by Sandra Heath
“Why? What’s wrong?” He halted, tightening his grip a little, as if by that he shielded her from whatever it was she feared.
“It’s where my husband, Geoffrey, died,” she whispered.**
“Forgive me, I... I had no idea,” he replied, wanting to crush her close and protect her forever. He glanced swiftly around and saw a mossy bank where he knew there would be primroses in the spring.
As he carried her toward it, he could not believe that such an incongruously, foolishly romantic thought had passed through his mind. Because of the glance of a pair of incredible hazel eyes, Jack Lincoln the adventurer had become Jack Lincoln the lovesick swain! But what role did Rafe Warrender play in her life? he wondered. Did she see him as a black-hearted villain or a knight in shining armor?
Emily smiled gratefully as Jack laid her gently down, then looked unhappily at the fallen tree. “Geoffrey fell from a horse here in this clearing, just as I did today, except that I have been more fortunate. Maybe a pheasant caused his accident too; we will never really know. He was simply found by that old tree. He’d struck his head against it as he fell.”
Something occurred to her then, and she looked at Jack in puzzlement. “How is it that you have come to search for me, Mr. Lincoln? If anyone, I would have expected men from the estate, not a complete stranger.”
“Your mare bolted across the path of my chaise.”
“Out on the road? Oh, no ...” She was immediately anxious for the animal.
“Please don’t fear for her,” Jack replied swiftly. “I wasn’t on the road when it happened, but on the drive, going to the Hall.”
Surprise lightened her eyes. “To the Hall? Who exactly are you, sir? And what brings you here?”
“I have a letter to deliver.”
Oh, no, surely he wasn’t another dun! She couldn’t help leaping to such a conclusion, because the only letters that arrived at the Hall these days were demands for payment of one sort or another.
He saw her alarm, and so was at pains to put her mind at ease. “Please don’t fear it is a disagreeable missive, Mrs. Fairfield, for nothing could be further from the truth. The letter is for Mrs. Preston from Felix Reynolds.”
“Felix?” Her eyes cleared.
“I had the good fortune to meet him in Peru about eighteen months ago, and I spent a year in his company. When I left to return to England, he gave me the letter for Mrs. Preston, and a gift for her as well.”
“I trust he is well? It is so long since Mama last heard from him that she has been most concerned.”
“His health hadn’t been of the best before I left Lima, but he was making a steady recovery.”
“Have you any pressing plans for the coming days, Mr. Lincoln? Or will you be able to stay with us for a while?” she asked suddenly. “Mama will wish to pump you quite disgracefully about Felix, as she did the last messenger he sent. She would not let the poor sea captain escape for over a month!”
Was it really going to be this simple to place himself beneath the roof of Fairfield Hall? Jack wondered. It was almost too easy ... “Well, I have nothing in particular that demands my presence elsewhere,” he replied.
“Then I insist that you are our guest, sir. Besides, I am in your debt.” Their eyes met, and she found herself blushing a little. Feeling awkward, she looked away. “Please don’t misunderstand, Mr. Lincoln, for it isn’t my custom to ask strangers to stay. It’s just that Felix means a great deal to Mama, and ...”
“There is no need to explain, Mrs. Fairfield, for I do understand. Your mother means much to Felix as well. Of course I will stay for a few days.”
She wondered how much Jack knew about Felix’s past. Enough to be aware of his past affair with her mother? His eyes gave nothing away, except ... She thought she saw something in his glance, an awkwardness, perhaps, as if he knew something of which he did not care to speak. Yes, perhaps he did know that Felix and her mother had been lovers, she decided.
Jack sought something to end the silence that had fallen between them. “Er, are you feeling better now?”
“Yes, although I confess the fall has made me feel a little weak.”
“My chaise isn’t far away. I’ll carry you to it.”
“There is no need, for I am sure I can manage.”
“I insist,” he said, giving her a look that brooked no argument.
Their eyes met again for a long moment, then she gave in. “If that is what you wish, sir ...”
“It is.”
