Echoes in the Mist

by Echoes In the Mist (lit)

  "What?"

  "I can't promise I'll never fear you, or even occasionally doubt you. But I can promise I won't stop loving you."

  Trenton raised his head. "You have no reason to trust me, Ariana, nor to believe in my innocence. You've been a Caldwell for eighteen years, and a wife for three days. I don't expect a forced marriage to a virtual stranger to hold up against a lifetime of your brother's teachings."

  A tiny smile touched Ariana's lips. "Give me time."

  Tenderness softened the anguished lines about Trenton's eyes.

  "All that you need."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The following day Ariana lost her heart again-this time to the Isle of Wight.

  Strolling through the village of Bembridge, climbing the cliffs overlooking the Solent, and running along the crystalline waters nearing Osborne Bay-this time having abandoned not only all her petticoats, but her stockings and slippers as well-Ariana's passion for Wight was immediate and overwhelming.

  "Is the whole island like this?" She wriggled her toes in the sand.

  Trenton felt as if he were discovering his home all over again. "No, actually, the southern half of the Isle is completely different, though just as beautiful. Rather than being quaint and picturesque, the south is much more dramatic, filled with deep ravines and sharp, jutting rocks. I'll take you there later this week and you can see which you prefer."

  "Can we walk farther along this stretch of beach?"

  "A bit, yes." He shielded his eyes, peering into the distance. "Osborne House is just a mile or so from here."

  "Oh." Ariana looked crestfallen. "Then we'd best head back."

  "Why?"

  "Trenton, even I know that the Queen's grounds are not open to the public."

  This, at least, he knew he could give her. "Would you feel better if I were to tell you that Victoria would have no objections to our strolling the grounds of Osborne?"

  Ariana's eyes opened like saucers. "Truly?"

  "Truly. The Queen and my family have been friends for many years."

  "That's right; how could I forget? Her Majesty issued the edict for our marriage."

  Trenton looked quickly at Ariana, searching her face for bitterness or regret. He found none. "Yes, she did. But not merely as a gesture of friendship." He wasn’t certain why, but suddenly he needed to give Ariana some portion of truth. "The day following the Covington ball, Princess Beatrice suffered a boating mishap in Osborne Bay. I happened to hear her calls for help."

  "You rescued her?"

  "It was nothing dramatic. Nevertheless, Victoria was exceeding grateful. She insisted on granting my most fervent wish. I sought but one thing: vengeance against your family for ruining my life. Thus, the edict." He waited.

  "Then I owe the Queen my thanks, for without her unwanted interference you and I would never have wed." Ariana gave him a brief, dazzling smile.

  A knot of emotion coiled in Trenton's chest. He opened his mouth to reply but never got the chance.

  "Trenton, listen!" Ariana pressed her finger to her lips, cocking her head intently to one side.

  "To what? All I hear is a-"

  "It's a cuckoo! Come!" She seized his arm, urging him to follow her. "Quickly!" Raising her skirts, she sprinted up the beach, away from the bird’s noisy call, until she finally collapsed onto the sand about a quarter of a mile farther north.

  "What was all that about?" Trenton easily reached his wife's side and dropped down beside her.

  "Didn't you hear the cuckoo?"

  "Of course I did. How could anyone miss that persistent screech?"

  "He was repeating himself for a reason: That's his way of offering us good fortune."

  "Now I am truly at sea." Trenton absently smoothed the layers of wet sand from Ariana's gown.

  "Has no one ever told you that legend?" She sounded amazed, her tone sympathetic, as if Trenton had been denied something incredibly significant. "Whenever you hear the cuckoo's call, you begin to run, counting each call that follows, until you can no longer hear him. Whatever number you've reached will be the number of years added to your life." Ariana stared up the sky. "The summer is nearly gone... I very seldom see a cuckoo about. This one obviously visited for the sole purpose of bringing us additional time to enjoy all this splendor!"

  Trenton stretched his legs in front of him. "A true miracle," he commented dryly. "So tell me, misty angel, how many total years have been added to your life, given that this is probably the fiftieth cuckoo you've discovered?"

  "You don't believe me."

  He turned, caught by the disappointment in her voice. "It isn't you, Ariana. I believe in very little."

