Anne Barbour (19 page)

A light tap at the door interrupted this wholly unsuccessful attempt to bring herself out of the dismals. It was followed by the entrance of Aunt Fred and a footman bearing a tray.

“I thought I’d find you here,” said the old woman. She directed the footman to place the food-laden tray on a small table near the fireplace and pulled up a chair to seat herself.

When the servant had departed, she gestured impatiently to Kate, who had risen at her entrance. “Sit down, child. It’s quite late, and you must be famished. I know I am.” So saying, she began arranging plates, cutlery, and glassware.

“Aunt Fred, this is very good of you ...” began Kate.

“But you’re really not hungry. Is that what you’re going to tell me? It’s no wonder, with you sitting here in the dark in a fit of the mopes. Now sit, and tell me about this quarrel you’ve had with David.”

“How did you kn ... ? That is, what makes you think ... ?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kate. Anyone with two eyes in his head could tell, what with you silent as a bed post all the way back from Bath, and David galloping off as though he were being chased by Satan and all his minions.”

Kate expelled a shuddering sigh. “It is of no importance, really. Simply put, David has made it clear to me that our friendship means nothing to him, and ...” Tears sprang to her eyes, and her voice broke. “And, he wishes me to stop interfering in his life.”

Angry with herself for revealing so much of her inner turmoil, she sat down and poured herself a glass of lemonade. She fixed a bright smile on her face. “Tell me, Aunt Fred, how would you feel about moving to Brighton with me next year?”

Lady Frederica’s hand paused briefly as she ladled out a portion of soup and handed it to Kate. She served herself as well before she replied in a calm voice. “No, I think not. I’m quite happy here, and Brighton is always as full as it can hold with the Regent’s set. Ramshackle bunch, I’ve always thought. I don’t think you’d like it there, either. You love Westerly, almost as much as David does.”

Kate choked. “Yes, well that’s neither here nor there. I must leave Westerly some time, and it might as well be sooner than later.”

“I see. Did David tell you that he wants you to leave?”

“No—that is, not precisely, but he made it perfectly clear...”

“Yes, you already said that. Tell me, my dear, what did he say—precisely?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kate said slowly, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Aunt Fred. It would mean revealing a part of David’s life that I don’t think he wishes anyone else to know about right now.”

Lady Frederica eyed her speculatively. “Yet he told you. Would it have anything to do with his dreadful nightmares?”

Kate’s eyes widened. “How could you know about those? But, of course, I might have known nothing could go on in this house without your knowledge. Yes,” she finished painfully. “He suffered a—horrible experience in Spain that still haunts him.”

“And you would leave him to deal with the problem himself.”

“That’s just the point. I tried to help him, and he shut me out.” She gulped at her lemonade in order to forestall the tears that threatened again.

“David is a proud man, Kate. I think it is hard for him to accept help.”

“But, I am his friend!” cried Kate. “Or, at least I thought I was. Besides, he seems to feel he’s beyond help.”

The old woman sighed. “That is very bad, indeed. But you must not give up, child. The relationship between you and David”—she paused to glance sharply at Kate—”is very special. You must remain his friend, for he does need one, whether he will admit it or not. And,” she finished with a comforting smile, “I would wager my second best cap that he didn’t mean it when he told you to bugger off.”

“Aunt!” gasped Kate. “Where do you
learn
these things. Surely the footmen don’t speak so around you!”

Lady Frederica chuckled delightedly. “The stable hands like toffee, too. In addition to my other failings, my dear, I fear I have an affinity for low company. Don’t worry, I don’t speak so in Polite Society—present company excepted, of course. Although, it might be worth my complete ostracism to watch Regina’s face just once, if I...”

“Please, Aunt,” Kate begged. “Don’t.”

The two broke into laughter then, and Kate suddenly found that she was hungry after all.

Yet, when she retired some hours later, her sleep was troubled. Angry black eyes haunted her dreams, and a harsh voice cried endlessly, “You have no right! ... no right... no right!”

