The Lodestone

by Charlene Keel

  “Soldiers, in shock from the horrors of battle, often take comfort in the darkness,” he told her solemnly.

  He never mentioned the darkness to Ramona, but each morning when he went to appraise her meal tray, he pulled the curtain back an inch or so. As summer waned, he had the drapes completely open. The invalid did not protest; in fact, it had come about so gradually that she didn’t seem to notice. But the effect it had on her disposition was astounding. Her eyes had a new light in them, and her complexion was touched here and there with the faint promise of gradually returning good health.

  The effect this event had on Mary and Cleome, and the entire staff, was even more uplifting for it followed several days of miserably inclement weather. If it wasn’t raining, it was cloudy and threatening, with a chill in the air. When Cleome went to awaken her mother one morning and found the sun spilling across her face and pillow, and when Drake entered the room a few minutes later and securely tied the curtains back for once and all, it seemed to Cleome that the whole world was singing.

  She watched with an inexplicable emotion as Drake took something from his pocket and presented it to Ramona. She could see as he bent to tie it around her mother’s neck that it was a heart-shaped bit of rock, strung on a length of black silk ribbon.

  “This is from your husband,” he told the invalid. “’Tis a lodestone that he used as a compass, and I often heard him declare that with it, he’d always be able to find his way back to you. Now you must keep it for him, as a reminder that you must do all you can to grow strong and healthy.”

  Ramona touched fragile fingers to the trinket, then held it to her lips and kissed it. She looked up at Drake with a bright smile, her eyes full of a gratitude she could not speak. A few minutes later, Cleome skipped downstairs at Drake’s side; and when he suggested putting off the morning’s work in favor of a short ride, she readily agreed. It seemed ages since she’d felt so lighthearted. For the first time in weeks, she thought of Garnett Easton and how abruptly their new friendship had been interrupted by Drake’s increasing demands on her time. Garnett had stopped by the inn almost every day, as was his habit, but Cleome scarcely had time for more than a nod, so intent was she on performing the tasks Mr. Stoneham assigned her.

  She stood holding Epitome’s bridle, waiting for Young Sam to secure her saddle; and as the colt nuzzled her neck, his damp nostrils quivering joyfully in her ear, it struck her suddenly that Drake’s pleasant change in attitude toward her had occurred the day he discovered Garnett talking to her in the parlor. A warm feeling rose from the pit of her stomach and spread hotly throughout her being, and she was glad the groom was engrossed in his work and could not see her color.

  The sardonic, arrogant gambler certainly was not jealous, she thought. To a man of his experience, she must appear terribly unsophisticated; but after all, he had begun to treat her with a new respect. That, she had attributed to the way she helped him with his plans for the club. And there was Fanny to consider. Cleome didn’t doubt for a moment the serving maid’s shocking admission of intimacy. Of course, Drake hadn’t exhibited any outward sign of affection for Fanny, but then a gentleman never would.

  Cleome’s grandfather had been quite open about his high regard for Jacqueline, and she supposed she had expected the same thing from Drake regarding his country paramour. Anger flashed through her anew as she remembered how he’d described her relationship with Garnett. Then she looked up to see Drake entering the stable, his powerful form outlined by the bright morning sun and her anger dwindled rapidly, leaving in its place an odd shortness of breath. Would she never understand her feelings for this man, she wondered as she took the reins from Young Sam and led Epitome towards the door.

  “I hope I’ve not kept you waiting, sir,” she managed.

  “Not at all,” he replied. “It appears we’re to have a brief reprieve from the approach of winter.” He helped her onto Epitome’s back and then mounted his own horse. “Lady Easton should be delighted. It’s perfect weather for her ball this evening. You did tell Mary to press my evening suit and Young Sam to have the coach ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded with no evidence of bitterness or envy that she was not included in the grand affair; and indeed, she felt none. Certainly, she would enjoy the festivities; and she had actually allowed herself a moment to daydream that some day she would attend a ball with a man as attractive as Mr. Stoneham. But her life now was not at all disagreeable and she had more common sense than to wish for what could not be.

