by Edith Layton
She wore a blue gown with a fine frilly white lace apron over it that she couldn’t possibly use for anything but decoration, so Jared had known even from afar that she was a lady.
“I am the earl of Alveston,” he said desperately. “I am, I am. They stole me away from my home.”
She turned away from him as people do in the worst dreams.
“Your pardon, mistress, for his disturbing you,” his master said, huffing with the effort of running as he came to a halt in front of the fine couple, digging his fingers into Jared’s shoulders to hold him still. “He’s my new bond-boy. Right off the boat, so to speak, and I paid a pretty penny for him, too. But I’ll sell his papers in a minute. I ain’t got a good day’s work from him yet. You want him, you’ve got him. Still, none say I ain’t an honest man, so I’d have to tell you to have a care. The lad’s unhinged—’tis sad, but true.”
“Such a handsome lad,” she said, and turned to the fine gentleman at her side, “and how well he speaks! Can’t we just take him, Lawrence? I’m sure we can find something for him to do at home.”
The gentleman looked down at her from his vast height. He was so tall, it was hard to see his expression, but his voice was warm and kind. Jared held his breath; his hope was too big to hold in any other way.
“Your tender heart does you credit, my dear,” the kind man said, “but the boy is obviously either a liar or quite mad. And neither will do. Besides—are you forgetting? We had plans for our own little lads before long, didn’t we?”
She laughed and turned her face up to the man, forgetting the boy. And then she turned farther and farther away, vanishing from his sight.
His master pulled him. “Varmint!” he growled. “Run off, will you? Leave my side and go flyin’ down the street, will you?” As the man boxed his ears, it hurt so much that Jared turned his head from side to side on his pillow. “Do that again and I’ll break your head—runnin’ through the town like a madman, bawlin’, and pleadin’ with a stranger. Makin’ me look bad! Rot you. No dinner for you, no supper for you, no food for you, no water for you…”
*
The hunger ruptured his dream. He found himself sitting straight up in bed, staring into the empty dawn, still hungry—in more ways than one, knowing he could never really be full again.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jared said as he strolled in to breakfast. “I overslept.”
Della looked up, but it was Fiona who cried out, “I was so afraid you’d forgotten our ride, Jared! There are so many things I’ve yet to show you here!”
Justin said nothing, and Della looked down at her plate so it wouldn’t look like she was waiting for an invitation to come along. But she was, and she sat very still, waiting.
After a while, when it was clear Jared had other things on his mind than invitations, she simply watched him. He was weary, she thought. His fine eyes were bleak and there was a tightness at the corners of his mouth. He sipped coffee and dawdled over toast, holding a piece in his graceful fingers longer than necessary as he carefully spread it with preserves. The Jared she knew could eat as much as a plowman. England’s sun wasn’t as warm as Virginia’s, and he’d just been in London, so his deep tan was fading. But that didn’t explain his loss of appetite. He listened to Fiona’s plans for the day and smiled at her and nodded at her father’s suggestions as well, but his mind seemed far away. That might be why he hadn’t yet turned to her and asked her to go along with them, Della thought, as the lump in her throat got bigger and bigger.
“Have you seen the old mill?” Justin asked her.
She’d forgotten he was there, he was so quiet this morning. Her shoulders jumped at the sound of his voice and she looked at him guiltily, because she’d realized lately that he could read her thoughts where his brother was concerned. She was so startled by his question she could only shake her head no.
“It’s a very old mill indeed,” he said. “There’s a wonderful story about it. In fact, we think it’s the one behind that sad old folk tune about the wicked miller and the three sisters. But it’s a beautiful spot. Jared and I used to sneak off there when we were young. I say, Jared,” he called, to get his brother’s attention, “Della hasn’t seen the old mill yet. Shall we take her there today? There’s no saying how long the good weather will hold.”
