Carousel of Hearts Read online

  CAROUSEL OF HEARTS

  Mary Jo Putney

  Prologue

  With a qualm that would have amazed the polite world, the dowager Lady Forrester drew a deep breath before announcing, “Since you refuse to engage a companion, I’ve done it for you.”

  Lady Antonia Thornton had been carefully darkening her brows, but at the statement she whipped her bright head around to stare at her aunt. “You did what?” she asked in a dangerous tone.

  Strong men had been known to crumble under the beautiful Lady Antonia’s cinnamon-brown gaze, but her aunt was made of sterner stuff. Lady Forrester had deliberately chosen to approach her niece in the young woman’s boudoir, hoping that the informal setting might make the girl more malleable.

  It had been a very slim hope. “I have engaged a companion for you. It is bad enough that you insist on setting up your own establishment now that your father is dead, but it is unthinkable that you should live alone.”

  Antonia swiveled around on the chair to face her aunt. “I am twenty-four years old, the daughter of the ninth Earl of Spenston, a baroness in my own right, and the mistress of my own indecently large fortune,” she said coolly. “Why the devil should I have to tolerate the vagaries of some insipid, bantling-brained female?”

  “Because you are a part of society, no matter how much you choose to think otherwise,” Lady Forrester snapped. “Even birth and wealth will not allow you unlimited license. Already you have the reputation as a bluestocking and an eccentric even before you jilted Lord Ramsay. What would your father say if he were alive?”

  Antonia stood, drawing herself up to her full, impressive height. “My father would have encouraged me to do what I thought best. He abhorred missishness and was the one who taught me how foolish most social rules are.”

  The dowager realized it had been a mistake to invoke Antonia’s father. The late earl had been a politician noted for his radical beliefs, and he’d passed those beliefs on to his daughter.

  Trying a more conciliatory tack, Lady Forrester said, “I won’t deny that many of society’s strictures are foolish. However, paying lip service will give you more freedom to do what you wish. Your father would have been the first to recommend holding your fire for the battles that matter most.”

  Seeing that her words were having some effect, she continued, “I know better than to engage a companion who is, as you so vulgarly put it, ‘bantling-brained.’ Judith Winslow is a young widow, a connection of my husband’s family. She’s only a couple of years older than you, very intelligent, and no more missish than you are. I think you would deal extremely well together.”

  “I don’t care if she’s a Fellow of the Royal Society!” Antonia exclaimed. “I don’t want a companion, and that’s final. Go foist your poor relation off on someone else.”

  The door to Lady Antonia’s boudoir was open, so every word of the battling ladyships carried clearly to the slight young woman who sat in the adjoining sitting room, hands and expression carefully blank. Judith Winslow was used to being unwanted. As an orphan she had been shuttled between the homes of various relations, treated as something between a charity girl and a nursery maid.

  Judith had learned early that to be noticed by men invited trouble, so for safety’s sake she’d learned to dress drably. Dowdiness had served her well. The only person who had ever shown serious interest in her was the curate who had briefly been her husband.

  She didn’t learn till later that Edwin Winslow’s real wish had been to acquire a nurse for the fatal illness he’d concealed until after their marriage. At least his attentions had been honorable.

  In spite of her appearance of calm, the hand Judith raised to subdue a strand of chestnut hair trembled. She had known this journey was a mistake. But Lady Forrester had been insistent and she was not an easy woman to withstand.

  Well, in a few minutes it would be over and they could leave. Surely Lady Forrester would allow Judith to stay at her home for a few weeks while the poor relation searched the London agencies for a situation.

  She listened to the raised voices critically. Her situation had made her expert in judging other people’s moods, and it was clear that Lady Antonia was not amused by her aunt’s presumption.

  Judith had had quite enough of being passed around the Forrester family like a parcel of worn clothes. It was time to find a position on merit. Perhaps she would be lucky enough to find an employer who wanted his daughters educated in natural philosophy as well as embroidery and sketching.

  Lady Forrester abruptly gave up the fight. “Very well, if you won’t have Mrs. Winslow, tell her yourself. She in your sitting room.”

  “What!” Lady Antonia’s rich contralto rose to a new level of outrage. “You dragged that poor woman over here and left her where she would hear us brangling? I’ve known you to do some cow-handed things. Aunt Lettie, but this is the outside of enough. How could you?”

  The statement was accompanied by the sound of swift footsteps. Judith was already on her feet when Lady Antonia swept into the sitting room, but she was hard-pressed not to gasp.

  She’d heard that Lady Antonia was beautiful and had taken the evaluation with a grain of salt. Though all heiresses are beautiful by definition, the lady’s intemperate language implied a masculine sort of female. But there was nothing the least bit masculine about the dazzling young woman who appeared.

  Lady Antonia had a perfection of form and feature that mere money could never have achieved. Above average height, she had a splendid figure and a glowing vitality that illuminated the sitting room. Her most striking feature was a cascade of hair that was neither red nor gold, but a shimmering color somewhere in between, a molten shade reminiscent of apricots and sunsets.

  Her wide, direct eyes were a warm brown with cinnamon depths, and her mobile, high-cheek boned face looked better suited to laughter than tears. Even mourning could not dim her sparkle. Indeed, she looked magnificent in black.

  With weary resignation, Judith’s eyes met Lady Antonia’s across the width of the room. In the face of such splendor, Judith drew in on herself, unconsciously raising her chin as she waited to be sent away. She had survived worse than this. It had not been her idea to come, so she had no reason to feel humiliated by her rejection.

  The moment stretched as the young women’s gazes locked and held. Though her aunt had said the proposed companion was young, Antonia was still surprised at the widow’s youthfulness.

