A Worthy Wife (22 page)

Aurora chewed on her lip. She thought she’d like nothing better than spending time alone with this appealing man she’d married. “I’d love to go with you, but what about everyone here? I cannot just abandon poor Nialla one day after inviting her, and Brianne needs a more watchful chaperone than Aunt Ellenette, with Mr. Royce in the house. I’m afraid I should stay behind.”

At least she did not sound relieved to be spared his company. “I would feel better leaving you to look after Kit, too, thunderation.”

“Do not curse, you’ll be part of history. Besides, you can travel faster and get home that much more quickly. When do you think you’ll have to leave?”

“As soon as Tarlow can pack.”

“Today? Thunderation!”

With all the farewells and all the instructions, half of which Kenyon knew his wife would ignore, they barely had time for a good-bye kiss, in view of almost the whole household. Even Brianne left her bed to wave a handkerchief as his coach rolled down the carriage drive. Without a word, she pressed it into Aurora’s hand when the carriage was out of sight.

Trailing back to the house, Aurora wiped her eyes and firmed her backbone. Her husband was counting on her to manage in his absence, to oversee the welfare of his family and dependents and property—to be Lady
Windham, in other words. It was a big responsibility, but she could do it, for him.

Aurora started by opening the rest of the mail that Kenyon had not gotten to. She put the bills in a pile for Mr. Dawson, the invitations in a pile for Brianne, and read the remaining letters herself. One she read twice. Then she sat staring at nothing while she tried to decide what her husband would want her to do. Ignore it, most likely, but that was not Aurora’s way. No, she would have to do precisely what he would least wish her to do, and right after promising to stay out of trouble.

Trouble? This was going to be worse than losing the Windham diamonds, worse than introducing a highwayman to his harebrained sister, worse even than the monkey. Aurora was going to bring the Earl of Windham’s son home.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bells were pealing everywhere—church bells, fire bells, even cow bells.

“Why are they all ringing?” the boy asked when he stepped down from the coach.

Unable to wait in the parlor like a properly sedate matron, Aurora had raced down the stairs when she heard Andrew’s carriage. She barely restrained herself from hugging him, her son. From being the only child in a household of scholarly adults, she now had a brother and a sister, and a little boy to love! One look at the anxious face that reminded her of his father, and she adored him already.

“Why, the bells are ringing to welcome the Windham heir home, of course,” she told Andrew, half laughing.

“Truly?” Andrew was not quite sure he believed her, playful teasing not having come his way in the past.

“Truly. Oh, I suppose they might be celebrating the end of war, too, but your homecoming is certainly the first cause for joy at Windrush.”

He was following her into the enormous entry hall, staring around, stepping carefully around anything that looked remotely fragile or valuable. “I am glad it is over. My mother died in that war, you know.”

“Yes, I do know, and I am very sorry. My mother died when I was a baby also. I lost my father, too.”

He shrugged as if fathers were of no account. “Who took you?”

“My aunt and uncle, who are now your great-aunt and great-uncle. Ah, do you like lizards?”

He stepped back, as though she were dicked in the nob. Aurora knew she was babbling, but she so wanted
him to be happy here. “You have an aunt and uncle of your own, of course. Brianne and Christopher are anxious for your company.” They were anxious to be out of the country before Windham got wind of what she’d done. She’d had no choice, Aurora had told them. The school was stricken with the mumps, and all the boys were sent home, but the family Andrew stayed with between terms was off on holiday, not expecting him. Was she supposed to tell the school to deposit the boy at an inn, like some unwanted parcel? No, she’d had no choice. Windham would understand. “And you are lucky, Andrew; you still have your father.”

That ended that avenue of conversation. Andrew stood in the center of the library she’d led him to, not touching anything, just staring at the carpet. Andrew was small for his age, shy, and obviously terrified of his father.

“He’ll be sorry he wasn’t here to greet you, I’m certain.” Aurora was trying to reassure both of them.

