The Gift of Happiness Page 4

  She looked at Luke’s harsh face, with grim tough lines running from nose to mouth. He had never looked so hard before, and she was a little afraid of him in this mood. “I need to get home,” she said quietly as they climbed into the car. “It’s very late, and I’m tired.”

  “Why?” he asked briefly, after a silence, and he turned to stare at her very hard. She stared back, puzzled.

  “Why, what?”

  “Why do you have to go back?” he asked her abruptly. Stunned, she opened her mouth to protest, but he held up one imperious hand to command silence. He took a breath, hesitated, and asked, “Are you afraid of him?”

  Pride fought a brief war with honesty, and the honesty won. After a moment she whispered, “Yes.”

  “Come home with me.” The words were spoken so very quietly that she wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly.

  “What?” she asked stupidly.

  “You heard what I said.”

  It was a shock. It was very definitely the most bizarre invitation she had ever received. “I don’t believe you just said that.”

  “Why not?” He was being very patient. “Do you have anywhere else to go at this time of night? Do you really want to go home after all you’ve just told me? Don’t you want a place where you can go and just feel relaxed and unpressured for a while?” There was a pause. “I have,” he told her gently, “a housekeeper and an older sister in the house. It wouldn’t be just you and me.”

  She flushed painfully at the implication in his words and cursed herself for her own lack of poise. It had been just exactly what she’d been thinking of. Silence crept into the closed area of the car as he gave her time to think. She felt her mind whirling crazily as she thought over and over the unexpected chance to escape from the ominous threat of her father’s anger, the repercussions of such a drastic move, the possibilities and the dangers. She didn’t have any real friends she could depend on. She would not have to face up to her father’s wrath or Joss’s malice. She could run away.

  Then she thought of the motive behind Luke’s offer. Why would he make such a spectacular offer to someone he had just met that night? They were virtual strangers to one another. Could it possibly be because he wanted to use her as a pawn to manipulate her father? She was in an agony of indecision and uncertainty. He was sitting beside her so still and quiet. She could not tell what he was thinking after he had made such an offer. Perhaps he regretted it. Then she thought of how pleased her father would be if he were to hear that she had spent the night at Luke Dalton’s house, after just meeting him that night. He would think, she thought bitterly, that I was faster than he would’ve given me credit for.

  It was the thought of the danger that she would be bringing to Luke and his home that finally decided her. She knew that it would be too risky to go with Luke because of the erroneous conclusions her father would come to. If she could continue in her original purpose, and repel Luke as rudely and as consistently as possible, then she might be able to demonstrate to James Luke’s alienation from the Farloughs. Hopefully, this would throw a damper on any kind of move that he would plan to make against Luke. She knew that it would be temporary at best, for her father would just try to think of something else, but that was too far in the future to contemplate. She would think of something else to do when the time came. She realized that by Luke’s silence he was letting her make up her own mind, and was not making the offer out of a desire to manipulate her. Otherwise he would be entreating her to come to his house tonight. She acknowledged wryly that she was too afraid. She was afraid of becoming too attached to Luke, and she was afraid of being the instrument—however innocently—used to hurt him. She’d never wanted to hurt anyone.

  No, to remain unattached, that was the best course. Staying aloof was the best way to survive, she had found. It was a lesson that she had learned from James. She knew that she was too attracted to Luke for her own good; it would only lead to disaster for both of them. It was precisely what her father wanted.

  “No,” she said, raising her head. “I can’t. It’s just what he wants, don’t you see? Whatever the reason for me going with you, he would see it as a sign of your…err, being duped, so to speak. That’s too dangerous, for you and for me. Then, you see, he might feel comfortable enough to try to bring about harm to your business. No, I want to go home.”

  “You don’t want to go home,” he said astutely, stirring a little in his seat and sounding—incredibly, to her mind—regretful. “You don’t need to lie to me, Kate. You’ve told me too much for that. You don’t want to go home; you think you have to go home. What will you do after tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” she said tiredly. “I have no marketable skills. I have no job experience. I could no more make a bid for independence than a beast, raised in captivity, could survive in the wild.”

  He looked at her, his head at a slight angle, the curve of his cheek hard. “If I take you back tonight, will you promise me one thing?” he asked.

  She looked away. “It rather depends,” she said cautiously, “on what it is.”

  “Would you let me come over tomorrow morning—this morning—and help you try to figure out what your prospects are for the future?” He stared at her, frowning. “It might even be a good idea if we make James think that we are seeing each other, and lull him into a false sense of accomplishment.”

  “Not that!” she cried out sharply. “It’s too dangerous!”

  “All right, we won’t settle that tonight. But would you promise about tomorrow morning?” He repeated his question patiently, putting his two hands on the wheel of the car and staring at them thoughtfully. They looked graceful, though large and sinewy, and she too stared at them.

  After a hesitation and with some foreboding, she assented reluctantly. She was ashamed of her own weakness, for giving in to him when she knew that the best thing was for her to tell him goodbye and good riddance. It was so pleasant, though, not to feel so appallingly alone in the world. And she was so lonely. “Although why,” she commented absently, wrapped in her own recriminations and doubts, “you should bother, is beyond me.”

