Family In The Making (Matchmakeing Babies 2) (6 page)

The viscount continued to hold her gaze with his powerful one as he said, “It means friend of the bear.”

Bertie clapped his hands again and danced around. When she saw Lord Trelawney wince, she groped for the little boy’s hand. She caught it and drew him to her, unable to look away from the viscount. She should, because for once he wore his emotions openly, except for the places in his eyes that were as shadowed as the chamber where he sat. Secrets? About what? He was not hiding his worry and pain and sorrow and regret. She searched for happiness and found an iota when he smiled at Bertie’s reaction to his answer.

Why was he sad? From what she had heard from the other servants, he happily served as his father’s eyes and ears on the estate. The Trelawneys were a close and loving family. He was courting the woman named Gwendolyn. He should be joy-filled, but he was not.

And Maris found that sad.

She looked away, cutting the connection between them, which was growing too intimate. What might he have seen revealed on her face? That she was a liar because she had falsified a recommendation to get her position here? That she had been a fool to trust an unprincipled young lord? That she had believed—quite wrongly—that her friends would defend her against that young lord, even though she was not part of the
ton
? That she was lonely after her parents died, and she would be again when the children were no longer a part of her life?

She would not share those secrets with anyone.

Keeping her eyes focused on the floor, she said, “If you will excuse us, my lord, I need to get Bertie to the nursery and let the others know that he has been found.” She dipped in a curtsy and turned to lead the little boy out of the room.

“Wait...” Lord Trelawney’s voice snapped like a riding crop against the high ceiling.

She stopped, her heart thudding against her breastbone. She faced him because it would be rude to look over her shoulder. “Yes, my lord?”

“Wait, Miss Oliver.” This time, his voice was less sharp.

Though every instinct told her to run, she said, “Of course, my lord.”

“Ouch!” Bertie chirped. “Don’t squeeze my hand so hard. Ouch!”

She lessened her grip as the viscount’s eyes narrowed before he looked to his right.

“Goodwin!” he shouted.

The short, muscular valet came through a door beside the fireplace. His hair was almost as dark as Lord Trelawney’s, but his eyes were a common brown. When she had seen him in the corridors, he always had offered her a friendly—but not too friendly—smile and a kind word. He did not even glance in her direction as he spoke to the viscount.

“Do you need something, my lord? Another pillow, perhaps? Some of the liquid Mr. Hockbridge left for the pain?” His voice was a warm tenor, surprising in a man of his solid build. “I wish you would take at least a single dose. He said it would help you sleep.”

Maris clamped her lips closed before she could reveal her astonishment. She had assumed Lord Trelawney was talking so much because he had taken laudanum. If that was not the cause, what was?

“Will you light some lamps?” the viscount asked. “It is getting dark in here.” Humor laced through his words as he added, “Unless I am about to swoon again.”

“I think not. Mr. Hockbridge says there is nothing more wrong with your head than usual.”

Maris was further amazed when Lord Trelawney guffawed as his valet lit a lamp on either side of the viscount’s chair. Goodwin had made a jest, a rather insulting jest, at the viscount’s expense, and Lord Trelawney found it amusing. Was the stern, almost silent man different in the privacy of his own rooms? She had seen his sadness and regret, but what other aspects of himself had he kept hidden from her...and the rest of the world?

“Goodwin,” the viscount continued, “Miss Oliver needs young Bertie returned to the nursery and the word to go out that he has been found none the worse for his adventures. Take the lad to the nursery and hand him over to...?”

“Rachel,” Maris supplied.

“Yes, hand him over to Rachel and let her know that Miss Oliver will be returning shortly.”

“Certainly, my lord. I will spread the word that Master Bertie is safe.”

“Yes, thank you, Goodwin.”

The valet bobbed his head, then crossed the room to where she stood with the child. He held out his hand.

Bertie stared at it, but did not move.

“Go with Goodwin, Bertie,” she urged. “You heard Lord Trelawney ask him to take you to the nursery.”

“Want you.”

“I will be there soon, but you need to hurry, or the cakes for tea will be gone.”

As she had guessed, the mention of sweets changed Bertie’s mind. He placed his hand in Goodwin’s and went toward the door. “Goodbye, Arthur,” he called over his shoulder.

The valet exchanged a startled glance with Maris.

“Goodbye, Bertie,” the viscount said.

When the door closed behind the servant and child, Maris clasped her hands in front of her. Her feet again urged her to flee, but she could not leave without being dismissed. She had no idea if anyone else was in the viscount’s rooms or even nearby.

