“Oh, it gives me something to do,” Darby said.
“Keeps you from answering questions, you mean,” Evelyn said.
“True. What a pity it hasn’t kept everyone from asking them.”
Evelyn giggled, then grew solemn-faced again. “You haven’t once looked me in the eye this evening, Darby Brightings, and I long to know the reason.”
“You are imagining things.”
“Fie upon it. I cannot believe you would request a stranger to perform at your birthday ball.”
“He wasn’t so completely unknown to me as all that,” Darby replied. When Evelyn quickened with interest, she added hurriedly, “I mean I knew what he looked like. He said his portrait was illustrated in the advertisement, remember?”
“Portrait? A pox on portraits. You know as well as I how they can deceive, though there was certainly no need for fabrication in Mr. Garrett’s case. I must say you were fortunate there, for I’ve seen people with warts and hairy moles all over their faces look comely in portraits, as have you. You recall Lady Broomhilde’s youthful memorial to herself in Strathley Hall? A painter’s livelihood depends on his ability to overlook the brutal truth.”
“I do know it,” Darby said. “I’ve often thought how lucky it is Alex is not a portrait artist, for he would starve, since he is unwilling to hide the truth for anyone.”
Her expression darkened suddenly. Biting her lower lip, she took the bowl from Evelyn and replaced it inside the cabinet, straightened the silver jug and bowl on the tray, then opened the lid of the tea pot to peer inside.
“There is not enough tea left,” she said in dismal tones. “I shall have to ring for Maisy after all.”
As Darby reached for the bell pull, Evelyn placed a restraining hand over her friend’s. “Stay a moment,” she said, all banter dropping from her voice. “The men will join us soon and we shan’t have another opportunity to speak privately. There is something I wanted to ask you.”
Fearing more uncomfortable questions regarding Simon, Darby looked over her shoulder at the other ladies. Conversation had ground to a standstill betwixt Lenora and Fiona; the young widow was paging through a magazine, and the minister’s daughter attempted to capture a moth that had flown through the half-open window. Fiona was apparently unwilling to relinquish her seat, however, and her occasional flailing, leaping efforts were limited by the insect’s pattern of flight. The older women by the window were listening to Aunt Gacia’s eloquence with varying degrees of interest, the one exception being Mrs. White, who cast frequent, agonized looks toward her energetic daughter.
“They will wonder why we’re standing by the wall so long,” Darby said.
Evelyn’s gaze followed Darby’s. “No, they won’t; only look how they are enjoying themselves.”
“Oh, very well,” Darby said, a smile tugging at her mouth. “What is this deep question that will not wait?”
Now that she had her companion’s attention, Evelyn fell exasperatingly silent and stared at her slippers. Darby contemplated her with growing consternation. Evelyn was shorter than herself, though not so petite as Lenora, and slim as a waif. Dark brown hair fell in curls about her head, and her small hazel eyes were often serious-looking, effectively masking a wicked enjoyment of wit. With a delicate, upturned nose, olive skin, and small lips, she possessed the kind of prettiness often overlooked at first sight, and only realized later as one came to know her better. She seldom put herself forward, however, to those other than her closest family and friends; which was just as well, for she had a frank manner of speech that often sounded bolder than intended.
“It’s about Alex,” Evelyn said finally, a blush staining her cheeks. She waited, as if gathering the words she would say next. “It will never happen, will it? Our old plans. The dream you and I have shared since childhood.”
Darby knew only a moment’s confusion before she understood. From the time the girls were old enough to think of such matters, she and Evelyn had talked of their future weddings. The pairs of siblings were so close in age—Evelyn being only one year older than the twins and Edward a year younger—and got on so well together, the possibility of uniting themselves for all time could not escape their imaginations. In earlier years, the girls had coerced the boys into agreeing with this sensible plan; and, though it was not often mentioned among them, it had become a kind of standing jest that was not entirely meant to be humorous. No formal declarations had been made, but from time to time one of them would say something that reminded them of their childish promise, such as, “Shall Darby continue to direct the business after she and Edward marry?”
