Carousel of Hearts

by Mary Jo Putney

  Antonia wryly supposed that that was a compliment. “I was fine as soon as I left the cave. I’m sorry to be such a poor creature.”

  Relief shone in his intensely blue eyes. “Forgive me for leading you down into the kingdom of Hades?” he asked softly.

  He was so dear . . . “There is nothing to forgive.”

  She stood and gave him her very best smile, the one that could melt the most obdurate of male hearts. “Shall we see if we can find a proper tea before we ride back to Thornleigh?”

  As she tucked her hand in Simon’s elbow, she made her resolution. However difficult love was, she would be equal to the task. After all, there was nothing she wanted more passionately than to love and be loved.

  Chapter Five

  Early afternoon sun touched the gilded harp to shining brightness, and the music room pulsed as Judith’s supple fingers stroked forth a rippling cloud of melody. Sitting a few feet away, Adam was enjoying the sight of her as much as the music itself.

  In her simple white muslin dress, Judith looked exquisite and ethereal as she bent over the harp, her face rapt, her chestnut curls shining in the sunlight. The apparent fragility of her slight figure was belied by the strength and passion of her playing.

  The sonata ended in a shower of notes of haunting purity. Immersed in the music, Judith kept her head bowed even after the last sound had died away and the air was still again.

  When she finally looked up, Adam said, “You have a rare talent.” His voice was low to avoid shattering the mood of closeness and tranquility that lay between them.

  Drawn back to the mundane, Judith smiled mischievously. “It used to irritate my Aunt Janet no end that her daughters had neither talent nor interest in music, while I had both. However, she insisted that my cousins continue with their lessons. Aunt Janet thought that a harp showed a young lady to best advantage.”

  “She was right,” Adam agreed, his gaze warm.

  “Only as long as her daughters didn’t make the mistake of actually touching the strings.” Judith chuckled. “That ruined the illusion immediately.”

  Adam laughed with her. “So you were the only one who took the lessons seriously?”

  Judith looked down again, absently plucking a soft chord. “Oh, lessons were too expensive to waste on the likes of me. When the teacher came, I would sit in the corner and listen, then practice later.”

  Glancing up, she saw his expression. “You mustn’t feel sorry for me, you know. I was the lucky one. My poor cousins, who are incapable of understanding the joy of music, are the ones to be pitied.”

  She had a gallant spirit, and the rush of tenderness Adam felt crystallized the resolve that had been growing in him over the last weeks. “Judith ...”

  He hesitated a moment, struck by the seriousness of what he was about to say. “You must know how much I care for you, and I think you are not indifferent to me.”

  Judith raised her eyes to his, the strings of the harp motionless under her graceful hands. As he studied her small, finely cut face, Adam found that marriage was far harder to propose than any other contract. He drew a deep breath. “I would be proud, and honored, if you would consent to be my wife.”

  She didn’t answer, just regarded him somberly with her deep-set gray eyes.

  “My money is from trade, but there is rather a lot of it,” he continued hesitantly. “I would settle an income on you, so in the future you will never again have to be dependent on anyone. Not even on me.”

  Judith shook her head slowly. “That is far less important than whether ...”

  She stopped, searching for words, before saying bluntly, “You have always loved Antonia. Are you marrying me because you can’t have her, so any convenient female will do? I do not want to spend the rest of my life knowing that whenever you look at me, you will be wishing I were someone else.”

  Adam stood and restlessly crossed the room, respecting the uncanny perception with which Judith had gone to the heart of the matter. That perception was one of the things he most admired in her.

  He took time to organize his thoughts, knowing how important it was to convince them both. At length, he turned to face her. “Yes, I love Antonia. We grew up together and she is the closest family I have. She will always have part of my heart.”

  His voice roughened with sincerity. “But when I look at you, it is your wit and wisdom and gentle spirit that I see. You are yourself, and it is you that I am asking to marry.”

  Her soft question was very steady. “You are sure?”

  Adam crossed the music room to where she still sat at her harp. “My youthful love for Antonia was only a romantic dream.” He cupped her small chin with his hand, admiring the fearless directness of her fine gray eyes. “This is reality.” Then he bent over and kissed her, very gently.

  Judith gasped, the harp strings making a sudden, discordant sound as her fingers clenched on them in unconscious reaction to the soft pressure of Adam’s lips. Her husband had believed that sensual pleasure had no place in a godly marriage.

  There had been occasional intimacy before his illness weakened him too much. But it had been a furtive groping in the night, quickly ended, never alluded to in any way. Judith had patiently endured his fumblings, sure that the experience could be better, grateful that it wasn’t worse.

  Being kissed by Adam was quite unlike anything she had known before. She instinctively raised her hand to his shoulder, wanting to draw him closer.

  He responded by clasping her slim waist and raising her to her feet. She felt very small in his circling arms, but safe and cherished.

  The gentleness Adam used told her that he had guessed a great deal about her marriage, and that he was taking exceptional care not to frighten her by going too quickly. Dimly she sensed the passion he was capable of, and as his hands expertly caressed sensitive areas of her back and neck, she knew he would be able to find matching passion in her.

