The Artful Match

by Jennifer Delamere

  He began to feel almost guilty, as though he had done her a disservice by concealing her existence from Hayward. Certainly Jacob had not been in favor of it. That had been clear from his expression as they had discussed the issue on their way to Roxwell Abbey. But, perhaps because he understood the constraints of Henry’s social position, he had raised no objections.

  “There is one thing I forgot to mention about today,” Cara said. “This afternoon when I went to join Amelia in the garden, I found her singing a lullaby. Are you familiar with it?”

  Henry shook his head. “I have heard her humming from time to time and sometimes singing under her breath, but I’ve never been able to catch the words.”

  “She told me it was something that she remembered ‘from before.’ Might that mean from before she came to live with you?”

  “That seems unlikely. She was so young.” Henry spoke with conviction, but he knew this statement was wishful thinking. He hoped Amelia didn’t remember too much about her former life. Was that wrong of him, to want to deny a child her memories? Over and over, Henry kept trying to do the right thing and found himself in a moral morass anyway.

  “Perhaps you can wheedle the information out of her,” Langham said to Cara. “She seems much happier to talk to you than to any of us.”

  “Just let it be,” Henry replied fiercely. “Do not question the child further.”

  He saw the others start in surprise at the force of his words. Or perhaps they were reacting to the clatter of his fork hitting the plate too sharply.

  There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Cara dropped her eyes, looking embarrassed. She set her own fork down with extra care, perhaps unconsciously trying to counteract Henry’s actions. Jacob sent Henry a frown that was questioning and disapproving at the same time. Langham raised his wineglass to signal a refill from the footman.

  Henry regretted that he’d spoken so roughly. He did not regret his demand, however. Although Amelia could be difficult at times, she had an independence and reserve that functioned like an emotional shield. As far as Henry knew, she had not shared her innermost thoughts with anyone. He had seen that as a good thing. The last thing he needed was for Amelia to say something that might point to Langham being her father. Whenever such information was revealed, Henry wanted to be in charge of the time and place.

  It was Jacob who finally broke the silence. “I’m looking forward to watching the riding lesson tomorrow. My son will be learning to ride soon. Perhaps I can glean some techniques for teaching him—even though, of course, he will not be riding sidesaddle.” He said this with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Do you ride, Miss Bernay?”

  “Oh no, I would be afraid to.”

  “Perhaps you will feel differently after tomorrow,” Henry said. He spoke kindly, hoping to make up for any hurt feelings he might have caused.

  Her response was a tremulous smile, and that only made Henry more uncomfortable. Had he just tacitly offered her riding lessons? He hadn’t intended to. There were too many impracticalities to the idea. Despite that, as well as her statement about being fearful of riding, Henry had no trouble envisioning her in a smart riding habit, perched confidently on a fine horse. He shook his head, trying to clear the image. He reminded himself she was leaving in a few weeks, and things were not likely to progress so far as her acquiring appropriate riding attire, let alone mastering the art of riding.

  Even so, the vision kept returning to him long after they had all said good night and gone their separate ways to bed. Alone once again with his thoughts, Henry sat at his bedroom window for a long time, looking out at the moonlit landscape and wondering if his heart would ever feel truly settled.

  “You see how easy it is, miss! Mind you keep your torso facing forward and your hands low. . . . That’s right!”

  Mr. Hart called out these commands and encouragements as Amelia rode the pony around a circular fenced-in area near the stable. It was perhaps more accurate to say the child was being carried, because she did not hold the reins. Those were knotted loosely at the pony’s neck. Amelia’s hands gripped only a short whip lying across her lap.

  In the center of the ring, Mr. Hart held a long rope attached to Maisie’s bridle. He used a whip to gently guide the pony’s movements. He walked in a small circle to follow the horse as it traced the perimeter over and over.

