скачать книгу бесплатно
She must have sensed his withdrawal, for before he could utter some blighting set-down, she said, ‘Now I must beg your pardon again! I didn’t mean to pry. I should confess at the outset that, never having resided in England, I have trouble remembering the rules governing polite society. I’ve spent my life in the compounds of India or in the army, where everyone knows everyone else’s business. I’m afraid I’m deplorably plain speaking and have no sensibility at all, so if I say something you find intrusive or inappropriate, just slap me back into place, like Papa’s sergeant-major always did when I was too inquisitive.’
Having just been given permission to ignore her question, he felt unaccountably more inclined to answer. Unlike his former hunting buddies and the society maidens who had spent the war safely in England, she’d evidently lived through it with the army. She understand hardship, danger—and loss.
‘My cousin Will found me on the field after the battle, had me removed to a private house and cared for, then stayed with me until I was able to be transported back to London, about a week ago. He urged me to accompany him to our cousin Alastair’s home, so our aunt could tend me. But she would have cosseted me within an inch of my life, and I...I didn’t think I could bear that.’
She nodded. ‘Sometimes one must face the bleakest prospects in life alone.’
The truth of her words, uttered with the poignancy of experience, resonated within him. The death of her father and returning to an England she didn’t know were certainly bleak enough.
‘But here I am, taking up your time while you’re probably wishing me at Jericho! Let me state my business and leave you in peace. I’m Theodora Branwell, by the way,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘My father was Colonel Richard Branwell, of the Thirty-Third Foot.’
She offered the hand vertically, for shaking, rather than palm down, for a kiss. Amused, he grasped her fingers for a brisk shake—and felt an unexpected tingle dance up his arm.
Startled for an instant, he dismissed the odd effect. ‘Dominic Ransleigh,’ he replied. ‘Though I suppose you already knew that.’
‘Yes. I recently leased Thornfield Place, specifically because it abuts your property. Or rather, one particular part of your property.’
Suddenly the connection registered. ‘Theodora—Theo!’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’d been told to expect a call. Except the folk hereabouts seem to think you’re a man.’
A mischievous look sparkled in her eyes. ‘Though I didn’t deliberately try to create that impression, I might not have used my full name when I contacted the local solicitor. So, you’ve been told that I’d like to lease the stone building in your south pasture and convert it into a home and school for orphans?’
‘I have. I must warn you, though, the neighbourhood isn’t happy about the idea. To quote the head of the Improvement Society of Whitfield Parish, whom I had the misfortune of receiving yesterday, such children, growing up around “vulgarity, drunkenness, and the company of loose women” must have been “corrupted at birth” and could only be an affront to decent people and a deleterious influence upon the county’s poor.’
Miss Branwell’s eyes widened at that recitation. ‘No wonder you didn’t wish to receive anyone today.’
While Dom swallowed the laugh surprised out of him by that remark, she turned an earnest look on him. ‘Surely you don’t share that ridiculous opinion! You’re a soldier, Mr Ransleigh! True, the conditions in the army were...rougher than those the children might have encountered in England. I would argue, though, that the hardships they’ve survived make them stronger and more resilient, rather than less suited for society.’
Like she was? he wondered. Stronger, perhaps. Suited for polite society—that might be another matter.
‘Besides, what they become will be determined, not by the circumstances of their birth, but by how they are treated now,’ she went on. ‘The best way to avoid having them fall into vice is to make them literate and give them training in a proper trade. Do you not agree that is the least we can do for the orphans of the men whose valour and sacrifice freed Europe from Napoleon’s menace?’
Though her words were stirring, Dom found himself more arrested by the lady delivering them. How could he have thought her a little brown wren?
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, her enticing bosom rising and falling with every breath, her low, throaty voice vibrant with conviction.... As his skin prickled with awareness and his body tightened in arousal, he felt himself almost physically drawn to her.
Surely a woman so passionate in her defence of the orphans would bring that passion to every activity.
To her bed.
‘What happened to Christian charity, to compassion for the innocent, to leaving judgements to God?’ she was demanding.
