Chapter 6

The sun was already shining bright through my window when I awoke. I flew out of bed the moment I saw it. How long had I slept? Clearly much longer than I had planned. I wanted to get an early start, to be able to explore the home and grounds at my own leisure.

I raced into a gown and checked my reflection quickly. The upper part of my arm where Aunt Ruth had gripped so tightly the other day was turning green and yellow with a fresh bruise. I wished for some of Lizzie’s cosmetic concoction to cover it, but I certainly wasn’t going to bother her with such a silly thing. Praying that it would go unnoticed, I raced down the hall to Peter and Charles’s bedchamber.

I threw open the door and found only two empty, neatly made beds. Where could they be now? The only reliable explanation that came to mind was that they were at breakfast. However, noting their behavior the day before, they could be anywhere, doing anything.

I hurried down the stairs and stopped outside the dining room, leaning my ear against the door. I could hear Grandfather’s soft voice intermingled with familiar giggles. Easing the door open, I stepped inside, finding Grandmother, Grandfather, and my brothers all seated at the table. I leaned against the doorframe in relief.

Grandmother looked up from her plate. “Oh, Miss Downing! Have a seat!” she exclaimed around a mouthful of food.

I walked around the table and took a chair beside Peter. “I suppose I got off to a late start this morning.”

Grandmother threw out her hand. “No matter, dear, you had a very eventful day yesterday.”

I nodded in agreement then asked, “Where are the others?”

“Hmm. I seem to have forgotten.” She scrunched her brow. “But I can tell you that they were here at breakfast only minutes ago.”

“Oh.” I felt a small pinch of disappointment. I had planned on asking Mrs. Kellaway for a tour of the home. I looked to my brothers. “And how did you sleep?”

Their faces lit up and they both began rambling on at once. “The beds were so comfortable!” Peter exclaimed.

“And so bouncy!” Charles added.

Grandmother and Grandfather laughed heartily. “Why don’t you boys come with us to the library?” Grandfather suggested. “If that is fine with your sister.”

I eyed my brothers carefully, not knowing if I should allow them this excursion. They had behaved horribly the day before, so it could be unwise to let them out of my sight again. Grandmother and Grandfather seemed trustworthy enough, and they had proved to be kind. Even so, I had no doubt that they were both capable of delivering a good scolding if necessary. So I nodded and said, “Yes, that would be wonderful. I was actually planning on exploring around a bit myself.”

“Perfect. We would be more than delighted to take them off your hands anytime. They are so darling,” Grandmother raved.

Apparently she had forgiven them for the disaster at dinner. “Well, thank you.” I stood and leaned over my brothers. “Promise me that you will be on your best behavior.” I raised my eyebrows at them.

“We promise!” Peter answered before they jumped from their chairs.

I laughed and placed my hand on Grandmother’s shoulder. “I won’t be gone for long. Thank you very much.”

She reached up a withered hand and patted mine. “Anytime, my dear.”

With one last glance at my brothers, I left the room in a hurry, eager to begin exploring. I never fully claimed the opportunity to see the grounds in detail the first time I came here. I had been avoiding a certain boy by keeping to my room.

Remembering my bonnet, I raced up the stairs and swiped it quickly from my trunk. I made a mental note to unpack later. Oh, how I despised wearing my bonnet. It itched my neck and blocked my sight. But, for the purpose of preventing further damage to my already disfigured complexion, I put it on, and tying the ribbon as loosely as possible, I hurried down the stairs and out the door.

I was welcomed by a warm breeze that carried all the smells I loved: freshly cut grass, flourishing gardens, and sunshine—I knew sunshine must have a smell for how delightful it is. I walked out behind the home and stopped to admire a beautiful bed of flowers. Yellow, purple, white, and red met my eyes. I sighed. Flowers had always been a love of mine.

As I was bending over to examine more closely a hollyhock plant that had caught my admiring eye, the sound of nearby footfalls startled me immensely.

I jumped a little, then turned quickly to discover who was approaching. Just as I did, the wind caught hold of my bonnet in a vicious gust, making it fall flat over my face. I stumbled blindly backward, being pushed by the sudden wind. In my wild attempt to adjust my bonnet, I fell over backward, landing rather hard and painfully on my backside.

