Danice Allen (16 page)

Trying to prove she was no milquetoast, she had taken two or three hearty gulps with each toast, nearly choking on the first one but stoically showing a brave front even though her eyes watered and her throat burned. But after the second toast she had become quite used to the potent properties of the wine and could down it with ease. After the third and fourth toast, she was quite relaxed.

Jack wondered if he’d gone too far by teasing Miss Darlington about the wine. He supposed she occasionally drank a weak ratafia at social functions or took a delicate sip or two of sherry or claret after dinner. But by the way she’d gulped down Richard Clarke’s elderberry wine, it was obvious she never drank and was drinking now only on a dare.
His
dare. And by the glowing, giggly look of her, she was well on her way to becoming thoroughly foxed.

While Miss Darlington chatted animatedly with a deaf, elderly woman to her left, Jack took away what was left of her wine. If she drank the rest of it and compromised her dignity in front of all these people, she might regret it till her dying day. Jack was not prepared to allow her to take that sort of risk, no matter how cavalier he was about his own risk-taking.

Presently she turned and seemed to be looking about for her tumbler, but Jack diverted her attention to the fiddle player who had propped himself in a comer on a bale of hay and was doing some preliminary plucking, scratching, and tuning.

Jack leaned close to Miss Darlington and whispered, “Since—as I just bragged to the nervous groom—we’ve been married for several years, I should already know this about you, my darling. But refresh my memory, won’t you? Do you like to dance?”

By now the fiddle player had struck up a lively jig, and half the townspeople were hopping and prancing in the middle of the room. The spectators turned their chairs to get a better view. Amanda avidly watched the performances—which were done with enthusiasm if not with skill or grace—her eyes dancing, her lips smiling, and her toes tapping.

Without taking her gaze away from the dancers, Miss Darlington said, “I love watching others dance. I always thought I would enjoy dancing, too, but I don’t remember feeling much enjoyment during the few times I danced in London when I had my coming out.”

“But in London you were dancing with strangers, were you not?”

“Yes. I never got very well acquainted with anyone, you know. Especially men. I was too shy.”

“But you know me
extremely
well, Miss Darlington,” Jack suggested, hoping to catch her eye and drive home that point with a teasing leer.

“You’re quite wrong, John,” Miss Darlington said, still keeping her delighted gaze fastened on the dancers. “I may have nursed you through a fever, but I know absolutely nothing about you.” She turned then, a tiny furrow appearing in her otherwise smooth brow. “But I think I like that most about you.”

Jack was genuinely puzzled.
“What
do you like most about me?”

“Your anonymity,” she said with a faint, almost coy, smile.

He raised his brows. “Why is that?”

She leaned her head to the side and seemed to ponder. “I suppose because it allows me to be less reserved.”

Jack’s brows rose even higher. “In the last two days, I don’t know how you could have been
more
reserved, Miss Darlington!”

“Oh, but I’m usually
much
more reserved,” she assured him.

“Indeed!”

“But that’s beginning to change. A recent event in my life has led me to believe that it is more important to act on
feelings
than to allow our actions to be totally regulated by certain rules that have been drilled into us since birth.”

Jack smiled ruefully but was thoroughly enjoying Miss Darlington’s sudden inclination to confide in him. “It is not
always
wise to act on feelings, Miss Darlington. Impulsiveness can often have disastrous consequences. But you are quite right to try to be a little less … er … rigid.”

“I quite agree with you!”

“If you’re agreeing with
me
, Miss Darlington, I can only suppose that the wine is affecting your thinking,” Jack suggested, only half teasing.

“No, it’s not the wine,” Miss Darlington insisted seriously. She turned her gleaming eyes to his. “Aren’t these people lovely, John? I’ve never been around people so free and easy and affectionate. Have you noticed how Mr. Clarke pinches and pats his wife? My parents never acted so.”

“Well, I—”

“Even the newlyweds are cozy, when I should have supposed they’d have needed time to get used to each other.”

“I thought
all
newlyweds were cozy! Insufferably so,” he added with a shudder of distaste.

