Once Beloved (16 page)

She stared at him, baffled by his response, as heat crept up her neck. She was almost afraid to ask, but the words came out anyway. “What do you mean?”

His brows came together as he scowled at her. “I've already told you. He introduced the alpaca trade in this region, and it hit Lanfield and other local farms hard.” When he fell silent, crossing his arms over his chest forbiddingly, she found she couldn't let his other observation go.
No more rude than his behavior toward you.
What could make him react so extremely?

“What did you mean about his behavior toward me? He was all politeness.”

“He's known to be a private, quiet man. Don't you think it strange that he was so loquacious with you? And he was so quick to invite you to his property out in a remote area.”

“If I understand what you're implying, don't be ridiculous. We share a common interest in social improvement. Many people do. And his invitation was to both of us, wasn't it?”

He looked unconvinced. “Didn't you see how he looked at you?”

“Really, Daniel, you're fabricating this perception entirely of air. What has come over you?”

“We're done here,” he said abruptly. “It's time to go.”

Confused by his curt manner, she left the public house on edge, her anxiety growing as they wove through the still-full tables. Stepping out the door, she felt her lungs expand. She stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep cleansing breath. She felt Daniel close behind her and admitted, “I'm surprised I lasted that long in there.”

He simply nodded and led her to the cart. She could practically see the wheels in his head turning and wondered what path his mind was following. It didn't appear to be leading anywhere good.

As before, silence felt like the safest choice as Daniel drove through the crowded streets. But this time, instead of an empty, vapid silence, the air between them felt tense and bitter. Again. She hadn't realized how much had changed between them until the distance between them stretched out again. Once they were outside of the city, the road became more monotonous. Fatigue crept through her limbs, and she tried every trick she could to chase it away. Twice, she felt her head jerk up as she almost nodded off.

She was startled awake a third time as Daniel pulled on the reins, calling Talos to halt.

“What's wrong?” she asked, her head muddled from that twilight stage of sleep.

“If you're so tired, you should move to the cart and lie down properly,” he said in a clipped tone.

“I'll be fine,” she replied quickly. His derisive snort transformed all her accumulated confusion and frustration from their trip into irritation. “You seemed to be in a mood. You were much more pleasant earlier, cordial even. What happened to set you off thus?”

“Well, let's see, shall we? First, you make abundantly clear that you wish to avoid my company. Then you absolutely refuse to discuss that brief and baffling intimacy we shared the night of the storm. Then, after striving to assist you and watch for your safety, I find that you're entirely oblivious to a man inappropriately vying for your attention. If that weren't enough, and I'd say it was more than enough, then, despite all my best intentions, you fall asleep with your head against my shoulder.”

His catalog of complaints took so much effort to unravel that she didn't realize at first what his words implied. When she did, she felt thunderstruck. Trying to navigate through a minefield she wasn't prepared for, she said tentatively, “I'm sorry to have been such a problem today. It seems everything I do is bound to cause you grief.”

“Oh, Helena, you are a problem indeed, but grief is not at all what you cause me.” He shifted to face her, and his fierce, intense expression stunned her. “Obviously, I haven't explained myself well. I need you to go sit in the cart because I'm unbearably aware of your every move. I need you to move out of arm's reach because, when you laid your head on my shoulder, all I wanted to do was take you in my arms and kiss you senseless. I hope you, of all people, can understand the conundrum of desiring something entirely untenable.”

Any hint of tiredness disappeared. Instantly, she recognized that she'd wholly misinterpreted the energy she'd felt swirling between them. And she was frightened of how strongly it moved her, probably as frightened as he was. Coward that she was, without a word, she immediately climbed down, and she understood all too well why he set down the step for her to climb into the back, assiduously avoiding all contact with her. Whatever this feeling was between them, it was best they pretended it didn't exist.

O
nly ten days since their arrival, Vanessa could almost collect eggs from the chicken coop without gagging. She'd never be able to tolerate that disgusting smell. Mr. Weathers insisted he keep the task of cleaning the coop daily, thank God! How these three elderly people got along here without help was a mystery.

She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Aunt Helena had been right that taking on some of the unfamiliar household chores would be “improving.” Even with the stench of the coop, she'd rather be outdoors in the morning sun than endlessly dusting knickknacks. She might even offer to beat the rugs if she could do it out here, with the verdant emerald fields in sight. With the chickens all squawking like eager gossips, she didn't hear the hoofbeats until they were almost upon her. She tried to blow stray locks away from her face, to no avail, as she straightened. She must look a fright, but Granny Thorton hadn't exactly been in a condition to welcome company. Perhaps she could duck behind the coop for a while. She sighed. No, with Aunt Helena gone to Bradford for supplies, she should go and help Mrs. Weathers greet any guests.

