Winter's Bride. Catherine Archer
at her distant manner, but she could not alter her behavior. She felt as if everything was now happening at a long distance from herself. She had no more palatable reactions to give. When he motioned for her to follow him, she hung back farther and farther as he made his way down the long, dimly lit hall, then up the steps to the third story of the keep.
What would she say when she met the child? What if she did have a sense of knowing, as she had with Tristan?
As they continued down the hall, Tristan said nothing and simply matched his steps to hers. At last he came to a heavy oak door, stopped and turned, his dark gaze coming back to her. His face showed civility and possibly a hint of pity. He seemed to assess her feelings in the space of a heartbeat. “You have no need to be apprehensive about seeing her. She will be sleeping.”
Lily crossed her arms over her midriff, daunted that he had read her so very easily. She knew it would be useless to try to deny his accuracy. “I do not know how I will feel, what I might recall and what it would mean to my life.”
He watched her for a long moment, his gaze softening even more, then he held out his hand. “I understand.”
Her heart turned over in her breast. God help her, but she responded so very quickly and on such a deep level to his gentleness. She was unable to prevent herself from moving forward and taking the offered hand.
Then, while still exhibiting that same gentle strength, he opened the door and drew her inside. The chamber was bathed in the golden glow of the fire. It was large but warmly appointed, with small furnishings and brightly colored fabrics. The heavy blue drapes, which matched the bed hangings, were pulled closed over tall windows. These windows must let in a great deal of light during the day. A narrow cot, obviously made up for an attendant, rested against the outside wall. A serving woman sat sewing near the fire directly across the room from the small, carved wooden bed. When they entered, she stood up and said, “My lord Tristan.”
He nodded. “You may go now, Maggie. You will not be needed this night.”
As the woman left, Lily realized that the child was obviously well cared for. She was not surprised. Tristan had made no secret of his love and devotion to his daughter.
And according to his claim, her daughter.
Taking a deep breath for courage, Lily forced herself to move with him across the room without hesitation. She had come this far, and for the very purpose of seeing the little girl. She would do so.
Tristan stopped just shy of the bed and moved to stand behind her. Lily looked at him in confusion.
His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “This moment is for you.”
Hesitantly, Lily nodded. It would be best if she did not have the compelling power of his presence beside her when she looked at the little one. She knew already how susceptible she was to Tristan’s nearness.
She took the last steps to the bed alone. The hangings had been pulled back to let in the heat of the fire, and all she had to do was lean over…
Taking another deep breath, she did so. Lily had to put her hand up to stifle a start of shock, amazement and wonder as she looked at the little girl.
Sabina Ainsworth’s straight black hair fell to either side of her smooth white forehead. Her cheeks, though rounded with baby fat, were shaped by highly defined bones. Her small mouth was pink and sweetly curved, her chin softly defiant.
Lily was frozen in place. She could not deny that she was looking down at a face that was very like her own must have been some eighteen years gone by.
But even while acknowledging this, she felt no rise of recognition, no immediate recall of how they could be so alike. Disappointment and relief swept over her in the same instant. Both were immediately replaced by consternation.
She had solved nothing. Now even more questions rolled unanswered inside her.
Slowly she backed away from the bed. She could feel Tristan’s gaze upon her, but refused to meet it. Lily did not wish to talk about her feelings with this man. Somehow she knew it would make her even more vulnerable to reveal her confusion to him now.
She was not even certain she wished for Tristan to know any of what was going through her mind—though he seemed to be able to read her easily enough that she had little hope of hiding anything from him.
Tristan moved past her, first making sure the covers were pulled up on his daughter, then tenderly bending to kiss her tiny forehead. He then turned to Lily expectantly.
Lily faced him directly, aware that she must say something. “There is no denying the resemblance.”
He spoke up with surprising eagerness. “I knew you could not help but see.”
She answered just as quickly, “But I did not know her. There was no sense of recognition.”
Clearly chagrined, Tristan frowned. “That is not too surprising when one considers it. She was born but moments before the carriage accident, and you saw her only as an infant. I simply hoped that seeing her might help you to recall…” He shrugged, his face unreadable.
Lily shook her head. “Seeing her has answered nothing.” In spite of her wishes to keep her thoughts to herself, she found herself saying, “There is very dark hair in your own family. Are there gray eyes as well?”
He shook his head, unconsciously holding it at a proud angle. “All the Ainsworth men have blue eyes. My mother’s were violet.”
Lily took a deep breath. “I am left even more confused than before. How could a child that I have never met be so very like me in form?”
He scowled with frustration and censure. “I have told you the answer to that.”
She gave him an equally disapproving stare. “Ah, yes, you have, and I am to take your word against that of my own family. You, who are a stranger to me.”
The words seemed to awaken some slumbering beast of frustration and anger in his blue eyes. He took a step closer to her. “Not so much a stranger. Your body knows me, Lily, even if your mind does not.”
She had no reply to that, for it was far too true. She chose to ignore the remark, which made her own blood rise, though not with anger. “Seeing the little one has not brought about the effect you had hoped, but neither has it settled my mind. I must try to resolve this within myself. I cannot leave here with so much uncertainty. I beg that in spite of this turn of events you allow me to stay on for some days as maid to your child, as you suggested at Molson.”
He looked at her with obvious indifference. “Of course. That was my intent from the beginning.”
She stared down at her folded hands. “I simply thought…” She looked up at him again. “I feared you would no longer wish to keep me here, since seeing her has not made me recall the past as you had hoped.”
He raised his dark eyebrows. “I do not go back on my word. I told you you would be allowed to meet and know Sabina. That is what will happen unless you wish it to be otherwise. Benedict has given his consent as well.”
She bit her lip. “Your brother…I cannot help thinking about how he thought he recognized me.”
Tristan shook his head. “As I told you, Benedict does recognize you, Lily. You are the one who does not.”
She shook her own head. “For reasons I have already explained, I cannot just accept your word for this. I must hold all you say suspect out of love and loyalty for my family, if nothing else.”
He frowned, but said nothing.
Finally he motioned to the cot against the far wall. “As Sabina’s personal maid, you may sleep there. That will mean that you do not have to take your rest with the other servants in the great hall.”
She watched him closely. “You trust me to stay here alone with your babe?”
Tristan returned the look in good measure. “And why should