Carousel of Hearts (18 page)

“Of course not,” Judith retorted.  “But we are playing with emotional fire here. We might all of us be burned.”

“There is a risk of that,” Simon agreed soberly. He said nothing more, just looked at her with his intensely blue eyes.

As sure as the sun rose in the east, Judith knew that the consequences of such a charade could be disastrous. She had agreed to marry Adam, to bear his children and share his days and nights for as long as they lived. But in a small corner of her heart, the image of Simon was enshrined as her beau ideal, the quintessence of her romantic dreams.

A fantasy was harmless as long as it stayed a secret, but what would happen if Simon went through the motions of courtship with her? If she was the recipient of his devastating smiles, that fantasy might come alive and interfere with the solid reality of her feelings for Adam.

She closed her eyes in anguish. It was not fair that any man should be so attractive. He made it impossible for her to think.

She stood and slipped by Simon, putting a safe distance between them so she could evaluate his suggestion on its merits. The damnable thing was that his idea might work, though Judith doubted that he understood the female mind well enough to realize just what a potent plan he was proposing.

If his lordship appeared to be courting Judith, not only would Antonia see him constantly, but jealous pride would help undermine Antonia’s determination to marry Adam. Would Antonia really be able to stand by and watch her man go to another female, especially one so inferior in looks, charm, and fortune?

Judith doubted it. Antonia had her share of pride. Very soon she would feel the need to reassert her claim to Simon, leaving Adam to Judith.

How fortunate that polyandry was not permitted in England, or Antonia would end up with both men.

Judith turned to Simon and said gloomily, “You realize that we may all end up hating each other? Antonia may throw me out of her house and never speak to me or you again. Adam may call you out. Heaven only knows what other catastrophe might befall.”

At her tacit agreement, Lord Launceston smiled with relief. “Perhaps, but I doubt it. The most likely outcome is that Adam will regain his memory before our plotting has gone too far. It may have even happened while you are here in Buxton.”

“We will not be that lucky,” Judith said with conviction.

“Probably not,” Simon agreed. Then his face brightened. “I have some good news for you. My publisher friend is eager to do a book of your wildflower studies. He thought they were exquisite, both as art and as natural history. He hopes that
The Flowers of the High Country
will be the first of a series on flowers of different parts of Britain.”

“Really?” Judith was startled, having almost forgotten that Simon had sent the drawings to London. Then her lips curved involuntarily into a smile of delight. “How wonderful! I didn’t really believe he would be interested, in spite of what you said. Thank you, Simon, for sending them off in spite of me.”

His faith in her work was deeply gratifying. Beyond that, perhaps the acceptance of her drawings was a sign that Judith’s luck was changing and this dreadful tangle would soon be sorted out.

She most fervently hoped so.

* * * *

The ladies of Thornleigh were sitting in the morning room when the butler brought in a calling card on a gilt salver. Antonia was surprised. While a number of neighbors had left cards as a sign of concern for her cousin, it was generally understood that she was not receiving for the time being. Who would have insisted that the card be brought in?

When she saw the card, Antonia understood.

At her small inhalation of shock, Judith glanced up from her embroidery. “Is something wrong?”

“Simon is here.”

Judith’s eyebrows arched speculatively. “No doubt he heard about Adam’s injury.”

Antonia made an effort to collect herself. “Of course. I should have thought to write him, but I was too distracted.  Send Lord Launceston in.”

Judith stood and packed her embroidery into her workbasket. “I assume that you would prefer to see him alone.”

Antonia was by no means as sure of that as Judith was, but she did not attempt to stop her companion from leaving. Nervously she touched her hair, wondering how she looked, before telling herself not to be a goosecap. She was betrothed to Adam, and all her starry-eyed foolishness about Simon was behind her.

That being the case, why did her heart twist in her breast when Simon entered the room? He halted just inside the door, dark-haired and elegant, more handsome than any man had a right to be. His expression was contained, giving little away, but she saw no signs of anger or the withdrawal that she found so alarming.

