I can, I WILL, obliterate the invisible wall between us, Ariana vowed to herself now, watching her husband’s rigid descent. Deliberately, she summoned strength by recalling the flight of her rare and magnificent white owl. His appearance at dawn’s first light had been no accident, but a sign that what she was seeking could be hers. He seemed to materialize whenever her faith was raw and needed renewal—specifically, at the brink of each emotional precipice with Trenton. First there was the night they’d met, then the day she’d become his wife, and now this morning, when she’d accepted the reality of her love for him. Like a true miracle, her owl had become a symbol of inspiration and a promise of the future.
A sense of lightness and inevitability replaced Ariana’s melancholy. Somehow, some way, she would reach into Trenton’s heart, extract his pain, and procure his love. She needed that … and so did he.
Resolutely, she racked her brain for a safe topic of conversation, intending to rectify the fact that, despite their physical intimacy, she and her husband scarcely knew each other. Their time together had thus far been dominated by either anger or passion, leaving little room for verbal discourse.
“Broddington is an extraordinary home,” she offered cautiously.
Trenton acknowledged her words with a curt nod. “So you’ve told me.”
“Yes, but at the time I had seen only the conservatory.”
“And that’s changed?” Surprised by his wife’s implication, Trenton swung his head around to look at her.
Vigorously, Ariana nodded. “Yesterday Dustin gave me a tour … or at least a partial one,” she amended, warming to the memory. “The music room, the drawing room, the billiard room, the gallery … he showed me all of them.” She paused to catch her breath. “They’re every bit as impressive as the conservatory.”
Throughout Ariana’s enthusiastic recounting, Trenton’s scowl had intensified. “I’m pleased you feel that way,” he returned in a clipped tone. “You and Dustin were apparently even more productive during my absence than I’d originally realized.”
Ariana started. NOW why is he angry? she wondered. Is it the fact that I invaded his domain? Or is it the memories this conversation evokes … memories he’d rather forget?
Whatever his reasons, Ariana was determined to learn all she could. “I saw the paintings of your mother in the gallery,” she began, racing on before trepidation compelled her to reconsider. “She was an incredibly beautiful woman. I see only a slight resemblance between the two of you. … She looks so ethereal, so small and delicate. Dustin has her midnight-blue eyes, don’t you think?”
A glimmer of humor softened the rigid lines of Trenton’s face. “Yes, my mother was beautiful; no, I don’t resemble her much; and yes, Dustin does have her unusual color eyes. Anything else?”
Ariana flushed, recognizing how absurd her inane babbling must sound. Still, as a first step in isolating Trenton’s suppressed ire, it had served its purpose. His unruffled reaction told her he wasn’t bothered by her visit to the gallery or by her viewing of his mother’s portraits. In fact, he seemed totally unaffected by Ariana’s intrusion into that aspect of his past. Further, his own reference to his mother was made with relative ease, indicating that she was excluded from the bitterness that ate at his heart.
Which left, as she’d suspected, his father.
And the Caldwells.
Trenton had reached the foot of the stairs. Leaning against the wall, he studied the engrossed expression on his wife’s face as she made her way toward him. “Evidently you were greatly impressed by your tour,” he commented dryly.
Ariana blinked, snapping out of her reverie. “Your talent is visible in every one of Broddington’s rooms.” She tilted her head back to watch Trenton’s reaction. “As well as Dustin’s talent …” She paused. “And, of course, your father’s.”
A dark cloud settled over Trenton’s face.
“As I told you, my father was a genius.” He straightened, purposefully tugging each of his coat sleeves to the wrist. “As for your observations of Broddington’s assets … they will have to wait.” Clearing his throat roughly, Trenton headed for the dining room, putting an end to any discussion of Richard Kingsley. “I have a great deal to accomplish today. I believe we came downstairs to eat?”
Ariana followed slowly. “Yes, we did.”
“Then suppose we do that. You can entertain me with tales of your excursion through the manor later today.”
“But you won’t be here later today.” Ariana was stunned by her own boldness.
