An Unwelcome Suitor (Entangled Inheritance Book 4) Page 15

  I caught my breath, my shoulders still shaking with laughter. “You did well at first. But I’m afraid you were doing it much too brown when you said she resembled a butterfly.”

  “I did not say she resembled a butterfly! I compared her beauty to one.” He let out a long sigh, his laughter intensifying. The sound was contagious, and I couldn’t stop the hysterical giggle that burst from my mouth. Luke’s eyes widened and his laughter grew louder too, deep and musical. I savored the sound, enjoying the sense of release that came with my own hearty laughter. Why could Juliana not laugh like this with Luke? Why did it come so easily to me?

  When his laughter faded, he lowered his voice, reducing the echo his laughter had created. “Do you think she enjoyed the flattery?”

  I shrugged. “I think she was flattered, to be sure.” My smile returned. “And a bit amused.”

  His smile tipped sideways, and he cast me a teasing look. “Would you not enjoy being told how beautiful you are?”

  A flutter tickled my stomach at the way his gaze swept over me, as if he were making that assessment for himself. “It would certainly depend on who was offering the praise,” I said.

  “If I were offering the praise?”

  My cheeks grew hot, and the remnants of my laughter disappeared. I clicked the toes of my boots together. “Well, considering the—er—circumstances…I do not think it would be proper should I receive such praise from you.”

  He chuckled. “Very well. I must find a different person who will tell you then. Because you are beautiful, and you deserve to know that.”

  Warmth spread through my body, centralizing in my heart. It was followed by a twinge of grief and a warning of that same danger I had sensed the day before.

  My heart pounded. What was it telling me now? What would it tell me if I continued speaking and laughing with Luke, seeing him every day? What could my heart tell me if I allowed myself to hear it? I stopped myself. It didn’t matter. I was deafened by duty, and I couldn’t afford to listen.

  “My connections are few in society,” I said, my smile bleak. “I’m afraid you will have difficulty finding someone equal to the task.”

  “I suspect there would be many gentlemen eager to explain the measure of your beauty.” There was a certain sadness in his eyes and in the way his jaw grew tight when he finished speaking.

  “Do you intend to help me find such a gentleman?”

  The tightness of his jaw became even more evident when he turned his head and looked down at the cuffs of his jacket. “I do not wish to do that.”

  My heart skipped.

  His eyes met mine. “That task would not be difficult enough, you see. As you know, I enjoy a challenge.”

  I was relieved by the lightness in his tone. It was much easier to find my wit and composure. “Our plan is proving to be more of a challenge than I originally thought. We haven’t yet acknowledged your disastrous attempt at holding Juliana’s hand.”

  Luke raised an eyebrow, his features turning defensive. “You told me to do it.”

  “You should have waited for the right moment. You snatched her hand like a child might snatch a pinch of dough from the cook’s kitchen.”

  He fell into laughter again. “I cannot help but act like a fool when you are watching me, assessing my every action with your stern gaze.”

  “My stern gaze?” I gaped at him. “I have never seen a gaze more stern than your own when you are with Juliana.”

  “Perhaps she likes stern gazes.”

  I held my aching side as I laughed, gathering my composure enough to speak. “She may prefer that over your false, unsettling smile.”

  The smile on his face at that moment was certainly not false. It reached all the way to his eyes, drawing creases at the corners where his top lashes met the bottom. I had observed the creases of his face to mean different things. He had one between his eyebrows that appeared when he was troubled, or thinking deeply. He had those little ones by his eyes that meant his smile was real. And he had a deep one in his cheek, visible the most when he smiled and laughed. It sometimes even appeared when he spoke certain words, when his mouth formed just the right shape. My heart gave a deep thud as I observed his face for much longer than I should have. I tucked my hands behind my back.

  “I believe there is certainly room for improvement,” I said. “But for a first attempt, you did well. Juliana will be fully recovered soon, and you will be able to take her on the picnic we planned. I will ensure Martha is the chaperone so you are not forced to be observed by my stern gaze.” I raised an eyebrow at him, pacing down the hall as I spoke. “If, on the unlikely chance Martha is unavailable, then I will chaperone the outing and attempt to make my gaze as pleasant as possible.” I turned to face him, demonstrating my most relaxed expression.

