Sarah laughed, even though she really wanted to cry. No one had ever spoken to her so before, had ever articulated her deepest feelings about the ancient sites she worked on. She loved them—not because of the treasure they could yield, but because of the life they had held. A life that had not, and never would, change in its deepest essentials of love and family.
Thora, with her treasure and her lost love, had not been all that different from Sarah herself, she realized. She, too, must have felt the deep beauty of sitting with her lover in an early autumn night. Felt the quickening of her heart, of her very soul, when he touched her.
Sarah could understand, too, how she could have cursed her treasure in her pain at losing those feelings. She knew, though, that no matter what happened in her own life, what happened to her village, she would never lose the beauty of this night. It was a part of her heart forever.
She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He drew back a bit and looked at her, his expression surprised. “Thank you for what?”
“For being here with me tonight.”
He chuckled deeply, and pulled her against him again. “Believe me, my dear—it is entirely my pleasure.”
Mary Ann, from her seat on a stool next to the smithy, smiled to see her sister and Lord Ransome embracing right in front of the whole world.
She had just known they were perfect for each other, even when they had seemed most determined to deny that fact. Sarah had been very unhappy when Lord Ransome asked her to leave the village and so had Mary Ann. She enjoyed this work, enjoyed feeling as if she could contribute something to the world besides her prettiness. For a time, her faith that Sarah and Lord Ransome would make a fine couple had been shaken. But only for a time. Now, watching them talk, so close to each other, she saw that her first instinct had been the correct one. Surely, they knew that, too. Surely, everything would work out as it ought to.
Surely, she would not have to go home to her mother. If Sarah married Lord Ransome, perhaps they would even let her stay here with them forever!
“What are you smiling about, Miss Bellweather?” Mr. O’Riley asked.
Startled back from her daydreams, Mary Ann looked away from her sister’s romantic tableau and turned to the Irishman. He watched her with an unfathomable expression on his face, serious and curious and something she could not read. His gaze held hers steadily.
Mary Ann, who was seldom flustered by anything, did not know what to think. Her own gaze faltered, and dropped down to the ropes that bound the perimeter of the smithy. “I smile because—well, because I feel like it.” Then, not sure she really liked the fluttery, uncertain feeling in her stomach, she tilted up her chin and looked him in the eye. “Why do you frown, Mr. O’Riley? Did you consume a poor bit of cheese at supper and it does not agree with you?”
His eyes widened, and he gave a startled-sounding laugh. “I frown because I do not like not knowing what will happen next. I had hoped to leave that feeling behind when the war was over.”
Mary Ann nodded. “I do see what you mean. Uncertainty is seldom pleasant. But it sounds as if your life in England has not been precisely stable, Mr. O’Riley.”
“Too true. You are a very blunt young lady, Miss Bellweather.”
She shrugged. “I apologize. In the house where I grew up, the real, true thing is almost never spoken. Here, I feel freer. My sister does not care when I speak my mind, and I fear it has sometimes made me forgetful of the way things are outside the privacy of her house. I did not mean to be rude.”
“You were not rude. I am hardly a bastion of propriety and civilized society myself. I would hope that you feel like you can say anything that you wanted in my presence.”
Mary Ann tilted her head to one side, studying him closely. He still looked serious, but somehow not so grim. She nodded. “I think I do feel that way.”
“Have you lived with your sister very long, Miss Bellweather?”
“No, not long. I have tried to visit her as often as I can since she married, but I hope that now . . .” Her words faltered. It was true that she felt quite at ease with Mr. O’Riley, but she did not know if she should share the yearnings of her heart, the deep desire to stay here where she was free to be herself—whoever that self might be.
“You hope what?” he asked. He sounded as if he truly wished to know, and was not simply being polite.
“I hope that I might stay here with her, after—if . . .” Once again, words failed her, and she broke off with a laugh.
