Rexanne Becnel (13 page)

He stood too, slowly pushing upright. “I’ll leave. But you’re wrong, Phoebe. This
is
going to work. My girls need you. And I think you need them too.”

Something inside her started trembling anew, something that shook her so violently she feared her knees might collapse. But it was something he must not detect. She managed to keep her voice cool and aloof. “Perhaps you also need them, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to such extremes to find them. So it seems we share a similar weakness, Lord Farley. You may possess the legal power over those girls,” she added. “But it’s me that they love.”

Cruel words, and they struck home. She saw the flinching pain in his eyes. But to his credit he only nodded and studied her with a cool, assessing expression. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to antagonize you, Phoebe. Nor to insult you.”

“All right then. You came to find your children and you have. You can see that they’re safe, so now you’re free to go.”

“I’d hoped to talk to them.”

“They’re asleep. Besides, it’s too soon. They need time to digest all that’s happened. We all do.”

She sounded like a shrew, sharp and accusing, and once again his eyes narrowed. “Very well. But I’ll be back tomorrow. In the morning.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms, wanting him to go—wanting this entire convoluted mess to go away. Only it wouldn’t. Helen was his now, not hers. She’d never really been hers, but at least there had been no one with a stronger claim to her.

Unfortunately there was someone now.

Phoebe wanted to despise him, but somehow she couldn’t. This was the man who was taking Helen away from her, and the man who’d stolen her innocence, the two most valuable parts of her life. Yet he was also the man who’d given her a glimpse of something she’d never known existed. Absolute joy. Temporary, but absolute.

Phoebe’s trembling grew worse; she had to clench her teeth and she feared her voice would reveal all if she spoke.

“Will you at least tell them that I came looking for them?” he asked. “That I care about their safety—and their happiness?”

His face looked as stern and impassive as ever. But his eyes—they were alive with emotion. Oh, God, she’d never be able to hate this man, not when he loved his children this much.

She gave a stiff nod. It was all she could manage. Then he left, snatching up his coat and hat, and stalking out the door, only pausing briefly to gaze upon his exhausted daughters. He shut the door softly so as not to disturb the children. But he might as well have slammed it, the impact on Phoebe was so strong.

What was she going to do? How was she supposed to survive the next ten years and longer caring for James Lindford’s children yet
not
caring for him?

She sat there a long while, until a wet nose shoved its way into her hand. Bruno whimpered, then ambled to the door. Phoebe rose automatically to let him out. “Good boy,” she murmured as she watched him dart out into the chilly dusk.

Then beyond the low stone wall that separated the cottage yard from the lane, she spied a tall, dark silhouette, a man leading his horse through the gathering gloom.

Her heart stuttered to a halt. He was still here. She’d thought him gone by now, but he’d lingered. Bruno’s nose came up as he caught the scent, and when the puppy barked, Lord Farley looked up. Like a blast of salty wind off the sea, the impact of his gaze struck Phoebe.

He paused, then raised a hand in farewell. Unable to resist, she raised hers in response. She pulled it back quickly, though, and turned for the safety of her warm, familiar house. But shutting the door couldn’t shut out the image of him any more than it could shut out the oncoming cold of the night. Some of that cold had come in with her and it would take time for it to fade into the forced warmth of her kitchen.

But it
would
fade, she told herself. Just as the cold spring always gave way to summer heat, and fog crept away under the onslaught of the sun, so would this unseemly interest she had in the dangerously attractive Lord Farley fade. It had to.

For if it did not—if her perverse fascination with him was what she feared it was—then she was condemned to a lifetime of loving a man she could never have and certainly could never trust.

James walked the three miles back to Farley Park, leading his horse, unconcerned by the cold, the dark, or the rising mist from the sea. Everything was out of control—his household, his children, his emotions. He didn’t want to return to his big, empty house. If it weren’t for Leya, he wouldn’t go back at all. But where else was there to go?

It was humbling to admit that though he’d never needed anybody before, he needed somebody now. He was angry, he was frustrated, but most of all, he was lonely.

