Chapter 10 #2
Josephine gazed at his tall, graceful figure, his chestnut eyes thoughtful, and a faint smile creasing his lips.
He’d dressed with care again this evening, and while he could never be accused of dandyism, his Pomona-green evening coat fitted like a glove, his pantaloons accentuated his military gait, and his shoes shone with a gleam that even Thomas would have approved of – in truth, he looked every inch a respectable gentleman, and not wayward Lord Huntingly of Huntingly Manor.
‘That is kind, my lord, but unnecessary,’ she replied, unprepared for consideration, ‘for I am perfectly well.’
‘May I?’ he asked, indicating Amelia’s recently vacated seat as he closed the distance between them.
She nodded, conscious of a rush of warmth through her cheeks, and grateful for the cover of semi-gloom.
‘For you,’ he added with a small smile, proffering some of the citrus blossom she’d passed on the way in.
She stared briefly before accepting it, certain her cheeks were now brighter than any bloom in the orangery. Was he teasing her again? Should she be on her guard?
‘You do not like to perform,’ he observed softly, ‘and yet you play better than anyone I know. I was quite mesmerised by your performance, and there is little that truly distracts me these days. Thank you.’
Startled, Josephine began mumbling an awkward thank you of her own, just as he closed his scarred hand over hers. His touch was warm and unexpected, and she flinched, making him withdraw instantly.
‘My apologies,’ he muttered sincerely.
‘No … I’m sorry,’ she replied quickly. ‘I … I very much enjoyed your recital too. I haven’t studied the Iliad, but Fred has told me many of the stories, and the Battle of the Gods has always fascinated me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes!’ She nodded, conscious her flush was deepening. ‘Because despite it being a battle between gods, it really is a story about mortal vulnerability and heroism, isn’t it?’
Lord Huntingly gazed at her, a curious smile warming his face.
‘What a true and refreshing mind you possess, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied, his face relaxing so that for just a second, she glimpsed his younger self again.
‘It is indeed such a story. And it suggests that our mortality is both a blessing and a curse for, while it offers honour to those who are injured or fall in battle, there are many who do not deserve such acclaim.’
His voice trailed off as Josephine listened, wondering if he was alluding to his own story.
‘I would have thought anyone who is injured, or falls in battle, deserves some honour,’ she offered carefully.
‘Perhaps,’ he returned, before seeming to collect himself. ‘Of course, one should not need to succumb to injury or death in order to become a hero,’ he added, with a glint of mischief. ‘Take Sir Francis, for example. I’m sure he must have many heroic tales he could relate, should we ask him.’
Josephine smiled and lowered her gaze. It was true Sir Francis was full of such stories, but she’d not quite recovered enough from Miss Amelia’s confidence to chuckle.
‘Sir Francis is both knowledgeable and talented,’ she said fairly, ‘though I’m sure even he must know the difference between a literary hero and one who faces a pistol or sword in the hands of a sworn enemy.’
There was a sudden silence then, when the only noise was the gurgle of the water beside them.
‘As you did … in the army, my lord,’ she clarified swiftly.
‘Yes, I certainly faced many enemies with the army, though that wasn’t what you were thinking, was it?’ he replied brusquely. ‘How much have you been told about my past, Miss Fairfax?’
Josephine flinched, unprepared for his change in tone or the stiffening of his person.
She stole a glance at his face in the semi-gloom and was struck by his tighter jawline and narrowed eyes.
She swallowed, knowing this was her chance to ask for the truth, yet so conscious that doing so might risk their arrangement, and Matilda’s freedom too.
‘I’m aware there was a difference of … opinion…with a friend … before you left for the army,’ she offered haltingly, Williams’s words echoing through her head.
‘Old man Huntingly died in a hunting accident … the young lord discovered Pellham was to inherit part of the estate… The coroner ruled he fell from a bolting horse… I believe his son may have issued the challenge because of his grief following his father’s death.’
‘A difference of opinion is a very nice way to put it,’ he replied caustically, his dark eyes glinting. ‘I imagine you must have had many differences of opinion with your sisters which didn’t nearly cost you a limb, as well as several years of your life!’
