Family In The Making (Matchmakeing Babies 2) (20 page)

Maris’s lips twitched in return. She had doubted she would ever smile again, but Arthur’s gentle teasing eased the pain of her invisible wounds. The bruises that ached along her skull and ribs would heal more slowly.

When the harbormaster agreed at last, Arthur ordered the men surrounding Lord Litchfield to take him to where he could be locked up. Lord Litchfield cursed as he was jerked to his feet.

Arthur walked over to him, and in a quiet voice chilling in its intensity, said, “Be grateful, Litchfield, that I am a forgiving man. Don’t think I was not tempted to have you take Maris’s place on that ship. It is better your crimes are made public so you cannot try something diabolical again.”

“She lies!” Lord Litchfield screamed. “Don’t believe a word she says. She was kicked out of Bellemore’s house because of her lies.”

“Why should I believe
you
?”

“Because it is the truth. Go ahead, Trelawney. Ask her! Ask her how she was sent away in disgrace.”

Maris clasped her hands over her mouth to silence her moan.

Arthur turned to her. “He is lying, isn’t he?”

Her tears blurred Arthur’s beloved face and the triumph on Lord Litchfield’s, but she said, “Not about that, he isn’t. Lord Bellemore did send me away. I will not be false about that any longer. Nor will I be silent about Lord Litchfield’s attempt to rape me and then blame me for the crime. He persuaded Lord Bellemore to believe his lies, which drove me away from the only home I had. For a while, even I began to believe it was my fault he attacked me.”

Arthur stepped slowly toward her as Lord Litchfield was dragged away. “You know you are not at fault, don’t you? If someone treated my sisters so coarsely, I would never rest until justice was done. But you were alone, weren’t you?”

“I thought I was, but then I heard your brother’s lesson. ‘I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.’ I was never alone.” She took a deep breath to go on.

He spoke first. “Before you say anything else, you should know Lady Belinda came to me tonight to ask my help in persuading you to accept her apology for the wrongs she has done you. Her regret seemed sincere.”

“She did?” The tears refused to remain in her eyes any longer. If she returned to Mr. Miller’s house, she would find Belinda and let her know she wanted to offer the forgiveness she had denied both of them. “I know you despise liars, Arthur, and I have been one.”

“None of us is perfect. Everyone tells a fib now and then.”

“Not a fib. A lie.” She glanced toward the ornate carriage, which must have cost Lord Litchfield dear. “I am not who I claimed to be.”

“You are not Maris Oliver?” In the lantern light, surprise raised his brows.

“My name is Maris Oliver, but I am not an experienced nurse. The recommendation I brought to Cothaire was a fake. I wrote it myself.”

“Because you had nowhere else to go?”

“Yes. I have always loved children, and I heard of the need for a nurse at Cothaire. If you would like me to leave, my lord, I will.”

“Don’t leave,” he whispered as he brought her into his arms, his mouth on hers. She gave herself to this kiss that must be the final one they shared. The thought severed her heart anew, and she pulled herself out of his arms. She did not belong there. She averted her eyes.

He tipped her chin up with a single finger. “Maris, one thing I have learned is you cannot hide your thoughts, especially when you are upset. Let me put you at ease on one matter. Gwendolyn is marrying someone else.”

“Someone else? But I thought... The letters you wrote and the promise you made to your father. What of those?”

“I will explain about the letters when there are fewer people present, but trust me when I say they were never love letters. Father will understand, because how could Gwendolyn marry me when she loves someone else?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to look away.

He turned her face to him. “If you don’t know that answer, maybe you will know this one. How can I marry her when I love someone else? Someone my father will approve of because, even though she is not of the
ton
, she has every quality and skill to be a future earl’s wife. More important, my dearest Maris, I hope you love me as I love you.”

Sure her mouth was gaping like a fish washed upon the sand, she whispered, “You love me? You really do?”

Chuckling, he said, “Maybe I should answer that question as you asked it. Saying ‘I do’ would be good practice. For both you and me.”

She smiled as she realized what he was saying with his teasing.

