chapter 41
“I don’t see why we have to move to York,” Patricia whined. She had been reiterating this point for the past week. Now she had a new audience since Abigail and Mirabelle had come to call on them.
“What’s wrong with York?” Abigail asked.
“What isn’t?” Patricia responded. “It’s provincial and staid and . . .”
“You’ve lived there before?” Laura feigned innocence.
“No! Of course not. I’ve never been there at all.” Patricia flushed, apparently realizing that she had undermined her own argument, and added, “I don’t know anyone there.”
“It will give you an opportunity to make a new set of friends,” Mirabelle said.
“But I don’t want a new set of friends. I like the ones I have.”
“I am sure you will enjoy making more,” Adelaide told her brightly. After Adelaide’s initial bout of melancholy and tears over Claude’s absence, she was once again her sunny self. “One can never have too many friends. Isn’t that so?”
“There are tall ships and small ships, but the best ships are friendships,” Mr. Netherly said in a grand way.
Laura’s lips twitched at that statement, and she was careful not to glance at Abigail.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Netherly,” Tessa said flatly.
“York is so far away.” Patricia was not to be diverted from her grievance. “I think James is being mean.”
“It’s mean to offer you a house to live in?” Laura asked sharply.
“Well, no, but . . .”
“Did you not tell us James also agreed to pay off your husband’s debts?”
“They weren’t much,” Patricia said. When Laura’s eyebrows sailed up, she added hastily, “Anyway, I don’t know why he said we couldn’t live in London.”
Laura’s fierce gaze did not move from Patricia’s face, and her voice was heavy with meaning as she asked, “Don’t you?”
James’s sister had the grace to blush. “Of course, I’m grateful for James’s help.”
“Naturally, dear,” Tessa said with an approving nod.
“James has always been a good boy,” Mirabelle added. “So kind.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Laura murmured.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mirabelle assured her.
Conversation stopped as one of the footmen entered the room with a parcel in his hands. He carried it to Laura, saying, “A package for you, ma’am.”
“Another one?” Patricia exclaimed.
Tessa began to laugh. “Laura! What in the world did my son do? I have never seen such an attempt at atonement.”
The footman set the small wooden-slatted crate on the floor and cut the twine from around it. Laura took off the lid. “Books! Oh, my.” Tears stung her eyes.
“Books!” Patricia repeated in an appalled tone. “James sent you books?”
“Oh, dear.” Tessa turned a dismayed eye on the book in Laura’s hands. “Whatever was he thinking?”
“He was thinking that I love books.” Laura’s throat closed up. She smoothed a hand over the cover.
Even the eternally cheerful Mirabelle frowned in puzzlement, but Laura looked over at Abigail and saw the understanding in her eyes. Abigail smiled. “Why don’t I help you carry them up to your room?”
“Yes, thank you.” Laura smiled at her friend.
The footman insisted on carrying the box upstairs for her, but Laura held the book she had picked up, cradling it to her chest as she and Abigail climbed the stairs to her room.
“I take it James has sent you other presents?” Abigail said.
“Every day, it seems. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Is he trying to atone for something?”
“I’m not sure what he’s doing,” Laura replied a little grimly. “You know what happened at the party.”
“Yes, and Tessa told us James dragged his brother off to London with him. Is he really going to hire someone to kill Claude if either of you is murdered?”
“He seemed rather intent on it. He thought threatening to do so was the best way to deter Claude. I suppose he might be right. And you know James, pragmatism outweighs sentiment.”
“I suspect there’s some sentiment involved, as well, given that you were almost killed,” Abigail pointed out drily.
“Yes, I suppose so. Not,” she added bitterly, “that James would ever admit to feeling anything for me.”
Abigail studied her friend. “A flood of gifts smacks of feeling something for you, I’d say.”
“It indicates his desire to cajole me out of anger.”
“Oh, my, it sounds as if he does need to dig himself out of a hole.”
“He told me he didn’t love me.”
“What?” Abigail turned to her, astonished. “He just offered that up?”
“No.” Laura heaved a sigh. “I was foolish enough to tell him he loved me.”
“Mm. I can see that would be a mistake with James.”
“I should have known better. But it just dawned on me all of a sudden. After that urn almost hit me, he was angry, as if I had done something wrong.”
“A typical male response.”
“Probably typical of anyone. How many times do you see a mother scold a child because he was almost hurt?”
“True. It frightens one so.”
“Exactly. I realized that he was angry because he was scared. So he was running away to London. Unfortunately, I blurted that out.”
“Oooh.”
“You can imagine how well he received that notion.” Laura smiled wryly. “Then, to compound my mistake, I went on to say that he loved me and that his love was what frightened him.”
“It was all true, I imagine.”
“Maybe. But not exactly tactful.”
Abigail chuckled. “I would think James de Vere, of all people, would understand a lack of tact.”
“Receiving it is different from dealing it out.”
The footman had set the box of books on the chest at the end of Laura’s bed. But Abigail was drawn to the smaller boxes piled on the dresser. “Are these his other presents?”
“Most of them.” Laura set down the book on the bed and came over to show Abigail the jewelry inside the boxes.
“Oh! What beautiful drops!” Abigail held up a set of earrings that cascaded small sapphires, moving on to examine an onyx and ivory mourning brooch, a strand of lustrous graduated pearls with matching earrings, a filigreed gold hair ornament.
“Yes, they’re all lovely.” Laura opened an enameled box lined with red velvet and filled with more jewels. “He even sent this jewelry case to hold them, but as you can see, I haven’t nearly enough room for them all. Look at this.”
Laura went into her dressing room and returned wearing a hat, charmingly turned up on one side and lined with deep blue velvet.
