Edith Layton (11 page)

The silence grew. The men waited. A cardinal suddenly trilled on a branch high above, its song all about spring and mating, and new life to be. It was ironic to hear as the men gazed down at the pistols in their velvet-lined case, knowing their song would be about endings, and death.

“I apologize,” William said in a choked voice. He glared at Wycoff. “I wish I’d found something true to say, something current, that I could prove. And I should have said the rest in private. But as for insulting you in front of all on the basis of that bitch’s lies,
that
I apologize for. Only that!”

Mr. Ames’s and Perkins’s eyes swiveled to Lord Wycoff.

Wycoff smiled, and started buttoning up his jacket again. “Fair enough. At least, it is enough for
me this fair morning. Such a tranquil spring morning, no need to cut up the peace of it.”

“But, my lord!” Perkins gasped. “To leave the ground without firing a shot? Even with an apology, it is not done.”

Wycoff paused. William’s face grew still.

“I believe it can be done, Perkins,” Wycoff said after a moment’s thought, “After all, we’re not in England now. As to what’s done, strictly speaking none of this is comme il faut. Our estimable friend Mr. Ames is a worthy gentleman, and Mr. Bellows’s second, but he’s not a peer of mine, as the rules would have it.”

“Well, but a valet is no peer of mine!” William shouted.

“But all men are equal here, are they not?” Wycoff asked gently. “So. I take it you’d prefer to have a shot at me, for the look of it? A waste of gunpowder and time, I’d think. But I’ll oblige if you insist. Except, sometimes, a thing done for the form of it has a way of becoming real. Still, so be it, if you wish?”

William paled, but shrugged, in a bad parody of nonchalance. “It’s your duel, your decision.”

“I’d prefer breakfast.” Wycoff said, “I’m devilish sharp set. Agreed, Mr. Bellows?”

“Agreed,” William said on what sounded like a sigh.

“We can send the carriage back empty since there are no injured parties,” Wycoff commented. “Good thing we came here on horseback, it’s too fine
morning to waste inside a coach. Will you ride back with me, Mr. Ames?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Mr. Ames said uneasily, “I’m William’s second, am I supposed to go with him? What’s the custom?”

“I’m going home,” William said angrily. “You may ride with the devil if you choose.”

“Close enough,” Wycoff laughed. “Come along with us, Mr. Ames. I can’t wait to taste your good lady’s breakfast. I scented popovers in the air as I was creeping out of the hotel.”

“The best in the county,” Mr. Ames said comfortably.

Wycoff inclined his head, then strode ahead to untether the horse he’d tied to a tree.

Mr. Ames strolled along behind with Perkins. He looked back to see William fling himself up on his horse and go galloping away. Only then he did he dare start grinning. “I said it all right, didn’t I?” he asked Perkins in an excited whisper.

“Perfectly,” Perkins said.

“You were right,” Mr. Ames exulted. “If I’d said it yesterday, it would’ve made no matter. But on the dueling ground, it took the wind right out of his sails. Well done! Did his lordship know about it?” he asked, lowering his voice as he eyed Wycoff.

“He did. It’s a thing we’ve done before. His lordship never sees the need for violence if a little forethought can prevent it. And it was clear to him that Mr. Bellows was not aware of all the ramifications of a duel.”

“Aha! Good job! Was anything I told poor William true?”

“All of it, Mr. Ames.”

“So I was a good second then, wasn’t I? Too bad the other chaps didn’t have ones like me, eh?”

“Some did,” Perkins said quietly. “But we are pleased this encounter ended in this manner. My lord did wish to stay on here for a spell, you see.”

Lucy’s slippers were soon soaked with dew; she could feel every sharp pebble and deep rut on the soles of her feet as she ran down the long drive. She kept one hand on her chest to stop her breasts from bobbing out of her gown, the other to raise her hem from the wet, and kept going in a queer little jog, because she wasn’t used to running.