“Gwendolyn and I,” he went on, serious again, “know we would be doing our families and each other a great disservice if we wed. We share the affinity of childhood companions. Nothing more. She has asked me to attend her wedding. I would like her to attend ours, if you are comfortable with that.”

“Of course.” Happiness that eclipsed any she had ever known welled up in her as she put her arms around him. “I love you, too, Arthur. With every inch of my being.”

The kiss he gave her was an invitation to even more joy. Leaning his forehead against hers, he asked, “Will you marry me, Maris?”

“Yes!”

He swung her around as he shouted in delight. Her head spun as he set her on her feet. Offering his hand, he laced his fingers with hers and said, “It is time to return to Miller’s house and share the glorious tidings. I know one little boy who will be especially happy with the news.”

“Let’s go,” she said and followed him off the dock and toward the life they would have together.

Epilogue

“W
hat are you doing here?” Maris heard Arthur’s question from behind her.

Before she turned from the bed, Maris pulled up the covers Bertie had kicked off. She put her finger to her lips and gave Arthur a feigned frown. When he put his hands up in a pose of surrender, she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as she went with him down the stairs to the empty day nursery.

When they stepped into the light from the lone lamp, she watched him shrug off his soaked greatcoat. He tossed it on the window bench.

“Did the delivery go well?” she asked. Since Arthur had told her about his secret life as a government courier and how the letters from the new Mrs. Otis Miller were instructions, Maris had tried not to worry about the danger he faced each time he took a message to where the next courier could retrieve it.

“Excellent.” He yawned. “But why are you up here?”

“Irene needs my help. She is learning quickly, but seems overwhelmed by the boys at times.”

“She is on her own after tomorrow.”

With a laugh, Maris gave a playful shove on his chest. “It is nearly midnight. The groom should not see his bride on their wedding day before they meet at the altar.”

He gave her the boyish grin that always reminded her of Bertie’s before he got into trouble. She wanted to sink into Arthur’s arms and praise God for the blessings He had brought both of them.

Her uncertainty about how Arthur’s family would feel about him marrying the woman who had served as Cothaire’s nurse had faded as one Trelawney after another welcomed her into the family. The earl was especially effusive, and when she saw his twinkling eyes, she wondered if he had known before she had that his son was falling in love with her. Or it might be, as Arthur told her, that his father was thrilled with a wedding before Christmas and the chance of his heir’s heir bouncing on his knee by next Christmas. Either way, the earl and the rest of his family were making her transition from nurse to the heir’s wife easy.

“Give me a kiss then, sweetheart,” Arthur said, “and I will be gone like Cinderella before the clock strikes twelve.”

With a laugh, she slipped into his arms. The place, at last, where she truly belonged.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
A DADDY FOR CHRISTMAS
by Linda Ford.

Dear Reader,

Thanks for coming back to spend some time in Cornwall. The village of Porthlowen is a hybrid of St. Ives, a charming resort village with sandy beaches (remember the nursery rhyme about the man with seven wives?), and Boscastle with its astounding cliffs that protect the village from the sea. I couldn’t resist letting the characters pay a call to Penzance on its southern bay with views of the medieval monastery St. Michael’s Mount, which later became a country estate. Creating a story in such a splendid setting with a delightful history was fun. I hope you had just as much fun reading about the adventures shared by Arthur and Maris and the children. And I hope you will look for
Her Longed-For Family
, the next book in the Matchmaking Babies miniseries, which will be out in December. The answers to why six babies were put in a boat and who put them there will be answered.

As always, feel free to contact me by stopping in at
www.joannbrownbooks.com
.

Wishing you many blessings,

Jo Ann Brown

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

You find illumination in days gone by.
Love Inspired Historical
stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

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A Daddy for Christmas

by Linda Ford

Chapter One

Edendale, Alberta,
Canada
December 1882

T
he church door clattered open. A cold breeze skittered across the floor as two little girls rushed into the room from beyond the partition of raw wood that separated the entryway from the main part of the partially finished church. They skidded to a halt, staring at him with wide eyes.

