Adam's Promise (17 page)

D
r. Hudry sedated Diana and relieved her pain with an anodyne draft, after which she closed her eyes and quietly drifted into sleep. Madeline sank back in her chair, still feeling as if the world, just like the hay barn, had collapsed upon her shoulders.

“I don't understand. Why can't she remember anything beyond breakfast? The barn roof collapsing—I can conceive of forgetting that, but the whole day?”

Dr. Hudry packed his instruments into his bag. “It's not uncommon with a head injury to lose some short-term memory. I've seen it before.”

“Will she ever regain it?”

“Difficult to say. She might remember later today, when she wakes up. Or she might never remember.” The doctor closed his bag. “You should count yourselves lucky that's it's only one day she forgets. I've heard of patients being completely unable to remember anything. Not even their names or where they live. What's one day, after all?”

It was a very important day,
Madeline thought anxiously.

The doctor moved toward the door. “The thing you must concentrate upon is helping Lady Thurston walk again. Try and be positive about things. She will be in pain for a time, but if she has loved ones here to support her and encourage her to get out of bed, she'll heal much faster. Give her something to occupy her mind, something to look forward to. Plan her wedding to Mr. Coates, for instance.”

Madeline had to work hard to acknowledge the suggestion with a smile.

The doctor opened the bedchamber door and stopped to speak to Adam, who was pacing back and forth in the hall. “I gave Lady Thurston something to ease her pain. She should sleep for a while. I'll return this evening to check on her again.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hudry. I appreciate your coming.”

The doctor descended the stairs, and Madeline met Adam's gaze. He slowly entered the room.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “As well as can be expected under the circumstances. But we must talk, Adam. Alone.”

He gestured toward the reading corner in the hall, where they had spoken the night before. They both sat down in the same chairs.

Madeline perched on the edge of her seat, not quite sure how to tell Adam about Diana's memory loss, or what they should do about it once she did tell him. She cleared her throat and decided to blurt it out quickly and go straight to the heart of the matter.

“I'm afraid Diana's head injury was rather serious. She cannot remember anything about what happened
yesterday. She doesn't remember why she went riding alone, or anything about your conversation with her. The only thing she remembers is what she had for breakfast.”

Adam took in this news. It was difficult to imagine not being able to remember something that happened only yesterday, not to mention something as important as an engagement being broken. It took him a moment or two to comprehend it.

“Will there be any long term effects on the health of her mind?” he asked.

Madeline answered him with a clear voice. “The doctor assured me that a memory loss like this is common, and that we shouldn't concern ourselves with it, as it's only one day. As long as she remembers everything else, the important thing is to help her walk again.”

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. “She thinks we are still engaged.”

Madeline nodded. “That seems to be the state of things at the moment.”

Adam stood up to pace the hall in front of the reading corner. “Good God, I can't break with her
again.
At least not now.”

Madeline sat quietly for a moment. “I'm relieved to hear you say that. What you decide to do in the long run is your decision, of course, but I must ask that you not tell her the truth right away. Please wait until she is feeling better. The doctor even suggested that we keep Diana occupied and lift her spirits by planning your wedding.”

“Our wedding! That will be taking things a little far, don't you think?”

Thank God, Madeline was reasonable about it, and nodded. “Yes, I think it would be a mistake to mislead her in that way, unless you think you might change your mind.”

He gazed at her in the dim morning light shining in through the window. If only she knew how ridiculous such a notion was. Did she still not believe he truly loved her? If she thought he could forget about what he had said to her the night before, pretend it never happened and marry another, she underestimated his feelings, to be sure.

“Do you think I should?” he asked, testing her, for he had not been able to give up hope that she would one day accept his love.

On the other hand, if she pushed him to marry her sister, he would know for certain that Madeline was firmly resolved never to accept it. Ever. “Do you think I owe it to Diana?”

Madeline responded in a calm, indifferent tone that made him doubt she could ever care for him the way he cared for her.

“I think you owe it to yourself to do the right thing.” She could not have been more cryptic.

“The right thing?” He heard the anger rising in his voice, but could do nothing to stop it. “What is the right thing, exactly? Marry Diana out of pity? Out of duty or guilt? I've already done that once in my life, and I promise you, it does not bode well for future happiness for either party involved. Besides, Diana already married a man who didn't love her. I doubt
she would be happy with a repeat of that particular past.”

