Mariel (9 page)

“Please.” She laughed. “I admit I'm totally confused.”

“Would you be interested in adopting Rosie?”

“Adopting her?” she gasped. Her eyes widened as she tried to think of an answer to such unexpected request.

More than once, Mariel had considered succumbing to the urge to take Rosie home to Foxbridge Cloister. She would enjoy having the little girl brightening the too-quiet hallways of the house. Mrs. Parnell warned her when she first came to the orphanage that she must be able to maintain a distance from the orphans and not become too involved with any of them. That had been impossible with Rosie. The child was so adoring, she made Mariel want to shower her with love.

“I know this is sudden, and I have asked you inappropriately, Lady Mariel. It is simply that I received this yesterday. To tell you the truth, I don't know what to do about it.”

Mariel took the crumpled paper from her friend. Smoothing it on her lap, she read the poorly written letter. Fighting her way through the misspelled words and incomplete sentences, she saw it had been composed by Rosie's uncle. He wanted the child to come and live with him now that she was old enough to work.

“She's barely five!” she cried. “He wants her to work? Doing what?”

“Her uncle owns a small manufacturing enterprise.”

Her eyes snapped with beryl fire. “That is illegal! Worse than that, it is irresponsible to ask a child of that age to work in a shop.”

Mrs. Parnell shrugged. “It's a family business. The authorities hesitate to become involved in such matters.” Quietly, she added, “I thought, if you were willing, I would convince her family to sign the child over to you.”

“How?”

“Don't worry about that,” the orphanage director said with a secretive smile. “I shall be happy to handle that, if you are willing to take the child.”

“I don't know what to say.” She chuckled nervously at her own words. “That is a novel experience. How soon do you need to know?”

“By tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Her voice emerged as a squeak.

Mrs. Parnell apologized. “I'm sorry, Lady Mariel, but the board of directors meets tomorrow night. If I present this letter as I must, they will have no choice but to send Rosie to her uncle. If I can offer them an alternative, perhaps she might be spared a life of hell.”

Rising, Mariel clutched the back of her chair. She leaned forward to retrieve her gloves. “I will let you know tomorrow. I promise I will let you know first thing in the morning.” She mused, as if to herself, “I doubt if I will sleep much tonight.”

Mrs. Parnell came around her desk, stepping with practiced ease over the containers on the floor. She patted the younger woman on the shoulder. “Just listen to your heart, my lady. It can tell you what you need to know.”

Silently, she nodded. Some instinct guided her out of the office and house without mishap. She climbed into the carriage and turned it toward the gate. Her brain was enmeshed in confusion.

Should she take this child? Fantasies of having Rosie at Foxbridge Cloister vanished as she contemplated the reality. Twice weekly visits to the orphanage gave her little clue as to what life would be like if she brought the child into her home.

She liked her free life. Busy with various community activities, she could avoid the emptiness of Foxbridge Cloister. Although there was much missing in her life, she did not know if she wanted to trade the knowns for the unknown of having Rosie as a responsibility she could shrug off on no one else. Others would question her ability to parent this child alone, but she cared little for their opinions. All that concerned her was the day-to-day experience of having Rosie living at the Cloister.

Mariel did not realize she had stopped in front of Ian's house until the door opened and he came onto the porch. He smiled as he offered her his hand to help her from the buggy. When she stood next to him, she did not allow him to release her hand. Her fingers tightened on his.

“Ian, I must speak to you.”

His smile dimmed. Knowing few would be on the common at this hour of the afternoon, he put up his hand to stroke her dark hair. She closed her eyes in unspoken delight and leaned toward him. Although he wanted to tug her into his arms and kiss her until his hunger for her lips was satiated, he simply asked, “Is something wrong?”

The tip of her tongue dampened her lower lip. When she saw his eyes following its course along the pale surface, she put her other hand on his, resting on his cane. Standing face-to-face, she smiled tremulously. He made her forget everything but the promise in his green eyes of joys unknown. When he repeated his question, she shook off the tantalizing thoughts in her head.

