His monologue continued and Ann considered retreating before he learned she was there, for he was not simply reassuring the animal, but was speaking to it as he might a friend or confessor, telling the horse about his discomfort with the people in the house and how little he understood the ‘foreigners’.

  Before she was aware of the decision to speak, Ann said, “Why are you not using French, then, if you find English such an assault to the ears?”

  Adam whirled, his eyes widening. The horse snorted, throwing his head back in protest at the interruption. Adam turned back, tightening his grip on the cheek strap and bringing the horse back to calm once more with slow strokes down its nose.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Ann, his eyes narrowed. “This fine fellow is used to the sound of English.” He spoke in the same low, calm voice as he had used before. “I speak it for his benefit, not for mine.” He put his back to her once more and bent his head to murmur to the stallion.

  The stallion listened. Then it put its head against Adam’s shoulder and gave a soft snicker.

  “At least one soul is finding comfort this afternoon,” Ann said, keeping her voice down, too.

  Adam didn’t look at her. “Only one? What could possibly discomfort you, here among your family?”

  “They’re your family, too,” Ann pointed out.

  Adam shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Did Uncle Iefan not officially adopt you? Years ago?”

  “Everyone in this house who did not travel from Paris is a stranger to me—as you heard me say.” His voice held a wry note.

  “Are we so very unsophisticated to your eyes?”

  Adam glanced at her. He had a clear, sharp jawline and stormy eyes which she thought were blue. It was too dim in the stable to be certain. He held up his hand. “Un moment.”

  Then he turned back to the horse and murmured a little more. After a moment, he eased away from the creature, bent and picked up the lantern from the floor and moved out of the stall. He shut the half door carefully so it did not clatter, then swung a net full of straw over the top of it.

  Finally, he turned to Ann and held up the lantern. “This way,” he said softly. “Out of the fellow’s hearing. He has enough to deal with at the moment.”

  Ann followed him back to the main area beyond the stalls, to the piles of hay and bales of straw and the hooks with all their leather and tools. For the first time she consciously noted that Adam had discarded his jacket and waistcoat, tie, collar and cuffs. The shirt which remained was a fine, proper gentleman’s shirt, but he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

  There was rather a lot of the shirt, stretched over his shoulders.

  “You were caught out in the rain?” Adam said, turning to face her in the middle of the big open area. “Why didn’t you go back into the house?” There was a touch of irritation in the question.

  “Am I inconveniencing you?”

  A furrow developed between his brows as he glared at the rain falling on the other side of the open door. “I thought I would be alone out here.”

  “So did I.”

  His gaze swung back and he considered her. “Hmm,” he rumbled.

  Ann wasn’t sure what to make of that response.

  He carried the lantern over to where the bales were stacked and hung it on one of the hooks. Then he lifted a bale down from the top of the stack and put it before the pile. He made it seem as though the bale weighed nothing, but Ann had seen stable boys forced to work together to shift a bale.

  Then he lowered a second to the floor, a few feet apart from the first. He held his hand out to the bale. “If you must stay…”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that his welcome was overwhelming. Only, she had stepped into the barn after him and patently could not leave right now. She gathered up her damp skirts, moved over to the bale and sat. “Thank you.”

  He gave a sound that might have been a grunt, or a rasp of his throat and sat on the other bale.

  They looked at each other.

  Ann realized she was still holding the blue rose bud. She put it on the bale beside her and put her hands together. “You do understand, do you not, that to us, you are just as much a foreigner and a stranger as we seem to you?”

  “Yet you are comfortable with tea and cucumber sandwiches, while I am not.” His mouth quirked.

  Ann tilted her head. “Then it is our ways which discomfort you, not we ourselves.”

  Adam’s shoulders lifted and fell. A Frenchman’s shrug of indifference.

  The silence drew out once more. The rain drummed even harder and they both looked up at the roof, overhead. There was no ceiling to muffle the noise.

  Ann glanced at Adam once more and was startled to see he was examining her. She cleared her throat. “I have never been to Paris. Everyone tells me it is a lovely city. Do you find it so?”

  He did not answer at once. He frowned as if he was considering the question. “It is fair enough, I suppose, but not the grandest city in Europe. Why did you want to be alone?”

  The question, abruptly put, caught her off guard. Ann could feel her cheeks burning hot. “That is a rather direct question.”

  “Would you rather discuss the weather?” His gaze shifted to the roof once more.

  Ann realized she was playing with the bow at the top of her dress and put her hand back in her lap. “There must be a topic not as banal as the weather, but still interesting enough to discuss.”

  “Or we could just sit here,” Adam replied. He seemed happy with that idea.

  The silence grew once more.

  Ann fidgeted, her uneasiness growing. Adam really was a stranger to her. She remembered him from gathers, years ago, but he had been a boy then. He had always been taller than her, even though they were the same age. He had played with the older boys in the family…sometimes.

  Now she was recalling those long-ago times, she could not remember Adam lingering for long in anyone’s company. In fact, she could barely remember him at all, even though he had been at the gathers, for Ève and Alicia and Daniel had been there. No wonder he seemed like a stranger.

