Safe in the Earl's Arms

by Liz Tyner

  ‘Do you need a cup of tea before you go?’ The older woman stood directly in Melina’s path, but her eyes showed only kindness.

  Warrington gave a bow to the woman. ‘My pardon…’ his voice caressed the words ‘…as we must be on our way. We have…duties to return to.’

  ‘I understand.’ She smiled at Warrington and moved back. ‘I hope your trip home is pleasant.’ Then she looked at War, puzzlement in her face. ‘I believe I was acquainted with your mother before she passed on. The Countess of Warrington?’

  ‘Yes,’ Warrington agreed and shepherded Melina out through the doorway.

  Melina walked without another mishap to the stairway, but even though her steps were sure, her mind stumbled.

  She’d just met the woman her father had married long before her mother and now Warrington had a painting—the only one she knew of that had her mother and her sisters in it.

  *

  She tried to get comfortable in the carriage seat, wishing the air didn’t seem so thick and hard to breathe. Her father’s rage hadn’t really surprised her. If he’d acted any other way, that would have been unexpected.

  Warrington handed her the painting, but she didn’t look at it.

  ‘Of course it’s yours.’ The calmness of his voice told her he’d been prepared for the fury. But then, he also knew of the older man.

  ‘I suppose I must take it. I don’t know, though.’ She tilted the art to him. ‘The house you see plain. But we are in the shadows. Fitting.’

  ‘If you don’t want it, I’ll safeguard it for you.’

  She held it in front of her face. ‘I know the woman is my mother.’ She let the artwork fall against her chest. ‘I don’t remember another picture he painted of her. He did one of each of my sisters, and one of me, but none of my mother. That should have told us something, I suppose.’

  ‘At least he cared enough to capture your likeness.’

  She grimaced. ‘He said art with people in it sold better—an observer might feel something for them.’

  The carriage jostled along and she tried to get the sound of her father’s voice from her mind. ‘I would rather have the stone I left buried on Melos than this painting.’

  ‘I saw the arm you brought on board.’ He looked at her. ‘I think you’ve convinced yourself of the chunk having worth. It’s the offering you wanted to give to your father to please him after he left you and your sisters. To show him you’d found something of the past. A value. Something from another artist.’

  She put her hand to the small ledge of the window. The clashes of her feelings threw her into turmoil.

  ‘You didn’t see the expression on the face of the statue.’ She pushed her mind to form the correct words, but wasn’t sure she knew them. ‘Simple rock became the same as my own skin. Rock—became flesh. The fingers. They—’ She held up one hand, flexing, twisting her wrist, watching the movement. ‘The sight of her—you could feel life—as if you could blink and look again, and her eyes had changed. The carving started as lifeless stone and then someone touched it, and it became alive.’

  He caressed the strand of Melina’s hair that had fallen again from where she’d tucked it. His fingers wove into the locks, making her breath flutter. ‘Melina, you’ve more life in this wisp than anything made by man.’

  Warrington turned, bringing his body closer to her, and lightly touched both sides of her face. The scent of shaving soap and crisp wool surrounded her.

  ‘No painting or creation from things of the earth could ever reach out to a man as a woman’s whisper against his cheek.’ He gave a half smile. ‘Truly, she could be someone he never wished to see again, but in the right moments he’d still be more impressed than with any art.’

  ‘You are talking of simple lust. To feel art is different.’

  He nodded, and by the slant of his lips she could tell he placed no store in it.

  ‘Stone, Melina.’ He straightened in his seat. ‘Art compares little to life. When my son, Jacob, forgets himself and runs to me, showing me a stick that is nothing but a twig, but for some reason he thinks it is shaped like a bird, that makes any decoration in a house seem meaningless. And the reason the statue means something to you is because you hoped for her to rescue you.’