“Miss Oliver, would you mind sitting where I can see you without craning my neck?” Lord Trelawney asked.

Meekly, feeling like a lamb bound for slaughter, she walked toward where he sat. When she hesitated, he gestured at a chair to his left.

She sat on the edge, her shoes pressed against the floor. She was being silly. Lord Trelawney had never been anything but polite and respectful, even when he was in pain.

Shame flooded her. She had not asked what the extent of his injuries were, but she quickly rectified that.

“A strained knee and a twisted ankle,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Hockbridge told me to rest my leg today and to use the laudanum if I needed it to sleep tonight. In spite of Goodwin’s nagging, the pain is tolerable. Tomorrow, the doctor wants me to walk around a bit, using a cane, and to increase the distance I walk each day after that. He tells me in a few days I will experience no more than some twinges.”

“That is good to hear.”

“Very good to hear. How are the children?”

“At the moment, they are subdued, but I am sure that by the morrow they will return to their normal selves. From what your sisters have told me, after they were rescued, they recovered swiftly, save for a few nightmares. Those nightmares may have nothing to do with what happened to them. Maybe normal childhood fears of the dark and big animals.”

“Like bears?”

“Yes. Thank you for your kindness to Bertie.”

“He is a fine lad.”

“When he is not being a naughty one.”

The viscount chuckled again. “I saw your face when I admitted to being a bear. I want to assure you that I had no intention of scaring the boy. Not again, at any rate.”

Her face heated, and she wondered if she was blushing again. “I should have known that, my lord.”

“Why? You don’t know me well enough to guess beforehand how I might act.” He did not pause as he said, “Do me a favor, and do not chastise Bertie for calling me Arthur. I would prefer that he do so with a smile than cower away from me as he did before.”

She rubbed her hands together on her lap and stared at them. “I must warn you that when one of the children takes on a bad habit, they all seem to latch on to it quickly.”

“That is fine. As my goal is to get to know the children better, anything I can do to make them more comfortable with me is a step in the right direction. But you know them better than I. Would you agree with that opinion?”

“Yes,” she answered without looking up.

“Good. And now, Miss Oliver...”

He added nothing more, and she waited and waited. As one minute, then another, then a third passed, she wondered if she should excuse herself. Maybe he had fallen asleep. She raised her eyes.

Her breath caught as her gaze met and was held by his. He leaned forward and folded one of her hands between both of his. She stiffened, knowing how alone they were, but he made no further move toward her as he held her hands as gently as she would the children’s.

“Miss Oliver, if you do not look at me, I doubt the children will, either. They take their clues from you.”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to—”

“There is no need for an apology. I would rather speak of our next outing with the children.”

“Next?”

“As I told you, I have not given up on the idea of getting to know them. My sister has encouraged me to do so, and I learned as a child myself that doing as my sisters wish often makes my life easier.” He smiled.

Maris did, too. There was something so honest and earnest about his grin that she could not help responding. She wanted to ask why he hid behind his arrogant mask. She bit back the words, telling herself to be grateful that he was willing to speak more than a handful of words to her.

Instead, she asked, “When do you think you will feel well enough to spend time with the children again?”

“Is tomorrow possible?”

“But Mr. Hockbridge said—”

“I will not be running about with them. Rather, I thought you might bring them to the garden. They could play for a while, and then we can take a light tea together. That way, they will become accustomed to me.”

“If you are certain...”

“I am.” He released her hand as he covered his mouth to hide a yawn. “In the meantime, I shall make sure I am prepared.” He did not give her a chance to ask the obvious question before he said, “Now that Bertie believes he knows the meaning of his name, I am sure the others will wish to know theirs. If you would tell me more about them, I will devise something for each of them.”

Something softened inside Maris at his thoughtfulness. As she began to share stories about the children, she slowly sat back when he did. She could not recall the last time she had spoken easily with anyone. A part of her mind stayed on alert, but she focused on coming up with the perfect stories to describe each child.

She watched Lord Trelawney’s eyelids grow heavier. Yet he was listening closely, because he chuckled over some of the youngsters’ more mischievous antics. She kept talking until Goodwin returned. A single glance from him told her that Lord Trelawney’s valet believed it was time for the viscount to rest, as the doctor had ordered.

She stood, asking the viscount to excuse her to return to her duties. Lord Trelawney caught her hand as she walked past his chair. When she looked down into his ice-blue eyes, that sweet warmth glided through her anew.

