Ella

by Virginia Taylor

  “You have two fenced paddocks not far from the homestead,” he said.

  “More orders for me, Mr. Langdon?” Given the impossibility of their future relationship, an impartial subject was a reasonable enough way to pass the time.

  “One is your hayfield, which by the look of it has been unplanted for the past few years. The other is the billabong paddock.”

  “I don’t know why Papa didn’t plant last year. Perhaps he couldn’t bear to ask the Lannocks for the loan of their plow and bullocks when he knew he owed them money.”

  “You have a hand-plow in the stables. Why didn’t he use that?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t know how.” She reached for her comb in her bundle. “Do you think we should bother to plant feed before we leave?”

  “If Jed comes back before the rains. But first you’ll have to finish the fencing.”

  “And the dipping.” She combed through her hair, watching him watch her and enjoying his fascination.

  “No rest for the wicked,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Perhaps I’ve been wicked.” Glancing at him from under her lashes, she twisted her hair into a simple knot on her nape. “But it’s a normal wickedness, surely?”

  “If you mean that episode in the woolshed, nothing like that will happen again.”

  She met his gaze. “And you only need to say it won’t happen and it won’t?”

  “I learned to discipline myself at an early age.”

  She stood and walked to the bank of the river. Her bare toe stirred the edge of the water. Turning to face him, she said, “Perhaps I don’t admire that sort of discipline. It speaks of a cold heart. Aside from that, you’re rejecting me and it hurts.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry you’re hurt and I’m sorry you feel rejected. But you must see that a physical relationship between us is inappropriate.”

  “I have no intention of throwing myself at you. I’m not exactly desperate.” She gave a tight smile. “If I wanted a husband, I don’t doubt I could find at least one during my first year in the city. More than that would be greedy, as you previously mentioned.”

  He stood. “You’re being too modest, Miss Beaufort.”

  “I scarcely know the meaning of the word.” In a dramatic gesture, she flung her hand out and accidentally knocked off her hat. The brim settled with a thud. She stepped toward her headgear.

  “Leave it!” He leaped forward.

  She cut past him. He snatched at her arm, hauling her backward. Stumbling, she clutched him for balance, amazed to see her hat begin a jerky dance. “Oh, my.” The tail of the brown snake writhed beneath the hat.

  “He looks very nice in your chapeau,” Cal said, gentling his grip on her upper arm. “I think now is not the best time to grab the shade from him.”

  “Possibly not.” She stayed in the circle of his arms. “Though perhaps I could hurry him along if I tell him flat brims are a passing fad.”

  He gave a soft laugh.

  The snake, acting as affronted as a snake could, wriggled from beneath the brown felt and whipped off into the scrub. They stared at the now vacant headwear. For a moment Cal stood with his hands on Ella’s waist while she breathed in his sun-warmed skin, wishing she could keep him with her always. With a soft smile she raised her hands and settled them around his neck. He stared into her eyes, gripped her upper arms, and lifted her away from him.

  “Beautifully done,” she said, stark with disappointment. “You could have kissed my forehead in an avuncular way, but that might have been a little patronizing. And you’re not capable of being patronizing, are you, Cal? In every situation, you always do the right thing.” She noted the pump of a vein in his neck and, turning, she strolled back to the fire. “We can start out again as soon as we’ve eaten. Am I really holding you up?”

  “If I’d been alone, I would have left by now.”

  She drew a resigned breath. “I’ll go back. If all we can do is grouch at each other, we’ll waste too much energy.”

  “You’d trust me to retrieve your horses?”

  “Cal, I’d trust you with the rest of my life. No. That came out wrongly. I’m not proposing marriage to you. I’m saying that of course I’d trust you. I simply thought it wasn’t fair to leave you to do something I wasn’t prepared to do myself.”

  “You’re not qualified to camp out and detain horse thieves.”

  “How do I gain that sort of qualification? By sitting at home with my sewing? Look, when you’ve gone I’m going to have to do many things I’ve never done before. And I’m sure you weren’t born on a horse yelling ‘stop, thief.’ I’m sure you didn’t walk past dry grass and say ‘hey, presto, fire, light yourself.’ I’m certain flour and water didn’t leap into your hands saying ‘I’ll be damper when you cook me.’” She sat cross-legged by the plates. “And I bet the first time you slept on the ground you woke up aching, too.”

  “I can’t imagine why you would assume any of that.” The glimmer of a smile softened his mouth.

  “Do we have to be mean to each other? I said I’ll go back and I will.”

  “Would you consider marrying me?”

  She stiffened with shock. “What?”

  “I’m not proposing. But would you marry a man who had not a penny to his name?”

  Very slowly, she gathered pleats in her skirts. “I’m in mourning.”

  “You’re evading the question.”

  “I haven’t thought of marriage.”

  “With a poor man. A moment ago you were talking about your prospective rich suitors.”

  “I don’t see how I can think of marriage while I have my sisters to provide for. If I left them, they’d be worse off than they are.”

  “Why would you leave them?”

  “Wouldn’t I follow my husband wherever he led?”

  “What if he led you into further poverty?”