The peace twenty-eight-year-old Blue Lyons sought so desperately shattered into fragments as tiny and elusive as the sawdust at his feet.

“We need help,” the bigger girl said, an unfamiliar child with hair the color of caramel candy sticks and heavily lashed eyes as dark as night.

“Something’s wrong with Mama,” the second girl said. This one had sunny-blond hair and blue eyes.

At the fear he saw in their expressions, Blue felt cracks begin to form in the barrier he’d erected around his emotions. Then he tightened his self-control. Part of the reason he’d asked to work here, making pews for the new church in town, was to avoid contact with children. Back at Eden Valley Ranch he was surrounded with them—smiling, laughing, chasing, playing, happy children continually threatening the fortifications he’d built around his memories.

But these two little girls were alone and frightened. “Whoa. Slow down. Where’s your mama, and what does she need?”

The pair gasped for air, then closed the distance to his side, apparently unafraid of him as a stranger. Or were they so concerned about their mama they would seek help from anyone?

The girls caught his hands, one on each side, and tugged at him. He let them drag him forward as the memory of other occasions burst from the locked vault of his mind. Two other children—a boy and a girl—pulling on his hands, eager to show him something. Sometimes it was a new batch of kittens. Sometimes a flower peeking through the snow. Once they’d discovered a baby rabbit hidden in some grass, and the three of them had hunkered down to watch it.

The two girls who had burst into his serenity hurried him toward the door. Then, suddenly, one of them halted.

“Stop. You need your coat. It’s too cold to go out without it.” The older one had suddenly grown motherly and concerned. She spied the coat hanging from a nail and dropped his hand to point at it. “Best put it on.”

He hesitated. He’d like nothing more than to get back to the peace he’d found in his work. But how could he until he made sure everyone was safe? So he obeyed and slipped into his warm winter coat.

The girls rocked back and forth, their little faces wreathed in concern and urgency.

His nerves twitched at the impatience of the girls, but he would proceed cautiously. “We haven’t met. My name is Blue Lyons. I’m going to be working here for a few days, making pews. Do you have a name?” he asked the older child as she twisted her fingers in her worry.

“I’m Eleanor. I’m the oldest. I’m eight.”

The little one piped up. “I’m Libby. I’m seven, so I’m just about as old.” She gave her sister a challenging look.

Eleanor’s dark eyes flashed. “Are not.”

Little Libby’s chin jutted out. “Am, too.”

Blue did not let the argument escalate. “What’s your mama’s name, and where is she?”

“Mrs. Weston,” said Eleanor with a degree of triumph that she had spoken first.

“Clara Weston,” Libby added, not to be outdone.

Reminded of their mission, they again grabbed his hands. “Come on.”

He let them pull him along, as curious as he was concerned. “Where are we going?”

“To Mama,” Libby said. “She fell down.”

His heart lurched. He tried to still it, but it refused to obey. “Is she hurt?”

“I don’t know.” Libby’s voice wobbled.

Oh, please don’t cry. Please don’t.

Eleanor must have had the same thought, though likely for an entirely different reason. “Libby, don’t blubber. We gotta get back to Mama.”

She sounded so grown-up.
The responsible one of the pair.
Now why would he think that? He knew nothing about them. He slammed shut the quaking doors of his heart. All he had to do was make sure their mother was safe.

They trotted onward, both girls latched on to his hands as if afraid to let go. Their fear and concern knotted in his stomach. What if their mother—

No.
He would not think the worst.

Though nothing could be as bad as what he’d seen two years ago. The fire. The—

He would not, could not, think of it.

They headed for the river. A dozen possibilities rushed at him, none of which he hoped to find.

“There she is.” Eleanor pointed. With a cry, she broke free and rushed to the figure facedown on the ground.

Blue’s heart flipped over. His breath stuck in his chest.

Libby stopped, pulled Blue to a halt. “She won’t wake up,” the child wailed as she turned and pressed herself to his side.

He couldn’t move with her clinging to him. But he must check on the woman.

