Song From the Sea (19 page)

A fox emerged from the thicket, stopped abruptly as it spotted him, and disappeared soundlessly back into the underbrush. Adam released the breath he'd unconsciously been holding.

“Nigel,” he bellowed, as much in an effort to break the deafening silence as to summon the man.

To his surprise and immense relief he heard an answering call not far to his left. Another minute or two and he would have gone stark, staring mad. “Over here!” he bellowed again.

“Have you had any luck finding Callie?” Nigel asked when he appeared a minute later, worry lining his face. “I haven't seen a trace of her.”

“She's safely home,” Adam replied shortly. “Let's get the hell out of here before my nerves snap altogether.” He kicked Gabriel into a canter and didn't breathe easily until they'd reached blessedly open space again. He stopped, taking in great gulps of precious air and gazing at his enormous house, its windows aflame with the reflection of the setting sun. Stanton Abbey looked positively cozy after his sojourn into the darkness.

“Thank the good Lord that she's all right. What happened to her?” Nigel asked, catching up to Adam.

“I found Callie sitting in one of the nether meadows. She decided to take the short way back from Hythe and grew tired. She seemed to be surprised that anyone was looking for her.” He didn't mention that he'd found her in tears. He would get to the bottom of that mystery on his own.

Nigel flashed Adam a smile of obvious relief. “That sounds exactly like Callie. She's always surprised when anyone expresses concern about her. You'd think no one had ever worried about her before.”

“For all we know, no one has. I don't see anyone lining up to claim her, do you?”

“Ah,” Nigel said. “And here I was, thinking you'd forgotten that Callie had a misplaced past.”

Adam regarded Nigel wryly. “Forgotten? Don't you think one person walking about with no memory is quite enough?”

“Oh, indeed I do, and I am happy to hear that yours has remained intact. Given that it has, I must commend you on your remarkable self-control. You have not once, or at least not once since Callie has been up and about, mentioned your plans for disposing of the unwanted responsibility foisted on you.”

“Do not push me, Nigel,” Adam said wearily. “I've had enough strain for one day.”

“I beg your pardon. I don't mean to push you in the least. I am merely curious as to whether you have come up with any plan for Callie's future, or if you intend to keep her here indefinitely. I think she might age rather nicely.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “I assume you are jesting?”

“Only partly,” Nigel said, his smile fading. “I have come to care about Callie, and as sorry as I would be to see her go, I can't help but feel that she deserves a life to call her own.”

“She has a life to call her own. She may leave any time she chooses,” Adam pointed out with irritation. “She has not expressed any such desire to me. Has she to you?” For some absurd reason Adam was upset that Callie might have confided in Nigel and not in him, and he was even more upset that she might have expressed a desire to leave Stanton when they'd tried so hard to make her feel welcome.

“She hasn't said a word to me on the subject, but you know as well as I that Callie is highly skilled at keeping her own counsel.”

“Callie is highly skilled at all sorts of things, including trying to bamboozle people into believing what she would like them to believe,” Adam retorted. “She doesn't realize that she gives away far more than she conceals with her silly stories.” He dismounted. “Let us walk back. My legs could use a good stretch, and perhaps it is time to address the subject of Callie and her future.” Actually, the subject was the last one he wished to discuss, but he knew Nigel well enough to know that if he didn't provide a reasonable answer, Nigel would wonder why. Adam didn't care to be second-guessed.

He considered a moment or two, trying to put his thoughts into order, not an easy task when they'd been shaken every which way over the last two hours. “First of all,” he said, proceeding in as logical a fashion as he could manage, “so far Callie shows no signs of regaining her memory. Dr. Hadley did caution that this might be a permanent condition, so I think that any plans for her future must take this possibility into account. Now—what sort of decent post would Callie be able to assume without a background to call her own?”

“None that I can think of,” Nigel said. “I suppose you could supply a personal reference for her, but you'd be putting your neck on the line if you manufactured a false history, and I don't think you want to expose her or yourself to accusations of fraud if she was ever exposed.”

