A Reckless Promise (3 page)

And there is that glare again. Apparently the rain is also my fault.

Considering that the gate and house were separated by nearly a mile of gravel drive, Darby mustered some sympathy for the child. “I understand. And she's probably a bit shy, aren't you, Marley? Tompkins, fetch Mrs. Camford at once, and have her attend to our guests. But first—you still have the advantage of me, ma'am, in more than one way. If I might have your name?”

“Forgive me, my lord. I am Mrs. Boxer. Mrs. Sadie Grace Boxer, sister to the late John Hamilton, and Marley's paternal aunt.”

More and more curious...but it might help explain her unusual height. John, he remembered, had been quite the beanpole himself. They also seemed to share their blond hair.

“Boxer? S. G. Boxer?
You
wrote the letter I received last week? I was under the impression that I had been contacted by John's solicitor.”

“Then you were laboring under a mistaken impression. I never claimed any such thing.”

“No? Well, you certainly implied it, madam. Did you pen the note with Mr. Johnson's lexicon at your elbow?”

“Are you now implying that perhaps Marley and I aren't who I presented us to be? Are you questioning that Marley is indeed John's child, and now your ward?”

Sadie Grace Boxer had stepped forward a pace, her dimpled chin raised. When she spoke, there had been the hint of a drawl in her voice, as if she was pouring cream over steel. Odd, that they both should have the same failing, but for different reasons. Or perhaps she was secretly amused? No, that wasn't it. What he saw in those eyes was a mix of confusion and...could that be fear? Had his intended joke struck a nerve?

Darby tipped his head slightly. “I wasn't, no, not completely. But now that you mention it, have you any proof that you and the child are who you say you are?”

Speaking of rats, did he sound like one searching for any way off a sinking ship? Yes, he probably did. But the woman was not what he was expecting, and until he figured out why that bothered him, he wouldn't be too hard on himself for his suddenly suspicious nature.

Mrs. Camford had just bustled into the foyer, followed by two housemaids, and was already
tsk-tsking
and issuing orders about clean linens and tubs to be drawn and fires to be laid in both one of the bedchambers and the nursery.

“Can this wait, my lord, as I tend to this small darling?” the housekeeper interrupted, having known Darby since he was in short coats and apparently already half in love with the now visibly shivering blonde poppet with the huge green eyes sparkling with heart-melting tears. “Oh, just look at the little darling. Come to Camy, sweetheart. Camy will make it all better.”

Darby raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the headache he could feel advancing on him. “Scolding me, Mrs. Camford? And with good reason. I can't imagine what I was thinking. Take them off, with my compliments. I'll be in my study if anyone needs me.”

“Yes, m'lord, you do that. You're clearly of no use here.”

At last, Mrs. Boxer smiled. Of course she would. No woman could resist a little crowing when a man has been put solidly in his place.

“I'll take myself off, then, Camy, before I'm sent to bed without my porridge.”

Sadie Grace Boxer turned toward the stairs, following the housekeeper. “How gracious, my lord. Come along, Marley,” she called over her shoulder.

Instead, Marley walked straight up to Darby, stopping just in front of him. “You're mean,” she announced. “I don't like you, and I hope you die.”

“What a charming infant you are,” he said, and inclined his head to her.

The charming infant kicked him straight in the shin with all her might.

“Tired
and
hungry,” Mrs. Boxer said, perhaps in apology—and perhaps not—hurriedly coming back to take Marley by the shoulders and steer her toward the staircase.

Tompkins quickly suppressed a giggle, and even Mrs. Camford smiled as she brushed past the guests, to lead them upstairs.

“She's just a child, my lord,” Mr. Camford said from behind him. “Mrs. Camford will soon take her in hand. Didn't take any sass from our four boys, nor from you, either, begging your pardon. I couldn't help but see you rubbing at your head. Shall I bring you some laudanum, sir?”

“No, thank you, that won't be necessary. I'll leave you and your good wife to sort things out, if I may, and retreat to my study to lick my wounds. Please have Mrs. Boxer brought to me when it suits her.”

