Page 5 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

Brackenfell, Yorkshire One Month Later

S ilence wasn’t a wretched thing. Not in the slightest. Quiet moments provided the soul an opportunity to settle and the heart to breathe. They were the essence of peace. A fertile world in which one’s mind could wander, free to contemplate life’s many mysteries. Silence was essential.

And though some disdained it, fleeing the quiet like a fox before the hounds, Theresa Stuart was one of the blessed who embraced both the chattering cacophony found amongst people and the peace that solitude afforded. One needn’t choose one or the other, though far too many believed it to be so.

Granted, there was a time when Tessa had believed that suffering one’s own company was the worst sort of punishment, but she’d come to appreciate the beauty of quiet contemplation.

The pleasure to be found in the vast reaches of one’s thoughts.

When one was constantly occupied with others, it was impossible to truly know oneself, and that was a relationship one ought to nurture.

That said, there was a vast difference between quietude’s gentle touch and the oppressive weight that choked this carriage as it swayed with every dip and bump of the dirt-packed lane.

Outside, sunlight flickered through the trees in golden patches as swallows dipped and darted across the open sky, and the fields that stretched out beyond the hedgerows shimmered with life as the breezes caressed the tall grasses and wildflowers.

The window framed a world alive with motion, yet within the coach, everything remained thick and unmoving, cloaked in a smothering silence.

The gentleman hadn’t spoken a single word since the journey began.

Not a pleasantry, not an observation, not even a grunt of acknowledgment.

Just that solemn, unreadable presence seated opposite her, arms folded and gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window, as though the scenery might rescue him from the inconvenience of her company.

Tessa might’ve been offended had not the fellow treated the others in the very same manner, ignoring everything and everyone.

She hadn’t minded it in the slightest when there were other passengers inside, but now they had alighted, leaving her and this stranger alone for the last leg of the journey, and his taciturnity was unbearable.

When one boarded a public coach, there was always the fear of the unknown.

Would one’s companions be delightful or disgusting?

Entertaining or irritating? Gracious or demanding?

Far too many cared more about their comfort, doing as they pleased regardless of how it might inconvenience the other passengers, snatching up more space than was due to them—though it did little to improve their comfort and did much to impose upon another’s.

For all that the gentleman was large (as was evidenced by the breadth of his shoulders), he did not fling his legs outward as so many did, treating their limbs like Napoleon’s forces, slowly marching into enemy territory to conquer and secure as much ground as possible.

Tessa knew she ought to be grateful, but instead, she found herself wishing the portly gentleman, who had alighted a mere quarter of an hour ago, would return; he may have smelled like the kippers he’d eaten for breakfast and had a tendency to squash Tessa into the corner, but at least he had been a jovial sort.

Or frankly, it might be far more pleasant up with the rooftop passengers. Even if it meant an uncomfortable seat, those fellows had seemed a chatty lot during the last stop.

Shifting in her seat, Tessa resisted the urge to sigh.

How was it that two people could share such a small space and still feel separated by miles?

It might have been easier if he’d been unpleasant.

A boor, at least, could be dismissed. But this brooding pillar of silence was infuriatingly inscrutable.

And worse, he’d left her alone with her thoughts, which were far too numerous and loud at present for her liking.

Tessa’s fingers curled tightly around one another, twisting and untwisting until the joints ached from the strain.

She stared at the countryside streaming past the carriage window without truly seeing it, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the gently rolling fields and hedgerows.

Her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird in her throat, rapid and fragile, as the phantoms of the past whispered in her ears.

How many hours had she spent dreaming of this moment? How many years of waiting?

Those dear little faces filled her thoughts as Tessa tried to imagine how her children had altered in the past six years.

One moment, she saw them as they had been—those rosy little cheeks, the tiny fingers wrapped tight around her hand, their laughter ringing in her ears.

The next, that vision slipped from her grasp, replaced by stilted conversation and wary glances, as though she were a stranger encroaching on the life that had continued without her.

Tessa wanted to believe they would welcome her back. She needed to. But doubt clung to her, persistent and gnawing, whispering that too much time had passed for things to be made whole again.