“Exactly,” Adam said with satisfaction, pleased that Nigel had grasped the point so quickly. “Therefore,” he continued, “I very much doubt that any respectable member of society is going to hire Callie as a companion or a governess or whatever other harebrained position Callie might come up with, no matter how well spoken or well educated she is. Not that I think her suited to such a life in any case. She is far too intelligent and independent of spirit.”

“I would have to agree,” Nigel said, looking very content for someone who a minute before had been so keen for Callie to have a life of her very own. “What
do
you think her suited for?”

“I am not entirely sure just yet,” Adam said truthfully. “I don't see any reason to come to a hasty decision, as Callie still has some way to go before she has fully regained her health. The events of this afternoon proved that.” Odd, he thought. He really wasn't in any rush anymore. He'd been too engrossed in seeing to Callie's recovery to think overmuch about his own dispatching—or hers.

“I have sometimes wondered …” Nigel said, then paused as if he had thought twice about finishing his sentence.

“Wondered what?” Adam glanced over at him curiously.

“Oh, just about what would happen if someone unsavory from Callie's past turned up, someone who had made her deeply unhappy for some reason, or might make her deeply unhappy. I for one would be hard-pressed to hand her over, but as I've said before, she is not my responsibility.”

“What are you implying?” Adam snapped. “Do you think I would hand Callie over to someone unsuitable as if she were nothing more than a—a sack of potatoes?”

“I wasn't implying anything,” Nigel said mildly. “I was merely speculating. The possibility does still exist that something or someone unpleasant sent her running from her home—or that she might have been forced to come to England against her will and jumped off the ship rather than face the fate that was waiting for her.”

Adam halted abruptly. “Don't be absurd, Nigel. Callie has more appreciation for life in her little finger than most people have in their entire bodies. She doesn't have the temperament to kill herself.”

“I wasn't aware that one required a particular temperament to kill oneself,” Nigel said, looking down at the toe of his dusty boot as if it held great interest. “And I wasn't saying that
was
Callie's intent. I'm only trying to point out that you don't know anything for a fact, and you don't want to be caught off guard if something unexpected should happen.”

“You're beginning to sound like the oracle at Delphi,” Adam said dryly. “Very well, to give your hypothetical question a hypothetical answer, I would base my decision on the circumstances. If Callie turned out to be married, for example, and her husband came to claim her, he would have the legal right to take her away. If, however, he turned out to be a bounder with a habit of drinking himself senseless and beating her, I would do my best to settle Callie somewhere far away from him, and the law be damned.”

“That answers my question well enough,” Nigel said. “I only wish her to be safe and happy, Adam, wherever she ends up.”

“As do I,” Adam said. “As do I.” He quickly turned the conversation to other matters, unwilling to think any longer about the inevitable day that Callie would leave them.

“My nerves are sorely tried from this day's work, Mr. Gettis, they are indeed.” Mrs. Simpson sank into her favorite armchair with a steaming cup of herbal tea that she'd brewed to calm herself before bed. “I thought his lordship was going to dismiss me on the spot, I was that worried by his temper— as if I wasn't worried enough about the poppet as it was. Anyone would have thought I'd meant her to go missing.”

“You weren't at fault,” Gettis said soothingly, but he poured himself a cup of the same tisane, his own nerves fairly shredded. “You weren't to know Miss Callie had gone off unseen by Michael and Henry.”

“True enough, true enough. His lordship did say he held no one to blame.” She inhaled the steam from her cup and exhaled loudly. “There's nothing like chamomile and yarrow for calming the system,” she said. “If I thought his lordship would take it I'd send a pot upstairs with Mr. Plimpton. I declare, he hasn't been in such a state since … well, you know since when, and the good Lord knows we don't want to see the likes of that dark mood again, poor man. He's had more than his share of suffering, he has, and that's the truth.”

“His lordship was perfectly calm at dinner,” Gettis said, before Mrs. Simpson could get started on the tragedy, which inevitably led to a cataloguing of dear Lady Vale's saintly qualities and poor little Lord Stanton's unfulfilled promise. “I thought him a bit preoccupied, perhaps, but other than that his spirits appeared well enough.”

