A Dangerous Nativity (5 page)

"We just wanted to see the horse, my lord,"
the one called Freddy said. "You said maybe another time, but you
haven't been back."

"Hey, John," Randy peered around the earl to
beam up at Archer.

"That's Mr. Archer to you, young sir," the
earl said. "Mr. Archer is Eversham Hall's new land steward."

"Brilliant!" Randy exclaimed. "He'll be so
much better than—" He hung his head. "Sorry, my lord," he
whispered.

Archer suppressed a smile. "I'll see you in a
week, my lord," he said. He ruffled Randy's hair. "My best to your
papa and sister, Randy." He walked away with a long-limbed stride,
and a new sense of purpose.

Freddy looked back and forth between the earl
and his brother. He sighed deeply and turned his attention to the
interior of the stables. "Do you have many horses, my lord?" he
asked.

The contrast between Freddy's obsession and
Charles's fear cut the earl like a knife to the belly. The boy's
words twisted it. A decision firmed and planted itself in his
mind.

"Reilly," he said to the groom. "Perhaps His
Grace would like to join us in the stable yard."

The man grinned. "He might, my lord, or he
might not, but it'll do 'im good."

***

"There's the noble one!" Freddy exclaimed,
looking up at Mercury's great height. "He has fire in his eye,
too." He raised a tentative hand and let the animal sniff at
him.

"He's a great horrid beast," came a voice
from the door. Charles stood with his feet planted outside the
stable, a footman at his side.

"He's a beauty," Freddy disagreed, spinning
on his heels. "How can you say that?"

"He's too much mount for a boy," Will put in
before Charles could argue. "Come out to the stable yard, and I
will make some introductions." He whispered instructions to Reilly
and led the Wheatly boys out to the paddock. Two horses grazed in
the grassy enclosure.

Freddy watched them with unfiltered longing.
"Bit elderly, those," he murmured.

"Still able to carry a load," the earl told
him. At the earl's voice, one of the two ambled over. He fetched
out a lump of sugar. "Always know where the sweets are, don't you,
now?" He patted the horse's neck and accepted a nuzzle in
return.

"Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Lady
Guinevere, Eversham's matriarch." Charles looked pained. "But I
forgot my manners. Charles, permit me to make known to you Master
Randolph and Master Frank Wheatly. Boys, this is Charles Wheatly,
Duke of Murnane. I have the honor of being his uncle."

Both boys made a proper bow, but Randy
couldn't contain his interest. "Wheatly! We have the same name," he
exclaimed.

Freddy, who had already begun to caress Lady
Guinevere's nose, said, "Of course we do, but Papa don't like to
talk about it."

Charles did his best to maintain a haughty
expression, but curiosity got the better of him. "What do you mean
by, 'of course'?"

"I believe you are cousins, Charles. Freddy
and Randy's father is your father's brother."

"Brilliant!" Randy exclaimed. "Cousins are
almost as good as brothers."

The idea seemed to startle Charles.

"I'm ten just this month," Randy went on
without noticing. "Freddy's twelve. How old are you?"

Charles glanced at his uncle. Nothing in his
experience prepared him for the Wheatlys. Will could tell he
waffled between putting Randy down as impertinent, and responding
in kind. He looked at the other boys as though they were some sort
of exotics. "Ten," he said at last.

"You're the lucky one, I guess," Freddy
sighed, still looking at the horse. He climbed up on a fence rail
to get closer. Charles frowned. "You get to have these beauties."
Not the title. Not the house. Not the wardrobe. The horses. Good
man, Freddy!

"Would you like to give the lady a trot
around the paddock?" Will asked.

Freddy leapt down. "May I?" he breathed.
Reilly came out of the barn carrying saddle and tack.

"Help Mr. Reilly saddle the horse, and you
certainly may."

Charles watched Freddy scramble over the
fence and take instructions from Reilly with open curiosity, and,
Will hoped, some longing.

"Horse mad," Randy said.

"I beg your pardon?" the young duke
asked.

"My brother is horse mad. Always was."

"Do you like horses?" Charles asked
cautiously.

"I like them well enough, but I don't get
much chance to ride. I like all animals. What is your favorite?"
Randy asked.