  Cara stood at the fence along with Henry and Jacob. Henry was dressed in riding clothes so he could help as needed. He had set aside his jacket due to the heat, but Cara thought he looked exceedingly handsome in his white shirt, brown riding trousers, and high leather boots.

  Out in the ring, Amelia appeared pleased and comfortable, her body adjusting to the pony’s movements as needed. Her gymnastic costume consisted of a navy blue knee-length tunic with red trim over short matching pantaloons and dark stockings. On her feet were ankle boots of flexible leather that she often wore when playing outside. Cara could see why Mr. Hart had recommended this clothing.

  Cara also now understood the use of the two curved horns near the front left edge of the saddle that arched out from one another in a V shape. Amelia’s right leg was draped over the top horn. Her left leg was snugly fitted under the curve of the bottom horn, which Mr. Hart explained was called the leaping horn because it helped a lady keep her seat when jumping the horse. Her left foot was securely fitted into a stirrup.

  Mr. Hart had kept the pony at a walk until Amelia showed she could keep her body positioned correctly and maintain her balance. A few minutes ago, he’d set the horse to a trot, and Amelia was still riding with ease. Although breathless from the work and concentrating intently on what she was doing, she also managed bursts of laughter at the thrill of successfully riding.

  “How does she keep from falling off?” Cara asked. “She’s not holding on to anything!”

  “That’s the point of the whole exercise,” Henry answered. “This is how she’ll learn to keep her seat without riding the bridle.”

  “It’s ingenious,” Jacob agreed.

  After the pony and rider had made a dozen or more loops around the ring, Mr. Hart signaled for Henry to enter. Henry slipped through the gate and joined the groom at the center, deftly taking over the rope and whip.

  “This is wonderful!” Cara enthused to Mr. Hart as he came out of the ring.

  “Don’t go away—we’re just getting to the good part,” he answered with a wink, and went inside the stable.

  Henry began to alternate the pony’s pace, setting it to a walk, then a trot, then down to a walk again. In this way, Amelia learned to react to the changes in Maisie’s speed and gait. It was clear she relished the challenge. At one point, she called out to Cara, “See how well I am riding!”

  Cara loved watching the two of them work together like this. Oh, if Henry was really her father, how could he not say so? Especially now, as he watched her with obvious approval and, Cara thought, affection.

  Cara realized this could be a good time to ask Jacob some questions, since they stood alone at the fence. “Henry really is good to her. At times he seems exactly like a doting father.”

  She watched to see if the word father might produce any reaction, but Jacob simply nodded in agreement, accepting Cara’s comment at face value. “Henry’s a good-hearted man. I keep telling him that he needs to—” He paused, finishing his sentence only with a shrug.

  “Langham told me he was in love with your sister, but she died in France.” It was beyond impertinent to bring this up, and she immediately felt bad when a shadow crossed his features. “I apologize, I should not have mentioned it.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s been nearly eight years, and if you want to understand why Henry is the way he is, you need to know about Olivia. He still mourns her in a way that I do not believe is healthy.”

  “Why do you think he has such a hard time accepting her death? Do you think it’s because she was so far away when she died?”

  He shook his head. “I believe he accepts that she is dead, b
ut for some reason he’s unable to get past it. I don’t know why, because even though we are close, he won’t share his reasons with me.” He gave a sad shrug. “Who can explain the intricacies of the heart?”

  Turning back to watch Henry and Amelia once more, Cara pondered Jacob’s words. She felt sure that if Henry was Amelia’s father, Jacob didn’t know it. And to think that Henry harbored such deep feelings for his lost love! “I suppose Olivia was an extraordinary person.” She felt herself getting choked up as she asked, and perhaps a little jealous, too, although it was terrible to feel such a thing.

  “Yes, she was special.” Jacob gave her a kind smile, as though he were focused more on her distress than his own sorrow.

  Mr. Hart reemerged from the stable, followed by the assistant groom, both carrying bales of hay. The men went inside the ring and laid the two bales side by side.

