Barlow beamed and tapped his nose. “Right on the…well, nose, Hester. The clue comes from the Bard himself.” He stood ramrod straight and lifted a hand to orate. “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”
Aunt Hester smiled broadly. “You certainly know your Shakespeare, sir.”
“That I do.” He gripped his lapel and donned a pained expression. “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York!”
“Wonderful, sir.” She lifted a hand to the sky. “True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings; kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings!”
“Ah! You quote Shakespeare with the best, Hester.”
Not to be outdone, Jane cleared her throat and clasped her hands at her waist. She peered skyward wistfully. “So wise so young, they say, do never live long.”
“Very good, Miss Hancock,” said Barlow. She curtsied and spun toward Adam to hear his contribution to the quoting of lines from the play. However, he simply stared at her with a creased brow and no apparent intention of quoting anything. She cocked her head.
“Do you not know Shakespeare?”
“No.”
“You do not know of the most famous playwright ever produced by this island?”
He shook his head vigorously. “Of course, I know of William Shakespeare. However, I have not committed his complete works to memory as have all of you. My recollection of his lines begins and ends with ‘to be or not to be.’”
Jane frowned, briefly concerned about Adam’s lack of literacy. He seemed to guess the source of her mild consternation and smiled. “Fear not, sweet Jane. Although I have not memorized Shakespeare, I am immensely fond of literature of all kinds. Regarding the Bard’s bygone era, I am more of a Marlowe man. In fact, my favorite play isDoctor Faustus, as evidenced by my penchant for deals with the devil.”
His expression betrayed mild alarm when her frown deepened. She peered at him intently for four and a half agonizing heartbeats. “Do you consider me the devil?”
His alarm fled, giving way to apparent relief. “Oh, no. I was referring to Mr. Rutley, not to you.” He paused and sighed. “Although I must confess that I have long thought of you as the devil. But no longer.”
Her frown melted. “So, I am no longer the devil?”
“Simply a minor demon these days. I might suggest Beelzebub, if not for the fact that he has already taken the form of a troublesome horse.” He yanked a thumb over his shoulder to where Beelzebub nibbled grass, uncaring of the unfolding drama.
She laughed, despite her best intention to simply roll her eyes. “A minor demon, you say? Well, I suppose it is only fitting. Beelzebub and his ilk were fallen angels, after all.”
Even as she made the joke, she regretted saying the words, certain that Adam would respond with some jest calling into question her heavenly claim. A fallen angel, indeed! However, he merely regarded her in silence for a moment before nodding.
“Of course. Only fitting. I don’t know why I never realized it before.”
Again, she waited for the joke that would undo the compliment. However, he simply smiled mysteriously and strolled away into the ruins proper.
Chapter Eighteen
Adam fled into the ruins while attempting to mask the impression he was fleeing. He was certain Jane would see through his languid gait to the panic beneath. Why had he neglected a perfect opportunity to chide a Hancock? Instead, he had practically fawned over her suggestion that she might be an angel. He considered that notion while wandering along one of the ruined castle walls and concluded that she might have fallen from heaven after all. When not ferociously debating him, she certainly appeared angelic. She seemed to possess the wisdom of one fallen from paradise while retaining clear eyes concerning her badly altered reality.
He ventured a glance over one shoulder to find her some distance away. She ran inquisitive fingers over the remains of a forgotten partition, stooping now and then to study the details. Wonder painted her lovely features. She seemed almost ethereal, as if a ghost haunting what was lost and forgotten. He failed to realize his glance had become an extended observation until he slammed a knee against a stub of stone.
“Oomph!” He reached down to massage his newly battered knee. When he looked up again, he found her covering her mouth, apparently amused by his awkward misfortune. She dropped her hand.
“Are you injured? Should we fetch a surgeon?”
He grimaced, still cursing his stumble. “No, not necessary. My pride is the worst casualty.”
Her smile seemed suddenly blinding. “Very good. I never mourn the passing of pride. Particularly yours.”
With that, she resumed her survey of the scattered stones. He shook his head with consternation. Too bad she was a Hancock. Otherwise, he might have found her irresistible.
“What now, Mr. Ashford?” The question came from Barlow as he approached with Hester still on his arm. When had those two become inseparable? How had he missed it? Then he remembered. It must have happened right beneath his nose while he was thoroughly preoccupied with getting to know his lifelong enemy. And just how had that occurred? Why could he not just walk along the road and ignore…
“Mr. Ashford?”
