Barbara Metzger (6 page)

With her cheeks flaming scarlet, she stammered, “S-sorry. I should have knocked. But the door…the boys…the clothes.”

“Think nothing of it, ma’am,” he said, still wearing that grin and not much else.

He could at least hold the towel over his bare chest, she thought. Heavens, what if Amy came to gather Billy’s belongings? Her poor sister would swoon. Alissa felt that she might, herself.

Then he said, “I assure you, Mrs. Henning, this is not the first time a lady has seen me at my bath.”

It was his wink that let her indignation triumph over her embarrassment. Why, the rogue was enjoying her discomfort. He was flirting with her! First he thought her some kind of adventuress; now he considered her fair game for his lewd and evidently lusty attentions.

She drew herself up to her full height—approximately at the level of his squared, slightly stubble-shaded jaw. She made sure she raised her eyes to his laughing brown ones, not his curved lips, his suntanned chest muscles, or his decently clothed but thoroughly indecent nether regions. “But I am not a lady, my lord, merely a respectable widow and mother. And…and this is not your bath.”

“Quite right.” He casually neared her, bending to pick up the fallen clothes. He accidentally—or not, Alissa suspected—brushed his bare arm across hers as he leaned over. He held the shirt—her husband William’s shirt—to his nose and breathed in the scent. “Ah, lavender. I was worried that the clothes might smell of mothballs. Anything would have been better than the stench of swine, but this is perfect. Thank you.”

If the shirt was so perfect, Alissa wondered, why was he not putting it on? “I cannot provide trousers or boots, but I did find a waistcoat that might suit.”

“Capital.” He finally drew the shirt over his head and grinned as he started to tuck it into his breeches.

Alissa turned her back. “There is a neckcloth too, but it may be creased.”

“It will be worse after I attempt to tie it. I do not suppose you would…?”

That was enough, and more than enough. “I would sooner tie a noose around my own throat.” She scooped up his discarded jacket and said, “I will try to sponge off some of the muck. You can explain to Billy, meanwhile, why you are so insistent on claiming him now, when he is content, when you have not bothered to come see him in two years.”

*

The parting was a tearful one. “But I don’t want to go, Papa. I like it here with Willy and Ken.”

“You will have a brother of your own, William. You will like that just as much.”

“I already have them, though. They’re enough.”

“They are not blood kin. It is not the same.”

“But Hugo’s only half a brother.”

“He is a half brother, not half a brother. And that is more than the Hennings can claim.”

“But they like me. Hugo might not.”

“He will.” Or Rockford would… How could he make two boys like each other? “He will. You’ll see.”

“But I will never get to see Willy or Ken again, nor Aunt Lissie or Amy,” William wailed. “Just like Aunt Eleanor and Nanny Dee, who went away.”

Rockford’s borrowed shirt was growing damp, not from the boy’s tears but from his own perspiration. Lud, he’d never managed weeping women successfully. How the devil was he to comfort a heartbroken child? And why had the blasted widow chosen now to stand aside? She had not hesitated to speak up before.

He knelt to the boy’s level, then winced as he retrieved a metal soldier from under his knee. He put it, with the others, in the satchel at William’s feet. “Nonsense. You can come visit to introduce them to Hugo. He’ll want to meet them, and Rosie.”

That was a bad decision, reminding the boy of the pet pig. “I’ll never see Rosie again!” He kicked at the satchel, spilling the toy soldiers across the parlor floor. “I won’t go!”

Rockford stood and glowered down at the small boy, who glowered right back at him. Rockford cleared his throat. So did William. Rockford crossed his arms over his chest. William used his sleeve to wipe at his runny nose.

Faugh. If that was an example of the boy’s manners, Rockford decided, he belonged in this poor cottage, if not in Rosie’s pen. Revolted, the fastidious earl almost decided to leave him here, dripping nose and all, but he could not. William bore his name, if nothing else. He fumbled in his pockets for the handkerchief his valet always placed there, then recalled he had no valet with him, no handkerchief. “Damn.”