  Even so, Judith hesitated, wondering if what she felt was a strong enough foundation for marriage. She had sworn she would never marry again except for love. But what was love but comfort and caring? She and Adam had much in common, and they could cherish each other in a very special way.

  And if she married him, she would never know want or helplessness again. Her decision made, she whispered, “Yes, Adam, I will be honored to marry you.” As she spoke, Judith was surprised to realize that there were tears on her cheeks.

  She felt Adam’s tension ease, and he smiled in relief before producing a handkerchief and tenderly patting her cheeks dry. “Is marrying me such a fearsome prospect?” he asked, able to tease again.

  “Not in the least.” Judith found herself smiling through her tears. “I am merely having trouble believing my good fortune.”

  He pulled her close again and whispered a pledge. “I will do everything in my power to guarantee that you never regret accepting me.”

  “I won’t,” she said quietly, surer now that she had made the right choice. She and Adam would be very good for each other.

  They settled close together on the sofa. “When and where do you wish to be married?” he asked. “You may have anything you like except a long engagement.”

  “I can see why you are a successful man of affairs, Adam. You waste no time.” Judith melted within the circle of his arm, beginning to feel quite absurdly pleased. “I see no virtue in waiting, but I would rather not make any decision until Antonia and Simon are married. Even though their wedding will be very simple, it has kept me busy with planning.”

  Her eyes narrowed in thought. “In fact, it might be better if we don’t mention our betrothal until after the wedding. The household is in enough uproar already.”

  “I would rather announce it immediately, but I daresay I can keep the good tidings to myself for a few days,” he said philosophically.

  Judith was gratified that Adam showed no strain at discussing Antonia’s marriage. It was not surprising that he had had a youthful infatuation for his beautiful cousin,
but Judith believed that he truly had put that behind him.

  And if he had spoken no words of love—well, neither had she. Both of them were beyond the age of romantic delusion.

  * * * *

  Lord Launceston realized that he had been staring at a blank sheet of paper for over an hour without making a mark. Allegedly he was working on his treatise refuting neptunism, the theory that rocks had been formed primarily from oceanic sediment and that volcanic activity was quite unimportant. He had been making observations and analyzing data on the topic for years, and the sentences should flow easily from his pen.

  Instead, when he looked at the paper, he saw only Antonia, in all her brimming life and changeable moods. He had still not overcome his sense of wonder that such a glorious creature actually wanted him.

  While Simon realized that he was considered handsome, he knew himself for an absentminded and scholarly man without great charm or social skill. Certainly he was no special prize for a woman of Lady Antonia’s birth, wealth, and incomparable loveliness.

  Yet, in spite of his shortcomings, Antonia had been as dazzled by him as he had been by her. He had won a woman he would never have dared dream of. For a few days —scarcely more than a handful of hours—he had known unadulterated happiness. Then, as subtle strains developed between him and his betrothed, he had come to fear that he could never be the kind of man she wanted and deserved.

  Ever since confessing his doubts with Judith Winslow, he had been pondering her suggestion that he and Antonia needed more time. Indeed, he had thought of almost nothing else. Logic had led him to the decision that they should delay their marriage.

  Simon was sure that he was right. He was equally sure that his impetuous intended would not take such a suggestion well. In fact, to make it was to risk losing her.

  He sighed and removed his spectacles to rub at his temples. Much as he disliked brangling, he could not delay speaking with her any longer. The wedding was less than a week away.

  Even as he was thinking the words, a knock sounded on the door of the study, followed almost immediately by Antonia’s bright head. Her cinnamon eyes were sparkling, and at the sight of her he felt a tight knot of pain at what he must say. Surely he could convince her that a postponement would benefit them both.

  “Are you interruptible?” she asked hopefully.

  He rose to his feet. “Very much so. I have made no progress today. Besides”—he drew a deep breath—”I must talk to you.”

  For a moment wary alarm showed in her eyes. Then she said sunnily, “Very well, but first I have a surprise for you.”

  Since Antonia looked ready to burst with her surprise, Simon willingly followed her outside, knowing it was cowardly to be so relieved at a delay.

  She led him to the front door of an empty stone cottage some distance from the main house. Taking his hand, she said, “You must close your eyes now.”

  He obliged, unable to resist smiling at her childlike enthusiasm. One of the things he loved about Antonia was the zest she had for life, for making everything and everyone around her seem brighter and more alive.

  She steered him through the door. “You can open your eyes now.”

  Simon obeyed her order, then gasped in shock. In front of him was all the complicated paraphernalia of a very large reflecting telescope.

  As he stared at the pieces of equipment, Antonia said apologetically, “It’s my wedding gift to you. I’m sorry it isn’t assembled, but I knew you would prefer to supervise that yourself.”

  When he didn’t answer, she continued in a hesitant voice, “If you intend to erect the telescope here at Thornleigh, this building could be converted to an observatory, but of course you may prefer to move it to Kent.”

  Simon’s emotions were chaotic. Such an instrument was fabulously expensive. Even more than money, Antonia had expended great thought and effort to find something special.