“I know this is an imposition, Lady Antonia, but I heard about Adam and have been very concerned. I hope you will forgive my intruding on you.”

She found that she could still breathe, if she thought about it. “Of course. You are Adam’s friend and have every right to be concerned. If I had been thinking more clearly, I would have written myself.” Antonia waved him to a seat, asking hesitantly, “How much do you know about the situation?”

“Quite a bit, I think,” he said as he sat. “I arrived in Buxton last night. Since you are the great lady of the district, events at Thornleigh are much discussed.”

Antonia nodded, unsurprised. Most of her servants were local, so the great house held few secrets. “Then you heard about Adam’s amnesia?”

Simon nodded, his dark-blue eyes grave. “Yes. And also about your betrothal.” Antonia tensed for condemnation, but her former intended made no attempt to rail at her. “I won’t deny that the news was a considerable shock, but when I thought about it, I understood. You and Adam have always been close, you share many of the same interests.” He smiled sadly. “You were right, you know. Much as it hurts for me to admit it, you and I would not suit. May I wish you and Adam happy?”

Antonia felt a sharp sting of tears. Simon was such an incredibly nice man that it hurt. In a choked voice she said, “Of course you can. You are very generous.”

In a more normal tone, she continued, “It would be more appropriate to say that Adam and I have an understanding rather than a formal betrothal. Nothing more specific can be decided until Adam is better.”

“How is Adam feeling?”

“Physically he is quite well, though he has headaches and sleeps more than usual. In fact, he is resting now. However, the doctor said that was to be expected and should pass soon.”

Her qualification did not escape Simon. “How is he mentally and emotionally?”

“Although he doesn’t complain, it’s obvious that he finds the situation rather distressing. Or perhaps maddening would be more precise.”

“One can certainly understand why,” Simon said feelingly. “Since I heard the news, I have tried to imagine what it would be to wake up a stranger to oneself, surrounded by other strangers.” He gave her a questioning look. “I’d like to see him, unless you think it would be a bad idea.”

“No, I think you should. Adam is coping amazingly well, actually. He asks a lot of questions, trying to establish what his life was like. Since you knew him in India, which was such a large part of his life, you can tell him things I know nothing about.’’ She glanced down at her well-groomed fingernails. “I have discovered that I knew him less well than I thought.”

“That must be very disconcerting,” Simon sympathized.

“I prefer to think of it as educational.” Antonia smiled suddenly, feeling very much in charity with Lord Launceston. “It is too easy to take our nearest and dearest for granted. Adam and I are having a unique opportunity to rediscover each other.’’ She stopped when she saw a slight tightening of Simon’s face. eally, it was not at all the thing to be discussing the man she intended to marry with the gentleman who had previously occupied that position.

Simon rose. “When would be the best time to call on Adam?”

Antonia glanced at the mantel clock. “He should be awake soon,” then absently bit her lip as she thought. “Where are you staying?”

“At the White Hart in Buxton.”

“It seems silly for you to be staying there,” she said tentatively, not quite sure how she wanted him to respond.

“Well, I could hardly expect you to welcome me here,” Simon said reasonably.

He was being such a perfect gentleman . . . “Oh, bother with propriety,” Antonia said with exasperation. “This is the most absurd situation. Surely we can be friends, since we are in agreement that our betrothal was a mistake. As my friend and as Adam’s, you will always be welcome at Thornleigh. It would make much more sense for you to stay here while you are in the area. And I think it would be good for Adam to have a male friend near. There is some danger that Judith and I will smother the poor man in solicitude.”

Simon laughed. “There is no one like you, Antonia. If you can bear to have me underfoot, I should be happy to stay here.” Then, with a subtle shift in tone that did not escape his hostess, he asked, “Speaking of Judith, how is she?”

“Very well. She was a tower of strength after Adam’s accident. I would have gone mad without her. When you were announced, she tactfully disappeared.” Antonia made a rueful face. “Unlike me, Judith is always tactful.”

Simon chuckled. “If you are sure that my presence will not distress you, I will go into Buxton to fetch my belongings.”

