Moon Shadows (34 page)

P
HOEBE
awakened early after a restless night. She'd fallen back into strange dreams. This time there had been no shining castle, only a lonely place with damp, rocky walls that had funneled her down and down into darkness.

She went to the window and threw back the curtains. It looked to be a glorious morning. Last night's wind and rain had given way before a beaming sun, and there were tiny patches of green visible in the gardens below her window.

A man rode toward the house, reining his mount in as he neared. There was no mistaking Gordon in the clear light. It amazed her that he could ride so well despite the results of his injuries, tall and strong in the saddle. Had it been him she'd heard riding out in the night or was he merely returning from a fresh morning's gallop across the meadows?

Suddenly Gordon tipped his head back and glanced up at her window. For a moment Phoebe's gaze locked with his. She waved and gave him a ghost of a smile. He returned a mocking salute and rode off toward the stableyard.

She scanned the bare and rumpled hills, searching for
anything that resembled a castle. There was nothing to see except a tumble of dark stones at the summit of the nearest hill. There was no resemblance in their flat planes to the soaring turrets and bright Gothic windows she'd seen, but there was definitely something unsettling about them. Wisps of dreams stirred at the back of her thoughts, too insubstantial to grasp.

Phoebe turned away, pondering her odd dreams and the dazzling castle. Somehow they were connected. She was sure of it.

She put on her second-best day dress and swept her hair up into a coronet of braids and was ready to begin her first day at Thorne Court. As she tucked a stray wisp of hair in place, Elsie opened the door and peeked in. The maid's mouth dropped in dismay.

“Oh, miss! I didn't expect you up so early. Orders were to let you sleep as late as you liked. If only you'd rung, I would have brought a tray . . .”

Phoebe smiled to put the woman at ease. “Like you, I rise with the larks. I shall be taking my breakfast below most mornings.”

Elsie was disappointed. She made a little clucking sound of disapproval. “Lady Gwynn always takes a tray in bed, of a morning . . .”

Phoebe heard the disapproval in the woman's tone.
Oh dear, I'm starting off wrong with Elsie. I shall have to mend my ways.

Breakfast in bed was a luxury that hadn't even occurred to Phoebe. The only time she'd had a meal tray brought up, she'd been nine and covered in chicken pox. But that bit of information would shock Elsie's sensibilities of what was befitting a lady, so Phoebe smiled and kept it to herself.

“Perhaps toast and coffee in the morning, then,” she said.

The maid beamed. “ 'Twill be like old times, miss. After Master Gordon's—that is, Lord Thornwood's—accident, everything changed for the worse. There were no more grand parties or houseguests to stay at Thorne Court, and all the furniture was put into holland covers.”

Here was a servant more than eager to gossip, and Phoebe set her qualms aside. “It must have been terrible. How did it happen?”

“That's the thing,” Elsie sighed. “No one knows but God.
Master Gordon went out for a ride and his horse come back without him. A search party found him up on the hillside, half dead and looking as if he'd been struck down by a lightning bolt. When he finally came to his senses, he couldn't recall what had happened to him.”

Phoebe bit her lip. “Such a terrible tragedy! His life was not so golden as I imagined.”

Elsie was in full spate now, excited to be the one to impart the story to the newcomer. She went to the bay window. “If you look out this side, miss, you can see the place where they found him.”

Phoebe joined her. “There.” Elsie pointed to the crest of the moor. “Do you see those dark rocks up at the top? The master says 'tis really a tomb of sorts, but I've never heard it called aught but the Faerie Stables.”

If she strained her eyes, Phoebe could make out several rough slabs of rock standing to form a wedge shape, with others laid over for roofing.

“A dolmen,” she said. “I've seen them in illustrations. Perhaps I'll ride up there one day.”

A look of horror crossed Elsie's face. “Never say you will, miss! 'Tis mortal bad luck to go up there.”

Phoebe managed to calm Elsie's fears and change the subject. “I heard hoofbeats in the night. Someone riding across the park.”

Elsie reddened. “That would be the master. Can't sleep. The pain, you know. He'll have his horse saddled up and go for a long ride at all hours.”

“It seems like that would worsen his pain.”

“No, miss, he always seems the better for it when he returns.” The woman seemed anxious to be off this subject also. “The breakfast room is two doors past the book room, then turn right. You'll see James at the door.”

Phoebe took the hint. Following the maid's directions, she went down the staircase, admiring the intricate carving she'd been too tired to notice the previous night.

At the end of the long corridor a solemn footman opened the door to the breakfast room. Like the other servants she'd seen at Thorne Court, he was well past his youth.

The pretty parlor looked cheerful and inviting, all white wainscoting, with draperies of sprigged yellow silk flanking the bowed window. The tantalizing aroma of eggs, ham, bacon and coffee greeted Phoebe, but couldn't seduce her across the threshold. Her feet seemed glued to the floor.

I am a coward
, she acknowledged,
afraid to see Gordon's terrible scars by the glaring light of day.

It was not for her sake, but for his that she dreaded it. Phoebe was afraid of what he might read on her face. His intense gaze seemed to miss nothing. To a man of Gordon's pride, pity would be worse than revulsion.

It was difficult to reconcile her images of him from the past with what he was now.
In time I shall become accustomed to the changes in him,
she told herself.
Meanwhile I must do my utmost not to turn away.

She was aware of the footman watching her from the corner of his eyes.
Best to get it over with quickly
. A mental shake, a deep breath and she forced herself to enter the parlor.

It was empty except for the butler, busily checking the hot dishes on the sideboard.