“Thank you, Miss Oliver,” he said, trying to fight his obvious exhaustion. “I appreciate you telling me about your charges. Please bring them to the garden an hour or so before tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, my lord.” She drew her fingers away from his, her skin aquiver where his had touched it. “I know the children will be eager to race about after being inside this afternoon.”

“Good.”

It took every bit of Maris’s will for her to tear her gaze from his and walk toward the door. As she passed Goodwin, he gave her a silent nod. He opened the door so she could leave. She was glad he did, because her fingers trembled, and she was not sure she could have managed the latch.

She rushed toward the stairs leading up to the nursery floor. Tonight, the children needed to rest after their eventful day. But in the morning, once they finished breakfast and were clean and dressed, she would let them know about the outing with Lord Trelawney. They would be excited to have their tea al fresco. While they played, she would sit with the viscount for what she hoped would be another comfortable coze.

She halted in the middle of the staircase and clutched the banister. Oh, sweet heavens! Was she looking forward to seeing Lord Trelawney again on the morrow? She had no idea which version of him would be there: the quiet, almost forbidding man who had gone with them to the cove or the genial man whom she had spoken with minutes ago.

But it should not matter. The abrupt change should be alarming rather than appealing, a signal to remind her that becoming involved even a tiny bit in the viscount’s life could lead her into a desperate situation. As when Lord Litchfield had chanced upon her alone in the book room. Had she completely lost every bit of her good sense? It would seem so, and she must recover it fast.

Very fast, before she ruined everything again, including herself.

Chapter Four

T
hough clouds gathered on the western horizon, sunlight shone through the changing leaves as if the whole world was bedecked in stained glass. Arthur inhaled deeply as he sat on the terrace overlooking the garden and the sea spread out to the horizon. Some autumn days could be unforgivingly windy, and today seemed like a special gift, before winter took Cornwall in its unforgiving grip.

He savored sitting in the sunshine while a breeze carried the pungent aromas of salt, drying fish and tar from the harbor. Even though he had been confined to the house less than a day, it seemed longer to a man accustomed to a life outdoors.

The rhythm of hammers came from where the stable was being rebuilt. It had burned two months ago, but the new one was rising. He had overseen the plans for it, and the building would be well suited for their use.

“You look satisfied with yourself,” said his older sister as she stepped onto the terrace. Carrie shifted into the shade so the baby she carried would not be bothered by the sunshine.

He started to rise, then thought better of it when pain slashed up his leg. Sinking into the chair, he said, “I was thinking of how those French pirates who tried to invade Porthlowen did us a favor by giving us an excuse to build a new stable.”

Carrie shivered and sat facing him. “You have an odd way of seeing good in something terrible.”

“As Shakespeare wrote, ‘Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.’” Arthur chuckled. “My tutor despaired of me ever retaining his lessons, but for some reason that quote stayed with me.”

She slapped his arm playfully. “Do not pretend with me, Arthur. You always loved learning. While Raymond, Susanna and I were eager to play, you clung to the schoolroom. The dutiful son, learning his lessons and staying out of trouble.”

“Sometimes.” Again, the image burst into his head of his baby sister lying facedown in the water. “When I was younger, I was not as responsible.”

“None of us were.” She gazed out at the sea. “How could we spend our time in books when we had a vast wonderland to explore in Porthlowen?”

They sat in companionable silence, enjoying the sunshine. He kept his leg motionless, not wanting more of the jagged pains that sliced up from his ankle when he walked. He had refused to allow Goodwin to call for a couple of burly footmen to carry him from his bedchamber through the house. Being toted about like a helpless fool would be humiliating. Perhaps he had been foolish to give chase after the child instead of allowing Miss Oliver to retrieve him, but Arthur would not hesitate to do the same again.

You have the heart of a hero.
Cranny’s words echoed in his memory.
Always ready to go to someone’s rescue, no matter the cost.

At the time, Arthur had taken the words as a compliment. Now he was less certain his friend had intended them that way. Of course, Arthur would never be the great man that his friend was, giving his life in service to his country.

His hands fisted on the arms of his chair. His attempts to find out the truth about Cranny’s murder had led him to dead ends. The people present at his friend’s death had gone to earth and taken the truth with them.

“How are you getting along with the children?” Carrie’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

He pushed them aside gratefully. Until he had a new lead, losing himself in his frustration was a useless exercise. He pasted a smile on and faced her. “I seem to have made a friend of young Bertie.”

“I am glad to hear that.” She laughed. “They will be arriving soon, I am sure.”

“Who?”

“The children.” She dimpled as she laughed again. “Oh, Arthur, you are transparent at times. You have been glancing at the door every few seconds. Each time you do and no one is there, your disappointment is all over your face.”

