by June Calvin
She advanced on them, her chin up and her mouth set in a stubborn line. “No, but I expect I should do so, if only to keep you from committing mayhem upon one another.” As she approached them, they moved apart reluctantly. “I came down for a book to read. It is the library, not Gentleman Jackson’s boxing rooms, you know,” she said with a defiant toss of her head.
“It is as well that Allison is here,” James said. “What I have to say concerns her. after all, and with her here, you cannot by bluster or denial escape the fact that you told one of us an untruth.” He led Allison to the chair next to his and sat down beside her.
Thorne slowly returned to his seat, his mind filled with dread. “If you persist in this discussion with her present, you will hurt her, which I know you cannot want.”
“Don't want to hurt her, certainly.” James hesitated. “Think she’s been hurt already, though. Don’t change the subject. You led me to believe I stood between the two of you, so I posted down to Bristol to see if she wished me to offer for her. I was vastly relieved to find that she regarded me as I did her—as a cherished member of my family. Like a sister to me!” James’s voice roughened as he reached out to pat Allison’s hand where it rested on the arm of her chair.
Allison suddenly wished she were anywhere but here. There had been enough uncomfortable moments in this day. Yet she did need to know the truth. Perhaps then she could face her future as a governess with resolution.
“James is right. Thorne. There is a discrepancy between what you told us, I think.” She looked directly at him, bracing herself for whatever blow might be coming.
Thorne dragged his hand down his face. Perhaps it would he easier to tell her with a third party here. She won't cry, or if she does, I won't feel free to take her in my arms, for who knows where that might lead? But he found that with those concerned blue eyes on him he could not deliberately hurt her. Instead, he made one last push to convince his cousin to marry.
“It has never been my intention to marry, James. My reasons for that resolve are my own. To this point I have not seen any reason to do so, for I have always felt that I had an heir. I want you to learn how to manage the land, learn protocol, take an interest in politics, and most important, learn to accept responsibility. Because along with the title you or your son will inherit comes a great deal of responsibility.”
Thorne’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Hundreds of people will depend upon you for their livelihoods. Some of the tenants and estate workers on my various properties have lived on this land since before my ancestors acquired it. Our laws do not protect their right to remain there, though. Only the landowner can assure that. Lose the land by extravagance or gambling, and they can be dispossessed as Lord Vemington’s people were. Look at his land now— nothing but sheep as far as the eyes can see, and the people who once lived there dead or migrated to America.
“You seem to regard working for me as some sort of punishment, but I truly need your help. I am deeply involved right now in legislation to create better working conditions for those thousands all over England who have left the land to work in mines and factories. Give up your rakehell friends and help me with some of these burdensome responsibilities. In the process you’ll learn how to manage when I am gone, or how to teach your son to do so.
“I am convinced you will find it a very rewarding occupation. You are too intelligent a man to really enjoy the aimless, dissipated life you have been living. Marry, James! If you do, I will see to it that you have the very best of the Silverthorne properties to house your family. Every child will be generously provided for, and—”
James’s expression had grown progressively more disdainful as Thorne spoke. “You can just give that up! I will never marry while I am another man’s ward. How can I be master in my own household when I am your dependent? How could I look a woman in the face and ask her to marry one who is still being treated as a child by his own cousin?”
“I wouldn’t have to treat you as a child if you would begin acting like a mature man.”
“You’ve turned the subject. Just because you have no inclination to marry doesn’t free you from the obligation, does it? You expect me to prepare myself to be the Marquess of Silverthorne, though we’re so close in ages there is little chance of my succeeding you. Why are you allowed to follow your inclinations, while you prevent me from following mine, which as you well know is to join the army. Marry Allison and get an heir of your own. Then it won’t matter to you how I conduct my affairs.”
A sudden, dawning comprehension came into Allison’s eyes. Thorne braced himself for the pain that would follow.
James pressed on. “Or, if you don’t love her, marry some young miss from the schoolroom whom you can train to be the wife of your heart.”
“If my heart were to be consulted, it would be Allison I would marry.” Thorne’s eyes darkened.
James, exasperated, fairly shouted. “Then why not marry her, damn it!”
Thorne’s nostrils flared with the reluctant breath he drew in. But before he could answer, Allison spoke.
“It is because Charles and I were childless, isn’t it? I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. If he will only marry to get an heir, that makes me a less than wise choice for a wife.”
The sad look in Thorne’s grey eyes confirmed her guess. He lifted his shoulder and held out his hands. “I’m not too surprised you didn’t realize it before now, for it was a very sore subject with you. I daresay you have buried it deep, where it cannot wound you as it did when you first heard of Charles’s death.”
Allison dropped back into her chair, her breath going out on a whoosh. She remembered all too well her grief at losing Charles, and how it seemed to her then that she could have borne it better if she had had a child. Contrary to what Thorne assumed would be her reaction, a spurt of hope surged through her. When he knew all of the facts of the case, he wouldn’t think her fecundity so doubtful. There might be hope for them yet.