  Melina remembered the agony she’d felt when her mother knew, even though she was sick, that her father wouldn’t stay. ‘Some believe capturing the likeness helps the person live on. True art,’ she murmured. ‘Not the captain’s mermaids. Or probably even the paintings of my father. But when you look at a sculpture or a painting and you can see thoughts in the face of the person the artist captured… You know the pull of their heart. The dreams they have. You feel something.’

  ‘Melina, I can feel the thoughts of the fish women.’

  She shuddered. ‘A different kind of painting—but it does speak to Captain Ben—although the things they say are vulgar.’

  He smiled, eyes crinkling. ‘True.’

  ‘I care for the statue I found. It’s as if she has the same heart I do and she’s waiting to be freed from her hiding place.’

  ‘The statue is still as you left it and it is cold and feels nothing.’ He talked softly, and in the same tone he must have used with his son. ‘Forget the marble. Forget your father.’ He studied her, his own face concerned. If not for the painting in her hands, she would have leaned into him. Would have put herself against his chest and felt his compassion.

  She shook her head, a lock of hair again falling across her eyes and tickling her. ‘Father once said he wept when he saw beautiful art. And he had some small pieces. One a sculpture of a Madonna. One a miniature of a woman and a painting only about half the length of my hand—so small, and the woman looked so alive you could have recognised her had she walked into the room. Our home was plain, and to see those things…’

  ‘I know what you’re saying, but it’s not the same for me, I suppose. The paintings at Somerset House. A nice way to spend the afternoon, admiring them. But…’

  ‘The piece I left behind on the island. I care for her. Both her arms broken and now one lost for ever. Because I did not safeguard it.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be, Melina. Leave the woman buried. Let her rest.’

  ‘Her face— My mother died before I found the bits of carving. When I dug down, scraping the dirt from the statue, I saw my mother’s likeness look back at me.’ She took in a shuddering breath. ‘I must have this woman unearthed. She cannot remain buried. She should live.’

  ‘It won’t bring back your mother.’

  Her eyes locked on his. ‘Perhaps my grandmother posed for it. Or her mother. So long ago that she’s been forgotten. And that is why the stone must be rescued. The woman cannot be left buried. She is so near the surface. I brushed the dirt free from her with my hands. She’s ready to return into the world.’

  Melina had tucked the statue back into the broken archway and covered her, hiding her. But she had to go back to Melos to save the woman. The thought of the likeness lying buried another hundred years was too much to bear. Melina couldn’t imagine how long the art had been concealed. And how, at one time, someone must not have cared. She’d heard of a war fought on the island long, long before. She imagined the invading army must have knocked the archway to the ground. Or perhaps time itself. She could not be sure why anyone would leave such a work. But now Melina knew she needed to get the woman freed from her grave.

  She had to escape the world her father lived in and return to Melos.

  ‘Ben will take you to her.’

  ‘I thank you. My sisters. I cannot abandon them as my father did. I cannot leave the likeness of my mother buried. And I will not tell them all the truth about our father. I would like to tell them he fell on a paintbrush and met a fitful end.’

  ‘Be honest. They are not children.’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps they can understand it better than I. Thessa, my middle sister, has already said we should forget him. Bellona, the youngest, truly hates him. She
doesn’t remember when he was kind, only the way he was at the last. And she’ll not forgive him for leaving our mother when she was ill.’

  She wanted the statue—whether it was worth all she imagined, or nothing. She’d found it and she wished to have an expert examine it. To tell her that her eyes were right.

  The dowry—she’d thought it her only reason to care for the statue. But, no. The stone woman had something in her eyes telling Melina she must be freed. Melina had to get her from the dirt. The woman had to be rescued in the same way a living, breathing person would. The same way Melina would have saved her mother if she could have.

  The carriage stopped.

  ‘Leave the painting on the seat. I’ll make sure the hackney waits for us, Melina.’

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘The British Museum. I wanted you to have a chance to talk with the man about what you’ve found.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  When they left the museum to return to Warrington’s home, Melina fought waves of despair. The curator could promise her nothing. He could form no opinion. Of course, he would like to be the first to see the find, but he must inspect it and have the statue examined by others before he could even guess at its worth.