Had he been eyeing the door that frequently? He had not been aware of that, though he was eager to see the children again.

And Miss Oliver.

He ignored that unsettling thought as he had others. It would be easier if the mention of her name, even in his mind, did not bring forth the image of her gentle smile and her bright green eyes. Though she kept her blond hair pulled back, the wisps about her face looked like spun sugar, soft and teasing his fingers to brush them aside.

“You seem to have taken to the children,” Carrie said, serious once again, “with an alacrity I did not expect. Perhaps I was mistaken in thinking you had no real motivation for getting to know them. I assumed, after she married, your affection for Gwendolyn had cooled.”

“I have always considered her a dear friend.”

“I do hope you did not present your proposal to her in that letter you sent off to her this morning.”

He wagged a finger at his sister. “I listened to
all
your advice, Carrie.”

“Good, because I would not wish you to make a muddle of this before it even begins.”

He chuckled, and he saw her surprise. Had she thought he would be so burdened with pain he would be dreary company? No, he realized with astonishment. His sister did not expect to hear merriment coming from him because he had laughed seldom since the news of Cranny’s death reached Porthlowen.

As the months passed, his plans to avenge his friend consumed him. He tried to heed his brother’s counsel to accept the words in Romans 12:19. Raymond had even written out the passage on a page Arthur had tossed atop his desk:
Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, sayeth the Lord.

It was impossible to forget Gwendolyn’s face lined with pain and sorrow as she had stood by Cranny’s grave. If there was any way Arthur could help God in this matter, he must.

Footsteps sounded inside the house, and he sat straighter. He watched the door, wondering which youngster would run out first.

Two white-haired women emerged. The Winwood twins lived in a simple cottage close to the harbor. They were the eldest residents of Porthlowen, but as spry as people half their age. Neither had ever married, because they had cared for their parents until the twins were deemed long past marriageable age. Whether that determination was made by the bachelors and widowers of Porthlowen, or the Winwoods had made that decision, the two women seemed happy.

They had identical straight noses and full lips. The only way to tell the two apart was that Miss Hyacinth Winwood always wore a feather or a bit of lace in the same light purple shade as her name. Miss Ivy Winwood never was seen unless she had something dark green with her.

They smiled broadly as they walked to where Arthur was pushing himself to his feet. He hid his grimace at the pain.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said as Carrie signaled to a footman to bring two more chairs.

“For you, my lord,” said Miss Hyacinth, the older of the sisters by what was reported to be ten minutes.

Miss Ivy held out the plate topped by a pile of sugary treats. “You have always been partial to our almond macaroons.”

He took one, knowing she would not move the plate until he did. Everyone in Porthlowen was aware of how kind the twin sisters were and how stubborn.

“It is the least we could do for a man who risked himself to save a dear little boy,” Miss Hyacinth said.

“Such a brave and noble act.” Miss Ivy refused to let her sister have the last word on any topic.

“Do sit,” he said, motioning toward the chairs.

“We will,” Miss Hyacinth replied, “so you will do the same and rest your injured leg.”

“And you must not come to your feet when we leave.” Miss Ivy gave him a look that could have halted a charging bull.

Arthur nodded and wondered if the tales he had heard were true. It was whispered in the village that, when the French pirates had tried to break into the Winwood cottage, they were met with cast-iron pans and brooms. Though he doubted the truth of the tale, for his family had learned firsthand how vicious the pirates were, he also knew no damage had been done to the women’s home.

Miss Hyacinth was not satisfied. “Promise us that you will set your always gracious manners aside this once.”

“You must promise us.”

“I promise you, ladies,” he said.

“Excellent.”

“Most excellent.”

Arthur resisted the yearning to shake his head. Listening to the sisters was like watching a game of battledore and shuttlecock, back and forth the words went. Always quick, always insightful. Or so Carrie assured him. He found the two women amusing in their eccentric ways, though no one could question the warmth of their generous hearts.

He ate the macaroon and listened to Carrie talk with them. The confection was delicious, and he reached for a second one, which set off another round of comments about how nice it was to see a man enjoy sweets as he did.

The elderly twins paused when childish shouts came from past the far edge of the terrace. The youngsters came bouncing around the corner. Toby, who lived at the parsonage, was among them. He and Bertie were shoving each other playfully as they chased the other children. Giggles and shouts of excitement rose in the afternoon air.

“Oh, there are the dear babes,” Miss Hyacinth said, jumping to her feet.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Miss Ivy added.

“Utterly adorable.”

“Utterly.”