Antonia offered her hand, and after an infinitesimal pause he bowed over it. The gesture was a tense one for both of them, and the feel of his fingers lingered on hers, but the moment passed without incident.

After Lord Launceston left, Antonia sank into the sofa and congratulated herself. They had both carried that off very well. Of course, she had felt a few daft girlish flutters at the sight of him—Simon could make a stone Madonna turn her head in admiration—but she hadn’t made a fool of herself. Proof positive that her infatuation was a thing of the past.

She was so sure of that that it would have seemed foolish not to invite Simon to stay. One must be hospitable. Of course, the fact that his presence would be beneficial to Adam was the most important aspect.

Of course.

* * * *

As he went outside to his carriage. Lord Launceston breathed a sigh of relief that the first hurdle had been surmounted so easily. Antonia was really the most splendid woman.  She might be impetuous, but she was also fair and uninterested in holding grudges.

Which made his own duplicity all the more contemptible. Only the belief that his actions would ultimately benefit all four people involved could justify his behavior. Simon was startled and not best pleased to discover after thirty-one years that he had an alarming talent for duplicity. It had been remarkably easy to act the role of the sorrowing but noble suitor.

He hoped Judith was right that Antonia was still in love with him. He himself was not convinced. There had been nothing tentative about the way she talked about Adam. When he analyzed her manner, he decided that she spoke as if she was one-half of a couple, and that did not bode well for his hopes.

He shrugged and snapped the whip over his horses. Only time would tell. Meanwhile, he was doing everything he could to promote a desirable outcome for all concerned.

Chapter Ten

Adam was sifting through his business papers in the library when Lord Launceston was announced. Antonia had prepared Adam for the visit of an old friend, but he still tensed. It was hard not to feel wary around people who knew more about his past than he did himself.

But Lord Launceston made it easy. He entered quietly and offered his hand. “Hello. You always called me Simon. Do you mind if I call you Adam again?”

“Not at all.” As Adam shook his visitor’s hand and indicated a seat, he was impressed at Launceston’s grasp of what it was like to be a stranger in one’s own mind. “Antonia said that we met in India?”

Simon nodded. “You came into the Bombay observatory one night and wanted to use the telescope.”

Adam’s gaze drifted for a moment. “I remember seeing the surface of the moon through a telescope and trying to identify the seas. Mare Imbrium, Mare Crisium.”

“You actually remember that?” Simon said eagerly.

Adam shook his head. “It’s like everything else. I remember the results and what I learned about astronomy, but not you or the occasion. It seems that everything personal has been excised from my mind.”

“It’s only been a week or so since a roof landed on your head,” his visitor pointed out. “One can hardly blame your memory for wanting to go on holiday.”

Adam grinned and settled back in his chair behind the desk, thinking that his old self had had good taste in friends. “Perhaps you can tell me some things about my life in India. I never wrote Antonia much detail about my business activities, so there is little she can tell me.”

“I don’t promise to be an expert—we seldom discussed business—but I’ll do my best,” Simon promised. “What do you want to know?”

Adam waved his hand at the documents spread across the wide desk. “I seem to be the possessor of an indecently large fortune. What did I do to earn it? I can’t imagine how I did. At least, not if I was honest.” His mouth twisted. “I’m not sure I want to hear your answer.”

“You can rest easy on that head. I never heard a hint that you behaved dishonorably. Given how ingrown and gossipy the European community in India is, bad behavior would have been hard to conceal. Though, mind you,” he added reflectively, “you would have attracted as much admiration as censure.”

Adam smiled. “Then how did I do it?”

“By sheer, unremitting hard work, and a willingness to take risks. You told me once that you made your original stake playing hazard on your voyage out from England.”

“Really?” Adam was startled. “I wouldn’t have thought that I was a gamester.”

“You weren’t. You explained it to me once.” Simon crossed his long legs, thinking that it was interesting how they could still converse easily even without knowledge of a common past. “You said that a real gamester was addicted to the thrill and that he needs the likelihood of defeat to give the game savor. You played in cold blood, and for one reason only: to win.