Mrs. Boxer
. If she looked that good wet, cold and bedraggled, how would she appear in velvet and diamonds?
Mrs.
What in bloody hell was he to do with a
Mrs.
?

And why had her demeanor gone from aggravated (truly, aggravated) to apprehensive when he had asked her for proof of her claim? Both the legitimate and the imposter would have come fully armed with documentation. So why had that one question upset her?

It wasn't as if he had demanded said proof or else order Tompkins to toss both her and the child back out into the rain. You didn't just toss innocent children around from pillar to post all willy-nilly, as if they didn't have feelings.

The headache was closing in on him now, and thinking hurt, so he'd stop doing it.

CHAPTER TWO

“I
ALREADY
TOLD
YOU
I was sorry. Three whole times,” Marley whined, her bottom lip stuck forward in a defensive pout. “But he was mean to us. I could tell, because you were using that voice you use when you're ready to go
pop
. That's what Papa used to say. You get all sweet as treacle, Papa told me, and then you go
pop
.”

“I wasn't ready to pop,” Sadie told her niece as the two sat on the hearth rug in front of the nursery fire, finally dry and warm once more, Sadie still brushing her niece's thick blond hair.

“Yes, you were.
Pop!
”

“All right, perhaps I was. But His Lordship has to be the most insufferable—no. I didn't say that. He's your guardian now, Marley. That means you will be polite, well-behaved, obedient when he speaks to you and that you never again kick him in the shin. What would your papa have said if he'd seen such naughty behavior?”

“Papa's dead,” Marley answered flatly, hugging the rag doll that was the most beloved of her possessions.

Yes, John was dead. A truth not easily forgotten. Her brother was dead and Marley's world had been turned upside down in an instant.

“I know, sweetheart,” she said, gathering the child close. “We've spoken about this many times. He had never been well since he returned from the war, had he? Now he's with the angels, and we're thankful he's at peace, reunited with your mama. Isn't that right?”

Marley turned those huge green eyes on her aunt. “You're not sick, are you, Sadie? You aren't going to go see Papa and Mama?”

And there it was again, the fear Marley carried with her, the one Sadie couldn't seem to make go away.

“No, I'm not about to do that. I promised, remember? Why, I'm going to stay so close to you that one day you'll be forced to lock your door to keep me out.”

Death was a tricky subject all by itself, but explaining the finality of it to a child could break a person's heart.

And now, apparently, Marley had a new worry.

“That's what you say. He can't send you away, can he?”

“That's His Lordship to you, young lady, not
he
.” Sadie tapped her niece's pert little nose. “That being said, no,
he
won't do that. Only an unfeeling brute would separate you from your very last blood relative, and your papa said the viscount is a good and honorable man.”

Had she sounded convincing? Marley gave her a quick squeeze and got to her feet, looking much relieved. If her papa had said it, then it must be true.

If only I could feel equally certain
, Sadie told herself.
Because here we are, nearly out of funds and completely devoid of options.

“Ah, and here comes Peggy with your milk and cakes, just as promised. You tuck into that while I go see His Lordship and thank him for his fine welcome. Peggy?”

“I'll watch her, missus,” the young maid said, bobbing a curtsy. “I got two bitty sisters of my own. Mayhap we'll sing songs, won't we, young miss?”

“I suppose so,” Marley answered, seating herself at the child-size table in the center of the room, and her rag doll in the adjoining chair. If nothing else, the child had taken to the luxury of her new surroundings without a blink. “I know lots of songs. Lots and lots.”

“But
not
the one you overheard one of the outside passengers singing yesterday,” Sadie warned as she stood in front of a small mirror and inspected her appearance. Her hair looked presentable enough, brushed back severely and twisted into a figure-eight knot at her nape. The knot itself was damp, but if she'd waited until her hair was completely dry it would be nearly time for the first dinner gong.

She had never heard a dinner gong, but she'd read about them, and fine houses such as this one. What a lovely place for Marley to grow up, surrounded by such beauty and ease. Marley was young, and already adapting to her new surroundings, seeing the housekeeper and Peggy as new friends.

While Sadie felt out of place, an interloper. A fraud.