Trenton stopped in his tracks. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that I expect you’ll be off to Spraystone immediately after our meal.”
Silence.
Nervously fingering the folds of her gown, Ariana walked around in front of her husband, facing him squarely even as she prayed she was not overstepping her bounds. “Unless, of course, you’d planned to remain at Broddington today. Had you?”
Trenton stared down at her for a timeless time, his eyes hooded. Ariana’s heart slammed in her chest as she awaited his reply, fervently wishing she could read his thoughts. What she wouldn’t give for an iota of Theresa’s foresight right now!
“I would enjoy seeing the rest of the manor,” she went on, lightly touching Trenton’s sleeve. “And I would rather you showed it to me. That is”—she swallowed, carefully treading on unsure ground—“if you wouldn’t mind.”
Trenton glanced at the small hand on his arm. “I could remain at Broddington today,” he conceded at last. “If you’d prefer it.”
Ariana’s whole face lit up. “Oh, yes, I’d prefer it!”
“Fine.” He resumed walking. “I’ll take you through whatever rooms you have yet to see.” Pausing in the doorway of the dining room, he turned to add, “After we eat.”
Ariana wanted to jump up and sing with triumph. With the greatest of efforts she controlled herself. “That would be wonderful,” she replied instead, smiling beatifically.
She was instantly and unexpectedly ravenous.
“Who studied in this lovely schoolroom?” Ariana asked, drinking in the open feeling of the high ceilings and wall-to-wall windows.
“Both Dustin and I took our lessons here.” Trenton stood rigidly, arms folded across his chest, in the doorway. During the past hour he’d taken Ariana through Broddington’s library, kitchen, and guest wing, describing each section of the manor with the brilliant detail of an architect and the removed indifference of a cynic. Despite the insight provided by the former, the latter spoke volumes more.
“I don’t understand,” Ariana said in a puzzled tone. “How could you have studied here if Broddington was not yet built?”
“The original manor was standing long before I was born. Dustin and I helped my father redesign the entire estate when we were in our teens. The schoolroom, however, is mostly unchanged. The double doors are of a thicker construction, and a washroom was added just on the other side of that wall.” He pointed.
“What a miraculous haven for learning!” Recalling her own dismal hours in the dreary Winsham schoolroom, Ariana was entranced. She ran her hand over one of the two low wooden stools, trying to picture a dark-haired little boy laboring over his lessons. “You must have been an exemplary student.”
“I don’t remember much of my early schooling.”
Wincing at the brusqueness of his tone, Ariana pushed on, determined to reach inside the stony man standing before her and extract the sensitivity she glimpsed only in their bed. “You must have had favorite subjects,” she prodded.
He shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve always had an aptitude for business, a flair for detailed types of sketching, and a fascination with the way buildings are designed.”
“Is sketching a building that much different from sketching any other subject?”
“Identical in some ways, worlds apart in others.”
“How so?”
Trenton rubbed his palms together thoughtfully. “Obviously, all drawings re
quire discipline and imagination,” he explained. “But planning a building is not merely an aesthetic process. It’s a pragmatic one.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “In designing a home the architect must combine the owner’s personal tastes with his lifestyle.” Warming to his subject, he crossed the room to stand beside Ariana, displaying the room with a wide sweep of his hand. “For example, Broddington’s schoolroom adjoins the governess’s quarters, yet is far removed from the living quarters … and the distractions they pose.” He indicated the long line of windows on the far wall. “However, the room is also well lit and directly over the gardens, hopefully making it more conducive to learning.” Pride shone in his eyes as he surveyed the entirety of his family’s creation. “Each room is strategically placed and carefully constructed … a thriving entity unto itself and a harmonious segment of the whole.”
“I’m terribly impressed,” Ariana admitted. “I had no idea so much was involved in being an architect. In fact”—she looked sheepish—“my own sketches are so atrocious that Theresa hid my sketchpad in the hopes that I would abandon painting.”
Trenton’s lips twitched. “And did you?”
