The Sleeping Beauty. Jacqueline Navin
Читать онлайн книгу.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m surprised at that. People hereabouts love to talk.”
“Actually, I have found the one person whose conversation I enjoyed damned reluctant to give me any facts aside from where the best hunting grounds could be found.”
She looked over at him then, and those large blue-green eyes softened. “Who was that?”
“Kepper.”
“He’s a good man. He’s very loyal to my father.”
Adam allowed a silence to lapse while he berated himself for his thoughtless jibes. He wondered if this were the reason for her seclusion—the oldest reason in the world. Had she retired from society to pine for the unrequited love lost years ago?
The idea of it disturbed him. He had been disturbed, however, since the moment he laid eyes on her, so he should be getting used to it by now.
Nevertheless, he was surprised to realize that he was more than a bit curious. And perhaps a tad jealous.
“I’d like to ask you more, but I know you won’t answer. I have quite a lot of questions, Helena. I wonder why there are so few servants in so large a house. Why do you live alone without seeing anyone? I haven’t asked a one of these, and I’m not asking now. I just want you to know those questions are there.”
He didn’t know what he wanted her to say. He didn’t even know why he had uttered such an inane statement—as if she would rush to explain herself if she knew of his interest.
No, it wasn’t merely interest. It was becoming an obsession. He wanted her to know he would listen if she ever wished to tell him the strange secrets that governed her hermetic existence, that he wouldn’t judge or mock, and he wouldn’t betray her confidence. He wondered if she knew that, if he had expressed it properly in his awkward little speech just now.
It was a moot point. She said nothing.
As they crossed Darby Creek, Helena became aware of a growing terror arising in her breast.
They topped a hill and she could see the large cluster of buildings in the distance. Passing a farmhouse, she noted an old woman wrapped in a shawl staring at them. Adam raised his hand in a greeting. The old woman didn’t respond. Helena wondered if she were imagining the antagonism in the wrinkled face.
Swallowing painfully against her dry throat, she clutched her reticule tightly in her fist. She had been mad to come. Why hadn’t she thought to simply summon the dressmaker to the manor? Because of Adam Mannion, that was why. She could never think properly when he was around.
On the outskirts of the village, a prosperous community that had grown by leaps and bounds in recent years, the presence of the population became more noticeable. A cart crossed the road ahead of them. While they waited, Helena scanned the faces of the children playing in a nearby field, wondering if they would recognize her. And if they did, would they flee in fear?
“Helena?” Adam’s voice was full of concern. “Are you feeling ill?”
He couldn’t know—he mustn’t know. She shouldn’t have come this far. She could have made some excuse and had him turn back the moment she felt the first twinges of fear. But now she was fixed.
A tremulous smile quivered on her lips. “Not at all. Just a bit nervous. I—I don’t enjoy going away from the house very much.”
He stared at her for a long moment. She could feel the touch of his eyes and it made her skin prickle. “Another question that wants answering.”
Jerking her head about to face him, she snapped, “There is no exotic mystery, just sordid truth, and you’re better off not knowing. And when you do find out, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He leaned in closer, inclining his head so that he was staring at her through those lashes that were ridiculously long and thick for a man. “Since you say you want to be rid of me so badly, why not tell me all of these dastardly horrors you keep hidden? Maybe I’ll just run like a madman all the way home to London, pulling my hair out all the way as I think of how close I had come to unmitigated disaster.”
He made a face of such exaggerated dread that she burst out laughing before she could help it. Sobering quickly, she ducked her head and plucked nervously at her dress. “Joking will not cure a thing, Mr. Mannion. And I suppose you will find out what you wish to know soon enough. As for myself telling you a single thing, you can dispel that notion immediately. I’ll never explain myself to a reprobate and wastrel and admitted fortune hunter.”
“Ouch!” He grinned and sat back. “I believe my pride has been pummeled quite soundly.”
He didn’t look as if his pride had been pummeled. He looked, in fact, as if he were inordinately pleased with himself for having goaded her.
She settled back into her seat. Her fears returned as they drove into the village square.
“Where is the modiste?” he asked.
She made a sound alarmingly like a snort. “There is no modiste, Mr. Mannion. You confuse us with posh London. There is a dressmaker.”
Helena saw a woman walking on the side of the road stop in her tracks and gape at the passing carriage. Jaw slack, eyes wide, she dropped the basket of baked bread she was carrying. The golden brown loaves rolled in the dust. The woman she had been walking with noticed Helena at about the same time. Her reaction was just as dramatic. She stumbled and stared without any care for manners.
Helena wished she could look away with a haughty lift of her chin, but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from them. Miserably, she watched helplessly as the two women ducked their heads together and commenced whispering vigorously.
“Ah, I see the sign,” Adam said, oblivious to the little dramas taking place all around them.
Across the street, the butcher had rushed out of his shop. The thin, fussy tobacconist hurried over to confer with him. Their gazes seemed to blaze clear into Helena’s forehead.
Adam continued, “I’ll bring you inside, but I won’t wait. Can’t stand that sort of thing. Can barely manage to keep my own wardrobe up. What do you say we meet at the tea shop at…oh, say, twelve? We’ll lunch there. If you are too busy and can’t make it, send word and I’ll go ahead without you…Helena?”
She sat motionless. Adam took her hands, his own warm and strong. She fought a sudden desire to fling herself into the protection of his arms.
What would make her have such a thought? Her terror had her too confused to think properly.
“Something is wrong.” Adam’s voice was demanding. “Don’t play the martyr now, for God’s sake. Tell me.”
“The people…” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eye. “They are looking at me, talking about me. They frighten me.”
“Nonsense. They are merely looking at you because you are so lovely today.” She did glance up then, incredulous and painfully suspicious that he was mocking her.
There was kindness in his eyes. True kindness, not a false show or, worse, pity. His well-formed mouth was slightly curved in a smile that was soft and seemed to be genuine.
Her hands felt warmer already. “This is why I never come out,” she said in an emotion-roughened voice. “The gossip. The dreadful staring. I cannot stand it.”
“Well, you see, that’s the trouble.” His tone was low and reasonable, yet without a trace of patronization. “They never see you, and since you live so close, they no doubt find this odd. Now that you appear, they understandably take notice. It is a temporary condition. It will surely pass as soon as they become used to you being about. Come now. Let us go into the dressmaker’s—which, thank you for correcting my error, is not to be confused with a modiste.”
He leaped down and put the box