In a moment he had lifted her into his arms again, and as he held her, he was aware of never wanting to let her go, least of all into the embrace of a serpent like Rafe Warrender. Felix had spoken of a feeling that she should become Mrs. Jack Lincoln; Jack Lincoln now shared that feeling ...
Emily liked being held by him because he made her feel safe for the first time since Geoffrey’s death. Rafe did not have this effect because the safety he offered was given a price by his thinly disguised threats. Her husband-to-be did not stir her senses or her body, but this man did—this exciting Viking corsair who had swept her up into his arms as if she were weightless. For the first time since Geoffrey died she was aware of herself, of her feelings and needs, of her desire.
Chapter 12
The chaise arrived to find the Hall’s courtyard a scene of consternation. Emily’s riderless mare had just returned, and some men were on the point of setting out to comb the grounds for her.
Peter had already rushed off to the stables for his pony, and Cora was hovering anxiously by the archway as the men mounted their horses. She wore a cream dimity gown, and was distractedly twisting the fringe of her cream-and-brown shawl as she imagined all the awful fates that might have befallen her daughter. Then the chaise swept into the courtyard, and she burst into tears of relief when she saw that Emily was unharmed.
Jack stepped quickly down from the chaise, and lifted Emily out in order to set her carefully on her feet. She smiled appreciatively and accepted his supporting arm. Cora hurried to them, hardly glancing at him in her concern for her daughter. “Emily, dearest! What happened? When your horse returned without you, I—”
“I’m quite all right, Mama,” Emily broke in reassuringly. “A pheasant frightened my mare and I fell, but Mr. Lincoln has been my Good Samaritan.”
“Mr. Lincoln?” Cora looked gratefully at him, at last pausing sufficiently to notice his fine clothes but unexpectedly long hair. What an intriguing paradox, she thought, wondering who on earth he could be and how he had come to Emily’s rescue.
Emily turned to the waiting men. “You may return to your duties, for as you see I am all in one piece.”
They nodded and touched their caps, then led their horses out of the courtyard to go back to the stables, which lay behind the house.
Emily quickly introduced Jack. “Mr. Lincoln, this is my mother, Mrs. Preston, for whom you have brought the letter.”
“Letter?” Cora repeated.
“Mr. Lincoln met Felix in Peru,” Emily said.
Cora’s eyes brightened with joy. “Really? Oh, tout vient à point à qui sait attendre!”
Emily smiled. “Yes, it seems that in this instance everything does indeed come to him—or rather, her—who waits.”
Cora was quite overcome. “Is he well, Mr. Lincoln? Do tell me he is.”
“When I took my leave of him, he was on the road to recovery after contracting the ague that is so very prevalent on the coast near Lima.”
“But he was definitely recovering?”
“Yes.”
“Dare I hope that he received my letter? The one I wrote to him late last year?”
“Yes, and he was anxious to reassure you that he did honor the, er, arrangement I understand he had with you.” Jack did not wish her to think he was party to her great secret, and so was at pains to pretend that he wasn’t. “I, er, do not know what the arrangement concerned, of course, but Felix did instruct me to tell you that if there is fault, it lies not with him but with Sir Qu
entin Brockhampton.”
She was both glad and angry at the same time. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say this, Mr. Lincoln. I feared it was a case of loin des yeux, loin du coeur.”
“Out of sight, out of mind? Not where Felix was concerned, I assure you.” Jack drew out the purse. “He wished you to have this. I fear it will not by any means banish all the debts I know beset the Hall, but it was all Felix had, and may help a little.”
Cora accepted it and pulled open the strings. Her lips parted as she saw the money inside. “I... I do not recognize the coins, sir. Their value is meaningless to me ...”
“My estimate is that if you exchange it all for sterling, you will receive in the region of five hundred pounds.”
She turned shining eyes upon Emily. “Oh, my dear, with this we can stave off the irate tradesmen of Temford and settle one or two of the more urgent matters at the bank!”
Jack realized he hadn’t given her Felix’s letter, so hastily produced it. “I almost forgot...”