Charles looked perplexed. Will doubted the
boy interacted with livestock, much less wild animals. He had
obviously had few interactions with boys his own age.

Randy went on talking. "I like the farm
animals myself. The pigs smell, but they are smart as can be. The
geese are bad tempered, and the chickens aren't too bright. The
goat, though, is my favorite. Do you prefer wild ones?" This time
he looked directly at his cousin, expecting an answer.

"I like birds," Charles admitted finally.
"Especially hawks. I can see them from the nursery window when they
hunt in the meadow."

"Brilliant!" Randy said. "I love them.
There's a red-tail that hunts in the orchard. We have an owl in the
woods, did you know?"

"Truly? I've read about them, but I've never
seen one." Will watched his nephew's eyes shine with interest, all
thoughts of status and class gone. He bit back his smile.

"I could show you. It isn't far," Randy
suggested.

Charles turned to his uncle as if to ask if
he might.

"Up you go, Freddy," Will said, putting an
arm around Charles. "She's a patient and gentle soul. Walk her
easy." Freddy clearly needed little instruction; he was a born
rider. With little encouragement from Reilly, he began to circle
the paddock.

"I could do that, if I wanted to," Charles
said stiffly.

"Of course you could," Randy told him. "It
just takes a bit of patience and practice." He leaned in. "Even I
can do it."

Will thanked the Good Lord who sent these
boys into his life. I might get through to Charles yet. Before he
could consider how best to take advantage, retribution arrived in
the form of an irate older sister.

"Randolph and Frederick Wheatly, what on
earth are you about?"

"Hello, Cath," Freddy called from horseback.
"We're just visiting. His Grace doesn't mind." He put his mount to
a trot.

***

His Grace, in Catherine's opinion, looked
rather too stunned to mind, if the awkward boy next to Chadbourn
was, indeed, the new duke.

"Miss Wheatly, it is my privilege to present
His Grace, the Duke of Murnane, Charles Wheatly. Charles, may I
present Miss Catherine Wheatly?"

"I'm honored, Your Grace." Catherine
curtseyed to the boy properly. Through lowered lashes, she watched
his uncle whisper in his ear. The duke looked at Chadbourn in
question before he turned back to Catherine. What on earth?

The young duke looked uncertain. "Chadbourn
suggests you should call me Charles, since we are cousins. Are you
really my cousin?" he asked.

Or something very like. "Of course, if your
uncle says it. You may call me Catherine, if you like." His
returning smile looked more shy than haughty. Catherine warmed to
the boy immediately.

"Cath, His Grace likes birds," Randy broke
in. "Can I show him the owl in the woods? He don't even know it's
there, even though it is practically on his land," Randy
enthused.

"That would be 'may I' and 'he doesn't…'" She
caught the earl's eye. "I need to discuss it with His Lordship."
She couldn't decide if Chadbourn's welcome of her brothers boded
good or ill. The damned man seems amused.

"Famous," Randy said to Charles, "Cath will
talk him round. She likes the owl, too. My father is an expert on
birds. Would you like to see his books?" The two boys moved toward
the rails, talking a mile a minute, but Catherine quit listening.
Chadbourn's eyes held hers.

"When would you like him?" Chadbourn asked
with a grin.

"Beg pardon?" Catherine shook off the stupor
his gaze had engendered.

"My nephew. Nothing for it. He has to
visit."

"I'm sorry, my lord. This is all too much. We
don't 'visit' with Eversham Hall."

"And that's a damned shame. The boys are good
for Charles, and he would be good for them."

Catherine searched her brain for a riposte.
Her hard-won contentment lay on the ground. This interfering earl
plans to upset everything.

"You said yourself, you would only be here
until the New Year. You don't—"

"They are only boys, Miss Wheatly. Whatever
lies between Songbird Cottage and Eversham Hall need not color
their lives."

She frowned but had no reply, because in her
heart she agreed with him.

"The horses alone would enrich Freddy's life,
and his example might—"

Whatever the earl meant to say was cut short
by a screech from farther down the paddock fence. Charles lay
half-suspended on a fence rail inside the paddock. Both adults took
off at a dead run. Randy had his arms around the young duke
supporting his weight. A nasty slice that cut through his trouser
leg oozed blood.

