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‘What, and leave old Jacob to look after my shop and warehouse all alone? I needed you here, Frederick.’ She glanced up at Adam, and some of the certainty seemed to leave her. ‘Now, if you and Jacob would look after Mr Stratton’s horse, and kindly unload the wagon, I shall take our guest indoors.’
She led the way in through the warehouse. It was stacked high on all sides with rolls of fabric—gaily patterned cottons, creamy muslins, shiny silks in a rainbow of colours, woollen cloth in every shade from black and deepest blue through autumn browns to greens the colour of spring leaves.
‘So Frederick and the old man are the only help you have?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, but they are very loyal, and we manage very well.’
There was something defiant about the way she spoke but Adam did not question it. Silently he followed her between the racks to a door leading into a small corridor with a narrow staircase.
‘Ah,’ he said, following her up the stairs. ‘You live above the shop.’
‘Of course. I grew up here.’ She led him to a bedroom with a washstand and a mirror in one corner. ‘This was my father’s room. I think his shaving box is here somewhere… .’
Adam held up his saddlebag. ‘I have my own razor, ma’am, and a brush and comb, thank you.’
He eased himself out of his coat, his grazed knuckles and a certain stiffness in his shoulders reminding him of yesterday’s confrontation at the river.
‘Good.’ She reached out and took his coat, making sure she did not touch his hand. ‘I will find Maizie and send her up with some water.’
She picked up the jug and Adam watched her hurry away. She was nervous, but that was only to be expected: she was a woman alone, and he was in her house. It occurred to him that she had not been so nervous when they had been alone together under the stars, but now she was acting as if that had never happened. The woman was an enigma, but if she wished to forget their encounter, so be it. He had enough worries of his own. With a sigh he sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for the maid to return with the hot water.
When he had washed and shaved, Adam went downstairs in search of his coat. The shop was empty and he took the opportunity to look around.
A bow window looked out onto the street and allowed the morning sun to flood in, making the polished mahogany counter gleam with the lustrous sheen of a dark ruby. Lengths of ribbon hung in a profusion of colour at one side of the window, while behind the counter rows of drawers lined the walls, topped with shelves where rolls of fabric were neatly stacked. Returning to the rear of the shop he now noticed that a fire was burning merrily in the hearth, for although the spring sun streamed in through the window, its warmth did not extend to this nether region. He sat down on one of the two armchairs placed on either side of the fire and waited for his hostess to return.
He did not have to wait long. The door at the back of the shop burst open and she hurried in, his jacket over her arm. She checked when she saw him, then came forward, shaking out his coat and holding it up for inspection.
‘There. I have brushed it clean as much as I can, and sewn new buttons on for you. I am afraid they are not a perfect match, and the coat looks a little shabby too.
I am sorry for that—if you were staying longer I would have a new one made for you.’
He took the coat and shrugged himself into it.
‘Then perhaps I will stay.’
He noted the look of alarm in her dark eyes before she turned away, busying herself with straightening the candlesticks on the mantelpiece. She said haltingly, ‘About last night … Fred and Jacob will not mention to anyone that we were alone together. I trust I may count on your discretion too?’
‘You have my word upon it.’ He paused, watching her back. She was tense, ill at ease. He wanted to know why, but doubted she would confide in him. He said quietly, ‘You sent breakfast up for me. I thank you for that.’
‘After your kindness yesterday it was the least I could do.’
‘Kindness! Amber, I—’
‘Yes.’ She interrupted him. ‘Your arrival was fortuitous, Mr Stratton, and our time together was a pleasant interlude, but I am sure you wish to get on now.’
‘A pleasant interlude?’ His brows snapped together. ‘Is that all it was to you?’
‘Of course, it would be foolish to think anything else.’ She raised her head and put back her shoulders before turning to face him, saying brightly, ‘You are looking much more the thing now, Mr Stratton. Jacob has saddled your horse, and is waiting in the yard for you.’
She was dismissing him. She stood, eyes downcast, waiting for him to leave. Her manner was cool, an ice maiden compared to the passionate woman he had held in his arms last night. Should he mention that? Did he want to stir up such memories when he would be leaving Castonbury again shortly?
The answer had to be no.
With the slightest of nods he left her, closing the door carefully behind him.
Amber heard the quiet click as he shut the door. Only then did she look up. He had gone. And that was what she wanted, was it not? He had no intention of staying in Castonbury—the fact that he was travelling with only one spare shirt told her as much—so it was best that they end it now, before she lost her reputation.
And her heart.
Amber strained her ears, listening to his footsteps fading into nothing. He would walk out through the warehouse to the yard, leap on his horse and ride away. She ran to the window. After a moment she heard the ring of metal on the cobbles. As he passed the window he drew rein and looked in. Amber jumped back, letting the coloured waterfall of ribbons hide her from view. Was it disappointment she saw on his face? She could not be sure. It was gone in a moment, as he settled his hat more firmly on his head and trotted off.