  “I wouldn’t like it,” she said bluntly. “No one dreams about going from bad to worse.”

  “‘For better or worse,’ I think the promise is.”

  “Given the choice, I’d take ‘better.’ And ‘richer.’ There, now are you happy? Have I made it clear that I don’t think of marriage with you?” She snatched at her towel and went to the rocky basin to have a quick wash.

  Her eyes prickled. She knew that that they’d both been talking about the same subject—their attraction to each other. She knew as well as he did that they couldn’t have a view to marriage. Not every woman, however, wanted marriage or nothing.

  When she went back, he was prodding a blackened lump in the fire with one booted foot. “The damper’s ready.” He rested his gaze for a brief moment on her mouth.

  For an even briefer moment she closed her eyes. “The sooner we eat, the sooner I leave.” She tried to hide the need he so easily aroused in her.

  “You can’t leave, as you know. You couldn’t make it back in under a day and if you don’t, you’ll have to sleep out alone. I can’t let you do that. You’ve come this far and you’ll have to continue.”

  “I’ve passed the point of no return, have I?” She picked up the plates, wondering about her phrasing—point of no return in their journey or the point of no return in their relationship?

  Chapter 12

  Finally, the aroma of sizzling bacon wafted into the study. Edward wondered if the lady of the house would manage to be present for breakfast, but Irene emerged as undisturbed as usual and as perfectly groomed, hair curled like a bunch of grapes down the back of her head. She wore pale lilac, a color that aged her. Edward pondered saying so but realized that as she didn’t look a day over forty, the aging effect hadn’t quite caught up to reality.

  “Good morning, Edward. A fine day.” She sat in the chair he pulled out for her.

  The dining room had been papered in cream and white stripes. Curtains in pale green framed the French windows, which had been opened to show the view of green velvet lawns and shad
e trees. He wondered if Irene had put in the croquet lawn she had discussed with him last year. If so, the area must be to the right. “Day indeed. You’ve missed the best part.”

  “You remember, don’t you, that I have planned a garden party this afternoon?”

  “I remember.”

  “And you will be here?”

  “I said I would, didn’t I?” Last night he’d refused, but Irene said how strange not to attend a garden party held at his own house when people knew he had arrived a few days ago. He didn’t care what did or did not look strange or what people thought, but he finally decided that among Irene’s chattering friends he might hear something useful. Therefore, he planned to arrive back here after his meeting with his lawyer.

  An hour later, after being ushered into Mr. George Pennysmith’s paneled office, he sat in an upright, uncomfortable chair beside Pennysmith’s heavy desk.

  “All is well with my affairs, I presume, or you would have contacted me. Do you have news of Charlton?”

  “None.” Pennysmith, a man in his late forties, slight and slim, with dark hair thinning on the top and a girlish pink mouth, affected surprise. “Why? What has happened?”

  “I simply wondered if he had dealings with you. He had a business idea in the offing. He might have tried to obtain finance through you.”

  Pennysmith blinked at him. “Some three months ago I found three or four men with money to invest and put him in contact with them, if that’s what you are asking.”

  “That is, indeed, what I am asking. And did any invest money in my grandson?”

  The lawyer pulled at his earlobe. “Young Mr. Lynton has not kept me informed.”

  Edward lowered his eyebrows. “What exactly did you discuss with him?”

  “Little more than I’m discussing with you. He paid for my time, which I found surprising. Normally I render my account to you.”

  Edward stared straight at the man. “I would like you to supply me with the names you gave him.”

  Pennysmith frowned. “I will send you a list. You are at your usual town address? I hope you and your grandson haven’t found my recommendations in any way lacking.”

  Edward stood. “I’ll expect to see the list sometime this afternoon.”

  Edward strolled down Rundle Street a comparatively satisfied man, interested to hear that for his proposed venture Charlton had paid for the services of the lawyer and not left his grandfather to foot the bill. The lad had ethics not considered by his father. While the lad stayed away not costing Edward a penny, he would certainly learn on which side his bread was buttered.

  Either that or... Edward took a deep breath. He couldn’t give up his investigations of Charlton. If the lad honestly preferred his independence and if he honestly wanted his own business, as long as Edward held the purse strings Charlton would be safe enough. Edward squinted in the unremitting sunlight.

  He would listen to the lad’s ideas when they met again.

  * * * *

  Ella watched Cal drop a steaming chunk of torn damper onto her plate. She ate from the center to the blackened crust on the outside, appeasing her appetite quickly. “Shall you save some for Jed? He might arrive for breakfast.”

  “He came back before you awoke, ate the rabbits, and has gone on ahead. He said he’ll mark the easiest way because the gorge is steep. I’ve an idea we’ll be leading our horses most of the time.” He tossed the crusts to Girl and she swallowed them whole.

  “When we catch up with the thieves, what will we do?”

  “Take back the horses.” He had already watered and saddled their mounts, which stood in the shade of the trees, blinking patiently. The rays from the sun burst through the canopy, dappling the ground. This day promised to be as hot as the last.

  “Do you think taking them back will be so easy?”

  “Roll your pack. It’s time we left.”