  The sun beat warmly down as they rode through the woods at a slow trot. When they turned onto the little winding lane where Cleome had first dropped her bonnet at his feet, Drake urged his stallion to a gallop. Epitome, true to his racing blood, cantered away in pursuit. In a few swift strides, the colt had caught and passed Drake’s horse. Cleome turned in her saddle and waved, allowing Epitome an outrageous lead before she reined him to a halt. She couldn’t contain herself when Drake finally overtook her. She laughed merrily, and was surprised when his resonant tones joined hers.

  “Well, it serves me right, does it not?” he asked. “You’d think I would know by now not to challenge this noble beast.” Appreciatively, he patted Epitome’s glossy neck.

  Suddenly Cleome was overcome with shyness, but she felt the need to speak. If she didn’t say something, she feared he would hear the beating of her heart through the thin fabric of her old dress. “Mr. Stoneham . . .” she ventured softly.

  “Yes?”

  “May I say how truly grateful I am for your kind treatment of my mother. She is so much improved I scarcely recognize her from day to day. Even Dr. Harris asked what new miracle herbs I’ve discovered.”

  “There’s nothing miraculous about sympathy and understanding,” he answered abruptly, but she didn’t mind. She was becoming accustomed to his impatience and odd changes of mood, accepting them as part of his nature, just as she’d accepted gambling as part of her grandfather’s. “By the way,” he continued, changing the subject as he always did if she tried to express her appreciation. “The morning post has brought the final sketches of the club. If we can find a suitable place to rest these animals, I can show you the results of our labor. Would you like to see?”

  “Oh, yes—please!” She could hardly wait, for throughout the summer, she had eagerly followed the progress of the palatial structure. “There’s quite a nice place close to the stream,” she said over her shoulder as she turned Epitome off the lane and led the way to one of her favorite spots. They dismounted and Drake tied the reins loosely to the lower branches of a tree that grew near the water, so the horses could drink. Cleome spread her shawl on a grassy spot in the sun; and settling herself upon it, she waited for Drake to join her.

  He took a long, thin package from his saddlebags, and carefully unrolled the sketches before her amazed eyes. She studied the first, an illustration of the front of the building, and tried to imagine the place in reality. Curved elegantly into a semi-oval, the doors through which the guests would enter were made of the finest English walnut. Drake pointed out the exquisite carvings of birds and flowers on their surfaces.

  “And here,” he said as he unrolled another sheet of parchment, “is the reception hall.” He explained that the tapestries that faced the doors were imported from Italy and her eyebrows went up in surprise at the skimpily clad forms of dancing women that were depicted on the rich fabric.

  “Those, my dear young woman, are deities in Greek mythology. If Venus were among us I am certain she would not adapt her dress to the current ludicrous rage. A woman’s natural beauty does not need enhancement with frills and furbelows.”

  His eyes held hers for a moment, or so she thought. But when he turned quickly back to the sketches, she was sure she had been mistaken. Sternly, she commanded herself to resist such foolish ideas; it was just the beautiful autumn weather inspiring these feelings within her. She forced herself to pay attention to his words as he rolled out the final sketch of the main gaming
room.

  “The walls will be gilt-wood paneling and the floors yellow Sienna marble,” he was saying. The mantelpieces were works of art featuring bronze figures of Old Age and Youth set in fleur de peche marble. In the center of each was a mask of Bacchus, the god of wine, and around his temples, he wore garlands of ormolu flowers. The gaming tables were also made of English walnut, Drake told her. He explained to her where mirrors and paintings set in gilt-wood frames would be hung, and in which rooms exotic Persian rugs would adorn polished floors.

  Unable to contain her excitement, Cleome jumped to her feet. “It is impossible to believe such a beautiful place exists!” she exclaimed. “And to think that I’ve contributed to it in some small way!” Much as she loved the Eagle’s Head, she wanted to sit at one of the linen-draped dining tables in Stoneham House, to sample the delicacies that would be offered there, and to sip brandy before one of the beautiful marble fireplaces.