Arthur guessed they could go on and on forever without a break, but his ears could use a respite. Hoping they did not consider him rude, he called out, “Miss Oliver, we are over here.” He could not see her around the corner of the terrace; yet he had no doubt she was nearby. She seldom allowed the children out of her sight.

As if on cue, she ran into the clump of youngsters. She picked up Gil and swung him around. The moment she set him on the ground, little arms reached up as each child begged for a turn.

She must not have been aware of the group gathered on the terrace, because she laughed, sounding as young and carefree as her charges. Arthur was unable to pull his gaze from her. He watched how the sun glinted off the golden strands peeking from beneath her sedate bonnet. A smile lit her face even more brightly while her simple gown swirled about her ankles. She enjoyed the children’s exhilaration as much as they did.

“When were you last that untroubled?” asked Carrie softly.

He discovered his sister’s steady gaze focused on him. “I don’t know.”

“I thought so. A good father needs to find time with his children.”

“I know.” He noted the high spirits Miss Oliver evoked in the children and recalled how his own father had played games with his children.

Knowing what he did now, he was astonished that Father could have carved out the hour or two he spent with each of his children every week. Those hours were among Arthur’s most precious memories. He had forgotten in the midst of his duties, especially in the past year. Until this moment, he had not guessed what his search for the truth was costing him.

“There is more to that young woman than meets the eye,” Miss Ivy pronounced.

Miss Hyacinth gawked at her twin, then, recovering herself, nodded.

Arthur hid his amusement at the older sister’s reaction to her twin speaking first. Miss Ivy usually joined a conversation after she did. Miss Hyacinth acted a bit perturbed at her sister altering the pattern.

Gil abruptly shouted, “My baby!” He ran toward the terrace.

Miss Oliver glanced over her shoulder, and color rose on her cheeks, tinting them a pale rose. Her gaze met Arthur’s before she lowered her eyes. She did not look in his direction as she herded the children after Gil. The little boy rushed to stand beside Carrie and gently caressed the baby’s blanket.

“Good afternoon.” Miss Oliver’s precise, proper tone belied the high spirits she had revealed with the children. “I hope our play did not disturb your conversation.”

“Not at all,” he assured her.

“Miss Oliver, you are such a good nurse for these waifs,” Miss Hyacinth said with a broad smile.

“A very good nurse.” Miss Ivy’s smile was even wider than her sister’s.

“Thank you.” Miss Oliver seemed unduly interested in the stones of the terrace.

Bertie was not circumspect. He wrapped one arm around Arthur’s and said, “Arthur, tell Lulu about her name.”

What had he and Miss Oliver decided to tell the children? He could not recall. Not when thoughts of everything but the pretty nurse had vanished from his mind.

“Patience, Bertie.” Miss Oliver put her hands on the little boy’s shoulders and said, “Children, please greet Lord Trelawney, Lady Caroline, Miss Winwood and Miss Winwood.”

The children complied, astounding Arthur. He smiled when Bertie called him by his given name rather than his title, but replied by asking if they were ready for their tea. That brought excited chatter.

As two benches were brought for the children, Gil pointed to the Winwood twins and giggled. “Boat!”

“Excuse me?” asked Miss Hyacinth, her eyes narrowing.

Before her sister could say anything, Miss Oliver answered, “The children sailed their little ships yesterday. It was an exciting day for everyone.”

“So we heard,” Miss Hyacinth murmured.

“So we heard,” echoed Miss Ivy.

Arthur was surprised when the two spinsters rose. He started to set himself on his feet, but paused when he recalled his promise to remain sitting as they took their departure.

“Thank you for the macaroons,” he said as the sisters excused themselves. “That was kind of you.”

“Our pleasure,” Miss Hyacinth said.

“Yes, our pleasure.” With a pat on each child’s head, Miss Ivy followed her sister into the house.

A hearty tea was served under Baricoat’s watchful eye. The butler checked that there were enough plates and cups and saucers as the footmen carried the trays to the low table set in front of the children. A taller one was brought for the adults.

Arthur seated his sister where she could manage both eating and holding the baby. He recalled a small wagon his mother had used after his younger sister was born. It could be wheeled anywhere, indoors and out. He wondered if it still was stored in the attic and was usable.

He leaned on his chair as he waited while Miss Oliver made sure each of the toddlers had food. For once, the youngsters wore serious expressions as they watched her spoon out vegetables and fruit before she set small sandwiches in front of them. He was impressed when the children sat quietly while Miss Oliver said a quick prayer. As soon as she finished, they reached for their plates.