“Can we speak inside? I am not interrupting, am I?”

He stepped back to hold the door for her. “Mariel, you know I'm always happy to see you.”

“In a professional capacity?” she teased as he drew the silk cape off her shoulders and placed it on the peg.

With his hands on her arms, he gazed into her smiling face. “In any capacity you wish,” he answered without a hint of jesting. When her lips softened in a breathy invitation, he forced his eyes from them.

It would be so sweet to taste her lips, but he did not want to frighten her away. He continued to be amazed that this same woman, who fought her battles with such fervor, reminded him of a butterfly when she stood next to him. She urged him to capture her, but he knew he would destroy her ability to fly if he wiped the magic down from the wings of her soul.

“I think I need this as a friend, Ian. I need someone to listen to me. I need advice,” she whispered. She could not withdraw her gaze from his. The barely perceptible stroke of his fingers against her sleeves weakened her knees as she was swept by unfamiliar sensations.

Motioning toward his study, he urged, “Go in. I will see what Mrs. Reed has to offer in the kitchen. She's busy baking for the potluck tonight.”

“Is that tonight?” She shook herself, as if awaking from a heavy sleep. Reaching for her cape, she said, “I'm sorry, Ian. I forgot.”

“Don't worry,” he said hastily, knowing what she was thinking. He drew her hands away from the pegs on the wall. “You aren't keeping me from doing anything for it. Let me offer you something to eat. If you don't mind the informality, I will get the tray. Mrs. Reed is so busy running back and forth to the church, she has time for nothing else. After that wonderful meal you served me at the Cloister last week, I know Mrs. Reed is anxious to see if her food can top Mrs. Puhle's.”

Allowing him to lighten her spirits, she laughed. “What a grand contest! The two cooks compete, and we garner the rewards. I'll wait for Mrs. Reed's luscious treat and you in the study.”

Mariel found it impossible to sit. Her fingers ran along the gleaming wood at the back of the sofa. She noted a book open on the desk, next to a pile of papers. Ian must have been working on his weekly sermon when she arrived. Although she knew she should contain her curiosity, she peeked at the words.

She heared Ian's irregular steps and smiled as he entered the small room. It did not surprise her when he closed the door. Today she welcomed the privacy for a reason that had nothing to do with the yearning she could not release.

“I'm guilty!” she announced when he cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

“Reading my work again?”

She stepped forward to take the tray he balanced precariously in one hand. Carefully, she placed it on the table in front of the settee. When she was going to sit in the chair opposite, he took her hand and drew her down next to him. His finger ran along the sensitive skin of the inside of her arm until reaching her shoulder. He smiled as he caressed the half circle of her ear.

“It—it is very g-g-good,” she stammered.

“This is very, very good,” he agreed.

“Ian, I meant your sermon.”

“I didn't.”

She shook her head to force him to remove his finger moving along her jawline. Continuing as if he had not spoken, she said, “You write with a great deal of insight into the people of this shire.”

Handing her a cup of tea, he said, “You did not come here to discuss my ability to preach. Tell me what's bothering you, Mariel.”

“Must you always sound like a minister?”

“Must you always argue with me when you are afraid to be honest?” he countered. When she stared at him in astonishment, before lowering her eyes from his clear gaze, he added in a more gentle tone, “Forgive me, Mariel. I can tell something is distressing you. I don't like to see you unhappy, but I can't help you if you refuse to let me.”

Staring into the cup, she told him about the letter Mrs. Parnell had received. He watched her mouth twist with loathing as she could not hide her outrage with the child's uncle's proposal. Only when she spoke of how the orphanage director planned to solve the problem did he react.

“Adopt her? You? That is ridiculous.”

His immediate rejection of the plan startled her. “Why?” she demanded in a far sharper tone than she wanted to use.

He leaned forward and took the cup from her. After placing it on the table, he grasped her fingers. “Mariel, you are a young woman. This child is not your responsibility. Why do you want to saddle yourself with a child?”

