Shoving aside the invading worry, I glanced about the room for empty space to paint, for I needed to brush off the dust of everyday life and steep myself in creative beauty. Only one blank canvas remained—the ceiling.
With the help of a houseboy, I arranged two ladders in the middle of my room and placed the cushioned lid of my window seat across them. They would have to find other ladders to light the chandeliers in the hall for a while. Setting my paint supplies on a ladder step, I climbed onto my perch and lay back with my hair tumbling down over the sides. I drew out a stroke of green paint and let the color trail across the white expanse of ceiling as my mind wandered in prayer. God, this is a mess. A tangled mess like the vineyards. Can you not see how desperate this is becoming?
The brief petition was uncomfortable and a bit frustrating, much like stretching a long-cramped muscle and realizing the severe disuse of it. Somehow I’d faded away from these conversational creative experiences, shelving God until the day I had need of him.
Now it seemed that day had come.
I need your help. We need a way to keep life going here at Trevelyan, and only you could accomplish such a miracle.
With each twirl of my brush, I thought over Donegan Vance’s words about the importance of sap and pictured that gorgeous tapestry hidden away in the undercroft. The center of that vine had been filled with radiant gold. The abundance is within. Perhaps that was the vineyard’s secret—the all-important sap.
But what did that mean? What exactly did the vineyard say about Father’s fortune? I had to be overlooking something painfully obvious.
Won’t you show me what it is, God?
10
As I look over the vast vineyard my hands have cultivated, I think over the many small, repetitive, tedious tasks that, together, amounted in the glorious whole before me.
—Notebook of a viticulturist
After a mostly quiet meal, we moved into the gallery, where Mother played the harp for the pleasure of her guests. Her long, slender fingers moved with grace over the strings.
Cousin Neville stood and clapped eagerly when Mother finished the song. “Wonderful. How talented you are, Aunt Gwendolyn.” He cleared his throat and shot a glance toward his wife. “Now, I’d like to extend some news to you. I’m happy to tell you, Aunt, that we’ve decided to help you and Tressa.”
I clutched the arm of the sofa.
Mother smiled, her lips pressed tight. “How kind of you.”
“Yes.” Ellen stepped forward, taking Mother’s hand as if they were old chums and tucking it in the crook of her arm. “We’re going to help you find Uncle Josiah’s money so you don’t have to worry about it, on top of all the grief you must be enduring.” She guided her to a chair and helped her sit.
Mother turned to me with a watery look that said she was nearing the end of her strength. “I rather thought Tressa would find it by now. I suppose she’d appreciate your help, Ellen.”
Not bothering to voice my opinion to the contrary, I merely stared at the abandoned harp, its polished surface glinting in the candlelight.
“I’m sure Miss Harlowe believes she doesn’t need help,” Andrew said in a low tone, “but she does. More than she realizes.” His face, shadowed by the many candles lighting the room, stared at me, dark with hidden meaning.
“Unless the help costs her too much.” I met his gaze with an equally weighty one of my own, thus answering his thinly veiled statement.
Ignorant of the subtle exchange, Neville unleashed a rolled-up drawing across the long table before Mother’s chair and slid a vase over one curled edge to hold it in place. “I’ve begun a rough sketch of Trevelyan Castle’s layout to aid in our search. Now, Aunt Gwendolyn, you know Trevelyan better than we do, so perhaps you can help us fill in any important pieces.”
Mother blinked at the page, her wan face remaining smoothly impassive.
Ellen knelt in a poof of skirts between Mother and the sketch. “It looks as though the walls on this side of the house are far thicker than on any other.”
“That was merely to reinforce the castle. It’s a well-known medieval building technique to prevent invaders.” I leaned close to Mother and Ellen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work against modern ones.”
Ellen lifted eyes of glittering cold steel to me, immediately labeling me her enemy without saying the words.
I continued softly, casually. “But you are more than welcome to begin digging into the stone walls if you wish.” I smiled at her. “It’s about four feet of rock, so you’d best bring tools. If you’ll pardon us, I believe Mother needs to rest now.” I slid between my kneeling cousin and her target, easing Mother up and guiding her toward the door. “I’m sure she’ll address your questions another day.”
When we had departed the room, Neville addressed his wife and traces of his voice carried out to us. “Can’t you restrain yourself, woman? She’ll tire of you before we’ve even been here a week.”
“Stop treating me as the enemy, Neville. Sometimes I think you forget we’re on the same team. Come, bring me the map.”
Let the Langfords mark up their maps and poke into crevices. I would continue on my own path. Not one that sought to explore the house, but rather one pursuing intimate knowledge of the man who had hidden the fortune. Once the words of his notebooks were opened to me, I’d be rich in ideas.
In the hall, Mother sighed. “How desperately I was in need of a rescue, Daughter. I do hope you never marry and leave me. You’ll simply have to drag Andrew here to live.”
“You assume it is Andrew I will marry.”
She paused and gripped the smooth walnut railing. “Why wouldn’t I?” She turned her poised face toward me. “Unless you are backing out of our plan.”
“How can I back out when I never agreed to it in the first place?”