She woke early, unrefreshed, and knowing she would not return to sleep, she slid from her bed. She could not face anyone this morning. Though light had barely broken through the window hangings, she slipped on her work clothes and made her way through silent corridors to the stables. There, she saddled her little mare and set off at a hurried pace toward the villa.

To her astonishment, when she arrived at the outcropping, she found Barney, the bay used by David, tethered there, and heard the sound of digging coming from behind the trees that hid the entrance to the remains. For a moment, she knew an urge to flee but instead, dismounted and tied her horse next to Barney.

She had no sooner begun to make her way toward the villa, when David himself emerged. He moved slowly along the slope, his eyes fastened on hers.

He, too, had passed an uncomfortable night. Over and over he had berated himself for the reprehensible way he had behaved toward Kate. Reprehensible and stupid. He had denied himself the opportunity to seek her love. Why had he effectively cut himself off from her friendship as well? Was he buffleheaded enough to think it would assuage his pain if she never spoke to him again?

He anxiously scanned her face, and what he saw there was not encouraging. She was pale, and her gaze, though not actively hostile, was not welcoming. When he reached her, he stood for a moment, then put out his hand.

“It seems that once more I must apologize for my ill temper.” The smile that accompanied these words was tight and painful, and it drew no answering lightening of her face. He continued doggedly.

“Will you talk with me?”

Still she did not answer, but looked back at him gravely before seating herself on a nearby boulder.

“I have been doing a lot of thinking since our, er, conversation yesterday. In fact, the reason I am out here at such an ungodly hour is that I couldn’t stand my bed anymore and felt this would be a good place to escape my thoughts.”

Kate swallowed a smile, for this had been her own purpose in her flight into the dawn. Encouraged, David continued. “I had no right to speak to you as I did,” he said slowly. “And I did not mean what I said—-about your having no right to say the things you did. You have every right to say anything you see fit to me.”

Kate’s throat tightened. “Then why did you ...?”

“Because I cannot bear that you should continue under a gross misapprehension in your perception of me. You persist in thinking kindly about me, and”—he drew a deep breath— “that is the worst punishment you could deal me.”

Kate opened her mouth to speak, but then closed her lips firmly.

“Nothing,” he continued soberly, “can excuse what I did— or, rather, what I failed to do. That is something I will have to learn to live with.” His mouth twisted in a rigid smile. “I suppose I should be grateful that you have not cast me into outer darkness.” He rose, and grasping Kate’s hands, pulled her to her feet. “Your—friendship means a great deal to me, Kate.”

Kate felt suddenly breathless at his nearness. His eyes as they reached into hers brimmed with warmth, and it seemed to her that something besides friendship lay hidden in their black depths. The pounding of her heart was astonishingly loud in her ears.

Abruptly, David released her and turned away toward the entrance to the villa. “See what I have found,” he called. “I decided to do a little more shoring up in the front rooms, and in one corner, behind a fallen beam there is hidden a small painting.”

Kate scrambled up the path behind him, and accepted the lantern David handed her at the entrance. She followed him into the shadowy recesses of the ruined villa, and stopped when he raised his light.

Her eyes widened. She was staring into the face of a young man. His hair curled darkly over a broad brow and eyes of deepest ebony. Of his clothing, only the top of a light-colored tunic could be seen, and the beginnings of what looked like a leather corselet.

Without turning her head, she whispered in astonishment, “But, David. It—it’s a portrait of you!”

Chapter Fourteen

David looked blankly at Kate, then back at the portrait.

“I see no resemblance,” he said, puzzled.

Kate examined the drawing more carefully. Did the young man portrayed really look like David? Or was it merely the coincidence of hair and eye color? Her gaze traveled along the painted features. This man’s face was a trifle fuller, and he lacked David’s angular bone structure. Yet, there was something ... She stiffened. It was his eyes! They were hard and haunted, their gaze anguished. She might have been exchanging glances with the flesh and blood man beside her!

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” she said carefully. “It is something in his—attitude, perhaps. Yes, that’s it.” She turned to David. “I believe he was a soldier. Oh, David! Do you think he was the owner of the villa?”

