Come Near Me (26 page)

“She cheated on him with another man. Another
several
men,” Adam put in, believing he was acting the role
of translator for Richard Brimley’s fairy tale, or parable, or
whatever name Dickie wished to give such romantic nonsense in order
to impress his tenderhearted wife.

He gave out a small “oof!” as his wife’s elbow found
his unprepared and unprotected midsection.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Adam, for it’s not really your
fault. I’m not telling it right, that’s all. To hear Dickie tell
it, he lived in a sort of paradise, and that his most perfect,
wonderful creature—yes, dearest blockhead, I’m sure he meant a
woman—opened the gates of that paradise to those Dickie considered
inferior and undeserving.”

“I’d consider them dead, if they tried to infringe
upon my private paradise,” Adam said, draining the last of his
wine.

“Yes, darling. You’d be ferocious, and I thank you,”
Sherry said, giggling, but then sobering again. “Well, to hear
Dickie tell it, he couldn’t stay and watch as his perfect world was
despoiled—that’s what he said, despoiled—and so he left, never to
return. Sadly, he says he has devoted himself ever since to making
this most perfect creature—yes, Adam, the woman who betrayed
him—realize the mistake she made in letting others, those inferior
others, into her paradise. Happily, he still seems able to enjoy
himself very much.”

She snuggled against him. “I wonder who it was,
don’t you? I mean, Dickie is certainly the prettiest man I’ve ever
seen—except for you, darling, of course. Who would ever choose
somebody inferior to him, choose someone else
over
him?
Well, whoever this woman was, she broke his heart most thoroughly,
I can tell you that. In fact, I don’t think he likes anyone
anymore, most especially himself.”

“He likes you well enough, pet,” Adam told her,
taking the empty wineglass from her and putting it down next to his
on a small table beside the bed. “He told me as much. He enjoys
Geoff. Perhaps his broken heart is healing a bit this summer. I’d
like to think so, now that you’ve told me his sad tale. Because
he’s quite likable in his own way.”

“And he likes you, darling,” Sherry said, sliding
her leg over his, maneuvering herself so that she lay half on top
of him, smiling up into his face. “But that would be because you
are perfect. You are, you know. Completely and absolutely perfect.
Except that I believe you should be kissing me now.” She rubbed her
body against his provocatively, and he knew she could feel his
immediate response. “Yes, you definitely should be kissing me
now.”

Adam happily obliged, and all conversation trailed
away into giggles and deep breaths and wondrous sighs, and he
entirely forgot to tell her that he’d planned to join them the
following morning for the curricle race.

Before...

... whispering, with white lips,

“
The foe. They come! they
come!”

—
Lord Byron

S
herry didn’t know whether
to be delighted or dismayed when Adam made his appearance at the
end of the drive that led onto the road outside Daventry Court. She
was happy to see him, that was certainly true. She was happy that
he’d found time away from his seemingly endless estate business to
“play,” as Dickie termed the thing.

But would he think them all foolish? Childish? Geoff
was already wearing Sherry’s pale yellow scarf tied around his arm,
“milady’s favor,” he said. He’d just handed her a single,
long-stemmed yellow rose in return as Adam drove up in his
curricle, two magnificent gray, stamping, blowing horses in the
traces. It had all seemed so lighthearted and romantic a moment
ago, but now, it just felt silly.

Except that Adam entered into the game immediately,
glaring down at Geoff and demanding the two of them race for the
honor of wearing Sherry’s “favor,” and might the better man
win.

“The better man obviously has already done,
brother,” Geoff said, then kissed Sherry smack on her parted,
thoroughly surprised lips before winking at her and climbing up
onto the seat of his curricle. “All that remains is to see who is
the better driver. Dickie?” he then asked, calling to Richard
Brimley, who was just then escorting Sherry safely to the side of
the road, “if you’d be so kind as to give the signal for us to
begin?”

“Oh, but Dickie was going to race as well,” Sherry
said, looking to Adam. “But you can’t possibly race three-across,
can you? The road is almost too narrow for two.”

Richard lifted her hand to his lips, smiled at her.
“Let them go, my dear. I am certainly not one to come between
brothers, at least not recently, and not while I’m on my best
behavior. We all know how badly that can end, don’t we?”