  He leaned against the banister, one elbow resting on it, his head tipped as he surveyed me with amusement. “I will hold you to it.”

  “As you should.” I smiled at the floor.

  Silence fell between us for several seconds, but it was comfortable, peaceful, and I did not feel the need to break it. The click of Luke’s boots over the floor made me lift my gaze. He gestured behind me at the neighboring hallway running lengthwise behind us. “Is the portrait gallery on this floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see it?”

  I looked over my shoulder at the opening to the hallway, marked by a burgundy rug and tapestry. My hands began shaking, so I took hold of my skirts. “I suppose.”

  Luke walked closer, and I turned toward the gallery before I could change my mind. He followed beside me as we passed the tapestry and turned left into the gallery. Tall windows marked one side of the hall, and the other was lined in portraits. There were many ancestors’ portraits here that I had never known, but there were three faces I did recognize. Aunt Augusta, Mother, and Father.

  My sisters and I had taken our parents’ portraits from the halls of our childhood home so we would not forget what they looked like.

  I walked past Aunt Augusta’s portrait. Her image sent a surge of fondness and longing through my chest. I missed her and her rare smiles so much that it hurt. A gleam of mischief was apparent in her eyes, as if she were taunting me from beyond the grave regarding the disaster she had created in her will.

  I stopped in front of Mother’s portrait, my throat seizing with emotion. Curls framed her heart-shaped face, her pink lips set in a pleasant expression. Her cheeks were flushed, likely because of the attention of the artist—she was always modest and shy. Her green eyes carried a light that I had not realized I had missed so much.

  I turned my gaze to Father, to his blond hair and neat mustache, his sharp, kind eyes and strong, reliable countenance.

  I swallowed the emotion that burned in my eyes as my soul yearned for things I could no longer have, the people whose memories haunted that gallery. I had forbidden myself from going back the same day Juliana had forced me to wear color again. Walking through the gallery was like cutting into the scar over a deep wound, willfully experiencing the pain all over again. My breathing quickened as I tried to reassure myself. Why did these pictures affect me so much? They were only paintings.

  And that was what broke my heart.

  Silence persisted through the hall until Luke came to stand beside me. I had nearly forgotten he was there.

  “These are my parents,” I said, my voice little more than a whisper. I summoned my strength, blinking back my tears. “I used to come here often to look at them. I set a pillow down right there.” I pointed at the wall across the way. “I would sit there on the pillow and look at their faces. I would cry until I couldn’t breathe. And then I would go to my room and eat alone with the curtains drawn. I would not speak, nor would I smile or laugh or even leave the house.”

  Every inch of my body gnawed with residual pain from those days as I recounted them. I blinked hard as a tear slipped out. My voice shook. “Juliana became like a mother to me. She was hurting too, but she did n
ot show it. I lost my life the same day my parents lost theirs, and Juliana taught me how to live again. That is a debt I could never, ever repay.” I wiped my cheeks, sucking in a deep breath. “And that is why I care so much. That is why I wish so dearly to see her happy, even with the stipulations of the will. She did not abandon me to my circumstances. She saw me through them, and I must do the same for her.”

  Luke touched my arm, and I felt the pressure of every finger. A shiver feathered over my skin. “Juliana is fortunate to have you,” he said.

  “And I her.” I looked up at my mother’s face. “God was wise sending my parents three girls. We are as close as any sisters could be. We all rely on one another, just as I am sure your sister’s rely on you now.”

  His face became solemn, and that crease appeared between his eyebrows. “The responsibility is difficult to bear at times. I—I try to provide them with everything they want and deserve. I want to ease their pain and grief. I wish I could somehow take it from them.”

  My heart stung for him and his sisters, even though I hadn’t met them. “I wish I could too,” I said.

