He smelled the perfume of Gerald’s favorite courtesan, who always had a friend, and smiled in memory of those sleepless nights. There was a dried carnation in one buttonhole, a dusty memento of a long-ago evening—undoubtedly one that had included so much dancing that the ladies’ slippers were left full of holes. His handkerchiefs were monogrammed, as were his shirts, all of it packed away as tokens of another life.
Of another man.
It seemed an eon ago.
He would not think about Charlotte, or about the last time he had seen Gerald. He would not permit himself to open the floodgates of those memories. He could almost taste that fateful night, the crisp hint of winter in the air, and see the way the stars glittered overhead like diamonds. He shoved the memories aside. Once he began to review them, Joshua knew he wouldregret so many choices, and the weight of loss might destroy him.
No, the trick was to learn from the past, to take those lessons and chart a future with them.
Perhaps he would do that in the morning.
He might have turned away, but he spied the cloak in the bottom of the trunk. Joshua had not realized he still possessed it. He lifted it out, surprised again by the weight of so much black wool cloth. There was an enormous quantity of fabric in the generous cut of the cloak, and it was lined with heavy satin. He swung it around so that it landed on his shoulders, the flourish of donning it a gesture he recalled as well as his own name. The weighty cloak hung to his knees, a formidable barrier to the elements, and he was glad to see that the moths had not damaged it. He drew up the hood and looked in the mirror, noting how his features vanished in the shadows.
He might have been that highwayman, the glimpse of his lavish waistcoat hinting that he was an aristocrat in disguise. Would Miss Emerson have accepted him in this garb? Joshua wondered. Would she have even recognized him? He doubted as much and for that reason alone, the cloak remained on his shoulders. He changed his boots on impulse, choosing the beautiful black ones from the trunk that were still gleaming from the bootmaker’s shop. It was a waste that he had not worn them in recent years, for they were finely made. With a smile, he donned a pair of black leather gloves with long gauntlets.
His reflection could have been a different man, a man who savored life and all it offered, a man of audacity and charm, a man who might even believe in the merit of love. He might have been a man whose life merited a tale, a man to be dreaded—a man to be adored by innocent maidens. Joshua smiled at the mirror, feeling an almost-forgotten sense of power and audacity.
Indeed, he faced a reflection of his former self.
Did clothes truly make the man? In this moment, Joshua might have been convinced. He felt a plethora of possibilities, all at his fingertips, waiting to be seized.
The fact was that he had not taken a risk in a long time. It was true that he had proposed to Miss Emerson, but he had not believed there to be any possibility of failure so there was no risk in that choice.
Gerald would never have let him be so complacent.
It was time that Joshua dared a little more than had become his custom.
It was time that he lived more boldly and took advantage of opportunity more often. Perhaps that was the lesson he should take from his brother’s memory and this trunk of garments. He need not be a reckless fool to savor a moment, or to celebrate the fact that he was yet alive.
Joshua had not ridden Gerald’s stallion, Zephyr, of late. The large horse was opinionated and not inclined to tolerate many riders since Gerald’s departure from Addersley. The grooms, he understood, now avoided the beast and justifiably so. But all creatures benefitted from regular exercise and Zephyr was no exception.
On this day, the stallion might meet his match.
CHAPTER 5
The path through the forest was muddy after the rains and Helena wished she had worn more sturdy footwear than her slippers. It was not the first time she had erred in an impulsive rush, yet she was not inclined to turn back. No doubt, Aunt Fanny would spot her and have two reasons to chastise her. No, Helena would continue, no matter how precarious the way, and take her chances. The puppy had chewed the ribbons of these slippers, anyway.
It was cursedly difficult to climb the slight incline to her destination, but when she might have surrendered, Helena was rewarded by the sudden view through a gap in the trees. A beam of sunlight even shone down in that instant, as if it had been conjured by magic, and illuminated her destination.
It was a folly!
Helena gasped in wonder. The whimsical building had been constructed in a forest clearing, with a reflecting pond before it and shrubs on either side. The structure itself was shaped like a Japanese pagoda, though of a diminutive size. It was square, about four paces on a side, and it had been painted a glossy red. The roof was copper and fluted, the corners rising to gold-tipped points. She thought they deserved long silken tassels. On thepeak of the roof, which rose from the very middle, was a golden orb. The door was bronze and the entire structure so delicate and detailed that it might have been a jewelry box. The sunlight had been glinting off the copper roof from the distance.
Helena was enchanted. Who would have guessed that any of the dour and elderly residents of this region would construct something so fanciful? Not she!
Upon closer inspection, it was clear the structure had been neglected in recent years. The cheerful red paint was peeling near the base of the walls and the exterior was marked from the patter of rain. The copper roof had turned verdigris and the golden accents were in need of polishing. The windows on either side were clouded and dark, while the bronze doors were in desperate need of cleaning.
How curious that the knob on the right door was the only element that was not mired. It must have been used more in the past.
The pond had a healthy growth of small green plants, even this early in the season, and the water was clouded. Helena thought she glimpsed a flash of orange in the depths of the water but could not be certain. The plants in the garden were overgrown and untended. Small trees and scrubby plants were growing between the pavilion and the surrounding forest, and she was certain that could not have been the original design.
The adorable pagoda had been forgotten.
Who had built it? Who had visited it? Helena tried the door but it was secured. She endeavored to peer through the window on one side, but to no avail. The window was so dirty and the interior was dark. Perhaps there were curtains inside.
Perhaps the angle was wrong. She considered the sun overhead and moved to the window on the other side of the double doors. She polished a circle of glass with her glove, resigned to washing it out herself so no one noticed how it wasmired, and peered inside. Once again, it seemed that something obscured any view.
It was inevitable that being denied any thing, even a glimpse inside a locked garden pagoda, only redoubled Helena’s determination to possess that very item. She circled the pavilion and discovered a window on the back side. It would be opposite the double doors of bronze. Indeed, she could almost discern something on the other side of the glass. Sadly, there was considerable mud on that side of the building and a large puddle. It appeared that the water was intended to flow from the roof to this side and thence to the pond, but the passage had been obstructed in the building’s neglect. Helena was convinced she could balance on the increment of drier mud, at least long enough to take a look.
