Adam's Promise (4 page)

If she knew what was good for her, she would throttle her hopes and never let them get away from her again.

M
adeline sat at the long, oak table in the dining room, trying very hard not to look at Adam, because every time she did, the urge to stare at him was something close to crippling.

She couldn't explain it. She didn't want to stare. She wanted all these desires to go away. She thought they
would
after what had occurred at the fort, after he'd humiliated her and accused her of deceiving him. She thought that the cold, hard reality of the man Adam had become would jolt her out of her fantasy, and that she would feel nothing for him.

Unfortunately, instead of feeling nothing, she felt everything. One minute she was angry at him. The next minute, after all her ministrations to remain indifferent, she was caught up in the intoxicating dream of him. To be in his presence here tonight made her feel almost short of breath. He sat at the head of the table, his clean, white neckcloth presented in a neat ruffle, his large hands strong and sure. Why couldn't she stop noticing how handsome he was?

She found herself wishing most ridiculously that he
had turned out to be a crotchety old man with bad teeth and no hair.

Forcing her eyes to stay focused on her plate, she cleared her throat, and the sound made everyone jump. All of the family was present, all except for Mary, and Madeline wondered uncomfortably if this silence was normal.

“Why is everyone so quiet?” Penelope asked.

Madeline dabbed at her lips with a damask napkin, curious as to how Adam would answer the question.

His voice was deep and calm. “We're hungry, Penelope. That's all.”

“But we're always hungry at supper.”

“Perhaps it's because we have a guest, and we're all trying to be on our best behavior.”

Penelope lifted her sweet gaze toward Madeline and smiled, then returned quietly to her eating.

A hush fell over the room again. Silverware clinked against china plates, the clock ticked audibly, and Madeline knew that they were all aware of the mix-up, and had now had time to discuss it privately amongst themselves…to whisper and pass judgments about her. Did they believe Madeline had been involved in the manipulation? Did they think she was deceitful or self-serving? Or did they suspect the embarrassing truth and sympathize with her, as Mary had?

She dabbed at her mouth again with the napkin and decided it was long past time to make some polite conversation. “Jacob, Mary told me you were working in the fields today. What are you planting this time of year?”

The young man across the table, dressed in a pale blue waistcoat, set down his fork before he spoke. “I finished planting potatoes in the high field, Miss Oxley. Then I rode over to Mr. Carter's place to help him plant his.”

Madeline noticed the lack of resemblance between Adam and his stepson, Jacob. Jacob possessed fair features—golden hair and blue eyes—while Adam and the other children had strikingly dark coloring.

Madeline was curious, all of a sudden, about Jacob's mother and Adam's late wife. Had she been flaxen haired and beautiful like Diana?

Then Madeline thought about her own appearance—her mousy brown hair, dull with frizzy curls, and her freckled complexion. It was the first time in her life she wished she had been blessed with the kind of beauty that Diana possessed. The kind of beauty that turned gentlemen's heads and rendered them speechless when they first laid eyes upon her.

“Do you have a large crop?” she asked Jacob, forcing herself to disregard such foolish, frivolous thoughts, for she had never put much stock in appearances. She'd always credited herself with having more depth of character than that.

Besides, there was no point dreaming about what could never be.

“Large enough to last through the winter.”

She smiled at him, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed Adam wipe his mouth with a napkin, then toss it down as if he were finished. “We raise only enough potatoes to meet our needs.” She suspected
he was being polite for the children's sake, not hers. “We don't market them.”

“What
do
you market?” she asked, deciding she would not let him intimidate her with his silences any longer. She would look him in the eye and if she wanted to know something about Nova Scotian farming or the dykes or even if she wanted to hear him admit that he'd been rude to her that day, she was going to say what she pleased. “Corn?”

“No. It's the same with corn as it is with potatoes—only enough to meet our own needs. The marshes here are better suited toward pasture and meadow.” He picked up his glass and looked away, as if he were finished not only with his dinner, but with her questions as well.

