A Worthy Wife (23 page)

“You can send him to Baluchistan, but he is not coming back here.”

Aurora thought she had a better chance of persuading
Kenyon if he met Andrew. “He is anxious to see you, too, my lord.” Andrew was petrified, besides being puffy, peevish, and as hard to please as any sick little boy. This was not the time she would have chosen to bring the two together, but this might be Aurora’s only chance. “He cannot leave the nursery, naturally. You’ll have to go up.”

“No. No, I will not meet him, and no, I will not change my mind. I do not want him in my house. Can you not understand that, woman?”

“No, and I cannot understand a man who would turn his back on a sick child, especially his own son.” She crossed her arms over her chest, showing that she could be just as stubborn. “I do not wish to be married to a brute like that.”

“Your wishes do not matter, Lady Windham. We are wed, remember?”

“Then we can live apart. It is done all the time in the
ton
,
I understand.”

Although that was what he’d intended at the time of their wedding, he refused to accept such an arrangement now. “I will not permit you to leave, Aurora, I swear it.”

She sniffed at his high-handedness. “And I will not permit such a cold, cruel man to be father to my children, by heaven, to reject them if he is out of sorts.”

His eyes narrowed, seeing her bedroom door slammed in his face. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I cannot love a cruel man.”

“Love again? That claptrap had nothing to do with our bargain.”

“Well, it matters now, you moron, and if you are too blind to see that, no spectacles can help you!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Did she love him? Was that what she’d been saying? Kenyon rolled the thought around in his mind. He considered the way Aurora rushed out to greet him, forgetting the servants watching, and how she seemed to glow with an inner smile when he was near. Could she love such a hard-hearted man, he asked himself, so wounded in his pride that he would not trust another woman? And did it matter? They could have a fashionable marriage like most of his friends, without the tender emotions, but the earl was suddenly finding that idea dismal, so, yes, it mattered. More than he could have imagined, Kenyon desired his wife—and no other. He had not even been tempted by the courtesans flocking to the powerful at the peace talks. But he craved more than Aurora’s exquisite body. He wished her to share his house and his thoughts and his worries as much as his bed. And he wanted her to want that, too. He wanted her to like him. Kenyon was beginning to think that without her affection, her respect, her love, he would never be a whole man again. Damn, he must be in love with the plaguey chit. What a coil!

*

Could she truly love the impossible man—despite his arrogance and pigheadedness? Well, yes, Aurora very much feared that she did. Her heart was as silly as the rest of her, the parts that tingled at his touch and warmed at his glance of approval, refusing to listen to her head. Logic and limiting one’s involvement had nothing to do with love, she was finding. But everything was going to be all right, for he loved her, too. He would have strangled her otherwise.

*

Too weary from his journey to argue more that night, Lord Windham went to his own bed. Tomorrow he’d make her see reason, he swore. But tomorrow came and he never saw his wife at all. He met with Dawson and the new bailiff, watched his brother try to exercise some strength back in his muscles, listened to his sister sing her highwayman’s praises, and looked for Aurora. He was not going to the nursery.

At dinner, she wore a pale green silk gown and her mother’s pearls. Deuce take it, Kenyon thought, he still had to purchase something for her, something just from him, not out of the vault. He knew the Windham diamonds were returned, if Dawson hadn’t switched paste for the real ones, for he’d seen them in the safe when he put some government documents there this morning. He would not think about the jewels, nor how Dawson had opened the blasted safe to put them away.

Aurora had purplish shadows under her eyes that he could see from the opposite end of the table, most likely from catering to the brat, as if there weren’t a hundred servants better suited to be nursemaid. He could not say anything—not that she’d listen—not when the others were so studiously making polite conversation. No one mentioned the boy.

She was not in the parlor with the other ladies when he led the men back after dinner and a smoke. Brianne and Wesley got up a game of piquet, the McPhees adjourned to their laboratory, and Nialla excused herself to bring Christopher the book he’d asked for. No one expected her back.