Much to my dismay, whoever had been approaching now knelt beside me on the grass. And much to my even greater dismay, I heard his low and amused chuckle.

Owen.

What greater opportunity was there than this for him to tease me? I was mortified. What could I do? I racked my brain in a flurry for options. I could stand up boldly and walk away, or I could laugh at myself, or I could tell him that I fell over on purpose.

I berated myself for my stupidity and chose to leave my bonnet where it sat, shielding my face from the teasing expression that I would undoubtedly see if I were to adjust it.

Apparently Owen couldn’t even leave me with the solace found in the concealment of my face. He took my bonnet, lifted it gently, and tipped his head to peer at my face beneath it. “Are you having troubles this morning?”

I was intent on not looking at his face, but when I heard the raw amusement in his voice my eyes flew up to his angrily. “No. Before you made an appearance, I was perfectly content.”

“If I am not mistaken, you toppled of your own accord,” he said to his defense.

“You startled me!” I pulled my bonnet from his grasp. “And do you have any idea how horrid it is to wear a bonnet? They are horribly uncomfortable, and the only vision you can perceive must be straight in front of your eyes.”

“And when the wind becomes involved, even that isn’t so.”

I let out an exasperated sigh, frustrated that he wouldn’t offer even the slightest hint of empathy. “You … are … atrocious.”

He laughed and cast me a look that hinted at a challenge. “You called me that yesterday. It seems that your vocabulary would consist of a bit more variety.”

I couldn’t help but rise to the challenge. “Oh, it does.” My voice was bold, and I looked him straight in the eyes. “Would you like to hear?”

He leaned back on his hands with a satisfied smile. “I would love to.”

I turned to him, feeling extremely bold for reasons I could not name. “You are awful, barbaric, heinous, nefarious, abhorrent, flagrant, wicked, and entirely atrocious.” I regretted the words as soon as they escaped my daring mouth. What was he doing to me? I was never this outspoken.

But Owen only laughed again, seemingly pleased with the insult. “Now, Annette, is that an appropriate way to speak to a friend?”

“Is teasing and belittling any way to treat a friend? Or a lady for that matter?” I felt extremely relieved that he had taken my insults so lightly. He must have known I didn’t mean them. At least not all of them. In times of embarrassment, I tended to turn a bit atrocious myself.

“No, it’s not,” he answered seriously. He ran a hand through his hair as if frustrated about something. “I apologize.”

I was surprised by his sudden change of mood. Attempting to swallow my pride, I said, “I’m sorry too. I really didn’t mean all those things …”

He lifted an eyebrow in heavy skepticism.

“I didn’t!” I protested.

“You did.”

“I did not!” I suddenly felt the strongest urge to punch him, square in the chest, but something told me that more harm would come to my hand than to him, for the strain of his jacket against the muscle in his shoulders, arms, and chest warned me … and strangely captivated me. I looked away quickly, remembering that I was supposed to be angry with him right now.

He stood, laughing, and extended his hand in an offer to help me up. “You did mean it, and I deserved each and every word.”

I ignored his hand. “I don’t wish for your gallant assistance. I am quite capable of standing on my own, thank you.”

“Are you?”

I stood up rather dramatically and looked at him with defiance. “I am.”

“What an accomplishment.”

I gasped. His lips were twitching at the corners, which I now knew meant that he was trying to hold back laughter. I then realized that I too was trying not to laugh, for the absurdity of what I had done dawned on me suddenly. Laughter burst from within me, and once it broke free, it didn’t want to stop.

Owen tipped his head back in laughter of his own. I was reminded of last night at dinner, how easily we had laughed, and how heartily. His chuckling subsided and he looked at me with a broad grin. “You have the most unique and infectious laugh.”

“What? I do not.” I shook my head sharply.

“You do. It is unlike any laugh I have ever heard. Haven’t many people told you that?”

I shrugged, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Not many people have heard it.”

He stared at me in silence for a long moment. “Then I must be among the most privileged.”

I dropped my gaze to the grass. The dimple was back, and it was paired much too handsomely with the warm, admiring look in his countenance. I didn’t know how to respond.