She laughed, releasing that breathy music with an oddly dismissive quality that had made me view her as a sort of queen in my younger days. “Perhaps I should send him to see you. It’s time you spoke privately.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Please, Daughter.” She rested a slender hand on my arm. “It’s the only way I have of protecting you. Of providing for you.”
How vastly different we were. An entire valley of beliefs and values separated us, with no bridge to cross. We coexisted well and often functioned as a team, but we were two opposing beings who could never fully understand one another. It made me miss my simple vineyard-loving father all the more. “I’m not convinced we’re that desperate yet, Mother.”
When we reached her room, she sank into a chair by the window and closed her eyes. “I’ve given you a poor view of marriage, Daughter. For that I am regretful. How I wish my marriage could have been what it should.”
I perched on a nearby chair and clenched my hands in my lap. “Father was not so terrible.”
“Nor was he a delight.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Tressa. I know you held him in high esteem, but he did nothing but snuff the flame that I used to be. I was cut off from what makes me alive and left alone with a man who barely said two words on his best day.”
“He adored you so.”
“I adore this lovely hand mirror.” Mother lifted a delicately carved silver mirror from the table and turned it over. “Yet I leave it sitting here most of its life and only pick it up for brief moments of time.”
“I’d prefer a distant marriage to a difficult one. Think of poor Ellen, who already seems at odds with her husband. At least you did not have her marriage.”
“Ellen is a different sort of woman, Tressa. It isn’t so much the man she detests as marriage itself. While most of us naturally look to men for protection and support, Ellen sees it as bondage. She will never have a happy marriage, no matter which man she chose.”
“Then why did she marry at all?”
“She believed it better than what she had, which was poverty and desperation. Neville has told me she was a gem among the rubbish of the theater, and h
e pulled her up and dusted her off, giving her a comfortable home and respectability. Yet she will never be happy while subject to a man, no matter the circumstances.”
“Perhaps we have something in common after all, for I should never wish to give control of myself to anyone.”
“You are not like her, Tressa. She thrives on living alone, making her own decisions, being her own resource. You’re not the sort to delight in that life.”
The truth of her words sank deep into my floundering heart that was desperate for connection.
“No, you will marry as I did, but hopefully your union will be different.” She touched my shoulder. “Marriage is a woman’s occupation, Tressa. Her method of support. Just as a man may choose the wrong trade, a woman may choose the wrong husband and find herself toiling in misery every day. Find the right one, however, and your life can be wonderfully rich.” She sat forward and took my hand. “Right now you have more freedom than you know. Your power comes in choosing the man to whom you will give yourself, and that means everything.”
“And Andrew is the wisest choice? Is that truly what you believe?”
“Look at all he’s offering you. Beyond his fortune and rank, he makes a fine companion for my lively girl. He tolerates your quirks and enjoys your company. You could do far worse.”
With those soft words humming through my mind as I hurried to my chamber later that night, I reached my room and shut the door against the world. It seemed so risky, throwing myself under the control of one person for the rest of my life. Yet what was the alternative, even for an heiress such as myself—lonely spinsterhood?
Daisy rose and scuttled across the floor to greet me, gladdening my heart. Here at last I was in the company of a faithful friend. “Come, girl. Let’s sit and waste the evening gazing at the stars.” But as I’d sunk into a chair near the window, a knock jolted through my calm. Daisy jumped down and ran to whimper and yip at the door.
I rose reluctantly and answered it. “Andrew.” The man stood before me, seeming even taller when framed by the ornate arch of my doorway. He held a single daisy in his hand, and the sight of the small token tightened my insides. “Your errand is in vain, I’m afraid. I meant every word of my refusal. I’m sorry that Mother encouraged you.” I backed into my room and started to shut the door, but in an instant he splayed his palm on the wooden surface to stop me.
“I’m not here to trouble you with my overtures. In fact, I didn’t come up here to see you at all.”
I raised my eyebrows, my hand still gripping the edge of the door.
“It’s this daisy.” He held up the single flower. “It seemed so lonely that I thought perhaps I should give it to a little dog with the same name.” He threw a smiling glance toward Daisy, who sat at attention near my feet, dark eyes intent on the visitor. “Plain as it is, I find I can’t resist its fresh white petals, its innocent charm, and . . .” his glance swept up to my face then, looking painfully lost, “the utter beauty of everything about it.”
The evident despair in his features chipped at the edges of my resolve, but I would not let it go further. “Perhaps the poor daisy preferred to be left alone.” I allowed my harsh words to slice through the thickness of the moment to keep my warring feelings at bay. It would be dangerous to give in to him, wouldn’t it?
“It won’t ever find out unless it experiences something else.” A playful smile lifted the edges of his lips, charming the defenses out from under me. “A short walk for Daisy and me, with you to chaperone, of course.” He offered his arm. “Come, I’ve something to tell you.”
I hesitated. How easy it would be to fall into his delightful company and stave off the solitude of this night.
“Please, Tressa. Just a walk between friends. Bring your lady’s maid if you like. I so long for your company, and I can see the same loneliness haunting your lovely face.”