Andrew shook his head. “No, he won’t. He’ll hate me. I’m stupid. Everyone says so. And the family I stay with doesn’t want me back, either. They say he doesn’t pay them enough.”

“Gammon. I know he pays them very well. And you are not stupid, I am sure.”

“It’s true. This isn’t my first school, you know. The other one said they couldn’t teach a dunce cap like me to read, so they sent me away. I cannot do arithmetic, and my penmanship is dreadful, and I hate that dumb place! The instructors are mean, and I don’t care if they won’t take me back!”

He and Ned would be excellent friends, Aurora thought. She also thought Andrew and Brianne had a lot in common, which was not as pleasant a prospect. Hoping to head off a display of temper, she asked, “If not reading or writing or arithmetic, what subjects are you good at? Globes? History?”

“French is the only thing I can do, on account of getting the accent right. But then the other boys call me a Frog.”

“My uncle adores frogs—the croaking kind. Perhaps he’ll let you hold one.”

Andrew scuffed at the carpet. “I won’t be here long enough.
He
will be back, now that the truce is declared. He won’t let me stay. He’ll just find another mean old place to send me.”

“Fustian, once Lord Windham gets to know you, he’ll regret not having you home more often.”

Andrew gave her the look children reserved for adults making particularly childish remarks. “I am dumb at schoolwork, not queer in the attic. He won’t like me. I never do anything right. I always bump into things and can’t ever hit the ball at cricket. The masters say I am slower than molasses, and the other boys laugh at me all the time.”

Aurora would not believe that Andrew was anyone else’s boy, and she could not believe that a child of Windham’s might be dim-witted. Stubborn, yes. She found one of Windham’s ubiquitous looking glasses in the desk drawer and held it and a book out to the boy.

He turned scarlet. “I can’t—”

“Try.”

“I can! I can read it! I say, what a marvelous device.”

“Has no one thought to have you fitted for spectacles?”

“Criminy, no. The other boys would have laughed.”

“Your father wears glasses”—when she nagged at him—“and your uncle, who is a genuine hero, with medals and all. If he can wear spectacles, so can you. We shall send for a pair this afternoon. Meanwhile, here.” She looped the ribbon over his head, and, unable to help herself, she kissed the top of his head. He had brown hair, not the auburn of the other Warriners, but this was Kenyon’s son, she’d bet her life on it. She already had, most likely.

“All the finest gentlemen carry quizzing glasses, don’t you know. And…and I shall try not to embarrass you again with such demonstrations of affection.”

Blushing, he forgave her. “Do you remember your mother?”

“Not much. Half of what I do remember might be from my aunt’s stories anyway. Do you recall yours?”

“Not much. She was very pretty, they tell me.”

“She was beautiful. You can ask Brianne and your Aunt Ellenette.” Who were forever reminding Aurora that she did not measure up. “There is a portrait of your mother in the attics. We could bring it down for your room if you like. You have her coloring and chin and handsome brown eyes. But
I
recognize some of your father’s and aunt’s characteristics.”

Andrew took that as a compliment. “You’re pretty, too.”

“Why, thank you. I can see we are going to get along famously. Do you like animals?” His tepid reaction to the mention of frogs was worrisome, for this household.

“I don’t ride, if that’s what you mean. They said I was too small and too paper-skulled to bother with lessons.”

The boy was Windham’s heir, for heaven’s sake. He had to ride! “I bet you just couldn’t see where to go.”

Once Andrew got settled, Brianne and Wesley were delegated to give him riding lessons, on old Magpie for a start. Archery and cricket classes were added when his new spectacles arrived. Nialla and Christopher had him reading the newspapers with them, discussing the day’s events. They were also teaching him chess, card games, and spillikins, which Kit could manage one-handed. When Aurora unearthed a box of tin soldiers in the old nursery, the boy and his uncle enacted endless battles on Christopher’s bed.