Holloway greeted her with a bow. “Good morning, miss.”

“Good morning, Holloway.” She noticed there was only one setting at the table. “Has His Lordship been down to breakfast already?”

“No, miss. He has not returned from his morning ride as yet.”

After all her anxiety over this daylight meeting, Phoebe didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She helped herself to ham and eggs from the sideboard and took her place while Holloway filled her cup.

She didn't see Gordon come in from the corridor. He stopped on the threshold. In the warm morning light Phoebe's hair was like a red-gold halo. She was so vibrant and alive in this house of dust and shadows it struck him like a blow. He had to look away a moment.

He'd pictured her here like this a thousand times. The reality of it was overwhelming.
At least when I am gone she will be sheltered here.

Phoebe looked up suddenly, as if she'd felt him staring at
her. She noted the lines of strain in his face, the deep shadows beneath his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all.

“Good morning. How was your ride?”

“Excellent, thank you.” He ignored the food set out on the sideboard, but sat down beside Phoebe and accepted the cup of coffee that Holloway silently offered him.

“Which reminds me, I've left orders with Hugh to set one of the hacks aside for your use. There's a nice little mare I think will suit you. I don't advise you to leave the estate grounds, however, unless you take a groom with you.”

“I am not a novice rider,” Phoebe said.

Gordon nodded. “Exactly my point.” He remembered her galloping, neck-or-nothing, across the park at Wickersham. “Curb any temptations to explore on your own. Wickersham was tame country compared to the Devon moor. The land beyond the estate is both treacherous and unforgiving. A minor accident might cost you your life.”

“You're just saying that to frighten me.”

His frown deepened. “There are many dangers awaiting the unwary out on the moor. Hidden smugglers' caves, treacherous bogs that look like solid ground . . . none of them places where someone totally unfamiliar with the terrain should venture!”

His vehemence backfired. Nothing could have been more calculated to spur Phoebe to explore the mysterious moor. Especially the dolmen on the crest of the hill. She made a noncommittal answer and finished her scrambled egg.

She accepted more coffee. “Shall I meet Lady Gwynn this morning?”

“I'm afraid this is not one of her good days. Tomorrow would be better.”

“Very well.”

A strained silence fell. Holloway, good butler that he was, realized it behooved him to withdraw. He slipped away silently.

Gordon's eyes were riveted on Phoebe, arrested by the proud lift of her head, the elegant curve of her throat. When he'd first set eyes on her at Wickersham, she was a sandy-haired girl, with invisible brows and lashes, and no hint of the beauty she'd become.

No,
he amended.
Her eyes were beautiful even then. As bright as stars and bluer than the sea.

And then, in her seventeenth summer, the tomboy had grown up into a young woman. She was certainly different from the society girls he knew. Lively and unaffected, with keen intelligence and a curiosity that went beyond gossip or the latest fashion.

And now she was here at Thorne Court.

If I were wise, I'd send her away. But, God help me, I cannot!

Phoebe's cheeks flushed with color as she became aware of his scrutiny. She spread preserves on a wedge of toast and wished he'd look away. “Have I smeared blackberry jam on my face?”

“Why did you never marry?” Gordon asked abruptly.

She almost dropped her knife in surprise. “Why, I didn't think marriage would suit me after all.”

“Was it because I ended our engagement?”

“Thus giving me a distaste for all men? I never thought conceit was one of your vices, Gordon!”

“Don't take me for a fool, Phoebe.” He regarded her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Are you saying that you sacrificed your youth out of duty to your father?”

“No,” she corrected gently. “Out of love.”

“That does your heart credit, Cousin, but not your head!”

The anger in his voice surprised her. Phoebe felt her color rising even more. “Acquit me of martyrdom. I was perfectly content at Willow Cottage.”

“With no desire to see the world—and take your rightful place in it?”

She lifted her chin. “None.”

“Little liar.”

She lost her temper. “In recent years my father was ill, with rapidly failing sight, and no more idea of how to keep house than a . . . a cat! Do you think it would have suited me to leave him in such a state?”

“No.” Gordon's tone softened. “Your sentiments do you honor.”

Phoebe flushed. “In the end we all do what we must.”

She set down her fork. “You're staring at me again.
Is
there a smut on my nose?”

“There is now.” He reached over and dabbed the corner of her mouth with his napkin. “There.”

He watched the faint flush of color tinge her cheeks. “I was merely wondering which of Wickersham's likely prospects you'd turned down: Squire Dudleigh's dashing son? The young curate? Or perhaps that sturdy yeoman farmer who watched you from afar with such mute admiration?”

She was startled and felt a warm blush rising up her cheeks. “You seem to have noticed quite a good deal more about the village and its inhabitants than I ever imagined.”

Gordon gave a wry smile. “I had no choice but to notice them. They were all looking daggers at me as you and I strolled along the village green. That was the day I first realized that . . .”

He broke off, frowning. “But that is all in the past. Tell me, did you sleep well last night?”

Phoebe wished he hadn't changed the subject. She wanted very much to know what he'd felt then—and what he felt now. She managed a smile. “I slept like a babe in arms. Mrs. Church made sure I had every comfort and my suite is lovely.”

“Good. I hope you'll find your new chambers as much to your taste.”

Phoebe set her cup down in surprise. “New chambers?”

“Yes. There's a leak in the roof over your window,” Gordon said blandly. “I'm afraid repairs must start immediately. You needn't concern yourself about it. By the time you've finished breaking your fast, your things will have been transferred to the Rose Bedroom.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I hadn't noticed any leaks this morning.”