"No, I don't." Elinor refused to look at him, certain the lie would send her into a fit of giggles.
"Yes, you do. You are a woman. This charm is a boon and a curse."
"Oh do hush up and dance."
Guy’s image faded slightly as he employed the same energy force he had when she hung the pictures. Although she couldn't actually lean on him, he lessened the weight on her arms. They continued dancing as the next song played. The Lou Rawls’s hit from a few years earlier, You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine began as Guy moved closer. Her one hand covered by his, the other at the back of his neck. The intimacy of the dance brought a beguiling smile from Guy, who was obviously in his element.
Her gaze locked onto Basil's, watching them with fierce intensity. Elinor smiled and waved her fingers, but he just sat fixed, staring. When Guy spun her a second time, Basil stood and headed for the back door.
At the end of the song she offered to teach Guy The Hustle. They were rooting through the stack of albums when a fearsome cry sounded from off in the distance.
"What was that?"
Elinor rushed for the kitchen door, but Guy intercepted her. He held his arm out, as though to bar her path.
"What are you doing? Someone might need help."
"It’s Basil's war cry," Guy said in a somber voice. “Come, your presence won't help. There is no help for what troubles him."
She hesitated, and then walked back to the stack of albums, Guy beside her.
"You're not going to tell me what's wrong, are you?"
"If he chooses, he will tell you."
Chapter Fourteen
The knights left early that morning to go riding. Elinor planned to use the time alone to clean house. She brought her motivational tape downstairs to listen to while she worked when the doorbell rang.
“Yes,” she said, puzzled seeing the van in her driveway when she opened the door. She wasn’t expecting any deliveries.
“Are you Miss Hawthorne?” A teenage boy with grimy blue jeans, a yellowing tee shirt and an equally dirty jacket stood on her step. A flower box from the village florist and clipboard with pen attached were jammed under his arm. The disgusting jacket provided a buffer between the box and his armpit, for which she was grateful.
"Yes, I'm Elinor Hawthorne."
He pushed the clipboard at her. "Sign here."
She'd barely finished when the boy snatched the board and shoved the box in her hands.
"Wait, who are these from?" If he answered she didn't hear him. The lad leaped into a van and pulled away, the wheels throwing stones up in all directions. “Rude Bugger.”
Elinor opened the box in the kitchen. A dozen roses of the softest peach color lay inside with a card, her name printed in the block letters. "The roses made me think of you." She recognized Jeremy's handwriting, the same bold lettering he used when he labeled her meat wrapper.
She removed the flowers one by one, laying them in a quasi arrangement on the kitchen counter.
"What's this thing?" Basil asked, returned from his ride.
"It's a Walkman,” she said and took a vase out of the cupboard and set it on the counter. “You clip it to your waist, put the headset on and it plays a taped recording."
Elinor popped the cassette out for him to see and then put it back. She turned the volume up and held out the earpiece so he could hear.
Learn to Stop Smoking. Basil scrunched his face up. "What kind of music is that?"
"It isn't music. It's a motivational tape."
"How does this motivate you?" Basil asked, with more than a little skepticism, fingering the Walkman.
"You listen to it while you sleep, at least I do, and the message plants the idea of not smoking into your subconscious."
"Is this the same subconscious you told Guy about in the bookstore, the one that suffers tupping troubles? If so, I don't think I'd care to possess one."
"We all have one that's unique to us as individuals. Even you have a subconscious, although I doubt you've tapped into it very often." Elinor waited for Basil to fire off a snide retort.
He pointedly glanced at the pack of cigarettes on her table and back at the tape. "Tell me again how this works?"
"Okay, I don't listen to it as often as I should," Elinor said with an exasperated sigh. "When we're awake our conscious mind comes up with all sorts of road blocks to hinder us from doing what we'd really like to do. For example, deep down I want to quit smoking. My conscious mind, however, will find a reason to light a cigarette, like ‘you've had a terrible day at work, Elinor. A cigarette will help you to relax.’ So, I light a cigarette. The tape, if-I-played-it-enough, would eventually enable my subconscious to override the interference of my conscious mind."