  “Are horses really better company for you than people?” she asked.

  Adam sighed, as if she had ruined his peace. He glanced at her, then away. “Animals are honest.”

  “Clearly, you do not spend time with the right sort of people.”

  His gaze jerked back toward her. His brow lifted. She’d surprised him. “People let you down, sooner or later.”

  “Even your own family?”

  “Well, no, of course not.”

  “Then at least one person you know has managed to be honest with you,” she pointed out. “So your assertion that people are always dishonest sooner or later is actually incorrect.”

  His jaw shifted. Yet he did not speak.

  Ann sighed. It seemed she was doomed to sit here in silence, for Adam was not a good conversationalist. He did not seem to understand the ebb and flow of a discussion, or that he was expected to hold up his end of it.

  “Tell me why you ran to the stables and not the house,” Adam said, making her jump. “Honestly,” he added, his tone withering.

  “Why do you care to know that?” she demanded, her neck prickling with discomfort.

  Again, he did not rush to answer. She sensed he was weighing his response, though, not ignoring her. She waited.

  He stirred and peered at his hands, a furrow between his brows. “As I cannot be rid of you right now and you are incapable of silence, I must converse with you instead. Only, conversation bores me. It is so…meaningless.”

  “So you will pursue a subject which interests you, instead,” Ann murmured. “Regardless of how uncomfortable it makes me feel.”

  “You writhe for a reason,” he shot back. “The reason has nothing to do with me, or my asking about it. But I am curious to know if you can look that reason in the eye.”

  “Why?” she shot back. She really did need to shift about on the bale.

  His gaze met hers. “It is a more meaningful topic than the weather.”

  “So I must expose my inner feelings for your entertainment?”

  “Or not,” he replied. “I’m not the one who cannot stand the silence.” He got to his feet and moved over to another hook. That hook held his jacket. He delved into the inner pocket and withdrew a very English-looking silver brandy flask.

  He sipped then brought it over to Ann.

  “I don’t like brandy,” Ann said.

  “Let me guess. You prefer champagne.” He proffered the flask again. “It isn’t brandy.”

  Curiosity made her take the flask and sip. She let the liquor settle on her tongue, then swallowed. “Aniseed…” she murmured. It was an odd flavor and far from unpleasant. “What is it?”

  “Pastis,” Adam replied. He sat on the other bale, capped the flask and put it beside him. He turned his attention to the open door and the rain falling beyond it.

  Ann tried to follow his example and remain silent and still. A question occurred to her. “Why do you work with your father—with Uncle Iefan, I mean—if you prefer animals to people?”

  Adam did not sigh this time, but she thought he rolled his eyes. He considered her.

  “Honestly,” she added, using the same tone he had.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. Just a little. He reached for the flask once more, and took his time removing the cap as he thought heavily. “I was eleven when Papa Iefan and Mama Mairin took us in and told us they would raise us and that…surprised me. After Mother died, I thought—I was braced for it—for I thought it would be up to me to take care of the other three, yet I was saved from that.” He considered. “At least for a few years, while I grew up.” He drank.

  “You work for Uncle Iefan out of gratitude?”

  He held the flask out to her. This time, she took it and drank.

  “I am grateful, yes. And I like the work…all except for talking to people, but there are ways around that.”

  “You do not resent having to work for him?” she asked curiously.

  Adam did not deflect the question or change the subject. Instead he sat peering ahead, thinking it through. “No,” he said at last. “I do not. It is interesting. I travel a great deal.” He took the flask from her when she offered it and held it for a moment, still deep in thought. “My father—Renee, that is—” and he glanced at her. “He was a soldier and died defending Paris. I don’t remember him, but Mama says I am very much like him. He lived a nomadic life. My mother, not Mama Mairin, but Marie Martel, raised us by herself, even when my father was still alive, while he fought in Africa and the colonies. So, travelling suits me.”

  He put the flask aside and stared into mid-air once more.

  Ann studied him, for he was not looking directly at her and would not notice the observation. He did not seem embarrassed about the deeply personal details he had shared. He had been honest, too.

  Ann wrapped her arms around her middle, as it squeezed and swirled. “My twin sister, Elise—their announcement about the baby…were you at the lunch table? I don’t remember seeing you there.”

  “I was there,” he said quietly. “Until the moment I could leave.”

  Which must have been at the same time she had escaped. Ann squeezed her middle even harder. “For a moment, for one horrible moment, I resented her.”

  “Your sister? Or your sister’s happiness?” Adam asked. There was no judgement in his voice.

  “Both!” Ann bowed her head. “No, I do not resent Elise. She is my sister, how could I do that? But…only…she now has what I have wanted for myself and for a moment all I could think was that it should have been me. She did not want to find a husband at all, and I met Danyal first. I sat at the lunch table and was appalled at my own pettiness…” She unwrapped her arms and covered her burning face with her hands. “I don’t know Danyal at all,” she added. “He’s a pleasant enough man, but I suspect we would not get along the way he and Elise do, for he cares nothing for society or…or anything which interests me.”

  She closed her eyes behind her hands. Honesty was painful.

  “Here.” The flask touched her wrist.