“But perhaps you might grow to love her again. It was not that long ago that you wanted to—”

Adam dropped to one knee at her feet, to stop her from saying anything more. “This is difficult enough as it is, Madeline. What happened to Diana is killing me inside. I feel responsible, and yes, there is a part of me that thinks I should marry her, to try and make up for what happened. But I can't let pity rule my head and my heart, for I would not be doing Diana any favors. I can't change the fact that she was injured, no more than I can pretend to love her. She would know the truth, and it would chip away at her heart every day for the rest of her life until she knew nothing but misery. Diana may remain here as long as she wishes, and I will do everything in my power to give her all that she needs to get well—the best medical attention, the best food, the best entertainment to keep her spirits up. But I cannot marry her, Madeline. I will not make the same mistake twice in my life. It would be a disservice to both of us.”

He would have liked to add that he could not marry Diana—or anyone for that matter—because there was only one person in the world for him, and that person was Madeline. If circumstances were different, he would take her into his arms right now and never let her go.

Without revealing the slightest weakness or change of heart, Madeline simply nodded. “I understand. We'll try to avoid the subject when we are with Diana, at least until she is stronger. We'll continue as
we were when Lord Blackthorne was here, and pretend everything is fine. I can do that. Can you?”

“It is more than clear to me that you can do it, Madeline. You seem completely in control of your emotions.”

Why did that bother him so bloody much? Would he have preferred her to melt into a puddle of tears and tell him she loved him, too, and cry over what could never be? Or to leap into his arms and beg him to hold her, just for one single, glorious moment? Or kiss her, just once again, as he had the night before?

That was what
he
wanted to plead for, why he was on his knee in front of her now, wanting to pull her closer and make promises he knew she would never let him keep….

“I
am
in control of them,” she said, her tone disturbingly controlled. Madeline stood. “I've learned to keep my feelings to myself, and deal with them in my own way.”

She made a move to return to Diana's room, but Adam stood and stopped her. He took hold of her arm and pulled her to face him. “Perhaps what you really need to learn is how to accept that you are worthy of love. Perhaps you need to learn how to open up to people.”

Her brow furrowed with incredulity, as if she could barely believe such a suggestion. “Why would I do that? It would be like opening a wound, when it's much less painful to close it up and keep it that way.”

“Feelings are not wounds, Madeline.”

“They are to me, because love has only ever been
painful. My feelings make me vulnerable, Adam, and lately, especially lately, I prefer to be impenetrable.”

She pulled away from him and he let her go. The door slammed closed behind her.

Later that morning, Jacob arrived to check on the family and inspect the marsh with Adam, who was still reeling with bewilderment over his conversation with Madeline. He was treading in strange territory, for Madeline was the complete opposite of Jane, who had wept and wailed over the smallest disappointment, or smashed things when she became frustrated or angry. He had always known where he stood with Jane, especially when he stood in the hall, locked out of their bedroom for the night.

Madeline's composure and unwillingness to express any of her feelings, on the other hand, was beyond reserved or constrained—it almost seemed as if she was denying the fact that she had a heart.

Yet, over the past few weeks, he'd come to believe he'd found his true mate. He had been certain that what lived beneath Madeline's polite exterior was perfection. They had everything in common. She always seemed so calm and levelheaded, which was one of the things he loved most about her.

How could his feelings have been real, if she had no heart and no affection for him in return? How could he feel so connected to her?

Perhaps it wasn't real, he thought soberly. Perhaps he had been dreaming again, wanting what he wanted—the perfect woman—instead of what was real.

He and Jacob rode their horses to the top of the
ridge to overlook the marsh below, and what they saw pulled Adam's attention back to where it presently belonged: on his land and his livelihood.

That, at least, was something he could be sure was all
too
real.

Speechless, Adam and Jacob stared at the inconceivable scene while they each contemplated the enormous losses.

By the hour of the day, Adam knew that the tide had already receded but was now on its way back in. The damage to the dykes must have been substantial, he thought, for most of the great marsh was still flooded with seawater. The lush green grasses, the clover, the goldenrod—all that once fluttered and swayed in the wind—it was gone, completely submerged, transformed into a muddy brown swamp that produced a sickening stench and a dismal fog. Carcasses of dead cattle dotted the area, and fence planks lay scattered about, floating and bobbing in dirty, shallow pools. A number of hay barns lay in disordered piles of lumber. Others had simply vanished from where they had once been.

My whole world is in ruins.