But William was a marksman—he always bragged about it. And Wycoff was an English gentleman who likely never did more than collect guns. The thought of Wycoff being shot kept her going, though her breath soon became short, her heart thumped like thunder in her ears, and the pang in her ribs began to feel like a sharp knife. But not so sharp as the thought of Wycoff dying here, because of her. Because William had been acting to protect her, win her, influence her—it didn’t matter. It was her fault. The thought that she’d hadn’t had a decent word to spare for Wycoff since William had accused him was more painful still.

She reached the road and kept going at a ragged, wavering pace, the vision of that elegant clever face
before her eyes now clearer than the actual world in front of her. That reality was beginning to waver, obscured by increasingly brilliant spots of light.

Her heartbeat sounded like galloping horses, overlaid by the buzzing in her ears. She staggered. A moment later a strong arm was around her shoulders. She looked up, and with her last sob of breath fell against him, her head against his chest. “Not—too—late!” she gasped, “Thank—God! I’m not—too late!”

“What’s happened?” Wycoff asked, sounding as panicked as she was.

“He—didn’t—kill—you!” she panted. “You’re alive.”

She felt his arm tighten around her shoulders. “I’m alive. No one was killed. Who told you?”

“Every-one. The girls—knew. Everyone,” she sighed, content to stay held close to him, not opening her eyes, because as her breath came back, so did her reason, and she knew she’d have to step away in a moment—maybe two.

“A duel” Jamie cried, as he raced up to them, “and I missed it? Did you kill him, sir?”

“No one was killed, I said, you bloodthirsty little devil,” Wycoff teased. “Now, shoo home, and tell everyone it was all a hum. Nothing happened. Mr. Ames here was merely showing me some horses. Right, Mr. Ames?”

“Indeed, so I was,” Mr. Ames said as he rode up to them. He held his horse, looking down at Lucy and Wycoff. “Come along, young Jamie,” he said,
“there’s room for you on Charger’s back. Give me your hand, ah—there you go. Let’s give the lad a treat, eh, Mr. Perkins? We’ll race to the front gate, shall we? I’ll see you at breakfast, my lord.”

There was another rumbling of hooves as two horses pounded down the road toward the hotel. Lucy stayed where she was until the last echo of their hoofbeats faded. Then, with great dignity, and equal reluctance, she drew out of Wycoff’s embrace. “I must look a fright,” she said, gazing at her slippers, not caring what she looked like because she knew too well what she felt like.

“You look rumpled and winded, windblown and all in disarray,” he said. She heard the smile in his voice. “Which happens to be very exciting to me. ‘A wild civility do more bewitch me than when art is too precise in every part,’ as the poet said. ‘A sweet disorder in the dress, kindles in clothes a wantonness.’ In my breast too. Herrick’s not my favorite poet, but he was right. You look delectable, my dear.”

“Well, you should know about disorderly females,” she snapped, and winced. Her eyes flew to his. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I spoke about my appearance to keep from thinking about what almost happened to you. Tell me, what happened? How did it end?”

“With civility on all sides. Bellows allowed he was too hasty in his pronouncements, and begged my pardon for it. I forgave him. I can’t say we’re all sweetness and accord now. But no one was hurt, or will be.”

“Good,” she said in relief. “William’s an excellent shot, you see.”

“And you were running to intercept the bullet before it found its home in my breast?”

“I was running in hopes I could stop matters before they started. I have some influence with William, you know.”

“And none with me?”

She ignored this. “I’m so glad it was resolved without bloodshed,” she said prissily.

“Yes, mama,” he said, laughter still clear in his voice, though something else was glittering in his hazel eyes and he gazed at her. “We will play nicely now. Won’t we?”

She knew what he was about to do by his words, and the amusement in them. She saw him lower his head. Saw the gleam in those eyes before he closed them as their lips met. She had enough time to protest, or move away. But didn’t. She knew it would be the last she would take of him. And so she took it.

So glorious to stand wrapped in his arms. So wildly exciting to take all of his kiss, to feel his breath come out in a rush against her mouth, to feel his tongue touch hers and then probe deeper, to lose herself entirely in the sweet darkness of his kiss. To let his big hand slide up her back, and around to cup her breast. To shiver against him and sigh with regret as she finally caught her breath and stepped away.