It had become a strangely uncomfortable situation in Darby’s mind as she and Alex neared their majority. It was almost as if their futures were decided, and then again, they were not.
Now Darby looked down at the tea table and straightened a corner of the serving cloth needlessly.
“I understand you,” she said. “What makes you suggest it won’t happen?”
“To say truth, I believe you and Edward will wed. He would slay me for saying so, but he loves you madly, in the event you haven’t noticed that for yourself. He only waits until he comes of age before making a formal offer.”
“Oh, he does not love me madly,” Darby said, appalled. “Surely not. I mean, I love him, too, but ...”
“Do not dare say you love him like a brother,” Evelyn said stiffly. “He had sooner have you plunge a dagger into his heart, for he does not love you as a sister, I can attest to that. You cannot have failed to notice how he bristles every time Claude smiles at you, and the appearance of this actor friend of yours tonight has him fairly frothing at the mouth.”
“Oh, he has nothing to worry about there,” Darby said, instantly horrified. “Nothing at all, I assure you.”
“I’m surprised. Mr. Garrett is most attractive.”
“Yes, but what you are saying is—is revolting! Unthinkable!”
“Well, my goodness, Darby, I know he is only an actor, but it’s not as if you were a titled lady who mustn’t pollute her descendants with the blood of commoners.”
Darby pictured again Simon’s strong, sensitive face and luminous eyes and shuddered. “I’m not drawn to him at all,” she said sharply. “Not in that way.”
“Hm,” Evelyn murmured. “Does that mean you’ve considered Claude?”
“Claude?” Darby exclaimed, then realizing the shrillness of her voice, glanced back to see Lenora staring at her above the pages of her magazine. Darby smiled apologetically, shrugged her shoulders, and explained, “We are only naming the men at dinner tonight.”
It was partially true. Lenora accepted the explanation with a lifting of her eyebrows, then resumed her reading. Darby turned back to Evelyn.
“Claude is pleasant enough,” she whispered. “But I could never shackle myself to a do-nothing.”
“Then Edward has a clear field,” Evelyn said, smiling a little. “Unless there is someone else I don’t know about.”
“No, there is no one else. Whom could I meet, never going beyond the potteries and Mirren? But as to Edward, I ... well, I haven’t sorted my feelings yet.”
“Darby, you’ve had twenty years to sort your feelings.”
“I know, but ...” She looked more closely at her friend’s stricken face, and a sudden realization came to her. “I’m a widgeon. This is not what you meant to ask me, is it, Evelyn?”
“Is it not?”
“No. You wished to speak about you and Alex.”
Fresh blushes. “Lower your voice, please. I have the good sense to know there is nothing there. Not on his part, anyway.”
“I’m certain you’re wrong. He has a great fondness for you.”
Despair came into Evelyn’s eyes. “What you mean to say is, he loves me like a sister.”
“No, I think ...” Darby trailed away, torn between her fears and her affection for Evelyn.
“It is as I thought,” Evelyn said, nodding slightly. “I’ve seen how he h
angs on Lenora’s every word. At dinner tonight, he kept looking past me to watch her, and how he boiled as Mr. Garrett and she seemed to enjoy one another so much.”
“Oh, there you are mistaken,” Darby said, growing loud again. Forcing herself to employ quieter tones, she continued, “Mr. Garrett was only being kind, and Lenora flirts with everything capable of growing hair on its chest.”
“You shock me,” Evelyn said, laughing softly. “But you can’t deny that the greater part of Alex’s rudeness to your guest was because of jealousy. You did not know it, but before dinner I tried to maneuver myself beside your brother, hoping to achieve his escort. Yet when dinner was announced, he nearly knocked me aside in his effort to reach Lenora. Only when he saw she had taken Mr. Garrett’s arm did he return to me.”