  She stepped back into the carriage, Warrington following behind. Pulling the painting into her arms, she rested her chin on the gilt edge of the frame. ‘I want to get London behind me. To forget my father’s ways and find a way to take care of my sisters. I fear that when I go back, Stephanos will have already noticed them because I have left. I warned them many times not to go near him. He pirates for Greece. He plunders and gives the funds to the island, and to people who are planning to overthrow the Turks. If he is caught, it would be dangerous to be his wife.’

  She held her hand out to brace herself on the window facing, and then looked over her shoulder. ‘Before Father left, he told me Stephanos would make a good protector for me and I would be able to take care of my sisters. Yet he knew of Stephanos’s trips at sea and the risk of being seen as too close to him.’

  She half turned to Warrington. ‘Father would never have emptied our mother’s slop bucket. Or his own. They would have overflowed.’

  ‘I am thankful for the pails, Melina. I believed I had learned my lesson. I would not let a woman’s face or body move me should I not wish it. And on a miserable ship when I had no desire in me until I saw you, I was burning to get you to my bed.’ His booted foot kicked the inside of the carriage across from him. ‘On the blasted ship—I was back at the mercy of a woman’s body again. Smelly slop buckets. Ridicule from the mates. And you turned out to be…not what I expected. I cannot trust myself to know a woman’s true heart. True person.’

  ‘Don’t you feel you know me?’

  He moved, taking in a breath in such a way he pulled from her. ‘I’m not sure. And it doesn’t matter, even if I knew. I cannot exorcise the past I helped create, but I must make sure my son has what he needs for the future. I want to go home to Jacob—need to go home to see my son. But I can’t yet.’ Warrington’s eyes firmed on to something in his memories. ‘I have to talk with Cassandra’s sister. I want to know who the girl’s father is. To see if he knows of the babe, though I would think he does. When Cass returned home, most couldn’t have easily guessed she was with child—though I suspected the moment I saw her face. She’d changed. And the date of the birth was not something any of us wanted made note of.’

  His hands curled into fists. ‘I woke up one morning on Ascalon. I wished for the sound of Jacob’s voice. Before too many years pass, he’ll have a man’s words. I’m going to lose my little boy whether I wish it or not and I was on a ship, sailing farther and farther from my own responsibilities.’

  He brushed a moth from inside the carriage and it fluttered and found another resting place of darkness. ‘I feel nothing for the little girl. I keep lingering here, finding reasons to stay. Because I don’t want to return home and face a child who looks like my wife and looks nothing like me. I have to get her from Whitegate.’

  ‘You can’t leave a child with no parents.’ She turned back to the window and indicated the street. ‘I see the children here, and even though we had nothing on Melos, everyone had the same nothing. Some of the little ones here barely have clothing hanging on their thin bodies.’

  ‘She’ll have her needs met. But before I make any decision, I have to find the child’s father. But I can’t leave her with him. He is the one who tried to kill me.’

  She turned to Warrington’s face, the dim interior of the carriage changing the brown eyes into obsidian.

  ‘But you don’t fear him now.’

  ‘No. I’m careful in darkness, and besides…’ He laughed and reached to his boot, pulling a short dagger from a scabbard sewn into the leather. When he held it up, his hand covered the hilt, but the blade was twice the length of the handle. ‘Cassandra may be at rest, but she’s not one to sleep quietly. When the man stabbed me, he approached from behind, a fortnight after Cass’s death. I turned and grabbed his wrist, taking us down, and the weapon fell aside.’

  He spoke his next words as if they meant nothing. ‘I can’t forget what he shouted over his shoulder as he ran. “Mind my daughter”. The man stopped my movement with his words—words with the sound of the street in them.’

