Nothing on Earth & Nothing in Heaven

by Susan Fanetti

  “Do you admire her enough to seek her hand?”

  “Chris, what are you after with this?”

  “Answer the question, Will.”

  He sighed and offered the truth again. “Yes. I do. And what good does that answer do you? We’re not a good match—for one thing, I’m nearly twice her age. For another thing, I’ll be returning to California soon. My project is a bust. Which leads me to another—I’m a Yankee from common stock. I work for a living.”

  “Yes, but you don’t need to. And my sister is categorically incapable of acting like a proper lady.” Chris stood and took both their cups to the sideboard and refilled them. When he returned to his seat, he said, “See here, Will. Let me tell you a story. My father is a fine man, but he’s an old fool. He took our family tragedy hard and let Nora raise herself. He indulged her every whim and fancy, and all her fancies were boyish things. She wanted to crawl around in the muck and catch frogs and climb trees. Her governess tried to teach her to garden, but she was only interested in digging holes. When she got a bit older, she wanted to shoot and ride. Then she wanted to read and know everything, and she pestered everyone she met, asking the most ridiculous questions. Father indulged it all. He encouraged it. He dealt with the loss of my mother and brothers by giving my sister everything she wanted.

  “I was nearly grown when our family was gutted, but he spooled out a long tether for me, as well. I couldn’t wait to be free of that house, where ghosts followed my father around everywhere he went. I did all my playing abroad, and I played hard. But I also fought a war. I saw what was happening at home, but I did nothing to change it. Nora was happy. And she was delightful. I couldn’t see taking that away from her, especially after I came home from South Africa. Happiness is fleeting, Will. You don’t brush it away when it perches on your hand.

  “Then, Father woke up one day and saw what his surviving children had become, and he tried to take those ten years back. He’s been trying ever since. I had it easy—no one censures a young lord for carousing. I’ll find my bride when I’m ready, and we’ll give him his heirs, and all will be well. But Nora—she woke up on the same day and was wrestled into a corset. She hasn’t taken a full breath since. But it was too late. She’ll never be what he wants her to be.”

  William’s head throbbed too loudly to sort out the sense of that monologue. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that, if you care about my sweet sister enough to marry her, I trust you to take care of her. I know she cares about you—I saw how hurt she was at the theatre last month, when we came upon you and your breathtaking companion. I’ve never thought a marriage would make her happy. But here you are, full to bursting with chivalry and heroism and honor, and even in accord with her idealism about the world. She looks at you like she can’t believe you’re not a dream. If you want her, and if I’m right that she wants you, you have my blessing—more importantly, you’ll have my help.”

  “But I have no title. And I live in California.”

  “There’s no chance Nora will marry a lord. I’ve heard of the kinds of things they say about her. They say the poor sod who takes her better breed her quickly before her looks go and she’s nothing more than a shrew to lock away in the country. They say they’ll bind and gag her so she won’t try to harangue them in bed. They call her Kate. That last, they’ve even said to my face. Do you understand the ‘jest’?”

  Anger thumped at the base of his skull, making a staccato rhythm with the sore throb in his brain. “Shakespeare. The Taming of the Shrew.”

  “Precisely. Do you think I want my beautiful sister bound eternally to any one of those fools? At any cost, I’ll not let it happen, no matter what my father says or wants. In England, her only hope is to marry a respected commoner at home. So the fact of your common birth isn’t a hindrance. Your wealth is a far greater boon.”

  “And the six thousand miles between my home and hers?”

  “Not ideal, I’ll warrant. But you’re a great railroad man, and steamer ships cross the Atlantic in a week. You’ll bring her home. Often.”

  “Chris, your father—”

  “Will absolutely refuse. Of course he will, were you to ask straightaway. But I have a plan to bring him round, and if it works, it will also hold your father off from calling you home too soon. You know that the family home is in Kent, yes?”

  William nodded.

  “You’ve seen a map of England, I assume? You know where Kent is?”

