The Heart That Lies Page 8

  Meldon started to read. He read confidently and gave meaning to all that he read, but who would have thought that Mr Wordsworth had written so many poems about love? Meldons’s voice lost colour as his face gained it.

  “I keep you awake with my droning,” he said at last. “Perhaps you should try to sleep.”

  Anna agreed, but sleep did not come immediately. Meldon continued to read the book, glancing at her occasionally. Wordsworth’s words tumbled around her head. Tomorrow she would ask for pen and paper and try to describe what had happened at the duel, or the cemetery she had left behind in Staffordshire, or James. Anything to stop her thinking about being shut up in the same house as this man for the next few weeks.

  “You sent for me?” said Meldon angrily as he stepped into Anna’s bedroom a few days later.

  “I did,” replied Lady Caroline coolly. “Whatever you formerly possessed by way of intelligence has clearly deserted you recently.”

  “Clearly,” agreed Meldon dryly.

  “George, what is Miss Smith going to wear?” Lady Caroline continued as if she had not heard him. “Where are her clothes?”

  “She had ....” started Meldon, before he realised that his only option, apart from the truth, was to tell his sister that Miss Smith had come naked into his home. Fortunately lying came easily to him. “Her clothes were ruined by the attack on her person.”

  “And?”

  “And?” Arguing with Caroline was never easy. After she had assumed a position of intellectual authority she always managed to make him seem like a fool.

  “What will she wear?”

  Meldon risked a glance at Anna. She was watching them innocently enough, but Meldon could guess her thoughts without any real effort.

  “Yes, I don’t suppose she can wear my nightshirt forever.”

  Anna blushed at that and he wondered that she hadn’t guessed whose clothes she was wearing.

  “Then you must clothe her, George, and quickly, for Perkins says she will soon be well enough to sit out of bed.”

  Meldon smiled, “That’s good to hear.”

  “But she can’t sit out in your nightshirt!” Caro’s voice grew louder and Meldon grabbed her elbow and drew her to the window.

  “Please keep your voice down, you disturb Miss Smith.”

  “Of course, but I’m very vexed, George.” Caro sighed.

  “I can tell. Very well, I shall get her some clothes made. I’ll send Perkins and a maid to buy some cloth and...”

  “Don’t be stupid, I’ll get what’s necessary. I wouldn’t trust Perkins not to come back with breeches for her.”

  “Thank you, Caro. That will be a great help.” Happy that he had solved that problem he turned away to leave the room.

  “Shoes.”

  Meldon groaned.

  “Slippers. She won’t need shoes until she’s well enough to go out.”

  “Agreed.” Caro took a breath, but Meldon forestalled her.

  “Caro, please, whatever she needs, please take care of it. Hats, gloves, shawls, please, everything.”

  “George, is that the problem? Are you afraid of women?”

  “Only of you and the one in that bed.”

  Caro laughed.

  “I shall remember that.”

  Meldon knew that she would.

  He turned to Anna.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you? My sister is going out to arrange for some clothes to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Lady Caroline. That’s more trouble that I’ve caused you.” Anna seemed genuinely distressed.

  “No trouble at all. I’m already looking forward to shopping with you when you’re well. Are there any particular colours or styles that you favour.”

  “Lady Caroline, your own taste is exquisite. I can hardly presume to give you instructions.”

  “You may compliment me when you inspect what I bring back with me.”

  Caro took up her shawl and left them.

  “What happened to your own clothes?” Meldon asked when they were alone.

  “You had them sent back to Lincolnshire.”

  “All your belongings are in Finch’s house. I thought the temptation would be too great if you knew they were here.” A look of fear crossed her face. “Please do not worry that Finch will be curious, or has been. Everything was packed into a chest and locked by your landlady. The key is here on this table.” He pointed to the table beside the bed. Finch had tried to convince him that they should go through Miss Smith’s belongings in the hope of finding out who she really was, but Meldon had said it was too underhand, even for them. Pointing out that Miss Smith had gone to great lengths to kill him and did not deserve any consideration from either of them, Finch had waited for Meldon to change his mind. Five minutes later he had left to make his arrangements for clearing Smith’s lodgings. He had brought the key to Meldon the next day and reported that he had found nothing to indicate that Jonas Smith had ever been a woman.

  “I really meant the clothes you wore before you were a man.”

  “I sold them. I had no use for them.”

  “You had no intention of becoming a woman again.”

  “No.”

  Meldon was deflated. He wondered whether he wasn’t correct in believing that she had had more than one reason for becoming a man.

  “Another sigh?” Lady Caroline didn’t even look up from her embroidery.

  “I hoped that having pen and paper would help, but it doesn’t. The words won’t come.” Anna scribbled disconsolately on the piece of paper in her lap as if it would help.

  “Should they?” Lady Caroline looked at her carefully. “Are words at your command?”

  “I’m a poet.”

  “George mentioned something of the sort. What do you write about?”

  Anna bit her lip, not sure how to answer the question. “Beauty,” she said at last.

  “And what form does beauty take?”

