Antonia consciously smoothed away the frown forming between her brows. She’d never understood why Adam had left England the way he did. Her father had intended to buy Adam a commission in the army when he came down from Cambridge.
Then, abruptly, Adam was gone, leaving only a hastily scribbled note that he had decided to enter the East India Company instead, and he must catch a ship immediately. He had apologized for not saying a proper good-bye and had written faithfully over the years since, but had never once explained why he had not discussed such an important decision with her.
Antonia repressed a sigh. Perhaps Adam had known she would have tried to talk him out of leaving. His cavalier departure had been a tremendous shock, making Antonia understand how much she had misjudged his feelings.
She shrugged, impatient with her thoughts. What mattered now was that he was back, and the bonds of blood and friendship were more powerful than romantic dreams had ever been.
Judith watched Antonia sympathetically. Judith herself was almost as impatient for Adam Yorke’s arrival as her mistress was. She had been hearing about Adam for over two years, had listened to lengthy excerpts from his letters, and had a mental image of an intelligent man with a kind heart and a ready sense of humor. She quite looked forward to meeting him.
Sometimes Judith wondered if there was anything romantic in Antonia’s attachment to her cousin, but had seen no sign of that. In fact, Judith had never seen Antonia show even the faintest of
tendres
for anyone, in spite of the swarms of men who buzzed hopefully around when they were in London.
Her employer was something of an enigma. Antonia was warm and demonstrative by nature, and she could be very outgoing, talking and flirting with her admirers. But she had a restless streak that needed the wide-open spaces and freedom of her estate in the Peak District.
Because of her stunning beauty, she had few close friends. Women resented her and men wanted to bed her, leaving little room for the relaxed pleasures of friendship. Perhaps Judith’s mistress would spend the rest of her days as a happy headstrong spinster since she needn’t marry for either fortune or status.
Considering how poorly many marriages turned out, Judith couldn’t fault her friend for avoiding the state. Why marry unless one was sure it would be an improvement? And even then, a woman could easily be wrong. Judith had been. But perhaps Antonia just hadn’t found the right man—Judith suspected that her friend had a secret romantic streak.
Shrugging, she returned to her embroidery. If Antonia ever decided to many, there would be no lack of candidates for her hand.
As Judith concentrated on her tiny, exquisite stitches, she hoped that Adam Yorke would arrive soon. When her mistress was in this mood, it was like sharing a cage with a tiger. Admittedly Antonia was an amiable tiger, but the situation was not restful.
Time passed. Judith stitched and Antonia played passionately on the pianoforte, nobly refraining from asking the time again. It was nearly noon when Judith straightened up in her window seat and stretched, glancing down into Grosvenor Square as she did. A hackney was stopping, and her gaze sharpened as a man stepped down and looked up at Antonia’s house.
Surely this must be Adam Yorke. Judith studied him as he in turn scanned the marble facade. The sun was coming at an angle that prevented the new arrival from seeing inside, but his uncertain expression was clearly visible to Judith.
Interesting. While Antonia might not think the time that had passed made a difference, apparently her cousin was not so sure. Perhaps eight years building a fortune at the other end of the world were longer than eight years moving through the timeless cycles of English society.
Dismissing the fanciful thought, Judith said casually, as if this was not a much-anticipated event, “I believe your cousin has arrived. At any rate, a gentleman carrying a package is about to knock at the door.”
The pianoforte stopped abruptly, leaving a crashing silence. “What does he look like?”
“Sun-browned, solidly built. I can’t see his hair under his hat,” Judith reported. Before she could say more Antonia was gone, leaving an open door and a rapidly fading sound of footsteps. Even on her most restrained days Antonia was impetuous, and in her present mood she was neither to hold nor to bind. Amused, Judith rose and followed with more dignity. Standing at the top of the stairs that swept down into the entry hall gave her a perfect view of the scene below her.
The newcomer was handing both hat and package to the butler, revealing sun streaked light brown hair. Somewhere in his travels he had found a notable tailor, but even Weston could not have rendered that broad, powerful frame elegant. Judith guessed that Adam Yorke was too muscular, too vital, to be fashionable. He looked like a man who knew a great deal about hard work, and work was very unfashionable indeed.