  “I couldn’t have done it without your help,” he told her quietly.

  “Of course you could. You’ve been all over France and Italy and you have visited the most elegant salons. You knew exactly what you wanted. I only knew which colors or patterns I thought pretty.”

  “How do you come by your knowledge of my many distant travels, Miss Parker?” he asked with the hint of a smile. “You have never asked me for information—except on rare mornings as to how I slept?”

  Wry amusement twinkled in his smoky, hazel eyes, and she’d never thought him as attractive as she did at that moment. Taken aback by his question and what it inferred, she turned and walked a few feet away before she trusted herself to answer him.

  “The servants talk,” she said. “The other servants, I mean.”

  Drake’s laughter exploded. A wave of anger swept over Cleome and she whirled about to face him. Catching her boot on a rock loosened from the earth by the horses’ hooves, she stumbled and went sprawling at his feet.

  Instantly, his laughter ceased and he hurried to her. With one swift movement, his arms went around her and very slowly, he set her upright. “If you must continue this charming habit you have of throwing things at my feet,” he said, his voice husky with desire, and without a trace of sarcasm, “kindly move a little closer first so that I may enjoy the delightful benefit of catching them.”

  “How dare you laugh at me!” she demanded. “You have no right!”

  “Cleome,” he said, giving her a gentle shake, his eyes holding hers steadfast. “You are always so deferential when referring to yourself and to me, and the foolish roles we play. Yet you are as proud as Lucifer’s bride.”

  She froze as if caught by an icy wind, and no matter how she endeavored to avert them, her eyes would not leave his. Her heart was thudding in her ears, her palms were damp, and a gratifying urgency overtook her. Much against her will, she felt herself drawn to him, as precious metal is to a lodestone. His face had lost its lean, defiant attitude and was softened as if in slumber.

  “Well, mademoiselle, I am not laughing now,” he continued, his voice low with longing. Still holding her, he leaned closer, his lips parted with his intent to capture hers.

  “Cleome! Are you here?” Garnett’s voice rang out behind them and Cleome pulled away from Drake just as the heir to Easton Place stepped from the thicket into the little clearing. “Oh, I say! Here you are,” he greeted them cheerfully. If he noticed the way Drake tightened his jaw in irritation, he gave no sign.

  “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure so early in the day?”

  “Good morning, Drake,” Garnett responded, undeterred by the menace in the big man’s voice. “I simply could not resist coming out early on such a glorious morning after a week of beastly weather. I stopped in at the tavern house but your groom told me you’d gone riding.”

  “How did you know where to find us?”

  Garnett smiled at Cleome. “We used to pick apples nearby, when we were children,” he said. “Do you remember, Cleome?”

  “Plums,” she corrected. “But it was a long time ago.”

  “Indeed,” Drake grumbled, gripping his riding crop so tightly that his knuckles went white. “Would you care to join me back at the house for breakfast, sir?”

  “Thank you,” Garnett acquiesced. “Awfully decent of you to invite me. This crisp air runs roughshod over a man’s appetite. I’d adore it, actually.”

  The two men stared at each other in unspoken but mutually acknowledged rivalry. For a moment, Cleome felt the heady sensation of her power as a woman. Without knowing how to go about it or what advantage she would derive, she was convinced beyond a doubt that she could set them one against the other with a single word.

  Instead, she untied Epitome’s reins and asked Drake, “Shall I ride ahead and tell cook to set an extra place, Mr. Stoneham?”

  “We shall ride back together, as we rode out,” he declared. “And after breakfast, I’ll show my guest the plans we have just discussed.”

  **

  To her relief, Drake did not order her to join the gentlemen at breakfast. Garnett had whispered to her during the ride back that he must speak with her, so she went up to remove her mother’s tray and then returned to the kitchen to wait for him. When at last he managed to get away from Drake, she rose to greet him with a curtsy.

  “Do not get up, my dear,” he protested, waving her back to her chair at the long table where a dozen pies were cooling. “I have some news for you, Cleome, and I hope it will change your life.”

