“What about Alexander?” He could scarcely keep the pleading note from his voice.
Although her features remained pleasant, he sensed doors closing within. “Alexander? He is a dear boy. I have a great fondness for him.”
“He seems to like you.”
She kept her gaze on the road for several instants. When she turned back, the look she gave him was nakedly sensual. “I don’t want to talk about Alexander. I had rather talk about you.”
“No, you don’t; I’m not very interesting. Your father and step-mother seem to like Alexander, I’ve noticed. They wouldn’t mind if the two of you became closer, would they?”
The heat faded from her eyes. “I’m no longer a little girl to be led by my father’s wishes.”
“Yes, but you can’t help agreeing it would be a nice solution all around. It would keep the family together, wouldn’t it?”
“What I do with my life is my affair.”
He couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. “Okay. So what are you going to do after Alexander inherits? Do you and your parents have plans?”
“I have just remembered that I promised to help Gacia hem Papa’s new handkerchiefs,” she said, her lips pursing together. “You had best turn back. Here, I’ll show you how.”
Stifling a grin, Simon allowed her to help him. If he hadn’t learned a great deal about Lenora, at least he’d managed to make her angry. Maybe now she’d focus her attention on Alexander.
* * *
That afternoon, Beckett delivered boots, a pair of tan pantaloons, a white shirt, gold brocade vest, cravat, and fawn-coloured jacket to Simon's room. Simon eagerly threw down the copy of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage he'd been trying to read and surveyed his new clothes.
"Soon's I can, I'm to make you another waistcoat and frac, then a suit for evening," said Beckett, who was a small man with features that reminded Simon of pictures he'd seen of Napoleon. To strengthen the illusion, the valet held himself excruciatingly straight, and nothing marred the crisp lines and clean perfection of his own clothes. "By tomorrow I'll be finished with the running garment you wanted, though I've never stitched anything so dashed loose."
"Your work is beautifully done," said Simon, examining the tiny, even stitches in his jacket.
"It is, ain't it?" Beckett agreed, the whining tone in his voice warming. "I take pride in what I do, though there's some what don't appreciate it."
"Where did you get the boots? Don't tell me you're a cobbler, too."
"No, there's a bloke in Mirren. Don't look too close; the boots ain't so fine as what you'd get in London, though a sight better than that odd pair you're wearing."
"It's amazing you did all this so fast."
Air puffed from Beckett's cheeks. "Mr. Lightner says to say I'm working to please Miss Brightings. Anytime she has need of me, she must call; even if it means my employer must suffer for the lack of my services." His face darkened, and he added confidentially, "Between you and me, sir, he ain't sacrificing much. I still have to do everything he wants, only I do the extra work while others lie abed."
"I'm sorry."
Beckett gave him a long-suffering look. "If it wasn't this, it would be some other thing. Truth to tell, I like sewing garments for young gentlemen, though I guess you ain't no gentleman since you're an actor. Still, it's pleasing to dress a body that makes my work look good, unlike some I could name but won't. Try on the clothes now and show me if I measured right."
After satisfying Beckett's curiosity regarding the fit and receiving hurried instructions in how to tie a cravat, Simon thanked the valet, escorted him to the door and closed it. Stripping off the new clothes, Simon gave himself his second chilling bath of the day and dressed again. He even washed his hair, since there was time enough for it to dry before dinner. It was too short to feel right, though.
When the hour arrived to go down, he couldn't help admiring himself before the cheval mirror. For the first time since he arrived, he looked like he belonged here. He had not felt so stylish since he'd been a presenter at the MTV Awards.
"You're succumbing to peer pressure," he told his image in the mirror. He grinned at his foolishness while thinking, Wonder if Darby will approve?
The smile died. Thoughts like that were pointless. His purpose in coming here had nothing to do with pleasing Darby. He came to rescue her and restore life to Elena and Tay. Nothing more.