“If she stays here herself?” Mr. O’Riley looked to where Sarah and Lord Ransome sat, no longer touching yet still close to each other. “I don’t think you need to doubt that. Or that your sister would want to have you with her. It is obvious that she loves you at great deal.”
“Oh, yes, as I love her. She has really been more a mother to me than our true mother has. I would do anything for her.”
He gave her a sad smile. “You are fortunate indeed, Miss Bellweather, to have a family who loves you so.”
“What of your own family, Mr. O’Riley?”
“My own family is dead. My parents and my baby sister died when I was quite young. I grew up with aunts and uncles and cousins, so it was scarcely a lonely life.”
“Oh!” she cried, her heart aching at the loss she heard in his voice, despite his attempt to shrug it away. “But that is not the same as having your own family—your own place.”
“Sometimes we have to make our own place in the world, find our own way.” He looked about at the night-cloaked village. “And sometimes we are fortunate enough to find a special place like this, and people with kind hearts.”
No one had ever put into words so perfectly Mary Ann’s own feelings before. She had nothing of equal worth to say in reply. “We are truly fortunate,” she murmured.
“Truly, Miss Bellweather, we are.”
Chapter Twenty
“Mary Ann, hold it steady! Don’t let it blow away.” Sarah clutched at the corner of a large oiled canvas, spreading it over the open pit of House A as Mary Ann struggled to anchor the opposite end.
The day, which had dawned with a hazy brightness, had turned ominously dark. Thick clouds rolled overhead, and a brisk wind had picked up. She and Mary Ann had collected the canvases from the stable as quickly as they could, and tried to cover the open sites.
As Sarah tied the sheet down, she glanced out over the village, and she thought it looked utterly different than the enchanted, moonlit realm it had been just last night. The dark gray sky cast it in gloom and shadows; the wind stirred the dirt and whipped the canvas. Many of the workers had abandoned them once again, certain that the destruction of the artifacts signified Thora’s renewed displeasure at their trespassing on her property. Only a very few people remained to secure the village, including Miles and Mr. O’Riley, who were tying down a canvas at the smithy. Even Mr. Hamilton, usually so very diligent, had not appeared that day.
Despite the gloom and trepidation, Sarah couldn’t help but smile to see the men laboring so seriously and valiantly. From the expressions on their faces, she assumed they would be cursing most soundly if not for the presence of ladies.
It was all she could do not to run into Miles’s arms and kiss the frown away. The sound of his voice, the clean scent of him, was almost intoxicating. . . .
“Sarah!” Mary Ann cried suddenly.
Sarah, pulled away from her reveries, only then noticed that she had let go of her end of the canvas, and it whipped away. She grabbed for it, and pulled it down to tie the lashings more securely. “Oh, bother! I am sorry, Mary Ann. I must have been woolgathering.”
“You were, indeed.” Mary Ann finished tying off her end, and stood up. “And you accuse me of day-dreaming!” She gave Sarah a sly glance. “Whatever could you have been thinking of?”
Sarah looked at her sternly. “I was worried that we would not have the entire village secured before the storm comes, o
f course. But it appears we have.”
“Hm.” Mary Ann peered out over the sea of white canvas, and waved at Mr. O’Riley, who let go of his own rope to wave back. “Of course. Will it protect them, do you think?”
“It always has in the past. We will have muddy work tomorrow, but we have faced that before. This will keep some of the earth from sliding back into the pits, and therefore save us a great deal of re-digging. We won’t lose as many artifacts.” Sarah stood up, too, and brushed off the dusty skirt of her work dress.
“Speaking of artifacts, I ought to take these back to the hunting box before it rains.” Mary Ann lifted up the basket of objects they had found that morning before the storm clouds came in, a collection of mostly ladies’ toilette items that Sarah couldn’t wait to examine closer. “Are you coming?”
“I should check the stable one more time, and be certain there are no fragments we’ve missed.”