“Yes. In truth, I was dreadfully relieved.”
“What did you enjoy doing?” he asked curiousiy.
“I kept a detailed journal of every animal, bird, and plant at Winsham. But most of my day was spent on French lessons.”
“Ah, so you enjoyed French.”
“I loathed it.”
Trenton’s brows drew together in question. “Then why …”
“Because Mademoiselle Leblanc commanded it.”
“Who on earth is Mademoiselle Leblanc?”
“My governess,” Ariana supplied. “She thought all other studies but French to be frivolous.” So saying, she marched behind the straight-backed chair and slapped her palm on the walnut desk, pinching her nose with the other hand. “You will learn your French, enfant … or there will be no breakfast today!” Ariana recited in a nasal monotone. “We cannot waste time on idle daydreams, nor can we learn what is most important by scribbling rubbish on paper.”
Wagging a finger in Trenton’s direction, Ariana scowled in mock disapproval. “Someday you will marry a wealthy, titled gentleman and travel abroad; you must be thoroughly familiar with français … la langue de beauté. Oh, you spout terms such as le moineau and le rouge-gorge flawlessly, as well as le jasmin, le chèvrefeuille, and every other bird and flower in Winsham’s garden. But I assure you, un noble will be unimpressed by hearing you translate ‘sparrow,’ ‘robin,’ ‘jasmine,’ and ‘honeysuckle’! No, enfant, he will not be at all pleased with a wife whose only French consists of the names of les oiseaux et les fleurs!”
Involuntary laughter erupted from Trenton’s chest. “She sounds monstrous! How did you ever tolerate her?”
Ariana lowered her arms and dimpled. “It was quite simple really. You see, mademoiselle was completely blind without her spectacles. So twice a week I merely misplaced them for her, and while she was in the midst of a long-winded soliloquy on the beauty of the French language, I climbed out the window. She never noticed. And fortunately for me, Winsham’s schoolroom leads directly to the stables. So my mornings were heavenly.”
“And here I thought you were the most docile and obedient of children.” Trenton chuckled.
Ariana leaned forward, pressing a conspiratorial finger to her lips. “Everyone thought so. And I was … most of the time.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“And I’ll remember to be docile and obedient.”
“Most of the time,” he clarified. “There are places where submissive behavior is most undesirable.”
Their eyes met … and all the amusement suddenly vanished.
Ariana drew a slow breathy her heart accelerating to a rapid thud. Trenton’s gaze darkened and fell to her mouth, and Ariana could actually feel his inadvertent movement toward her.
Then, abruptly, he turned away.
Tension crackled in the air, suffocating the beauty of the past moments. Desperate to preserve, if not the fervor of their longing, then the easiness of their banter, Ariana blurted out the first thing that came into her head.
“Did Dustin follow in your footsteps?”
Trenton swung his head around to look at her. “Pardon me?”
“In his academic preferences. Did Dustin follow in your footsteps?”
Visibly, he relaxed. “Dustin preferred initiating his own footsteps.” A faint smile touched Trenton’s lips. “From early on, his interest in women far exceeded his interest in learning. Fortunately, his talents are innate. Otherwise, I shudder to think how he’d be spending his time now.”
“Talents?” Ariana’s questioning emphasis was on the plural.
Trenton nodded. “Architectural design is merely a hobby of Dustin’s. And conventional business opportunities were never his forte. No, Dustin’s true aptitudes lie in an area that will please you greatly. He buys and breeds some of the most magnificent racehorses I’ve ever seen.”
“At Tyreham?”
Yes. His contenders have placed in the Derby, the Two Thousand Guineas … I could go on and on. He has a unique flair for selecting prime horseflesh and, through inbreeding, creating extraordinary offspring. His prize mare, Sorceress, nearly took the Goodwood Cup last month, and I believe he’s grooming one of his colts to run at Newmarket’s Rowley Mile course this fall.”
“I had no idea!” Ariana said in amazement.
“Dustin is modest about his achievements.”