Her reference to the Almighty a rebuke to his lust, he told himself to concentrate on the subject, rather than the allure of the lady. ‘Abandoned for preconceived notions, probably,’ he replied.
That brought her flight of oratory to a halt. Sighing, she said, ‘You’re probably right. But...you don’t share such notions, surely?’
She gestured towards him as she spoke. He had to force himself to keep from taking her hand, now near his own. Tasting her lips, still parted in enquiry. So nearly tangible was the pull between them, surely she must feel it, too?
For a moment, she did nothing, simply standing with her hand outstretched. Just as he was concluding that his previously reliable instincts must have gone completely array, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Some connection pulsed between them, wordless, but eloquent as a sonnet.
Hastily, she retracted her hand and stepped back. ‘I shouldn’t harangue you—though I did warn you I’m deplorably outspoken! If allowing me to use your building would put you at odds with the neighbourhood, perhaps I should come up with another plan.’
Dom thought of yesterday’s call by Lady Wentworth. How many other mothers of marriageable daughters lived within visiting distance of Bildenstone Hall? Finding himself at odds with his neighbours might not be a bad thing.
‘What would you do if I refuse permission?’ he asked, curious.
She shrugged. ‘Break the lease on Thornfield and make enquiries about settling elsewhere.’
‘Wouldn’t that be a great deal of trouble? To say nothing of the disruption to the children.’
‘Having known nothing but following the drum, they’re used to disruption and trouble.’
Despite his automatic inclination to do the opposite of whatever the officious Lady Wentworth had urged, with his desire to be left in solitude, he had been leaning towards refusing, should the then-unknown Theo Branwell approach him about renting his property.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Apparently sensing his ambivalence, Miss Branwell’s face brightened with new hope. ‘Would you consider it? I promise we shall not intrude on your peace! You needn’t make a final decision now; let us stay on a provisional basis. If you find the school a disturbance, you can send us all packing!’
That sounded reasonable enough—and might have the added benefit of keeping the Lady Wentworths of the area at bay. ‘Very well, I agree.’
‘Splendid!’
The delight in her smile warmed him, and he couldn’t help smiling back.
Though she’d claimed she would not cut up his peace, with that...something simmering between them, Dom wasn’t so sure. With a little shock, he realised that for the first time since the urge for solitude had consumed him, the possibility of company didn’t displease him.
‘Do I have your permission to inspect the building at once, while the solicitors discuss terms?’ she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
‘Certainly.’
‘Thank you. I need to determine what materials and supplies might be necessary to make it suitable. I shall cover all the costs of renovation, of course.’
‘The building hasn’t been inhabited for years,’ Dom felt it necessary to warn her. ‘My father constructed a second floor, intending to convert it into a weaving factory, but the rest of the work was never completed. Getting it into shape may be quite costly.’
‘My father left me well provided for.’
Suddenly it occurred to him how odd it was for a girl of her age and situation to undertake such a project. ‘It’s one thing for a Mr Theo Branwell—doubtless an idealistic cleric of some sort—to open an orphanage. Why are you doing this?’ he asked. ‘If I have relations to cosset me, surely you have family in England to take you in—or find you a proper husband. Maybe a prospective fiancé waiting in the wings?’
He wasn’t sure what imp had induced him to add that last, but at the stricken look on her face, he instantly regretted it.
‘He fell at Fuentes de Oñoro,’ she said quietly. ‘For many months afterward, I wish I’d died, too. But the orphans needed someone. Now, with Papa gone, so do I. I’ve sufficient funds for the endeavour, and some of the children have already been with me for years. We’re good for each other.’
So that explained why such a vibrant girl wasn’t already riveted, mothering a quiverful of her own children. The odd notion struck him that though he missed Elizabeth, he’d never felt he would perish without her. Shaking off the thought, he returned to the topic at hand.
‘I should probably go with you to inspect the building.’
‘You needn’t! I’ve just promised we wouldn’t be any bother. Your estate agent can accompany me.’
Again, she’d offered him a graceful way to disengage—and again, he was curiously disinclined to take it.
‘Not having seen the building in years, I’ve no idea what would be a suitable rent,’ he countered.