His voice recalled my eyes, carrying a much lighter tone. “Would you like me to give you a tour?”

I waved off his offer and said, “I don’t wish to rob you of your time any longer.”

“It would be my pleasure. Please.” His cajoling smile made the offer nearly impossible to refuse. I had planned on asking Mrs. Kellaway, but Owen probably knew the home just as well.

“Very well,” I accepted, trying to hide just how glad I was that he had offered.

“Would you like to start with the grounds?”

I nodded, sweeping my gaze over the surrounding land. There was so much to see!

Owen beckoned me forward with a smile and a wave of his hand. “Come. We’ll start with the gardens.”

We set off together, snaking our way through the beautiful gardens; he allowed me time to admire each. My favorite was the rose garden. We stopped in front of a tall bush, adorned with miniature white roses. They looked like little flakes of beautiful snow.

Its neighboring bush, covered with soft pink roses, caught my admiring eye more than once. I quickly banished the admiration, telling myself that pink was an awful color, and that I wasn’t allowed to admire it anymore. Melancholy pooled in my heart as I remembered all the things I tried everyday to forget. Pink did that in a way that nothing else could.

Owen reached forward and broke off a pink rose. “For you.” He smiled knowingly. “I noticed you admiring them.”

Unrest surged within me. “Oh, um … ,” I didn’t know what to say. Something inside me was begging me to accept it, to put it in my hair just as I always used to do. It was beautiful. The gentleness of it, the way the sun illuminated its most attractive hues …

I quickly stopped myself. No. It was not beautiful. It was ugly. “It must have been the white roses you saw me admiring.”

He held up the rose in his hand, glancing at it from different angles. “Are you not fond of this color?”

“No, I’m not.” Remembering my manners, I added, “But thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for a rose you find unsightly.” He chuckled. “Would you like a white one?”

“That would be much better.”

He reached down to pluck off a rose near the base of the bush, smiling over his shoulder. A movement flashed in my vision from the right. I turned my head and looked twice. A robust, angry-looking woman was bounding swiftly across the grass.

I was stunned by the resemblance she bore to an animal I had read about. I believe it was called an elephant. By the way she bounded with hefty footfalls, and carried herself with such powerful authority, it seemed to me that she was the very personification of an elephant.

I jerked my gaze to Owen. I was surprised to see that he was watching her approach with a calm, if not amused, expression.

“Owen Kellaway, don’t you dare take a rose!” The elephant woman yelled, shaking a finger. “How many times must I tell you?” Her face was ruddy and her voice sounded gruff and quite terrifying.

Owen turned his head around to flash me a mischievous smile.

I knew mischievous smiles better than most, so from his I knew that he intended to pick the rose anyway. He grasped it by its stem and pulled up sharply, releasing it from the bush. Then he stood up straight and looked at me with wide eyes brimming with laughter. “Run!”

He grasped my hand and we took off, racing across the grass. The wind flew at my face, muffling my laughter along with my breathlessness. I glanced back at the woman, holding my bonnet against my head with my free hand so it wouldn’t blow onto my face again. She was advancing with great haste, pumping her arms far too high to look natural.

We reached the broad stables on the northwest lawn and Owen pulled me inside, laughing and trying to catch his breath. Two grooms, busy feeding the horses, glanced up lazily at our entrance.

I leaned against the wall, laughing between my quick breaths. “Who was that?”

He grinned with amusement, his breathing heavy. “The groundskeeper’s wife, Mrs. Berney. The woman of my nightmares.”

“And now mine.”

He laughed and leaned toward me as if to tell me a secret. “When I was a young boy, I was quite like your brothers. Nothing pleased me more than good mischief. But you have experienced that firsthand, haven’t you?” He shook his head slightly as if he had forgotten.

I raised an eyebrow. “It seems that is still the case.”

He chuckled. “That may be true, but I used to pick roses everyday. I told Mrs. Berney that I picked them as a gift for my mother, when really I picked them solely to make her angry.”

“Well, she certainly seems angry now.”

Owen nodded in agreement and smiled down at me. Under his penetrating gaze, I felt as though his eyes were taking in every feature of my face—every flaw. I was suddenly very aware of how unbecoming I must have looked, for I had spent less than two minutes getting ready. My face grew hot.