“Saddle myself?” She ripped her hands out of his and stood. Walking across the room, she stared at the intricate pattern on the wallpaper while she tried to subdue her fury. It was impossible. Cold fire burned in her eyes when she whirled to face him. “Are you trying to say that having Rosie as my child will harm my chances for a fabulous marriage? That is what Phipps will say. I know that without speaking to her. If I wanted to hear this, I can listen to her lecture at the Cloister.”

“Maybe Miss Phipps is right,” he said slowly.

“And I'm wrong?” She flung out her hands in emphasis as she stated, “I am twenty-six years old. I have no plans to get married, but I do have love to share with a child. She needs someone. It seems perfect. Maybe it will ruin my chances for marriage, but is that enough reason to deny Rosie the opportunity for the life I can offer her? While I wait for some nonexistent suitor, I am supposed to let this child be sentenced to slavery in her uncle's shop?” Her words faded into incoherent rage. Blinking back the tears, she managed to ask in a lower voice, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ian forced his smile from his lips. This was the Mariel who stirred his blood most strongly. Vehement, caring, ready to fight anyone to do what she thought was right. He rose and walked toward her.

“I am looking at you like that because I think you are incredible, Mariel Wythe.” He paused when he stood directly in front of her. His cane pressed against her skirts as he put his hand on her arm to draw her closer. “What do you want from me? A blessing on this project? I think if you feel that strongly about this child, you should bring her to the Cloister for a trial period. See if you truly want the burden of raising a child.”

She did not protest when he placed one hand at the side of her head. “I hadn't thought of that. I think Mrs. Parnell would find a trial period acceptable.” She smiled. “If this works out, Mr. Albion will no longer be able to tell me that I don't know about the needs of the children in the school.”

“Are you prepared for this responsibility?” he asked with sudden seriousness.

“It isn't as if I am alone, Ian. There are many at the Cloister to help me.”

“But you will be her mother.”

Fear and joy mixed in her voice as she reflected, “Mother? I find it difficult to see me in that role, although I can imagine myself caring for her.” She spoke more evenly as she added, “I can! Not just in the good times, but when she is frightened or ill.”

He regarded the strong emotions fleeing across her face. Although his common sense told him that she was embarking on a foolish quest, he could not convince his heart to tell her that. Anyone but Mariel Wythe would have cringed from accepting this sudden responsibility. If it was possible for anyone to succeed at this venture, she would do it.

“You can try, Mariel. That is all Mrs. Parnell is asking.” His hands caressed her shoulders. “No one should ask more of you. Not even you.”

“Thank you, Ian,” she whispered as she looked up into his eyes which mirrored the longings within her.

As quietly he vowed, “I will be here to help you in whatever way I can.”

“I know you will.”

She added nothing more as she allowed him to draw her back to the sofa. Sitting side by side, they spoke of the changes she would have to make at the Cloister to welcome the child. If Mrs. Reed had eavesdropped from the hallway, she would have heard nothing but the enthusiasm of her plans. She would not have known that Ian did not relinquish Mariel's hand during the long conversation.

Two days later, in Mrs. Parnell's office, Mariel paced the narrow floor space between the cartons and piles of paper. She did not understand why she was so nervous. It was not as if she was meeting a stranger. She had loved Rosie since she met her six months ago, during her first visit to the orphanage.

All her doubts and fears of failing surged forth to torment her. What did she know about being a mother? She could not remember her own. She had been raised by a succession of nannies unable to deal with life in the eccentric Wythe household. Her own childhood seemed ages ago. Even Ian's comforting words of support failed her now.

When she heard the door open, she spun to discover Rosie, looking far neater than she had ever seen her. The stubborn blond curls had been coaxed into two braids, which stuck out at strange angles. One was directly over her ear, the other several inches back, giving her a lopsided appearance. A dress slightly too big and decorated by a wide blue sash at its dropped waist hung past her knees. One button was missing and another was unbuttoned on her high topped shoes.