David held the lantern higher, frowning.

“I suppose it is possible.” Carefully, he brushed dust and mold from the portrait. “The painting is pretty faded, and—oh, my God!”

Kate, too, had drawn her breath in quickly, for across the soldier’s cheek lay an ugly scar, carving a path from temple to chin.

“Dear heaven,” she breathed. “He must have received that in battle—and look, if he had turned his face a little the other way when posing, the scar could hardly have been seen, but he chose to tilt his head so that the viewer cannot escape it. Why would he wish to display his pain so boldly, I wonder?”

“Why, indeed,” murmured David. He remained staring at the picture for some moments. Then, shaking his head, he gestured toward the lower part of the painting.

“Look here,” he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “In the corner! It looks like a signature.”

Kate strained to see. “Yes! Yes, it must be, although it’s so faded and moldy it’s hard to be sure. Is the first letter an L?”

“I think so, but that’s all I can make out. Leonidas, perhaps?”

“Or, Longinus?”

David reached for his sketch pad and began to trace the lines of the face before him, but Kate turned her gaze toward the villa entrance. “It’s such a lovely day,” she said. “Would you like to sketch outside? The last time I was here, I uncovered what I think is part of a stone wall. I found no artifacts, so it’s not very exciting, but I believe a record should be made of it.”

“Very well,” responded David. “I’m a little tired of all this ancient gloom, anyway.”

The two made their way into the sunlight, where they spent a companionable hour with spade and pencil. At last, David rose stiffly to his feet and held out his hand to Kate.

“I must be getting back,” he said, easing limbs stiff from sitting. “Are you ready to return as well, or did you plan to spend the morning here?”

Kate, too, straightened and began to move toward the villa entrance, tools in hand. “No, I promised Aunt Fred to help sort the wool she purchased yesterday, and after that I have to get some things together for my visit to the tenants at Northedge.”

David swung around in surprise. “Northedge! That’s almost an hour’s ride. How often do you do that? Do you visit the other tenants as well?”

“Oh yes,” she replied casually. “I take one day a week for my visits. It seems someone is always ailing or in need of an extra bit of food. I take medicines and things like soups and stews for the older folks who are unable to work anymore, and I generally bring toys and books for the youngsters.”

“Books? Can the children read?”

“Well”—Kate laughed ruefully—”not terribly well. I’ve encouraged the parents-—those who can read themselves—to teach them their letters, and I read to them from time to time to show them the pleasures of the written word. It is my hope that perhaps someday we can have a real school here for them.”

“Pettigrew told me,” said David slowly, “that you have taken an interest in the estate, but I had no idea that you were so involved in its workings.”

Kate blushed until her cheeks matched the fire of her hair. How soon she had forgotten her vow to leave Westerly at the earliest possible moment! What must he think of her presumption? She had always known she had no business playing lady of the manor, but she had never analyzed her need to do so. Perhaps it was because Westerly seemed a paradise to her, and the inhabitants of paradise, of course, must all be happy and healthy.

“I know it’s not my place ...” she stammered, but David took her hands in his.

“Of course it’s your place,” he said roughly. “You’re an integral part of this family, and I can only be grateful that at least one of its members is more interested in trying to improve things here than in spending our profits as fast as they come in.”

Kate blushed even more furiously, then berated herself for turning into a quivering jelly at a compliment from an old friend. She turned from him, and continued on her path toward the villa. In her haste, she stumbled and, though she managed to right herself, David sprang forward to gather her in his arms.

Kate stilled, suddenly aware of the pounding of his heart against her cheek. Her own pulses raced, and her arms moved without volition to clasp him in return. At that moment, David stepped back so abruptly that she nearly lost her balance.

She looked at him questioningly, but he bent to pick up his pad and pencils. Then he limped around the outcropping, leaving Kate to return her tools in silence. Silently, she berated herself. It had happened again! Why did the feel of David’s arms around her arouse in her the appalling desire to curl into him like a bird settling into its nest? She stood for a moment in the coolness of the villa’s interior before going out to join him.