  At this point the pony was at a walk. When it reached the bales, it put its head down to sniff them, which unbalanced Amelia. She wobbled and grabbed the upper horn, readjusting herself after Henry prodded the pony to raise its head and keep going. Maisie stepped over the bales and continued moving around the ring.

  “Mind your balance, Miss Amelia,” Mr. Hart called out. “You want to stay low and back in your seat. Are you ready to jump?”

  “Jump?” Amelia and Cara repeated at the same time, although in Cara’s case it was from alarm.

  Henry set the pony once more into a canter, calling out further instructions to Amelia. “Just remember what you learned about holding your position. Sit back in the saddle and keep your hands low. If you feel unsteady, squeeze your upper legs together hard against the horns.”

  Cara held her breath as the pony completed another loop around the ring and once more approached the hay bales. Mr. Hart and the stable hand stood on either side of the bales, ready to step in should there be a mishap.

  The bales, not even two feet high, presented no trouble for the energetic pony. It took them in a smooth, swift jump and resumed its canter. Amelia’s torso tipped back and lifted slightly from the saddle. Her hands rose as well, but she worked to bring them down. When the horse landed, she was still firmly in her seat.

  “Excellent!” Henry exclaimed. Cara and Jacob applauded enthusiastically.

  Amelia let out a whoop of triumph. “Can we do that again?”

  Mr. Hart grinned at Henry. “I believe she is a natural, sir.” He called out to Amelia, “Watch your hands this time. Sit back, and don’t allow the motion to toss you back too far.”

  They came around again. Once more, Maisie took a short leap over the hay bales. This time, Amelia moved virtually in unison with the pony.

  Henry slowed the horse to a walk. Amelia was so happy at her success that she’d begun laughing more than concentrating. “Perhaps that is enough for the day. Don’t you think so, Mr. Hart?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe that was a good first lesson.”

  Henry began looping the rope, shortening the distance between him and the pony until he was standing next to it. He handed the rope to Mr. Hart, who held the pony’s head while Henry helped Amelia down. Cara thought the girl might protest, but Amelia was still overtaken with the giggles, laughing even after her feet had touched the ground.

  “Do you like riding, then?” Henry asked. But he needn’t have, because the answer was clearly written on Amelia’s face. “Let’s take her in,” he said. “I believe she’s ready for a brush down.”

  He allowed Amelia to help him walk the pony back to the stable. Mr. Hart and the assistant groom went with them, once more leaving Cara and Jacob alone.

  “I can tell you are fond of the girl,” Jacob said. “Henry told me you’ve taken on her care—in an unofficial capacity. That’s admirable. Especially when they had a hard time finding someone who would do it for money!”

  Cara smiled. “I suppose I empathize with her, given that we both seem to be without parents.”

  If Jacob noticed the odd phrasing, he didn’t show it. “Do you really wish to devote your life to art?”

  “Yes, of course! That is, I think so.”

  His eyebrow rose. “You think so?”

  “My sisters both have a calling for their lives. They’ve always known it. At least, I think Julia has always known. Maybe Rosalyn didn’t know right away, but when the opportunity to sing professionally was presented to her, she leapt in with both feet. And she is so happy and successful now! So I’ve wondered a lot about what my calling might be. I think it must be painting. I’ve always enjoyed drawing, and I love to study fine works of art whenever I can.”

  Jacob was looking at her with a bemused expression probably caused by her rambling.

  She gave him an apologetic smile. “I suppose what it comes down to is that, to be honest, I never thought about painting as a career until I met Langham.”

  “I see.”

  “That doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing for my life,” Cara insisted. “As I just said, Rosalyn—”

  “Perhaps you have other abilities. Perhaps talents just as good, or even greater, that are yet untapped.”

  Cara stared at him, taken aback. “It would be nice to think so, I suppose.”

  “Why not ponder it a bit? It may not come to you right away, but give it some time. Do you wish to get married someday?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “And to be a mother?”

