Chapter Eight #2
And he was so gorgeous it was difficult to imagine that any woman could possibly refuse him.
Owen was gorgeous too.
“Some of the events of the fete at the end of next week will happen in here,” he said, indicating the courtyard with a sweep of his arm.
“The baking and needlework contests almost certainly. Possibly the fortune-teller’s booth.
Other events will happen outside on the terrace or out in the poplar alley.
You may have seen it from your room in the east wing.
It is where the archery contest is always set up, though there is never any competition over first place.
Matthew Taylor always wins that. Everyone else competes for the honor of coming second or third behind him. ”
“Your mother’s husband?” she said.
“I have no idea how he does it,” he said. “He almost never misses the very center of the target. And he shoots his arrows in such quick succession that one can hardly see his arm move from the bow to the quiver over his shoulder and back again.”
“I will enjoy seeing that,” she said.
“All the other events take place in the village,” he said.
“There will be booths set up around the perimeter of the green, and children’s races and maypole dancing on the green.
Among other things. And the culminating event, a grand ball, will be here in the evening.
My mother used to organize the whole thing when we were growing up, and everything happened here.
Those duties have now been taken over by a committee, which often boasts and sometimes complains of all the work involved. ”
“You must have had an idyllic childhood,” she said. “Owen has told me a bit about his. According to Lady Stephanie he spent much of his time tormenting her, the only sibling who was younger than he.”
“He rarely succeeded,” the colonel said, grinning again. “Steph always gave as good as she got. If she felt a large spider crawling over her face while she was asleep in her bed, it was soon in Owen’s bed and waking him with a roar of fright.”
“He has admitted that he never got the better of her,” she said, laughing.
“Has he told you about our eldest brother?” he asked her. “Ben?”
“He has mentioned him,” she said. “He was your father’s son from a connection before his marriage, but he lived here with you through most of his growing years, after his mother died.”
“A by-blow,” he said. “It meant he could not inherit when my father died even though he was older than Devlin. But he was and is a much-loved member of our family. He lives with his wife and children on the coast not far from here, overlooking the sea. They will be coming next week for the fete.”
“I was almost certainly a by-blow myself,” she said. “As was almost every other child at the orphanage. We did not have the security of a loving family. Or even an identifiable family at all in most cases.”
She frowned. She had not meant to sound defensive or self-pitying.
“I have had security in abundance since I was nine, however,” she said.
“Though I must admit to having felt some envy while I was looking at your family portraits earlier. It must be wonderful to know your family history reaching back centuries and generations and to see the family likeness in some of the portraits, even the ones from two or three hundred years ago.”
“I suppose it is,” he said. “I have taken it very much for granted, that feeling of having family roots that run deep. I am sorry you do not know the feeling.”
“I have all the love and security I could possibly want,” she said. “I could not ask for better parents or brothers and sisters.”
She hesitated.
“I will have to plant my own roots,” she said. “Assuming I marry and have children, that is. It is by no means assured. I have refused the only proposal of marriage I may ever receive. But I am quite happy as I am.”
He sat back in his seat, a slight smile on his lips while his eyes roamed over her face.
But oh, it was not true. There was an endless ache of emptiness where her past and her real family ought to be.
And constant denial. And guilt that she should show such ingratitude to the fates, which had cared for her far more tenderly than she could possibly have deserved.
First Aunt Anna had left Bath and married the Duke of Netherby.
Then Mama—known to her as Miss Westcott at the time—had announced she was leaving to marry the art teacher.
Winifred had almost not dared to attach her affections to anyone.
Nothing lasted. No one belonged to her. Yet the more she tried to be good and pious so she would have friends and people who loved her, the more she seemed to repel them.
She could understand it now, but at the time she could not.
“I am sorry,” he said softly.
“For what?” she asked sharply. “For being happy as I am? Not all women crave marriage above all else, you know.”
“That was not my meaning,” he said. “But I would not wish to intrude more deeply into your pain. My guess is that you keep it strictly to yourself, and we all need secrets.”