I looked back into my empty, shadowed room, my only other alternative for the night, and took his arm. “I suppose a turn about the gardens would be allowable. I’ll find Lucy.” What harm could a simple walk do, really?
He led me with long strides into the hall glowing with soft candlelight and toward the stairs. The sudden tensing of his arm at the sound of footsteps reminded me painfully of our youth, all those days pretending before others that we meant nothing to one another, despite the secret understanding between us. I should have known then that his love was only temporary when he felt the need to hide it so. I was thankful when Lucy joined us, even though she remained a few paces behind.
Once outside, awash in the cool, briny breeze of the Bristol Channel, we talked quietly and easily. A tentative friendship arose between us with traces of the old and flavors of something new as well.
Thus we ambled about, little Daisy pattering at our heels, and the experience nearly swallowed me in its beauty. But every time the moment threatened to engulf me, my thoughts returned to that tightening of his arm and the many times in the past we’d hidden from others to maintain his façade of obedience to his parents.
When Lucy fell asleep on a bench, we lost ourselves among moon-drenched foliage nearby and the memories of our youth. Unable to bear the weight of my hesitations, I turned to him and voiced my thought. “This does seem familiar, all this sneaking about.”
His awkward laugh did nothing to set my heart at ease.
I sighed. “Nothing’s changed, has it?”
He led me deep into the back garden, following the perfectly trimmed hedges to the fountain in the center. Moonlight lit the spray of water in the middle of the great stone piece. “If you refer to my feelings, surely you know the answer to that.”
I slid my hand away from his arm and sat on the edge of the huge fountain, leaning down to rub Daisy’s head. “I mean the need to keep it secret. Your parents still do not approve of the match.”
“It’s this ridiculous peerage, and the lifestyle that accompanies it. My future is cared for like the crown jewels, but I’m hoping to convince them to change their mind in time.”
“Why should your father’s position affect your future, and your choice of a bride?”
He sat beside me on the fountain and took my hands. “It’s the surprise I was hoping to share with you. You see, there’s a position opening for me in Parliament, but only if I earn enough respect among the constituents to acquire the vote.”
“And this constituency is . . .”
He heaved a sigh and dropped his gaze to our hands. “Mostly friends of Mother and Father. Stuffy overly pious types in Bristol society who aren’t very accepting of ladies without an established heritage.”
I fidgeted, tracing the edge of the stone base where we sat. “I suppose I should offer my congratulations. Bristol? I had no idea you planned to remain nearby permanently.”
“I hope you’ll say a great deal more when I ask you something else.”
He shifted off the fountain edge to kneel before me and my chest tightened as he took both of my hands in his. Now that this moment, this blessed moment, had finally arrived, I feared it. Wanted it to be over. I looked past him toward the pink roses climbing a trellis and tried to breathe normally, willing him to ask a different question. He bowed his head, touching his smooth forehead to my clasped hands, then lifted his gaze to mine.
I looked into his earnest eyes and imagined the nature of my life with this man, seeing it in fleeting images. It was warm and familiar and exciting all at the same time, vastly different than the emptiness I had now. Yet the past hurts lingered, tightening around my mind.
“You’d make a spectacular politician’s wife.” He traced my knuckles with one fingertip. “You’re well spoken, gracious, and most of all, so utterly loyal. The way you maintained feelings for me in the face of . . . And your father—no one else would have put up with the man all these years, but you pursued him even when he ignored you time and again.”
I licked my dry lips as I listened to this recital of my best traits, chief of which was that of an accomplished lack
ey of sorts to those I loved most. If I ever imagined a sweeping romantic speech leading up to this moment, the words now hanging in the air between us killed that.
“We can announce our engagement after I’ve secured the position, then think of what we can do together. With my ancient family name and your father’s fortune, they’d love us and we will be unstoppable. And not just in Parliament, but—”
“Why would you need my father’s fortune? Hasn’t your family always had plenty of . . .”
My voice trailed off as his gaze dropped, hair falling in a boyish flop over his forehead.
“I see.” And truly, I did. More than he knew.
“You know how Father is with his investments. Always these ingenious inventions that need money to back them and bring them to market.”
And in that revelation, the dreamy night sputtered and died out into a heap of ashes, soon to be cold. I rose slowly, allowing this moment to burn itself into my mind and protect me from future temptation. Whatever he did or said, no matter how he charmed me in days to come, his efforts would always be tainted with the notion that he wanted my money. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to give up on our romance, but he’d created a mammoth-sized wall to scale. “I believe it’s past the hour of decency for Daisy to be out, and I should return her to the house.”
I stepped toward Lucy to wake her, but he caught my hand and turned me toward him, his earnest face imploring. “Why are you so eager to label me a gold digger, Tressa? You know me. You know my affection for you. Plenty of other girls have fortunes, and I could marry any one of them if that’s all I wanted, without all the hurdles and trouble of pursuing a girl who shuts me out.” He swept up my hands and gently tugged me close. Closing his eyes, he bestowed the tenderest of kisses on my fingertips and laid his cheek on them. “I choose the trouble. The hurdles. Because I believe the fortune I’ll find on the other side is worth the effort. And I don’t mean the money.”
A Rumored Fortune Page 8