It was then that the door flew open and Mrs. Berney entered, still upholding her scolding finger. She was even more terrifying at closer range. “Owen Kellaway, you give me that rose this instant.” She narrowed her eyes in deep malice.

Owen quickly threw his hands behind his back. “What rose?” His mischievous grin had returned.

Without hesitation, Mrs. Berney raced behind him and snatched the white rose from his hand. She glowered at him, the expression making her lower teeth jut out in front of her lip and her eyes shine venomously. Perhaps it wasn’t an elephant that she personified, but a very hefty snake. She held this terrifying expression for several seconds before turning on her heel and storming out the door.

Owen turned to me with a wry grin. “Can’t you see why she would haunt my dreams?”

My wide-eyed gaze still held on the door from which she had just departed. “Yes, I most definitely can.” I turned to him with a smile. I was surprised to see that in his hand he held the pink rose he had first removed from the garden.

“This one will have to suffice.” He extended the rose to me.

I didn’t move. “How did you—”

“I held it in this hand the entire time,” he explained. “Mrs. Berney didn’t even notice.”

I eyed the rose with careful scrutiny. It sat so innocently in his hand, and I could have sworn I heard it begging me to accept it. But surely nothing so beautiful could be so innocent. It was trying to trick me.

Owen tilted his head to look more directly into my eyes. “I can assure you that it isn’t poisoned.”

I glanced up at him from under my lashes, a small smile creeping onto my lips. But I said nothing.

“Annette, what do you have against this color?” He asked, apparently sensing my resentment.

“Nothing.”

“Then take it. Please. And you will learn to love it.” His smile felt like a gift in itself.

I accepted it, only because I knew he wouldn’t relent until I did. I held it far away from me, making a note to dispose of it later.

His gaze flickered from the rose to my face, confusion written on his features. Thankfully, he moved his eyes from mine without asking for an explanation. He nodded to the stalls. “Would you like to meet the horses?”

Excitement surged within me. There had always been a special place in my heart for animals. “I would love to.”

I followed him down the aisle to the nearest stall where a tall, dark horse stood, shifting restlessly. “This is Cosmo,” Owen said. “He belongs to my elder brother, Edmond.”

I rubbed the horse’s muzzle and ran my finger along the space between his eyes. My father once told me that a horse would become your best friend if you did that. Cosmo’s fur was short and coarse, and the fuzzy skin on his snout was slightly wet. Owen moved down the row, naming off each horse. I paused at every stall to greet each, being sure to stroke them between the eyes.

Owen stopped at the stall second to the end to rub the muzzle of a copper-colored horse. “This one is mine. I received him from my father when he was only a foal.”

“What is his name?” I asked, leaning toward the horse in curiosity.

“First, you need to understand that I was very young when I named him.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I turned around to face him. “Now I’m really curious.”

Owen dropped his gaze and scuffed his boot across the floor. He glanced at me with a small smile. “Horsey.”

I laughed. “Horsey? You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

I looked at the horse again. He had large, round eyes and a playful expression. “He certainly looks like a Horsey.”

“That is precisely what I thought.” Owen laughed and gestured to the last stall. “And this lovely mare’s name is Eve.”

I walked up to Eve’s stall and stroked her head. She had a black, shiny coat with friendly, delicate features. She whinnied heartily and it almost looked like she was smiling. I rubbed between her eyes and down her muzzle, her short whiskers tickling my hand.

“I think she likes you,” Owen said, leaning against the wall.

I smiled at her. “She’s beautiful.”

“I agree.” There was something about the way he said it that made me glance up at him. He was staring at me with an expression that made my heart skip. I moved my gaze away quickly and cleared my throat. I had never been looked at the way Owen was looking at me. I found it painfully unsettling. The heat in the stables was suddenly too much.

“I should go check on my brothers.” I turned for the door quickly, eager to escape that unnerving look in his eyes.

“Wait—” Owen grasped my arm before I could escape. “I cannot allow you to leave until you have seen the orchard. Trust me, you do not want to deny yourself the opportunity.”

I turned around. Thankfully, his light expression had resurfaced. This I was more comfortable with. “Fine. But we need to hurry.”