Thus, it was a grave but striking stranger who entered the parlor a short while later. He found it hard to remain solemn, though, when receiving the attention his new clothes brought. He couldn't help feeling especially gratified when Darby looked at him with surprise and—did he imagine it?—admiration. She glanced away quickly, however, and he couldn't be sure.
He was not as pleased to note that Lenora viewed him with comparable pleasure. She seemed to have forgotten her morning's irritation with him. Although Gacia demanded Alexander escort her step-daughter into the dining room, thereby deciding upon Lenora's dining partner, the widow nevertheless managed to direct many of her remarks in Simon's direction.
There was not enough of them to allow of private conversations anyway. Simon quickly claimed Darby's arm before Claude could, but it did him little good to sit beside her. She looked charming in a white gown shot through with gold threads, but he could only stare at her so long before Alexander's steely glare knifed the corner of his eye and cut his attention away.
As dinner progressed, Simon came to believe Darby wanted to say something in particular to him; but every time she turned to him confidingly, someone demanded her notice. His hunch was confirmed when the maid slipped on a patch of spilled soup and, after brilliantly juggling the dish of peas she carried, suffered only the loss of the lid. As the glass fell loudly to the floor and shattered, drawing everyone's startled notice, Darby seized her opportunity and whispered in his ear that she needed to speak with him alone.
After dinner, Simon returned with the gentlemen to the parlor, chatted awhile, then wandered slowly toward the doors leading to the garden. Hopefully Darby would follow and speak her mind. He meant to be accommodating only; as soon as he heard what she had to say, he would return inside and not linger beneath a spring moon. Even if it was only a crescent, it looked dangerous to him.
He walked across the bricked terrace, down the steps, then ambled past groupings of roses with cherubs centered within them. Towering over the flowers, a few solitary oak trees were allowed to spread their branches; a circular, wrought-iron bench was wrapped around each.
Without conscious choice, he headed toward one of the benches and sat. Hopefully Darby could find him here; from this angle, he couldn't see into the parlour windows. He'd have to watch for her.
The new leaves above him fluttered sweetly. He leaned his back against the tree and stared at the sky. Wisps of clouds floated beneath the stars, hiding, then revealing the glimmering suns in smogless splendor. It was very quiet; no traffic, not even the horse-and-buggy kind, passed on the road; and the murmur of voices from the house could not reach him here. The wind brought a not-unpleasant whiff of stable to his nose. A dog barked somewhere faraway.
Simon closed his eyes, and within moments, he slept. Absurd dream fragments drifted through his mind. He jogged around an asphalt track while Darby juggled glass jars filled with peas. One jar after another shattered on the pavement. Just as she launched the last one at his head, Simon heard a voice calling his name. He jerked to bewildered wakefulness, opening his eyes to see not Darby, but Lenora. He sprang to his feet.
"Lenora! I was just going inside."
"You were sleeping," she disputed, her lips curving upward. "Do I make you uneasy, Simon? You seem so whenever I'm near."
"What? No, of course you don't make me uneasy. I do have to go inside now, though." He placed a hand on his chest. "The night air chokes me up."
"Does it now?" She sat, straightened her skirt prettily, then patted the seat beside her. "Sit down for just a moment. I have something I wish to say to
you."
He hesitated. Every instinct advised flight, but he might learn something important. Keeping a safe distance between them, he sat.
"I think I may have been rude to you this morning," she began. "You asked me questions which seemed impertinent. I resented your inferences about Alexander and myself, but as I thought more upon it today, I had to ask: Why does Simon want to know this? And I could only conceive of one answer. You don't wish to trespass on another's interest."
"Um, no, that's not—"
She leaned toward him and placed her finger across his lips. "Hush now, let me finish. You intrigue me, Simon. I have never met a man like you, and I would like to know you better. What I said about myself this morning was true. You need not trouble yourself with my plans concerning Alexander. You and I ... we may enjoy one another without any bonds."
Slowly she drifted closer, her lips parting slightly.