  "I know," she said sadly. "What I don't understand is why your cynicism is so ingrained. Your life is rich with blessings. Surely you haven't always been consumed with anger?"

  "No... not always." Shadows cloaked his face, resounded in his voice.

  "Dustin is a wonderful brother," Ariana persisted, ignoring the warning tremor that shivered up her spine. "Surely he must bring you some measure of joy?"

  "Dustin has been my lifeline these past years. He's not only the finest of brothers, but the very best of friends."

  "You're fortunate. Most people would give anything for such a loving relationship."

  The wistfulness in her tone obliterated Trenton's customary reticence, replacing it with the unexpected need to comfort. "Theresa seems as devoted to you as if she were your mother."

  A fond smile touched Ariana's lips at the mention of Theresa's name. "She is. I’m terribly grateful for her... She gives me not only love, but a sense of balance." Ariana tossed Trenton an impish look. "You probably haven't noticed, but I have a tendency to lose touch with reality."

  "Really? How surprising," Trenton returned her teasing. "And when is that? When you are pursuing birds?"

  "Or pursuing whatever fantasy calls out to me." She wrapped her arms about her knees. "Sometimes dreams are infinitely preferable to reality."

  Instantly, he sobered. "Has your life been so very difficult?"

  "Oh, no. Never difficult. I was permitted to live as I pleased, with little or no demands placed on me." Ariana scooped up a handful of sand, sifting it slowly as she spoke, remembering a childhood as fleeting as the grains that passed between her fingers. "I suppose I always wanted something that was distinctly mine, something that gave me a sense of identity. Once Mama and Papa died, it was as if I were floating. Baxter and Vanessa were already grown, their paths in life clear. Baxter was the brilliant businessman, destined to manage the Caldwell assets. Vanessa was an unequivocal beauty, the epitome of social grace and charm. And I? I was neither, not brilliant nor beautiful. Even as a child I possessed no outstanding quality to set me above or apart. In short, I was average. It was up to me to find my own niche. So when I got older, I did. I discovered nature. I've never been sorry."

  Shrugging philosophically, she turned to Trenton and was stunned to see the restrained fury on his face. With a sudden jolt of comprehension, she realized what she'd just said.

  "I'm sorry, Trenton. I didn't mean to bring up Vanessa."

  "How could you think that?" Trenton interrupted angrily.

  "Think what?"

  "That you are average, that your brother and sister were superior, enviable. Good Lord, Ariana, don't you know the truth?" Trenton pushed on before he could reconsider. "Your brilliant brother has done nothing but squander away your family's money."

  "He didn't mean to. It's only that-"

  "And as for Vanessa..." The words poured out of Trenton's mouth on their own accord. "Yes, your sister was a dazzling, blindingly beautiful woman, but that’s where it ended. Your beauty is far more vivid, richer. Don't you see yourself?" He shook his head in wonder. "You really don't, do you? You don’t see how incredibly beautiful you are, how intelligent, how special? Damn it, Ariana, there is nothing average about you!"

  "Trenton, don't." Ariana abruptly rose, turning her back to him. "Don't lie tome. I can lear
n to endure your secrets, but I cannot bear your lies. I know just who I am, and that is neither Baxter nor Vanessa. I'm not practical enough to be considered overly intelligent... My head is always in the clouds. And although I'm hardly unpleasant to look at, I will never approach my sister in beauty. So let's not pretend otherwise."

  Trenton came to his feet, then turned Ariana to face him and cupped her chin. "Your head is in the clouds, misty angel. You're such a warm-hearted, oblivious little fool." He stared at her, an odd, faraway light dawning in his eyes. "Someday you'll realize the truth. Perhaps someday I'll be able to tell you."

  Ariana caught his wrist, slowly shaking her head. "No." She was stunned to hear herself refuse. "I don't want to hear the truth... at least not this part of it. I don't think I can bear hearing about your feelings for Vanessa. I suppose I'm a coward, but I can't help it. Forgive me."

  "Forgive you?" He laughed harshly. "I assure you, misty angel, there's nothing to forgive. I only hope that one day you'll be able to forgive me."