  Ella strapped her pack onto her horse, experiencing her first glimmer of apprehension. When they caught the thieves, how would they force them to give back the horses?

  She rode behind Cal, noting his uncompromising back and his broad shoulders. He seemed as one with the outdoors. His steadfastness matched the solidity of the red gums. His size and strength were undiminished by the vast areas, and his natural assurance echoed that of the untamed land.

  If she’d met him six months earlier, before her father had died, and he’d proposed marriage she might have said “yes.” With Papa there to care for his other daughters, she could have accompanied Cal to the city and would have borne his poverty with him. The many money-saving hints she’d learned in the past few months would have stood them in good stead.

  Now, of course, she couldn’t leave with him or help him. After the sale of the property, only the debts would be resolved. Her wool-clip money had to be used in conjunction with her sisters’ if any were to survive financially. Without one of the portions, the other two would be in dire straits.

  Their best chance now was to get back her horses and sell them.

  Cal didn’t speak to her and she didn’t appreciate his attitude. He hadn’t proposed, and she wouldn’t accept anyway. Therefore, she saw no need for his high-minded principles.

  About a mile along the river’s edge, the scrub thickened. The visible trail shifted to the dense bushland and wandered farther and farther from the river. The hills grew higher. To mark the way, Jed had jammed broken branches into tree forks, although the trampled grasses clearly showed where a large group of horses had traveled the day before.

  Dry branches snapped and cracked under the horse’s hooves. Her sweaty fingers toyed with the reins. Girl raced through the undergrowth, mainly following Cal but circling back occasionally to check the lagging Ella. The sun rose higher in the sky. Tall and indomitable, Cal dismounted from his horse.

  “The branches are too low. We’ll have to walk single file.”

  She nodded and dismounted, too. No longer could they maintain a straight path. The track twisted through thick scrub. Clumps of tiny native orchids grew in the shade of the trees. She walked on little starry yellow flowers and exotic berry-bearing creepers and she climbed over fallen logs, all the while urging her horse along, too.

  Cal stopped. “Tired?”

  She shook her sweaty head. Her back ached and her legs hurt but she had no intention of holding him back.

  “The gorge is over there.”

  She stared where he indicated, mutely, noticing a patch of blue sky.

  “We need to rest.”

  She dropped her horse’s reins. The horse stayed, tossing his head, jingling his bridle. Her blouse stuck to her back.

  Cal passed her the water bag. “You first.”

  “No cups?”

  “This is not a Sunday picnic.”

  She swilled, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and walked to where he had pointed while he drank. “Cal,” she called in an awed voice. “Come and look.”

  He moved to her side. The gorge fell sharply a hundred feet or more, a split in pink rocks with a clear-running river below. Delicate plants grew out of the crevices, softening the perfect profile. She’d never seen anything quite as beautiful in her life. The air smelled fresher here, another atmosphere, cooler.

  She glanced at Cal. He held out his hand to her, removing the stalemate of their situation. In the surrounding splendor, she moved into his embrace. Her hands slid around his neck and her body molded against his. She heard him sigh, and their lips met. His hands contoured her against him. With a mind emptied of everything but him, she slid her fingers beneath his collar; then, breathless and hazy, she took her lips from his. She leaned back to examine his expression, trying to read his thoughts.

  He looked half desirous, half rueful. Her palms settled on his hot skin and his chin brushed across her hair, slowly, tenderly. He smiled at her and she knew she loved him. At that moment, she thought her heart beat only for him and she smiled back. His mouth relaxed, but his e
xpression veiled. Almost too slowly to bear, he put her away from him. With a guiding hand, he escorted her back to their horses.

  She walked with him along the marked trail, her energy renewed and her heart light. His calmness, his thoughtfulness, and the gallant way he tried to take care of her might be admirable, but she didn’t want to be left with only a memory of gallantry. She wanted to be a woman who’d once loved a man who desired her and had even spoken of marriage, hopeless though that was. Without an experience of love, she would live a life of regret.

  And Ella Beaufort didn’t intend to regret a thing.

  * * * *

  Edward stood with his hand on the veranda railing, gazing at Irene’s garden party guests. A string quartet played under the shade of a group of oak trees. Edward shifted restlessly.

  He wore the required morning suit but would have preferred to be dressed in a cool cotton shirt and comfortable trousers. Although he’d been born to the drawing room, he didn’t care for formality, whereas Irene, the daughter of a minor clergyman in England and raised respectably middle class, had all the graces of an aristocrat.

  Dressed in an elegant, peach-colored, rustling gown trimmed with black lace on the neck and sleeves, she drifted over to Edward. One delicate white hand held her full skirts from the first step of the veranda. “Do come and mingle, Edward. Perhaps you would like to meet Daniel McLaren. He was a school friend of Charlton’s and he has just arrived with his sister. Let me introduce you.”

  Edward put his cup on a marble-topped table and descended the two slate steps leading to the lawn. No longer left with an overview, he heard snippets of conversation as he followed Irene to the center of the formal garden, where thin sandwich triangles, small cakes, and bite-sized canapés had been set out on a lace tablecloth.