  He’d been studying maps until his eyes crossed. “Just southeast of London.”

  “And all the way to the coast. Our house is called Tarrindale Hall. Will, my friend, Tarrindale is a seaside village. On a clear day, from the top of the cliffs, you can see France. Across the Channel.”

  Even William’s fogged mind understood Chris’s intimation. “I thought you didn’t agree that a tunnel will work.”

  “Oh, I don’t. It’s folly, and it will never happen. Ever. Certainly not with a Yank at the helm. But think of the time you could spend in Tarrindale whilst you come to that inevitable conclusion. Time to court Nora, and my father as well.”

  He didn’t want to give his father false expectations about the project, which seemed, by all indications, a bust. But it was true that he wouldn’t have exhausted the possibilities until he’d researched the site itself completely. Besides, he still believed his idea was a good one, no matter what his friend thought. “And you’re sure?”

  “It comes to this. Do you think you could make her happy, truly happy, and let her live as she wants? Do you think you could love Nora for who she is?”

  William finished his second cup of coffee before he answered. He felt much better than he had when he’d stumbled down the stairs—much better than he had in weeks, in fact, throbbing headache and sore temple notwithstanding.

  He felt for Lady Nora things he hadn’t felt before, but until this precise moment, he’d never entertained the possibility that he might have her to call his own, not even when she’d directly asked about his interest. He’d allowed his fascination to vex him, but he’d believed without doubt that it was pure fantasy. There’d been some safety in that—without any chance of success, he hadn’t had to consider the practicalities. Now, before he answered, he faced them. They hardly knew each other. She was much younger than he. Their differences might overbalance their affinities.

  He thought he might love her already, but that was a flight of fancy, was it not? In the bright light of opportunity, he could see his feeling as infatuation—for what else could it really be?

  Yet what Chris was offering was time to explore that attraction, that infatuation, and discover how deep it ran. He offered the chance to court her—something William had never done with any woman. He could woo her.

  He set his cup aside and grinned at his friend. “Yes, I do.”

  Chris’s answering grin brightened the whole room. “Then I look forward to calling you brother.”

  SEVEN

  In London, Nora had pined for the freedom of home. Now finally home, that freedom continued to elude her. Her father’s indulgence had ended. He expected her to comport herself in Tarrindale Hall as she had in London: as a proper lady. Most of the changes had happened before London, had been creeping in for a year or two, but the time away, and the homesickness she’d felt, had made her forget that and remember most keenly her years of happiness at home—a happiness she could only now reclaim in scraps.

  Gone were their breakfasts sharing the news. Instead, when they spoke at all, they discussed Tarrindale. Her father told her of his plans for the day and questioned her about her own, ensuring that each question directed her toward an appropriate activity for her day: ‘Mrs. Pevensey had her fifth, I hear. Another boy. You’ll be bringing our good wishes to her today, I expect?’ or ‘Mr. Evans was round yesterday, asking about the Orchard Festival. The committee meets this afternoon. Shall I tell Timothy to have the car ready, or would you prefer to ride with Dan?’ Or worst of all, ‘I ran
into Sir Jeremy. His daughter is lovely, isn’t she? When shall we invite the Lacesmiths to dine?’

  Gone were the afternoons spent reading together in his library. Now, her father kept the door to the library and to his office locked. Gone were her rides alone through the family woods or along the shore. Now when she went to the stables, the grooms wouldn’t even saddle her horse unless she agreed that one of them would accompany her. Gone was her favourite saddle—its place on the wall was empty. Only her side saddle remained for her use. Gone were her quiver and bow.

  Gone, indeed, was Nora herself.

  There was nothing left to her but needlework, dinner planning, and charity. Her father was determined that she be trapped in a cage of his choosing.

  Still befuddled by the careening emotional seas she’d sailed in her few weeks at Aunt Martha’s, Nora had taken the shock of her home’s change like a single blow among a hundred. She hadn’t fought him. Her aunt wanted her to submit. Her father wanted her to submit. Their reasons were different, but together they had constrained her world so there was no choice but to give them what they wanted.