"I'm bleeding, Uncle Will," the boy
cried.

Chadbourn called out to Freddy, "Help Reilly
get the horses out of the paddock!" He lowered his nephew to the
ground and tore back the cloth around the duke's thigh. The earl
looked frantic. Freddy dropped to the ground and led the horse
away, while Reilly ran to help.

"Am I going to die?" the boy asked. His
clenched teeth looked like they held back a cry. Catherine guessed
he couldn't bear to show weakness in front of other boys.

Before the earl could answer, Randy piped up.
"No, but you may get an interesting scar from that one. I sliced my
arm on a broken branch last year. Hurt like the Devil, but I got
the best scar." He started to roll up his sleeve.

Catherine thought about the days she spent
dreading infection, and dropped down beside the earl.

"It doesn't look so bad," she said
soothingly, but whether she meant to reassure the boy or his uncle,
she couldn't say. "It will need some attention, though. Cleaning
and bandaging. An application of honey may be in order."

"Honey?" the earl and the duke asked in
unison.

"It aids healing. I don't know why, but it
makes infection less likely. Dark is best if you have it. I can
send some, if you don't."

"I saw a surgeon use it in the Peninsula
once. Does it work?"

She cast him a sardonic eye. Of course it
works, you looby.

"Ever so well," Randy interrupted. "And
Catherine will give you a spoonful when she's finished dressing the
cut. That's the best part."

Catherine did not intend to dress it. "Not I,
the earl. We're going home. Now."

"You can't. I need your help." Chadbourn
lifted his nephew into his arms, and Catherine rose to her feet.
"Come along." He started for the Hall, but Catherine stood fast.
She stared up at the imposing façade of the old house and felt her
stomach clench. The earl turned to see why she didn't follow.

"Miss Wheatly, we need your help. You
obviously know more about cuts than I."

Don't these people have servants for
that?

"You know more about boys, too, I think," the
earl went on.

A boy needs more than servants and bandaging
when he's been hurt.

She turned to her brother. "Randy, fetch
Freddy, and the two of you go directly home. I expect to find you
there shortly, and I'll be wanting an explanation for what
happened."

"There's nothing to explain. His Grace
climbed the fence after me, and he slipped. It wasn't my
fault."

"Home. Now." He left, head hanging.

Catherine took a steadying breath.

"Will you come now, please?" Chadbourn urged.
She fell into step beside him, feeling like a cow in the vicar's
parlor in her plain dress.

I don't belong here.

***

The line of a woman's back surpasses the
grace of any cathedral, Will believed. At least this woman's does.
He looked his fill at Catherine bent over his nephew, and smiled to
himself. He found her gentle competence oddly compelling, also.
They had laid Charles on a sofa in the tradesmen's parlor, while
Will had shouted for cloths, hot water, and honey. She had cleaned
and bandaged the wound in short order, all the while encouraging
the boy and quieting his fears. Her strong hands wrung out the
cloths she had used into a basin, before she handed both the basin
and rags to a waiting footman and rolled the sleeves of her simple
dress back down.

Will watched her smooth back Charles's hair,
and longed to feel those strong, gentle fingers in his own. When
she kissed the boy's cheek, he felt a wholly inappropriate surge of
desire. He ought to be concerned for his nephew, not lusting after
his extraordinary neighbor.

"Will I get honey? Randy said you would give
me some," Charles reminded her.

"Of course!" Catherine answered with a
chuckle. She reached for the honey pot. "You were very brave."

"I was, wasn't I, Uncle Will?"

Will didn't answer, lost in the woman's husky
voice. That voice would reduce a man to begging.

"Uncle Will?" Charles repeated.

"Yes. You were very brave," the earl
murmured.

When Catherine popped a spoon of honey into
the boy's mouth, the adoration on Charles's face mirrored his
uncle's.

"Chadbourn! Why didn't you come when I sent
for you? Franklin told me those horrid boys imposed themselves on
Charles. He said you ordered him brought to the stables, but I
couldn't believe it."

Will spun around to see Sylvia leaning on the
door-frame, breathing rapidly. He saw the moment her eyes found
Charles and the white bandage around his right thigh.

"Dear God, what have you done to my son?"