I came in occasionally to read while you are working?”

  “Oh, my lord, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise that I kept you away from your books. Of course you must, this is your house.”

  “You misunderstand me, Miss Smith. You do not keep me from my books, I keep myself from my books, because, for as long as you are my guest, this room is for your sole use as much as your bedroom upstairs. I do not want you to give your permission out of a sense of gratitude or your duty as a guest. If my presence will not disturb you and if you can bear to look up and see me in a chair by the fire, then allow me to join you. Otherwise bar the door and keep me out.”

  She hesitated and he thought he had gone too far.

  “And you will not be angry if I deny you entry?”

  His heart sank; she was going to tell him that she could not bear to be in the same room as him.

  “No. You have as much right to keep me out of here as you have to keep me out of your bedroom.” He felt himself blush at the insinuation that he might try to enter her bedroom, but Anna seemed not to notice. Instead she seemed to be considering his request very carefully.

  “Then you will be welcome whenever you wish to come and sit with me, but ...”

  “But?”

  “My lord, you understand that I do not play at poetry.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you do not come for conversation?”

  “No. I come because I realised that that chair is the most comfortable in the house.” He pointed to the chair closest to the fire. Turning back to her, he said, “Miss Smith, if I disturb you, you must tell me to leave and there will be no protest from me.”

  “Oh, but...”

  “No. I have no wish to distract you. You have published nothing since you came here, have you?”

  “No.” It was a whisper.

  “Because of the duel or because you are no longer Jonas Smith?”

  “Both. I no longer have Jonas Smith’s experiences and ...” Her lip trembled and tears appeared in her eyes again.

  Meldon retrieved the handkerchief again and gave it to her.

  “The duel. I dream about it often,” she said, “and sometimes I do not survive and sometimes ...”

  “Sometimes I do not?”

  She nodded and blew her nose into the handkerchief.

  Despite his misgivings, Meldon put his arms around her and held her. “I have those dreams, too,” he admitted. “They will pass, for both of us.”

  “Will they?”

  “I promise. You will grow used to being alive again.” He hoped he was telling the truth; the dreams disturbed him too much, especially the ones that ended with him standing over her still body.

  He let her go. “I’ll send Simpson in with some brandy. Will five minutes be long enough?”

  “Ten,” she said as she began to use the handkerchief on her eyes again.

  “Very well.” He picked up the poem from the table where he had put it. “Thank you again. I shall treasure it.”

  He left her before she could see how shaken he had been by her tears.

  Once Meldon had started visiting the library things improved between them. He went often and never initiated a conversation. He either read a book or watched Anna write. She seemed to write fluidly and he enjoyed the calm that they shared. Sometimes Anna would start a conversation, asking what he was reading or, having stared out of the window for a while, read him a line or two of poetry and ask his opinion. He thought her writing improved and told her, but still she offered nothing for publication.

  Each morning she rode with him and they discussed his plans for Meldon or his tenants. He took great pleasure in her interest and knowledge and had changed some of his plans to take her wishes into account. Most mornings he worked in the estate office and sometimes he joined Anna and his mother later as Anna read aloud. At other times they went out visiting and he could enjoy the impeccable way in which Anna behaved with each of their hosts.

  Nonetheless, he had planned and examined his plan and tested his assumptions. He was not entirely certain that he wasn’t wasting his time, but he was determined to try.

&
nbsp; He welcomed Finch’s arrival, for Finch would talk sense to him. Meldon took him into the billiard room and told him everything that had happened since his return from Kent.

  “Don’t you think you should have taken me to your mother?” was Finch’s first comment when Meldon stopped.

  “She won’t mind. She’s too busy trying to countermand all my orders about the ball. What shall I do about Miss Smith?”

  “You don’t need my advice. You know what to do. Surely you know how to propose to a girl.”

  “She’s in love with Carstairs.”

  “No she isn’t. I never took you for a stupid man before today, Meldon.”

  “I tell you, she loves him. Love at first sight, even though she knows his character.”

  “Yes, I do think she fell in love at first sight.” Finch stroked his chin in the way that he knew annoyed the earl. It was what he did when he thought he knew more about something than Meldon did. “Very well, let us try reason. You’re usually amenable to reason, but since it’s your heart that’s affected... Is Miss Smith of good character and possessed of all her wits?” He spoke slowly, as if to a child or someone particularly slow-witted.

  “Of course she is.”

  “Is Carstairs a self-absorbed bore?” He enunciated the words slowly and Meldon began to grind his teeth.

  “Yes, but he’s a handsome, self-absorbed bore.”

  “And Miss Smith values beauty above character?”

  “No!” Meldon realised that he had shouted his protestation. Finch smiled.

  “Then she doesn’t love Carstairs.”

  “Then there’s the other man.” Meldon no longer knew which man worried him more. Finch was right; it was possible that Anna did not love Carstairs, but she had told him that she loved the other man.

  “What other man?” The smile disappeared from Finch’s face.

  “The man she loved before. She said she loves him still, but I believe Carstairs has taken his place.” Now that he said it aloud, it sounded unlikely. Anna was not this changeable.

  “What do you know about this man?”

  “Only that she loved him in London and that he has fine hands and a good character.”

  Meldon had occasionally wondered whether Finch himself might be the man that Anna loved. She had certainly seen a lot of him at his card table and at supper in Meldon House. His character was good, but no one could describe his hands as fine. One of their early missions had resulted in Finch being captured and tortured and his left hand had been broken and had not healed properly. Only someone with poor eyesight would describe him as plain, for he was the most handsome man of Meldon’s acquaintance.