“Oh, but that’s impossible. He promised he’d visit the Larkins with me,” Fiona chirped, “and that’s in the other direction. We’re off to visit them, and then the Bakers and the Hardys—they have a new babe, you know. Does that make it seven? No matter, they’re very proud. There’s no sense slighting any of your tenants, my lord,” she chided Jared, “and if one finds you’ve come to call on another and then didn’t visit them, too, it could be an uncomfortable situation.”
“No sense getting off on the wrong foot with tenants,” Fiona’s father said, agreeing.
“Are you sure you still want to go?” Jared asked Fiona. “The old mill sounds more exciting.”
“Excitement shouldn’t replace duty,” she said reproachfully. “You promised to go, and they expect us.”
“Yes, a promise is a promise,” Jared said quietly, but he looked at his brother when he spoke.
“So it is,” Justin said calmly. He turned to Della. “As they are already committed, would you care to go with me?”
Della looked at Jared. He didn’t say anything, just stirred his coffee. He didn’t ask her to come along with him to see the grounds and tenants. But why should he? she thought. They were part of his new life; she was a part of his old one. He obviously thought the time had come to separate the two. Wasn’t that what she was here to see? Wasn’t she seeing it, just as she’d expected? Then why did it hurt so much? It was hard for her to answer without crying. But she even managed to smile with what she hoped looked like delight. “Why, I’d love to,” she said.
“Wonderful!” Fiona said merrily. “See how well it all works out?”
*
Della found it as beautiful as Justin said it would be—the weatherworn mill, the tranquil pond, and the rushing spillway that used to help turn the vanes and grind the grain. Now the spillway was slowed, and the old wheel spun slow and lazy in the autumn light, grinding up nothing but rainbows, spinning as slowly as the sun that traveled across the afternoon sky above them.
“They diverted the stream; it’s better for an artist than a miller now,” Justin explained after he helped her down from the gig. “I always thought this place was symbolic of the family fortunes. We don’t need the money from the grain now. As the years went on, we Alvestons found more money in foreign investments than domestic ones. This is a symbol of that, I suppose. But we always had a healthy love of money.”
“She’s not that rich, is she?” Della asked, and then grew red at the surprised look on Justin’s face. He couldn’t have been more startled than she was when she realized she’d spoken aloud what she couldn’t stop thinking about.
He threw back his head and laughed. That was good to hear, because he’d been so strangely quiet on the ride here she’d thought that maybe he had something terrible to tell her. But now his laughter paid for her embarrassment, and she thought it was a fair trade.
“No, she’s not that rich,” he said, sobering. “Fiona does bring money to the family, but I don’t think it’s the money in Jared’s case. He may be one of the first earls of Alveston rich enough not to care. I, on the other hand, was dutiful enough not to even think about it.”
“And you don’t care now?” she asked incredulously, as she wouldn’t have dared an hour before.
“I do care,” he said solemnly, “but it doesn’t matter anymore. You see, Fiona and I, we’ve come to an understanding—this morning, in fact. We are no longer promised to one another. It’s over. She’s free, Della. Doubtless, she’s telling him about it now, just as I’m telling you. Ah, don’t,” he said, “don’t.”
Though she waved him off frantically, he moved to her to fold her in his arms as she tried to stop crying.
“
Hush,” he said into her curls, bending his head so she could hear his low murmurs of comfort.
“I’m trying to, but you’re making it worse by being so n-nice,” she wailed, and even though he grieved for her, he couldn’t help smiling against her hair. When she got her tears under control, she gave him a gentle push, and he released her immediately. She took his handkerchief and tucked her own sodden one away. “I won’t get this one wet,” she said gruffly, and took a deep shuddering breath to ensure it. She finally raised her face to his and was immediately sorry, because his sympathy almost undid her.
He waited for her to speak, because he didn’t want to set her off again. Her beautiful eyes were red and her face was stained by tears, but that couldn’t make him forget that as he’d held her, he’d seen her dark curls capture blue-black whorls in the sunlight, and that she’d smelled of fresh spring flowers. She’d been light-boned and curved and warm in his arms. He’d been acutely aware of what a small and dainty feminine package it was that held such a lot of personality and courage.
