Carousel of Hearts (3 page)

“What happened with Ramsay? You wrote that you had called things off, but you never gave a reason. Did he behave badly?”

“No need to look so protective, Adam. Lord Ramsay was a perfect gentleman.” Antonia smiled wryly and toyed with the Chinese scent bottle. “That was the problem. I decided it was time I accepted somebody, and Ramsay was the best of the lot—handsome, wealthy, titled, good-natured . . . and a complete bore.

“I kept dragging my feet, and finally he gave me an ultimatum.  Set a wedding date or the betrothal was off.” She chuckled. “You would not believe the alacrity with which I called things off.’’

“Minx.”

“By that time, I think he was as relieved as I was,” Antonia said a trifle defensively.

“Are you determined never to marry, Tony?”

Antonia considered her answer. Even to Adam, she would not reveal her foolish romanticism, her desire to fall totally in love. Especially not to Adam. “I would like to marry,” she said slowly, “but I also would like to feel something more than mild affection for my husband.”

“As romantic as ever, I see.” Adam gave her his warmest smile. “Well, you can always marry me. I rather fancy the idea of settling down, and you’re the only woman I know in England.”

After another silence that lasted a moment too long, Antonia laughed. “Be careful what you say, Adam. Think how appalled you would be if I accepted.”

“I was prepared to accept the consequences,” he lightly.

Across the room, Judith caught a note in Adam Yorke’s voice that made her glance up. Perhaps it took a stranger to see that he was speaking in dead earnest, though her employer seemed oblivious to that fact. Antonia may think of Adam as a brother, but clearly he did not see his beautiful cousin as a sister.

Judith returned to her needlework, embarrassed at seeing more than she should. It was an unfortunate situation.  Fond though Antonia was of Adam, she didn’t see him in a romantic light. For Adam’s sake, Judith hoped that he would not pine after what he could never have. Far better that he seek a female who would return his affections.

Such a woman would be very lucky.

The butler entered and made the discreet throat-clearing noise he used to gain attention. “Lady Fairbourne, shall I direct that the midday meal be served?”

Antonia glanced guiltily at the clock. “Lord, look at the time, I’ll wager Cook is furious. We’ll be down in ten minutes.”

After Burton withdrew, Adam said with puzzlement, “Lady Fairbourne?”

Antonia cocked her head to one side. “Didn’t I ever write you about that?”

“As I recall, Fairbourne was one of your father’s minor titles, but surely your cousin Spenston holds that now.”

Antonia straightened up in the sofa and said haughtily, “I, sir, am Baroness Fairbourne in my own right.”

Her dignity dissolved into chuckles. “It’s the strangest thing. After Papa died and the solicitors were dealing with the legal aspects someone noticed that the Fairbourne title is a barony by writ.”

“Which means?”

“Such baronies go back to Norman times, and they can be inherited by a female in the absence of male heirs. A barony by writ can be submerged in higher tides, then liberated when there is a female heir but no male one. The rest of Papa’s titles and the entailed property went to Cousin Roger when he became Earl of Spenston, but Fairbourne stayed with me.”

Warming to her topic, she continued, “Papa’s lawyer told me that the de Ros barony, which is thought to be the oldest peerage in England, has gone through eight or nine family names.  It’s dreadfully complicated. If I had sisters, we would be coheirs to the title, and none of us would be called Lady Fairbourne. The title would be in abeyance, and it would stay that way until all of the claims were concentrated in one person again—for example, if one sister had a child, and the other sisters didn’t. Some baronies by writ have been in abeyance for centuries.”

Seeing Adam’s bemused expression, she said kindly, “It’s all right if you don’t understand. It took the lawyer ages to explain to me.”

“I can understand why,” Adam said dryly. “So, which are you, Lady Antonia or Lady Fairbourne?”

“That’s where the fun comes in.” Antonia smiled wickedly. “In one sense, as the daughter of an earl my rank is higher rank than a mere baron.  But Lady Antonia is a courtesy title, while the barony makes me a peer in my own right—one of handful of women in England of whom that can be said. My old friends and servants usually call me Lady Antonia, but Lady Fairbourne is more correct. Burton hasn’t been with me long and is most dreadfully proper, so he always calls me Lady Fairbourne.”

