Carousel of Hearts (4 page)

He laughed. Like her, he rode hatless, and the breeze ruffled his sun-streaked brown hair. “It is many years too late to begin standing on ceremony with me. Tony. In fact, I am something of a nabob, but as I said before, it is a little too soon to know exactly what I will do.’’

The trail narrowed and Adam concentrated on guiding his horse safely between the stones. “I intend to continue in the India trade. It looks like the East India Company will not have its monopoly renewed when the original charter expires in a few years, and that will open all sorts of possibilities. But I’m also interested in investing closer to home.”

“What kind of investments?” Antonia asked as the path widened enough so they could ride abreast again.

“Steam engines,” he answered promptly. “Steam is still in its infancy, but it’s been powering mining machinery for years.  Now it’s driving ships.  Soon there will be steam-powered land vehicles. There’s a notable engineer working over in Macclesfield, and I intend to call on him soon.”

Adam grinned.  “I never knew an inventor who didn’t need more money for his work, and a businessman to show him how to get the most out of his ideas.”

Antonia was startled. “Do you think horses will no longer be needed?” She gave her mare’s glossy neck a protective pat. “I can’t believe that.”

“My guess is that long-distance travel will become much easier with steam-powered vehicles, probably ones designed to run along tracks, but such engines will be expensive, connecting only major cities,” Adam said reassuringly. “We’ll still need horses for local travel.”

“All these new mechanisms fascinate you, don’t they?”

“They are the future. Tony, and it is better to be fascinated by the future than frightened by it.” A dry note entered his voice. “Of course, most members of your class prefer to stay in a protected world, ignoring what is happening among the common folk of Britain.”

“Adam, how dare you refer to ‘my class’ like that,” Antonia said, tugging at her reins so sharply that her mount whickered as it stopped. “I am no different than you.”

His face serious for once, Adam halted his horse next to hers. “We are different in a thousand important ways, Tony. It is to your credit that you ignore such distinctions, but the rest of the world notices them. You are an aristocrat, born to wealth and privilege. I am a merchant at best, an unfortunate blot on the family escutcheon at worst.”

As Adam’s wry gray-green eyes met hers, Antonia was reminded again that they were children no longer.  Her cousin had been struggling to make his way in a world very different from her own cushioned existence. “You are what you have made of yourself,” she said quietly. “Has it been so very bad?”

“I don’t want your pity,” he said, his deep voice harsher than she had ever heard it.

“Then what do you want?”

It was a perfect opportunity, but as he looked at Antonia, her cinnamon eyes earnest with the desire to understand, her bright hair a nimbus around her exquisite face, Adam lost the courage to speak. “I suppose I want the world to be different than it is,” he said slowly. Which was the truth, but his wishes were far more specific than that general statement.

“The world, like British weather, is constantly changing,” Antonia said, her face relaxing into a mischievous smile. “If you don’t like the way it is now, wait a few minutes. It will be different, and possibly better.”

“But at the very least, different,” he agreed, with an answering smile.

“Do you remember how to ride a wild-goose chase?”

Adam chuckled as he recalled the mad races of their youth. In a wild-goose chase, whichever rider was ahead set the course, while the followers tried to pass and take over the lead. “Of course! A miracle neither of us was killed.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean that you’ve become too respectable to run one. Catch me if you can!” With a flick of her whip, Antonia and her mount went tearing down the steep hill like a wind from Hades.

For just a moment, the practical businessman that Adam had become thought of badger holes and loose rocks and the risk Antonia ran of breaking her lovely neck. Then he laughed. Both of them knew and understood this country, minimizing the risks.

Besides, who wanted to live forever? Kicking his mount, he charged recklessly after her.  As he bent over his horse’s neck, urging the gelding to its best speed, he comforted himself with the reflection that it was early yet, too soon to speak of serious things.

Adam didn’t know that time was about to run out.

* * * *

Simon Launceston, fifth Baron Launceston, arrived that afternoon. Like all great events. Lord Launceston’s arrival was ever after indelibly etched in Judith’s memory.