Antonia wasted no time in analysis. She pelted down the steps, her apricot curls flaring behind her as she cried out, “Adam!”
Her cousin gazed up at the sound of her voice, and Judith got a clear view of his face. His wide-boned features were pleasant rather than handsome, and for a moment Judith saw the same uncertainty she had noticed when he was outside. Then his face lit up at the sight of Antonia’s headlong rush.
Two steps above the bottom of the stairs, Antonia launched herself at her cousin. It said much for Adam Yorke’s reflexes and strength that he was able to catch her in midair, the force of her leap whirling him halfway around. He gave Antonia an exuberant hug before setting her down on the marble floor.
The cousins’ laughter joined and floated up, Adam exclaiming in a deep, rich baritone, “Good Lord, Lady Hoyden, haven’t you grown up yet?”
“Of course not!” Antonia’s arms were linked around his neck as she beamed up into his face. “Wouldn’t you be dreadfully disappointed if I had?”
“I expect I would.”
Adam touched a gentle hand to his cousin’s bright hair as Judith watched. She felt embarrassed to observe the intimacy between them.
Reminding herself that the butler was also an interested spectator, Judith descended the stairs at a much slower rate than her employer. Antonia might think of Adam as her brother, but the world at large would consider her raptures unseemly, and part of Judith’s job was to protect her employer from censure. That meant making her presence known now.
As she reached the bottom of the staircase, Antonia glanced up with a vivid smile. “Judith, you will have gathered that this is my prodigal cousin, Adam Yorke. Adam, this is my companion, Mrs. Winslow.”
As the newcomer turned to her, Judith saw that Adam was only a little over average height, but his broad frame made him seem larger. His eyes were the changeable kind, gray-green with flecks of brown, and as they fell on her, she saw surprise in them.
His expression warmed to amusement as he bowed very correctly over Judith’s hand. His fingers clasped hers with the practiced gentleness of a man who must be careful of using too much strength, but she still felt power in his touch.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Winslow. If I look startled, it is because Tony has been systematically misleading me for the last two years.” He glanced at his cousin. “So this is the ferocious widow that Lady Forrester foisted on you. I thought there was something smoky about that tale—I couldn’t imagine you accepting foisting from anyone.”
Antonia laughed. “I assure you, she is the veriest dragon. Say something in dragon, Judith.”
Perfectly straight-faced, Judith said, “Most improper, Lady Antonia. That is the outside of enough. Lady Antonia.” She had the exact inflection of Lady Forrester at her most top-lofty. She ended with “Deplorable what modern manners are coming to, Lady Antonia!” and her listeners succumbed to appreciative laughter.
“I am convinced. Mrs. Winslow is clearly ferocious.” Retrieving his package from the butler, Adam suggested, “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room? In the best traveler’s tradition, I have brought back bits of trumpery from the ends of the earth.”
They went to the more informal sitting room, where Adam produced marvelous gifts that could hardly be called trumpery. There was an exquisite cloisonné pendant, smooth ivory figurines, even a crystal scent bottle from China with elegant goldfish painted on the inside surface.
Antonia unplugged the bottle and sniffed, her eyes closed. “M-m-m, how wonderful. It smells so un-English. I can fancy myself in an Oriental bazaar.”
As Antonia passed the bottle to Judith, Adam said, “The Orient has its share of less appealing odors, but this particular perfume is said to be the favorite of the Emperor of China’s chief concubine.”
He stopped and laughed ruefully. “Now that I am back in England, I expect I shouldn’t mention such a thing to an unmarried lady.”
“Don’t you dare get missish on me,” Antonia said, her voice stern but with laughter shining through. Having Adam within touching distance still seemed to good to be true.
She studied her cousin hungrily, feeling an odd duality. Though his open, laugh-lined face seemed more familiar than her own, at the same time she felt the span of years that lay between them. His warm eyes were the same, as was his teasing half-smile, but years of sun and wind had weathered his complexion, making him look older and more authoritative.