  She started to tell him that at the moment she was quite content with her life; but realizing how ungrateful that would appear, she refrained. Instead, she replied, “News? From your solicitor in London?”

  “From Mr. Landshire himself. A letter came in yesterday’s post.” He held it out to her. “He says he’s delighted to hear about Lady Adelaide’s granddaughter, and after he does some checking into the situation, he would like to come and see you.”

  Quickly, Cleome read Oliver Landshire’s letter. Before she handed it back to Garnett, she warned, “Even if he has found someone to ask for help, they most likely will say no. Especially when they find out about Mamma and her condition.”

  “Cleome, no charitable person could refuse without first meeting you. And having done that, no one in his right mind could deny you anything.”

  She couldn’t resist reminding him of life’s realities. “Has Lady Easton relented then, and decided to invite me to the ball?”

  “No,” he answered. “But only say the word and I’ll stay here with you. I’d much prefer it to dancing with a gaggle of frivolous girls.”

  “Don’t be silly. I shouldn’t wish you to miss the Harvest Ball on my account,” she said. Holding the letter up, she added, “Garnett, I refuse to believe in fairy tales. My life is not so awful; certainly not as bad as I feared it would be. If your Mr. Landshire comes out to the country I’ll be happy to see him, but I’ll not entertain a notion of kindly relatives who’ll suddenly appear to save me and my mother.”

  “Mr. Landshire will be here in a day or two. If the situation were entirely hopeless, he wouldn’t trouble himself to make the trip.”

  “What shall I tell Mr. Stoneham?”

  “Ah, yes. Drake has been keeping you rather busy of late. I’m sure he can manage without you for half an hour so you can meet with the solicitor.” Garnett smiled. “If all goes well, he must learn to manage without you for good.”

  The words Cleome would have embraced a month previous settled over her like a leaden weight. A new dread, more worrying than the one she’d felt when Drake had whispered in her ear weeks ago, in her little room, began to gnaw at her. Suppose a kindly relative had been found. Would it be wise to move Ramona, and would they find themselves in a worse situation? Her mother was improving steadily, but a new environment could prove so bewildering that she would revert to her former state.

  So Cleome would be explicit with Mr. Landshire about her mother’s health—and about her own illegitimacy, if such lengths became
necessary—and then, she thought, this long-lost relative would have a change of his charitable heart. It would be much better for Mamma to remain in familiar surroundings, she decided; yet she knew it was not only Ramona’s peace of mind she was considering. If she hadn’t gone out riding with Drake Stoneham that morning, and if she hadn’t stumbled and fallen, and if he hadn’t held her in his arms, she could allow herself to believe that staying at the Eagle’s Head was for the good of her mother’s health. But now she knew there was more to it than she cared to admit, even to herself.

  “Garnett,” she said, “I know this will be difficult for you to understand, but now that time has begun to heal my grief for my grandfather, my life here, in many ways, is better than it was before. Mamma has rallied and Mr. Stoneham has proved to be a kind and understanding employer. I shouldn’t place too much faith in this aunt or cousin or whoever it is. When they know the circumstance of my birth, I doubt they’ll be willing to receive us.”

  “Perhaps not,” he agreed cheerfully. “At any rate, I wouldn’t want you to get too far away from me. I rather imagine they’ll prefer to settle a sum on you, which will enable you and your mother to live in your own little house or cottage. The present situation is intolerable. Your grandmother saw to it you were properly brought up, and you are far too gently reared to do such menial labor.”

  There was a rude snicker behind them, and they turned to see Fanny standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her shapeless chest. On being discovered, she strode into the kitchen, her eyes slanted wickedly, a smug, feline smile on her thin face.

  “The master requests your presence in the parlor, milord,” she said to Garnett with a bend of her knee. Turning to Cleome, she added coldly, “Yours as well, me fancy miss. You’re in for it now, and if I was you, I wouldn’t dawdle. He’s a man what don’t like to be kept waitin’, if you take my meaning.”