“He said the same of you.”
“Did he? Well, my redeeming qualities are questionable. Dustin’s are not.”
“You’re very proud of him,” Ariana commented, uncertain of how to respond to Trenton’s self-deprecating statement.
“Yes, I am. He’s a remarkable man whose brotherly allegiance is, to say the least, exceptional.”
“Did you both attend Oxford?”
Trenton clasped his hands behind his back. “For a time, yes. But my father’s health had already begun to fail, and running Broddington was all he could manage. I left Oxford to take over the remaining estates and the family businesses.”
Ariana started at the humility Trenton was displaying while recounting an utterly unselfish act—one her own brother had bemoaned for years after her parents died. “What a massive undertaking that must have been!” she exclaimed. “And how difficult … Why, you were still in your teens!”
Trenton shrugged offhandedly. “I only did what was necessary for my family.”
“And succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, I expect. Your father must have been very proud!”
A muscle worked at Trenton’s throat. “I suppose. We didn’t discuss it; I merely did what I had to do. I never questioned nor resented my responsibilities.”
“I can see that.” Unconsciously, Ariana walked forward, admiration shining in her eyes. “And yet you doubt your worthiness as a human being?” She reached up, laying her hand against his jaw. “The way I see it, you are more than worthy.”
His expression turned grim. “You don’t know me, Ariana.”
“I think I do.”
“You’re a romantic child, misty angel.”
“Romantic, perhaps, but not a child.” She raised her chin a notch. “Not anymore.”
The underlying significance of Ariana’s words sank in, and Trenton frowned, catching her wrist and pushing her hand away. “Don’t delude yourself, Ariana. What happens between us in bed has nothing to do with romance.”
She flinched. “Perhaps not in your case.”
Trenton stared down at her, a flash of pain crossing his face. Then he shook his head … hard. “Don’t make the mistake of allowing your heart into this marriage.”
“It’s too late,” she stated simply.
“You’re selling your soul to the devil,” he warned.
Ariana shrugged. “I’ll take that chance.”
Before he could respond, she m
oved away. “May I see the rest of the manor now?” She paused in the doorway.
Trenton nodded mutely, his eyes darkening with some unfathomable emotion. Then he led her into the hall.
“I’ve seen most of the bedrooms,” she commented, gazing down the corridor. “But I’d like to see your sitting room again.”
Trenton stiffened. “Why?”
“Because I spent very little time there.” She was already walking in that direction.
“As did I,” he said, his voice laced with irony. Reluctantly, he followed her path, opening the door to the Spartan room within.
“Why is that?” Ariana strolled about the barren floor, reinforcing her earlier impression: that this room was virtually unoccupied.
“As you know, I haven’t been at Broddington for years. “And when I was …” Trenton shoved his hands in his pockets, averting his face. “Let’s say I have no affinity for this room. I associate it with pain and loss.”
“I understand,” Ariana answered softly. Lines of stress were etched on every plane of her husband’s handsome face, and his bitterness was a palpable entity.
He stared off, his expression tormented. “I wonder if you do.”
The urge to go to Trenton at that moment was almost beyond bearing, but Ariana fought it, reminding herself that he would not welcome her comfort nor her compassion. For now, all he would accept from her was her body.
She surveyed the room, imagining how it must have looked years ago, alive with memories, vibrant with Richard Kingsley’s personal touches; paintings, sketches, intricately designed furnishings and rugs. She could visualize it all: a fire burning merrily in the fireplace, fresh flowers—violets and marigolds and hawthorn, perhaps—decorating the room, permeating it with their sweet perfume. There would be a sweeping mahogany desk at the window, sunlight illuminating its polished surface; and at the desk, Trenton, his dark brow furrowed as he contemplated the series of designs he was developing. The image was so real, it was almost as if …
The idea exploded in her head like crashing thunder, so vivid that Ariana had to keep herself from shouting in exaltation. She might not be able to wipe out Trenton’s past, but she could alleviate its pain by offering him a present, something to build on other than dark memories.