  Soberly, she stared up at him. "Let's not discuss my life... or forgiveness...any more. I want to learn about you... not the Trenton of these past six years, but the Trenton who lived before."

  He was silent, his expression guarded. "There isn't much I can add," he answered at last. "I've already told you about my schooling, my sketching..."

  "Did you and Dustin quarrel a lot?"

  "I suppose we did on occasion." The abrupt change in subject mystified him. "Why?"

  "Did you share confidences? Protect each other from outsiders? Stand up for each other with your parents?"

  "Yes, yes, and yes." Trenton laughed. "Why does my relationship with Dustin interest you so?"

  Ariana's eyes glowed as she pictured the two boys she'd seen in the photographs. "I told you, I've never had a true sibling. Vanessa and Baxter were more like parents to me, especially since my real parents died when I was a child."

  "Do you remember your father and mother?" Idly, Trenton rumpled her auburn tresses, watching the sunlight catch the bright strands and ignite them into copper fire.

  "A bit. Mostly what I remember are our Christmases."

  "Why your Christmases?"

  "Because they were magic. When Mama and Papa were alive, Christmas at Winsham was a fairy tale come true. I remember everything: decorating the tree, hanging the mistletoe from the ceiling while I sat on Papa's shoulders, sneaking batter from the cookies Mama baked. Most of all, I remember that wondrous feeling: excitement, anticipation, and joy all rolled into one, an emotion so vast it made you want to hug yourself even while it caused butterflies to form in your stomach that kept you awake all night. But morning would finally come and all of us would topple down the stairs to the sitting room, gathered around the fireplace where we belonged... a real family..."Startled, Ariana realized she was crying. "I'm sorry," she said shakily, wiping her cheeks. "We're supposed to be talking about you. I didn't mean to go on like that, nor did I expect to become so emotional. It's just that I haven’t had Christmas since..."

  "Don't explain." Trenton cut her off hoarsely, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Don't even try."

  Slowly, Ariana's arms slid around him as she gratefully accepted the comfort she had long craved but never received. "Maybe we could spend this Christmas at Spraystone," she whispered hopefully against his chest. "We could gather evergreen sprigs and perhaps some chrysanthemums and camellias and black ivy berries. Then, if it snows, we could watch the world turn white, and the wrens would sing and the sparrows-"

  "Yes," Trenton agreed huskily, his arms tightening around her. "We can do all that, misty angel. I promise."

  She raised her head. "Broddington holds nothing for you, does it?"

  "To the contrary, Ariana, it's hold is powerful... and terribly painful."

  "Because you lost your father there?" Seeing Trenton's expression, she knew instantly he intended to shut her out. With a gentle, beseeching look, she reached up to touch his cheek. "Please tell me. I'll do my best to understand."

  Trenton's lips twisted bitterly. "It was a long time ago, Ariana. Too much has happened that can never be undone."

  "Dustin told me that your father's death was sudden, despite his depleted health. Is that true?"

  Silence.

  "Trenton?"

  "Yes, dammit, it's true!" He jerked away, turning his back to the reminders her questions brought.

  "He died just after Vanessa," Ariana persisted. "Are the two events related?” She saw her husband's shoulders stiffen and softly added, "I've told you I don’t believe you killed Vanessa. Why won't you talk to me?"

  "Because you wouldn't believe what I'd tell you, Ariana. Leave it alone."

  "I can't. I love you."

  "Bloody hell." He snatched up a rock and flung it into the water with all his might.

  "Tell me."

  "Fine." Trenton spun about, his eyes ablaze. "You want to know how my father died? I'll tell you. He was tortured... slowly, cruelly; not physically, but emotionally; using that which he cherished most... his family."

  Baffled, Ariana struggled to understand the blinding rage emanating from Trenton. "But how-"

  "Not how, Ariana. Who. That's the operative word here. Who. I'll tell you who: your brilliant, altruistic, contemptible bastard of a brother, that's who!"

  'Baxter?" Ariana recoiled sharply, having expected anything but this. She had been certain Vanessa's suicide was somehow linked to the late duke's demise-but Baxter? What did he have to do with Richard Kingsley's death?

  "Yes... Baxter, that vile blackguard who raised you!"