Mary Ann giggled. “Perhaps Mr. O’Riley would be so kind as to escort me back to the hunting box, then?”
“Mary Ann . . .” Sarah said warningly.
“What?” Mary Ann’s eyes widened innocently. “It would be perfectly proper! We would be outdoors the entire time, and I am sure Rose will be lurking right inside the door when we get there. She is convinced we will all be murdered in our beds if we do not exercise ceaseless vigilance.”
“I am not certain she is wrong,” Sarah said. “At least about the ceaseless vigilance. I am not at all sure about the being murdered part.”
“Then I truly ought to have a gentleman’s protection,” argued Mary Ann. “Who knows? The villain might be lurking along the pathway, just waiting to snatch away my basket of hairpins and scent bottles and dash them on the ground!”
Sarah had to laugh. It was truly marvelous to see the sparkle back in Mary Ann’s eyes, extinguishing the anxiety of the last couple of days. She only hoped there was a new common sense to go along with that exuberance. “Very well. But I shall be along shortly, and I want no hint of mischief.”
Mary Ann shook her head. “Not a one. I promise.”
“Go along, then. Cook is marketing today, but have her prepare a cold collation for us when she returns, and perhaps Mr. O’Riley and Lord Ransome will join us.”
“Of course.” Mary Ann kissed her cheek, and hurried off to fetch Mr. O’Riley, seeming to veritably skip over the ground.
Sarah watched her take Mr. O’Riley’s arm and turn towards the pathway, the two of them talking and laughing. Then she picked up her own basket and trowel. She walked over to where Miles waited, and smiled up at him.
He gave her a sweet smile in return, one that dissipated the clouds and gloom with the mere upturn of his lips.
He took the basket from her. “Your sister seems very bright and cheerful this morning, Sarah.”
“Mary Ann is usually bright and cheerful. I am glad to see that the shocking events of these days have not extinguished that.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and they walked to the open door of the stable. “I think that your friend Mr. O’Riley is partly to thank for that.”
“I know that he—admires Miss Bellweather.”
“Oh, yes? And what else might you know?”
Inside the cool gloom of the stable, Miles put down the basket and took her in his arms. Sarah melted into the warm, safe haven of his embrace, stretching up on tiptoe to be even closer.
“I know nothing else of your sister and my friend,” he answered. “But I do know a bit of this.”
His lips came down to meet hers, and Sarah clutched at his coat, suddenly dizzy. The entire building tilted in a giddy dance; indeed, the whole world vanished in the heat of their embrace. How she had missed this warmth, this closeness, in her cold year of mourning! But even before that, she had never felt anything like this wild rush of emotions.
When her eyes finally fluttered open, and she went back down flat on her feet, she became aware again of her surroundings. Raindrops pattered softly at the roof in a gentle sprinkle, not yet the deluge it threatened to become. The rain was nothing to the tumult in her heart.
She felt safe when he held her, as if the world outside could not touch her, could hold no horrors for her. She trusted him to hold her secure. Never had she felt this way before, not with her husband, not with anyone.
Sarah leaned her head against his shoulder, the wool of his coat soft-scratchy on her skin. His clasp tightened, and she felt his cool breath stir in her hair, his lips pressing there ever so briefly. She wondered if he felt as she did, if he sensed the beauty of this time. Or if it seemed commonplace to him, a mere diversion.
“Sarah,” he said quietly. “We must have a serious conversation.”
She closed her eyes. A “serious conversation” was the very last thing she wanted at that moment. Such times of sweetness were rare, and she wanted to hold it against all the storms—real and feared—that waited outside.
But she knew that she could not do that. Miles was right; they did have many things to talk about.
She drew back to look up at him. “You are correct. But not now. Later. Later, we can converse on as many serious topics as you like.”
He smiled at her, and bent his head to kiss her lightly on the nose. “Of course. Your sister will be looking for you, and we have stayed here too long as it is. I will remind you of your promise to talk with me later, though.”