  Ann took it. She kept her gaze upon her knees, then shifted it to the roof as she drank deeply. The pastis warmed her chest. She handed the flask back without looking at him.

  The silence built again. This time, she appreciated it. She listened to the rain on the roof and watched the puddles forming beyond the door, while her cheeks cooled and her heart slowed.

  “Is it society you care for, or the high-ranking husband which society can supply?” Adam’s voice was low.

  She still could not look at him. “I’ve never met anyone who does that, as you do,” she said.

  “Does what?”

  “Asks the question beneath the question.”

  “That’s where the truth lies.”

  She didn’t have to look at him to know he had shrugged. Ann took another mouthful of the pastis. The flask was considerably lighter, now. She held it toward him blindly.

  “So…which do you really care for, then?” Adam asked as he took it. “Husband hunting, or weekly soirees?”

  “My goodness, you are relentless, aren’t you?”

  “So I’m told. You are avoiding my question.”

  “Yes, I am.” She met his gaze, daring him to pull the answer from her.

  “Honesty…” he murmured, then smiled.

  The laughter welled up, catching her by surprise. She brought her fingertips to her lips to hold the inappropriate sound inside.

  Adam’s eyes sparkled.

  “May I?” She held her hand out for the flask. “Pastis is very agreeable,” she added. “Actually, it is more the warmth it imparts, for this conversation is not conducive and the pastis offsets the unsettled feeling quite nicely.” She took the flask from him. “Oh dear. Truth-telling is…”

  “Addictive,” Adam murmured.

  “I was about to say compulsive, but I suppose they are much the same.” She drank and said softly, “I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask of life?”

  Adam tilted his head. “You believe that a high-ranking husband will give you that happiness?”

  The direct question did not make her flinch, for she had been braced for it. “When I was a child, growing up at Northallerton, I was very happy. I only realize that now, in hindsight. The gathers here at Innesford, Christmas in Kirkaldy, birthdays nearly every month of the year. Family and friends and…and I was content. Then the bank collapsed and Vaughn went to…well, you know.” She twined her fingers together. “The gathers stopped. The Christmases stopped. And everyone grew so grim. Even Papa stopped laughing, when Papa had always seemed to laugh, even when he wasn’t…oh, that’s a horrible sentence, but…”

  “I know what you mean,” Adam said softly.

  “Do you?”

  “We were insulated from the worst of it, in Paris, but we still felt the disgrace.”

  “Yes, exactly.” She sighed. “Everyone was paralyzed by the circumstances. All I wanted was for everyone to smile once more. It occurred to me that lifting the family’s reputation within society once more would help do that. Then everyone could raise their heads and stand straight when society looks at us.”

  Adam didn’t speak for a while. “So…the high-ranking peer as a husband, to restore the family reputation.”

  Ann grimaced. “It sounds so very silly, put baldly like that. Until this moment I don’t believe I have ever really thought it through quite so clearly.”

  Adam stared into mid-air once more. “Your ambitions are not as silly as you think,” he said softly. “Society values reputation over all else, these days.”

  “What is the ‘all else’?” Ann asked curiously.

  “Once, a man was measured by what he did, not by what everyone else said of him,” Adam replied.

  “If you listen to the ton, that is what they still measure a man by.”

  “Yet they will ostracize a person simply because a higher-ranking peer says they should,” Adam pointed out.

  “Mmm…” Ann said. She realized she had made the same judgmental sound Adam had made earlier. “Then marrying to erase a bad reputation is not such a silly idea, after all.”

  Adam’s mouth quirked at the corner once more. “Now that the Prince of Pandev is no more and the man himself is married, who will you snare?”

  “I have missed most of this season,” Ann admitted. “I am out of touch with the list of eligible bachelors and my work keeps me from too many season events.”

  “Tell me about your work,” Adam said, his tone curious. “I heard someone say you work as a butler? Is that true? I’ve never heard of a woman as a butler, before.”

  “It is an honorary title,” Ann assured him and explained how she had come to be Great Aunt Annalies’ butler, and the work she did in the big house on Grosvenor Square.

  The storm lasted for another hour. Between long stretches of thought-filled silence, they talked about Adam’s life in Paris and his travels about Europe. She caught a glimpse of the reason why Adam had not agreed that Paris was the most marvelous city in the world; he had seen far more cities than she. They spoke about her life in London and about carefree days in Northallerton which she only now realized she dearly missed.

  It was during one such long silence that Adam said softly, “Listen. Do you hear it?”

  Ann frowned. “I hear nothing.” She jumped to her feet. “The rain has stopped!”

  They moved to the door and looked out. Puddles lay everywhere and water dripped from eaves and trees. The clouds were breaking up. Far over the ocean, the sky was bright blue.

  From the house, they could hear doors opening and people exclaiming about the break in the weather.

  Adam lightly touched her arm.

  Ann looked up at him. With the sun on his face, she could now see that his eyes were a deep sea blue.

  His gaze was steady. “Stay true to your feelings,” he said softly. “I’ve learned that if you truly want something, if it is a worthy wish, it will come to you eventually…and usually from the most unexpected quarter.”

 

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