“Eleanor, see to your sister.”

Eleanor stepped back and pulled Libby to her. The pair stood with their arms around each other, eyes as wide as moons as they watched him.

He knelt at Mrs. Weston’s side and pressed his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. Good, she was alive.

Seeing no sign of injury, he rolled her over. “Mrs. Weston, wake up.” No response. He patted her cheeks. She felt cold. So very cold.

“Clara.” He spoke louder. It wasn’t right to use her Christian name so freely, but if it got her to wake up, she’d surely forgive him.

She stirred, tried to raise her eyelids and failed, then mumbled something.

He bent closer. “What did you say?”

He made out the words. “My girls.”

“They’re here. They’re fine.” Then she stilled, and he could get nothing more from her. “Gather up your things,” he told the girls. “We’re going back to the church.” He considered his options for about two and a half seconds. What he was about to do seriously crossed the boundaries he had built around his life as well as overstepped rules of proper conduct. But he didn’t see what other choice he had. He scooped Clara Weston into his arms and trotted back to the church. The two little girls tried to keep up but were burdened down with carrying their bags. He didn’t wait for them; he rushed into the building.

He began to lower Clara to the floor, then realized it was bare and cold. His bedroll was nearby, and Blue kicked it toward the stove and used his boot to spread the bedding. He’d expected he might see some cold weather, so he had brought a supply of furs. Now he saw how right he’d been in thinking ahead, though never in his wildest imagination did he think he might need them to warm up a sick or injured woman.

He lowered her to the padding just as the girls entered, yelling for their mama.

“What’s wrong with her?” Libby demanded, her hands on her hips as if she held Blue responsible.

Eleanor hushed her and knelt by her mother’s side. “Mr. Blue, is she gonna die?”

He wanted to assure them otherwise, but he’d never offer false hope when their mother lay before them so still, her skin so pale it was transparent. “I think the first thing we need to do is get her warmed up. Why don’t you two bring me some more firewood?” Eddie Gardiner, owner and operator of Eden Valley Ranch where Blue worked, was always organized and had put a supply of firewood inside, near the back door, so Blue would have dry wood to last him a few days.

The girls hustled over and filled their arms. Two chunks of wood each was about all they could carry. He could have done three times that in one trip but that wasn’t the reason for getting them to help. The girls needed to be kept busy.

He knelt at Clara’s side. My, wouldn’t she be offended at the familiar way he thought of her and addressed her, but it was hard to be proper and formal when the woman looked ready to expire. “Mrs. Weston. Clara.” He rubbed her shoulders, held her icy hands. Why was she out in this weather without adequate clothing?

He pulled one of the furs over her and threw some of the wood the girls brought into the stove.

“Has your mama been sick?”

Libby began to say something, but Eleanor grabbed her hand and jerked it. She spoke for the pair of them. “She’s not been sick.”

He knew everyone in town and the surrounding area. These people were new. Must have been dropped off from the last stage earlier today. Petey, the driver, had immediately headed back to Fort Macleod with four important British investors of one of the nearby ranches.

“Is your papa coming for you?” Likely he was one of the many new settlers in the area.

“Got no papa,” Libby said. “He died.” Her words carried a weighty sorrow that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

“Libby, remember what Mama said.”

At Eleanor’s warning, Libby clamped her hand over her mouth.

Blue nodded. “Were you planning to meet someone?”

Silence from both of them.

“Where are you going?”

His question was met with more stubborn silence, though Libby dropped her hand and looked about to speak. Then she glanced at Eleanor and thought better of it.

“Do you girls have a secret?”

Eleanor scowled. “Mama said not to tell strangers our secrets.”

He gave them a faint smile. “That’s something to remember most days, but right now your mama needs to get someplace warm and safe, so I think it’s okay if you tell me where you’re going.”

Eleanor’s face crumpled in what he could only think was confusion. “We can’t.”

They were making this difficult. “I already explained about secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.” Eleanor sighed expansively. “We don’t know where we’re going.”