“That’s a bad word.”

And Rockford knew a lot worse, which the boy was likely to hear soon. Before he did, Mrs. Henning placed a linen square in his hand, and dabbed at William’s nose with another, which she then carefully folded into his coat pocket. “Listen to your father, Billy,” she said, having to retrieve the cloth to wipe her own cheeks. “I am sure he…he means well.”

Means well? Damn it, Rockford swore, this time to himself, that was not the least help, measuring his incompetence against his intentions. He tersely thanked her for the handkerchief, then nearly shouted at the boy, “Now you listen to me, young sir. I am your father, and I know what is best for you. We shall have no more blubbering, do you hear? You are no infant to be causing scenes and throwing tantrums. You are a young man, a gentleman at that, a Rothmore of Rock Hill. Do you understand?”

William looked first to Mrs. Henning, who nodded in encouragement. He sniffed, then said, “Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Now pick up your toys and make your farewells to the boys and Mrs. Henning.”

William and the two other lads silently gathered the spilled soldiers while Rockford felt like a magistrate handing down a sentence of deportation. He could not even look at Mrs. Henning, but heard her blow her nose, then pat her crying sister on the back. “It is not forever, dash it,” he finally said to the boy, but intending the others to hear him also. “There will be long vacations and holidays. Why, you and Hugo might spend Christmas here at Rock Hill, so you will see the Hennings in a few months.”

“Truly, Papa?”

Well, he was not quite willing to make any promises. And with the scrupulous Mrs. Henning looking on, he was not willing to lie, either. “We’ll see.”

The boy knew it for an evasion, and his lip started to quiver again.

Quickly, before William could unloose his tears—or the army from the carpetbag—Rockford hoisted him to his shoulder. “Come now. We must be off. The horses have stood too long as is.”

As he made his bows to the widow, he could not help being affected by her tearstained cheeks. “I had not wanted to mention this yet, but perhaps your boys can attend the same school as William, once I have made the selection. At my expense, of course, in gratitude for your kindness.”

She stopped crying on the instant. “What, it is not enough that you are stealing Billy away? You want to take my boys too? What kind of monster are you?”

Because she was overwrought Rockford chose to ignore her claim that he was stealing his own son. He did say, “We can speak of schooling later. My secretary—”

“Can go to the devil, carrying your check book.”

He nodded and headed toward the door, William still in his arms. In Rockford’s mind, the issue was not decided yet, for a gentleman always paid his debts, but he knew when to make a strategic retreat. “I wish you good day, then. And thank you.”

William twisted his fists in Rockford’s neckcloth. The wretched thing had been clean and neatly tied, after many efforts, for approximately twenty minutes. The earl halted.

“But,” William whimpered, “but I never got any gingerbread. Aunt Lissie makes the best gingerbread in the whole world.”

Now here was something Rockford could handle. “I am certain Mrs. Henning will pack us some for the road.”

She shook her head. “I do not think it is ready yet.”

Rockford loved gingerbread. He could not recall the last time he had had some, but the smell of it in the small cottage was making his mouth water. And he distinctly recalled her sending the sister to remove it from the oven. What, was the widow punishing the boy for his father’s overstepping her private boundaries, whatever the deuce they were? “We could wait a few minutes while you check.”

“I do not believe that would be a good idea, my lord.”

“Surely you will not deny the boy a taste? If you are worried about ruining his dinner, we eat later at Rock Hill.”

“But—”

“I will pay you for the blasted cake, madam. Or do you wish the poor boy to cry the whole way home?”

She left and returned with a basket, enough gingerbread for six hungry boys—or men—covered in a checkered cloth. She marched toward the waiting carriage and thrust the basket in the door while he followed with William and his satchel of toys. His small trunk of clothes was already strapped to the rear of the old carriage. “Here, my lord,” Mrs. Henning said. “You may take this and your son. With my compliments.”