His hands fell away. It was in her eyes before she
said it. His own narrowed and grew dark, and darker still when she spoke.

“It can’t be,” she said, shaking her head, letting the windblown tumble of it hide some of her face. “I worried about you, true. I care for you, true. But I can’t have more. Not only because I can’t trust you—but because I can’t trust myself with you. It is the way it is. Please don’t try to change my mind, it will only make it worse. We’ll have to live close at the Ameses’, but we can’t be close. Do you see? Please,” she begged him, “please do see.”

“I do,” he said simply. “I have a thousand arguments, and even more promises I could make to you, and I’d keep every one of them. But you don’t want to hear them. I could, I think, even so, seduce you. Not because I’m so good at that. Because you are, you know, halfway there already, my dear.”

Her head shot up. She swiped the hair from out of her eyes. His face was solemn.

“Not because you’re a light woman, or because you’re a widow,” he said, to kill her protests before she could form them. “But because you’re a woman grown, and one with fire and passions, however you subdue them. Because you know how it could be between us, and because anyone can find a thousand reasons for doing something they really want to do. But I can’t demand your love, or respect, or trust. And I find that’s equally important to me. I can only win those things, and you refuse to let me try.

“My past,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “defeats my present and destroys my future with
you. I’ll leave Ames Hotel at once, of course. I have another home, you know. No sense in distressing you—or myself. And trust me, I’d be sorely distressed to see you every day and have to hear your false greetings, and see you avoid me at every turn. Better I leave. But I won’t stop wanting you.”

His horse stood grazing a pace away. He gathered up the reins. “The ground’s damp,” he said. “Ride back with me now, as innocently as Jamie went with Mr. Ames. Will you?”

She nodded. He lifted her into the saddle and swung up in back of her. They rode back to the hotel in silence. He held one arm around her to steady her, but never touched her in any other way.

However, it was not innocent. Not for him, and not for her. It couldn’t be. So when he dismounted and lifted her down, he paused, holding her eye to eye with him for the space of two heartbeats. His arms were steady, he held her as easily as he would a glove. But his voice shook, a little.

“Good-bye, for now,” he said.

She didn’t answer, she couldn’t. Because she didn’t know if that was a promise, or a pleasantry. Nor did she know if she was relieved, or deeply grieved.

Lord Wycoff left the Ames Hotel the next morning. He left a joke with the Ameses and a wink with Annie Truesdale. He gave a smile to Jamie, a bow to the girls, and one long, last, lingering look at Lucy. She watched him down the drive, saw him take the
turn down the road, and didn’t move from the window until she was sure he wasn’t going to look back again.

Only then did she walk away from the window, telling herself she had chores to do. She did. But they didn’t fill her time or her mind. Just one guest had departed, but the hotel had never felt so empty. Nor had her heart.

“He’ll only be down the road in his new home, I expect,” Mrs. Ames said, after a look at Lucy’s expression. “True, it’s a few miles and a fair walk, but you can always take the gig if you want to visit.”

“I won’t be visiting,” Lucy said, trying to pin a bland expression on her face. It was simple to look happy, or angry. Uncaring was a hard emotion for her to pretend. She didn’t deceive Mrs. Ames.

“Well, he’ll come calling here, I don’t doubt, so it makes no never mind,” Mrs. Ames said, and bustled away.

But he didn’t, and a dull week dragged past, filled with rain and memories. The weather changed abruptly, the sun reigned as spring came in with a glorious rush. Flowers burst from the earth, the trees were radiant with them, birds rejoiced, the bees were spring-struck and silly, staggering from one bloom to another. It was hard for anyone to feel gloomy in such weather. But Lucy managed.

A
mild morning blossomed into another fragrant spring day. The Ames Hotel was empty except for Cook, in the kitchen, and Lucy, in the little parlor she called an office. The windows were opened to let in the breeze and chase out every memory of winter. It didn’t lift the chill from Lucy’s heart. She missed him. It was more than the pleasure she’d found in his company. She missed the nervous surprise on seeing him each day and the anxiety of wondering what to do about him every night. There was no word from or of him, no gossip, no rumors. She refused to ask. But there was nothing to distract her from thoughts of him now.