“Which do you prefer, your ladyship?”

“Don’t you dare call me your ladyship, Adam!  Or I’ll— I’ll ...” She halted, unable to think of a suitable punishment.

Adam rose and offered his arm. “Or you’ll what?” he teased.

“I’ll think of something,” she said darkly.

“Something wet and slithery, if memory serves me correctly.”

Antonia squeezed her cousin’s arm, then glanced over to the window seat. “Judith, you will join us?”

“Are you sure you want me to be playing gooseberry?” her companion asked. “You must have a thousand things to say to one another.”

Adam looked Judith up and down very carefully. “Not green, not furry. You don’t look in the least like a gooseberry to me.” He offered his other arm. “Do join us, unless you think our reminiscences will be too tedious.”

Judith laughed as she rose and took his arm. During the leisurely meal that followed, she appreciated Adam Yorke’s efforts to include her in the mealtime conversation. He might adore his cousin, but when he looked at Judith, she felt that he truly saw her and listened seriously to what she said.

He really was a most attractive man, far more interesting than any of the London gentlemen who had been pursuing Antonia. Even to an observer as partisan as Judith Winslow, it seemed as if Mr. Yorke was good enough for the Baroness Fairbourne.

A bowl of fruit from the Thornleigh forcing houses was being served when Antonia asked, “By the way, where is your luggage, Adam? Shall I send someone to pick it up at the port?”

He shook his head. “I’m staying at the Clarendon.”

Antonia stared at him. “How ridiculous! Of course you’re staying here.”

“Tony, even with the ferocious chaperonage of Mrs. Winslow, that would be inappropriate.”

“But you’re family!” She bit her lip, remembering that he now had a life she was not a part of. Adam might consider it rather slow to be staying with his cousin. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t press you. It’s just that I had assumed you would stay with me.”

“I would like to,” he admitted, “but we are not children anymore, and we are not that nearly related. Besides, there are any number of reasons why too-close association with me would do your reputation no good.”

Antonia fixed him with a steely glance. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You make too much of something that is of no importance.”

“I only wish that were true,” Adam murmured.

Judith watched as the two cousins’ gazes caught and held, feeling the tension between them, as if an old argument were being revived. She wondered what they were talking about, but again, it was none other business.

“No one would deny that London delights in gossip,” Judith interposed, “but we will be removing to Thornleigh very shortly, and even the highest stickler would not look askance at Mr. Yorke visiting us there.”

“What a wonderful idea,” Antonia said, sunny again. “I was going to stay in London as long as you were here, Adam, but going to Thornleigh would be better if you could come with us. Surely you can take some time off before returning to work again.”

Adam hesitated. “I would like to, but a friend of mine, Lord Launceston, returned to England on the same ship. You may recall my mentioning him in letters. Simon is visiting his mother in Kent now, but in a fortnight or so we had tentative plans to take a holiday together, perhaps to the Lake District.”

“I remember you mentioning his name. Unless Lord Launceston is the sort of gentleman you wouldn’t introduce to a respectable female relation, stop awhile with us. Derbyshire is on your way,” Antonia suggested.

“Oh, Simon is most presentable, even though he has been out of the country for years. If you’re sure you don’t mind being landed with a stranger, I’ll invite him to Thornleigh.”

Much, much later, Antonia would look back at this moment in amazement that something begun so casually would have such unforeseen, long-reaching consequences.

Chapter Two

The second morning at Thornleigh, Judith knocked on the door of Antonia’s chamber, then entered at her friend’s invitation. Antonia was curled up on a sofa by the window, her knees drawn up with her arms linked around them as she gazed outside.

On a daily basis it was easy to become accustomed to her beauty, but Judith experienced one of those moments when she was sharply aware of how breathtakingly lovely Antonia was. The early-morning sun illuminated the golden skin and dreamy expression, and her shimmering apricot hair cascaded over her blue robe like molten gold.

Antonia gave a smile of welcome, then returned to admiring the rugged grandeur of the Peak District. “I read somewhere that one never thinks of oneself as being happy—that it is only something one realizes when looking back, ‘I was happy then,’ “ she mused. “But that’s not true. I’m happy now, and I know it. I’m at Thornleigh with my best friends, the sun is shining, and I haven’t a care in the world. What more does happiness require?”

