Silence Is Golden

by Sara Ackerman

  He found the rotund, good-natured innkeeper’s wife wiping down tables at the back of the public room. “Excuse me, Mrs. Olin? Could you direct me to my wife’s room?”

  “Your wife, is she?” Mrs. Olin grunted, never breaking her rhythm as she scrubbed and wiped at each table in its turn. “It was my impression when the two of you arrived she were an unmarried lady, and you were not her husband.” She turned her gimlet eyes to him, squeezing her wet rag with gusto, and he swallowed hard.

  Smiling, he looked into his landlady’s suspicious eyes and did what any honorable man did in this situation. He lied. “Did she tell you we weren’t married?” He tapped his chin with his index finger and barked a laugh. “I knew she was angry with me, but I didn’t expect her to keep me from my own bed this evening.”

  For all intents and purposes, Mrs. Olin appeared to be ignoring him, and he had to resist the urge to fidget while he waited. She grunted. “What did you do?”

  “It was a little misunderstanding,” he rushed to reassure. “We’re newly married and are on our way to honeymoon in the countryside.”

  “So far I don’t see any problem.” She bustled her plump frame past him to wipe the next group of tables.

  “Neither did I. Her uncle and aunt have allowed us the use of their country manor.”

  Once Lady Westby arrives, I’m sure they’ll take her in. He crossed his fingers behind his back and prayed he was right.

  “But my lady had her heart set on visiting France. With the war, though…”

  “Uh-huh. An’ she can’t forgive you for changing your plans.”

  He raised his hands in what he hoped was an endearing manner, happy Mrs. Olin had come to her own conclusions and he didn’t need to invent more lies.

  “So you see my dilemma, Mrs. Olin? I would love nothing more than to give my lady her heart’s desire, but I am bound to see her safe.”

  The one truth amidst all my lies. If anything were to happen to her and the Earl of Stanton were to discover he had done nothing to prevent a mishap to his wife’s younger sister… He suppressed a shudder. He wasn’t a betting man, but if he were, he’d wager all his money on Lord Stanton emerging victorious in any confrontation between the two of them.

  It will be better if I keep her safe until she arrives at her uncle’s.

  Mrs. Olin had made her decision. She waddled over to the staircase and ascended, glancing back once when he had yet to follow. He sprinted across the room and followed her up the stairs. At the end of the hallway, she stopped at what he guessed was Lady Westby’s door. Taking out a large ring of keys, she unlocked the door.

  Before he could open the door, Mrs. Olin skewered him with a harsh stare and poked a firm finger into his breastbone. “If I find out tomorrow any harm has come to this woman, I will make it my personal mission to see you tarred and feathered. Do I make myself clear?”

  Taking her finger in his hand, he removed the offending digit. “Perfectly clear, madam.”

  Mrs. Olin toddled off down the hall, leaving him alone. “Now comes the hard part. Convincing the lady to let me in.”

  Knocking on the door, he called out, “Lady Evelyn? It’s me, Mr. Coombes. Can I come in?”

  There were several moments of silence as he waited for acknowledgement from within. Hearing nothing, he worried some harm had already befallen her, and he debated with himself on the merits of rushing in versus waiting. Risking her anger seemed a small price to pay to prevent anything happening to her.

  “I am coming in.” Letting himself into the room, he panicked when he didn’t see her right away.

  Calm down. She didn’t come below, so she has to be here.

  He reined in his concern and swept the room again. He saw a large tub partially concealed by a modesty screen. A quick scan of the bed and windows revealed nothing. There was a crackle and loud hiss. He swung around to find the sound and located her near the fire opposite the tub. When he spied her, all of the blood in his body pooled to his groin.

  She was naked. Lady Evelyn Westby was naked, and she was as beautiful as he had imagined. Seated in front of the fire with her back toward him, he glimpsed the smooth expanses of pale skin on her back and buttocks. Her delicate neck bowed toward the fire to better dry her hair. He followed the graceful line down her shoulders to the curved landscape of her hips and upper thighs. When she extended her arms toward the hearth, revealing a small, pink-tipped breast, high and firm on her lithe body, he groaned, having forgotten she was unaware of his presence.