Miss Darlington heaved a happy sigh and turned her gaze back to the dancers. “I know I should be well on my way to Thorney Island by now, but it’s not my fault the carriage wheel broke. In fact, I believe I’m actually
glad
the wheel broke or I should never have known such bliss.”

Jack was growing rather alarmed at the heights to which the elderberry wine had lifted Miss Darlington’s spirits, which were usually so sober and serious. A little relaxation and pleasure derived from liquor were desirable, but such a euphoric mood as Miss Darlington was experiencing could only end in a corresponding depth of depression once the effects of the drink wore off. Furthermore, she seemed to have completely forgotten about her urgent business on Thorney Island.

Miss Darlington suddenly turned and grasped Jack’s hands. “Do you think it would be thought
dreadfully
improper of me if I danced?”

Jack was shocked. He’d never thought for a moment that he’d actually be able to talk Miss Darlington into dancing. After all, she was still in mourning clothes. Many women went into half-mourning after six months, but Miss Darlington was covered in black from the crown of her hat to the soles of her neat little nankeen boots.

“You might raise a few critical brows amongst the stiff-rumped of the bunch,” Jack admitted, “but I don’t think the majority of the townsfolk of Patching would care a fig if you danced, Miss Darlington. But are you quite sure?”

“I’m very sure,” she said with a decided nod, then looked eagerly about the room. “Whom do you think I should ask?”

“My dear girl,” Jack expostulated, “of course you’ll dance with
me!”

“But your head, and your knee—”

He stood up and peremptorily pulled Miss Darlington to her feet. The very idea of her seeking out some young buck to jig her about the room—now he knew she wasn’t thinking straight. Besides, if anyone was going to dance with his wife, it was going to be him!

The fiddler launched into a quick-paced country dance, and Jack swung his partner onto the floor. Their appearance caused a stir among the townspeople, but once the surprise wore off most of the stares directed their way were admiring ones. And there was much to admire, Jack thought with pride. They danced well together.

Miss Darlington was light on her feet and very graceful. It was a pleasure swinging her down the line of dancers and watching her face glow from the exercise and sheer enjoyment of the activity. During one especially brisk turn, her bonnet ribbons loosened and her bonnet flew off and onto the floor. A child ran forward to pick it up and keep it for the “gran’ lady” till the dance was done. Miss Darlington merely laughed, throwing back her head till her abundant hair loosened and the escaping golden waves bobbed around her face.

Jack was entranced. He’d thought from the moment he’d first clapped eyes on Miss Darlington that she was capable or such vital beauty and energy, but he never thought he’d be around long enough to watch her blossom so dramatically. She was always so proper, so serious, so conscientious, so reserved, so
sad
and so worried about something….

He found it hard to accept that this incredible transformation was brought about merely by Richard Clarke’s special recipe for elderberry wine. If the wine were so potent in relaxing a person’s inhibitions, the wheelwright would be well advised to bottle it in small vials and market it as an aphrodisiac!

After two country dances and an Irish jig, Miss Darlington was finally persuaded to sit down. Jack’s knee ached like the blazes, he was slightly dizzy, and his head hurt from the constant rotations and bouncing required, but he wasn’t about to admit as much to Miss Darlington.

“Lord Thornfield. My lord?”

Jack finally realized that Richard Clarke was trying to catch his attention. He’d been dancing, too, and sweat trickled down his broad forehead like rain off a roof. The fellow dabbed at the deluge with a handkerchief and breathed heavily.

“Mr. Clarke,” Jack said with a commiserative smile. “You’re about done up, old fellow. Me, too, I’m afraid.”

“Aye, the ladies could dance all night, couldn’t they? But I’m ready to leave for a while and see to the fixin’ of your wheel. Are you ready?”

“Yes, of course. How long do you think it will take?”

“No more than half an hour.”

“You know where the coach is, so I’ll leave you to it. Lady Thornfield and I are going to take a restorative walk … slow and easy … by that pleasant brook I caught sight of earlier that runs behind the chapel.”

“An excellent idea,” said Mr. Clarke, nodding his approval and pleasure. “We’ve a pleasant little town. Do enjoy it while ye’re here.”