“Yes. Yes, his spirits are remarkably improved since the dear poppet arrived,” Mrs. Simpson said, producing the inevitable handkerchief with her spare hand and dabbing at the corners of her eyes. She lowered her voice. “I do believe, Mr. Gettis, that his lordship might actually have formed a
tendre
for our Callie.”

“A
tendre
, Mrs. Simpson?” Gettis's eyebrows rose skyward. “Have you heard something that the rest of us have not?”

“I only speak as I find, and what I find is that his lordship makes everything Callie does his personal business, and Callie in turn looks at his lordship as if the sun rises and sets in every breath he takes.” She sighed happily.

“Miss Callie is a trifle high-spirited for that description,” Gettis replied dryly. “I have heard her contradict his lordship any number of times. She doesn't hesitate to take him down a peg or two when she thinks he needs it, and I never heard her ladyship do any such thing.” He chuckled. “What's more, his lordship gives as good as he gets. I've watched many a fencing match played out over the dining room table, and I'd say the honors were about even to date.”

“Her ladyship, God rest her sweet soul, was as gentle as a lamb and would never think to cross swords with his lordship. She had her own ways to get around him. That doesn't mean that his lordship can't appreciate something a little different.”

“A
little
different, you say? You might as well be comparing night and day, Mrs. Simpson. Oh, Miss Callie is pleasing enough to the eye, I'll give you that, and she's bright as a button, but I think his lordship would sooner give her a good shaking than kiss her.” He wished his lordship would open his eyes and see what he had, but so far there hadn't been any sign of that.

“For a man, Mr. Gettis, you understand very little about male nature,” Mrs. Simpson said with a loud sniff. “You mark my words—a match will come out of this, see if it doesn't. Why else would his lordship have kicked up such a terrible fuss today over the poppet? That was not the reaction of an indifferent man.”

“If you must go sniffing April and May,” Gettis said with more than a touch of superiority, “I suggest you look at what
is
under your nose. Michael and Jane, that's what, and if you don't keep a firmer hand on that Jane, you'll be presiding over a hasty wedding and counting the months until a blessed event makes an appearance. Where do you think Michael was when he should have been looking out for Miss Callie?” He jerked his head in the direction of the back corridor that led to the storage rooms. “That's where, if I know anything about it, and Henry standing guard for him more than likely.”

Mrs. Simpson gasped, her hand flying to her bosom, handkerchief trembling between her fingers. “Janie? Why, that little trollop, I'll blister her backside!”

“If left to itself, nature does what nature must,” Gettis said. “So if you're going to go making matches, I suggest you focus your attention where it is most needed.”

Mrs. Simpson, thoroughly taken aback with shock and indignation that she could have missed such goings-on in her own domain, forgot all about Callie and Adam and immediately began planning her strategy to see the illicit union sanctified.

Adam paced his bedroom floor, his unsettled thoughts chasing each other around in circles and always ending up back in the same place with the same disturbing question: What
was
he going to do about Callie?

He shoved his hand inside the open front of his shirt, thinking that he could cheerfully punch Nigel for having brought the subject up at all. Adam had been doing very well focusing on the present. The present included Callie. The future did not. Why did that idea leave him with an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach? He
had
no future, so what difference could it possibly make to him if Callie was gone?

Slumping on the edge of his bed, he rested his arms on his knees, scowling toward the window. He didn't know how or when everything had changed, but his life was no longer painted in simple black and white. It had assumed all sorts of different, complex colors while he hadn't been paying close attention, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.

He had always known his own mind. He prided himself on making decisions and sticking to them until he achieved the desirable outcome.

Now, twice in a row, he'd faltered, changed course in midstream. It was all Callie's fault, he decided. If she hadn't fallen off her blasted ship he wouldn't be in this position at all. He'd be safely dead as planned. He certainly wouldn't be chasing about the woods ripping open old, agonizing wounds and proving himself a complete coward to boot.

That was Callie's fault too. If she had stayed close to the abbey as she'd been told—and more than once—he wouldn't have been forced to go looking for her and been frightened half to death when he'd seen her fall. For a very bad moment he'd thought another bullet had gone astray and she'd …