Tristan urged the horse to a steady trot. Leona could feel a crisp wind lashing her face, and yet her cheeks were getting warmer. Her thoughts plummeted to Lord Wintergreen. He was, in Leona’s mind, the premier cad. She thought about what he did to her, without any concern for her reputation. Of course, she had no concern for her reputation either. Every day, she chided herself for her moment of foolishness. Why had she gone off with Lord Wintergreen, and how could she ever forgive herself?
Leona wanted to forget him—to forget everything that happened between them. She wanted to make herself chaste for Lord Randall, because he seemed like a good man who deserved a wife who wasn’t a liar and a harlot.
“You’re very quiet all of a sudden.” Tristan’s voice shook her from her thoughts.
“Oh… sorry.”
“Is there something on your mind?” he asked.
“No, not really. I was just wondering where we were going?”
Was it Tristan’s imagination, or was she resting her head against his shoulder? It certainly felt that way. “It’s a surprise.”
“Oh, come on!” she protested. “Will you give me a hint?”
“Well… to call it a surprise is a bit silly. I’m not taking you to anywhere extraordinary. We’re going to a place I often visited as a child. To me, it was a magical place.”
“It’s hard to imagine you as a child.”
“But it’s not hard to imagine you as a child,” Tristan said. “When I met you, you were still a willowy little thing.”
“I was fifteen! I was hardly a child!”
With a chuckle, Tristan deftly changed the subject. “Do you see that hill over there? Once we’re over it, we’re almost at our destination.”
“Our mystery destination,” Leona added.
As the horse plodded up the hill, Leona tried to guess what was on the other side. She didn’t have much time to think; however, because she saw Tristan’s “magical place” as soon as they reached the hill’s peak.
At first glance, Leona thought she was looking at the ruins of a massive, Romanesque castle. The building was in shambles, but many portions of the foundation were still standing. As they drew closer, she saw that one wall was intact, untouched by whatever fate befell the place. Half of an arch cast a long shadow across the cobbled stone floor. As they drew closer to the remains of the building, Leona saw an etching of a cross below one of the windows. She realized she was looking at a ruined church, not a castle.
She didn’t know if it was Tristan’s power of suggestion, but Leona immediately thought the place had an air of mysticism. She could picture monks walking up and down the aisles, and that image put her mind at ease.
Tristan hopped down from the horse and offered Leona a hand. “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.” She landed on her feet, in his arms.
“You don’t have to lie. I know it’s not much to look at.”
“No, I think it’s wonderful. Just looking at it, you can practically feel the history. What is this place?”
“The romantic ruins of Eyemore Abbey!” Tristan exclaimed, resting his foot on one of the stones that comprised the church’s foundation. “This is the place of my youth.”
Leona walked a few paces away from her husband and ran a hand along the cold, mossy stone of the remaining wall. She thought she could see some traces of red on some of the stones, as if someone had painted a mural once. Either that, or it was ancient blood, still clinging to the wall. But why would there be blood in a church? It gave her chills to think about it. “Did you come here often?”
“Almost every day. Coming here was my escape from life. It was my retreat from worldly troubles. As a child, I had a privileged life, but very little love. I always wanted my parents' affection and approval. I wanted them to love me, but if they did, they never showed it. When I came here, I felt like I could forget all that.”
“So, what did you do when you came here?” Leona asked as she continued to explore the surroundings. With her finger, she traced a crack in a crumbling column, which supported the half-arch that towered above her.
“I let my imagination run wild,” he said. “We would let our imaginations run wild. Andrew would come with me all the time, and we’d pretend all sorts of things.”
“Like what?”
“Well… sometimes we were knights in King Arthur’s court, fighting in the name of justice. Or I’d be a Saxon, and he’d be a Norman, and we’d be waging war on each other.”
“How exciting,” she said.
“One of my favorite things to do was to crouch down behind the column. I’d make myself as small as possible and pretend I was hiding from King Henry VIII.”
