Armored Hearts (5 page)

Jessamine finally broke the silence. Her voice was light and had a musical tone as she spoke quietly. “My father and I have been hearing stories about your little town. It seems you have a medieval ghost protecting your shire.”

Gareth turned and peered down at the girl. “Pardon?”

Her large, brown eyes never faltered. She sat up on her knees, biting her lip in expectation. “The Flying Knight. What do you think about the local legend—have you ever seen him?”

Gareth looked away. “Rubbish.”

“So you don’t believe in him?” There was doubt in her tone.

Gareth turned back to face her. “Is that why you’ve come here from America, to find this flying knight?”

She grinned. “Maybe. My father has plans to marry me to some stuffy English lord. But I think marrying a flying knight would be much more exciting. What do you think?”

Gareth looked away. “I’m not sure a ghost would have need of a wife.”

Tabitha finally returned with his plate. He snatched it and said, “Yes, please give me my food so I can fulfill my promise and leave this ridiculous party.”

The two girls smiled and glanced at each other before scurrying off whispering as they headed for the food together. They returned before Gareth had finished his plate. He ate in silence as the girls continued their chatter. He tried to ignore the irritating American girl but found it difficult. She wasn’t the normal pale, English young lady he was accustomed to. Jessamine was a little more olive toned and more than a little pretty, especially when she smiled at him, which she kept doing every time he peered in her direction.

Jessamine reached out and took hold of Tabitha’s charm bracelet. “I love this. It’s very beautiful.”

Tabitha fingered her abacus charm. “Thank you.”

Jessamine reached into the collar of her dress and pulled out a chain. “I have a similar necklace.”

Many of the charms in the cluster matched, the owl, the heart, and the clock, but Jessamine had a wing instead of abacus. Again the two girls exchanged a knowing look. Jessamine’s grin grew wider. “A BUBO. I knew there was a reason I felt a kinship with you the moment we met. My mother gave me mine. May I ask where you got yours?”

Tabitha glanced about as she spoke in a very cautious manner. “I got it at my
bonnet
club.”

Jessamine’s eyebrows raised. “Bonnet club?”

“Yes, several ladies here in the shire meet once a week. It includes women from among all the classes and ages, even as far away as Ardenshire. We take our old …
bonnets
and we…rework them into something more…
modern
.”

Jessamine smiled. “I see. So you take outdated…
bonnets
you have around the house and modernize them.”

“Yes, I have a whole room dedicated to my…” Tabitha glanced around. “…bonnets. Some of the ladies have designed all new original bonnets. I’ve never seen the like of them. We have several talented members in our
bonnet
club.”

Jessamine glanced up at Gareth. “Lord Smyth, have you seen her bonnets? Do you approve?”

Gareth let out a sigh. “Why the devil would I care about ladies’ bonnets?” He turned and glowered at Tabitha. “I’m going in.”

“We still haven’t had cake,” Tabitha pleaded.

“Save me a piece for later.” He handed his plate to Tabitha and started pushing his wheels.

“I’ll push you in.” Jessamine jumped up and took hold of the back of the chair.

“No, I can take myself in.”

“I really don’t mind. Consider it my penance for falling all over you. Besides, maybe Tabitha could show me her bonnet room?”

Tabitha leapt up from her spot on the blanket. “Yes, of course. I’d love to.”

Gareth crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. With Jessamine there, he’d have to wait for a servant to carry him up the stairs. He glanced back at her and noticed she was examining his chair as she pushed it. Her eyes perused the thing from top to bottom and then at Gareth. It made him even more self conscious than normal.

“Do you have a problem with my chair?”

Jessamine blinked hard, a surprised look on her face. “I was just wondering why Tabitha hasn’t made it a bonnet project. It would be very easy to do.”

“Stop!”

Tabitha stepped in front of Gareth. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. There is nothing wrong with my chair. It does not need ribbons and flowers like Tabitha’s remade bonnets. You are getting on my last nerve. Run along to the bonnet room. I’ll take myself the rest of the way in.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind pushing you.” Jessamine bent around from behind Gareth to ask. He caught a whiff of her floral scent. It muddled his brain for a second before he answered. “Go! Just go.”