She gazed at him, dismayed. And could not prevent herself from lashing back.
“And do you harbor secrets, Colonel Ware?” she asked.
“Very much so,” he said, surprising her. “One always hopes they will go away if one presses them deep enough.”
She stared at him. Regrets over some of the atrocities of war, perhaps? She would not ask. His next words seemed to confirm her suspicions, though.
“You believe I must have had an idyllic life here,” he said. “You are right about that. Until I was eighteen, that is.”
He had left home to take up his commission at that age.
She waited, wide-eyed, for him to continue, but he did not do so. Sarah had come dashing into the courtyard from the north wing, flushed and disheveled, several steps ahead of Owen.
“Winnie,” she cried as she came. “You ought to have come too. We went riding, even though I am not suitably dressed. Owen said it did not matter. He put a sidesaddle on one of the horses—the sweetest mare I have ever seen. I did not feel at all unsafe on her back. Of course, Owen did hold on to a leading string so I need not fear having the horse gallop away with me. We rode partway along the carriage path to the lake, and the children spotted us from the hill and came dashing down to watch. They were ever so envious.”
“I fear I might be spending much of my time here for the next week or so giving riding lessons and leading rides,” Owen said, though it did not sound as if fear was the appropriate word.
He was smiling indulgently at Sarah, who was looking her age now that she was not concentrating upon being a grown-up lady.
And so any hope she had of spending time alone with Owen took another hit, Winifred thought. He was going to be busy entertaining the children. And serve her right again for wanting him all to herself.
—
There were times over the following week when Nicholas fervently wished Devlin and Gwyneth had not invited Joel Cunningham and his family to come at this particular time.
Or that he himself had not suggested these two weeks for the visit of the Havilands.
It could have waited until later in the summer, though everything at Ravenswood did tend to revolve around the summer fete.
He could not stop himself from making comparisons.
There was no comparison between the two relationships. Owen’s with Winnifred Cunningham was a close friendship, perhaps a romance too, perhaps not. His with Grace Haviland was more of a formal courtship, with the prescribed end more or less written in stone.
He made the comparisons anyway.
Owen and Miss Cunningham were having a marvelous time of it, playing vigorous, noisy games with the children.
Stephanie was usually with them too. The children, like those everywhere, never seemed to run out of energy.
Neither did the adults who chose to play with them.
Mrs. Cunningham often joined in, as did her husband when he was not working. Gwyneth and Devlin as well.
But not Grace. Nicholas was strolling on the terrace with her and her mother one afternoon when the older children were involved in a vigorous game of ball with Owen and Winifred.
Stephanie had drawn Awen and Susan and Emma and Samuel apart to one side of the lawn to play a game that involved holding hands and chanting while they moved around in a circle until, at the end, they all fell down with a collective shriek.
Owen called for Nicholas to come and join his team, which seemed to consist of a minority of one as everyone else was firing the ball at him.
Stephanie invited Grace to join the circle game.
Nicholas grinned. “Rescue is at hand, Owen,” he called, and stepped onto the grass. “Brothers united.” He turned to smile at Grace.
But she had not moved. “Not today, Lady Stephanie,” she said. “I am wearing the wrong dress, and my shoes are unsuitable.”
“We will go inside away from all the noise,” Mrs. Haviland said quietly, probably intending to be heard only by her daughter. But Nicholas heard too.
He hesitated for a moment but then stripped off his coat and strode onto the battleground to cheers from some of the children even though he was about to be their adversary. He proceeded to have a grand time.
On another day most of the children dashed off into the wooded area that bordered the river west of the meadow for a game of hide-and-seek. Owen and Winifred and Stephanie went with them. Gwyneth and Mrs. Cunningham would have gone too, but they were expecting Lady Rhys.
“Come too, Nick and Miss Haviland?” Owen called.
“Delighted,” Nicholas said. “Grace?”
“It would be impolite of me not to be here for Lady Rhys’s visit,” she said.
So Nicholas went without her.