“It's a good thing we drove that herd to Halifax when we did,” Jacob said with quiet resignation, “or we would have lost everything.”

Adam clicked his tongue to urge his horse further along the top of the ridge. “It's going to be a long winter.”

“What will we do for feed, Father?”

“We'll get what we can from the uplands, and purchase the rest. It'll be enough to get us through,
though we won't see any profit. We'll all have to be frugal. No more pretty scarves for Mary, Jacob, or toys for the baby.”

Jacob followed quietly behind. “What about next year? Will this drain off by then? Will we be able to start fresh?”

Adam wished he had better news for his son, but alas, he did not. Jacob, however, was a strong and bright young man, and Adam knew he would find a way to provide for his wife and child. They would all work together as a family.

“Even if we manage to repair the damage to the dykes,” Adam said, “it will take a few years for the rain to rinse out the salt.”

“A few years? What will we do in the meantime?”

“We'll farm the uplands. We've always had enough to meet our needs. We'll just have to forgo the luxuries.”

They rode down the ridge road to the edge of the marsh, where the muddy floodwater was lapping up against the hill.

“I'm going to call a meeting of the dyke holders,” Adam said, “and we'll vote on what should be rebuilt. I suggest you prepare yourself for a great deal of dirty work in the next few months, Jacob. We'll have to locate the breaks, repair them, then we'll be up to our elbows in marsh mud—digging ditches and trenches to drain it. And if we have to, we'll build new dykes, high enough and strong enough to hold back the sea, for we will not surrender to it, Jacob, even if it is determined to defeat us.”

Jacob smiled at Adam with admiration. “Your confidence is contagious, Father.”

Adam only wished he could be that confident about his future where Madeline was concerned.

T
he storm, they later learned, had caused the Fundy tides to rise to a level five feet higher than ever before, an unusual and extraordinary occurrence that no one had been able to predict. It took six days for the tides to return to normal levels, during which time Adam, Jacob and George, along with other local farmers, surveyed the dykes and searched for breaks and fractures.

To their surprise and relief, they found the damage minimal. Most of the dykes had held strong against the battering of the currents. It had been the extraordinary height of the tides that had caused a natural overflowing.

They also recovered a number of stray cows and goats, as well as Charlie's horse, Dante, who had managed to escape the flood farther down along the ridge.

During those days of investigation and decision making, Madeline learned that the dance at the Aikens' barn had been canceled, and to her own chagrin, she was relieved. She had not been looking for
ward to spending an evening with John Metcalf, trying to pretend that she was interested in him. That would have been too difficult, especially now after all that had happened.

So Madeline spent her days and nights nursing Diana's broken leg and keeping her company in her bedchamber.

Madeline also had hot soup dumped in her lap, had her hand slapped for checking for fevers, and had been hollered at for keeping the window open when Diana was too cold, or for keeping it closed when Diana was too hot.

Today Madeline found herself in the unfortunate position of having to give Diana a sponge bath. Cautiously, apprehensively, she approached the bed.

“Get that cold cloth out of my sight!” Diana shouted. “It must be your callused hands. You can't tell if the water is steaming hot or ice cold! I want another bucket of
hot
water brought up here!
Hilary!
”

Hilary came scurrying into the room.

“I'll get it,” Madeline replied quickly, trying to quiet Diana. “You don't need to yell.” She dropped the offending cloth into the basin on the washstand and left Hilary to baby-sit her ladyship.

Taking a few deep breaths to summon her necessary quota of daily patience, which was becoming more and more difficult to fill, Madeline ventured downstairs. She entered the kitchen and fetched a bucket, then went outside to fill it with water.

As she drew the bucket up out of the well, she thought about her relationship with her sister. It had been years since she and Diana had lived in the same
house. Madeline had forgotten how demanding and vocal her sister could be about every little discomfort. It was one area where they differed greatly, for Madeline preferred to deal with her own discomforts quietly, by herself. Madeline wondered suddenly how it was possible they could have come from the same mother.

Madeline carried the heavy, sloshing bucket into the kitchen and poured it into the pot over the fire. She wiped a sleeve across her forehead and sank into a chair at the worktable.

Madeline then recalled the string of housekeepers they'd had when she was young. None had stayed more than a few months, until kind Mrs. Stapleton arrived and remained with them for ten years. Madeline had thought the woman simply had no other aspirations, for the others had always explained their reasons for leaving: a more profitable opportunity, a change of heart or a desire to take up a different profession.