“Nothing.” Judith sat down in a deep chair, content to share her friend’s mood. “Your gift is that you know that.”

That quality in Antonia was surely a gift. Cynics might say that anyone with her ladyship’s wealth, position, and beauty had no reason to be miserable, but Judith had met others with similar blessings who did not have Antonia’s talent for enjoyment. Her employer had given Judith friendship and security, among many other things, but most of all she had provided a zestful example of how to be happy.

Judith had known little of happiness in her earlier years.  It had taken time for her to learn to recognize it.

Antonia rested her chin on her crossed arms. “I’m almost sorry that Lord Launceston will be arriving today. I’m sure he is a very good fellow or he wouldn’t be Adam’s friend, but he is a stranger. It won’t be quite the same.”

“He won’t be a stranger for long,” Judith pointed out reasonably. “Do you know where he and Adam met?”

“Yes, in the East India Company observatory in Bombay, of all places.  Launceston was doing astronomical observations. Apparently he’s a natural philosopher of some note.”

“Really!” Judith, who took a more-than-casual interest in the natural world herself, was intrigued. “What does he study?”

“A variety of things.” Antonia’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “He doesn’t share your interest in botany, but he’s a founder of the new Geological Society as well as a member of the Royal Society and the Astronomical Society.”

“Impressive. No wonder he and Adam are friends. Your cousin seems to be interested in everything.”

“He always has been,” Antonia agreed. She surveyed her companion. “What do you think of Adam now that you’ve had a chance to get acquainted?”

Judith considered the matter. “If I was a cat, I should want to jump into his lap and purr.”

Antonia laughed. “He has the same effect on me.’’ She was grateful that her two best friends got on well.  It would have been awkward if they had taken each other in dislike.

Uncoiling herself from the window seat, Antonia rang for her maid. “I had better dress or I’ll be late. Adam and I are going to ride up to the high country this morning. Will you join us?”

Judith shook her head. “The housekeeper and I are scheduled to discuss the state of the linens. That will take much longer than it should, but Mrs. Heaver doesn’t like to be rushed.’’

“You needn’t do that, Judith. You’re my companion, not some sort of superior servant.”

“It makes me feel useful.” Judith smiled as she withdrew. Antonia’s excellent managerial talents were concentrated on the estate, not the household. Even the best of housekeepers needed to know that someone was keeping a thoughtful eye on her,  At Thornleigh, that someone was Judith Winslow.

* * * *

An hour later, Antonia pulled off her riding hat and laughed in sheer exuberance, letting the wind tear apart her carefully arranged coiffure. The manor house was set in a dale, the fertile area that surrounds a small river, and she and Adam had ridden up the dale to the high country.

At the top they halted at one of the great “edges,” the Derbyshire name for the stone ridges that tower above the valleys. To the south the spa of Buxton was visible, while north lay the heights of Kinder Scout, the highest point in the Peak District. Far above them, a hawk drifted in the wind with graceful majesty. “Surely, Adam, India had nothing to match this.”

Effortlessly controlling his restive horse, Adam glanced across at her with a smile. He had always been a superb rider, and the years had not changed that. “Every land has its own special beauties that can’t be compared to any other, and the Peaks are one of the glories of England.’’

His gaze returned to the dramatic, treeless green hills, where the bones of the earth occasionally showed through, adding softly, “And they are home.”

Antonia’s father had decided to leave Thornleigh to his daughter as soon as she was born, but it had been Adam’s home every bit as much as hers.  She was glad that he still felt the same way about the land that she did. Through the years of her childhood, Antonia and Adam had explored the Derbyshire hills and dales together.  Sometimes they packed food and disappeared for a whole day, returning wind-burned and content as darkness fell. 

As they ambled their horses along the spine of the ridge, Antonia asked, “Could you afford to buy an estate in this area? I understand that quite a nice property on the other side of Buxton will be coming on the market soon.’’

At his inquiring glance, she looked stricken. “Sorry, I forgot that I shouldn’t say anything that hints at money.”