Aunt Thisbe and Uncle Ptolemy took him collecting with them, teaching him the wonders of scaly, slimy creatures, and that getting one’s clothes dirty was not a crime. They let him help in the laboratory, too, by keeping Sweety busy. But Andrew’s very favorite activity was playing with Lucy and her pups. Wesley said he could have one for his very own, but he couldn’t choose, so spent hours with them in the stables. Eventually, Aurora had Lucy and the babes installed in the nursery, so that she might get to have some time with her son, too.

With Lucy in the house, Frederick discovered love. He followed the bitch around, panting, and did not bother anyone else, for once. He even let her puppies climb over him and chew on his ears.

Speaking of love, Brianne and Wesley did not argue half so much, not in front of the boy, at any rate. Windham’s solicitor was looking into getting copies of Wesley’s father’s will, to see if there were grounds for a challenge. Ned was also snooping around while he was in London, for hints of skullduggery. If someone forged the will, and if that someone was a professional, Ned would sniff him out. Meanwhile, Wesley’s wound was mending, and he was helping put food on the table with hunting and fishing, at which Brianne constantly tried to outdo him. She never wore her black gowns, and she never asked for the diamonds, once they were back. She never left Aurora alone with Wesley if she could help it, but she never let her jealousy override her manners again, either.

Christopher was recovering more slowly, but he felt stronger daily. He decided he might even try to ride again soon. Perhaps then his brother would let him manage one of the lesser properties, so he could support himself…and a wife. He could learn, couldn’t he? Dash it, if that’s what he had to do to provide for Nialla so he could offer for her in good conscience, he’d do it. And she thought she’d like nothing better than to be a farmer’s wife, raising roses and little Warriners. Christopher had Andrew fetch him books on agriculture from Windham’s library, and made him read parts with him, for the estate was to be his someday and he had to know as much as his father and uncle did.

That was Aurora’s job, taking Andrew around in her gig, introducing him to the tenants and explaining how they depended on his family for their livelihoods, so he had to watch out for them. She made sure to show him the land that he was to be caretaker of, and his son after, the fields and forests, the streams and the spinneys. She didn’t think a son of Windham’s could turn out to be a conscienceless care-for-naught, not with Kenyon’s sense of honor, but she was going to make sure her son—the only son she’d have if Windham stayed gone—knew what was owed his name and his title.

And then, while everything was going so well, of
course, Andrew got sick with the mumps, which was, of course, just when Windham decided to come home.

*

He was not angry. Angry was for the diplomatic corps, which was anything but diplomatic, for the rulers who could not see beyond their own greed and ambition to the people who were suffering. Angry was for incompetence and idiocy. Now Windham was incensed. Smoke should be pouring from his ears. Lava should be bubbling out of his mouth. Lightning bolts should be flying from his clenched fists.

Aurora should be fearing for her life, but she knew Kenyon would never hurt her, so matter what, just as she knew he would get over having his wishes thwarted. He’d get used to having the boy at home and come to love Andrew as she did.

“Love him? I do not want to look at him, madam, as I believe I made perfectly clear. I may have to acknowledge the child as my heir, by all that’s holy, but I do not have to accept him as my son. From all reports, the brat is thoroughly unlovable, besides being dunder-headed and doltish. No son of mine would be tossed out of three schools before he reached his ninth birthday.”

“Perhaps you should blame the schools, not the boy. Andrew is not the least bit slow. He can already defeat Aunt Ellenette at piquet.”

Kenyon raised one eyebrow. “The monkey could outplay Aunt Ellenette.”

“He only beat Christopher at chess once, so far, but Andrew is invincible with marbles. Uncle Ptolemy is impressed with his ability to draw the insects and such they are studying, and Nialla says he has an aptitude for music.”

Kenyon made a rude noise. “It sounds as if you’ve done a fine job of getting him used to life at Windrush. But you have done the boy a disservice, madam wife, for he is leaving here as soon as the school reopens.”

“No, we shall find a better school, closer to home.”