Owen led me across the lawn to the iron gate at the entrance of the orchard. It was situated on the east side of the property. He pushed open the gate and extended his hand in a gesture for me to precede him. Inside the gate was a small set of stone stairs, and walking down the steps, I stopped in awe at the beauty of the little orchard around me.

Tall apple trees flanked a pathway of sun-golden stone, each tree standing wide and in full bloom, extending a broad canopy of shade across the path.

Owen walked to a carved wooden bench that was positioned under a tree halfway down the path. “Would you like to sit down?”

I nodded and took a seat beside him on the bench, looking around at the magnificent beauty of the place. “I have never seen an orchard.”

He looked at me, half his face in sunlight, half in shadow. “You haven’t?”

“No.”

He stood and walked to the nearest tree. “Then you must taste a fresh orchard apple.” He plucked two apples from the tree and returned to his seat beside me.

I took an apple from his extended hand and returned his warm smile. “Thank you.” The apple felt like a gift of the most thoughtful kind. How had Owen changed so quickly? Only a short time had passed since I had been tempted to inflict serious damage on his much-too-handsome face.

We ate our apples in silence—not uncomfortable silence, but the relaxing kind. The kind that settles all nerves and banishes all doubt. I listened to the birds chirping and the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. I had no desire to break the silence, but Owen’s voice snapped it right in two. “Tell me about your aunt.”

The question unsettled the relaxation that I had felt from the warm silence. I really didn’t want to lie to him too, but I didn’t want his pity. “Well, she is kind, accommodating—”

“Don’t try that with me, Annette,” he interrupted. “You may have convinced my mother, but it won’t work on me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked sheepishly.

“What kind, accommodating woman threatens two little boys for being imperfect?” His eyes housed a fire that I hadn’t seen before. “And sends them off with their sister to change their entire disposition in only a few weeks? Please tell me the truth about her.”

He held my gaze with determination that demanded an honest answer. He had behaved decently today; perhaps I could confide in him. I fixed my sights on an apple in the tallest tree across the path. It sat far apart from the rest, on the highest branch. It rested singular and defiant, alone and unreachable—just as I was supposed to be.

I stared at the apple with determination in my own gaze that I wouldn’t look at Owen, for fear of seeing pity in his eyes. “She is horrible,” I began in a hushed voice. “She spends most of the day out of the house, visiting friends, traveling. When she is home, she … well, she threatens to throw us out, or starve us.” I swallowed, fighting an unwelcome memory and continued quickly, trying to dispel the unrest that I could feel rising in Owen.

“Sometimes I fancied the idea of being thrown out. I was certain that we could fare well on our own, without a penny to our name.” I laughed lightly, though I did not feel it. “But it’s all right. We have what we need, and she doesn’t beat us anymore.” I regretted the words as soon as they escaped me. I had said too much. It was as if I could feel Owen’s anger break free and rise into the breeze.

“She beat you?” His voice was quiet and dangerous.

“I can usually prevent it now that I am older,” I stammered. “She rarely attempts to strike the boys.”

“Rarely?” He got up quickly and stood in front of me, obstructing my view of the apple, forcing me to look at him. “You can’t go back to her. You can’t.” He paced in front of me, fists clenched at his sides. I didn’t like seeing this side of him, not one bit. “How long has it been since she hurt you?”

My gaze flickered to the new bruises on my arms. For a moment I thought my movement went unnoticed, but Owen’s sharp blue eyes caught everything. He leaned forward and set his fingers on the bruise so gently I hardly felt it. But I certainly felt the shiver that his touch sent down my spine.

“It’s nothing.” I pulled my arm away, trying to reassure him with my eyes.

He must have noticed my discomfort, because the intensity of his gaze softened and he took his seat beside me on the bench. I was a little shaken. From what I had seen of him, I wouldn’t have guessed that he had this side to him.

In a softer voice, he asked, “How long has it been since your parents passed away?”

My heart lurched at the question. Why did he have to ask me so many questions? It was only another way for him to make me vulnerable. I replaced my sights on the apple. The combination of his piercing gaze and the ache in my heart would be too much. “Nearly five years.”