  She had chosen well. He would live on bread and water for a year to have the use of such a telescope. It was a tribute to her efficiency that she had located and acquired such an unusual item in a fortnight, without even leaving her home. He was overwhelmed by her generosity.

  At the same time he felt intensely guilty that she had done such a thing while he was suffering doubts. Worse, he hadn’t even thought to buy her a wedding gift.

  “I specifically told you not to buy a telescope.’’ Guilt made his voice sharp. “You should not have done it.”

  “This is supposed to be a very fine instrument. Indeed, it was built by Herschel himself before he stopped manufacturing them.’’ Her lovely face had changed from excitement to anxiety. “Would you prefer a refraction telescope? I was told that even the best of that type suffer from optical distortion.”

  Under other conditions Simon would have been impressed at how much she had learned about telescopes. Now the evidence of her desire to please him was a spur to his guilt.

  He stared at her helplessly. “It’s too much, Antonia. Everything has been too much, too fast.”

  She froze, her slim body rigid, as if she sensed that he was talking about more than the telescope. “What do you mean?”

  “We have known each other only a few weeks, and in another few days we intend to marry. It has all been too sudden.’’

  “How can love be too sudden?” Her creamy skin had turned ash-pale. “Or do you mean that you have just realized that it was all a foolish mistake and that you don’t really love me, after all?”

  “That’s not what I said.’’ Simon took a step toward her, then stopped when she retreated an equal distance. “I do love you, but we have not taken the time to really know each other. Marriage is for a lifetime, and we are rushing in too quickly. I think we should postpone the wedding for several months.”

  “Why don’t you just admit that you don’t want to marry me?” she cried, an edge of hysteria in her voice.

  Simon sought desperately for words that she would believe, cursing his clumsiness. “I do want to marry you, but you know how tense we’ve been with each other. How we’ve been making each other unhappy. I think that much of the problem is the speed of events. With the wedding so close, everything we do or say takes on added weight and we end up at odds with each other. We must take the time to learn how to be comfortable.”

  Antonia just stared at him, her eyes wide and stark. Thinking that she was concerned with what people would say, he offered, “Very few people even know about the betrothal, so postponing the ceremony should occasion no embarrassment.”

  “I don’t care what other people think!” she retorted. “What matters is how you feel. If you really loved me, you could not be saying such things. If after several months there are still problems, would you wish to marry?”

  Simon had known this discussion would be difficult, but he had not dreamed how painful it would be. The thought of losing Antonia, with her gifts of beauty and laughter, was intolerable. And yet ... “Do you think that it would be wise to marry if we are making each other miserable?”

  “What kind of love fears to take the pain along with the joy?” She was trembling with the force of her emotions. “The future is always a gamble, and waiting six months ‘to get to know each other better’ won’t guarantee happiness.”

  There was some logic to her words, yet Simon knew that he was right too. “Of course there are no guarantees, but even if life is a gamble, we can improve the odds of happiness by being sensible—”

  She interrupted him. “How can one be ‘sensible’ about love? I am not a theorem or a stone or a star. I am a woman, and I need to be loved.”

  As tears welled up, she angrily dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. “Very well, I will be sensible. Clearly our notions of what constitutes marriage are incompatible and we will not suit. Therefore, I release you from the engagement you so foolishly entered into. Since you did not care enough to even notify the newspapers, you are spared the effort of writing a retraction.”

  Aching, he took several quick st
eps toward her. “Antonia, I don’t want to end our betrothal. I love you.”

  She skittered back, her lovely face stark with misery. “Don’t make it worse, Simon. You’re right, it was all a mistake. I am a flighty, frivolous female, not at all a sensible choice for a serious man. God forbid that you should gamble on something as important as marriage.”

  He reached out a pleading hand, wishing he’d never spoken. Perhaps it really would be better to go ahead with the marriage and work out their differences after.

  Before he could touch her or withdraw his words, she twisted away. “Just go, Simon. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  Antonia slipped past him and darted out the door, tears pouring down her face. She looked very young and utterly desolate.

  Lord Launceston knew a great deal about rocks, stars, and comets, but his knowledge of how to deal with distraught females was nonexistent. By the time he pulled himself together to follow Antonia outside, she was almost out of sight, racing toward the stables. He guessed that she was going to take one of her suicidal rides through the hills.

  If so, there was nothing he could do to stop her. He prayed that her usual skill and luck would prevent her from breaking her neck. If she injured herself, his guilt would be unbearable.

  Paralysis held him in the doorway of the cottage, feeling that he had just made the worst mistake of his life. It was hard to assimilate that a few short minutes of argument had destroyed everything between him and Antonia.

  The thought braced him. Surely the intensity of feeling that bound them could not just evaporate. Antonia was hurt and angry and had reacted emotionally. When she calmed down, perhaps she would miss him as much as he already missed her.

  He would wait two or three weeks, then contact her again. The worst she could do would be to dismiss him again, though God knew that would be bad enough.

  It was a plan of sorts, and it gave Simon something to cling to through the mists of pain. In the meantime, he must leave Thornleigh immediately. He could not possibly stay under her roof after such a scene.