She pressed it to her breast, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Mr. Lincoln, you will never know how much this means to me. It has been so long since I’ve heard from him that I was beginning to fear... Well, no matter, for at least I now know he was well some while back, and he didn’t change his mind all those years ago.” She closed the purse. “Would that this was sufficient to keep the Warrender wolf from my daughter’s door, but I fear that is far from the case.”
Emily gave her an uncomfortable look. “Mama ...”
Cora was defiant. “A wolf is how I see him, my dear.”
“Financial salvation is financial salvation,” Emily replied shortly.
Jack read much from this exchange, and his heart sank. Cora’s fears about Rafe’s intentions had clearly come to fruition, but what was Emily’s attitude? Did she regard Rafe with fondness, or resignation? It might not seem from her remark about financial salvation that she thought of him with warmth, but it wouldn’t do for Jack Lincoln to make assumptions without really knowing. One thing was certain, however—Rafe Warrender was a definite element in the picture that was Fairfield Hall.
Cora spoke again. “Well, I shall not allow the likes of Sir Rafe to spoil my pleasure in Felix’s letter and gift. I will send word to the inestimable Mr. Mackay, requesting him to come here at the earliest opportunity.” She looked at Jack, feeling she ought to explain. “Mr. Mackay is our banker in Shrewsbury and has been doing all he can to help us. Now then, you must both forgive me, but Felix’s letter burns my hand. I simply must go to my rooms to read it.” Without further ado she hurried away into the house.
Emily was mindful of her manners. “I trust you have not changed your mind about staying, Mr. Lincoln, for you see how happy you have made Mama.”
“I have not changed my mind,” he assured her.
She smiled. “Good. I will have the servants unload your things from the chaise, and you will be shown up to a guest room the moment one has been made ready.” She began to take a step toward the house, but suddenly felt oddly lightheaded.
Instinctively, she stretched out a hand to Jack, and in a moment he had caught her up in his arms again. “A doctor should be sent for, Mrs. Fairfield,” he said as he carried her into the house, where the slight, dark-haired figure of Emily’s Welsh maid, Gwyneth, was just hurrying downstairs.
Gwyneth became upset on seeing Emily being carried. “Madam? Oh, madam ... !” she cried, her brown eyes widening with alarm.
“I’m all right,” Emily insisted, feeling a little foolish for being so weak.
But Jack did not think she was all right. “Take no notice of your mistress,” he said to the maid, “Have someone bring a doctor without delay.”
“Yes, sir.” Gwyneth bobbed a curtsy, then caught up her gray woolen skirts to hurry away toward the kitchens to find someone to ride to Temford.
Jack carried Emily toward the staircase. “Direct me to your rooms,” he ordered, and she meekly did as he said.
A minute later he put her gently down on the huge velvet-hung four-posted bed she had once shared with Geoffrey Fairfield. Jack gazed down at her, thinking she looked so lost and alone against the gold brocade coverlet that he wanted to gather her to him and kiss away her unhappiness.
The urge to do just this was so strong that he stepped quickly back, as if there was safety in even a few feet of distance. He gave a quick smile. “I, er, should not be in here with you like this, so I will leave you. No doubt Gwyneth will return in a moment.”
But as he turned to go, she caught his hand. “Mr. Lincoln ... ?”
“Yes?”
She looked up into his sea green eyes. “Thank you for all you’ve done today.”
“I’ve done very little, Mrs. Fairfield.”
“It may seem that way to you, but I see it differently.”
“I—” He broke off because at that moment Peter ran into the room.
“Mama? Oh, Mama! When your horse returned like that.. !” The boy flung himself down into his mother’s arms.
Jack withdrew and closed the door gently behind him. Then he returned to the head of the staircase, where he paused. The house felt welcoming, as if it wanted him to be there, or so it seemed anyway. But he was at Fairfield Hall because he had promised Felix to do all he could to free Emily from debt— and from Rafe Warrender. How he was going to do it he still hadn’t the slightest clue, especially when Emily’s feelings were an unknown quantity, but at least he had some days in which to plan a course of action—some days to spend in Emily’s fair company ...