They were all avoiding him, Kenyon knew, as he intercepted yet another reproachful look, from the footman this time. Even Aunt Ellenette picked up Frederick and her novel and retired early. The earl waited, but Aurora did not come down for tea, either.

He decided that a gentleman could make some concessions in the interest of domestic harmony. He would meet the boy, if that’s what it took to show his wife that he liked children and was kind to animals. He’d rather meet Uncle Ptolemy’s pet toad, but how bad could nodding at the brat be? And if he did not wear his spectacles, he would not have to search for family resemblances.

Aurora was not in her room when the earl went to tell her his decision. He did not really expect her to be this early, but he waited. She never came.

He had not intended to meet the boy tonight, or in the nursery. A formal audience in the library seemed more fitting, Kenyon thought. But his feet were headed up the stairs to the nursery, to fetch his wife back, the earl assured himself, before she took ill herself from tending to the whelp. Besides, with any luck the boy would be asleep.

Aurora was sitting by his bedside, mending by the meager light from one shaded candle. A nursemaid was fast asleep on a cot in the corner. “This is absurd,” Kenyon started, whispering. “If the girl cannot stay awake to watch him, then hire another.”

Aurora looked up, but did not smile at him. “Andrew needs his family, not a servant, when the fever makes him fretful. He’s been having nightmares, the poor dear.”

“Then light another candle, for heaven’s sake.”

“That’s how much you know. The light is bad for his eyes, the doctor says.”

“Well, sitting here in the dark isn’t doing you a lot of good that I can see. You are looking worn to the bone.”

“I am tired,” she admitted. “Brianne and Nialla both offered to take turns sitting up with Andrew, but I was too worried. He seems to be doing better, don’t you think?”

Better than the half-drowned rat who’d arrived from France? Kenyon shrugged. “He appears to be sleeping soundly.”

“Does he seem warm to you?”

In the dim light, without his spectacles, Kenyon thought the boy looked like a white mouse in a nest of blankets. He was pale and small and fragile-looking. “No, not at all.”

“How can you tell? You didn’t touch him.”

She never said anything about touching him. Kenyon
was here to meet the boy. The child was asleep. He’d done his duty and could leave. “I don’t want to awaken him.”

Aurora nodded, then yawned. “Pardon me.”

“No, dash it, I will not. You are about to collapse. What good will you be to him in the morning, then?”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes, but nothing. You go to sleep. I will stay here with the boy.”

“You?”

“Yes, madam, even I can sit still in a chair and watch a sleeping infant. You said yourself he is resting comfortably. If he worsens, I can send for you.”

“You’d do that for him?”

He couldn’t lie. “No, but I would do a great deal for you, my lady.”

Aurora stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, then hurried from the room before Kenyon could change his mind. It was a start.

The chair was not particularly comfortable. No chance of him falling asleep on the job, Kenyon realized. He shifted his position, then again, when his leg started to grow numb. His foot bumped the bed. The boy’s eyes opened. Kenyon held his breath, hoping the lad would go back to sleep. Lud, what would he do if not? He’d roust up the maid, that’s what. Just when he thought he could exhale, the child whispered, “Are you my father?”

Trust the brat to get to the heart of the matter at first sight. Kenyon knew this had been a wretched idea, but he answered the only way he could. “Yes.”

“Am I dead?”

“Good grief, no.”

“I heard Aunt Brianne say you’d see me in Hell before you came to visit.”

“Aunt Brianne’s manners are not always all they should be. And you should not have been listening to adult conversation.”

“Even when she was in my room? She thought I was asleep.”

“I see. Well, a gentleman would not repeat what he was not supposed to hear. And he would not say Hell.”

“Oh.” The boy sighed. “There are a great many things a gentleman has to know, aren’t there?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Mama says that’s why you never came to visit at school, on account of your being too busy being a gentleman and an earl and a friend of the Prince. And lots of other important things.”