Perhaps their mother hadn’t given them the information. “Who is meeting you?”

The girls shook their heads.

“You don’t know?”

More head shaking.

This was getting him nowhere. He turned back to Clara. She still lay motionless, her skin tinged a faint blue. He touched her cheek. Still icy cold.

“Mrs. Weston, wake up. Open your eyes.”

The girls knelt beside him. “Mama, wake up.”

Libby’s voice broke, and Eleanor wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Libby, ’member what Mama said. God will take care of us.”

Blue kept his opinion to himself. But he didn’t see God taking care of these people. Blue was doing it, and he sure didn’t consider himself God. Or even godly. If he had a fraction of the power God had, he would have quenched the fire that had consumed his house and killed his family. At the very least, he would have gotten there in time to pull them from the inferno. He’d never forget the leaden weight of his legs when he saw the smoke, saw it was his house and ran until his lungs nearly exploded as he tried to get there to rescue them.

Tried and failed.

“I—I know.” The words stuttered from Libby. “But I asked God to send us food, and He didn’t and I’m so hungry.”

“Me, too,” Eleanor whispered and shot Blue a look that seemed to warn him she didn’t mean for him to hear.

He sat back on his heels. “When did you last eat?”

Eleanor’s expression grew stubborn, but Libby hung her head and sighed dramatically. “We had supper yesterday. Some biscuits Mama found. And some cold bacon.”

Eleanor grew thoughtful. “But Mama didn’t have any. She said she wasn’t hungry. Lots of times she said she wasn’t hungry, but I think she was.”

He considered this latest information. They obviously had no funds. The girls didn’t know where they were going or who was meeting them. He was beginning to think no one was.

So Clara might be suffering from hunger as well as cold. He wrapped the furs more tightly around her and added another piece of wood to the fire. The heat was enough to make a man sweat buckets, but she was still like a block of ice.

“Clara. Open your eyes.”

The girls patted her cheeks. “Mama.” Eleanor’s voice caught.

Libby laid her head on the furs and sobbed. “What if she never wakes up?”

Clara’s eyes fluttered.

“Lib. Lib.” Eleanor nudged her sister. “Look.”

Libby lifted her head. Both girls grinned when they saw their mother had opened her eyes.

“Where am I?” Clara’s voice was so faint he almost wondered if he imagined it.

He scooted closer so her eyes found him. “You’re at the church. You’ll be safe now.”

Clara sighed deeply and closed her eyes again. Her color had improved. The warmth of the fire had done that. She needed one more thing before she’d be on her feet again—food—and he knew where to get some.

“Wait here,” he instructed the girls. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Watch your mama and make sure she stays warm.” He dashed out the back door and trotted over to Bonnie and Claude Morton’s. The couple ran the business of feeding travelers and providing baked goods for Macpherson’s store. He burst through the door.

Bonnie glanced up, a startled look on her face. “You’re early for dinner.” He planned to take his meals here while he was working on the church.

He snatched off his hat and turned it around and around in his fingers. He realized he was nodding while she waited for his answer.

He pushed the words from his brain. “Would you have anything ready at the moment?”

“I suppose the soup could be served anytime. The bread isn’t ready yet, but there are biscuits. There’s always biscuits. Macpherson says he can’t keep enough of them in the store. Would that suit you?”

“Yes, fine.”

She reached for a bowl and put it on the table. She thought he meant to eat here.

“Ma’am, could you put the soup in a container so I could take it back to the church?”

“You’re welcome to eat here.”

“I know, but I need to take it to the church.” He would tell her why but not until he had a chance to talk to Clara. For some reason, he felt he had to protect her until she said otherwise.

“Very well.” She reached for a pint jar.

“You got something bigger?”

Her hand went to a quart jar.

“How about that one?” He indicated a half-gallon jar.

With a little chuckle, she filled it. “You are hungry today, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “And I’ll take a bowl.” He scooped four from the shelf and tucked them in his pocket, hoping she wouldn’t notice. From the way she watched him, her eyes narrowed, he guessed she had.