Worse still was the quiet thrill buried beneath that silent unease. It slipped past her defenses and settled in her heart with a giddy little flutter. Rodney was gone. That part of her life was finished, shut like the cover of a book she had read too many times and never liked.

And yet, even as her shoulders relaxed, something sour twisted in her stomach.

It was wrong to be glad. But what else ought she to feel?

Grief? Sorrow? Her husband had earned none of that.

Tessa’s throat tightened. Thoughts of the past and what was to come twisted inside her like a knot, pulling tight around her chest until she couldn’t breathe.

Enough.

Straightening, Tessa forced her gaze back to the window and tried to let the steady rhythm of the wheels remind her that time only moved forward. But thoughts of what awaited in Thornsby pestered and prodded, picking at the thin veneer of calm she had gathered close.

Quiet contemplation was a blessing, to be certain, but Tessa needed a distraction.

“What lovely weather we are having,” she blurted. Of all the subjects to broach, it was the most obvious beginning, especially as it was an extraordinarily beautiful afternoon.

The gentleman’s gaze turned to her, and Tessa forced herself not to shrink beneath his regard. Dark and watchful, his eyes scrutinized her with a quiet intensity that the Tessa of old might’ve found far too terrifying to ignore.

“Travelling in poor conditions can be so very taxing,” she added. “Even if one is bundled up in wool and fur, it is nigh on impossible to remain warm. Especially in one’s feet. So, I am very pleased that it is so nice today. I haven’t required the extra shawl I packed in my portmanteau.”

Nothing about the gentleman altered in the slightest as Tessa rambled on about the lovely countryside and the fresh air and all the useless nothings that one discussed when there was nothing of value to say.

The fellow’s expression grew no grimmer, nor did he ignore her by turning his gaze away; he simply watched her as she spoke.

There was something about the fellow that suggested he rarely spoke unless he had something worth saying, and she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted that she hadn’t yet warranted a single syllable.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Tessa studied the fellow. “Do you intend to let me babble on and on about the weather ad infinitum ? Or am I to be graced with your brilliant insights into the state of the roads?”

Silence followed that. She felt the shift in the air that made this moment as vastly different from the earlier quiet as a funeral dirge was to a rousing reel. Nothing changed in his expression, but there was the faintest hint of amusement that brightened his gaze.

“Is this intended to be a conversation?” he asked. “You seemed quite content with monologuing.”

Wrinkling her nose, Tessa winced. “Yes, I can be a bit of a babbler if not interrupted. I apologize if I am jabbering too much.”

The gentleman turned his gaze to the window. “Nonsense. Some of the dearest people I know are babblers, and I’m rather fond of it.”

“Then I am not intruding on your deep, morose contemplations?” she asked, lacing a laugh into her tone.

Silence followed yet again, and the gentleman considered the passing landscape whilst she studied his profile.

It was difficult to discern much about the fellow in the best of circumstances, let alone with such an obstructed view, yet there was a weight to his presence.

A sense about him. As intangible as air, yet just as real.

“Morose?” he asked, the faintest twitch of his lips betraying the solemnity of his tone. “My closest friend often tells me I look grim.”

“And he is your closest friend?”

Again, the slightest twitch of his lips was the only sign of emotion from Sir Stoneface. “Isn’t it the mark of a good friend that they tease and twit when needed?”

Tessa broke into a grin. “Too true. Then he must be a very good friend, indeed.”

A shift in the air signaled a warning as the heavy weight settled back in place, and she sifted through her words to identify the source of that change.

Though it was impossible to say what it was precisely, she felt something dark and sharp beneath the subject.

Yet he had proven himself amenable to teasing, so Tessa quickly scoured for something with which to lure him back into the light.

Now that she had gotten him talking, she refused to slip back into silence.

Yet what could she ask? In such circumstances, inquiring about his destination was foremost on the list—as was the nature of the business that had drawn him from home—but that would only inspire him to ask it in return, and Tessa couldn’t bear to broach the subject of her children. Even to a stranger.

“Are you an avid reader?” she asked, nodding toward the book that Sir Stoneface had abandoned on the seat beside him.