Chapter Three
Adam rode hard to Castonbury Park, determined to forget Amber Hall. It should be easy—after all, he had known her for less than a day—but the manner of their meeting and the passionate night they had spent together were not so easily dismissed. He knew many men who were only too willing to bed a pretty woman as soon as look at her, but he was not one of them. What had happened with Amber had taken him by surprise and he was intrigued by her, wanting to understand just why he was so drawn to her. Unfortunately it appeared he held no such attraction for the lady, since she had been so eager to send him away. Adam’s hand tugged angrily at the reins and Bosun threw up his head, sidling nervously. Immediately he released his grip.
‘Easy, old boy,’ he murmured, running his free hand along the horse’s glossy neck. ‘I’m a fool. She wounded my pride, nothing more. I’ll be giving Amber Hall a wide berth in future.’ He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. ‘Come up, now. We’ve more important matters to deal with!’
The great house looked very much as he remembered it, the sweeping drive and soaring pillars of the portico imposing, designed to impress the most august visitor.
But Adam was not here to visit the family. He turned away from the main entrance and made his way round to the stables. He gave his horse into the care of a waiting groom, tossed him a silver coin for his trouble and strode back to the house, entering by a side door that led through a maze of small passages to the servants’ quarters. The corridors were deserted and Adam arrived at the door to the housekeeper’s sitting room without meeting anyone. He lifted his hand, hesitated and lowered it again. Then, squaring his shoulders, he raised his hand and knocked softly.
There was no reply. Trying the handle, the door opened easily and Adam stepped inside. Suddenly he was ten years old again, coming to find his mama. There were the cushions and footstool that made the armchair by the fire such a comfort, the large dining table where his mother would entertain the upper servants occasionally, the long table under the window where she would sit when mending or doing the accounts. Even the clock ticking away on the mantelpiece was the same one his mother had used to teach him the time.
The kettle was singing on the fire, a sure sign that his mother would be returning soon. Suddenly his neck cloth was a little too tight and he ran a finger around his collar. What if she was still angry with him? What if she turned him out? Their last meeting was still clear in his mind.
He had been full of hope for the future, but he had not anticipated the shock and anxiety in her face when he told her he had quit the navy.
‘I want only what is best for you, my son.’
Her concern flayed his spirit and he turned on her.
‘If that was true you would have provided me with a father!’ He might as well have struck her, but the angry words kept coming. ‘Tell me the truth for once. Was there ever a Mr Stratton?’
‘No.’ Her lip had trembled as she confessed.
Thinking back, Adam wished he had cut out his tongue rather than continue, but then, with the red mist in his brain, he had ploughed on.
‘So who is my father? Who am I?’
The shock and pain in her eyes still sliced into him like a knife.
‘I cannot tell you. I gave a solemn vow on the Bible that I would never say.’
Even now the memory of her anguished whisper was etched in his memory. At the time he had been determined that it should not touch him, but it had. It had splintered his heart.
He heard the familiar firm step in the corridor, the jingle of keys. The door opened and Hannah Stratton entered the room.
Adam stood very still, gazing at his mother. She looked only a little older than when he had last seen her, a little more silver amongst the dark blond hair, so like his own, and a few more lines around the blue eyes that were now fixed on him. At first they widened, registering surprise. He held his breath. She might reject him. What right had he to expect anything more, after a decade of silence?
Only the soft ticking of the clock told him that time was passing as he waited in an agony of apprehension for her response. Eventually, after a lifetime, she raised her hands and clasped them against her breast.
‘Adam.’
It was uttered so softly that he thought perhaps he had imagined it. He ran his tongue over his dry lips.
‘Yes, it is I, Mother.’ His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears. ‘If you will own me after all this time.’
Tears darkened her eyes to the colour of a summer sea. She gave a tremulous smile.
‘Adam, oh, Adam, my boy!’ She opened her arms to him. In two strides he crossed the room and hugged her, relief flooding his soul.
‘Oh, let me look at you!’ Between tears and laughter she held him away. ‘My, how you have grown!’
His laughing response was a little unsteady.
‘Devil a bit, madam, I was two-and-twenty when I last saw you. I haven’t grown any taller since then.’
‘No, but you have grown out,’ she told him, her hands squeezing the muscle beneath the sleeves of his coat. ‘But ten years, Adam, Ten years! And never a word.’
‘I know, Mother. It was so very wrong of me. Can you ever forgive me?’
She shook her head.
‘No, nor myself. Those lost years can never be regained. But we both spoke hard words, and I regretted mine almost as soon as they were uttered.’
‘Yours were no more than the truth, Mother. I have so much more to regret. I was such a damned proud fool that I could not turn back.’
‘If only you had written to me, told me where you were. That has been the hardest part, not knowing.’