Basil snorted. "Perhaps you should just stop purchasing cigarettes."
"That's such an irritating and simplistic answer." Annoyed by his straight forward logic, she turned back to the box of roses.
"What are you doing with those?" Basil peered over her shoulder.
She removed the remaining flowers with care, giving each a gentle shake to loosen the stems from the greenery. "They're a gift. Aren't they pretty? Pale pink and peach are my favorite colors for roses."
The open card sat on the counter. Basil picked it up and his curious expression changed into a scowl. "Who's Jeremy?"
"The fellow I have a date with this evening. Why?"
"Who is this man? What do you mean when you say you have a date with him?" He tossed the card down and leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest.
She was well acquainted with Basil's moods. The angrier he got, the smoother his facial features became, except for his mouth. Right now, his lips had tightened into two slashes. On occasion, when he was being especially belligerent, he'd stand, feet braced wide apart, like an executioner on the scaffold.
Elinor tried to figure the best way to explain what a date entailed. "A date is kind of the prelude to a courtship. People go out together to see how well they get along. Usually, they go to a restaurant, get to know one another. Sometimes they go to a movie or dancing," she said and returned to her flowers.
"I've never heard you mention this Jeremy. Have you known him long?"
"I met him the day we went into the village. He's the butcher."
"What!"
Startled, she jumped and stared at him.
"He's a...a tradesman. A tradesman you don't know well. For all you know he could be the worst sort of blackguard."
"How dare you look down your nose at his profession?” she asked, shocked by his class-conscious attitude. “There's nothing wrong with being a butcher. Nor, do I care for your tone. Pray tell, were you never attracted to the daughter of a tradesman?" she challenged.
Basil glared down at her, his expression rigid with suppressed fury. He was a hair’s breath away from assuming his executioner’s pose.
"Do not try and muddy the waters, Elinor. We are not talking about me. We're talking about you. But, since you seem keen to pursue my past, I'll tell you. If I'd been attracted to a tradesman's daughter, and if I'd pursued that attraction, it would only have been a minor dalliance. Under no, and I repeat no, circumstances would I have considered it a 'prelude' to courtship. It wouldn't, and couldn't, be more than a dalliance. As Earl of Ashenwyck, my future was preordained. That future did not include courting milk maids or blacksmith's daughters." He stepped closer, trying to intimidate her.
Elinor had no intention of budging.
Basil took a small step back, "Let me ask you a question." An odd calmness laced his voice.
Apprehensive, she agreed. "Okay."
"You're a well educated woman, as are your parents, I assume.” She nodded and he continued. “As such, I imagine they have certain expectations for you, comparable to the standard you’ve set for yourself. Is that not so?"
“Yes.”
"Suppose the cleaning person, the man who empties the dustbins and sweeps up at your school, a pleasant sort of fellow, as
ked you on a date, as you call it. Would you go?" He held his hand up, "Think before you answer. Be honest with yourself. Would you accept, or would you politely refuse and offer some kind of lie as to why not?"
Elinor stayed silent. They both knew the answer.
Basil's attitude softened and his manner became more conciliatory. "Will you admit to yourself he's not in the same social class? Can you admit you would turn him down for that reason?"
His observation was painfully accurate. "I'd find an excuse not to go." Ashamed, she refused to meet his gaze.
Her chin tickled as Basil held his hand under it until she lifted her eyes. He pressed his advantage, "Would you agree it doesn't matter how pleasant or attractive someone is? It's futile to pursue a courtship if there's little common ground?"
"Yes."
"Elinor, I believe your sympathies in this matter are well intended, but naïve. Since time began, every society has had its own class structure. There will always be slaves and chieftains, serfs and kings."