  “Holy Mother of God!”

  Wide, frightened eyes snapped to attention, and in her surprise she jumped, revealing all her hidden secrets for him to view. Without shame, he swept her flushing body with hungry eyes, noting the thrusting tips of her breasts down to the pale hair guarding her most feminine secrets. Licking his lip, he had made to move toward her when she grabbed a towel and screamed, “Get out!”

  Too stunned at her unexpected exclamation, he complied and rushed out to the hallway. Leaning against the door, he closed his eyes and willed his pounding heart to still, a difficult feat when the image of her nude body would be forever imprinted into his mind. As he contemplated finding a cold stream to dunk himself in, he heard a soft, whispered voice through the door. “Mr. Coombes? Are you still there?”

  Spinning on his heels, he went to unlatch the door and found she had already opened it and was staring at him in wide-eyed wonderment. She beckoned him in, closed the door, and rested with her back against the wooden plank. Her hand covered her mouth while she stared at him.

  “Evie?” He took great liberties in calling her by her given name, but he was too worried by the pallor on her face to observe proprieties.

  For God’s sake, I’ve seen her naked! Propriety be hanged!

  “Are you well?” Tear-dampened cheeks lodged a ball of guilt in his stomach.

  He was disgusted. I am the worst of cads, ogling a young, unprotected woman when I should be shielding her from brutes like me.

  “Mr. Coombes, I can talk.”

  “What? Aren’t you furious with me?”

  She shook her head, but his confusion did not disappear. “I don’t understand what your ability to speak has to do with me seeing you, ahem, before.” He gestured to the fireplace where he had last seen her and then hardened when a tempting flush crept up her neck to stain her cheeks.

  “Forget about that, and hear what I am saying.”

  Maybe she can forget what happened, but the image of her naked body is forever branded in my mind.

  “Mr. Coombes?” Her impatience roused him from his hazy daydreams to respond.

  “Based on the parameters of your curse, I assumed under certain circumstances you could speak, but what does—”

  She narrowed the gap between the two of them and grabbed his shirt front. “You don’t understand. I can talk to you.” Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him with a surprising ferocity for one so small. “It’s a miracle!”

  With her slight body pressed against his, something elemental within him shifted. Somewhere deep inside, where buried dreams still lay in tattered remnants, a long dormant fantasy broke free. It floated out before his mind’s eye, this elusive and abstract picture of a younger man’s hidden desires. He tried grasping it to better examine the ragged edges and muted colors, but the picture faded, leaving him yearning for something he had never had.

  Uncertainty haunted him, so he wrapped his arms around her and held on, only knowing he was not so lost with her slender arms around him.

  Chapter 4

  Dusk arrived, though it was difficult to tell. For the better part of a week, storm clouds had blocked the sun, blending day and night together to create an endless twilight. The quiet evening and the ensuing darkness amplified the already cool air. Evie pulled on a wrap over her modest traveling dress, tied the sash around her waist, and stepped out from behind the privacy screen. Mr. Coombes was feeding the fire, and soon the nearly extinguished flames flickered on t
he hearth, doing much to chase away the chill.

  She lit several candles and wandered about the room, running her fingers over the wooden wainscoting.

  If I don’t look at him, we won’t need to discuss what happened.

  But she was a contrary creature, and curiosity, as it always did, overtook her sense of prudishness, and she peeked. He was as uncomfortable as she, if not more so, for after feeding the fire, he shuffled away from the mantel and stood in the middle of the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets and doing his best to avoid looking at her. Awkwardness hung heavy between them. While her initial embarrassment had faded, the man had seen her naked. The remembrance caused her body to flush, and to wish for the floor to open and swallow her whole.

  Where does one go from here? There are no lessons instructing young women what to do in these situations.