“Well, Alex is a silly brute and will get over this infatuation soon enough,” Darby said firmly. “Pay no attention; it will blow over like a summer storm, and he will come to his senses.”
“Mayhaps,” Evelyn said wistfully.
Darby determined to make her friend think of other things. “Now may I pull the bell?” she asked, feigning impatience. “I’m positive Fiona has grown thirsty in her efforts with that moth.”
“Yes, do,” Evelyn said nonchalantly, moving toward the sofa. “I myself am thirsty from all this talking.”
Not long after the maid came to replenish their cups, the men entered, bringing a pleasing air of masculine jocularity that had something to do with boisterous voices and the aroma of tobacco, but not all; what it was precisely would ever remain a mystery to Darby. She always looked forward to the time after dinner when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies. One day, if she grew bold enough, she would refuse to retire after the meal and remain with the men, just to see if what she suspected was true—that they did indeed have a more congenial time together than the women. It would be worth smoking a pipe to find out.
No, she did not mean that. Could Simon hear her thoughts?
It did not seem he could, for once again Lenora pounced upon him like a cat on a mouse, pulling him aside for a tête-à-tête in the corner as soon as she saw him. If he knew what Darby was thinking, he would find some way to be alone with herself, to answer the thousand-and-one questions tickling her tongue.
Instead, he appeared content only to give her helpless glances from time to time across the room, as if he did not possess the ability to free himself from Lenora’s wiles. Perhaps he failed to desire escape, for he gave every indication of enjoying her animated conversation. In fact, so much laughter and chatter began to sparkle from their corner that first Claude wandered over to join them, then Fiona, who, having knocked off her father’s old-fashioned wig in her efforts, triumphantly brought the moth she had cupped between her hands for Simon’s approval. In the way of things, the insect fled as soon as it was shown, and for several moments a lively game of bat-the-bug was played among the gentlemen, causing many shrieks from the ladies, until the hapless creature re-discovered the window and flew away.
Darby felt grateful her brother no longer spoke spitefully to Simon, but seemed willing to ignore him. She feared it was a temporary reprieve, for Alex could not disguise his feelings from her; and she sensed the tension growing in him every time he looked at Lenora and her companion. Still, he was making an effort. Darby marked the especial attention he paid to Evelyn and hoped it would not raise her friend’s hopes falsely.
She herself grew increasingly discomfitted as the night wore on. Edward never strayed far from her side. Ordinarily she would have thought nothing of it; but now that Evelyn had spoken, she feared the meaning behind his notice. Every glance now became a lover’s look, every statement weighted with amorous significance. She could no longer view her childhood companion as a well-loved, comfortable old shoe; now she found herself thinking: Can I spend my life with this man?
Well, who better than a dear friend? She loved him, beyond a doubt. Still, her uneasiness made the hours crawl by at a slug’s pace.
Simon never once came to speak with her. A sensible part of her brain argued that a private audience in such a crowd would be impossible. It was not as if they could take a stroll together in the garden; Alex would explode. But as the evening deepened, her curiosity and impatience twanged so badly she felt herself becoming cross. If Simon wanted to go unnoticed among them, why had he taken such a comely form? She counseled herself to put an immediate check on her emotions before she did the unimaginable and became angry with her angel.
* * *
She continued to give herself the same advice as she dressed for bed that evening. She had no personal maid to assist, for such a luxury appeared burdensome to her, from what she’d observed of Aunt Gacia and Lenora’s abigails. Slow-moving Persimone was forever getting her feelings hurt and running off to her room in tears—so often, in fact, that Darby had begun to view her outbursts with suspicion. And Lenora’s Rena, though hard-working, possessed eyes like flint and a tongue to match. No, she had far rather dress herself.
The evening had gone well, considering that an angel had appeared in strange clothing and disrupted everyone; the vicar had almost expired; and two lamps had been broken in the pursuit of a moth. Almost everyone seemed to enjoy themselves at least once during the evening.
