Chapter Twenty-One #2
She covered her hand with his, sending searing heat all the way through his body.
“Do not worry,” she said in a loud whisper.
“I fancy he will worry less if you do not hold his hand in full public view,” Jonah drawled.
Esme scowled at her brother. “Must you always spoil everything?”
“Is that how you would describe it?” Jonah clasped a hand to his chest, feigning heartbreak before reaching for his goblet of wine. “One day soon my siblings will learn to recognize all that I do for them,” he said confidingly to Adam, draining the cup.
“Ignore Jonah. He has already drunk his fill of wine.” Esme looked with concern at Adam’s empty trencher. “Are you not eating?”
Adam had thought he might be too nervous to eat, but the feast was too enticing to ignore. At Esme’s urging, he helped himself to a cut of roasted boar, adding glazed carrots and an onion tart. Jonah generously filled his goblet with rich red wine, and Adam drank deeply.
He was beginning to relax when Morwenna turned to address Mirrie, and Adam’s gaze landed on the empty chair beside her.
“Where is your father?” he asked Esme, keeping his voice low.
Esme pulled a face. “Mother said he would be coming soon.” She shrugged. “I cannot think what’s keeping him.”
The sumptuous food turned to dust in his mouth.
Is the earl staying away because of me?
Adam took another drink of wine, ordering himself to be stay calm. He had been met with naught but kindness from all the other members of Esme’s family. Would her father be so different?
He did not see Alfred ascending the steps to the family’s table. When Tristan’s manservant spoke in his ear, Adam nearly fell from the dais in shock.
“Lord Angus would like to speak with you, in his solar.”
He gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady his breathing. Esme’s wide eyes swung to his; she looked as shocked as he was.
“What does this mean?” he whispered, uncaring that both Jonah and Alfred would hear him.
“I do not know,” she mouthed back. “But you had better not keep him waiting.”
Adam felt as if he had been doused in cold water, but there was nothing for it but to stand up and follow Alfred back through the great hall.
He told himself he was imagining the hundreds of eyes watching his progress across the stone flags, and the fact that the musicians had begun to play something that sounded suspiciously dirge-like.
Alfred’s back was straight, and his stride was long.
Adam emulated his calmness as best he could; finding himself back in the marbled entrance hall before he had properly processed what was happening.
Alfred motioned him toward a forbidding door hewn from oak and positioned in the far corner of the spacious hallway.
“The earl’s solar,” he intoned, solemnly.
He bowed and swept away, leaving Adam to meet his fate alone.
He knocked with all the confidence he could summon, wincing when sound ricocheted off the frescoed walls.
“Come,” called a deeply masculine voice.
Adam walked into a square-shaped room which was lined with books and furnished with a large writing desk that took up most of the wall near the window.
On the opposite wall, a fire burned in the hearth, beside two tapestried chairs positioned, seemingly, for comfort.
The scent of lavender wafted up from the rushes on the floor, helping to relax his nerves.
The Earl of Wolvesley sat at his desk, his head down. Adam’s first impression was of a great lion, so golden was his hair, and so mighty was his presence. Then he glanced up, and Adam found himself ensnared in the all-seeing gaze of a man who might be Tristan’s double.
Were Tristan some twenty summers older.
Adam bowed as low as he could. “You asked to see me, milord.” He spoke carefully, anxious to betray none of his disquiet.
How much does this man know about my relationship with his daughter?
Angus sat back in his leather-bound chair, linking his long fingers beneath his chin.
“Adam Hawker, I believe?”
“Yes, milord.”
“The man who saved my daughter’s honor. If my son’s account is true, perchance even her life.”
Adam began to grow hot beneath Tristan’s fine tunic. At least he was appropriately attired for a meeting with an earl.
Although there was good chance that the earl recognized his own son’s clothing.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation in hand. “I would not make that claim, milord.”
The earl gave him an appraising look. “I heard tell of a blaze, which might have swallowed up the whole house.”
“It did not properly take hold.”
Adam could not bear false praise to be heaped upon him.
“I see.” The earl looked down at an open roll of parchment on his desk. “One of my own knights attacked my own daughter.” He shook his head sadly, drawing Adam’s eye to glints of silver amongst the gold. “’Tis enough to make you distrust any man.”
Adam’s throat had grown so dry, he could hardly form a reply. “I’m sure it is, milord.”
The earl made a noncommittal sound, and Adam thought for a moment that he might gesture him toward a chair.
But he did not.
Instead, he sighed deeply and resumed his perusal of the parchment.
Beads of perspiration sprang out on Adam’s forehead. He did not have much experience with peers of the realm, but knew enough to realize he must stand here without question, for as long as the earl desired.
“Shall I tell what else I have heard, Adam Hawker? Another tale of your exploits, one might say.”
Blood pounded in Adam’s ears.
The earl must know what has passed between Esme and I.
But amidst the rising tide of his anxiety, he heard Mirrie’s soft voice.
“Try to look beyond the trappings of wealth to see the de Nevilles as they really are.”
Adam refocused his gaze, seeing the man in front of him not as a wealthy earl, but a loving father.
The question asked of him was rhetorical, but he answered it anyway, standing tall and speaking with authority.
“Please do tell.”
An indecipherable look passed over the earl’s features, which were still handsome, despite his advanced years.
He rose up from his chair with admirable ease and crossed over to the fire.
“Let us sit comfortably.” He waved vaguely toward Adam and the second chair.
Adam had no wish to position himself any closer to the fire, but he could not refuse.
The earl sank down and gazed into the flames, seemingly lost in thought. But when he finally looked up at Adam, his blue eyes were watchful and alert.
“I knighted Sir Crispin de Gough myself, if you would believe it?”
Adam did not think this required an answer. He hoped, quite fervently, that inclining his head in recognition would be enough.
“Sir Crispin de Gough claims that you have an improper relationship with my daughter.” The earl’s voice was harsh. “What do you say to that, Adam Hawker?”
Courage, honesty and true love.
Adam took a deep breath. “I say that I care for her deeply, milord.”
The earl made a sound, somewhere between a grunt and a gnashing of teeth.
“And does my daughter return your affections?”
He gripped the arm of his chair. “I believe she does.”
“You believe she does.” The earl ran his hands over his face. “So, there is truth to this accusation of impropriety?”
“There has been no impropriety, milord.” Adam closed his mind to memories of the passionate embrace they had shared by the lake.
“I have naught but respect and admiration for your daughter.” His vision began to swim as a preposterous idea presented itself to him.
“In fact, with your lordship’s permission, there is a question I would like to ask of you. ”
Do I dare to ask this now? On my first meeting with the Earl of Wolvesley?
Once again, Esme’s face came before his eyes.
Her bright smile.
Her invitation that he should dare to dream.
The earl’s voice came as if from a great distance away.
“And what is that?”
Adam rose to his feet and straightened his spine. His voice, when he spoke, was steady and strong.
“I would like to ask for Lady Esme’s hand in marriage.”