Chapter Five

“Oh, dear, his lordship forgot his soiled shirts.” Amy came up beside Alissa where she was standing in the doorway, watching the old coach lurch down the rutted drive that led to Sir George Ganyon’s estate before joining the main road.

“Don’t worry,” Alissa said. “He will be back.” She consulted the watch pinned to her gown. “I would wager on an hour at the most. Just put the shirt along with Billy’s to be soaked.”

Amy hesitated. “Lissie, Lord Rockford did not seem happy when he left, nor did you appear to wish his return.”

“That is neither here nor there. The fact is that the boys are not the only ones in need of lessons.”

“I do not understand.”

Alissa took the pig-wallow shirt from her sister, but held it at arm’s length. “No? Well, let us just say that his high-and-mighty earlship does not know quite as much about children as he arrogantly supposes. Nor is his every edict infallible. He is about to learn otherwise.”

“I know it is not my place, Lissie, but, speaking of learning, do you think it wise to turn down his lordship’s offer to pay for the boys’ educations? I know you have been worried about making ends meet lately. And without the extras from Rock Hill for Billy…” The younger girl let her voice trail away, but frown lines stayed on her brow.

Alissa’s brow matched, in shape and complexion and worry. “Do you think I don’t know how our finances stand? I go over the accounts every night, counting pennies. And yes, Billy has been a godsend to us, both in the joy of having the little imp and the help they send over from Rock Hill. I honestly do not know how we will make up the shortfall, although we seemed to manage before.”

Of course, that was before the boys needed more lessons than Alissa could give them, and the fees her father had set aside for Aminta’s young ladies’ seminary had run out, and Alissa’s prize drawing student went off to London for her come-out. “We shall just have to economize further, that is all.”

“Or I could seek a governess post, Lissie. You know I am well educated enough, even if I did not finish the term at Miss Plum’s academy.”

Alissa also knew her sister was too young and too pretty to find a position in a respectable household. Without experience and references, heaven only knew where she might land. Besides, their father had not meant either of his daughters to go into service. He had not paid for their excellent schooling so they might drudge in some other woman’s household, but so they might make good marriages. How could Amy find a husband tucked away in some attic nursery? All her lovely young sister would find, Alissa worried, was
improper advances and insult, like
Lord Rockford
and
his sort usually offered unprotected females. Or widows.

“Fustian nonsense,” Alissa said now. “You shall do no such thing as seeking employment with some harridan too spoiled to care for her own children. You shall find a fine young gentleman to marry and live happily ever after, with angels of your own to cherish.”

Aminta sighed, a young girl’s sigh of high hopes and daydreams, of air castles and knights on white chargers. “I do hope so.” Then her feet touched the ground again, where her soles were thin and her stockings were darned. She pulled her knit shawl closer around her shoulders. “But I still do not understand why you refused his lordship’s offer, and in so harsh a manner. Willy and Kendall need schooling if they are to amount to anything. You know that.”

Alissa took one more look down the carriageway before shutting the door. “I do know they need an education, but I refused, you see, because that is not what the earl offered to pay for. He offered to send them to a school, a school of his choice. Not one I would select after meeting the headmaster and instructors and checking their credentials, not one close to home so I could visit frequently, not one that has boys from all stations in life, not just those with titles before their names. I would never send Willy and Ken somewhere they would be nothing except Lord Rockford’s dependents, the poor waifs he supports out of charity. The other boys would know, and the teachers. Can you imagine how your nephews would be treated at such a place? What kind of instruction they would receive? Besides, Willy is far too young to be sent away. No, if His Arrogance wished to be helpful, he could have offered to pay for the lessons at Vicar’s. That I could have accepted gladly.”

Amy sighed again. “Lord Rockford might be arrogant, but his pride is not without cause, I swear. And not just because he has a title and wealth and that air of worldly experience about him. Why, his shoulders barely fit in through the doorway.”