Antonia knew that Adam had done rather well with his business ventures and that he had had experiences she could never really understand. It was easy to imagine him as a formidable adversary. Yet still he felt like her cousin and favorite relation, not like a stranger.
While she had pondered, Adam produced a length of brilliant silk and laid it in her arms. Antonia gasped at its incredible lightness, and the shimmering, ever-changing colors defied description. One of the rich shades that the sunlight struck from the material was the same apricot as her hair.
There was also a broad border of gold embroidery along one edge, but beyond that, words failed her. She lifted a length of the fragile shining stuff in her hands, admiring its softness and the sensual way it flowed. “This is the most beautiful fabric I’ve ever seen, Adam. Where is it from?”
“India. It’s a sari, the garment Indian women wear.” He reached inside his coat for an envelope and handed it to her. “No mere male could begin to describe how it is worn, but a woman I knew in Bombay wrote down directions for the correct way to fold it. You’ll probably want to have the fabric made into a dress, but I was sure that you would want to try it Indian-style at least once.”
“Of course.” Her arms full of silk, Antonia impulsively leaned across to kiss Adam’s cheek. “As usual, you think of everything. Thank you.”
Adam tensed slightly at her touch. Though he was clean-shaven, her lips registered the faint, barely perceptible prickle of whiskers as they pressed against his cheek. It was a very masculine texture.
More clearly than words, the contact reminded her that Adam was a man, not a boy. Disconcerted, she drew back from the contact quickly.
Perhaps she imagined the slight pause before Adam smiled and dug out one last item. “And this is for you, Mrs. Winslow.”
Judith had been doing her considerable best to efface herself to invisibility, so she was startled when Adam Yorke held the gift out to her. For most of her life she had been an onlooker, the one who had no right to expect presents or special favors. The thoughtfulness of his gesture made her voice catch when she tried to speak. “You shouldn’t have brought me anything, Mr. Yorke. You don’t even know me!”
“True, but I wanted to turn Antonia’s companion up sweet,” he said, using the slang with the utmost gravity. “I thought that a box for medications would be a suitable choice for an aging widow of uncertain temper.”
As Judith gazed into the warm, changeable eyes, she realized that Adam Yorke also knew much about being an outsider. For the first time, she wondered why he had been raised with Antonia and what had become of his parents.
But of course that was none of her business. She bent her head to examine the wooden box he placed in her hands.
“It’s made from sandalwood,” he said.
The box was inlaid with ivory and exquisitely carved in a rich pattern of flowers and leaves. A faint spicy scent was noticeable when Judith raised the lid. The interior was divided into velvet-lined compartments of different sizes. Surely the box had been expensive, and it was a thoughtfully chosen gift that would be useful to any female, of any age or disposition.
“It is the loveliest thing I have ever owned,” Judith said softly as she glanced up. If she had been Adam’s cousin, she would have kissed him, too, but she contented herself with a smile. “Thank you. I shall cherish it always.” Then, teasingly, “It will be perfect for my pills and nostrums.”
They all laughed. Then Judith withdrew to the window seat to resume her embroidery, leaving the cousins talking in the kind of half-completed sentences that close relatives or very good friends use.
Judith also rang for the butler and gave a quiet order for the midday meal to be set back. Antonia and Adam would need to talk the first effusions out before they could think of food.
After an hour of nonstop dialogue, Antonia asked the question that had been prominent in her mind ever since her cousin had written that he was returning to England. “How long will you be staying, Adam? At least a few months, I hope.”
He cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “Will you be hopelessly cast down if I say that I am back for good?”
“That’s wonderful!” Antonia almost bounced in her chair. She seemed to be talking exclusively in exclamation points today. Fortunate that Aunt Lettie wasn’t around. “What are your plans?”
His eyes intent on hers, Adam hesitated for a long moment before shaking his head. “It’s too soon to say. I need time to become reacquainted with England. What about you, Tony? I spent most of a year thinking that you were a respectably married lady, only to have you write that you had sent Lord Ramsay to the rightabout. Have you brought anyone else up to scratch yet?”
“Such vulgarity, cousin.” She grimaced. “I’ve had no shortage of proposals, but none worth accepting.”