  Luke looked down at me, half his mouth lifting in a soft smile. “There is one way you could help ease their heartache.”

  “Oh?”

  “Come to our cottage, meet them, even stay for dinner tonight. Martha may come too, and Juliana if she is feeling well enough. It would be beneficial for you all to meet. We will be living here at Brookhaven together, after all.”

  It was difficult to imagine that life. Martha and me and four young girls all living within the same estate, with Juliana and Luke married and managing the household. My head spun. “Yes, I would be honored to meet them, and I am certain Martha will be glad to accompany me.”

  He gave another of his warm smiles, and I wondered again why they came so readily around me. “My sisters know much about you already. They find you fascinating, in fact, after hearing so much about your schemes against me.”

  “You told them?” I gaped at him. His sisters would have already formed a negative opinion of me by the time we met.

  “I told them everything.” He chuckled. “Not to worry, they are quite amused by the stories.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Not as amused as you are, I’d wager.”

  “Not even close.”

  I glared up at him, pretending to be much more angry than I felt. I couldn’t possibly stay angry with him when he was smiling down at me in that way. I stood on the tips of my toes. “You are incorrigible and wicked, I hope you know, and utterly infuriating.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  I grimaced at the words I had allowed to escape, but couldn’t help but laugh at Luke’s expression. “Forgive me.” I shook my head at the floor as my laughter subsided. “My mouth has misbehaved me again. That happens quite often.”

  When I raised my gaze, I found his own gaze to be settled on my lips. What appeared to be longing flashed across his eyes, just recognizable enough to suspend the natural rhythm of my heart.

  He lifted his gaze to my eyes, hardly helping to slow my pulse. “As long as I am not referred to as a farm animal, I will not take offense. Selfish pig.” Luke’s eyes smiled into mine, but my laughter felt suddenly distant and unreachable, like grasping at smoke in the air. My own stomach fluttered and tugged with a sudden desire to kiss his smiling lips. The moment the thought entered my mind, I shunned it. What the devil was wrong with me?

  I walked a pace away, hoping the distance would give relief to my strange desires. “That is unfortunate, for my next set down involved calling you a cow.”

  “Betsey will be cooking beef stew for dinner tonight, so I would appreciate if you refrained.”

  I laughed, my stomach aching. “Betsey?”

  His expression softened. “The eldest of my four sisters. She is fifteen, the same age as Martha. She has taken the loss of our mother with the most difficulty, I’m afraid. I hope she will be willing to befriend you and Martha tonight.”

  I smiled. “I look forward to meeting her.”

  We stayed in the portrait gallery for a few minutes longer before walking downstairs. My conversation with Mr. Yeatman flashed in my mind, making my lungs constrict with dread. The more time I spent with Luke, the more I realized my cousin’s words held some truth after all.

  Chapter 17

  The home squatting before our carriage was not what I had expected it to be. It was much smaller. The quaint cottage appeared to have been built long ago, its stone faded and chipped. The size was slightly larger than Gilbert’s home, but only just. I stepped out of the carriage with Martha, straightening my skirts as my feet touched the ground.

  Juliana had opted to stay home and rest, worried over passing her sickness to the children. As I looked at the exterior of the cottage, I struggled to connect this home to a man like Luke. I could not envision him living there, looking after four young girls that were so reliant on him.

  My legs shook with nervousness as we stopped on the crooked steps. I rapped my knuckles against the door. Almost instantly the door swung open, and a young girl, no older than twelve, stared back at me. I was taken aback by the resemblance she shared with Luke—they had the same piercing quality to their grey eyes, and a light indentation on both their chins. The little girl did not speak, but simply stared up at me and Martha, waiting for us to address her.

  “Good afternoon,” I said. “My name is Miss Eliza, and this is my sister, Miss Martha. What is your name?”

  “Charlotte,” she said, her voice small and raspy.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Charlotte.” I offered my warmest smile, but it did little to lift the girl’s expression. Another set of eyes appeared behind her, lower to the ground. These eyes were an icy blue. The round face in which they sat was shrouded in dark curls.