When he was announced, they were taking tea in the small parlor, which commanded a splendid view of the lush gardens. In the distance the green Peaks floated. The afternoon sun was softly bright, illuminating the rich colors of the Persian carpet with unnatural clarity, causing Antonia’s apricot hair to glow like a living thing as she laughed and poured tea for the others.

Burton entered, intoning solemnly, “Lord Launceston.”

All three of them looked up, Adam with pleasure that his friend had arrived, the two women welcoming.

At the sight of the man in the doorway, Judith drew in her breath, her eyes widening and her mouth forming a silent “0” of shock. Time seemed to freeze, as still and motionless as pollen suspended in the sun-drenched air. Next to her on the sofa, Antonia had gone rigid with the same awestruck reaction that Judith was experiencing.

Simon Launceston was, quite simply, the most beautiful man Judith had ever seen or dreamed of. His superbly tailored clothing would have drawn the eye in a lesser man, but for Lord Launceston clothing was no more than a foil for his height and perfect proportions.

Though he had wide shoulders and an elegant figure, what one noticed first was his eyes, deeply and magnetically blue. Then his face, the planes and lines shaped with a perfection that a Greek sculptor could only yearn for, a faint hint of cleft chin adding charm to a countenance that might otherwise have been too flawless to be approachable.

Judith’s first thought was of Apollo, but Lord Launceston’s beauty was of a Celtic kind.  Surely the sun god would be golden, while the newcomer’s hair was the shining black of obsidian, all the darker for the contrast with his fair skin.

But Launceston was more than just handsome; he was the very image of the
parfit gentil
knight Judith had dreamed of when she was still young enough to dream. Even now, after a lifetime’s knowledge that no handsome prince would appear to fulfill her fantasies, she felt a moment of irrational belief that her dream lover had found her.

Then common sense returned. Judith ruthlessly suppressed the absurd longing that coursed through her veins, telling herself that what she felt was simply admiration such as any woman must feel at the sight of such an attractive man.

While Judith worked on her rationalizations, Launceston paused on the threshold, his face cool and remote until his gaze fell on Adam. Then he smiled with a quiet charm that could have melted the heart of Medusa.

Adam rose and greeted his friend, then performed the introductions after the men had shaken hands.  The new arrival took Judith’s hand in his and bowed over it, speaking politely as his deep-blue eyes met hers.

Judith barely comprehended his words as she struggled to act like a rational being.  Her real desire was to stare at him with her mouth open. His lordship’s slow soft tenor was as wonderful as his face.

When she released his hand, Judith thought dazedly that it was brave for his lordship to put any part of himself in a female’s grasp when there was a risk that it would not be returned. If even a practical, unromantic woman like herself went weak and butter-kneed at the sight of Lord Launceston, it must be dangerous for the poor man to walk the streets.

Lord Launceston turned to Antonia, getting his first clear look at his hostess. He clasped her hand, then time stopped again as he simply held it, forgetting to bow, as mesmerized by her beauty as she was by his.

Antonia was in her best looks today, her hair shimmering like sunset, her vitality drawing the eye, her splendid figure the stuff of male dreams.  Rallying more quickly than Judith had, Antonia said, “Welcome to Thornleigh,” in her husky contralto.

Then her eyes met his and her next words caught in her throat. The two stared at each other, still hand-fast, the energy pulsing between them like a storm.

Though Judith had heard of love at first sight, she had not believed in it. But then, she had never seen anything like this. The beautiful of both sexes are not like the rest of the human race.  Judith had never seen two people who were more obviously born for each other.

There was something shockingly intrusive about witnessing their silent interchange, and she turned her head away.  As she did, her gaze fell on Adam.

The vivid, inarticulate pain on his face cleared her mind.  Judith had guessed from the first that Adam Yorke was in love with Antonia. Now he faced the devastating knowledge that bringing his friend and his cousin together was disastrous for his hopes.

Judith ached for him.  “Would you care for some tea. Lord Launceston?” she asked, her pragmatic question shattering the spell that lay over the room.

Flushing, he released Antonia’s hand.  “That would be very welcome.”