Jack was not so intent on enjoying the beauty of the region as he was on calming down Miss Darlington. The dancing had only exhilarated her further, and he wanted to get her away to a quiet spot where she could regain her composure. Not that he didn’t like her all rosy and animated, but he expected a change in mood any moment. Better she was away from public view when that radical change occurred.

Miss Darlington kissed the little boy that had rescued her hat from the floor when it flew off her head, then bade farewell to Mrs. Clarke, the bride and groom, and sundry other people with whom she’d become instantly friendly. She was still waving goodbye as John took her arm and escorted her through the wide doors, which were already open to the mild October day, and across the road to the graveyard.

“Where are we going?” Miss Darlington inquired, looking curiously about her. “The carriage is the other way.”

“I thought it would be pleasant to stroll by the stream while Mr. Clarke fixes the wheel. Do you object?”

“Not at all,” Miss Darlington replied unhesitatingly, slipping her arm in his. “As you said earlier, there’s no point in sitting in a stuffy carriage when we could be outside on such a glorious day.”

Jack looked down at her smiling face, her cheeks flushed from dancing, her eyes bright and clear. Her hair was unbound, and the sun made it shine like gold. He had an almost overwhelming urge to sift his fingers through the loose tresses but controlled himself with an effort.

“You don’t seem as anxious as you were to get to Thorney Island,” he said.

That tiny furrow reappeared between her brows. “It’s still just as important that I get there in a timely manner—” Her eyes shifted to his face for an instant; then she stared straight ahead. “—because my brother and his wife have a schedule to keep. But we have to wait for the wheel to be fixed anyway, so we might as well enjoy a walk. How long do we have?”

Jack noted that she had said earlier that her sister lived on Thorney Island, not her brother. “About half an hour.”

“Good,” she said with a satisfied sigh.

Jack was entranced … and confused. He had been attributing Miss Darlington’s uncharacteristic behavior to the wine, but she no longer appeared giddy or overexcited. She had not become depressed, either. She certainly seemed much more relaxed than usual, but she also seemed completely in control of herself. She seemed … content.

Yes, that word summed it up best of all. For the first time since he’d met her, Miss Darlington seemed quite content. Instead of analyzing the situation, Jack decided to take his own advice and simply enjoy the moment. He knew better than to expect such a halcyon mood to last.

They walked across the graveyard, weaving through the tombstones, down a sloping footpath to the edge of a creek that was lined with ancient willows. They looked up and down the gently cascading flow of water as it bumped and bubbled over a bed of rocks and rushes, then instinctively turned toward each other.

The gurgle of the brook was soothing, the sun was warm, the breeze was mild but with just enough lift to scatter Miss Darlington’s hair about her face in a very charming manner. Jack had just reached up to push a tress out of her eyes when she slipped on a slick tuft of grass. He kept her from falling by grabbing hold of her waist with both hands.

“Steady,” he cautioned, staring down into her startled blue eyes, his gaze straying uncontrollably to her lips, which were parted and frozen in an unspoken exclamation of surprise.

“Yes … steady,” she repeated breathlessly, bracing the palms of her hands against his chest.

Jack’s heart hammered against his ribs, he couldn’t catch his breath, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Miss Darlington’s inviting mouth … looking all pink and dewy and tender.

His hands tightened on her waist. “Miss Darlington, do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

She gave a soft gasp, and her lashes fluttered down over her eyes. He watched her blush, the color tinting her cheekbones an alluring pale rose.

“Am … I … beautiful?” she said haltingly.

He slid his hand under her satin-soft chin and tilted her face, urging her to look at him. Shyly, she met his gaze. He smiled. “Oh, yes,” he assured her. “You’re very beautiful. And standing so close to you like this is playing havoc with my self-control and making me wish I weren’t a gentleman. You are the sweetest, the most delectable temptation to come my way”—he grinned—”in recent memory.”

She smiled slightly at his witticism and looked down again. He studied the graceful sweep of her lashes against her porcelain skin, the curve of her lips, the delicate cleft in her chin. Her hands had remained on his chest, and now her fingers were splayed and were lightly—unconsciously?—caressing him. He could tell she was a sensuous woman underneath her prim exterior.