The gentleman’s hand darted over, snatching it up and tucking it out of sight. “Isn’t everyone?”

“No, in fact,” replied Tessa, her eyes narrowing as she studied his expression.

Nothing had altered there. No hint of movement to betray his feelings.

Yet there was the slightest touch of pink to his cheeks, which, paired with the frantic movement, made her reconsider him. “I know many who cannot be bothered.”

Sir Stoneface didn’t react, and Tessa wondered if she dared prod him further. Perhaps she might’ve abandoned the subject if not for the fact that she couldn’t bear to return to the silence.

“And what were you reading, sir?” she asked with a challenging raise of her brow.

“Nothing of importance.”

“As was clear from your determination to hide it from sight like a schoolboy caught in some mischief by his headmaster. Entirely unimportant. Hardly worth noting.” Threading her tone with all the innocence such a ridiculous statement deserved, Tessa folded her hands primly in her lap as the gentleman turned a gimlet eye on her.

“It is a novel. That is all,” he said.

“An unimportant novel,” she corrected. “And we needn’t discuss it any further, as it is so unimportant that it hardly warrants a second thought. Yet just important enough to be tucked out of sight at the first notice.”

Sir Stoneface sighed. A genuine sigh. Though so quiet that she might’ve missed it had she not been paying such close attention, it was unmistakable. As was the hint of humor in the sound.

“If you must know, I am reading…” His jaw tensed, his eyes fixed on the window. “ A Lady’s Honor .”

Tessa’s brows jerked upward. “By Helen Gardiner?”

A quiet hum was the only reply he gave.

And heaven help her, Tessa tried to keep hold of her emotions.

She truly did. Speaking to Sir Stoneface was difficult enough, and risking what little progress she had made was a dangerous game, especially when there were still hours of travel before them.

Yet a spark of a laugh escaped her control, bursting out of her.

Tessa tensed and watched with wide eyes as Sir Stoneface turned a grim expression to her again. Those commanding eyes were half-masted, watching her in a manner that dared her to laugh again. Which only made it all the more diverting.

“I apologize, sir. It is not amusing in the slightest. One’s reading preferences are one’s own…” But try as she might, Tessa couldn’t help another chuckle. Especially when the gentleman offered another of the slightest sighs ever known to man.

“Yes, I realize the ridiculousness of it,” he murmured. “What gentleman reads novels with love stories?”

“Now, now, my good sir,” said Tessa with an impish grin. “You make it sound as though it is grand literature with a dash of romance. Gardiner’s works are sweeping romance stories, the likes of which are guaranteed to make ladies swoon with delight.”

Sir Stoneface gave a silent harumph at that, turning his gaze to the passing landscape once more, and Tessa’s thoughts whirled with what to say that might draw the gentleman from his window.

“You needn’t feel embarrassed. I understand why you feel a bit sheepish, but there is no reason to, in my eyes.

” Then, with a prim tone, she added, “I will have you know that I admire your choice. Not only do I adore Helen Gardiner’s work, but I think it is brilliant for you to indulge in pastimes, regardless of others’ opinions.

I do hate it when I am judged for my own. ”

Sir Stoneface’s eyes swung back to her, the challenge rife in his gaze, though he said not a word.

“I am a painter,” she said.

“There is nothing odd about that.”

Tessa nodded. “But my preferred subject is executions. Anne Boleyn, Charles I, Thomas More, the Cato Street Conspirators, I have captured them all in their gruesome glory. I must have a dozen different paintings of Guy Fawkes and William Wallace, as I cannot decide if I prefer to capture the drawing or the quartering.”

Silence fell once more as Sir Stoneface stared at her, and Tessa wondered if she had stepped too far into impropriety by making such a dark jest. But with a low hum, the gentleman turned his attention back to the window.

“There is no need to mock me, madam,” he said.

“I am not,” she said, leaning forward. “I—”

The coach lurched sharply, the wheels dipping into unseen ruts with a jarring thud that rattled through the frame. Wood groaned beneath the strain, the whole conveyance rocked as though it might tip altogether, and Tessa had no time to brace herself as the motion pitched her forward.