  So when her father asked after the new mother in town, or an upcoming event that needed planning, or a dinner to host, Nora said, ‘Yes, Father,’ and did what he wanted.

  Until he left Tarrindale Hall.

  As had been his habit since long before her birth, once each week, her father left home, and Tarrindale altogether, to meet with neighbouring lords. What those men did for that day each week, Nora didn’t know nor care. He left after breakfast and didn’t return home until just before dinner—and if the weather was poor, he might even miss dinner or stay out for the night.

  When she’d been younger, she’d disliked those days and spent them lonely for him. Now that her activities had been so sharply curtailed, her father’s absences were the best time of each week, and she could hardly mask her eagerness for his departure.

  As soon as he left, and his car could no longer be heard along the road, she’d hurry up to her room and change into breeches and boots—Kate was her reluctant and anxious accomplice—and then run to the stables. She’d caught Dan, the groom most often assigned to her, in a stall in compromising circumstances with a village girl, and she’d had no moral quibble about extorting him to her aid. He’d saddle her horse with one of the guest saddles, and, with a solemn vow not to leave the Tarrindale Hall grounds, she’d ride.

  They were all she had, these rides. Galloping astride across the grounds, through the woods, on her own, the wind in her face, her hair flying loose from its pins, she could feel free. For the only time left in her life, she felt free. It was mere fantasy and meant no change in her circumstances, but it was, at least, a respite. When the weather kept her trapped indoors, she spent the day in her bleakest temper. But when the day was fair, Nora breathed deep and thought she could survive a life in any cage.

  In early October, just more than a month since she’d returned from London, Nora woke before Kate was in to rouse her. A golden glow peeked through her closed draperies, and she jumped from bed like a child on Christmas morning and tore the drapes open. Autumn morning sun beamed across the grounds and turned the dew-kissed leaves to gemstones. Topaz. Garnet. Tourmaline.

  It was her freedom day.

  She turned at the knock on her door. “Come in, Kate! I’m already awake!”

  Her fretful maid came in with her tray of tea and toast. Nora preferred the gloomy days that Lord Tarrin was away, even if Kate was glum and silent. She feared her father’s ire should he discover his daughter’s waywardness. But Nora would never let Kate, or Dan, or any of the staff be hurt by her actions. They need take no blame.

  She plopped before her dressing table and let Kate prepare her for breakfast.

  Her father was reading the day’s first post at the breakfast table.

  “Good morning, Father.” Nora kissed his cheek and went to the buffet to arrange her plate. Porridge. Ugh. She passed that dish by and selected a piece of toast and a few sausages, then poured her tea.

  When she sat, her father stared at her over his reading glasses as if he’d not seen her clearly for some time. Nora felt a frisson of guilty self-consciousness. Could he foresee the way she meant to spend his day away?

  “Father?”

  “You don’t call me ‘Papa’ any longer.”

  No, she didn’t. Papa was the man who’d shared the news with her and allowed her to fly. “It’s a name for a child to use, is it not?”

  He considered her for a moment longer before he answered. “Hm. I suppose it is.”

  He went back to his letters, and she picked at her toast. Often, he was distracted on the days he left the Hall, and they took their breakfast in silent company.

  “There’s news,” he said after a few moments. When he had Nora’s attention, he waved the letter in his hand. “Your brother writes that he’ll be home for dinner this evening and plans to stay in the country with us, perhaps through the holidays.”

  “Really!” Christopher preferred the bustle of London and normally could scarcely manage a fortnight in Tarrindale before he announced that he’d go mad from boredom.

  “Indeed. I wonder what draws him home. A lady, perhaps? Did you notice his attention fall in any particular direction in London?”

  Nora shook her head. Her brother’s attention had cast a very wide net. As usual. “No. I don’t think I saw him dance twice in a night with a girl, much less pay court to one.”