  That question was harder to answer. “There is something . . . that is, I haven’t figured out how God feels about that.”

  He smiled. “I should think it would be obvious.”

  “Yes, but in my case there are, well, circumstances that might make it questionable.”

  “I will pray that you find the answer you are looking for.”

  “Thank you,” Cara said, truly grateful. “I can see why you wanted to go into the church. You would have made a splendid minister.”

  Jacob tilted his head in a modest acknowledgment of her compliment.

  She turned back as Henry and Amelia reemerged from the stable, the little girl’s hand in his, both of them laughing. If he was not her father, he was as good a substitute as any child could wish for—and not just because he could provide these nice things. Their walking hand in hand signaled that some emotional bonds might be forming as well, something Cara knew from experience that a child craved. Perhaps that was enough for now.

  CHAPTER

  25

  I WISH YOU COULD STAY LONGER, Mr. Reese,” Amelia said.

  Amelia and Cara had come out to the front drive after luncheon to say their good-byes as a footman loaded Jacob’s luggage into the carriage. Jacob’s wagon and men had been dispatched yesterday for the long drive back to the foundry. Jacob would take the train back, a faster and more comfortable ride. Jacob had asked if he and Henry might drive to the station together, and Henry was happy to oblige.

  Jacob looked fondly at the girl. “I would like to stay, too, but I must return to my family. My little boy will be missing me.” He looked at the packet of cherry sweets in Amelia’s hand. It was nearly empty now. “He’ll be looking for his present, too, you know.”

  Amelia grinned and popped another sweet into her mouth.

  Cara’s good-bye was more effusive. She took Jacob’s hand, shaking it energetically. “It has been so lovely meeting you. Thank you—especially for the nice things you said to me yesterday.”

  He smiled warmly back at her. “I’m glad it was of help to you.”

  Henry didn’t know what they were referring to, but he wasn’t surprised they had got on so well, or that his friend had shared something that helped her. That was Jacob’s way.

  After Amelia and Cara had showered Jacob with another round of fond wishes, Henry and Jacob got in the carriage. Cara and Amelia waved as they drove away.

  “Cara is a lovely woman,” Jacob observed once Henry had turned the carriage onto the open road. “It’s evident you and Langham enjoy having her here.”

  “And Amelia, too,” Henry poin
ted out.

  Jacob nodded. “Over these past two days, I’ve seen what a difference she’s made in that girl’s life. You are lucky she agreed to come.”

  Henry gave him a look. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

  Jacob grinned in return. “You’re right. I don’t. But you have to admit that an interesting set of circumstances brought her into your life.”

  “I know you are a religious man, Jacob, but you cannot attribute everything to divine intervention.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  Henry recognized his friend’s habit of seeming to agree when he actually felt quite differently. Henry didn’t want to press him, though. It could open a conversation he did not want to have.

  They rode in silence for a while. They were within a mile of the station when Jacob said, “Henry, there is something I would like to say to you before I leave today.”

  There was no mistaking the seriousness of his tone. Henry didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the horse, concentrating on his driving, knowing his friend would speak his mind with or without Henry’s permission.

  “I think it’s time you faced one particular truth that you’ve been avoiding for eight years.”

  With that kind of introduction—especially the mention of eight years—Henry knew this was about Olivia. He grimaced but said nothing.

  “I thought that in time your heart would heal of its own accord and I wouldn’t be obliged to point this out to you. But I feel now is the time to do it.”

  Jacob looked at him with the kind of sympathy one generally reserved for the newly bereaved. Whatever was coming, it was likely to open up fresh torrents of pain. “Are you so determined to hurt your friend?” he countered.

  “You will always remember Olivia for her youth and beauty. She will never grow old in your eyes, because you knew her only in the summer of her prime. She will always have an unsurpassed perfection—her grace and poise, her kindness, even being an excellent woman of business.”

  “You make this sound like an accusation. Would you have me forget all the good things about her?”