He was about to go downstairs, where his baggage was being brought in from the chaise, when he happened to look back along the passage behind him. He had not noticed before that Cora’s rooms lay that way. Her door was slightly ajar, and he could see her seated on a window seat with Felix’s letter on her lap. She was gazing across the park toward Temford Castle, visible above the hillside in the distance.
There was a faint smile on her lips. It was a knowing little smile, almost like a secret shared, and it made Jack feel strangely uncertain.
Chapter 13
The doctor reassured Emily that she had not come to any harm in the fall from her horse, and that all she required was a little rest. He was sure that she would be quite well enough to come down again for dinner, and that by the next day she would be as right as rain again.
After the doctor’s departure, Cora made such a great fuss about remaining with her daughter to be certain she was all right that it was left to Peter to entertain Jack. Not that the boy found this an imposition; on the contrary, the moment he realized Jack had traveled so far and wide in the world, especially to mysterious Peru, he became very eager to spend time with him.
The autumn afternoon was drawing in as Jack and Peter walked in the sunken topiary garden, which had been there since the time of Elizabeth. It was a peculiarly private place, made intimate by a surrounding high brick wall, and even though it could be looked into from the house, to walk its path was to feel quite removed from everything.
Long shadows stretched across the paths between the carefully clipped evergreens, and the pervasive autumn smell of woodsmoke drifted from the bonfire of leaves the gardeners were burning behind the glasshouses to the south of the house, beyond the moat.
Peter’s face was so animated with interest about Jack’s travels that from time to time Jack could see Felix’s restless spirit in his eyes. The boy was not his father’s son, nor indeed his mother’s, but almost seemed to be his grandfather’s young self, filled with the same urge to wander and explore.
Jack knew that this corner of Shropshire would never hold Peter Fairfield, nor would Britain itself; only the entire world would do for someone with such a need to discover more. Above all it would be Peru that drew Emily’s boy, and that was because of the Incas.
Manco’s ancestors and the wonders they had left behind were of such paramount interest to Peter that he made no secret of his huge disappointment that the Indian had not c
ome to the Hall with Jack. The thought of meeting someone who was actually descended from the Incas was too exciting for words. Peter took in so much about the snow-topped Andes, hidden valleys, lost ruins, and strange rites that Jack doubted the boy would be able to sleep that night.
They sat awhile on a bench in a little stone summerhouse that faced over the garden. It was only about a hundred years old, and had a domed roof supported on Ionic columns. Inside there was a stone bench that looked a little like a low sarcophagus. The setting sun was vivid, and the coming of winter was in the air.
Peter looked hopefully at Jack. “Do you think Don Cristoval and Manco will come here?” he asked hopefully.
“I fear not.”
“Oh,” Peter heaved a long sigh. “If... if I ask Mama and she agrees, will you invite them to come?”
Jack smiled. “Don’t forget, I am here for only a few days—”
“I know but if you stay longer?” Peter interrupted.
“I have not made any plans to get in touch with them, Peter, but if I do stay here longer, if I do hear from Cristoval, and if your mother and grandmother are agreeable, you have my word that I will extend such an invitation.”
Peter gave him a broad grin. “That would be splendid! Oh, I would like to meet Manco. Just think, a real Inca ...”
“An Indian of Inca descent,” Jack corrected.
“That’s close enough,” Peter replied with a grin, then he shivered. “I say, it’s chilly tonight, isn’t it?”
“You need a poncho,” Jack replied.
“A poncho? That’s a sort of cloak, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and a very warm garment it is. I have mine with me if you would like to see it.”
“See it? Oh, yes, please!”
Jack smiled again. “It is yours, Peter, a gift from Peru.”
The boy was overwhelmed. “Do ... do you really mean that?”
“Of course. It isn’t Inca, mind, for it is far too modern. However, I do have something that is truly Inca.” Jack undid his neckcloth and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the gold necklace he still wore.