“Well,” she said with a sniffle, “fine fool I am. You knew what was going on with me, but I just spelled it out for you in big letters, didn’t I?”
“Does it matter?” he asked. “If it makes you feel any better, was my problem any secret to you?”
“No, but you two were engaged, after all.”
“That doesn’t matter—in fact, that makes it even stranger,” he said with a wry smile. “Considering our positions, our parents, and our heritage, it was unusual for me to care—for either of us to care, for that matter. You see, there’s too much at stake for people like us to make our own choices in marriage. Vast properties and choice real estate’s involved, so our parents make the arrangements before we even know our own names. Such marriages are the rule here for people like us.”
Her face grew wistful. She was thinking about how nice it would have been if her father had extracted that kind of promise from Jared when she’d been a girl.
“No, it wouldn’t be any solution,” he said, and her eyes flew wide as she wondered if he’d been peeking into her mind. “Because infidelity is the rule in most of our marriages, too. We get to keep the property and glorify the name, but love is never part of the bargain. If it comes, it comes, and it’s considered lucky—but unusual. Sometimes it comes from simply making the best of the bargain. That wouldn’t be enough for you. I began to see it wouldn’t have been for me, either.”
“Well, we don’t have many of those kinds of marriages at home,” she said, considering the matter. “Names don’t mean as much, and we don’t have such vast holdings, either, I guess. Even if we do, there’s always room for someone to come along and get even more. So if a bond-boy can one day become as rich as the man he works for, there’s no sense promising your daughter to the rich man’s son, is there? We have lots of land and opportunities to get more from it; we have greater expectations altogether. No one knows what tomorrow will bring them.” But then she thought of what tomorrow would bring her, and she had to stop talking and concentrate on not crying again.
“You colonials have brought us a new world, and new ideas with it,” he said. “Come, let’s walk for a while.”
She took his arm and they followed the path that wound alongside the pond. He told her the old legend about the greedy miller and the jealous sisters, and then sang her the song in a clear tenor, and after a while she found herself listening to him and not her own sad thoughts.
He didn’t mention those thoughts until he’d helped her up to the high seat of the one-horse gig again. Then he spoke, seriously and directly.
“It’s early,” he said, and she looked at him in surprise, because it was getting late and the autumn afternoon was turning to shadows around them. “Early, for us, I mean,” he went on. “We’re both confused and hurting. But it’s never too early to know when you’ve found a friend, or even a friend you might want to be more someday. No, don’t get frightened—there’s nothing to fear, certainly not from me. I’m as turned-around as you are now. But I just wanted you to know—I just want to say…don’t go home yet, Della,” he said quickly. “Please. Not just yet. I know it hurts, and I know it’s hard. None know that better than I. But if you could, please stay awhile longer. For me.”
She looked everywhere but into his sad, intense gaze. His long, tanned hands held the reins tightly, and she saw that though his voice and face were only reminiscent of Jared’s, their hands were very alike: big, strong, and well cared for. Her father always said you could tell a lot about a man from his hands. She could see the tension that knotted his now, turning his knuckles white. Finally, she nodded.
“I’ll stay,” she said, adding honestly, “but for me.”
“Fair enough,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “So long as you stay.” Then he raised the reins and clucked to the horse to start it down the long, twisting road back to the hall.
*
“Free?” Jared asked, as he felt his heart stumble.
Fiona nodded, gleeful. Her topaz eyes shone with more than the bright autumn sunlight. “We talked it out this morning, before breakfast,” she confided, stealing a glance at the coachman driving their curricle. She lowered her voice so the man couldn’t hear above the racket the wheels were making as they clattered over pebbles in the road. It also gave her a chance to lean as close to Jared as her wide skirt would permit. Close enough to breathe her warm, violet pastille-scented breath in his ear, close enough for him to look down to see the shadowed valley between the fine, firm white breasts tilted toward him.