“Mama?” For a moment Windham worried that the boy was taking a page from Aunt Ellenette and Frederick’s book, talking to his dead mother.

“Lady Windham,” Andrew said with a hint of impatience that he had to explain.
“
You
know, your wife. She says I’m her only child for now.”

At this rate he’d be her only child till the cows came home. “Aren’t you sleepy?”

“No, sir.”

His lordship looked around until he spotted a jug and a cup. “Do you want some barley water for your throat?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

The earl watched the boy as he lay rigid, staring at the ceiling. The whelp did not appear to be drowsy, dash it, and Kenyon was all out of polite conversation. He had nothing to say to the lad, no burning questions the child could answer. Windham might have shouted, “Are you my son?” But now this child was his, for better or for worse, just like his wife.

The silence was worse. Blast, he’d been right all along. What did he know about children? Nothing, and he’d never been bothered at the lack. He did not belong in any nursery, and the child did not belong here. The lad should be with a competent family, somewhere else, somewhere far from Windrush.

“Are you feverish?” he asked in desperation. “Should I fetch a cool cloth for your head?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“I am not one of your instructors, Andrew. You do not have to stand at attention—or lie at attention—and ‘sir’ me to death.”

“No, sir, my lord.”

“Deuce take it, you’re not a servant. Why don’t we
try ‘Father’ for now? I am not quite ready for ‘Papa.’” Kenyon doubted he’d ever be ready for that.

“That’s all right, sir…Father.”

No one had ever called him that before, and now it came out hoarse, choked. “You are not going to cry, are you?” Kenyon was halfway out of his seat, ready to shout for Aurora.

“No, sir.”

Kenyon leaned closer, eyeing the boy suspiciously. He was tense and unhappy, almost as if he were afraid of his own father, dammit. But he was not crying. “Good lad.” The earl sat back. He’d stay and let Aurora get her rest.

Silence filled the corners of the room, like bone-chilling fog or throat-scratching smoke. Kenyon checked his pocket watch by the single candle. Not a quarter of an hour had gone past. Lud, this night was going to last forever. Then he noticed a stack of books on the floor. “Would you like me to read to you? I could hold the candle closer to me so it won’t bother your eyes.”

“Thank you, sir. I would enjoy that.”

Kenyon went through the pile of books, only to discover they were all learned discourses on crop rotation, manure composting, and milch cows. “What is this dry-as-dust stuff doing up here?”

“Uncle Kit was studying it, and Mama says I’ll have to know it too, for when I’m Earl of Windham.”

What, was Aurora wishing to be rid of him so soon? Nettled, he said, “I am not in my dotage yet. You have a few years yet to stay a boy.” Meanwhile, he was peering at the titles on the spines of the books on the nursery shelves. “Ah, I knew this would be here.
Sir Timothy and the Terrible Dragon.
It used to be one of my favorites when I was your age. Kit and I used to play at knights and dragons all the time. Brianne was always the maiden we had to rescue, though sometimes we left her tied up for the dragon to get, on purpose. Surely you’d rather hear of a fearless warrior and his trusted destrier than a dissertation on mangel-wurzels.”

Andrew was already reaching for something on the
nightstand. “You can borrow my quizzing glass if you like.”

Kenyon recognized the piece as one of his. “No, thank you. I have my spectacles with me.” He took them out of his pocket and put them on, seeing no other choice if he wanted to see the pages, and began reading about the noble knight and his steed, Victory. “‘Even his sword had a name,’” he read, “‘and that was Serpent-Slayer.’ Don’t tell Uncle Ptolemy.”

Kenyon thought he’d read a chapter and the boy would fall asleep, but he was halfway through, however, and Andrew was sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets, cheering on Sir Timothy. The earl doubted Aurora would consider such behavior conducive to rest and recuperation. “Perhaps we ought to stop here and save the rest for tomorrow night”