“A Gainsborough!” Abigail exclaimed in delight. “It’s beautiful. That color makes your eyes so wonderfully blue.”
“I love it,” Laura admitted, giving in to the temptation to admire her image in the mirror.
“I’d be tempted to forgive him, just for that hat.” Abigail cast her a teasing glance. She went on more seriously. “Surely this shows the depth of his feeling for you.”
“It shows the depth of his coffers,” Laura replied lightly. “The excellence of his taste.”
“I cannot help but think there’s more than that to these gifts. James doesn’t seem the sort to spend hours prowling about jewelry stores.”
Laura laughed. “No. I’m sure not.”
“Look at these; they’re perfectly suited for you. These sapphires, that cameo, all of them indicate a great deal of knowledge of you—your looks, your taste, your nature. Not to mention a sizable amount of time spent choosing them.” Abigail chuckled. “And what must it have taken for Sir James to go into a milliner’s and buy you a hat!”
“I wish I could have seen it,” Laura admitted.
“Some men—some people—have trouble saying how they feel. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel it. Sometimes they can only express their love in what they do. They give you things. Protect you. Provide for you.”
Laura walked over to the bed and reached down to touch the book James had sent her. Tracing the gilt lettering, she said, “I can put the other things down to his liking for beautiful things, to knowing what should be done, to having enough money that it’s no hardship for him to buy them. But this . . .”
“What is it he sent you?”
“A book on Baroque music.” She glanced at Abigail and grinned. “Not the thing to capture most women’s hearts.”
“Or even their attention.”
“But it’s something I would like, and he knew it. This is a thing he spent time and effort to purchase, something he thought about. And it gives me hope.”
“Do you love James?” Abigail asked quietly.
Startled, Laura’s eyes flew to her friend’s. “I—I’m not sure. I thought I would be fine with the sort of marriage I could have with James. I’m practical. Sensible. No longer young and starry-eyed. I wasn’t eager to give my heart to anyone, and James would never ask for it. It seemed a reasonable bargain. I like him; he’s easy to converse with. He has a wicked sense of humor, which I am wicked enough to enjoy. A bit difficult at times, but who is not? And he is, I think, worth the trouble.”
“But?” Abigail prodded.
“I’ve found I want more. I think I have fallen in love with him.” She sighed. “He’s not the only one frightened. I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to love a man who will never love me back. And I’m afraid James never will. He’s wrapped himself so tightly around with protection—hardness, indifference—I don’t know if anything can ever penetrate that.”
Abigail was silent for a moment, then said, “I cannot pretend to know how James feels or what he will do. But I do know hard men. My father was a harsh and callous man, far worse than James ever thought of being. But, despite all that, he was capable of love. He loved me. And from everything I’ve ever heard, he loved my mother.”
“But James doesn’t want to love me. Or anyone. He’s determined not to feel the way his father did, not to act as Sir Laurence did.”
“What a person wants doesn’t matter when it comes to love. Graeme never wanted to love me; sometimes I thought he never would. But . . .” She shrugged. “He couldn’t help himself, any more than I could. Love just reaches out and grabs you.”
Laura smiled faintly. “Unfortunately, James is slippery as an eel.”
The day crept on, just as it had every day since James left. Little appealed to Laura, but one must get through it. Abigail and Mirabelle had enlivened this afternoon with their call, but after they left, things settled into their usual quiet.
Laura and Walter had made little progress in their investigation. Walter had spoken with Robbie again, but his studiedly offhand questions about the boy’s slingshot had yielded little information other than that his father had taken it away from him and put it on a high shelf for a week after Patsy complained.
Her music was some release, but this afternoon Mr. Netherly decided to drop in and listen, as he had on another day or two, so she cut the period short. She would have gone for a walk, but Netherly announced his intention of seeking inspiration in the gardens and suggested she join him, an invitation Laura quickly declined. She felt low enough without having to listen to Netherly prattle.
Dinner was deadly dull, as was the evening spent with the family in the drawing room afterward. Laura couldn’t keep her mind on the conversation. She kept thinking about Abigail’s words this afternoon and wondering if her friend was right. Did James love her and was simply unable to express it, as she had been so sure of the night of the dance? Was he even capable of love?
He was clearly determined to keep a barrier between Laura and himself. His lack of communication the past ten days had been further proof of that. Yes, he had sent her lovely gifts, and the arrival of the books today had shown a personal touch, but still, those were easy enough. What he had not done was write to her—not even a note to reassure her he had reached London safely, much less a letter of apology or explanation. How could she believe he loved her if he would not even pick up a pen to write her?
It was a relief when it grew late enough that she could retire to her room. Owen had taken Demosthenes for his nightly run, so Laura started up the stairs by herself. She had grown so accustomed to the dog’s presence that it felt strange not to have him at her side.
Behind her, she heard the sound of footsteps, and Mr. Netherly said, “Lady de Vere.”
Suppressing an inward groan, Laura turned toward him with a forced smile. “Mr. Netherly?”
“Allow me to escort you upstairs.”
As if she could not find her way on her own—or perhaps he had appointed himself her protector, as Walter had. “No, please, I wouldn’t want to take you away from the others.”
He let out an indulgent little chuckle as he offered her his arm. “You must allow me to play the gentleman.”
She could do nothing but take his arm. “I am sure Lady de Vere will miss your presence.”
“Her ladyship knows my heart is firmly in her hands. She is my muse. My inspiration.”
He continued in this vein as they climbed the stairs. They were almost to the top when the front door slammed open. Laura jumped and dropped Netherly’s arm, whipping back around to see who had so rudely entered the house.
“James!”