  “I’m Maryann,” she said, shuffling closer to the door. She dropped a wobbly curtsy.

  “Oh, I am pleased to meet you as well, Maryann.” I had never seen eyes so large on such a small face. Dark lashes swept up, nearly touching her serious eyebrows. By the size of her, I could only guess she was the youngest sister.

  “Is your brother home?” I asked Charlotte.

  She nodded. “He’s in the kitchen helping Betsey cook dinner.” Stepping aside, she gestured for us to come in. A small table rested against the wall straight ahead, two miniature portraits laying side by side. A man and a woman. I glimpsed them briefly as we passed, and could only guess they depicted Luke’s parents. I watched the drooped shoulders of Charlotte and Maryann as we walked down a narrow hall, where there were what appeared to be three bedrooms and a sitting room. Memories of my own grief struck me as we rounded the corner to the left, immediately meeting the door of the kitchen.

  Charlotte pushed it open, and the scent of meat and potatoes flooded my nose. Steam gathered in the air above the stove where a tall, thin young woman stirred a pot. She turned at our entrance. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove, her dark hair frizzing in the humidity. She appeared to be the same age as Martha, but at least six inches taller. It seemed she and her brother had been given all the height in the family.

  A child stood beside her, craning her neck to see into the pot, her brown curls spilling over her shoulders. I scanned the rest of the kitchen, surprised to find Luke placing dishes onto a rectangular wooden table. With his jacket absent and his sleeves rolled to his elbows, he looked a more rugged sort of handsome, one that I suspected Juliana would prefer. He looked up from the table, smiling when he saw Martha and me in the doorway.

  Luke strode around the table, coming to a stop behind Maryann, who had sneaked past us into the room. His gaze settled on my face before he glanced pointedly at the clock. “You are ten minutes late. I’m afraid a lack of punctuality is not allowed in this house.”

  Martha stiffened beside me, but I fully sensed the teasing in his voice. “My apologies, but this is my first offense. Surely you will not rest your hospitality on it.”
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  “You did not have any mercy for my first offense. It gave you leave to assume all sorts of mistruths about my character.” The corners of his lips shifted upward. “And it gave you leave to work all sorts of mischief.”

  Maryann blinked up at me. “Are you the lady who put the toad in Luke’s hat?”

  The two girls at the stove turned around, waiting for my answer. Even Charlotte turned, her stoic expression giving way to curiosity.

  “Indeed, I am.”

  At the confirmation, Maryann’s mouth twisted into a satisfied grin. The younger girl at the stove giggled, but the eldest maintained her frown, studying me as if I were a roach that had made its way into the kitchen—as if she were deciding how best to dispose of me. Unsettled, I looked away, regarding Maryann and Charlotte again.

  “Luke told us many stories about you,” Maryann said with a sneaky smile. “He speaks about you very often.”

  My stomach flipped at Maryann’s words, at the secretive way in which she spoke them. I cast a quick glance at Luke’s face, finding his cheeks slightly ruddy.

  I looked away fast. “I am sure your brother told you the rest of the toad story. After sneaking the toad into his hat, I fell into the pond. Your brother was not nearly as frightened by that toad as I had hoped.”

  Maryann’s grin widened. “He is frightened by snakes.”

  I quirked my head toward Luke. “Is he, now?”

  Charlotte nodded. “There was once a small garden snake that crawled over his boot. I had never heard such a loud scream.”

  So I had chosen the wrong creature to attack him with. Laughter spilled out of me as I glanced at Luke’s expression of fear. He shook his finger at Maryann. “How dare you tell Miss Elizabeth such a sensitive secret? She very well might gather a basket of snakes and fill my boots with them tonight.”

  The girls burst into giggles, and the sound warmed my heart. I knew how unfamiliar laughter felt in the months following the deaths of my parents. I knew what it was to feel abandoned by joy, as if I could not smile even if I tried. These young girls, like Charity, must have been stronger than me, having the ability to cling tightly to happiness even when it tried to flee from them with the speed of a stallion.