“Good day, Miss Vanessa!”

She jumped at the greeting from that deep, energetic voice. Oh, no, no, no. Although they'd only met once, she recognized that voice. And even without turning around, she could picture the handsome dark-haired lad attached to that voice. She was a tiny bit pleased that he remembered her name, although she should probably tell him to call her Miss Addison to be proper. Still, she liked how her name sounded in his lilting accent.

“Good morning, Mr. Lanfield. You're out roaming early today.”

“Nay, it's just an average morning. Most days, I'm out on my horse at first light.”

She'd had to adjust quickly to the rhythm and schedule of farm life when they arrived. On their third day here, Mrs. Weathers had come knocking at dawn, muttering something about pampered delicate flowers. Since then, Vanessa had made sure to throw herself into helping around the house. She began falling asleep exhausted soon after nightfall and waking while it was still dark.

“Your family must depend on you for quite a lot,” she observed.

He shrugged, although a glimmer of pride crossed his face, and he said, “We all do our part, don't we? Need any help?” He dismounted with surprising grace.

“I've just finished. Anyway, I'm sure you have more pressing matters than attending to me and my little chores.”

“I wouldn't mind. There's no chore too small on a farm. And, if I may say, you looked a bit out of place when we first met. I hope you're doing better now.”

Her face heated at his reminder of her humiliating episode with the hungry sheep. She bristled at his judgment of her.

“I'm fine, thank you,” she bit out as politely as she could. She lifted her chin and added, “I'd like to see how you would handle the teeming chaos of London, which is a world away from these bucolic fields.”

“Bucolic. I'll have to remember that one.” His too-full lips quirked, and amusement lit his hazel eyes.

What was she doing, noticing his eyes? She adored Billy's pale gray eyes, the color of burgeoning smoke.

“I'll grant you, miss, I'd likely be a fish suffocating on land in the great city. I've never been farther abroad than Leeds, which I'd consider unbearably crowded. One advantage of any city, though, is that there are lots more pretty girls, like you.” Then he winked at her. Actually winked!

She couldn't suppress a giggle at his ridiculous flirtation, and she was mightily relieved to hear him laugh as well.

“That was poorly done of me, wasn't it?”

“I did expect a bit more finesse.” What was she doing?
Stop flirting!
“Now I'm certain you have more important things to do than stand here amusing me.”

He nodded and doffed his cap. “In fact, I'm here to deliver some packages from my mother to your, well, great-grandmother, I suppose. We've always just called her the Grand-dame.”

“Oh, I like that! It sounds so dignified.”

He snorted and then looked repentant. “Er, she's deeply respected. She just, er, doesn't stand on ceremony, if you catch my meaning. She's not one to value dignity over enjoyment. I still remember how she'd come fish with us when my siblings and I were little.”

“You're quite fond of her, aren't you?”

“She's like family”

“Well, come on then. I'll give these to Mrs. Weathers and see if the Grand-dame is up for a visitor.”

It took little time to deliver the eggs, along with a pie the young man's mother had sent along.

“Tell her that her Prince Hal is here,” he called out as Vanessa left the kitchen.

She turned impulsively and replied, “I'm sure you're not as manipulative as all that.”

“Only because I've lacked the opportunity,” he shot back with another wink. His playfulness was so different from the calculated teasing and innuendo of the boys she and her friends encountered at home. He didn't seem at all predatory. As she made her way up the stairs, she heard him compliment Mrs. Weathers on her pretty ribbons and heard the old woman's answering giggle.

Gran's face lit up when she announced the young Mr. Lanfield. It was a joy to see her so revived. After helping her with a hasty toilette, she went to get “Prince Hal” and left them chatting fondly. When she returned almost an hour later with a tray of tea and pie slices, she found them both belly-laughing. He immediately rose and took the tray from her.

“May I ask what was so amusing?” she asked.

Gran dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and said, “Oh, dearie, it would be too difficult to explain. Just us being silly.”

Before she realized it, young Lanfield had placed the tray on the bureau and already delivered tea and pie to Gran's bedside. As soon as Gran was settled, he said, “I should be going. You need your rest. I'm so pleased to see you are on the mend. Everyone at home will be relieved to hear it.”

The beautiful new blanket draping Gran's bed distracted her. “What a piece of work!” she said in awe. “Is this from your mother?”