The four people sat down and exchanged commonplaces as if that lightning-struck moment had not occurred. Lord Launceston commented on the geological history of the Peak District, Antonia mentioned how old the manor house of Thornleigh was, Judith asked about his lordship’s studies.

Adam Yorke said nothing at all, merely drank his tea with that strange, blinded expression on his face. Judith was acutely aware of the crosscurrents, of the way Antonia and Lord Launceston were making love to each other with every word and gesture.

Abruptly she could bear no more. She needed to escape before she succumbed to wicked envy of her best friend. Even more important, Adam must be taken away. Rising, Judith said, “I think I’ll take a turn in the garden. Adam, will you join me for some fresh air?”

“Of course,” he responded with numb politeness.

She took his arm rather forcefully, guiding him through the French doors into the slanting late-afternoon sun. Antonia and Lord Launceston scarcely noticed when their companions left.

Judith drew the refreshing air into her lungs, grateful for its head-clearing qualities after so much pulsating emotion. Adam had no preference about the direction, so she steered them through the parterre and into the informal walk, trying to get as far away as possible.

When the house was no longer visible among the trees, she said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Adam’s muscular arm tensed under her clasp, but he made no attempt to pretend that he didn’t understand. “I should have realized this might happen, but I’ve known Simon long enough that I forgot what an impact the first sight of him makes.”

“Being a male doesn’t help,” Judith pointed out. “You don’t see him the same way a female does.”

“True.” He managed a smile. “I remember thinking when I met him that it must be a nuisance to be so strikingly good-looking that people ignore more important qualities, like character and intelligence, which he has in abundance.”

“True, but it’s hard to be indifferent to such beauty,” she agreed. “It’s the same with Antonia. Admiring her is like enjoying a perfect rose, but she is so much more than her appearance, dazzling though that is.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “You’ve always loved her?”

“Always.”

They reached the stream that ran the length of the dale.  By mutual consent they sat on a bench overlooking the clear, chuckling water. Adam leaned forward, head bent, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.

Judith studied his large, powerful hands, thinking it remarkable that they had the delicacy to carve the lovely wood sculptures he had made for Antonia when they were young. Though he had the strength of an athlete or a peasant, he must also have the soul of an artist.

Staring unseeing at his interlaced fingers, Adam said, “There are many kinds of love. My feelings for Tony are a mixture of friendship and gratitude and admiration. I don’t suppose that’s the same as romantic love.  Perhaps I am merely in the habit of fancying myself in love with her.  If she and Simon ran off to Gretna Green tomorrow, Tony and I would still love each other in the ways that matter most. Romantic love might ruin that.”

He shrugged, his russet coat straining across his broad shoulders. “Perhaps it’s better this way. Simon is honorable, intelligent, and superlatively eligible. I could not hope for Tony to find a better husband.  It...it would be a waste of her warmth and love if she never married.” 

She studied Adam’s profile, the strong chin and the powerful body, and wondered if he truly believed what he had just said. In her experience, platonic love was a female ideal.  When a man loved a beautiful woman, romance and passion were inextricably mixed. 

Though Adam was lying if he said his feelings for Antonia weren’t romantic,  it was a noble lie, born of a generous love.  Anyone who had been in the room when Antonia met Simon Launceston would know the result was a foregone conclusion, and Adam was doing his best to deal with that devastating knowledge.

He could have been furious or bitter at the shattering of his hopes.  Instead, he was acting with painful gallantry.  She wondered if Antonia realized just how much she would lose if she chose a different husband. 

Wanting to distract him from his pain, she asked, “What were the circumstances that led you to grow up in the Spenston household? Antonia has never told me.”

“No, she would not have mentioned,” he said. Without looking at his companion, he continued, “I’m baseborn.”

Judith’s eyes widened, understanding now why he’d told Antonia that close association would do her reputation no good. His cousin had replied tartly that no one cared about such things, but Adam was right.  There were those who would condemn Antonia for treating a bastard connection with such familiarity.  She sighted.  “It shouldn’t matter, but in this imperfect world, it does.”