Perhaps—as Madeline considered it now with a trifle more perspective—the only reason Mrs. Stapleton had been different from the others and had stayed with them was because Diana had left shortly after she was hired. Diana had gone away to live with their aunt in London and learn how to be a proper lady.

The house had become astonishingly quiet after that.

The sight of steam from the pot pulled Madeline from her thoughts, and she rose from her chair. As she carefully filled her bucket, she thought of Diana's many complaints that morning, and compared them
to the number of complaints Diana had voiced the few times Adam had visited with her to read to her or play cards.

Whenever Adam walked into the room, Diana became perfectly demure and brave in the face of her pain. To be honest, it made Madeline angry enough to spit. Out of sheer agony, she would leave and hand her duties over to Hilary, for Madeline couldn't bear to watch Diana fluttering her lashes at Adam, using all her accomplished skills to bewitch him.

“Making soup?” said someone behind her.

No, not
someone.
She could not pretend to think it was anyone other than Adam.

Madeline straightened and faced him. His clothes were filthy with ground-in mud, his boots caked with it. He moved to the wash bucket to rinse his big, dirty hands.

Madeline set the heavy bucket on the floor. “I'm taking hot water upstairs for Diana.”

His ebony hair, pulled back in a loose queue and tied with a leather string, gleamed in the late-morning light. Madeline watched him from behind as he rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands and forearms, then reached for a cloth to dry them.

He'd never looked stronger to her, more virile. She imagined him down on the marsh, thrusting a dyking spade into the tough earth with his big boot, using all his strength to haul sod.

His intense eyes cut through the distance between them. He dropped the towel onto the worktable and strode toward her.

She took an instinctive step back and realized un
comfortably that she had barely looked him in the eye since the morning after the accident, when she'd pulled away from him. They had hardly spoken a word to each other since. All they'd done was brush by each other on the way in and out of Diana's room, or avoid speaking to each other at the dinner table. Madeline had slammed the door in his face six days ago and driven a sharp wedge into their friendship.

Friendship? What kind of aberrant friendship was it? she wondered suddenly as he stopped before her, staring down at her in silence. Her heart was bouncing off her ribs!

Adam was so close she could smell his musky scent. She bent to pick up her bucket.

Adam touched her shoulder to stop her. “Don't go.”

Her heart jolted at the feel of his strong hand upon her. She could feel the heat of it through her clothes, and it distressed her in every possible way. “I have to. Diana is waiting.”

“She can wait a little longer. You've been caring for her continually around the clock. Stay and have some tea.”

Reluctantly Madeline surrendered. She moved to the hearth and poured the hot water back into the pot on the fire to keep it warm, while Adam spooned tea leaves into the teapot.

The silence between them was excruciating.

Madeline sat down, fumbling and grasping for some casual conversation. Anything would do.

“Where is Penelope today?”

“She's at Jacob's place, helping Mary with the
baby. I believe that child is ready to be a mother, and she's only eight.”

“She's a wonderful girl, Adam. You should be proud.”

He gave her an appreciative look. Not that it mattered what kind of look it was. It was a
look,
an acknowledgment after days and days of disregard that she certainly deserved for being so cold and unfeeling toward him. Madeline felt her insides warm a little.

“Were you able to save any of your hay crop?” Madeline asked.

“None. But the profits from the herd we just drove to Halifax will keep the animals from starving over the winter.”

“What about you and the children?”

He poured water into the teapot. “The crops in the high fields survived, so we'll have plenty to eat. We just won't be making any luxury purchases.”

“Thank goodness. What about the marsh? Will you be able to rebuild it?”

“With hard work, yes. All the farmers have been doing their share, and we've already begun the repairs. The floodwaters are draining off. Now, it's just a matter of maintenance over time.”

They talked more about the marsh and the flood and what the future held, and were so deep in conversation, they didn't hear Hilary descending the stairs. She walked into the kitchen and found Madeline and Adam sitting across from each other at the table.

Hilary hesitated awkwardly in the doorway. “Beg
ging your pardon, Miss Oxley. I don't mean to interrupt, but Lady Thurston is waiting for her bathwater.”

Madeline cleared her throat and stood. “Of course, it's ready now. I just have to—”

Adam interrupted. “Hilary, please tell Lady Thurston that Madeline requires a cup of tea, and that she will be up with the water after she's had a moment to rest.”

Hilary gazed with bewilderment at the two of them. She looked uncomfortable with delivering the message.