  She giggled, imagining her spinster governess’s horrified expression if she had been required to explain how to act upon accidental exposure to a man not her husband. Her giggle roused him from his own discomfort, and he regarded her as if she had grown two heads. She couldn’t help herself; she laughed. “This has been the most astonishing day of my life, Mr. Coombes.”

  A sheepish smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “I concur, though please call me Alfred,” he reminded her.

  Shyness rendered her speechless, and a flush stole up her neck, staining her cheeks and ears. Unless they were related or betrothed, men and women did not address each other by their given names.

  However, they had decided to do away with formalities, given the unexpected intimacy of their acquaintance. Throwing herself into a man’s arms and crying were not usual occurrences, nor was exposing herself. He was too much of a gentleman to further comment on her state of dishabille, and after her tears had ceased, he had done nothing more than hand her a handkerchief.

  She had almost forgiven him his infuriating silence on the earlier leg of their journey.

  “You can’t imagine how exciting it is to talk to you Mister—Alfred.”

  “Then you are the first to ever say so.”

  “I feared, when I had yelled at you, Fate was playing a cruel prank, but we have been conversing for almost an hour, and I haven’t reverted to my former silent state.”

  “I know.”

  She was going to ask him what he meant but was interrupted by a knock on the door. He motioned for her to hide behind the privacy screen, and she scurried to comply. They were unmarried. She had no wish to damage her reputation by being seen in a room with a man not her husband. He opened the door, and after a brief conversation, she heard the latch click into place.

  “You can come out now.”

  She poked her head out from behind the screen to see he carried a wooden tray. An enticing aroma tickled her nose, and she licked her lips. Wasting no time, she emerged from behind the screen and plucked the tray from his hands to set it on the side table. With more enthusiasm than ladylike decorum, she pulled off a hunk of warm bread and shoved it into her mouth. “Am I glad you ordered us something to eat! I am famished.”

  He tugged on his collar. “To be honest, I didn’t. I imagine Mrs. Olin was checking to see if you were unharmed.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He cleared his throat and explained how he had to tell a little white lie to their hostess about their relationship, lest she be unprotected throughout the evening from their rambunctious neighbors down in the common room.

  Her mouth dropped, and surprise put her at a momentary loss for words. He flushed a dull red, and in light of his embarrassment, she rushed to put him at ease.

  “You’ve come to my rescue twice tonight.” On impulse born of gratitude, she took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

  He ducked his head, busying himself with the bread and cheese on the platter, though she suspected he avoided her gaze because he was uncomfortable. Earlier, when she had hugged him, he had been stiff and unwilling to return her embrace. Perhaps he had no one to call his own? No family to love and soothe him? She wanted to know who he was, and she laughed aloud.

  “I no longer have to wait. I can ask you, can’t I?”

  His hand laden with a sizable chunk of cheese paused midway to his mouth. “Eh?”

  “It is astounding to me how I can talk without fear of awakening my curse. There is no hesitation or the usual choking sensation accompanying any attempt to speak with someone from outside my family.”

  He put aside his food. “You choke when trying to speak? How awful.”

  She paused for a sip of wine, contemplating whether to share her fears with this man when not even her sisters knew. Amelia and Beatrice would sympathize, but it was too difficult to explain the gripping fear she experienced when silence locked her away inside her head. Confiding in them changed nothing, so they remained ignorant of her struggles. Far too long she had stood alone, an island set apart from those around her. Her curse ensured there was no one in whom to confide, while a terrible future involving a silent lifetime prevented her from revealing all to her loved ones. Burdening them with her anxieties was not an option. Thus she had grown into an independent young woman, keeping her innermost self separated from those she loved the most.

  This man is different. Here was someone who, despite their separation in class and wealth, was like her. Self-contained. Perhaps a little guarded. Someone who also kept his most essential self tucked away. Though they had a short acquaintance, she trusted him.

  “The gypsy’s curse causes my words to swell and lodge in my throat. It steals the air from my body.”