He walked to the center of the roadway, for a groom
had already pulled his curricle and horses off to one side,
clearing the road for Adam’s equipage. “The route, Daventry, is
fairly simple. To the smithy at the beginning of the village, where
the road widens enough for a turn, and back. Other than that, if
you’ve a mind for mischief, there are no rules.” He extracted a
snowy white handkerchief from his pocket and held it aloft as he
stood between the two curricles, just ahead of the eager horses.
“At my signal, gentlemen?”

~ ~ ~

Over the course of the next month, the curricle
races at Daventry Court became almost legendary. Everyone knew
about them, everyone attended, more than a few tried their hand at
attempting to best Geoff, or Dickie, or the marquess himself over
the length of the race. New rules were made up almost daily, new
courses plotted, new dares thrown out and accepted.

Daventry Court seemed to settle itself from its rash
of cottage fires and overrun drainage ditches and cracked
millstones and broken equipment, leaving Adam free to indulge
himself with as much enthusiasm as his brother, Dickie, and his
ever-laughing, happy wife.

They’d flown kites. They’d spent a rainy afternoon
in a scavenger hunt that took them from cellars to attics inside
the house, hunting down objects like the housekeeper’s second-best
apron and an iron kettle with a hole in its bottom. They’d helped
Sherry prepare lemon tarts in the kitchens—an afternoon that ended
with Adam having to raise the wages of his temperamental French
chef or else lose the man entirely. It hadn’t been the invasion of
his kitchen that had upset the man, but when Geoff had initiated a
flour fight that ended with the four of them looking much like
ghosts and the kitchen reduced to a shambles—well, Adam believed it
was a very good thing Sherry didn’t understand a word of
French.

Daily, Adam fell more in love with his wife. He’d
seen her as wonderful, beautiful, irresistible. The most
straightforward, honest, generous woman in the world. But she was
more. So much more. She could be silly, profound—even profane, when
her chosen hen was beaten at the last minute in a race with Geoff’s
prize pullet. She discussed politics and philosophy, not using the
hackneyed arguments others learned in books, but from the
perspective of a person who lived life, looked at it simply,
through the most innocent of eyes, studied it from her own unique
angle, then reduced the world to its clearest, purest form.

In short, he didn’t just love his wife anymore. He
didn’t merely desire her with all his heart and soul. He liked her.
He really, truly, honestly
liked
her.

So did Geoff. So did Richard Brimley. So did
everyone who came to Daventry Court to play and laugh and dance and
enjoy themselves. Sherry, it seemed to Adam, had found her element,
and reveled in it. He never again heard her lament her sad lack of
domestic skill, for she had found her milieu. She made people
happy.

Only Richard Brimley equaled Sherry in popularity,
perhaps even exceeded her. There wasn’t a woman he couldn’t charm
with his beauty, a man he couldn’t win with his free and open
ways.

But Adam enjoyed watching his wife shine, enjoyed
seeing his friend conquer country society.

For this perfect month, this flawless slice of time
in this exquisite place, the outside world no longer existed. Adam
had the best wife, the best brother, and the best friend any man
could ever have. Perfect. A pure paradise.

He wasn’t sure when it all began to fall apart.

It began slowly, insidiously.

It started with jealousy.

Geoff laughed a little too hard when he was around
Sherry. Touched her too much. Kissed her unnecessarily. Looked at
her too deeply when he thought no one else was watching.

At least that’s how Adam began to see it as he
enjoyed another race, another game, another pleasant dinner
party—but not as much as he previously had been enjoying them.

It had been Dickie who’d first pointed out Geoff’s
seeming infatuation with Sherry. Dickie who had jokingly teased
that Adam had a rival for his wife’s affections, then had pointed
to Geoff, who had been in the midst of whispering into Sherry’s ear
while resting a hand on her shoulder.

“A coltish infatuation, I’m sure,” Richard had said,
as Adam frowned into his wineglass. “Why, I’m half in love with
her, myself. As is every man within five miles of Daventry Court.
You should be proud, Daventry. Flattered.”