Lonely. It was a foreign experience, one he hated, but didn’t know how to fix.

At least there was one person who was always happy to see him, and once at Farley Park he went straight to the nursery. But he was disappointed to find Leya asleep. “She fussed a bit,” the maid who’d sat with her told him. “She wants to scratch the blisters. But her fever is milder and she ate well. This sort of pox don’t affect the little children as bad as the big ’uns.”

That was welcome news. But Leya’s peaceful slumber left James even more alone. Hard to believe that only a week ago he’d prayed for Leya to sleep. Now he wanted her awake, her dark eyes bright and trusting upon him. At least
she
loved him.

He retreated to his study for a whisky, but the house was too quiet for him to enjoy it. Too still. It needed children in it. It needed Leya and Izzy and Helen.

And Phoebe?

He rotated the amber liquid in the squat tumbler he held, fighting the urge to quaff the contents in one gulp and pour another.

His life was an unmitigated disaster with no one to blame but himself. But it wasn’t just the enforced solitude of country life that was driving him mad, nor the bedlam he’d created with his children. If he was losing his mind, it was on account of some fresh-faced country woman with good manners, a better mind, and a winning way with children.

What he needed was some distance from the situation. Too much had happened, too fast.

But there was no distance to be had, and no escaping his thoughts—nor his guilt. He should never have kissed her. That was his first mistake. That kiss had led too fast to him making love to her, which had been another mistake. A monumental one. For Phoebe Churchill had been a virgin, and not only that, she wasn’t the sort of woman a decent man fooled around with. She might be Louise’s sister, but in every way that counted, she was her direct opposite.

He lurched to his feet, paced the claustrophobic space, then threw himself back into the chair. When the front door knocker echoed from down the hall, he leaped up once more, listening. When no one answered and it sounded a second time he cursed under his breath. Where in blazes was Benson? Propriety be damned, he’d answer the door himself. Maybe it was Phoebe.

Instead it was the last person he expected to see in such a rural locale. “Kerry? Bloody hell. What are you doing here?”

The Honorable Kerrigan Fairchild, youngest son of the Earl of Sanderly, strode into the foyer, all grins and good humor. “I thought I’d surprise you. But what’s this about? Don’t you employ a butler to direct this monstrous country abode of yours? I hope it’s not some rustic custom in Yorkshire to answer your own door. Or has that wild child of yours caused the entire staff here to flee?”

“Some of them are still with me,” James said, only half ironic. He closed the door. “God, am I glad to see you.”

“Bored, eh? I thought you might be.”

“Not bored. Not exactly.”

“No?” Kerry scanned the quiet foyer and adjoining rooms with a discerning eye. “Nice place. Though you look like a fright. So. Where’s the holy terror?”

“Izzy is staying with a friend.”

Kerry grinned. “Pawned her off on some poor unsuspecting fool, have you? And it’s Izzy now. I see she’s won that battle—and probably several others as well.”

In a way James supposed she had. At any rate, it was not worth arguing the point. “Leya is ill. It’s best if Izzy spends as much time away from here until we’re sure Leya’s not contagious.” He led Kerry into his study and poured both of them a drink, then waved Kerry to a seat and threw himself back into his chair. “Speaking of my daughters, I’ve located the third one.”

“Indeed? Have you met her yet?”

“I have. In fact, she’s here. That is, she’s lived near Farley Park all her life.”

“That’s convenient.” When James didn’t respond, Kerry’s dark brows rose. “It’s
not
convenient?”

Once more James rolled his drink around in its glass, staring blankly at the amber liquid. “It’s messy. Sit down; I’ll explain the situation to you.”

“Yes, maybe you should. Then I’ll bring you up to snuff on what’s going on in town. I’m sure you’ll find it vastly entertaining.”

An hour passed. Outside the closed doors of the study the house activities proceeded. Inside the study, the fire burned low. It was difficult to say which man’s tale shocked the other more. Kerry reserved judgment on the restrained tale his friend revealed of a lost child found and a goat girl turned governess. He wanted to meet this properly brought-up farmer’s daughter himself before he accused James of what he suspected the man was up to. Again.