Jamie had gone down the road to school. The guests were all out for the day. The Ameses and the girls were at their various duties on the grounds. A warm floral breeze riffled the pages of the ledgers
Lucy had been trying to work on with little success. She couldn’t add up anything. Her thoughts kept flittering away to him.

There wasn’t another man like him in all of Virginia. It wasn’t just his looks which were so superior. Nor even the look of him, which was unique. He drew the eye and held it for reasons beyond his appearance, elegant though it might be. Many men were more handsome, others dressed well, some were even as nice in their manners. But none had that knowing expression. Or such wit, such a way of looking at a woman—with calculation that should have offended, but nevertheless left her shivering with expectation.

Lucy snapped the ledger shut. He was gone. She’d best get used to it, since she was the one who’d sent him away. If she hadn’t, she’d have been his, and they both knew it. If she’d been his for an hour, it might have ruined her for life. If she’d accepted a life with him—it could have been even worse. She couldn’t live with a faithless man. She’d lived with a feckless one, and see where that had left her.

She stood and reached for her shawl. Enough remorse. Enough remembering. A walk, then, to blow the cobwebs from her brain, but a walk in the opposite direction from his new estate. She’d have to avoid that path in the future. To see him would be to want him, and the best way to resist temptation was to avoid it. But only for a little while longer, because the ledgers she’d been trying to balance had shown the hotel was making money at last, and her wages
were rising with it. She’d only a year or so left to go here. Then she’d have enough money saved to go home to England with Jamie.

She thought about going to her room to snatch up a bonnet to prevent more freckles, but discarded the idea. Freckles were the least of her worries now. She needed fresh air. Lucy marched to the front door and threw it wide, letting in bright spring sunshine—and William. He loomed in the doorway. She stopped in her tracks.

“I surprised you,” he said, taking off his hat. He bowed, more formal with her than he’d ever been. “Sorry. I was just about to raise the knocker. May I come in?”

“No one’s here,” she said, without budging.

“It’s a hotel, no one will think the worse of it if I do come in.”

“Fine,” she said, drawing her shawl about her shoulders, “go in.
I
, however, am going out.”

“Fine,” he said, clapping on his hat again. “May I give you escort? I have the gig.”

“I’m just going for a walk. It’s a lovely spring day.”

“So it is. So we’ll walk.”

They hadn’t gone six feet, in silence, before he spoke again. “You’re angry about the duel? No one’s the worse for it.”

“I’m annoyed, not angry, William,” she said, keeping her face turned from him.

“I was hasty. I told Wycoff I regretted the way of it. It’s settled. Where is he now, by the way?”

“Gone, to his new home. A week past. Didn’t you hear?”

“No,” he said, suppressing a smile of satisfaction. “I’ve been busy. Haven’t been able to get my nose out of the house. This is my first free day, and even so I have to go back soon. I passed the old Carlisle place on my way to town, though. There’s no one living there.”

She shrugged. “I expect he’s waiting for new furniture to arrive. He did say there was nothing worth living with in the place. He’ll probably be there shortly; he’s gone home, he said.”

“He’s gone from the hotel, at least,” William said smugly. “So,”—he glanced down at her as she paced beside him—“things will go back to the way they were.”

She didn’t honor that with a reply. She strolled on, looking to the side of the drive, pretending great interest in the patches of violets at her feet, wishing he’d go away.

“Oh,” he said after they’d gone another few yards. “My errand. I came because I was on my way back from town. I picked up something for you there.”

She stopped and turned, her eyes blue fire. “I do not want gifts, William. I can scarcely speak with you, I certainly don’t want any peacemaking presents.” She paused, remembering she’d have to live in the district with him for at least another year. It tempered her anger. “Let it be for a spell,” she said, “please just let it be.”

“I’m not such a dullard,” he said, his ears turning red. “I picked up the mail for the hotel. There’s a
letter for you, and a small packet with it. It looked important. Simmons let me deliver it. I thought you might like to see it sooner.”