“She doesn’t encourage anyone,” Adam answered,
watching as Sherry giggled, then asked Geoff’s advice before she
played down her next card as she sat across from the squire, a man
who wore the doomed expression of a dedicated gambler who knew his
partner was not in the least devoted to winning the hand.

“She doesn’t have to, Daventry,” Richard pointed
out, for the man only spoke the truth. “I’ve come to believe it’s
her honesty that is most attractive. Having some experience with
less than honest women, I feel I have a right to say this, you
understand. You’re a lucky, lucky man, Daventry. Sherry would
rather die than tell a lie. Not that she’d be very good at it. Not
with that sweet, open face. I tell you, Daventry, she almost makes
me believe again.”

“Believe?” Adam turned to look at his friend.
“Believe in what, Dickie?”

He smiled, a strange, faraway look in his eyes.
“Just believe, Daventry. Just believe.” He shook his head slightly,
involuntarily, then pointed with his wineglass. “Ah, here comes
Geoff, and with a naughty gleam in his eye, don’t you think? He
didn’t like losing that race to Simmons yesterday. I’m willing to
wager you my own pair that he’s come up with a new twist in the
course, just to advance his odds.”

“I don’t think I’ll take that wager, Dickie,” Adam
said wryly. “I’m afraid I made the mistake this morning of telling
Geoff about a race my friend Chollie and I ran outside London years
ago, in my own grasstime. I should have known better than to
reminiscence in front of Geoff.”

“I say, you two,” Geoff began a moment later, as he
joined them, putting a companionable arm around his brother and his
friend. “Who cares to drop the handkerchief tomorrow, and who wants
to be my guide?”

“Your guide?” Richard looked at Adam, who was
shaking his head. “Your guide for what?”

“It’s simple,” Geoff went on, stepping back from his
friends in order to snag a glass of wine from the tray the butler
was carrying to the ladies. “Tell him, Adam.”

Adam sighed fatalistically, remembering his youth,
and one of the most embarrassing episodes from that carefree time.
“It was the way Geoff set out the racecourse today that reminded
me,” he told Richard as the three stood propping up the mantel,
watching the other occupants of the room as they milled about,
laughed, and generally enjoyed themselves. “I stupidly remarked
that I’d once raced such a course blindfolded, with a friend up on
the seat beside me, guiding me. The fact that both my friend and I
were three-parts drunk at the time lends no hint of respectability
to the telling, either. We ended upturning over the edge of a
barrel as I tried to feather a corner.”

“Isn’t that famous, Dickie? You must admit that it
seems more fun than just our usual races. Simmons has already
agreed, and his cousin will act as his guide. We’ll both run the
course with our curricles, one after the other, and the fastest
time with the fewest nicked barrels wins. Sherry has already
volunteered to time us. In fact, I believe she’s as excited as I
am. She’s a real brick, Sherry is.”

“And you want me to be your eyes for you, Geoff?”
Richard asked, winking at Adam. “You’d put that much faith in
me?”

“Well, of course. Dash it all, Dickie, you’re my
friend, ain’t you?”

And that’s how it really began... or kept on
beginning. Who could say when it all really began, or why.

~ ~ ~

The blindfolded races proved a huge success with
Geoff, and with the other younger gentlemen who’d made Daventry
Court their second home as they waited out their return to London,
or to Scotland, or a trip to their favorite hunting boxes.

Not content to confine their races to courses set up
on Daventry Court land, they’d soon abandoned the now-boring design
of barrels. They’d begun racing the narrow, twisting country lanes
blindfolded, and often drunk, with an equally castaway guide
shouting out “turn ahead, to your left,” or “farm wagon
approaching,” or—in the case of Billy Simmons and his cousin—”cow
in the road! Turn left! No! Right! No! Bloody hell, Billy
jump!”

After Billy Simmons was carried home on a fence
gate, his leg broken, Adam sat Geoff and Sherry down and ordered
the races to stop. Sherry agreed with him; Geoff did not.

Two days later, with Geoff holding the reins, and
Dickie sitting beside him, a small child nearly came to grief under
the wheels as they careened through the village at top speed.

Adam sat Geoff and Dickie down together, and ordered
the races to stop.