The girls made their way into the manor. He overheard Jessamine ask, “Is he always so grumpy?”

Tabitha answered, “Only on the days ending in ‘Y’.”

They both giggled and scurried away.

With a sigh, Gareth pushed his wheels, heading for the foyer. He was just about to fly up the stairs when he heard laughter from above. They were probably still laughing at him and his inability to socialize the way other young men his age could, laying on false charm to attract the pretty ladies.

The thought of remaining in the house with them down the hall repulsed him. He spun his chair around and headed for the kitchen exit in order to avoid the other guests. The halls were empty as the staff would be out tending the crowd.

He would go visit Mr. Strong. The old man was no longer his tutor, but Gareth often visited him for swordplay.

Gareth entered the kitchen and halted when he saw Sarah with her head bent over the table, face in hands. Her breath caught between sobs. Gareth froze. He had no idea how to handle emotional moments. The idea of backing out of the kitchen appealed to him, but he was afraid any movement might rouse the weeping woman. Sarah lifted her eyes, and they met his. She leapt to her feet and wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve. “Oh, Mr. Gareth. Do ye be needin’ something?”

Gareth shook his head. “No, I…” caught off guard, he temporarily forgot where he was headed. “I’m off to visit Mr. Strong.”

“Today?”

“Of course today.” Gareth glowered and wheeled himself past her toward the door.

“Will he be expectin’ ye?”

“Yes.” The lie burned on his tongue as usual. He swallowed and felt sick. Lies always did that to him. Even small ones. “I’ll be back later this afternoon.”

Sarah curtseyed. “Aye, m’lord.”

He was halfway down the lane when he heard the kitchen door slam. He glanced back to see Sarah running full speed toward the stable. He shook his head at her odd behavior, and then he remembered her tears. Perhaps she and Thompton were fighting. That was probably it. All those years of acting happy and loving. No married people could be so happy all the time.

Gareth made his way to Mr. Strong’s. He hated when he had to wheel himself instead of fly, but he couldn’t risk being seen in daylight. People in town knew him.

The townspeople glanced his way and ignored him, as they always did when his grandfather wasn’t around. He wondered if they would continue to treat him so nonchalantly when he became the Earl of Pensees and owned half the shire.

At Mr. Strong’s door, Gareth pushed himself up the ramp and knocked his usual three raps. At first there was no answer. When he lifted his hand to knock again, he heard a slam from the back of the house. He leaned in and listened harder as booted feet stomped toward the door. Mr. Strong yanked it open and stood, panting.

“Ah, Lord Smyth, what a nice surprise.” The old man held the door open and motioned with his arm. “Please come in.”

Gareth pushed himself into the foyer and turned to face the man. His eyes looked red and puffy. “Are you unwell?”

The old man reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m well. Just received bad news today. A very old and beloved friend passed on.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it.”

“It wasn’t totally unexpected. Sorrow brings death early to some. He’d known too much of it in the last of his years.”

Gareth motioned for the door. “I can leave and come another time.”

The old man shook his head. “Nonsense. Your leaving won’t bring him back. We must move on and get the next generation ready to take over for the last. You’re here for swordplay?”

Gareth nodded. “Yes, it helps settle my nerves.”

Mr. Strong headed for the cupboard. “Rapier or claymore?”

“Claymore. It’s more exhausting.”

The old man tossed the long blade to Gareth, who caught it easily by the hilt. Bearing the full weight of it in one hand forced his arm muscles to flex.

“Oh, ye want to work up a sweat and forget everything but the fight do ye? Must be a lady involved.” He laughed and rolled up his sleeves.

Gareth noticed a slight change in Mr. Strong’s accent. “Tabitha’s got friends over. One in particular is quite irritating. Pretty but annoying.”

The old man grinned as he took his position and Gareth leapt to his stance, away from his chair. Strong had won that argument long ago. If Gareth wanted to continue his swordplay, he’d have to get himself to and from his chair.

“Pretty and she gets under your skin? That’s always the best combination. Makes life exciting.”

Gareth shook his head. “No, it just makes it annoying.” He leapt forward, raised the claymore high above his head, and brought it down hard over Mr. Strong. The old man ducked and blocked Gareth’s blow with his own sword, creating a loud clang. Strong pushed up with both hands and forced the sword away. Gareth jumped back, landing legs apart for balance.