  Anna remembered that it was Lady Caroline who encouraged Meldon to read modern poetry; she could be expected to have some knowledge about the subject.

  “I used to write about scenery and the things I saw every day. Very little of it was good.”

  “And now?”

  “And now?”

  “What would you write about if you could command the words?”

  Anna looked away.

  “Anna, have I gone too far?”

  “No, of course not. It is a reasonable question. I just don’t know how to answer it.”

  “Don’t you?” Lady Caroline set her embroidery down in her lap. “I read a lot of poetry, modern poetry I mean. I try to get George to read it but he prefers Pope and Donne and Herbert. Not long ago, however, he introduced me to the work of a young man of his acquaintance, which I found most promising. Like you, however, he seemed to me to be writing about the wrong things.”

  “What should I write about then?” Anna’s voice shook; she could not hope that Lady Caroline had not identified her as Jonas Smith.

  “Things that are in your heart. Things that make you afraid. Things that make you want to shout for joy. The things you...love”

  These were the very things that Anna wished to avoid. The thought of either Meldon or his sister seeing such poems was too distressing.

  “Or you could write something for me about George.”

  “Oh.”

  “What does he look like when he sits here at night with you?”

  “Why would you want such a thing?”

  Lady Caroline smiled gently. “For the pleasure of seeing the brother I love through the eyes of a poet.”

  “Perhaps you could set me a task each day,” said Anna, as she set the pen to the paper.

  “I doubt I shall need to,” said Lady Caroline quietly, but Anna was already too far away to hear.

  The letter from General Warren disturbed Meldon greatly. One of his neighbours in Hampshire had been seen meeting a known spy for the French. He was a new neighbour, having rented a large house near Mel
don’s estate two years before. They had never met and Meldon didn’t care much for what he had heard about him, but had never had any cause to suspect him of being anything other than a man with too much money and too little to do. Now Warren was ordering him to go back to Hampshire.

  At any other time he would have welcomed the directive, but Miss Smith would not be helped by a long journey, if given the choice. He told Perkins to start arrangements for a long visit to Meldon Hall, sent a letter to his mother telling her to expect him and a young friend and then went to see Anna.

  He was pleased to see her sitting up in bed with a pen in her hand and paper on her lap. The blue shawl that Caro had found for her was wrapped around her shoulders and he thought how well the colour suited her.

  “Miss Smith, I have to go to my estates in Hampshire.”

  She understood immediately.

  “I am to go with you.”

  “You could....” began Caro, then she shook her head, tapping a folded piece of paper against her lips. “No, that wouldn’t do.” She slipped the paper between the pages of the book she had been reading.

  Meldon raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled innocently back at him. He had expected her to offer to take Miss Smith into her own home, which would have been more proper than allowing her to travel with him. He already had his argument against such a suggestion ready, but he wondered, now, what she was thinking.

  “Yes,” he said to Anna, “I have given instruction that your new clothes are to be ready before we leave, but we shall leave soon.”

  “It makes no difference, to me, except, of course, that I shall miss Lady Caroline.”

  “And I, you, Anna, my dear. You will recover more quickly in the country than here. I always think London is so unhealthy.”

  “Yet you hardly leave it,” muttered Meldon.

  “Do speak clearly, George, you know Mother is a little deaf now. She won’t like it if you mumble so.”

  “I’m sure that she, like you, will leave me in no doubt when I displease her.”

  “Please take care of Miss Smith.”

  “Of course. Miss Smith’s comfort is my only concern.”

  “I shall see you soon enough, Anna. George usually has a ball in November.”

  He saw Anna’s eyes widen at the thought of still being in his care in November, but she said nothing.

  Chapter Five

  The journey to Hampshire was as comfortable as Meldon could make it, but Anna suffered nonetheless. Early in the morning Perkins had carried her down to the street where he and Meldon had struggled to get her into the carriage without hurting her. Then Meldon had taken her into his lap.

  “Please forgive the impropriety, Miss Smith, but I think you will be jolted less if I hold you.”

  Anna had said nothing as Meldon slipped both his arms around her. She tried to keep herself upright so that she didn’t have to touch his body, but tiredness prevailed and she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. When she awoke she realised that this was the most comfortable way to travel. Anna knew that the carriage jolted in and out of ruts, but she was spared the worst of it. Meldon did not talk much, for which she was grateful.

  It was only when they reached the inn where they were to spend their first night that she realised what her relative comfort had cost him. Meldon had handed her out into Perkins’ arms and they had gone into the inn. Over Perkins’ shoulder Anna watched the coachman help Meldon out. The earl could barely move and had had to lean on both his stick and the coachman to walk into the inn. No wonder he had barely spoken all day; it must have cost him everything to keep hold of her.

  It was some time before he visited her in her room and his pain was written on his face, yet he smiled at her.

  “I have arranged for us to dine in here. I hope that is acceptable.”

  “As you wish.” He was visibly upset by her coldness and she resolved to be kinder.

  He lowered himself carefully into the chair and looked at her.

  “I trust you were comfortable enough in the coach.”

  “I was very comfortable, but I fear you were not.”

  “That is of no matter.”