  He stared forward. ‘I’ve small scars about my body of no particular note, which I don’t even think of, but I don’t like the thin line on my back. A mark Cass left—even though it wasn’t her hand holding the blade.’ He touched the edge against his thumb, feeling for the crispness that let him know the blade remained razor fine. ‘You can’t toss aside a weapon that wounded you so easily. It’s not a talisman to bring me luck. I saved it to remind me I survived. But I haven’t yet.’ His laughter barely reached her ears. ‘Never, ever will I return to the abyss of my life before. Not again.’

  His eyes locked on her. ‘You must understand, Melina. I learned my weakness. Learned it well and I won’t risk returning there—to that. I am meant to be alone.’

  He let his legs stretch long and leaned his head back, resting against the leather squabs, eyes shut. ‘My brother is watching my home and he knows of the attack. I hired two extra servants who have no other job than to make sure my country home is not breached. Cass used to say I imagined too much. How many times she told me.’ He snorted and opened his eyes, staring at Melina. ‘I never imagined my wife would find so many diversions to pursue. I never imagined she would have someone else’s child when I was ill. I should have believed every suspicion I had and it still would not have touched the wicked truth.’

  ‘Leave her in the past.’

  ‘I can’t. She left too much of herself behind.’ He reached out, pushing back the painting from Melina’s body and viewing the art. ‘The shadows. What was real for me was only shadows for her. Moments meaning little. What fools we mortals be. That saying I remember. I had my golden princess and I put her above all else in my heart. I have had many nights to reflect on my foolishness.’

  Taking Melina’s hand from the side of the art, he pulled her knuckles to his lips. His kiss touched her and then he released her hand. ‘Even when I look at you, Melina, I keep wondering if you somehow convinced me of your virginity when it wasn’t true. I wonder if you secretly plan to go back to the island to see Stephanos.’

  ‘I have been honest with you.’

  ‘It really doesn’t matter. I tried to turn lies into truths for so long, I don’t know how to care one way or the other. I can never trust another with that child in my house to remind me what has happened. I’m sure whoever Cassandra dallied with—her sister knows. When Cass left my house, she lived with Daphne.’

  He turned to Melina and his eyes had a raggedness she’d only seen in her mother’s face before she died. Melina’s fingers tightened around the picture frame as the carriage pulled to Warrington’s house.

  ‘I know I must find him.’ His words were precise. ‘I will find him. And then
I will kill him.’

  Warrington stepped from the carriage after it stopped, reached in and took the painting, and with his free hand he helped her on to the steps.

  She saw no anger in his face—no emotion at all. His grip on her hand was light. When he released her fingers, he took a coin and tossed it to the driver and gave a wave to send the vehicle on its way.

  ‘I’ve already sent a message to Daphne and Ludgate telling them I’ve returned and asking if they can spare a few moments before I go to my country house.’ He walked ahead, unconcerned. ‘It will be good to see them again.’

  She thought of the words he’d said. She had no doubt he meant to murder the father of the little girl. And she could not let it happen. Except for stabbing Warrington, the man was no different than her father. Warrington would be leaving the child without either parent. He would have blood on his hands and another scar, which might be even deeper than the first and harder to ignore.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Warrington marched inside the doorway. Broomer gave them both a deferential nod and he had the expression of a perfectly trained butler. But the hair standing up on his head gave him the look of just having rolled from bed and he smelled of lilacs. When he took Warrington’s coat, a lopsided grin broke out on the servant’s face.

  Melina moved up the stairs and Warrington followed. In the sitting room, he stopped, staring at the harpoon. He moved his eyes to the mantel, the room tinged with evening’s shadows. ‘Let me see how your painting looks there, Melina.’

  She stared at the art in her hands. At first he didn’t think she would agree. Then she placed the picture against the mantel long enough to take down the other one and exchange them.

  An explosion of conflicting emotions rushed through his veins, taking him by surprise. Such a simple act she’d performed and it caused an ache in him. And ache for a woman’s care in his world. For completion of the ephemeral dream he’d once had of having a helpmate. A woman who was another part of himself.