“I hope that you will.” Sarah clung to his hand for just an instant longer before turning to the stable door. “For I have much I want to say to you, Miles.”
The wind was brisk as Mary Ann and Mr. O’Riley followed the pathway back to the hunting box. It pulled at Mary Ann’s cloak and skirt hem with chill fingers, but she scarcely noticed it. She was laughing too much at a tale Mr. O’Riley was telling her, a wild yarn of a princess and a wily leprechaun.
“Oh, no, it cannot be!” she said, gasping through her giggles. “You are making that story up as you go along.”
“I certainly am not!” His tone was stern, but his grin decidedly was not. “It is a very ancient tale, one that my aunt used to tell my cousins and me every night. Though, when I was in Spain, a woman there told me an old Spanish story very like it. Of course, in that story the trickster’s name was not Sean but Juan, and the princess was a dark-eyed infanta.”
“Well, here in England I have never heard anything like it. But I did have a nanny once, a Welsh woman, who had a terribly hair-raising tale of a water spirit she would frighten me with at night.” At the bend in the path, where it turned into sight of the house, she stilled her steps. She did not want to go in there just yet, even though a few cool sprinkles of rain were beginning to land on her cheek. She wanted to laugh some more with Mr. O’Riley, to hear more of his outrageous Irish tales, to feel free for just a few more minutes.
“I have enjoyed our conversation today,” she said.
Mr. O’Riley slowed his steps to match hers, yet they still moved inexorably to the turn. “As have I, Miss Bellweather. I find the work you and Lady Iverson are doing fascinating.”
“Oh, yes!” Mary Ann smiled at him in delight; his interest in the work here raised him even higher in her estimation. “I am sure you can assist us here any time you like, and I can tell you of what I have been reading—” She broke off suddenly, as she remembered the truth—that she and Sarah might not be working here for very much longer. Not if Lord Ransome carried out his original plans.
Lord Ransome seemed to admire her sister greatly now, and it only stood to reason that he would not take the village away from the woman he cared about. But Mary Ann had learned from her short life of traveling about with her mother that often the world did not conform to reason, and sometimes people did not behave as they ought.
Mr. O’Riley gave her a curious glance. “What you have been reading, Miss Bellweather?” he prompted.
“Yes.” Mary Ann looked up at him, and realized she had not finished her sentence. She knew that her family would think her even rasher t
han they already did if she told her doubts to someone she had only just met. Somehow, though, she felt perfectly at ease with Mr. O’Riley. His green eyes radiated wisdom and understanding quite beyond his young years.
“I have been reading a great deal about the Vikings,” she went on. “And I have many ideas for the village. Yet I know that Lord Ransome has other plans for this property.”
“I know what his plans have been, and why he made them,” he said. “But I do not think he will toss Lady Iverson off of the village site like some evil villain in a cheap play.”
Mary Ann felt a small flutter of hope. “I thought so, too. He seems a kind man, yet I can see that he is determined to do what he thinks is right.”
“I am sure there must be some other plan. One that can accommodate both you and your sister, and Lord Ransome.” He winked at her. “We shall just have to put our heads together and devise something, won’t we, Miss Bellweather?”
Mary Ann laughed. Her laughter died, though, when they came into sight of the hunting box and saw the carriage waiting outside the front door.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“What is it, Miss Bellweather?”
“It seems the Hamiltons have come to call.”
His face froze, its merry smile slipping into a complete blank. “The Hamiltons.”
“Yes. I had hoped that when they did not appear at the village this morning that we would not see them today. Sarah said that Mrs. Hamilton did not look well yesterday. But I suppose they have just been waiting here the whole time.”
“Well, then.” He did not move away, but Mary Ann had the distinct sense that he was withdrawing. Their laughter and fun turned as chill as the rain on her skin. “You should have no more need of my escort, Miss Bellweather. You will be quite safe here in their company.”
One Touch of Magic Page 18