As for James, he wasn’t certain he believed the preposterous story Kerry related. “After the way she feels I humiliated her, why would Catherine change her mind?”

Kerry took a long pull of his drink, then made a face. “Perhaps the gay blades around town are beginning to wear on her nerves. Constant flattery and adoration can be trying, you know, even to someone as accustomed to flattery and adoration as our lovely Catherine.”

“Catherine has that effect on men. Especially on those green fellows who consider themselves dashing.”

“I’m afraid age is no cure for Catherine’s appeal,” Kerry said. “I heard Edward Altwood waxing eloquent about her, and he’s got one foot in the grave. I’ve also heard that Percival Langley has become quite chummy with her and her father.”

“Percival Langley.” James shook his head. “Poor Catherine. But at least she has some balm for the disservice I did her.”

Kerry stared at James from over the rim of his tumbler. “If adulation were a balm, I’m sure she would be happier than she is.”

James set his empty glass down on the table. “I’m surprised you haven’t thrown your hat into that ring. You and Catherine have always gotten on famously.”

After a pause Kerry agreed. “Yes. We have. Unfortunately her father has higher aspirations for her than my paltry two thousand a year. I fear, however, that my greatest failing for him is that unlike you, I’ve no interest in politics at all.”

James crossed to the hearth, threw on a log, then poked the sputtering embers to renewed life. “Speaking of her father, the last time I saw Lord Basingstoke he vowed to have my head on a pike if I ever approached Catherine again. He also said it would be his life’s goal to see me ruined for any position involving foreign affairs.”

“He certainly has the clout to do it,” Kerry said. Then he shrugged. “What can I say? Notwithstanding her father’s vitriol, Catherine told me that she misses you, and that she may have acted somewhat hastily. She’s making a trip up to Yorkshire to visit you.”

“To visit me? The hell you say. And her father has agreed to it?”

Kerry finished off the contents of his glass. “It seems so. Perhaps your political career is not ruined after all.”

James raked a hand through his hair. This was the last thing he’d expected. “I’d given up on Catherine and her father. If she’s coming here with his approval, that can only mean she wants to renew our betrothal. Did she say when she’s arriving?”

“I believe her plan is to visit an ancient aunt of hers in Scarborough. That way she can decide on an impulsive side trip to visit you and thereby save face should your reunion not take,” Kerry said, crossing one leg over the other. He studied James through narrowed eyes. “It will take, won’t it?”

For a moment James didn’t reply. If Catherine was willing to forgive him and accept his children—if she was prepared to renew their betrothal—then he still had a chance to someday succeed her father as the House of Lords’ most influential member regarding foreign policy. His political goals would again be within his reach. All he had to do was regain her trust and convince her that his children were worthy of her concern.

But how was he to do that when Izzy and Helen had fled to Phoebe’s cottage?

Phoebe. He straightened in his chair. If Catherine came to Farley Park, she was bound to meet Phoebe.

Bloody hell. Phoebe was already furious with him, and rightfully so. There was no telling what she might say to Catherine. Nor what Catherine might say to her.

The sound of a throat clearing brought him back to the moment. “You do still want to marry her,” Kerry asked. “Don’t you?”

“Of course,” James reassured him. “Of course.” But for a moment he wasn’t certain. Marriage to Catherine would allow him to return to his old life in London. But living in London would put an end to the affair he’d just embarked on with Phoebe.

Not that she was presently disposed to continue it. But once Helen settled into life as his daughter, and life at Farley Park settled into a comfortable routine, he could bring Phoebe around.

The problem was, if Kerry was right about Catherine’s imminent visit, he might be running out of time.

“We’re not going back,” Izzy stated. Beside her Helen nodded.

Phoebe stared at their twin expressions of determination. How had she not seen the similarities in them? Blond hair, blue eyes. But she’d been looking for Louisa’s image in Helen, and Lord Farley’s in Izzy. The truth was, however, that they both had their father’s eyes. Even Leya, with her olive-toned skin, had inherited his brilliant blue eyes.