Excepting herself, of course. She had been on tenterhooks since catching sight of Simon. And now, hours later, she was no more the wiser about his visit. It was maddening that they had found no opportunity to speak.
Darby jerked her nightgown over her head and fumbled at her buttons, ripping one off in her temper. She watched it roll across the carpet, then followed to kick it into the fireplace.
When she heard a soft knocking at her door, her frown deepened. It was doubtless Alex, come to scold her about inviting a stranger into their house without seeking his approval. Well, she would flap the thorny side of her tongue at him, wouldn’t she?
Tossing her robe over her shoulders and looping its belt into a careless knot, she flung open the door. And bit her lip to stifle a scream when she saw Simon. Before he could speak, she seized his wrist, darted a frantic look up and down the corridor, then pulled him inside and closed the door.
“Are you trying to ruin me?” she heard herself say.
As his smile floundered, Darby cursed herself mentally. There, she’d made that sad look come into his eyes again. He began to apologize, and she shook her head and daringly pressed her fingers over his lips.
“No, no, it is I who am wrong,” she said, pulling him toward a pair of blue chairs by the fire. “With your heavenly nature, you could not have thought how it would look, should anyone see you entering my bedroom at night. If I may make the suggestion, it would be best if you simply appear here, rather than walking to my chamber. The others think you are an actor, not an angel, I must remind you.”
“I didn’t think,” he said, sitting down, regret lengthening his face. “Will they hear us talking?”
“Not if we keep our voices low. Father had thick walls built into this house for that very reason.”
“You miss your father. I hear it in your voice.”
Her eyes softened. “There is not a day that passes that I do not think of him. He practically raised us himself, since Mother died when Alex and I were seven. He was a special man. He treated us as if we were deserving of respect, and not children to be ordered about. It was his desire that we learn the business he began, and our days were ordered around it. Not that we didn’t have ample time to play and learn other things, of course. But the pottery was the center of our lives, and never once did he treat me differently than Alex because I was a girl. That meant everything to me.” She laughed suddenly. “But you know all this, of course.”
He stared at her for a long while. Darby’s pulse began to race when his eyes moved over her, then looked away. He gazed so intently at the window, in fact, that she was led to glance over her shoulder, wondering what might be looking in. When she saw nothing, she leaned toward him.
“Will you not tell me why you are here? The last time we spoke, you said I wouldn’t see you again.”
“I’ll explain what I can,” he said, his eyes still on the window, “But first”—he darted a lightning look at her, then away once more, his cheeks flaring with color— “could you, um, pull your robe a little closer together?”
Darby glanced down at herself, at the dressing gown that hung open to reveal her nightgown, which in turn exposed the upper half of her breasts. Flames of embarrassment heated her neck and ears as she whipped the robe about her, pulling it closed almost to her chin.
“I—I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful,” she mumbled humbly. “I never thought—well, I imagined since you are invisible most of the time, you had probably seen me in my bath, and I didn’t—that is—”
She stumbled to a stop, struggling with confusion. Shouldn’t an angel be able to view her body without a second thought, even were she naked as a dog?
He met her gaze sadly. “You must think I’m a sorry excuse for an angel,” he said.
“No, I—well, it is only ...”
“I’m not what you expected, right?”
She paused. What was the correct thing to say? Would her guardian become angry with her? Was he capable of striking her dead? She breathed in shakily.
“Not precisely what I expected, no.”
He straightened a little, his eyes becoming reflective. “You’ll just have to think of me as a man.” His words became more decisive as he spoke. “Yes, that’s it. While I’m here, you have to think of me as a normal man, with all his limitations and—and temptations.”
Recalling Simon’s absorption in Lenora this evening, she felt cold. “But you are not a normal man. I mean, you possess your angelic powers and strength, do you not, even though you’ve taken mortal form?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, you saved Reverend Suttner’s life.”
When he laughed suddenly, she viewed him with surprise and some disappointment.
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