“Oh. Thank you,” she said. He took a letter and a small parcel from his coat and handed them to her. She took the letter, planning to open it when she was alone. A glance at the handwriting and crest stamped in ruby wax made her eyes widen. Forgetting William’s curious gaze, she undid it immediately and quickly scanned the boldly written lines.

She blinked, and read it again. She looked up, eyes radiant, grinning like a girl. She hopped up on tiptoe and gave his cheek a quick peck. “Oh, but this is too wonderful,” she laughed. “It’s beyond wonderful,” she cried. “This settles everything. This makes everything all right again. This is more than I hoped for. Oh, thank you, William! Good-bye!”

She spun in a circle, like a child at play. Then she remembered herself. She snatched the parcel from his hands, and laughing, rushed back to the house, slamming the door shut behind her, leaving William to stare after her. In her glee, she simply forgot he was there.

They stayed in the parlor after the guests had gone to bed. Mrs. Ames let the girls stay up, too. Even Jamie was there at Lucy’s side, though it was past his bedtime. But they doubted he’d have slept in any case. They couldn’t, not until they talked with Lucy. They’d been in a fever of impatience all day, but couldn’t have a conference while they had guests to
attend to. This was too important to wait until morning. They sat in the parlor and mulled the thing over, the letter passing from hand to hand, held as carefully as a page of true holy writ.

Lucy and Jamie sat together, Lucy glowing so bright Mrs. Ames said she thought they might be able to read a book by her light. “You’re welcome to stay with us forever, you know,” Mrs. Ames went on seriously. “We’re that fond of you. And to be sure, you serve a vital purpose in the running of this place. But we’d never hold you back if it was in your best interest to go. We can manage fine now that we’re back on our feet.”

“It looks good, I grant,” Mr. Ames put in, not very jolly because he was so deeply concerned, “but is it best for you? Or only what you want to do?”

“Very different things,” Lucy nodded. “Yes. I know that.”

“Females take fancies…” he began.

“Lucy knows her mind,” his wife said. “She’s clever as may be. It does look like just the thing. But it’s a big step and no mistake. Are you sure, Lucy? You’re not just influenced by what’s happened around here lately? No sense dressing it up. The truth is, a dashing fellow can sweep a girl right off her feet.” She wagged a plump finger at her daughters. “A fellow like his lordship can unsettle a girl’s mind, no matter how sound it is.”

“Aye,” her husband said. “So all we’re saying is you might want to take some more time to make up your mind.”

“I’ve had all the time I need,” Lucy said. “This is exactly what I want, what I want for Jamie, and what’s best for everyone. I’m not a girl. That’s just the point. I feel time passing, and so it is. Now’s the time I must act. Wisely, of course. But who of us knows what’s right at any time? We have to take chances. I feel I must take this one, now. I’ll never get a better opportunity, I think.” She gazed at them all tenderly, as though already seeing them painted and in a frame, hung for her to study in fond memory. “My dear cousins—no, not mine, except by marriage—but you never acted otherwise, and you are so dear to me.”

They’d never seen her like this. She’d always been startlingly lovely. But now she looked younger, as though some invisible film had been lifted from her, allowing her true self to emerge. Years before, they’d met their cousin’s distraught new widow. They’d come to know a competent, hardworking, practical woman. In time, they’d seen her generous spirit and shared her gift of laughter. But now, suddenly, they saw the girl she must have been in England, the pampered squire’s daughter. She looked confident and self-assured.

Jamie gave her a sleepy smile. “Mama knows what’s best. I can’t wait, though I’ll miss all of you. I can’t believe it, either.”

“Believe it,” Lucy said with a smile, pushing the hair back from his forehead.

“Well, then,” Mr. Ames said, slapping his knees, “there we are. You’re going. We’ll miss you.
Understand that we’ll welcome you back at any time.”

“I don’t know what we’ll do without you,” Mrs. Ames sniffled, scrabbling in her pocket for a handkerchief.

“I can do the ledgers,” Cousin Sally said, “and the girls can take over Lucy’s other tasks.”

“Oh fiddle!” Bess protested. “Of course we can
do
her chores. But it just won’t be the same here without you, Lucy.” The other girls chorused their agreement.