She couldn't help pressing him. “Animal husbandry, then? And hay?”

“Yes, Miss Oxley. Hay.”

Adam turned his attention back to his dinner, and Madeline could see that he had no interest whatsoever in talking to her, nor any interest in even looking at her.

She would have liked to call it indifference, but as she watched him and the way he looked about the room, the way his dark brows drew together in a frown, she realized with some annoyance that it was more than that. The man flat out resented her presence here at his table, for she was the reason Diana was not here, and he was obviously still angry about that. He only felt obligated to see to Madeline's welfare because she was Diana's sister and he didn't want to jeopardize his future with her. Like Madeline herself,
Adam was probably thinking that she could one day be the children's aunt, and for that reason alone, he wanted to keep things affable.

Adam's continued silence for the rest of the meal forced Madeline to think more seriously about what she should do. She couldn't live in a house where she was not wanted. She'd lived like that in her father's house long enough. And worse, she could not stay here and watch Diana arrive and live happily ever after with Adam and his children.

Madeline decided with firm conviction she would look for another situation as soon as she could. She would be long gone by the time Diana arrived to claim her prize.

 

Inside the barn the next day, Adam lifted a heavy sack of seed grain onto his shoulder and carried it to the wagon. He set it down with a loud
thwack
and mentally kicked himself for being so hard on Madeline during the past twenty-four hours.

What was wrong with him? He used to be better with people, women in particular. He used to enjoy charming them and making them happy, and he had always presumed they were honest and forthright, for his mother, God rest her soul, had been a good, kind woman.

That was before his break with Diana, and before his marriage to Jane.

Unfortunately, Jane had taught him that not all women were what they seemed, and he had to be exceedingly careful. In the beginning, not long after Diana had married Sir Edward, Jane had been a rock
of sensible wisdom and understanding, helping Adam through that painful time. Recently widowed and looking after her son, Jacob, she had shared her bed with Adam, and it was there where they both found comfort during difficult times.

When they discovered she was with child, Adam had married her. It was only after the marriage certificate had been signed and they were living as man and wife, that she'd revealed her true nature.

So here he was, presuming the worst about a gullible young woman who had trusted her father and crossed an ocean to become Adam's wife, when he should be going out of his way to apologize for the situation and to ensure her comfort and happiness.

On top of that, she was Diana's sister, and if things worked out the way he hoped, he and Madeline might one day be brother and sister by marriage. He needed to guarantee that Madeline was safe and well-cared-for, and he supposed it wouldn't hurt to cultivate a friendship.

Slapping his hands together to brush away the grain dust, he heard a throat clearing behind him, and turned. There in the doorway stood Madeline, wearing a pretty blue-and-white-striped day dress, with a white lace scarf tucked neatly into her neckline.

Lord, she'd grown into a lovely young woman, he realized suddenly. It was hard to believe he was looking at the same freckle-faced child he remembered.

Adam blinked a few times, then found himself comparing Madeline to Diana. Madeline wasn't lovely in the same way as her older sister. Diana was
indisputably beautiful. One knew it the first instant one saw her.

Madeline, however, was more of an enigma. He discovered now—as he noticed the color of her dark brown eyes, so deep and discerning—that she required a longer look, a more careful study. There was an innocence about her because of her youth, but beneath that soft exterior, almost in full contradiction, there seemed to be a firm, immovable strength that revealed itself gradually. And a stubbornness he'd already experienced firsthand. He could see it as clearly now as he could see the pink ribbon on her lace cap. She looked as if she could survive anything.

He wiped his hands on his breeches as he approached her in the doorway. “Is there something you need, Madeline?”

She held her chin high and prepared to speak, as if she were bracing herself for a scolding for interrupting his work. Had he truly been that surly toward her? With a sharp pang of regret, Adam accepted that he had and promised himself he would try to be less gruff.