  "Why? What did he do?"

  "Odd, I thought Caldwell filled you in on our history when you visited Winsham the other day." Enmity underscored Trenton's every word. "Or did he selectively forget to mention one or two realities? Like the fact that it was he who brandished your sister's heartbreaking suicide note to the world...painted me as a seducer of innocents, a sinister madman... or worse. Did he tell you that I came to him, begged him to stop, not for my sake or even for Dustin’s-Lord knows, neither of us gave a damn what lies Caldwell spread-but for my father? Can you possibly imagine what it did to me to have to crawl to your despicable brother on my knees? To plead with him that my father had nothing left but his legacy: the Kingsley name and his sons? And that he was too old and weak to withstand such vicious slander? That the more people who doubted my innocence, the more deteriorated his condition became?"

  Trenton faltered, swallowing convulsively. "But beg I did. I begged with the hope that Caldwell would summon up one shred of compassion-not for me, but for an old man who had done nothing to hurt anyone. I should have known I was wasting my breath. Caldwell just laughed in my face and threw me out, continuing to impugn me and my family, until the whole world ostracized us. My father was too frail... his heart just couldn't take it. He died within weeks. And all because of your detestable brother."

  Breaking off, Trenton drew in harsh breaths, striving to bring himself under control. He stared down at his hands, realized they were shaking, and raised his head to meet Ariana's horrified gaze. "Still glad you asked, misty angel?"

  An eerie chill crept inside Ariana's heart. "I can't believe Baxter would intentionally-"

  "Of course he wouldn't! I must be lying." Trenton's biting sarcasm cut through her like a knife.

  "I didn't mean you were lying. Only that you might have misunderstood..." Her voice trailed off, for even she was unconvinced by her words.

  "Misunderstood? Hardly. Actually, I've only just scratched the surface of your brother’s brutality." Brusquely, Trenton turned on his heel. "Your reaction was predictable. Now I know why I didn't want to tell you any of this." Rigidly, he walked away. "I'm going back to Spraystone."

  "I believe you."

  Her declaration was barely audible, a whisper of sound in the afternoon sky. But Trenton heard it.

  Abruptly, he halted.

  Ariana didn't pause but walked up behind him, wrapping her arms ab
out his waist, pressing her cheek against his taut back. "I'm so sorry for your pain. I wish I'd been old enough to comprehend it, and mature enough to ease it."

  At first Trenton did nothing; he merely stood, unmoving, in his wife’s consoling embrace. Then he placed his hand over hers, enfolding her fingers, placing their joined hands over his heart.

  The gesture conveyed more than any words he could utter.

  The Isle had surrendered to twilight, its beaches bathed in the moon's silver luminescence, by the time Trenton and Ariana headed back to Spraystone. Neither of them spoke, for the feeling hovering between them was too new, too precious to give voice to.

  The manor was practically upon them when a flash of white caught Ariana's eye, taking her by surprise. "Trenton?" She seized his arm.

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know." She peered through the semidarkness, toward the tall grasses surrounding the barn. Intuition impelled her forward.

  "Where are you going?" Trenton followed quickly, frowning at the concerned knit of Ariana's brows.

  "Oh... Trenton." She rushed forward, dropping to her knees in the grass, bending over a huddled white form. Trenton peered over her shoulder. "It's an owl."

  "Not just an owl," she whispered, turning damp eyes up to his. "My white owl. The one who brought you to me. Trenton... he's hurt."

  "Be careful." Trenton stayed her with his hand. "Owls are wild, Ariana. He’ll claw you mercilessly if you try to touch him."

  "He can't hurt me... he's unconscious. Please, we've got to help him."

  Cautiously, Trenton squatted beside her, looking from the unmoving creature to the solid barn wall beside him. "Apparently your owl flew directly into the barn... hard enough to knock him senseless."

  Ariana nodded vigorously. "He probably wanted to perch inside the barn and struck the window trying to enter. Owls see glass as open space and often hurt themselves because of it."

  "Well, I'd be surprised if he didn't have quite a concussion. However, he is breathing, and damned lucky about where he fell. The grasses here are very thick and, judging from the natural angle of his wings, I would suspect that nothing is broken."