He cupped his hand along her tingling cheek. "Take heed, milady, that you don't paint yourself into a corner with the same brush you'd paint me."
She couldn't let him finish it this way, because times had changed and so had the class structure. "I understand your point of view, Basil. Truly I do. However, please understand our society has become more egalitarian. There's no taint now in being a tradesman."
His expression remained skeptical.
Curious, Elinor didn’t want to let the topic go. "What about love? Some people who fall in love have learned to overcome their differences. Or don't you believe in love?"
"I believe love is something that helps bards and poets put coin in their pockets."
"That's the most cynical thing I've ever heard."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, your opinion of love is horrible. I'm stunned you believe such a thing." Elinor leaned back against the counter and like him, she folded her arms. His attitude shocked her. "Haven't you ever wanted to be in love or be loved?"
"I never gave it much thought, but since you require an answer, no."
“What an intriguing revelation,” she said. "Did your father and mother love each other?"
"I don't know,” he said, pausing briefly, as though remembering and clearly having to think about the answer. "Perhaps, when I was young, they might've been in love. As a small boy I often heard talk and laughter coming from her chamber. One night while Grevill was still an infant, I heard my father shouting at my mother about him, about his deformity. She was weeping. I'd never heard him speak harshly to her before. After that, he stopped visiting my mother's solar."
"Your father blamed her for Grevill's handicapped arm, didn't he? How awful for your poor mother." As a history teacher she realized the cultural differences between those days and now. Still, she couldn’t stomach his father's behavior. She suppressed the urge to rage at Basil for it. With trepidation she asked, "How did your father treat Grevill?"
"Grevill received almost the same education as I. I told you how hard he trained. No one abused or ignored him. Of course, as the future Earl, my training had to be more extensive. My father made certain I understood my duty and what was required of me. My brother was not mistreated."
From his tone, she’d insulted him. "I apologize; I don't mean to cast aspersions against your family. But, I despise your father’s attitude. It was cruel and wrong to blame your mother."
The apology worked, and some of the tension left his face. "My father was a man of his time."
Guy passed through the door and into the kitchen. "Lovely flowers. Are they from the neighbor's garden?" He brought a rose from the arrangement to his nose.
"They're from Jeremy, the village butcher," Basil said with a sneer before she could answer.
Guy laid the rose down with a quizzical look at Elinor, "Why would a tradesman give you flowers?"
Elinor put it with the rest of the bouquet and picked the vase up. "I'm not discussing the matter any further with you or anyone else." She aimed a piercing stare at Basil as she left.
They followed her into the drawing room.
“You’re not leaving those there are you?” Basil demanded when she centered the vase on the coffee table.
"Yes. Is there some reason why I shouldn't? Other than they weren't sent by a prince or a duke or some other toffee-nosed fellow?"
"They'd look better somewhere else. Maybe the library."
Guy frowned at Basil like he’d lost his mind.
"Don't be an idiot. The flowers are beautiful. They should be seen and appreciated," Elinor told him.
Basil spun and stormed out of the room.
Chapter Fifteen
After Elinor left that evening, the knights rode to the castle ruins. Neither spoke until they reached the parapet.
Guy propped himself against the wall and stretched his long legs out in front of him. The night breeze blew leaves over the stones and across where he lay.
Basil stood, elbows on a crenel and where he had a view of Elinor's house bathed in the moonlight.
Guy tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Do you want to talk about that scene you made over the butcher's flowers?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't be evasive. It ill suits you. You're jealous, although, I cannot fathom why you'd be so upset over a silly gift from some tradesman."
"That is ridiculous. I have never been jealous in my life."
"If you were cut right now you'd bleed green. It certainly wasn't your aesthetic sense that was offended by her display of roses. Admit it, you're smitten with her." Guy cracked one eye open and peered at Basil.
“You’re trying to irritate me.”