James stood abruptly. “You don’t know what love is, Thorne. You’re not looking for a wife—you are looking for breeding stock. Allison, you are well out of it. The two of you really wouldn’t suit, you know. You are too independent in your thinking, and he is too dictatorial.”
He bent and took her hands in his. “I’ve an idea. Been thinking about it for a while. We’ll go to India. That would serve as well as the army to get me out from under Thorne’s thumb. There are fortunes to be made there, and young Englishmen who’d be eager to marry a beautiful Englishwoman without the trouble of returning to England.”
Allison let him capture her hands, but resisted when he tried to draw her out of her chair. “It is an interesting thought, James, but may I discuss it with you later? I wish to have a word in private with Thorne.”
Thorne sprang to his feet, his expression thunderous. “India! You’d prefer that to learning the responsibilities of my heir?”
“Yes, by God. No good pretending you need my help. You wouldn’t really let me shoulder your responsibilities. You’d stand looking over my shoulder, criticizing constantly. Don’t know exactly what I’m going to do, but I’m not going to kick my heels around England anymore.” James snagged the almost full bottle of brandy and headed for the door. “No more waiting for the treasure to be discovered. It isn’t meant to be. Going to take myself off somewhere and try being a man for a change.”
“A drunken man, from the looks of it.”
James started for him. Allison launched herself from her chair and caught his arm. “No, absolutely not. You’ve cut each other up enough with words. No fisticuffs.”
Thorne had taken up a defensive stance, but was grateful when Allison’s plea calmed James. He had no wish to thrash the boy. That would only cause further bad blood between them. James’s defeated look and posture as he stalked from the room, brandy bottle in hand, bothered him a great deal. He turned a worried look on Allison.
“Think he means it? About going to India?”
“I
hope so. You and he will never mb together well as long as he is your ward. I sometimes think his father’s conviction that he would be unable to manage his own affairs had the effect of making it true.”
Thorne swept his hand down his face wearily. “I haven’t handled him right. What did I know of managing an unmanageable boy? Especially when I was little more than a boy myself. We were friends once. His father’s will made that impossible.”
Allison longed to put her arms around him, to comfort him. for she knew he cared deeply for James. Instead, she directed her steps to the French doors that led onto the front terrace. They were closed, partially obscured by moisture. “It looks as if the storm has blown over.” She pushed the doors open and stepped outside to breathe in the fresh air. “I can see stars peeping out.”
She was buying time, trying to decide how to explain why she did not despair of having children. To speak of such matters to a man would be very embarrassing. Even with Charles, it had taken her two years to pluck up enough courage to demand some answers from him. When she did, he was mortified by having to discuss such a subject. A rueful half smile lifted her lips. He simply did what he thought best, without asking me. Young and inexperienced, she had accepted her husband’s behavior in the marital bed without question until a chance remark about Tristram Shandy by another wife aroused her suspicions. After borrowing the scandalous book, which her father had kept in a locked cabinet when she was young, she raised the issue. Charles confirmed her suspicions, justifying his actions by his lack of a personal fortune, which made the creation of a large family undesirable.
“But Charles, are we not to have any children?” she had asked him, near tears.
“Someday,” he had responded, pinching her chin. “My method is not foolproof, so it may happen without our planning it. If not, when I advance in rank, we will try for a small family.” As Allison's thoughts flew back in time, she could feel again the resentment that had built up in her. It was not that he was wrong, but that he didn t consult me, she thought. It made it difficult for me to feel close to him. A distance grew between them, which Charles made into a chasm when he accepted the assignment to America without consulting her.
She started when Thorne spoke almost in her ear. “I don’t think it ever rained more than a few drops.” He was standing dangerously close. Allison felt her blood heat as it always did when he was near. She moved restlessly away.
“That’s too bad. The fields look as if they could use some rain.”
“Will you go with him?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, puzzled by the non se- quitur.
“To India.”
“Oh. I don’t know. This is the first I’ve heard of it. I shall have to give it some thought.” What she wanted to think about was whether to tell him about her husband’s views on filling their nursery. After Thorne confessed the true reason he could not marry her, her first thought had been a joyful one: We can be married after all! But now she began to worry. What if I really can't have children? What then?
“Don’t go, Allie.” Thorne put his hands on her shoulders. She could almost feel his deep voice rumbling in his chest, he stood so close. Her heart sped up. He was going to declare himself, ask her to marry him in spite of his concerns about the succession. Then she wouldn’t have to make a decision fraught with problems. She waited expectantly, but he said no more.
At last, she prompted him, turning in his grasp. “Why not, Thorne? Why shouldn’t I go to India?”
For an instant his eyes blazed, then he lowered his head, touching her forehead with his. “It is dangerous. The voyage is dangerous, and that climate is dangerous to Englishwomen. Stay here in England. You can . .. you can find a husband here.” His voice roughened; he moved away, walking to the end of the terrace, where he could look up at the cliff and Silverthorne castle looming over the manor house. The thought of Allison married to anyone else clawed at his innards in a way that terrified him.
