Page 65

“Are you putting words in my mouth? I’ve come to ask a favor of you, if I may.”

Her glance sharpened. “Am I in a position to do you a favor?”

“You are, and I know I can trust you.” He did know it, as odd as it might be.

“Come, then,” she said. “Let me get Hector into the pond. He needs to cool off.” She summoned the dog and led the way to a small pond at the edge of the woods. The dog plunged in after a tossed stick, repeated the exercise several more times, and at last emerged, shaking water everywhere. When he collapsed in the grass, Cordelia Staveley led Gray to a fallen log, shaded by a row of gnarled old apple trees.

He waited for her to sit, then joined her, laying the sketchbook on the log between them.

“You know, or I suspect you know, something of how I feel about my guests. There is not, in my family, the degree of closeness you enjoy with your brothers and sisters.” He paused. Her head was bowed, her face obscured by the bonnet. “You are not to pity me for that. I have no use for such ties.”

“Very well,” she said. She looked up at him, her gaze frank. “You must have your reasons.”

“I do. You may wonder at them, but …”

She reached a hand for his, a brief touch that washed over him, swift and light as a wavelet on the shore, gone before he could capture the sensation. “It is not my place to wonder. You do not have to justify your mistrust to me.”

He laughed. “I think I do. When Lionel and I were younger, much younger, we shared a room. Lionel had a habit of taking things … that I … prized. This was before I went to school, when I was just beginning to sketch. Father was teaching me, and Lionel took one of my first efforts, one that Father had approved of …” Gray found it difficult to go on as if he’d lost his place on a page.

“And …” she prompted.

“And … Lionel tore it to shreds. He piled the pieces inside the cover, so that when I picked up the book, they all fell out.” Gray had not forgotten that moment, but speaking of it now, the recollection of the bitter shock of being so hated had stopped him. Lionel’s destruction had been thorough; his concealing of the act, calculated. His brother had relished the hurt he’d caused. “I determined after that never to let him see the things that I valued.”

It had taken more than one episode of Lionel’s destruction for Gray to learn to show only indifference, but Gray supposed he should be grateful to Lionel for the lesson in caution he’d learned so young. His friends now were men he could trust completely, like Finch and Winter.

“You and your brother are both men now. Do you think he still harbors that degree of … resentment?”

“You want me to judge fairly without the weight of the past. I don’t think I can. I do not wish to give Lionel an opportunity to wreck a thing I care about.”

He took up the sketchbook and opened it to the page which had his father’s drawing of a stately Palladian house with a central block and two wings, extending back on either side of the main section to form an open U. “This was my father’s vision for Rayne Hall.”

“The house that burned?”

“Yes.” He passed the book to her.

She held it open in her lap and studied the sketch. “This is the house you want to rebuild?”

“Someday.” He stood. He had not meant to tell her so much of his history. “In any case, just now there is a great deal of coming and going at the castle. In your keeping the book will not get … lost. Are you willing to take care of it for me?”

She looked up at him. The sun was behind him, so he had the advantage of her. He could see the little furrow in her brow, the serious concern in her eyes.

He waited for her answer, thinking his instinct was wrong, that he was mad to ask this favor of her. He had not known her a month. She was a managing female, in some ways as imperious as his sister. They had been at odds with one another from the beginning. She had no reason to be generous to him. He wanted to tear down her inconvenient castle and possess her land. But the blue of her gown was like the sea when they swam together, when they pitted themselves against the surge and flow of it, and they seemed to understand each other.

“Yes,” she said solemnly.

“Thank you.” It was necessary to lighten the moment. “Are your sisters ready for the ball?”

“They are,” she said. A little frown knitted her brow. She rose in her quick, sure way, not needing a helping hand from a man. She summoned the dog and took up the sketchbook. They turned toward the lodge, walking in silence, the dog zigzagging ahead of them after scents in the grass.

“You’re not worried about them finding partners?” he asked.

“No, of course not. Roz will find willing partners, I’m sure. And I hope Miranda will, too, shy as she is.”

“Will you permit Viola to dance?”

“I must, or you will accuse me of clipping her wings. She deserves to enjoy the ball. Though she’s not ‘out,’ she did as much as any of us to make it happen. Without her antics, there would have been no wager, and no ball. I daresay you would not have noticed us at all.”

“Am I that lofty?” he asked. “You wound me. Here I am, prepared to dance with every maiden at the ball.”