“I would like to go to the fort,” she announced.

“Why? Did you forget something?” Bloody hell, he sounded gruff again.

She seemed to put enormous effort into forming her response, to speak clearly and succinctly and not shrink before his tone. “No, but I would like to speak with the Ripleys. Or I could send a message, if someone is going that way.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “No one's going, at least not that I know of.”

“Well, if no one is going, I would like to take a horse myself.” She raised her chin again, almost daring him to say no, and he found himself oddly impressed by her tenacity.

Nonetheless, there was no way on God's earth that he would let her ride out into the wilderness alone. “I couldn't let you do that.”

“Why not? I could find my way. I'm quite sure I remember the road.”

He backed away from her, then lifted another sack of seed onto his shoulder. “‘Quite sure' isn't good enough. Some of the paths can be obscure. I'd have to take you myself, but as you can see, I'm busy.”

He tossed the seed onto the back of the wagon, and Madeline jumped at the loud
smack.
“Then tell me when.”

“How about the day after tomorrow?” He went for another sack.

She said nothing, and he had the distinct impression that his answer wasn't the one she was looking for. He felt her determined gaze upon him, watching him pick up the bag of seed and carry it to the wagon.

“I'd like to go sooner,” she said.

He dropped the sack onto the pile, then crossed toward her and leaned against the door frame again. He rubbed a thumb along his stubbled jawline. “What's the hurry?”

“I wish to see about working for the Ripleys.”

Distracted briefly by the wind lifting the wispy curls that had escaped Madeline's hairpins and now hung loosely at her delicate shoulders, Adam tried not
to let his gaze wander downward, for that would lead his eyes to her neckline.

He felt uncomfortable with his awareness of her neckline all of a sudden—and the fact that he was curious about it, for he should not be noticing anything like that in this young woman whom he had known as a child.

He labored to bring his attention back to where it should be: on the situation at hand and her question about leaving to work for the Ripleys. What should he do?

He had already sent his proposal to Diana, who—if fate was kind this time—would arrive before the fall harvest. What would she say if she knew he had not at least attempted to keep her baby sister safe in his home, and well-cared-for?

“There's no need to leave.” He did his best to sound hospitable and not quite so ogrelike. “You're more than welcome to stay here with us as long as you wish.”

“Thank you, but no.”

“No?”

“No.”

God, she was like a brick wall. “Miss Oxley, you're in a strange land. I apologize for the way things were between us yesterday, but that's no reason to be stubborn about—”

“I'm not being
stubborn.
I only wish to make my own way here.”

Hell, he'd insulted her. “Let me start again. Your plans have been hampered, and it's partly my fault that you're here.”

She blinked a few times. “Partly your fault? Yesterday, this was all
my
fault for not having a mind of my own.”

He deserved that, he knew, so he raised his hands in mock surrender. “You have a point, and I'm sorry.”

He suddenly felt inarticulate and flustered talking to her—this child who used to follow him and Diana around like a little lost puppy. Lord, how things had changed. He didn't feel as though he was talking to a lost puppy now.

“Why don't you want to stay?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation into gentler waters. “If you want to earn your way, I could always hire you as a governess myself.”

“I don't want a charity position.”

“It wouldn't be charity. Penelope and Charlie both need more than what Mrs. Dalton can give them. I've been considering hiring someone for quite a while, in fact…” He was rambling now. Lord Almighty, he'd
really
lost his touch.

Madeline shook her head. “I'm sorry, I can't.”

“Care to tell me why not?”

After a long pause, she gave a frustrated sigh as if he was forcing her to reveal more than she wanted to. “Because if Diana accepts your proposal and comes here to marry you, I'd rather be elsewhere.”

Adam gazed at her drawn expression and the way she was pursing her full lips. He hadn't expected
Diana
to be the reason Madeline would not want to stay. “Are there problems between you two?”