‘And I can only beg your pardon for that—it was thoughtless of me and I regret it now, most bitterly. I was determined to prove myself, to show you what a success I had made of my life before we met again. What an arrogant fool I was.’
Hannah reached up to push back a lock of hair from his brow.
‘There is a trace of red in that blond thatch of yours, Adam. It is in mine too. When the temper is up we are both too hot to be reasonable.’
‘When I told you I had quit the navy you were so … upset. I felt I had let you down.’
‘No, no.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘I was … shocked. The navy was your life, and had been since you were twelve years old. And you were doing so well. A captain at twenty—’
‘I know, ma’am, but my advancement was due to the death of other, better officers. Comrades, friends—all perished. After Trafalgar I had had enough of war, of death. I wanted to be building something, not destroying it.’
‘And is that what you have been doing?’
She sat down, beckoning to him to pull up a chair beside her.
‘Of course, and very successfully.’ He saw her eyes stray to his coat. ‘Ah, I do not look like a successful gentleman, is that it? I’m afraid I ran into a spot of trouble on the way here. Nothing serious,’ he added quickly, seeing her anxious look. ‘Trust me, Mother, I have coats more fitting to a man of means, which I am now.’
‘Then I am sorry that I doubted you.’
‘No, no, your doubts were perfectly justified. It was wrong of me to storm off in a rage.’
‘You were a young man, fresh from the triumph of Trafalgar and full of plans for the future. Of course you were impatient of an old woman’s caution.’ She hesitated. ‘And never knowing your father—’
He flinched away, as if the words burned him.
‘Let us not go there, Mother. The circumstances of my birth were not important to the navy, and they mean nothing at all to me now.’
‘Truly?’
He saw the shadow of doubt in her eyes and was determined to reassure her. He had inflicted enough pain already and had no wish to reopen the old wounds. So he smiled, saying earnestly, ‘Truly. The people I deal with are only interested in how much cotton I can produce for them.’
‘Adam, I—’
‘No.’ He put his fingers to her lips. ‘Let us say no more of it. We have not discussed it these thirty years, it is an irrelevance. Instead let me apologise to you again for my long silence. I was headstrong, angry that you doubted me and I wanted to prove I could make something of my life. At first I did not write to you because I was not sure I would succeed. Then, it seemed I had left it too long, I did not know how to explain… .’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘So I thought I should come in person to tell you how successful I have become. And I am successful, Mother, more so than I ever dared to imagine.’ He glanced down at his coat and gave a rueful laugh. ‘More than this shabby garb suggests.’ He leaned forward and took her hands. ‘And now I want you to share in my success. I want you to come back to Rossendale with me. I have bought a property there, a small gentleman’s residence, quite snug and comfortable.’ He read the hesitation in her face and stopped. ‘That is, if you can ever forgive me for running away from you like a petulant child.’
‘You were hurt that I doubted you,’ she said, smiling.
‘Your doubts were well founded. How was either of us to know that manufacturing would suit me so well? I was full of arrogant confidence, but it could all have gone so wrong.’
‘And instead it has gone right?’
‘It has, Mother, it has! And that is why I am here now.’ He grinned, pushing out his chest. ‘I said I would return, Mother, once I had a house worthy of you.’
‘Foolish boy, you know I never asked that of you.’
‘No, but I demanded it on your behalf. Look around you. Your quarters here are far superior to many a gentleman’s house. It has taken me ten years, Mother. I have worked hard and made shrewd investments, and I have a house now that I think you will like. And I have bought land, too, where I plan to build my own house one day, something bigger, suitable for a wife and children—’
‘And do you have anyone in mind?’
Amber’s dark beauty flashed into his mind but he banished it instantly. She was not the yielding, compliant partner he envisaged sharing his life with him. He wanted a wife who knew nothing of the rumours surrounding his birth.
‘No one yet, but there is time for that. For now I want you to keep me company. Tell me you will come, Mother.’
She put her hands to her cheeks.
‘My dear, you must understand—this is all so unexpected. You return after so many years, I must have time to think.’
‘I know it is very sudden, but surely there is nothing to consider. I want you to come and live with me, to spend your days in comfort and ease. You will be your own mistress. Is that not what you want?’
‘Oh, my love, of course, but … I cannot come with you immediately. His Grace is very sick, and Lord Giles is to be married this summer—the family is all at sixes and sevens! There are so many arrangements to make… .’
‘Can the family not make their own arrangements?’ Adam replied impatiently. ‘Surely they have servants enough to deal with a dozen weddings!’
‘Of course they do, but—’ she lifted her hand, indicating the room and saying gently ‘—this has been my home, Adam, for thirty years. I cannot, will not, pack a bag and walk out and leave the family.’
‘I understand that, Mother, but surely, a few days, a week at the most to arrange everything—’
‘Oh, Adam, if only I could.’