Simon dreamily pushed aside the finger which rested on his mouth. In a dry voice he asked, "Then you are serious about Alexander?"
"No more about him," she breathed, and smoothed her hands across Simon's vest and circled his waist. He crushed his back against the tree, his arms raised helplessly. As if hypnotized, he watched her face draw nearer. And then she pressed her lips to his.
He could have escaped. Later, when he reviewed the moment in his mind, he knew he should have resisted. But at that moment he endured, intending to break away gently and spare her feelings. At least he did not enjoy the kiss, or if he did, it was only the smallest amount. Certainly, he never lowered his arms and responded as once he would have. Surely that proved his intentions were good.
But none of that meant anything when he finally did release himself and look up. Darby, her eyes blazing grey fire, her hair flying from its pins, was running toward them as fast as her narrow dress would allow.
His heart stopped.
Seeing his expression, Lenora whirled around. She had time only to relax slightly—Simon wondered briefly who it was she feared was coming—before Darby grasped her shoulders and wrenched her from the seat to the ground.
"You—you—hussy!" Darby shouted. "How dare you?”
From her half-sprawled position on the grass, Lenora, her mouth and eyes rounded in perfect circles, gawked at Darby. The widow's skirt had slipped above her ankles, and her elbows were planted in great clods of dirt. She looked so comically shocked that, had Simon not been afraid of Darby himself, he would have laughed.
As it was, he tried to stand, intending to begin explanations if he could think of any; but Darby stood so close that he managed only to lean against the tree, the bench cutting into the back of his knees like a blade.
"Darby," he began, "don't—"
She whipped around to face him, slapped her hand squarely on his chest, and pushed. Having no other choice, he sat and stared directly up at her, an appeal in his eyes that had nothing to do with acting.
"And you!" she cried. "You—horrible, horrible—thing!"
Words appeared to desert her then, and rage-filled tears flowed down her cheeks. Clenching her fists, she turned and walked a few paces away, looking at neither of them.
"Have you lost your senses?" exclaimed Lenora, stretching her hand toward Simon for assistance, since her skirt was narrow and allowed little maneuvering.
Simon braced Lenora's struggle from the ground, but he kept his eyes on Darby. When the widow safely achieved her stance, he released her hand immediately; the very touch of her skin was now repulsive.
Darby's shoulders were shaking with suppressed sobs, as if her heart was tearing. He had broken her with that little kiss just as he'd shattered Elena with worse. But with Darby, he'd not stopped with hurting her feelings; he had shaken her faith. What could she be thinking now, believing an angel of God would act like a cheap lothario?
Darby's spirituality was one of the things he admired most about her, since her strong character seemed to spring from it. He almost envied that faith, almost regretted that he couldn't believe those old tales himself; it might be a comfort. What had he done to her?
He'd have to tell her he was not an angel. But if he did, would she allow him to remain at Brightings? He knew there would be no chance, not with this righteous anger burning inside her.
Darkness descended over his shoulders like a familiar old coat. He'd forgotten how bad he could feel. Until now, he hadn't realized he had become happy here, spinning his life around Darby's rescue, Darby's words, Darby's smile. He noticed the difference now, though, now that the lightness had bled from him.
He stepped softly to Darby and touched her shoulder. "Don't cry," he said hopelessly. If only he could find words to excuse his actions, but he could think of none.
Darby shrugged off his hand and stepped away. She crossed her arms and dug her slippered toe into the soil banking one of the rosebushes.
"It was merely a kiss," Lenora said in a vexed voice as she dusted dirt from her sleeves and the back of her gown. "We haven't sullied your maiden eyes with something more scandalous. I don't know why you are acting so missish unless ..." Lenora's tidying efforts ceased momentarily, and a look of comprehension spread across her features. "Oh," she said with a faint smile, "so it's like that, is it?"
Darby swung around angrily. "I don't know what you mean. It's not like anything, except I don't expect those staying in my house to behave like animals."