Disappointment slammed through Allison. He isn't going to marry me. His responsibilities as the Marquess of Silverthorne weigh too heavily on him. James’s comment took on new validity to Allison: “You don’t know what love is, Thorne.” Perhaps he doesn't. Allison studied his profile as he looked up at the dim outline of Silverthorne to the east. He desires me. He likes me. But love? What he said before may just have been a sop to my vanity. If he doesn't love me enough to marry me believing l cannot bear children, would he love me enough to withstand the sorrow if that prediction should come true?
Her throat closed with suppressed tears. She turned silently and reentered the library, selected a book, and climbed the stairs to her room.
The Marquess of Silverthorne did not turn around when he heard Allison leave. He was too close to throwing away a lifetime of resolve. One more moment spent near her, drinking in her woman’s scent, with its lilac grace notes, one more look into those luminous sapphire eyes, shadowed as they were by the pain he had caused her, and he would have proposed to her. That marked him surely as much a fool in love as his father. Remembering the way Lydia Keisley had bear-led his father, he laughed silently, bitterly. You are certainly your father’s son, Thorne, to think of marrying at last, only to marry a barren woman, when you need an heir to stand between all you are responsible for and the utterly irresponsible James Betterton.
He slammed his fist on the baluster. Damn that treasure, which had taken the life of his half brother and left him with James as his heir! Blast Uncle Leo for making him James's trustee.
Most of Thorne’s anger was directed at himself, though. It wasn’t only Allison’s inability to have children that made her unsuitable. He would be sure to marry a passive, submissive creature who would never scold and harry him as Lydia had done with his father. So why had he allowed himself to care for a woman of Allison’s temperament? Get your passions under control, man, before they destroy everything.
Too many emotions were pent up in him for sleep to come for hours, he knew. He turned and made his way down the steps. There was a three-quarter moon rising—a good time for a long, punishing walk.
Chapter Twelve
It was only ten o’clock when Allison reached her room. She allowed the maid she, her aunt, and her mother shared to help her undress and slip a high-necked, long-sleeved night rail over her head.
“Thank you, Peggy. I’ll do my hair. You get some rest.” She smiled at Margaret Dome, the greying maid who worked so hard to keep up with three women.
“Yes, ma’am.” Peggy curtsied, a look of relief on her face, and left Allison alone with her thoughts. She went to her window and looked out at the valley spread before her. From here one could not see Silverthorne Castle, but she knew well what it would look like soon in the light of the rising three-quarter moon. A decidedly Gothic place in such light, made doubly ominous by the deaths that had occurred there. Thorne had implied that the Silver Lady’s intention was not to reveal the treasure but to keep away those who tried to find it. Did she lead people to their deaths? Have I had a narrow escape today?
As Allison drew the brush through her hair, she exhaled a long breath. I expect Thorne is right, she thought. Best not to explore further. Let the engineer he has hired conduct the search. Even as she tried to convince herself of the wisdom of waiting, the future seemed bleak. For I really cannot tell Thorne about Charles’s efforts to prevent us from having children. For all I know, they were unnecessary. What if I were indeed barren ? How could I bear to see Thorne unhappy because he lacked an heir? He would worry himself sick. I love him too much to risk hurting him so. She loved him even more now that she knew his reluctance to marry her grew from his sense of responsibility to others.
As she slipped into bed, she renewed her vow to seek a position as a teacher or governess, for stay much longer with Aunt Agatha she could not. Her mother and Agatha could contentedly gossip over their whist table all day about the members of the ton, past and present, and chew up the reputations of acquaintances and relatives alike, b
ut Allison found that a dead bore. Perhaps someday I shall have a school of my own, she thought. I'll organize it along the principles that Gwynneth espouses, and see what educated women can accomplish. That notion made the future of a teacher seem more palatable.
Allison surprised herself by falling asleep almost the instant she blew out the candle. Her dreams were not of the castle nor of the ghost, but of Thorne. They stood on opposite banks of a stream, each wanting to cross to the other, but unable to do so because of the full banks and swift current. At last she, in desperation, braved the flood and was instantly swept under. Fighting to get a breath of air, she came awake with a gasp.
A soft light suffused the room, which in itself was not surprising. given the bright moonlight outside. What was surprising was that the light came from the direction of the fireplace, not the window, yet the tire had not been lit in months. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck as she turned her head, for she fell a presence there.
At first she saw only a long, glowing white fog spread across that end of the room, like a banner. But as she watched, the fog shifted, changed, coalesced, until it was recognizable as a trio of figures: one man with the plain dress and close-shorn hair of a Roundhead soldier, another wearing rich velvets and lace after the manner of the Cavaliers, and a woman in a voluminous gown with full sleeves and a round white collar. Her hair was covered by a white cap trimmed with lace, and at her throat lay a magnificent ruby pendant.
The men stood nose to nose, exchanging angry words she couldn’t quite make out. I am still dreaming, she thought. That must be James and Thorne, arguing. And that woman must be me. How droll that l would dream myself as the Silver Lady. For such the woman must be, Allison realized.