  “Well, perhaps he’s ready to learn the workings of the manor. Whatever his reason, it will be a pleasure to have him with us for so long.”

  Nora agreed. Christopher didn’t entirely understand her, but he was unfailingly on her side.

  “I do wish he’d given us more notice. I’ll have to have his room opened, and inform Gaines and Mrs. Dellen. The staff will be working doubly hard today. Perhaps I should beg off my meeting.”

  “No!” Her father’s eyebrows lifted above his spectacles at her emphatic tone, and Nora cleared her throat and continued more calmly. “That’s woman’s work, Father. I’ll see to it. I intend to go over the week’s meals with Mrs. Dellen anyway, and I can certainly speak to Gaines about making ready for Christopher. It’s not so much extra work. You should keep your plans.”

  If they had telephone here in Tarrindale Hall, Christopher could have called rather than write, and they’d have had word a day or two ago. But her father was suspicious of these inventions, especially in their ancestral home. He hadn’t yet allowed electricity in Tarrindale Hall, either. Christopher had arranged for the improvements to the London house, without their father’s approval.

  She’d pleased her father with her answer, and he gave her a soft, paternal look. “Very well. But I’ll return in time to welcome him home. Thank you, my love.”

  Her freedom would be foreshortened, but she’d preserved a few hours. She gave him the smile back that he expected.

  It took no time at all to put Gaines on seeing to it that Christopher’s room was opened. Mrs. Dellen fussed about her unexpected extra shop, but she did so with a smile; she loved Christopher best. Then, only an hour after her father’s departure, and with at least four or five hours of her own ahead, she dragged Kate upstairs to free her from the bindings of her proper attire, and she dressed herself in her illicit, masculine riding outfit. The bright day had a chill wind spinning through it, so she wore a groom’s coat over her blouse.

  Her horse, a strong gelding hunter, black with a white star between his eyes, had been a gift from her father on her fourteenth birthday. He thus had the imaginative name of Midnight Star, and Nora called him Middy. He was gentle as a lamb and loved a good snuggle, but once he was under saddle—any kind of saddle—he wanted to run and jump and play as much as Nora did. He walked from the stable with his knees up high. The sound of a huntsman’s horn made his ears prick up so high they shook. Together, they jumped fences and streams, they sped through fields, they weaved through trees, as fast as they could go
. In nearly five years together, he’d never thrown her, and she’d never fallen. They rode as one, and for those few hours, they could fly.

  Christopher was coming home today, and with him, she could ride the way she wanted every day, albeit sidesaddle, so Nora didn’t feel the same desperation to squeeze every second from this ride. Normally, they rode until Middy was lathered and then rested together in the woods for an hour before they rode just as hard back to the stable. Today, when Nora felt her first deep, relaxed breath fill her lungs, she pulled Middy up to a trot, and they meandered through the woods in a wide arc, eventually heading back. When they were clear of the woods again, she urged him back to a full run, and they flew.

  As she came in sight of the stable, she saw someone walking from the direction of the house, apparently heading to the stable as well. From her distance, she could only see enough detail in the dark form to know it was a man. Christopher must have taken the early train; he was home in time for luncheon. Mrs. Dellen would come over faint for her lack of readiness. Keeping their pace, she turned Middy toward her brother and charged straight at him with a grin.

  So sure was she that it was Christopher, she didn’t really focus on the details emerging until the man pulled up short as she barreled toward him. It wasn’t Christopher. William Frazier stood on the lawn at Tarrindale Hall, changing his course to move out of her way.

  She pulled up Middy as sharply as he could. The horse fussed at the pressure of his bit but stopped with an aggravated snort.

  “Mr. Frazier?” she gasped before she’d collected enough air into her lungs to speak smoothly.

  “Lady Nora. I—” His eyes were fixed on her leg, and for the first time, she felt shame to be seen attired like a ruffian. He looked up at her face. “Hello. I’m sorry to startle you.”

  “I’m sorry to have startled you. I meant to be playful, charging at you like that. I thought you were my brother.”