  Her hand fluttered to her throat. “It’s uncomfortable.” She turned her head away, peering into the darkening room with unseeing eyes. Here in the darkness, the oppressive weight of silence was always stronger, and her fear of being silenced forever overwhelmed her.

  “Sometimes I…I fear the swelling will never ease and I…” she faltered. It was more difficult to share this with him than she had imagined. Finding his kind, blue eyes with her own, she said on a whisper, “I fear I shall be strangled into silence by the words aching to burst free.”

  His soft compassion comforted the disquiet of her soul. In an echo of her earlier move, he squeezed her hand. “You must be terrified when it happens. There are times, too, when I experience what you have described. I am not cursed as you are, but I am not always easy in company.” He tapped his fist on his breast. “The times when I am required to be sociable, it’s like the words are trapped within me, struggling to break loose. But for me those times pass, and I am once again in charge of my voice. I can’t imagine what you have had to endure time and again. You are an incredible woman.”

  Gratitude overwhelmed her. She had been right to confide in him. A pleasurable tingle built in her hand, spreading its warmth throughout her arm and settling low into her stomach, where a queer sort of ache built. This unexpected stirring of need excited and confused her.

  Lord Newgate has held my hand on many occasions, but I’ve never experienced this. The passing thought of her betrothed reminded her of the present compromising situation. She extricated her hand and laughed, the sound shaky to her own ears.

  “We have become too serious, of a sudden. This will not do! Tell me about your family and where you come from. If we are to continue being traveling companions—and the way this weather has been, we might be such for many days yet to come—we must know more about each other.” Grabbing the platter of food from the side table, she went to the fireplace and sat next to the hearth, hoping distance would cool the kindling fire his presence caused.

  She watched him watch her, his expression inscrutable. Swallowing hard, she tried to break their intense connection, but she could not. The small hairs on her forearm rose, and she rubbed them to chase away the chill. All too soon it passed, and she chided herself for reading more into the situation than was warranted.

  He ambled over to the fire, where he found a comfortable spot to prop up an elbow. “What would you like
to know?”

  Dozens of questions flittered through her head until she landed on the one she had been dying to know since meeting him. Leaning over, she looked him in the eye and intoned with mock seriousness, “Tell me, Mr. Alfred T. Coombes, what does the T stand for?”

  He leaned his head back and chuckled, his rich baritone weaving its husky sound into the quiet room and wrapping her in its heady warmth. “What a personal question, and one not even you, no matter how uncommonly beautiful you are, can charm out of me with a sweet smile.”

  Much as a wine connoisseur relishes the flavor of a delectable vintage, she savored his admiration and flushed at the compliment. Her head swam from the unexpected pleasure of his words. Since she was old enough to comprehend desire, she had heard similar words from men who were enchanted by her silent beauty. Their praise fell like autumn leaves around her feet, each homage to her beauty more brittle and lifeless than the last. By the time she made her debut, she had collected a forest of acclaim—shallow, meaningless phrases that shattered upon closer scrutiny. None of those sentiments, even those of her betrothed, had meant anything to her. Until now.

  This revelation, along with her previous study of his character, made her heart beat a little faster as they sat and talked. Instead of divulging his mysterious middle name, he had changed the topic with the deftness of a seasoned barrister.

  Oh, how he enjoys riling me! Of course, he doesn’t know he’s doing it, but it’s annoying all the same.

  Even more vexing was how she noticed aspects of his countenance that traveling hadn’t permitted her to comprehend. His eyes fascinated her. A beautiful blue flecked with gray and green, they gave him a most exotic appearance. Shadow and light danced across the firm jaw she so admired, sculpting a powerful man of quality and distinction. Allowing her eyes to follow those sharp angles of his face down to his neck, she cursed his laced collar and pristine cravat for blocking her view. Judging by the breadth of his large shoulders, he was no milksop dandy. For shoulders as large as his, he must engage in regular exercise.