It was best to get over potentially treacherous ground as quickly and painlessly as possible, and that meant she could not allow His Lordship any more time to think up objections or inconvenient questions, or more time for her to doubt her ability to answer those questions in a convincing manner.

Her niece needed her; it was as simple as that. As complicated as that. She could not fail.

“But it was so silly,” Marley complained around a large bite of cake. “‘It's of a pretty shepherdess, kept sheep all on the plain,'” she sang in a high, childish voice. An innocent voice. “‘Who should ride by but Knight William, and he was drunk with wine.'”

“Marley Katherine—stifle yourself.”

“‘Line, twine, the willow and the dee.' That's all I remember before you clapped your hands over my ears.”

“And thank the good Lord for that,” Peggy said, breaking off a piece of cake with her fingers and all but shoving it into her new charge's mouth.

“I'm so sorry, Peggy. She...she picks up very quickly on anything she hears. And has no problem repeating each word, verbatim. You are to consider yourself warned, I suppose,” Sadie said, taking one last moment to smooth down her plain, pale blue gown before heading for the stairs.

“Mrs. Camford said to tell you she'll be waiting on you in the entrance hall, to escort you to His Lordship's study, and act as chaperone,” Peggy called after her.

“Oh, wonderful. So very kind of her,” Sadie said, and thanked the maid.

And then muttered to herself for the first two flights of her descent from the attic nursery to the entrance hall. Was the viscount in the habit of physically pouncing on his female guests...or did he worry that his unwelcome guest might become so overwhelmed by his masculine attraction that she'd assault
him
?

She wished she didn't feel she was on such shaky ground. Until a few short hours ago it had never occurred to her that she might not be believed. Everyone knew her; everyone knew she was honest and truthful. What a shame that
everyone
remained in the village.

“Mrs. Boxer,” the housekeeper said when the last flight of stairs ended at the tile floor of the entrance hall.

“Mrs. Camford,” Sadie returned, along with a matching nod of her head. Only a fool wouldn't believe they were sizing each other up, deciding on how to go on. “Thank you again for your kind and generous welcome. I promise you that Miss Marley is usually much better behaved. She's frightened, you understand, having so recently lost both her papa and her home.”

“And you, Mrs. Boxer, if I might ask?” the housekeeper said as she motioned for Sadie to follow her to the rear of the house. “Have you also lost your home?”

Lost my home? Yes, let's go with that, since apparently it's easy to believe, women being so inherently fragile and in need of protection that nobody would ever suppose they could get by on their own.

So recently reminded by Marley of her betraying tendency, Sadie attempted to tamp down the sweet drawl as she bristled at the woman's curiosity, as it wouldn't do to go
pop
. Still, she would stick to the truth, or as near to it as possible.

“As I resided with my brother in lodgings provided by his patients, yes, that accommodation was no longer open to either Miss Marley or myself. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to deliver my brother's daughter to the man who promised to care for her in the event of my brother's death. If asked to leave, I will do so, the moment I feel my niece is in good hands.”

She couldn't keep the smile and drawl at bay as she ended, “I do most sincerely hope that aids in your information, Mrs. Camford, but if there's anything else you feel the need to know, please don't hesitate to ask.”

The woman's blush told Sadie that she'd made her point—that she knew she was being questioned, measured, perhaps even judged. The staff was very protective of the viscount apparently. Odd, because he certainly didn't seem in need of protection.

“That was rude of me, and uncalled for. Forgive me, Mrs. Camford. I'm horribly nervous about meeting with His Lordship. I know what an imposition this is for him. Not many gentlemen would be willing to take on a young female ward.”

“He'll manage just fine, missus. It's
you
he wasn't expecting, or so I say. And here we are,” Mrs. Camford said, putting her hand to the handle of a dark oaken door. “I will see if His Lordship is agreeable to seeing you.”

Sadie nodded, realizing they'd passed by several rooms she normally would have loved to see, totally oblivious to her surroundings. “I suppose I was a bit of a surprise.”

“More like a shock, missus, to tell the truth, and so I told Mr. Camford.” The housekeeper quickly rapped on the door and then stepped inside, holding it nearly closed behind her as she said, “My lord, Mrs. Boxer is without.”