“We want to stay here,” Izzy continued.

Coming back to the present, Phoebe nodded. She wanted them to stay with her too. But she knew Lord Farley would never agree.

During a long, restless night she’d come to the conclusion that she must not fight him anymore, at least when it came to the girls. As a child, she’d hated living in a family fraught with anger and animosity. She had no intention of letting that happen to these girls. So she’d decided to cooperate with the man—up to a point. That meant her first goal must be to improve him in his daughters’ mistrustful eyes.

“More than anything I want you to stay here. Both of you. But your father loves you and he wants you with him. And he wants
me
to help all of you become a family.”

“But we can be a family here at Plummy Head,” Helen said. “Just like we were before.”

“That’s right,” Izzy said. “Me and Helen never had a father before, neither of us. We don’t need one now. Especially not him.”

Phoebe saw Helen glance hesitantly at her new older sister. All her life Helen had felt keenly the lack of a father. Bad enough her mother had never been around, but at least she’d existed. Her father had never even had a name. Now, though, the situation was reversed. Louise might have washed her hands of her little girl, but James Lindford was here, very real and more than willing to be an active part of her life.

Phoebe cupped Izzy’s cheek and stroked Helen’s hair. “When your family is as small as ours, the loss of even one person is a very sad event. Your mothers have relinquished both of you to your father because they knew he can do a better job taking care of you—”

“They sold us,” Izzy interrupted. “Like cows. Like goats.”

“Like we sell a round of fat, white cheese to Mrs. Leake,” Helen added, her little face somber.

Phoebe hugged them both, one urgent shared embrace, and reveled in the returned embrace of their skinny, little-girl arms. “Your mothers are both fools. But I’m glad they’re fools, otherwise I wouldn’t have the two of you here in my house with me. And I’ll be even more glad when Leya’s old enough for lessons too.”

As she hoped, mention of their baby sister weakened the girls’ resolve. “Why can’t she come here now?” Helen asked.

“I hope she’s not still sick,” Izzy said.

“She’s too young for lessons, Helen. As for how she’s doing, we can ask your father when he comes. Do you remember how worried he was when she first fell ill?”

They both nodded, Izzy sullenly.

“That’s because he loves her and worries about her, just as he loves you two and worries about you. I think it’s time to stop being so angry with him. Just think about it, all right?”

He arrived just before lunchtime with a basket tied behind his saddle, and a man Phoebe didn’t recognize riding alongside.

“I know who he is,” Izzy said. “That’s Mr. Kerry. I met him in London. He’s one of Lord Farley’s friends.”

Already beset by nerves, Phoebe’s stomach did a hard flip-flop. Why had one of his friends from London come this far north? He was a well-dressed nabob with a silver waistcoat peeking from beneath his navy blue frock coat, and gleaming Hessian boots in the stirrups. He appeared far too grand for Plummy Head.

What would a man like that think of her, a simple country woman? Even more unsettling, what might Lord Farley have told him about her? A lead knot formed in her throat. From the way the man’s eyes studied her with such clear interest, Phoebe feared he may already have told him too much. How dare he!

“So you are the Miss Churchill who has wrought such a transformation in Farley’s children,” the man said once they were introduced. He smiled, and it seemed friendly and sincere. “Lord Farley didn’t tell me you were even lovelier than you are capable. And you must be Helen,” he added, bowing gravely as Helen peered at both men from behind Phoebe’s skirts.

Then he winked at Izzy and executed a perfect curtsy before her. When he straightened up his droll grin turned challenging. “Can you do better than that?”

The girl’s lips twitched, but she refused to smile. It was plain she was holding on to her anger with both fists. “I
could
curtsy better than that, if I wanted to.”

“Hunh. Easy to say. How about you, Miss Helen? Can you curtsy that well?”

Somehow he coaxed a curtsy out of Helen, which goaded Izzy into doing one as well. Above the two blond heads Lord Farley’s eyes locked with Phoebe’s.

“That deserves a reward,” Kerry said. He nudged his friend. “I said, that deserves a reward.”