He didn’t speak for several seconds. “They were always very kind to me. I am sure they were kind to everyone.” His voice was so gentle it made my heart ache deeper.

“They were.”

“How old are your brothers?” I could hear his curiosity.

“Peter is seven and Charles is five.”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “So Peter was two years old, and Charles was only an infant?”

I nodded, being sure to keep my gaze fixed on the apple.

“And you have looked after and taught them all on your own.” He stated it as a fact and I couldn’t detect any pity in his voice. Something else lingered in his voice, though—something that I couldn’t find a name for. He fell silent for several heartbeats until I could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of my face. It felt as though his eyes were boring a hole into it. What was he doing? Why was he trying to make me uncomfortable?

Without warning, he moved his fingers to the side of my face and turned my head so that I was forced to look at him. My heart jumped furiously and my cheek burned under his touch. He took hold of a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind my ear. His fingers brushed my jaw so softly it sent fleeting chills down my neck and spine.

“You are so brave,” he said in a hushed voice.

The unexpected tenderness of the gesture struck my heart forcefully and I realized that I had been very wrong in my first appraisal of him—he most certainly could be serious. I would prefer his atrocious teasing over … this any day. I knew that whatever this was, I didn’t like it. It tugged at the tender parts of my heart and made me feel completely defenseless in a way that I never remembered feeling before. In fact, I felt strangely close to crying, which would not do.

But I could feel battling forces within me, one ordering me to pull away, the other tempting me to lean closer …

I immediately pushed away the unwarranted desires of that other force. I had learned which one I could trust and which one would deceive me.

So I turned my head away from Owen and stood to walk in front of the tree with the unreachable apple. Away from him as I was, I could take hold of my emotions again, I could think clearly. I placed my hand on the ragged bark of the trunk and listened carefully to the beating of my heart as it sought ceaselessly to regain its normal rhythm. I didn’t dare turn around, so I just stood there, waiting for Owen to break the agonizing silence. When he did, however, I wished he hadn’t.

“Is that why you insist on doing everything on your own?” Although his voice was gentle, his words struck me with the panic-ridden feeling of being unarmed. He was uncovering buried truths from the deepest recesses of my heart, and I felt completely exposed by it. I heard him walk up behind me. “Because you’ve had to? Because, for the past five years you’ve had no one to depend on, and no one to trust?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that doing so would drive away the tremor that was spreading through me. He was unearthing my pain too easily. Pouring salt on the oldest wounds of my heart, making them sting anew. I wanted to run away. I wanted to run as far away as possible from this man who was too skilled at finding my weaknesses—the weaknesses that I liked to deny I even had. I wasn’t going to speak. I couldn’t speak.

Owen’s hand fell gently to my shoulder and he leaned from behind to speak softly near my ear. “Please know that you can depend on me. And that you can always trust me.”

I was grateful that he didn’t try to make me look at him, for if he had, I don’t know what I would have done. All my strength deserted me and my hand slid down the tree and fell to my side. That other force was at work again, tempting me to lean into him, to bury my face in his shoulder and cry like I hadn’t for years. To let him wrap his arms around me and hold me. To allow myself to depend on him, to trust him.

This was Owen Kellaway I was thinking about. I must have been going mad.

“I will be waiting inside, if you wish to continue your tour.” His hand fell from my shoulder and I heard him walk away in silence, shutting the iron gate behind him.

My shoulder tingled from where his hand had rested and my heart reeled at his departure. He must have known that I needed to be left to myself, that he had severely disheveled my emotions. I needed to be alone to realign them.

I had begun to doubt the wisdom of spending any portion of time with Owen. If in the short hours of the day he managed to already discover this piece of my heart, it terrified me to think of how much yet he could learn of it. Or steal of it.

There hadn’t been a man to exist in the world that could flutter my heart the way Owen did with a mere smile, and it was not something that I could allow any longer. I had made promises, and in my experience with life, promises were not made to be broken.

I steeled myself and closeted my emotions, rubbing my hand against the trunk of the tree, tracing my finger in an indiscriminate shape. Memories filled my mind and, in an effort to stop them from coming, I closed my eyes.

But life would be far too simple if memories could be as easily dismissed as visions could.

A