“Aye, well, it's more of a family affair,” he replied, a blush creeping up his neck. “The wool is from our flock, sheared by our own hands. Mother and the bairns at home did all the spinning. Mother handled the dyeing.” He ticked off each step with his fingers. “And all of us took turns with the knitting when we could.”

“You knit?” Vanessa said, surprised.

“'Course I do. It comes natural to shepherds maybe. Everyone I know carries a sack or basket of knitting with him. I've always needles and yarn with me in the fields. You know what they say about idle hands and all that.”

“This cover is spectacular! My mother and her friends do a great deal of handiwork with yarn and thread, and they would all marvel at this.”

“Naught but a blanket,” he said with a tilt of his head. “Mother does much more intricate lace and such. That's the really impressive stuff.”

“I expect your mother would get along famously with mine!”

Something about her mother triggered a drastic change in him. It was as if a wall had suddenly been erected between them. His expression went blank, his posture stiff.

“It'd be futile to speculate on that now, wouldn't it?” His jaw was clenched. “I'd not wish for my mother to suffer the company of those Thorton girls—” He stopped midsentence, as if just then realizing where he was, and his face reddened alarmingly. He moved to take Gran's hand briefly and said to her, “I'll visit again soon, Grand-dame. You know I can't stay away from your bonny face.”

Gently, Gran patted his arm and said, “Get on with your chores, Hal. You're a good lad.” But before he could walk away, she added, “Just watch what you say about us Thorton girls, all right?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said with a bow of his head.

Vanessa went to see him out, but he ran down the stairs too fast for her to keep up. She heard him call out a farewell to Mrs. Weathers as he rushed out the back door.

She couldn't wait to return to London.

T
he ipecacuan and mustard blister prescribed by the doctor seemed to do wonders for Gran. Within a few days, her breath came easier, and her color and appetite improved significantly. It felt like a gift to see her rise from her bed one bright morning to sit by the window. How long had she been suffering needlessly before sending for assistance? Helena wondered. How close had the sweet woman come to crossing the veil? Helena shook her head as she took that opportunity to change her grandmother's sheets and tidy up. No good could come of such speculation. Gran was on the mend, and, now that the door was open, she would strive to visit as often as she could. Gran couldn't stay here indefinitely, and she and Elizabeth couldn't give her the kind of regular attention her health must require, not from such a great distance. Changes would have to be made. Still, as she looked at her grandmother's gentle and dimly sad countenance as the woman tilted her face toward the streaming sunlight, she knew such a monumental conversation must wait, perhaps for a time when her sister could be present and all together they could decide the best fate, not only for Gran but for what was left of the Thorton farm.

When her grandmother fondly declared it was time for her to stop hovering and “let a person enjoy a moment's peace,” Helena went to join Mrs. Weathers and Vanessa in the kitchen. It was amazing how quickly a day progressed here. With all the cleaning and washing and cooking and spinning and all the other -ings that the housekeeper had heroically been managing on her own, the sun flew across the sky. And there was something satisfying about the rhythm of such a day. Even Vanessa seemed to have acclimated to the routines of the house.

“Come to the public house this evening,” Mrs. Weathers said, when Helena brought in some of the wash that had been drying outside. “It'll do you a world of good, I'm sure. I'll be there, and we can tuck you into a quiet corner and simply watch everyone cavorting!”

Such an easy invitation extended. She had to smile. Who would have guessed upon her arrival that anyone in Marksby, including Mrs. Weathers, would seek her company? The thought was quickly followed by the realization that, if she was noticed, there was no telling what ugliness might arise. When she said as much, though, the housekeeper and Vanessa both vehemently argued that she needed and deserved a little entertainment.

“Just so,” Mr. Weathers interjected as he ambled into the kitchen. He removed his hat in a charmingly formal manner and said, “Anyone who might mistreat you will have to answer to me and the missus.” Although he smiled jauntily when he said it, his eyes said he was decidedly serious. How was she to resist their combined and concerted efforts?

Thus she found herself seated next to Mrs. Weathers and her husband at The Crowing Cock. She'd never been there before, since her father had never been one to drink or carouse in the evenings. But the atmosphere seemed friendly and cheerful. No one seemed to notice her in her shadowed spot, and she soon found that she did indeed feel more relaxed, more carefree, than she had in weeks or even months. As predicted, they sat undisturbed while the festivities and gossip flowed copiously around them.

“That Rosalina is quite the flirt, you see,” a female voice said. “She's already broken quite a few hearts among the local boys, but she's a good girl, for all that.”

