Kay Springsteen (37 page)

“
He
’
s not — er, you
’
re not — related to Lady
…
Godiva?
”

The dowager chuckled.
“
Now, that
would
be an interesting family history, wouldn
’
t it? No, my dear, I
’
m merely giving you an allegory. You
’
ve been out here practicing archery for some weeks now, and you
’
ve picked it up admirably. Surely you realize
that the bow must first be pulled back to make the arrow go forward. That the arrow soars through the air because the bow sends it there.
”
The dowager took up her bow, positioned an arrow, and took her shot, all in one fluid motion and probably on less tha
n a count of five. The arrow lodged just off center of the target with a solid
thwack
.

Annabella sighed. Apparently,
her grace
was prepared for the enemy. Or the tournament, anyway.

“
Lady Godiva
’
s husband was the bow in that case, and his compassionate wife the arrow. He pulled her back with that challenge to ride sans clothing.
”
Her eyes glittered and she clicked her tongue.
“
Poor man likely never knew what hit him when she took him up on it.
”

Annabella shook her head. She must be addled, for she had no no
tion of how that story answered the questions in her own heart.
“
Well, if you ask me,
my
husband would never—
”
A heavy sigh blasted out, for in truth she had no idea what exactly Jon would do or not. He certainly demonstrated no sign of being as predictabl
e as a bow shooting an arrow.
“
I fear I shall never understand him… or what he wants from me.
”

“
My dear, men are not to
be
understood,
”
clarified the dowager as she spun and repeated the shot at the opposite target with nary a moment to sight.
“
The woman w
ho attempts to understand what goes on in a man
’
s thoughts will simply drive herself mad.
”

Thwack
. A strike dead center.

“
The only thing a woman can do is keep the man struggling to figure out what
she
’
s
thinking.
”
She swiveled again and aimed with another
arrow.

Gracious, she
’
s as precise as a clock pendulum. And quite confusing.

Annabella made a sour face.
“
So a woman shouldn
’
t expect to figure out a man but a man
may
figure out a woman?
”

The dowager burst into laughter just as she released the arrow, sen
ding it veering to the right. With a
thud-twang,
the arrow embedded itself into the trunk of one of the elms.

“
You see what happens when you let the French lead you astray? You forget how to listen to what
’
s being told to you.
”
Still chuckling, the dowager
wagged her bow like a giant disapproving finger and slipped the arrow from Annabella
’
s unresisting grasp.
“
Now, I do not be
lieve
I said a man would ever figure a woman out. No, dear, the trick is to keep your man just slightly off balance.
”

With her thumb, the dowager dug at the fletching Annabella had shredded until the entire edge of feathering pulled loose. She released the feathers into the wind, shaking her hand until the last bits had flown off. Then she set the arrow in place, turned sideways to the target, and pulled back on the string.

Annabella watched in wide-eyed shock as the arrow shot from the bow then made a sudden left turn and spiraled into the heart of the target.

“
When a man is thrown off center by his drive to understand a woman, he has
no time to spin his own plots to keep
her
off kilter.
”
The dowager turned and smiled at Annabella.
“
Understand me now?
”

Annabella looked from the dowager to the arrow and back again.
“
I… think so, your grace.
”

The
dowager
smiled and nodded.
“
My dear, don
’
t you think it
’
s past time we dispensed with such formalities? You may certainly feel free to call me Gladys. After all, we are plotting the romantic downfall of my grandson, are we not?
”

“
Thank you, Gran — I mean Gl—
”
Annabella cleared her throat and tried again to form the name on her tongue but it didn
’
t feel quite right.
“
Gla—
”
Heat rushed to her face.

The dowager brushed her fingers over her right eye, blinking furiously.
“
I should very much like for you to call me Gran.
”
With a sniff, she glanced up at the sky.
“
And now, I think that
’
s enough emotion for a morning
’
s work, don
’
t you?
”

“
Yes, I suppose it is.
”

Annabella scuffed her half-boot through the dust under her feet. She had no idea what she would do with herself with the dow— with
Gran
calling a hal
t to the archery lesson early.