Leona chuckled. “Why were you hiding? Were you the forbidden lover of one of his many wives?”
“Who wouldn’t hide from that man? He was completely mad!”
“Do you think this was the altar?” Leona asked, standing at the center of a large block.
“If you have an imagination, it can be anything you want it to be,” he answered. “You can be anything you want to be.” They were silent for a moment, then he let out a nervous chuckle. “You must think I’m completely mad.”
“No, not at all. I’m sure I would have had a much happier childhood if I’d had the ability to entertain myself like you did.” Leona lifted her dress as if she was about to curtsy, and spun in a circle. “Maybe I can be a princess, and you can be the knight who rescues me from a dragon.”
“Where’s our dragon?”
Leona pointed at the horse. “Our mare can be the dragon.”
Tristan, who was sitting on one of the rocks, looked over at the horse. “She doesn’t look that threatening.”
“She would indeed be threatening… if she could breathe fire!”
“If she breathed fire, you would see me running for the hills… literally,” Tristan said with a chuckle. “I’m afraid I’m quite the coward.”
“Really? But where’s your imagination?” Leona put her hands on her hips. “I thought you were supposed to be my brave knight?”
“I’ll pass on that, Princess. I’m afraid my imagination abandoned me after my youth.”
“Aww… that’s a shame. I was looking forward to being a princess and ordering you around… peasant!” When Leona sat beside him on the collapsed masonry, she was momentarily tempted to lay her head on his shoulder. She didn’t know how he’d react to her cozying up to him like that, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t protest, since he’d encouraged her to wrap her arms around him on the horse—perhaps tighter than necessary.
“Or you could use your imagination to pretend something… slightly less fantastic,” he said.
“Like what?”
“You could pretend I’m handsome.”
Leona bumped her shoulder against his, nearly knocking Tristan off of his rock. “You not not handsome, you infuriating man!”
“What if I said I was not not not handsome?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Then I’d box your ears!”
“Please do,” he encouraged her. “You might knock my brain back in place. Besides, having my ears boxed is far preferable to being jabbed with a fork. I shudder at the thought of yesterday’s threat.”
When she heard the sound of his laughter, followed up by the sound of her own, Leona realized how easily they were conversing. For the first time in days, she felt comfortable around him, and a feeling of happiness started to creep in. It gave her hope for the future.
“Well… if you think I’m handsome, I’m happy,” Tristan continued, “but I’m certainly not handsome enough for a beautiful girl like you. I never deserved you.” He reached out to her, gently caressing her hair. Leona wished his hand would have stayed on her head a little while longer. His touch, brief as it was, was the nicest thing she’d felt in a long time.
Leona and Tristan sat in silence for awhile, and she tried to soak the image of the fallen church into her mind. Even in its current form, the ab
bey seemed to fill her with peace, and when she closed her eyes, she thought she could feel her troubles drift away. Her sin, her unplanned nuptials, and her father’s scheme for her unborn child—everything bad seemed to vanish when she was sitting beside her husband in this majestic place.
All of a sudden, Leona said, “I miss my mother.”
Tristan lowered his eyes, surprised by the sudden seriousness of her tone. “I’m sorry.”
“She used to give me so much comfort,” Leona continued. “I don’t know why I’m bringing her up now. Maybe it’s that I… I feel a bit closer to her, in this ancient place of worship. Do you think I’m being silly?”
“No, not at all,” Tristan said. “In fact… I’ve often wondered if I was blessed for having parents who weren’t so compassionate. That way, I don’t agonize over the loss of them. I’m not happy that they’re gone, of course. But I know I don’t miss them like I should.”
“No, I know I’m being foolish. It’s been six years…” Leona said. “But still… when she died, I lost my only source of comfort. I’ve had no one to hold me when I’m sad, or show me affection, or take care of me when I’m sick. It’s not just Randall Hall that makes me feel lonely. To be honest, I… I’ve been feeling lonely for a really long time.”