“When will you leave?” Mrs. Ames said, mopping her eyes.

“On the first fair tide!” Lucy laughed. Then she sobered. “I mean soon as I may. I’ll have to find when the next ship will be leaving, arrange passage, and then find transport to it.”

Mrs. Ames gasped. “Lucy, you can’t mean that? You can’t just pick up and go—alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Lucy said. “I’ll have Jamie with me.”

“Jamie’s a fine lad,” Mrs. Ames protested, “but no protection for a woman alone.”

“Mama won’t be alone, I’ll be there,” Jamie said.

“And I suppose you can save her reputation? A well-bred female traveling across the ocean, unaccompanied except by a child?” Mrs. Ames said, scandalized. “The very idea!”

“I’m not a girl,” Lucy said.

“No, but you’re a beauty,” Mr. Ames said,
before his wife could continue arguing. “A woman without escort is fair game to men of a certain sort. A pretty young one is just asking for trouble, and she’ll find it. And a pretty young widow? Ho.”

“See?” Mrs. Ames exulted. “My Herbert don’t open his mouth to say ‘boo!’ about women’s affairs, but when he does, it’s best to listen. You’re going to be hobnobbing with your noble brother-in-law when you get to England. Haven’t seen him in years, right? So you don’t want to set a foot wrong. Who knows who’ll be on that ship?”

“We’ll have to find someone else to accompany you,” Mr. Ames said ponderously. “You and Jamie can’t go alone and that’s that.”

Even Lucy didn’t argue when he used that tone of voice. Besides, she thought resignedly, he was right.

“So you’re going, no matter how soon. But what shall you tell William?” Bess asked, leaning forward, eyes sparkling.

“I’ll write him a note, telling him just what I’ve told you,” Lucy said.

“Like to see
his
face when he reads it,” Harmony said, and giggled.

“And—uhm,” Mr. Ames said, clearing his throat, “what will you tell his lordship? Lord Wycoff, that is?”

They held their breath, waiting for her answer.

“I’ll send him a note, too. Telling him the truth, of course,” she said with a shrug. “What else?”

They all sighed.

The Ameses sent out inquiries and found Mrs. Oliver’s name by the next evening.

“Geoff said she lives just outside of Richmond and is free to travel,” Mr. Ames told Lucy, “a respectable party by all accounts. Middle-aged and comfortably situated, and eager to go back to England. She’s got a brother there she visits whenever she can.”

“Wonderful,” Lucy exulted. She’d been worrying, wondering how long it would take to find a companion. She could pack and be gone in a day now.

“She’s eager—if you pay her fare,” Mr. Ames added. “She’ll pay the way for her own maid, but she’s set on that.”

Lucy blinked. “I should say not!” she said angrily.

“Then you’ll have to wait until high summer, or maybe beyond, to find someone who just happens to be going to England,” he said. “There’s not that much traffic from here to there till then, and so say all. See here, my girl,” he added, his voice softening, “you said Lord Hunt sent you three tickets, which is only right and proper, seeing as you need escort. You and Jamie can only use two.”

Lucy’s face flushed. It was true. But she’d planned to cash in the extra ticket, using the money for expenses once she got to England. She begrudged giving up that windfall. “Couldn’t we make some more inquiries?”

He shrugged. “As you will. I’ll delay answering Mrs. Oliver, and ask ’round some more to see if we can’t find another answer.”

Lucy got another the next morning.

William arrived at the Ames Hotel early.

“William, whatever are you doing here at this hour?” Mrs. Ames asked when he came in as they were having breakfast. “Is your mama all right?”

“She’s fine,” he said gruffly. “I was just on my way to town and wondered if I could have a word with Lucy.”

“Of course,” Lucy said, and wished she could have left for England the day before.

“Is it urgent?” Mrs. Ames asked curiously, “Or would you have time to take breakfast with us?”

“Not urgent, no,” he said. “Thanks, I will.”

But he didn’t eat much. He just sat watching Lucy, biting back smiles like a fond uncle waiting for a favorite niece to open her Christmas present. When the last guest left the table, and the last Ames had reluctantly straggled from the room, he leaned forward.