“
I noticed my grandson has yet to show you much of Blackmoor.
”
Gran gathered her bow and arrows and signaled for Ernest to clean up the archery range. At the last minute, she snatched up her shawl and then motioned for Annabella to join her on the narrow path back to the hall.
“
It
’
s a beautiful day for a walk. If you stay on the lane, you likely won
’
t lose yourself.
”
She smiled sweetly.
“
And if you see any Frenchies, you can impress them with your love of their wine.
”

Annabella
’
s mind raced. A walk sounded like just the thing. Of course, walking with Jon would have been more pleasant. She
’
d enjoyed their stroll through Coventry. But he wasn
’
t present, and getting out of the house held a certain appeal that she couldn
’
t deny. She glanced down at the pale leaf-green muslin fluttering in the gentle breeze. The lightweight fabric wasn
’
t particularly suited for a walk outside. She only wore her morning dresses for archery because of their loose fit.
“
I
’
ll change into something appropriate.
”

“
Oh, pish!
”
Gran waved away the notion with her free hand and walked through the door.
“
Your gown is perfectly suitable. You could walk all day and never leave the estate or encounter another soul.
”
She glanced down at the woolen wrap she clutched and held it out.
“
Here you go, my dear. Just throw this over your shoulders to keep the chill away.
”

Annabella hesitated, but the call of the warm sunshine was too strong. With a smile, she accepted the wrap.

“
There
’
s a grouping of cottages just beyond the little stone bridge up the main drive.
”
Gran gestured toward the front of the castle.
“
I shouldn
’
t go any farther than those, were I you.
”

Several minutes later, Annabella found herself pushed through the castle
’
s rear entrance, wrapped up in Gran
’
s blue shawl, and then packed out the front door by the dowager herself, aimed along the lane that had originally brought her to Blackmoor… Could she really count her time there in weeks? No, she realized, her steps faltering… Months. Nearly two months, as May had just turned over to June. She shook her head in wonder. Sometimes it felt like so many days couldn
’
t possibly have passed. Other times, it seemed like she
’
d lived in the castle her entire life.

The sun danced in patches between the shade of the trees along the lane, and Annabella smiled as she drew in a deep breath. The wind was carrying the sulfur smell away from Blackmoor for once. It was the kind of day she and Juliet would have deemed perfect for meeting in their little glade when they
’
d been younger.

Her happiness clouded. How
was
Juliet faring? Annabella had rarely spared a thought for her friend in recent days. Did that make her a dreadful person? She supposed it did. She hadn
’
t even managed to send off the note and funds. Jon had promised to secure
word of her friend in London to allay any lingering fears, but if he
’
d sent off any messages, he hadn
’
t mentioned doing so.

Jon…
Annabella had foolishly decided the two of them might yet come to an understanding about their marriage. But he seemed no more
inclined to remove her from the limbo of uncertainty than he had before their excursion to Coventry. Would he dissolve their marriage? If that was his plan, he certainly wasn
’
t hurrying about it. It was rather difficult, she supposed, to work on the situa
tion one way or the other if he wasn
’
t home to do so.

The wind hissed through larkspur that lined the lane

Her days had been filled with archery in the mornings, then tea or chocolate with Gran, a rest or reading in the afternoon. Too bad she
’
d not thought
to bring along her stitchery. She could ask Gran for supplies, she supposed — did the dowager even
do
the normal things a
proper
lady did? Embroidery certainly wasn
’
t her own favorite activity, but it would help pass some of the long afternoons. Even thos
e were more or less bearable, though.

But the nights… in particular, the nights… Annabella sighed. Those were lonely. In many ways even more lonely than those she
’
d spent in self-imposed exile at Rose Cottage. Even after their lovely day in Coventry, her husband hadn
’
t come to her, and she couldn
’
t bring herself to be so unseemly as to approach him. But embarrassing thoughts of him consumed her — and not always at night.

“
Why did you have to hide the truth from me, Jon?
”
she whispered, as a cloud drifted in front of the sun and the air chilled.
“
You complicated everything.
”
Her heart whispered back that perhaps he wouldn
’
t have hidden anything had she not been such a shrew.
“
That
’
s the truth,
”
she said softly.
“
I was never very cordial toward him. And now… what?
”

That certainly was the question, wasn
’
t it? Her life had been filled with changes and uncertainty of late.

A swift breeze lifted the edges of her wrap and she drew
it
tighter. Perhaps she should turn around. Her steps slowed, but she kept walking and glanced over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. Blackmoor Hall stood against a backdrop of trees, the stone glowing pale gold even in the diffuse daylight. The cloud moved off, allowing the sun
’
s heat to caress Annabella
’
s shoulders once more, and she shook her head. It was silly, of course, thinking herself watched. At most a servant, perhaps, tidying a room and chancing to look through a window.

“
More likely one of the cats,
”
she told the empty air around her. She loosened the ribbon beneath her chin and allowed her hat to topple from her head. It bounced against her back as she walked, caught on her neck by the satin strands. She longed to release her hair, but that might call her character and intent into question should she meet anyone. Unlikely, according to Gran, but not impossible, Annabella would wager. She did allow herself the pleasure of loosening the shawl as the air around her warmed again.