“Not a tear or a fight or a wrangle at all,” she said happily, her hand going to her white shoulder to adjust her gown and attract his eye there. “It was simple. We spoke about it and he released me, just like that. The engagement is over. I said it was fine, and then we went into breakfast. I’ll wager you didn’t even know, did you?” She chortled. “It’s just over. There’s nothing to publish, and nothing to do, because it was all in our fathers’ minds and on a bit of paper that only they know about, anyway. Daddy’s pleased, because he felt that since things have changed, the idea that I should marry Justin was really no longer valid, and not in anyone’s best interests anymore. He didn’t want to make an issue of it and was going to go along with whatever I decided. But I can tell he’s glad, and even more happy because it was done so agreeably. He always said Justin was a gentleman. Mother agrees, and so there it is: I’m free! What do you say to that?” she asked triumphantly.
“I hardly know what to say,” was all he could manage to tell her.
*
Jared found dinner unendurable, although, as host, he had to endure it. He smiled whenever Fiona seemed to have said something amusing, and nodded whenever anyone else appeared to be talking to him. That didn’t discourage Fiona. She chattered on, her parents beamed at him, Della and Justin ignored him, and he didn’t know where to look or what to say. Even talking to Fiona was difficult now, because since he’d found out she was free, it seemed his every word took on an extra meaning.
It was a relief when it got late enough for him to murmur some nonsense about all the fresh country air making him sleepy, so he could escape to his bed at an ungodly early hour. But he didn’t sleep. It wasn’t only because of the dark dreams he knew lay in wait for him. He was used to them, although they were coming more often now. In fact, it seemed that the farther he physically removed himself from his past, the closer it came in his dreams; now that he was back where he’d always dreamed of being, his sordid past occupied his every sleeping moment. He’d dreamed of the loss of his brother and his home when he’d been in the New World. Now that he was home and everything was restored to him, he couldn’t stop dreaming about the dignity and freedom he’d lost in the Colonies.
But it wasn’t the fear of dreams that kept him up tonight; tonight, his head buzzed like a beehive and he couldn’t even lie still. He finally rose from his tangled bed and prowled his room.
It was very late. The mo
on had risen and flown overhead, and now he saw moonshadow crawling across the floorboards toward dawn. He slept free of clothes and blankets. Both Americans and English would find that odd, but the English would think his sleeping with his shutters opened to the night was just plain madness. They pulled heavy hangings around their beds, pulled their covers up over their heads, and locked their windows as though afraid of what might come flying in. He needed his windows open, and devil take what might fly in. Tonight, he wished he could fly out of them.
He drew a robe over his naked body because the night was chilled with first frost. But his heart was colder still. Fiona had broken off with his brother. He knew why. He had caused his brother to lose the woman he was going to marry. He’d taken Justin’s house and title, and now knew the way was clear for him to take Justin’s promised wife, too—if he wanted her.
He didn’t want to think about that tonight.
What bothered him most now was the lack of sleep—or so he told himself. Still, in some part of his mind, he wondered if he was acting like a man he’d once seen watching his log house going up in smoke. The fellow had stood before his burning home, complaining because he wasn’t wearing slippers, refusing to see his life going up in flames around him because it was simpler to worry about his naked toes.
Jared left his room, padded down the long corridor, and hurried down the beautiful, curving stairs. He’d forgotten his slippers, too, he thought with amusement. His feet were chilled by the cool, bare floors, but he didn’t mind, because he began to think he didn’t deserve to be comfortable in this house anyway. He got to the front hall and thought that he wanted to go to the front door and keep going. But he turned and went to the library instead, pausing at the last minute with his hand on the door, wondering if he’d hear them laughing softly inside again.
Then as he stood listening to nothing but his own heart beating, he realized he didn’t have to feel this bad. After all, it looked like he minded more than his brother did. Justin had handed over the title and the estate, and was now handing over Fiona the same way. He wasn’t mourning, not that Jared could see, at least.