  He started the car and backed out of the parking space. “Is it?” he asked reflectively. She was not paying attention to him and so missed his words. He murmured to himself, “I’ve been wondering that, myself…”

  It was almost four when he let her off in the large double driveway in front of her home. He told her that he would be calling on her around eleven the next morning. They both agreed to go riding or possibly for a drive, to get away from the prying eyes of the servants and to stay away from her father’s speculative attention. As she ran lightly up the steps and opened the big front door, she saw a light gleaming from a crack below the closed door of her father’s study. At once, a feeling as if she had just walked into a pit of darkness overwhelmed her. She was sure that her father was up. She was also sure that he had heard her come in at the door. It was very disquieting to head up the stairs and to hear no sound of movement or life from the study. The quiet could not last. She interpreted the silence to mean that James had decided to speak to her in the morning, and that the stillness permeating the dark expanses of the expensive, tasteful, empty house was the quiet before the storm.

  She was up early because of her throbbing hand. She showered clumsily and blow-dried her hair, brushing the long silken tresses back from her face to fall in a fiery tumble about her shoulders. She applied makeup heavily to the dark shadows under her eyes in an attempt to cover them up, but she only succeeded in making her face look caked up. She creamed it off again, leaving her skin looking pale and drawn tightly across her cheekbones. Her eyes were huge.

  Dressed in slim-fitting jeans and another sleeveless shirt, she ran lightly down the stairs and made for the dining room quickly. There was no evidence of hesitation in her manner, and no sign of fear, although fear was indeed present as it prowled behind in her tracks like a beast, its rank air drying her throat and making her swallow. She almos
t sagged in a visible show of relief at the sight of the empty chairs pushed tidily around the mahogany table. James was not yet down. She pushed the bell that was discreetly hidden near the head chair and sat down at the table, picking up the Sunday paper that was lying at one end. Soon Elizabeth, the housekeeper and cook, appeared in the doorway, her vast bulk taking up most of the room.

  “Were you wanting breakfast this morning?” she asked expressionlessly, her little pig-like eyes darting to and fro busily.

  She didn’t look up as she turned the page leisurely, scanning fashions ads. “No,” she replied after a moment coolly, “just coffee, please, and some dry toast.”

  “Very well, it’ll be just a minute then.” Shooting another gleaming glance at the façade of classified ads that greeted her curious stare, Elizabeth shuffled down the hall to prepare a tray.

  Presently she shuffled back with the steaming coffee and toast, which was covered with a tight-fitting lid, and Katherine lowered her paper to stare into the housekeeper’s colorless eyes.

  “I am not free this morning for any visitors or calls, Elizabeth,” she told the heavy woman calmly. “I will not be near the door and will not answer it at all. Tell anyone who comes that I am not at home, do you understand?”

  “Yes, miss.” The housekeeper’s eyes were almost sparkling; Katherine could see the tumblers in her mind ticking over in an excited way. She had no doubt that everyone in the house that morning would be informed of just who came to the Farlough residence that morning, and who had been turned away. She knew that eventually not only Joss would know, but her father also, for what Joss knew, he invariably told James. Joss was no better than a well-paid spy.

  Now that she was alone, she set aside the newspaper, not bothering to make the pretense of reading without an audience. She drank her coffee and nibbled at her toast without enthusiasm. After draining the little silver pot, she rang for more, determined not to run away from the breakfast table just to avoid the confrontation with James. It was a point of honor, but she could not avoid a sigh of relief as she left the house to go out into the sunshine after a token period of waiting.

  She had thought over everything as she had tossed and turned the night before. Every move on this thankless Sunday morning was as deliberate as the night before. She was not going to see Luke Dalton privately ever again. It was the only solution as far as she could see. She would continue this fight with her father alone, just as she had started it, and take the consequences as they came. It was best this way, she decided broodingly as she wandered in the general direction of the stables, contemplating the well-tended grass over which her feet moved. She washed her hands of the whole mess surrounding Luke. James would have to find another pretty pawn.

  She spent a great deal of time thinking of her unknown mother, and wondering if she had been as calculating as James or merely an unsuspecting fool caught in a snare by a charming smile. She rather suspected the latter. James wouldn’t have picked anything else. Katherine pitied her mother’s pale, worn ghost. She also pitied herself.

  The future loomed ahead like an ugly black beast. She could not see the next day, the next hour, or any brightness in the existing moment. She could not imagine what form of revenge or punishment her father was going to mete out. Without a doubt it would be cleverly calculated to bring her pain. She had rejected the idea of leaving home for the time being, and had decided to wait and see what time brought. Her bank account was generous enough for shopping luxuries, but she realized that it could not sustain actual living expenses for long. At present, there seemed nothing for her to do.