‘True,’ she replied, stung by his tone, ‘and I cannot imagine the pain of your injuries, but you did not have to stay abroad?’ The words were out before she had chance to check them, and she flushed instantly.
‘What I meant to say was that one of those things was accidental…’ she stumbled, trying to find the right words that would lessen the severity of her accusation.
‘… while the other was a matter of choice?’ he finished harshly.
‘No! I was going to say avoidable,’ she amended swiftly, ‘though I know nothing of the details, obviously.’
There was another silence while Huntingly stared into the semi-gloom, hardly appearing to breathe at all.
‘You don’t,’ he muttered bluntly, ‘and I can tell you that there is nothing glorious or heroic about violent bloodshed! It’s raw and ugly and rarely brings the kind of satisfaction it promises. Then it haunts you, with a savagery that never lets you go…’
Josephine swallowed as she stole another furtive look at the gentleman seated beside her.
He looked entirely different from the one who’d held out an orange blossom only moments before.
His countenance was tense and dark, while his cheeks were hollowed in a way that only accentuated his words.
Without warning, the thorn-choked cherub at Huntingly Manor spun to the forefront of her mind, its stone eyes bulging and body hidden by thick, suffocating ivy.
A twist of fear reached up within her – perhaps the rumours about Italy really were true, after all.
Perhaps his scars only masked a darker truth.
‘I can’t imagine the horror of real bloodshed,’ she murmured, as he slowly inclined his gaze to hers.
‘We all have our ghosts, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied coldly. ‘The only question is how far we allow them to control our lives – but this I would expect you to understand already…’ His eyelids lowered. ‘Given your own position over the last three years.’
Josephine’s head jerked up, a flare of anger surging through her – how dare he equate her failure on the marriage mart to his failure to clear his name of murder!
‘I beg your pardon?’ she replied icily, rising to her feet.
‘I might remind you that you are the one who asked what I knew of your past, and I do not believe you can compare my marital progress with the rumours surrounding your name, sir! Indeed, my position is not deliberate. I had every hope of making a respectable match, but—’
‘Now you have to settle for a disrespectable one instead!’ His Lordship interrupted with a scornful laugh.
‘Perhaps … but only you know the answer to that!’ Josephine quivered in anger. ‘And perhaps I did fail in the eyes of the polite world, but at least I did not pursue a gentleman abroad and slay him in broad daylight!’
For a second, everything seemed to still as Josephine’s words echoed around the humid glasshouse, and then Lord Huntingly stood up.
She held her breath, watching the rise of his shoulders before he turned, his amber flares scorching like flames.
‘If that is what you truly believe, why do you contemplate a match with me at all?’ he demanded furiously.
‘It would make you as good as complicit, and by marrying me, your soul would be stained by my sin for all eternity!’
Josephine pressed back into the wall behind the bench, trying to steady her thoughts, though her chest was tight and hammering.
‘And leave my sister to such a fate instead?’ she reposted.
‘In truth, sir, I wonder what sort of woman you believe me that I could damn her in such a way!’ She inhaled raggedly, aware she’d given voice to her deepest suspicions, while Huntingly appeared a thousand miles away.
A stab of fear reached through her as she conjured Matilda’s relief when she was told she no longer needed to marry; she couldn’t let Huntingly change his mind now.
‘I pray you say such things because you have been wronged beyond what any gentleman could stand,’ she attempted, willing her voice to remain steady.
‘And I do not pretend to know the full affliction of your past, but I can see you have suffered – that you continue to suffer, because … you do not let it rest there.’ She closed her eyes, praying it was enough.
‘You are right that you know nothing of what you speak,’ he replied at last, his voice oddly formal, as though they were barely acquainted at all.
‘But I would rather know your poor opinion of me now, than on our wedding day.’ He continued without waiting for a response.
‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have been absent for some time, and I am concerned for your reputation. After all, our betrothal is not yet announced, and who knows what everyone will think of you being in the company of a gentleman with such a chequered past! I thank you for your time, Miss Fairfax, and bid you goodnight.’
Then he nodded abruptly, and left Josephine to the heat of her own tumultuous thoughts.