“You’ve always amazed me, old man. Most aren’t as strong.” Gareth spun and swung the claymore with two hands, watching as his tutor adjusted and blocked him.

“Strong is my name.” The old man laughed.

He followed with his own attack which forced Gareth to his knees with his claymore overhead. He grunted and pushed the man away.

“How old are you?”

“Older than I look.” Mr. Strong charged at Gareth, letting out a guttural war cry, swinging the blade over his shoulder in a diagonal motion. Gareth retreated, eyes wide, working furiously to block and get out of the way of the attack. He found himself backed into a corner as Mr. Strong was bringing down a deathblow.

Gareth shot out to the side, between the old man’s arms and legs, flying forward and low. He feared his speed had been too unnatural and tried to cover the flight by curling and rolling on the floor before popping back up to a standing position. The old man’s chest heaved in the same rhythm as his own. Gareth wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, brushing back the wet tendrils against his head. “You take our play too seriously at times, old man. If I hadn’t jumped out of your way, you could have killed me.”

“When you find yourself in a real battle, it won’t be play. I need to know you can handle it when your life is threatened for real.”

“Who’s going to attack a man in a wheelchair? He’d have to look at me first.”

“There you go again, acting like your wheelchair keeps everyone out. It’s not true, you know. It’s you who pushes them away. The annoying, pretty thing that sent you here, I bet you pushed her away, too.” The old man broke his stance and walked over to a table. He poured two glasses of water and carried one to Gareth.

Gareth shook his head and rested the claymore’s point in the floorboards. He accepted the cup and drank it down before handing it back. “I didn’t come here to discuss my love life with an old bachelor.”

Mr. Strong turned and carried the glasses back to the table. “Whoever said I was a bachelor? And love life, you say. So you think you love the girl?”

Gareth shook his head in frustration before leaping to his chair and having a seat. “No, I don’t love her. I don’t even know her. I don’t believe in that kind of love anyway. So if you aren’t a bachelor, you’re what? A widower?”

“No, I’m not a widower either. I’m happily married and have been for years.”

Gareth looked down the hall and toward the kitchen. “Where’s your wife?”

“She doesn’t stay here. I’m only in town to work. I often visit her, and she comes to visit me. And what kind of love is it you don’t believe in?”

“The kind that’s supposed to last forever. The reason young people get all puppy-eyed and feel the need to bind themselves to someone for the rest of their lives. Only to grow bored and seek the companionship of another. Why bother to begin with?”

Mr. Strong pulled a seat from his desk over and sat across from Gareth. The old man frowned. “You are awfully jaded for a man so young.”

“I speak what I see.” He looked out the window at the patch of blue sky. He’d already opened up more than he liked.

“So what kind of love do you believe in?”

Gareth sat in silence thinking about it. “I care very much for Tabitha. I’d like to see her taken care of and happy. More than I care to be happy myself, I want it for her. So I believe in that kind of love.”

Mr. Strong’s wrinkled forehead scrunched as his brows furrowed. “Well, if that’s how you feel about love and marriage, why force the whole thing on poor Tabitha? According to you, she’s only going to be forgotten for another. You’d have her stuck in a loveless marriage? Better she becomes a governess, wouldn’t it?”

“I…she…” Gareth couldn’t think of an answer. Finally, he pursed his lips and glared at the old man. “I didn’t come here to talk or to think. I came here to swordfight. If we are done with that—we are done.” He tossed his sword to Mr. Strong who caught it in one hand. The muscles in his forearm bulged as he grasped it.

Gareth pushed himself to the door and forced himself down the ramp. How had his distracting game of swords turned into a talk on love? If love and marriage could only bring misery, why did he want it for Tabitha? Maybe he didn’t think it was the way of all marriages but the way of most. He wanted Tabitha to be treasured by someone and protected and cared for. The way Thompton opened doors for Sarah and touched her cheek when he came to the kitchen. Maybe they were fighting today, but for the most part they were the happiest married couple he’d ever seen.

He could picture that for Tabitha. She should have that life.