“You remember old Mr. Ackley?” another woman asked suddenly, before launching into the colorful marital history of the man from a neighboring parish. Apparently, he'd been through four wives in ten years, each wife younger than the last, and he was angling for a young Marksby lass, whose parents held split opinions about the possible match.

Helena let the random snippets of conversation wash over her while she took small sips of ale. In the mere half hour she'd been at the pub, she'd been exposed to more people than she'd encountered in Marksby since that dreadful episode outside the postmaster's shop.

A group of men entered the pub, clean and tidy but carrying the scent of horses and livestock. She didn't recognize any of them, but that mattered little. Like Daniel Lanfield, many of these men could have grown up here in the village and only slightly resemble the boys they had once been. As they made their way to a large table, she heard a familiar deep voice—Daniel's voice—call out from the midst of the group, “Mrs. Flanigan! I've sorely worked these men today and regret my heavy hand. Give them your finest brew to ease their burdens!”

The woman laughed and spoke to a couple of the serving girls. One began filling mugs while the other went back toward the kitchen. Then Mrs. Flanigan made her way to the table Daniel and his men occupied and, with a broad smile, made comments that Helena couldn't hear but that elicited bursts of laughter. After spending a few more moments with them, moments during which Helena would have given much to be a fly by their table, privy to the source of their mirth, the woman glided back to the counter. She refused to ponder why the woman's easy demeanor with Daniel and his men mattered to her, but Daniel seemed happy to receive her ample attention.

Turning to Mrs. Weathers, she asked after the Weathers children, but slowly she realized that a hush had fallen over the room. Mr. Weathers tapped his wife's hand and tipped his head to direct their attention, just before a broad shadow loomed over the table. Helena's skin tingled, and she knew whom she would see when she looked up. What she didn't know was how Daniel would greet her, given the muddled way they'd left things after the Bradford trip. Was he angry with her? Would he chase her out of here? Would he leave that to the rest of the crowd after making her presence so clearly known? She closed her eyes, chastising herself for such unfair thoughts. In these past few weeks, Daniel hadn't done her any harm, no matter the occasion. Even at his most furious, he'd kept his temper in check. Even when he'd kissed her, he'd hated himself for it but hadn't taken that anger out on her. And it was impossible to ignore that pulsing awareness of him so close by, urging her to draw him even closer. Damn her wayward emotions.

“Mr. Weathers, 'tis a pleasure to see you and your lovely wife this evening.” When she raised her gaze to meet his, he smiled gently and said, “And it's a welcome surprise to find you here, Mrs. Martin.”

She struggled to tamp down the pathetic frisson of delight his smile sent through her as she murmured a polite greeting in response. When he turned his attention back to Mr. Weathers, she let loose the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

“I think we could all do with some entertainment, sir! Is it too much of an imposition to ask you to grace us with some songs?”

She'd forgotten that the normally reticent man was a fine and lively singer. People from nearby tables who heard Daniel's request echoed his sentiments, and it wasn't long before Mr. Weathers was cajoled into rising. Then he did a most surprising thing.

“Do you still play the piano, Mrs. Martin?” Mr. Weathers asked quietly.

She was startled by his question and could only nod in response. Then, to her further astonishment, he turned to Daniel, and said, “And I'm sure you haven't forgotten how to fiddle, have you, lad?”

His eyes widened slightly, but he grinned, causing Helena's heart to do an inconvenient little flip. “No, sir! It would be my pleasure to accompany you,” he said, with a quick bow.

Mrs. Weathers interjected. “Ah, Helena, you wouldn't know, but Lanfield can do magic with a fiddle!”

Her husband looked at her fondly and said, with what Helena would swear was a mischievous look in his eye, “It's rare that I get to perform with two talented players. I've no doubt Mrs. Martin still has an excellent ear.” He named a few songs, and remarkably she knew them all, sweet ballads and folk songs she'd learned well in her youth.

But the thought of going over to the piano at the other side of the room and being the center of attention froze her body. She looked up at Mr. Weathers helplessly as that familiar fear shot through her. Hot tears of frustration welled in her eyes. No! She couldn't be this weak, fragile thing!

She felt warm breath against her neck before she heard Daniel's low voice in her ear. “You're safe here,” he said. “We won't allow anything to happen to you. If you don't want to play, you don't have to.” The combination of his deep rumbling voice and reassuring words calmed her. Then he added, “But if you truly wish to accompany Mr. Weathers, which I think would be a rare treat, both for you and for him, then all you need to do is take my hand.”

And there it was—his large, beautifully callused hand—just waiting for her.

