Page 34 of Feathers in the Wind
He fixed her with a steady gaze as if studying every inch of her face and the line of her head. Perdita watched his hand moving across the paper with the long -practiced skill.
‘You had no children with your husband?’ he asked.
Perdita started at the unexpected question. ‘No… none that lived.’ She caught at the material in her skirt, pleating it between her fingers, willing the old pain to go away. ‘I have no wish to talk about my marriage or the children that might have been. I left all that behind me in London.’
His hand had stopped and he studied her face with such disconcerting intensity that she had to look away and she said aloud the words that crowded her mind. ‘I’ve learned to live with the pain of that lost child, but it’s there, every day of my life.’
‘There will be other children,’ Adam said.
She turned to look at him, the pain jagged in her throat as she blurted out, ‘But there will always be that little ghost at my skirt.’
For a very long moment, neither of them moved. They stared at each other transfixed by the raw emotion that lay between them.
Perdita broke the eye contact and took a deep breath. ‘You’re right, though. God willing, there will be children when I wed Simon.’
He turned his attention back to the drawing. ‘When will that be?’
‘Christmas,’ she said. ‘We have decided that as soon as the campaigning ends for this year, we will be wed. Poor Simon had been so sure it would not come this far, but there we are.’
Adam set the pen down and leaned back scrutinising his work. ‘It is done. Just a quick sketch.’
‘Can I see?’ Perdita rose to her feet and Adam handed her the paper.
As she looked down at her image, a rush of conflicting emotions overcame her. She saw the same face that stared back at her each day from the mirror, but her life story was drawn in the line of the jaw and the set of her eyes. It was as if he had looked into her very soul and seen the pain of the loss of her child, the nightmare of her marriage, her loneliness and something else… something deep and frightening that involved this man.
‘Do I really look like that?’ she said with a forced laugh
‘No, Perdita, you are much more beautiful.’
She raised her gaze to meet his eyes. No man had ever told her she was beautiful or looked at her in the way he looked at her now. She saw desire and tenderness, more profound than the simple adoration she saw in Simon's eyes, reflected in the eyes of this stranger. In an instant, his face closed over. He took the paper from her, screwed it up and flung it into the fireplace where a small fire burned against the unseasonable chill.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asked.
‘It was not very good,’ he said quickly.
‘Perdita. You are needed in the kitchen.’ Bess poked her head around the door. ‘There you are. Cook has burned the chicken and there is a frightful row. Can you deal with him? I fear I shall have a saucepan thrown at me. How are you today, Captain Coulter?’
‘I am well enough, Mistress Clifford. Could I ask a favour of you?’
‘Of course,’ Bess replied.
‘Can you ask Robin to come to me?’
* * *
After Bess tripped offin search of Robin, Adam hauled himself out of the chair and limped painfully to the fireplace. The drawing he had made of Perdita had fallen just short of the smouldering embers and he bent to retrieve it. He smoothed the creases, folded it and barely had time to put it inside his jacket before Robin entered without knocking.
‘You sent for me?’ Robin gave his brother a sarcastic bow.
‘I have a favour to ask of you,’ Adam said.
Robin’s eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘I would be grateful if you could deliver this.’
Robin took the letter Adam held out for him. He read the name and looked up at Adam his eyes wide with surprise. ‘This is addressed to—’
‘I know to whom it is addressed,’ Adam cut across his brother. ‘He knows you, Robin. You can give it into his hand.’