  “But it is,” she protested. “You can barely walk.”

  “I walk with difficulty anyway. It is my fault that you were injured; it is only right that I should suffer.”

  “But I called you out.”

  “So you did. Won’t you tell me why?”

  This time he asked as if it was the only thing that interested him. Perhaps it was. His eyes were fixed on hers and she could not look away. Anna briefly considered telling him, but now was not the time. Since he had discovered that she was not a man, he had become more distant and more courteous. She had expected the latter, but not the former. Meldon had been easy in Smith’s company and it had seemed that he had liked her, but now she wondered whether he was disappointed to find her a woman. Perhaps it was the duel that had changed everything for him. Oh, but she was a simpleton, of course that had been the reason for the change. She had made it look as if he had cheated in front of his friends and then tried to kill him. Only a fool would want to be closer to someone like that and Meldon was no fool. Even explaining her actions would not make everything right again, not now.

  “No, I see you won’t.” Meldon shook his head sadly.

  She had thought about it too long and the moment had passed.

  Meldon was silent throughout the meal and excused himself as soon as he had seen her comfortably settled. It was clear that the day’s journey had exhausted him.

  The next day Anna went straight into Meldon’s arms in the carriage with no protest. She had lain awake trying to think of ways to make it easier for him, but nothing occurred to her. Instead, she resolved to comply with all his requests, save one.

  The pace was slower, as it was raining. It was also much colder and Meldon wrapped a blanket around her. Anna allowed herself to relax completely against him. She felt warm and safe.

  Although she had slept during the night, her poor conscience had meant that her sleep was restless and she fell asleep almost as soon as the carriage started moving. Once she woke to find that she was holding Meldon’s arm. The fabric of his coat was rough under her fingers.

  “Move, if you wish. You must be uncomfortable like that.”

  How had he known that she was awake?

  “I don’t wish to fidget, my lord.”

  “You do not fidget. Perkins says that if you are not comfortable, it will delay the healing of your wound.”

  “Perkins wishes to be rid of me.” She bit her lip, horrified by her impertinence.

  To her surprise, Meldon laughed.

  “He says he did not come into my service to wait on a flighty woman. I suspect I will lose him should I marry... when I marry.” He paused, as if the idea of marrying was a new one. “But fidget as much as you like, you will not hurt me.”

  Anna doubted this was true, but she moved to make herself more comfortable.

  “When will you let me go?”

  She had not meant to ask this, but she had to know.

  Meldon stiffened.

  “I will not let you go to somewhere where you are not protected. And you must admit that Jonas Smith could not look after himself very well.”

  “I was managing,” she protested, but that was not what he meant. “Then I must be a governess or marry.” She had given this a lot of thought recently. Jonas Smith could make his living from poetry or gambling; Anna Smith could not.

  “Yes,” agreed Meldon softly. “But I will protect you until then.”

  Anna shifted until her hand reached one of Meldon’s. “I think you have good intentions, but you do not know the harm you do.” She patted his hand, then let her hand rest there. Her head now lay under his.

  “How do I harm you?” he asked softly. “I would undo it if I could.”

  “But you will not,” she sighed. “Perhaps when I am well again you will come to a different conclusion.” She knew he w
ould not; men of Meldon’s type and class did not have the imagination to understand how someone like her might prefer a different life.

  Meldon Hall was large and old-fashioned. The park and the drive seemed to have been landscaped in the modern style, but the house itself seemed to have grown over the centuries with little thought given to the outer appearance. Anna decided that it suited Meldon. A more modern house would have been foreign to his character.

  Once inside, she learned that the exterior had been deceptive. The entrance hall was all dark oak panelling, but the bedroom into which Perkins carried her was decorated in accordance with the latest fashion and contained all the new conveniences. Perkins settled her into the bed and made her comfortable. This was Meldon’s home, she thought. Meldon House was just somewhere where he stayed when in London, but this was his home.

  Perkins left her alone and Meldon hobbled into the room accompanied by a woman who must be his mother.

  “Miss Smith, may I present my mother, Lady Meldon? Mother, Miss Anna Smith.”

  The Countess of Meldon was still beautiful. Anna estimated that she was in her late sixties, but she carried herself as if she were much younger.

  She smiled. “You are very welcome here, Miss Smith.”

  Anna thought that she was as accomplished a liar as her son. She didn’t know what Meldon had told his mother, but she doubted it was good enough to explain why he had suddenly appeared at home accompanied by a wounded nobody called Smith, who could easily have been left in the care of his servants in London.

  “Thank you, Lady Meldon. I must apologise for greeting you in bed, but I am not yet well enough to sit in a chair for any period of time and after the journey...”

  “Think nothing of it. My son so rarely brings visitors here.”

  “I hold at least two balls a year,” said Meldon, “and you complain that the house is full of strangers, even though you know most of my guests.”

  “Don’t pretend not to understand me, George. I didn’t bring my children up to be stupid.” Lady Meldon was sharp and Anna saw where Lady Caroline’s slightly exasperated attitude to her brother came from. The head of the family was its youngest member and his sister and his mother had learned how to remind him of his youth.