Just then, Mrs. Flanigan stopped dead next to their table and focused a bright smile upon her. “Ah, Helena Thorton! Heard you were back! You had the voice of an angel. Come and entertain us!”

The proprietress glared when someone grumbled behind her, and Helena suddenly felt the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Even at home, she hadn't sat at the piano since . . . she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. She used to love playing for her family and friends, entertaining them, rousing them to join in. Music brought them together and lightened their spirits. But she hadn't even wanted to play since . . . Isaiah. Now, however, she felt the stirring appeal of the piano and the way it allowed her to throw all of her emotions into the spry movements of her hands. And at least a small host of people here seemed interested in letting her do so.

She took Daniel's hand, allowing him to help her stand. Then she followed the two men to the instruments. She felt so exposed and conspicuous as she played a few trills to acquaint herself with the piano keys, but, to her relief, her partners took places in front of her, partially obscuring the audience. Once Mr. Weathers began to sing, however, her anxiety was drowned out by his jovial and charming resonance. He began with a simple, familiar shepherd's ballad, and soon everyone in the room was singing along. It didn't matter if her fingers faltered once or twice; no one would hear her mistakes over the concert of voices. After a few rousing songs, people cleared a space to dance, and the atmosphere grew loud and jocund. She was relieved when Daniel suggested that she and Mr. Weathers take a break as he played a reel that had everyone on their feet. Marveling at how she could be so inconspicuous and feel so unperturbed amid all these people, she sat back and watched the party. Daniel glanced back at her and winked without missing a note, and the subsequent burst of pleasure in her chest surprised her. His enthusiastic movements gave him a boyish air, his uncharacteristically expressive face showing that he reveled in the moment. He grinned as he danced the bow across the strings and ended a spry piece with a dramatic flourish before diving into the next. How long had it been since she'd felt so light and carefree?

Too soon, he turned to her and Mr. Weathers and said, “'Appen these folks could use a rest? Should we do a lullaby next?”

Laughter and teasing responses flew through the room, and Mr. Weathers said something about being parched and needing his wife's loving attention. She smiled at how startling the old man's demeanor was. Such a quiet man, and yet here he sang, he laughed—comparatively, he spoke volumes here, and yet she didn't think it had anything to do with the flowing ale. He felt uniquely at home in this pub with these neighbors, and she was thankful to have seen this side of him. Without him shielding her, though, everyone could see who she was. Some whispers flitted through the room, and she recognized the Wyatts from the shop as they stood and exited.

Yet Daniel wouldn't be deterred. “Come on, Helena, play something soothing for us all!”

One song immediately came to mind, and her throat slammed closed. It was much too real to her, too intricately woven into her own experience, and yet it seemed too perfect to ignore. When she reached the pause after the first few notes, she heard him gasp close behind her.

“
The Poor Old Weaver's Daughter
?”

She met his dark, questioning gaze and nodded, swallowing hard. No words could explain what had possessed her to play the song about a man trying unsuccessfully to woo a pretty maid with gold. When Daniel took up the melody on his fiddle, her relief was palpable, and she focused her attention on the song itself. She knew people would recognize the song so it was only natural when some began to sing softly. As the lyrics shifted to the girl's refusal, following her mother's advice to marry for love rather than money, she felt the song echoing through her. She'd wanted everything, love and money and the world, and, unlike the lass in the song, she'd turned her back on her family to get it. Her face went hot as the song continued. What would her life be if she'd made different choices all those years ago? Such a question shouldn't be worth thinking, not now, but the song stabbed directly into all those choices she'd made. Daniel's fiddle began to enliven some spaces in the song with lively trills and vibrato. Again, he brought her back to the present moment, and she followed where he led, transforming the sad, nostalgic tone of the song into something sweet and optimistic. They played surprisingly well together. He seemed to anticipate her shifts, hanging back at some points to let her playing lead the song and then picking up in others. As they came to the end of the song, the room hushed. But this silence was markedly different from the others she'd encountered in Marksby. Moving to stand beside her, Daniel bowed to the crowd. Hoots and applause rose in the air, along with calls of “One more!” and “Again!” But she shook her head at Daniel, and he nodded in understanding. She was done.

As he called one of his companions up to take his place, she made her way back to the table occupied by the Weathers. She'd had enough of this emotion-wringing stroll through the past. She needed to clear her head and take hold of the present. Mr. and Mrs. Weathers offered to bring her back to the Thorton house, but she hated the thought of cutting their evening short for her sake, especially when they were so clearly enjoying themselves.