Adam stood. “I'll tell her myself if you like.”

Madeline gazed at him in horror. “No, that's not necessary. Hilary, tell Lady Thurston I will be right there.”

She glanced back at Adam and saw his disappointment by the rise and fall of his chest. Hilary left the kitchen, and Madeline glared hotly at Adam. “Just what did you intend to tell her?”

He sank back into his chair. “Nothing, Madeline. I was only going to tell her you were having tea. She wouldn't have complained about it to
me.
”

Madeline sighed with relief. She sat down.

“Are you worried I'm going to tell her the truth before you think she's ready?” Adam asked. “I have to admit, I'm tempted.”

“Please, don't. Wait a little longer, until she's on her feet.”

“Fine. I will wait until then.” His gaze lifted slowly to meet hers. “But what about after that? If you return to Yorkshire with her, will you stay there?”

What was he getting at?

“Adam, I thought we weren't going to talk about this again.”

“Why not? Have you no longings, Madeline? No desires? We've been ignoring each other for days now, and I've been forced to follow your lead, closing myself off to what I really feel and putting on a damn show for the rest of the world. What is it? Are you truly dead inside, or can I be optimistic and flatter myself by thinking that maybe someday, you might care for me just a little?”

An unwelcome tension wrapped tightly around Madeline. “There is no point in hoping. It only sets us up for disappointment.”

“Is that a fact? Well, I can't help hoping. Nor can I stop wanting you.”

She couldn't believe he was being so open after six days of complete silence.

He held the tea strainer over her cup and poured, then shoved her cup across the table toward her.

Madeline kept her eyes on her tea. Her heart was racing inside her chest like a runaway stallion. No one before Adam had ever spoken so candidly to her before, with such intense, pent-up anger. Nor had anyone ever told her that they actually
wanted
her.

Certainly not when Diana was within their grasp.

“Diana might be an invalid,” she said, groping for words. “She might never walk again.”

“She will
not
be an invalid. Those are excuses. I took you for more of an optimist than that.”

Still Madeline would not look up. “I just want to be prepared for the worst.”

He sat down. “Fine. I accept that. But if that's the worst, and you go back to Yorkshire with her and see that she is settled in your family home, you would not have to stay there forever. She'll have your father, and she has enough money to hire a nurse.”

He shook his head. “It's ridiculous to hypothesize such a thing—she
will
walk again. I've seen her leg—it's still there. She'll have a limp at the very worst. She's still beautiful—she can move about in society and have a gripping story to entertain her acquaintances. It's my guess she'll have every unmarried gentleman within a hundred miles standing in line for hours, begging to hear her tell it in her own charming, melodramatic words.”

For the next few minutes, they sat in stiff silence while Madeline drank her tea. When she finished, she stood up to leave, for she didn't know what else to say to Adam. She couldn't change the way things were. Diana still loved him and wanted him, and Madeline—no matter how angry she was at her sister for how she had been treating her—could not kick her when she was down.

Adam stood also. “Wait, you didn't answer my question.”

“What question?” Whatever it was, she feared it.

“If Diana recovers and finds happiness—” his tone softened a bit “—will you consider returning to Cumberland?”

The very idea that he was asking her filled Madeline with such yearning her whole being came alive. All her life, she had smothered her emotions, kept them quietly still within, but at this moment, they
were thrashing about inside her, leaping to life, fighting to get out! She slowly turned to face him.

Adam watched her briefly, then moved around the table that stood between them. He took her chin in his hand and lifted it, forcing her to look at him. “The other day, when you walked away from me, I was angry at you for shutting me out. I'm still angry at you for ignoring me every day since, but God help me, I burn for you and I can't stop it.”

“I had no choice,” she explained. “I'm sorry, Adam, but I can't betray Diana, not when she is still so in love with you.”

“Yet you will not let me tell her the truth to end it.”

She gazed up at him imploringly, wishing he would release her, but release her from what? She was not his prisoner. He was not holding her captive. Adam merely held her chin in his hand. She could leave if she wanted to.

Oh, but no…

She was locked in his gaze.

Suddenly he pulled her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers. The feel of his moist, searing lips threw whiskey on the fire that had been simmering within her for weeks now. It burst into a roaring, raging blaze deep within. Her skin sizzled, and though she knew it was wrong, she couldn't stop herself from reaching her arms around Adam's neck and clutching him, finally allowing tears to spill over her cheeks.