Tristan wanted to reach out and touch her again. He wanted nothing more than to touch her cheek, or hold her hand, but he kept his hands to himself. He didn’t know how she would react, being as upset as she was. “Perhaps in time… I could be that person in your life? Maybe I could give you the comfort you’re lacking?”
Leona’s head dipped between her shoulders. How did he expect her to respond to that? She liked Tristan, but she didn’t know if she wanted to get that close to him. After all, he didn’t have long to live—at least, that’s what the doctor said.
He must have read her mind, because Tristan added, “And if my days are truly numbered, you can come here and put your imagination to use, Princess Leona. Your knight will come down from the heavens to be at your side.”
“Please, don’t say things like that! It’s too depressing.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I presume too much.”
Leona got to her feet and dusted off her dress. “Well, do you think we should get going? Those clouds over there make me think it could rain any second!”
“Ah yes, you’re probably right. We should go.”
Leona watched him fetch the horse, and was surprised by how much her heart ached.
She hardly knew him, but she didn’t want to lose him.
Chapter Sixteen
The boredom was already setting in, despite the fact that he had only been at Randall Hall for two days. Andrew had never been so bored in all his life. Perhaps he’d been spoiled by his London life, surrounded by willing widows and young ladies who would do anything to get his attention. He hated to think such vain thoughts, but he knew it was his charm and good looks that made his life interesting.
Here at Randall Hall, he couldn’t put his charm to good use. There wasn’t a woman in sight—at least, not one that wasn’t old or off-limits. The most beautiful woman, of course, was his best friend’s wife. It wasn’t as if he could practice his powers of seduction on her. And it wasn’t as if his friend had anyone appealing on his staff. There was the pretty young cook, but she was barely seventeen, and she was engaged to Tristan’s valet. Unfortunately, the prettiest women were spoken for.
He could have stopped by his father’s estate, but Andrew wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of running into family members. He could have driven into the nearest town, but he didn’t feel like traveling several miles for the sake of wooing a pretty girl, the likes of which he wasn’t even guaranteed to find.
His options were few. He could either flirt with Nell, who was old enough to be his mother, or he could flirt with Mary, whose face resembled a horse. He hated to have such cruel thoughts, but it was true. Lady Randall’s maid wasn’t even passably pretty. She had gaps in her teeth, too. He wasn’t accustomed to flirting with women who didn’t appeal to him in the least.
It was, however, in his nature to flirt. When he saw Mary coming down the hallway in his direction, he puffed out his chest, demonstrated his best swagger, and intercepted her.
“Lovely weather we’re having today,” he said, leaning against the wall. If she wanted to move past him, she couldn’t. He was blocking her only means of traveling down the narrow corridor. “I'm sure Tristan and his wife are having a nice time. I wish they would have taken me with them, but I’m sure I would have made a nuisance of myself.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lamb,” Mary said, bobbing a curtsy. As she bobbed, she tightened her grip on the bundle she was holding. It looked like laundry. “The weather is fine, but I think it might rain. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You could give me a moment of your time,” he said, his smoldering blue eyes burning down on the homely little maid. After years of flirting with women, he knew how to appear interested, even when he was not. “Do you have some time to spare for me?”
“Oh…” Mary didn’t say anything for several seconds. She didn’t know what to make of his request. “Well, um… of course.”
Suddenly, Andrew pulled a flower from behind his back and held it out to her. “Have you had a chance to explore his lordship’s garden? I can’t imagine anyone’s been tending to it for quite some time, but it’s still very lovely.” He wiggled the azalea in front of her. “It’s for you, you know.”
Tucking her bundle under one arm, Mary reached out to take the flower. “Really, Mr. Lamb?”
“Yes, I picked it for you. But… it came from the garden, so it’s nothing special.”