  Mrs. Winslow looked scarcely old enough to have been married, much less widowed. She was small-boned and fragile of build, her thick chestnut hair pulled severely back, her fair complexion drained of color by her mourning blacks. Though her face would have been attractive under other circumstances, today her translucent skin was stark and tight over the delicate bones.

  Clothing was a mere detail. What struck Antonia was the fine gray eyes that returned Antonia’s gaze with bleak bravery.

  In a flash of insight, Antonia sensed a lifetime of forced patience, of poverty, of hopelessness. The life of an outsider who lives on the sufferance of others.

  Yet Judith Winslow was not defeated. There was strength and courage in those clear eyes that held her own. Antonia responded to those qualities, wondering if she herself would be equally brave under such circumstances. “I’m sorry you heard that, Mrs. Winslow. You’ll have gathered that I find the idea of a companion quite insupportable.”

  The widow lifted her small chin as if bracing for a blow, and her gallantry triggered one of Antonia’s impulsive decisions. “I don’t need a companion or a slave, but one can always use more friends.” She crossed the room and offered her hand. “Shall we see if we can be friends?”

  The expressive gray eyes registered shock, then a rush of emotion that c
ame perilously near tears. Antonia understood the other woman’s struggle for composure. When one is hurting, kindness can be harder to accept than cruelty.

  Mastering herself, Judith Winslow accepted Antonia’s hand. “I should like that very much,” she said in a soft, cultured voice. “Very much indeed.”

  Though Antonia did not know it then, the casual, unthinking generosity that was the despair and delight of her intimates had just won her a lifetime’s loyalty.

  Chapter One

  Antonia gazed at the book in her lap and realized that her eyes had traversed the page three times, yet she couldn’t remember a single word. In fact, she didn’t even remember what the book was. A novel, apparently.

  She raised her head and glanced across the sitting room to Judith. “Do you think Adam will be here soon? It must be almost noon.”

  Curled up in the window seat with her embroidery, Judith offered a sympathetic smile. “It is now five minutes later than the last time you asked that question, and midday won’t be here for some time yet.’’

  Antonia wrinkled her nose ruefully and gave up on her book, setting it on a table before starting to pace the sitting room with long impatient strides. For the hundredth time since receiving her cousin’s letter the month before, she fretted, “If I had known what ship he was arriving on, I could have met him.”

  As she had on numerous other occasions, Judith patiently replied, “I’m sure that is exactly why he didn’t tell you. Even though you haven’t seen each other in eight years, obviously your cousin remembers you very well. He must have known you would go rushing down to the port in person, and the Isle of Dogs is hardly the place for a lady to wait.”

  “Don’t you dare be logical!’’ Antonia exclaimed, laughing in spite of herself. She went back to pacing the sitting room, where the two women spent much of their time when they were in London. Less formal than the drawing room, it commanded a fine view of Grosvenor Square. The furniture was chosen more for comfort than for style, and books, periodicals, and musical instruments gave the room a friendly air. It was not as good as being at her estate, Thornleigh, but it was the most welcoming spot in the house.

  Absently plucking the strings of Judith’s harp, she said, “You’re quite right. Even after eight years Adam knows me better than anyone else.”

  Adam Yorke was not a near relation, only her second cousin, but they had been raised together. Three years older than Antonia, he was the brother she had never had. When they were young, he had been the most important person in her world; she had even once thought. . .

  She cut the thought off sharply. What mattered was that he was her best friend. Antonia shot Judith a quick, guilty glance. Well, Adam was her best male friend. One can be close to friends in different ways. Certainly Judith was the closest female friend Antonia had ever had.

  As she had done approximately once a day for over two years, Antonia blessed the chance that had brought Judith into her life. Though the women appeared very different on the surface, their minds, opinions, and humor matched beautifully. Judith was the best of companions, while at the same time respecting Antonia’s need for privacy, because Judith herself needed time alone.

  Aunt Lettie still preened herself on the success of her meddling and took considerable pleasure in the fact that Judith’s calm good sense checked some of Antonia’s wilder starts.

  In return, Judith had blossomed in an atmosphere where she was not only encouraged, but required, to speak her mind. The pale little widow was gone forever. Now she was a quietly lovely young woman, her rich chestnut hair falling in gentle waves around a delicate face that looked younger than her twenty-eight years.

  The two women had emerged from mourning about the same time, and Antonia had taken the occasion to coax her companion into a new wardrobe, arguing that it was Judith’s duty to be in her best looks, since Antonia was the one required to see her. Judith would have balked if she had known how much her elegantly simple clothing cost, but the bills were a secret between Antonia and the fashionable modiste both women patronized.

  Abandoning the harp, Antonia crossed to the mantel and lifted a graceful wood sculpture of a peregrine falcon resting on a branch, its head cocked to one side, as if recalling the joy of flight. Adam had carved the falcon when he was fifteen, giving it to her for her twelfth birthday. She stroked the polished wood lovingly. It was beautifully made; her cousin had always been clever with his hands. As children, they had roamed the hills hunting nests together, taking care not to frighten the parent birds so the eggs and babies wouldn’t be neglected.

  As Antonia set the sculpture back on the mantel, Judith said slowly, “I probably shouldn’t even suggest this, but have you considered how much your cousin might have changed over the years? He was scarcely twenty-one when he went to the East Indies. He’s a man now. Things might not be the same.”

  “Nonsense!” Antonia caressed the satiny wood again. “With all the letters we’ve exchanged over the years, I would have noticed if Adam had suddenly become someone else. He’ll have changed some, of course—who doesn’t change in eight years?—but he’ll still be Adam.”

  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 marry, 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 playe
d 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!”