‘I have seen it—at least from the outside—and had a figure in mind,’ she said, naming one that sounded quite generous to him.
‘You are certainly...well organised,’ he observed, substituting a more flattering adjective for the one that had initially come to mind.
‘Managing, you mean,’ she acknowledged with a smile. ‘You’re quite right. You see, I’ve overseen my father’s household since I was the merest child. Then, on the Peninsula—well, you were there, you know how it is. Having to anticipate movements, preparing for every contingency! Water, or none. Provisions, or none. Shelter, or none. Having your gear and supplies ready to move at a moment’s notice, should battle threaten or the army’s plans change. Which,’ she added with a chuckle, ‘they always did. Which regiment were you in, by the way?’
Before he could answer, she waved her hand in a silencing gesture. ‘There I go, prying again, after just assuring you I would not. Please excuse me.’
‘It’s not prying to ask about the experiences of a fellow campaigner,’ he replied, surprised to discover he meant it. ‘I was with the Sixteenth Light Dragoons.’
‘Did you charge with the Union Brigade against D’Erlon’s Corps at Waterloo? A magnificent effort, I was told.’
Dom shrugged, having never sorted out his feelings about the event that had so drastically altered his life. ‘When the trumpet sounds, one goes.’
‘Duty, in spite of fear or likelihood of success, Papa always said,’ she murmured, grief veiling her face again.
‘Duty,’ he agreed, struggling himself with a familiar mixture of pride, sadness and bitter regret for what he had lost that day.
After a silent moment, both of them doubtless recalling what duty had cost them, Dom shook himself free of the memories. ‘When do you want to inspect the property?’
‘Now, if possible.’
‘I appreciate that you don’t mind the damp, but the weather is rather inclement. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait until tomorrow?’
‘Oh, no! I’m impatient to begin. Besides, the worst of the rain is over now. But truly, you needn’t bother yourself to accompany me.’
‘It won’t be a bother. If I’m to reside here, I must know what’s going on with the property. Did you come on horseback?’
‘Yes, but as I recall, the building isn’t too far from the manor. We could walk.’
Was she recalling his admission that he no longer possessed a horse he could ride? he wondered. ‘If you’ll wait until I get my coat, I’ll escort you. By the way, in spite of what you saw me wearing yesterday, I do own a coat respectable enough that you needn’t fear being seen with me.’
To his puzzlement, she gave a peal of laughter, quickly stifled.
‘What?’
She shook with silent mirth, her eyes merry. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Come, you must tell me. Have pity on a man whose face now frightens children.’
That sobered her. ‘You can’t be serious! Don’t you ever look in a glass? You must know you are quite handsome.’
It being obvious by now that Miss Branwell was incapable of toadying or flattery, he knew she spoke the truth as she saw it. His spirits, consigned to the lowest of dungeons after yesterday’s ignominious ride, climbed several storeys at this verbal confirmation that the unusual girl who attracted him so strongly found him attractive, too.
As he gazed at her, their physical connection, simmering just below the level of consciousness, intensified again. Struggling to resist its pull, he said, ‘Now, tell me what was so amusing.’
She remained silent for a long moment, her eyes locked on his. Then gasped and shook her head, as if breaking a spell.
That, he could understand. He felt a bit enchanted himself.
‘What was amusing,’ she repeated, as if trying to recover her place in the conversation. ‘Well, you see, reflecting upon your appearance after parting from you yesterday, I concluded you must be a poor, unemployed ex-soldier. I’d decided to make up for my rudeness by hiring you to perform some tasks at Thornfield Place.’ Another chuckle escaped. ‘How ridiculous! Thinking I was doing a favour, offering odd jobs to a man who owns half the county!’
‘Not so ridiculous, given how disreputable I looked,’ he said, amused, but also touched by the compassion she’d felt for a chance-met stranger—and a surly one at that.
No wonder she had a heart for homeless orphans.
‘You’ll wait while I get my coat?’
‘I really shouldn’t task you with this...but if you are truly sure it wouldn’t be an imposition, and I’m not keeping you from other matters?’