  James might go as far as to kick her out of his house, but somehow, she doubted this. He got his kicks from trying to control the world around him, and he would never willingly give up power over another human being. He liked having Katherine. She was quite certain that he had liked showering her with presents and watching her innocent face light up with pleasure. She was also sure that he liked to be in a position in her life where he could do the most damage. He could hurt her as he pleased when she lived under his own roof. He could dispense approval or disapproval like God. That he was fully aware of how frustratingly helpless she was beginning to feel, she had not a doubt. He would know better than anyone that she could not feasibly support herself. This was power over her, and he loved it.

  As she thought of these things, an overwhelming sense of loneliness hit her harder than it ever had before. The longing to talk over her problems with a sympathetic and caring listener had her turning back to the house to meet Luke that morning. Then she started thinking of his possible motives for engineering such a talk, and her low self-esteem and inability to see herself as a person of real worth or desirability had made her steps falter and eventually stop. But she continued on to the stables once again. Admittedly, Luke had not tried to manipulate her last night, but she had trouble crediting anyone with selfless motives. She could not see anyone wishing to befriend her solely for herself, since all her acquaintances had been scrutinized and established by James. Luke wanted something from her; therefore he wanted something from her father. Possibly, she mused, he wanted me to keep an active eye on James and report to him any plot or plan for his demise.

  She entered the stable through the dry, airy doorway and blessed the cool shadows and draught of air which blew against her face. Inhaling the smells of horse, leather and hay, she walked past several full stalls without a pause and stopped in front of a wide and roomy box. A welcoming snicker came from within, and a gray muzzle was thrust over the door, the nostrils quivering enquiringly. She patted the little nose and opened the door to slip inside. There she spent some time combing the old pony’s rough mane and brushing down its sides. Taking a great deal of care over each detail, she murmured and talked nonsense to a very dear friend. Misty had been her first pony, given to her when she was five years old, and though he was well past the age of any usefulness, she still spent a large amount of time with him. He made her feel a strange and sad, bittersweet nostalgia. He made her remember squeals of delight and bouncing rides in a hazy memory of sunlight and laughter. It was an old, faded memory of innocence and happiness, of unawareness and no complications. Together, she and the old pony would walk outdoors under swaying green trees. She would sit down under a shady tree and he would stand nearby, tail twitching and nose trembling as he dreamed about his past and about dimly remembered gallops in a long ago summertime. Katherine did not waste time thinking about lost dreams and illusions. She was too practical for that. Dreaming would not bring back the past, she always told herself. However, she did treat the pony with a considerable amount of tenderness that somehow soothed her mind and made a liar of her.

  Letting the pony out into a small paddock, she walked to the shade of a large oak tree and settled under it. Now it was a waiting game. It could not be much before eleven o’clock. She was glad that she was out of sight of the house. It helped her take her mind off the immediate future. She leaned her head back against the tree and closed her eyes.

  Some time later, much later, some sixth sense made her open them again. Looking up, she endeavored to hide her apprehension at the sight of a tall, immaculate figure standing motionless in front of her. James looked very big from this position, and it didn’t help her calm to feel so small and unimportant. He watched her expressionlessly as she swiftly rose to her feet. No sooner had she stood up than his open hand cracked hard across her cheekbone in a heavy blow. Surprised her head snapped back and her body was thrown against the tree. Grasping hold of the rough bark with one trembling hand, she stood with her head bent to hide behind the heavy fall of hair shielding her from his eyes. The blow on her face had numbed that side, and she cupped it with one bandaged hand. There was no feeling left in her mind; it was too numb.

  “Dalton was here,” James told her conversationally, his eyes never leaving her shaking figure. “He asked to see you and was turned away by the servants. I thought you might like to know that, but then you aren’t surpri
sed, are you? I warned you, pet. Never say I didn’t. Will you see him again?”

  She forced a reply through trembling lips. “No.”

  She was still looking down, with her hair falling over her face, and so was unprepared for a second, heavier blow on the other side of her head. Falling down on one knee, she didn’t try to get up again but instead covered her head with both arms. She didn’t think and she didn’t try to act. She couldn’t get away from him until he was through with her. She just shut down her mind, like a piece of machinery, and tried to survive.

  “You will, pet,” said James dispassionately. And with that, he turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps rapidly fading, in the cushioning grass, to silence.

  When she was sure that her father was well away from her, she rose up and shoved her hair off her face. It fell into a chaotic tumble down her back, framing a dead-looking face streaked with wetness. She reached blindly for the tree beside her and, by leaning heavily on it, managed to pull herself up to a standing position again, scrubbing at her cheeks furiously in an attempt to clear her vision. She was trying desperately to keep a tight grip of control over herself, but when a small gray nose thrust gently against her chest, she clasped the pony’s head to her, bent her face to hide it in the rough, fragrant mane and sobbed as if her heart would break.

  Not far away, just beside the corner of the stables, a man with the wind in his gray hair and coldness in his cruel eyes watched the young girl hug a fat, useless old pony as if she were clinging to her very last friend and his gaze was contemplative, calculating.

  She somehow managed to make it to her room without being seen by the servants. She threw herself on her bed after locking her bedroom door and, exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before and still feeling deadened from shock, she not so amazingly fell asleep.