“The sentiment is special.” In the matter of a minute, Mary’s entire neck was covered in splotches of red, an indication of her shyness. She never expected to speak to Andrew Lamb in such close quarters, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to give her a gift. A flower seemed like the sort of thing a beau would present to the woman he was courting, not a friendly gift for a maid. But Mary was too sensible to get her hopes up over something so silly. “Thank you, Mr. Lamb.”
“You can call me Andrew, if you’d like.”
“Andr--” she started to say his name, but she cut herself off. “No, I don’t think that would be proper.”
“Why not? I can call you Mary, can’t I?”
“Well, yes… that is… but I’m…”
“Call me whatever makes you comfortable,” Andrew said. “I’d hate for you, of all people, to feel uncomfortable around me.” Andrew knew he was toying with her, but he couldn’t help himself. When women started to twitch and fidget around him, he always enjoyed their dissipating poise.
“Well, I… um…” Mary was anxiously eyeing the hallway behind him. She wanted him to move, but she didn't know how to say it.
“Do you want me to carry that for you?” he asked, flicking a finger in the direction of her bundle.
“Oh, this? These are just some old linens I gathered. They were covered in dust, so I was going to wash them…”
“It sounds like His Lordship is working you too hard. I thought you were Lady Randall’s maid. You shouldn’t be forced to do various jobs around the house as well.” Andrew reached out and snatched one of her hands—the one holding the azalea. “Look at these hands! They’re too delicate for hard work.”
“Well… no.” Mary shook her head. “I did most of the washing when I worked at Mr. Lennox’s house in London. No one asked me to do this. If I see work that needs to be done, I’ll do it.”
“What an admirable trait.” He thought about kissing her hand, but the maid already seemed a bit unsteady on her feet. It wasn’t his intention to make her swoon.
“It’s not admirable,” Mary protested. She wanted to pull her hand away, but she wasn’t sure how she should act around a man of quality. Was it proper conduct to let him hold her hand, or to politely withdraw it? “I’m paid to do work. Besides, I’d rather
keep busy. It keeps my mind off of things I’d rather not think about.”
“I know it’s ungentlemanly of me to pry, but… what thoughts are you trying to avoid?”
“Well…” Mary looked over her shoulder, as if fearful of being caught. “It’s just the pains of every day life, Mr. Lamb. When my mind is idle, I always find myself thinking negative thoughts.
“I suppose the same could be said for me,” Andrew said, “but I think I’m slightly different. My lack of companionship makes me lonely… and that’s when life starts to get depressing.” He stared at her as he spoke, trying to decide if her looks would improve with the removal of her dreadful gray bonnet.
Good God, I must be lonely indeed... to think about undressing this somber
little maid, his thoughts teased him.
“I’m always lonely,” Mary said, lowering her eyes.
“Really? But what about Lady Randall? She seems to value your company quite a bit.”
“For a maid, I suppose,” Mary answered with a shrug. “I could say the same for you. You and Lord Randall are friends, but you said you’re lonely as well.”
“Touché, Mary. Though, to be honest, I think it’s my lack of female companionship that leaves me in anguish.”
“Oh…” Mary finally pulled her hand away. She couldn’t believe he bothered to hold it so long.
“What about you, Mary? Is there a man in your life?”
“Oh… no…” Her face was getting warmer and redder by the second. For the life of her, Mary couldn’t come up with an explanation as to why Andrew was asking such a question. He wasn’t interested in her, surely. Even if he was the sort of man who flirted with maids, she wasn’t the sort of maid who attracted that sort of attention. She was plain and mousey, and not as young as she used to be.
“Do you want a man in your life?” Andrew whispered. He knew he shouldn't make a sport of her, but he couldn't help himself.
“I… haven’t given it much thought.”
“Let me take these linens for you, Mary,” Andrew insisted, tugging the soiled bedsheets from her arm. “I’ll get them washed for you, and you can get some rest. I’m sure you deserve a rest.”
The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) Page 10