‘It won’t be, and you aren’t.’ He refrained from mentioning he had nothing on his calendar—now or any subsequent day. ‘I consider it an opportunity to become better acquainted with my new neighbour.’
Which, though perfectly true, he thought as he left the room, was certainly singular, given his original intention not to mingle with any of them.
Chapter Four (#ulink_657c6c1a-edbc-52fe-98dd-08c65c6f9f02)
Reviewing their conversation as he climbed the stairs, Dom marvelled at himself. Was the solitude he’d sought wearing on him already, that he felt such a lift at the prospect of inspecting some musty old building?
But thinking about London, or Leicestershire, or even Elizabeth, still brought an automatic shudder of distaste. Perhaps what he really sought was not so much solitude, but a world completely different from the society he’d once enjoyed and the company of those who’d known him there.
Miss Theodora Branwell was certainly different. Though his little brown wren had been more attractive today in a green gown that accentuated her graceful figure, made her skin glow and emphasised her lovely dark eyes, were the stunningly beautiful Lady Elizabeth to have entered the room, most men wouldn’t have given Miss Branwell another glance.
Compared to Elizabeth, who’d been trained since her youth in the art of conversation designed to make her companion feel himself the most fascinating man in the room, Miss Branwell, with her frankness and total lack of subtlety, would be considered unpleasantly plain-spoken and offensively inquisitive.
And yet, though he’d always appreciated Elizabeth’s beauty and avidly anticipated the pleasures of the wedding bed, he didn’t remember ever having the sort of immediate, visceral reaction he’d felt for Miss Branwell. Perhaps that response was intensified, coming as it did after Miss Wentworth’s distaste and representing as it did the first time since his injuries that he’d felt a sense of his own masculine appeal. The first evidence as well that a woman who attracted him could find him desirable for who and what he was now, rather than as the damaged remains of the man he used to be.
But enough analysing. Like today’s rain, Miss Branwell had blown a freshness into his life, lifting his spirits and imbuing him, for this moment, with a sense of lightness and anticipation he hadn’t felt in months. He’d accept it as a gift from Heaven.
Recalling that the walk to the stone building was rather far, he took a swig of the laudanum-laced brandy at his bedside. He didn’t want to end up so cross-eyed with pain by the time they arrived that he was incapable of accurately assessing the building. Or appreciating the company of the lady he was escorting.
Miss Branwell awaited him in the entry as he descended the stairs. ‘I took the liberty of asking your butler if there was a pony trap we might use. He’s having one sent up.’
‘Afraid I might collapse on you?’ he tossed back. And regretted the hasty words, as his mind jumped to other ways he might cover her that had his body immediately hardening in approval.
‘...nursed enough soldiers to know,’ she was saying by the time he got his thoughts back under control. ‘You have the look of a soldier still recovering from his injuries. Did you suffer a lingering fever?’
‘For months,’ he confirmed, no longer surprised at how easy he found it to speak frankly to her. ‘I wasn’t well enough to leave Belgium until quite recently.’
She gave him a quick inspection that his body hoped was more than an assessment of his level of recovery. ‘You’re still rather thin. In my judgement, you should have more careful tending—but that’s for you to decide, so I shall not mention it again. However—’ She stopped herself with a sigh. ‘No, excuse me, I shall say nothing.’
Dom shook his head with a chuckle as they walked out to the vehicle a groom had pulled up outside the entry. ‘You shall have to tell me, you know.’
She looked back at him, smiling faintly as she shook her head. Remembering her rebuke of the previous day, he offered her a steadying hand as she climbed into the vehicle, savouring more than he should the touch of her gloved fingers.
She didn’t turn to see if he had trouble climbing up himself. And though, army veteran that she was, she probably could drive the trap better than he, she made space for him on the bench seat and waited for him to take the reins with nary a solicitous look nor a concerned enquiry about whether he felt well enough to handle them. That, after just pronouncing her nurse’s opinion that he was not fully recovered.
A tiny glow of satisfaction lit within the gloomy depths of his battered self-esteem. She assumed he was adjusting to his handicap, continuing with his life. Expected he would eventually master it.