True, he was fond of Elinor, too fond. He enjoyed being with her more than he cared to say, even to Guy. However, jealousy was too preposterous to entertain seriously.
"I will grant I like her very much, but so do you, do you not?" Basil said.
Guy shifted so they faced each other. "Yes, I like her, enough to wish I'd met her a long, long time ago." The unexpected confession got Basil's attention. "Elinor has none of the brittleness I've known in many women. She's a warm, witty, comely lady. She's also flesh and blood."
Uncomfortable under his friend's scrutiny, Basil turned away and focused on the house again. "Is there a point to this discussion?"
"She's a flesh and blood woman with visions for her future." Guy rose and joined Basil. "You are but a vision of a past flesh and blood man." He laid his hand on Basil's shoulder, "Make sure it's enough for her my friend." Guy walked away, leaving Basil alone with his thoughts.
Chapter Sixteen
Elinor said goodnight to Jeremy and came into the house. The vase of flowers was gone. What had Basil done with them? About to ask, the primary suspect's sour expression made her hesitate.
"What's wrong? You look like you found something distasteful on your boot."
"I find it distasteful you spend your days influencing young girls and your evenings playing the part of a tavern wench." His eyes bore fiercely into her as he made the snide observation.
"What are you talking about?" She was more than a little taken aback by the harsh accusation.
"That disgusting display on the doorstep."
Elinor set her purse on the coffee table and sat at the other end of the sofa from Basil. "Are you talking about the good night kiss I gave Jeremy? It was just a kiss."
"Well, it wasn't just a kiss now was it," he said with exaggerated innuendo.
"Yes-it-was-just a kiss," she stressed.
"His hands were all over your bodice, fondling your breasts and if I may be so bold, fondling them rather badly. In my time, I wouldn't have let a buffoon like that work in my stable. I wouldn't allow him to touch my horses, let alone a woman. He should be flogged for considering himself talented enough to touch a lady. He squeezed your breast like he was judging fruit at a fair. And you, milady, should be beaten for behaving in such a
disgraceful manner."
Elinor fumed. How dare he put her on the defensive? She hadn't done anything wrong.
“First,” she snapped, ticking off her points finger by finger, “why were you spying on us? Second, it wasn't as though I let him put his hand under my blouse and actually fondle me. I agree, he lacks finesse, but I don't see how it's your concern. Third, how dare you refer to me as a tavern wench? As I recall, ‘in your time’ there was quite a bit of sneaking off to not so private corners for quickies against the castle wall. A tad more disgraceful than fondling I'd say."
Basil shifted so they were face to face. "I admit, in my time, I did partake of certain stolen moments in the shadows of a castle or two. Unlike the butcher--"
"Stolen moments! Talk about a euphemism, how can you say that with a straight face, why--"
"May I finish?"
Elinor swallowed her next statement and nodded.
"Unlike the butcher, I was a charming and skilled lover. I flattered and delighted the ladies before taking my ease. I did not flounder about."
"Bully for you,” she said with more heat as her anger increased. He was acting like a toad and she had no intention of letting him get away with it. “You make it sound as though you did them a huge favor by taking your ease in whatever spot you found vacant."
"In truth, women found me quite desirable, and they frequently sought me out." Basil ignored her muttered “Oh, brother,” but she knew he heard.
"I never wanted for female companionship. My touch was invited. Was the butcher's touch invited?" he asked and canted his head, so arrogant and accusatory.
The urge to choke Basil, or at least throw something heavy at him, grew with each pointed question. She hadn't invited Jeremy's touch. She didn't stop it either.
She stammered, trying to avoid a direct answer. "No. Yes. Not really, but it's none of your business anyway. I don't have to answer to you. I'm a grown woman in case you hadn't noticed. And, don't change the subject. I believe you were rattling on about what a stud you were. So, let me ask you, didn't that inflated opinion you have of yourself get in the way of consummating the act?"
Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) Page 7