"Animals?" Lenora squeaked. "A simple kiss between two unmarried adults is behaving like animals?" She turned to Simon. "You are unmarried, aren't you?"
"Yes," he answered, and so distracted was he by Darby's scornful eyes that he almost confessed he was a widower. "Please forgive me, Darby."
"Forgive you?" Lenora stepped in front of Simon, forcing him to look at her. "Why should she forgive you for such a small thing? There is something between the two of you, isn't there? I thought it strange that Darby would invite someone she didn't know to stay in the house like an honored guest. So, what is it? Are you betrothed, or is it something else altogether?"
Simon frowned down into Lenora's speculative eyes. At least he hadn't hurt her. She seemed as delighted to discover what she imagined to be intrigue as she would have been to create her own. In the right century, she would have made a fine gossip columnist.
"Betrothed!" snapped Darby, dashing the tears from her eyes. "You are an idiot if you think that."
"I told you I'm not perfect," Simon observed humbly.
"Ah," Lenora said knowingly. "He has told you he's not perfect. What else has he said?"
"Nothing but words," Darby declared. "Lying, deceitful, untrustworthy words."
Lenora's laughter rang across the garden. "Oh, yes, I understand perfectly now. And you've been secretive because you mean to keep this scandalous liaison from Alexander's ears, and I don't blame you. Well, Simon, now that I know why you resisted me, my faith in myself is restored."
Darby became very still. "He ... resisted you?"
"I did," Simon agreed eagerly. "I resisted her."
Darby ignored him, her eyes piercing Lenora across the bricked walkway.
The widow appeared to be enjoying herself immensely. "Yes, he did. Somewhat. Darby, I'm delighted. I thought you were a stiff stick, but I was wrong."
Simon held his breath while several emotions passed through Darby's eyes.
"Rubbish," she said after a moment. "You're insinuating things that are untrue."
He began to breathe again. Darby's face looked less forbidding than before, he was sure of it.
Still smiling, Lenora tilted back her head. "You'll have to forgive me for treading on your territory. I didn't know, I promise you."
"Oh, be quiet, will you?" Darby looked from her to Simon, then glanced toward the house. The door to the parlour had just slammed, and Alexander now walked into sight. "This is all that was needed," she murmured, and immediately straightened her shoulders while rubbing her eyes.
Simon muttered something under his breath, and both women looked at him in
surprise.
''Darby?'' called Alexander, walking toward them. "What are you doing out here?"
In a strangled voice, Lenora whispered, "I won't tell him about you and Simon if you promise to do the same for me."
Darby's gaze flew to Simon. Although hostility still gleamed in her eyes, she was asking him for guidance. He nodded his head in quick, desperate jerks.
Alexander's boots crunched against the bricks as he came to stand beside his sister. With condemnation in his eyes, he viewed each one of them in turn, staring longest at Darby.
"What goes on here? Have you been crying?"
"Something flew into my eye," Darby answered.
"What was it, a bird? You look terrible; your nose is red as a strawberry."
“It hurt,'' she said in a sad little voice, making the weight on Simon's chest grow heavier.
"Well, is it out now?" Alexander viewed her skeptically as she nodded. Giving Simon a suspicious glance, he offered his arm to Darby. "Come inside before something else happens, then."
"I believe I'd like to go inside as well," Lenora said, seizing his other arm, to Alexander's obvious satisfaction.
"I guess I'll turn in, too," said Simon, but no one so much as glanced at him. He shrugged and followed the others into the parlor.
Chapter Eight
Later that evening when the house grew quiet, Darby splashed water on her face and lit an extra candle. Even though her emotions ached like raw wounds, she was having trouble staying awake; and she would need to remain alert for at least another hour before daring to visit Simon's room.
She had not been able to steal a moment alone with him all night, and she wanted to ask his advice. Why she bothered, she was not certain. He was such a weak, paltry angel. Truly, she would do better to trust her own counsel than that of a creature who could not defend himself against such as Lenora.
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