“Without what, Camy? Nothing vital missing, I hope.” Sadie heard the man question, humor in his voice. “And since when have we become so formal here at the cottage? I have enough of that everywhere else. Let her in, and then close the door behind you. Please.”

Sadie did her best to school her features into some semblance of calm as she stepped into the room...only then realizing she might just be voluntarily entering a lion's den.

The door closed behind her even as the viscount pushed himself up from the black leather couch he'd been sitting on. Lying on, she mentally corrected, noticing the sleep marks on his cheek, put there by a quilted satin pillow. Apparently he'd been relaxed enough to nap as he waited for her. How lovely for him.

“With you on the other side of it, Camy, please. I doubt she bites.”

Sadie turned to see the housekeeper directly behind her, and gave her a sympathetic look and shrug of her shoulders.

The door opened and closed again, and Sadie was alone with Darby Travers, the man who held Marley's fate in his hands, even if he'd yet to know that, and wouldn't, not until she was assured the man wasn't planning to wriggle out of his new responsibility.

She decided to prove her relationship to John before the man could repeat his earlier suspicions, spoken of so jokingly at their first, unfortunate meeting.

“John told me much about you, my lord, and those days in that horrible camp. You, and your friends, and so many more fine English soldiers, all the victims of the consequences of inferior leadership. How are the others, if I might inquire? Captains Sinclair, Rigby and Cooper Townsend, the latter injured in the same battle as Your Lordship. John said you four were close as inkle weavers and always ripe for adventure. He seemed to swell with pride at having known you. May I be seated?”

There. Now she could only hope that mentioning the names of his friends carried any weight for him in proving she was who she said she was. Or had she been too obvious?

She sat down before he could answer, moving the quilted pillow out of the way. The satin was still warm to the touch, and smelled faintly of the same shaving soap her brother had favored. She resisted an urge to clasp it close to her chest, as a sort of protection.

She'd already noticed that the man really didn't look well, certainly not displaying the same vibrant presence he'd projected earlier. His complexion was rather pale now beneath a healthy tan, his hair a bit ruffled, as if he'd been running his fingers through it, or perhaps massaging his head.

He had the headache, perhaps? A lingering reminder of his wound? She felt some pity for him, but wasn't so silly that she didn't see the advantage could temporarily reside in her corner during what would probably turn out to be a sparring match between them. With luck, whatever ailed him would put him off his game, as John had told her the viscount was wickedly intelligent, witty and didn't suffer fools gladly. Her brother had admired the man, his courage and even self-deprecating humor in the face of his terrible injury.

“They're all in good health, thank you for asking. We were all quite fond of John, and saddened to hear of his death.” Lord Nailbourne didn't retake his seat, choosing instead to lean against the front of an ancient carved desk some feet distant from the couch.

What was the protocol in duels? Ten paces, then stop, turn and fire? Sadie could feel the tension in the room, and wondered if it was all coming from her, as the dratted man still seemed very much at his ease.

Well or in pain, he was a handsome man, possibly made even more so by the eye patch, and his height would have been intimidating to most. Sadie gave a quick thank-you to her parents, who had combined to make her the empowering height she was. If she'd been a petite thing, she might feel completely overwhelmed and overmatched by the man. In truth, she still would have felt more than slightly intimidated, save for the quilt marks on his right cheek, which made him seem more human. Rather like a young boy, playing dress-up.

She wasn't sure now what she'd been expecting, as John had never mentioned the viscount's age, but it was clear he still lacked a few years before he was on the shady side of thirty. So young, and yet one of the wealthiest men in England, with all the benefits and burdens that sort of thing entailed.

And now she'd added to his responsibilities.

“My lord,” she began, searching for the correct words to show she knew of the imposition John had placed on him, but he stopped her simply by raising his hand.

“Forgive me for doubting your identity earlier.”

That sounded rather like a demand, but she was too relieved to challenge him.

“I looked at the letter again, and clearly nowhere did you suggest that you were a solicitor acting on John's behalf. In fact, you didn't identify yourself at all.”

That was definitely an accusation. Even if he'd cut off her apology, clearly he wasn't going to take all blame onto his shoulders.