Spring Blossom (2 page)

Now, at the age of twenty-seven, Hunter
would see his mother and his birthplace once again.

Suddenly all his senses became alert as he
detected a rustling noise out on the terrace; too much noise for
the breeze that would disturb the vines on the trellis there. His
body tensed but he remained motionless in the water as he opened
his eyes and turned his head in the direction of the open French
doors.

A halo of blond hair, so fair as to be
almost white, appeared above the balcony railing, followed by a
youthful face, which was frowning in concentration as the girl
looked down and to her left.

Hunter watched in utter disbelief as she
gained her footing, swung her legs over the railing in a flurry of
white petticoats and stockings, and stood up, adjusting her skirts
around her. The girl uttered a soft expletive when she discovered a
small rent in her dress, and despite himself, Hunter smiled. This
had to be one of the Downing girls – the eldest, he assumed, since
she appeared to be in mid-adolescence. His thoughts flashed back to
a comment Alastair Downing had made during their earlier
conversation, something about a male trying to survive in a
houseful of females. Well, there must be constant surprises, at
least.

The girl stepped to one side of the open
doors and peeked into the room. Her eyes traveled to where he sat
in the tub. Realizing that he had been studying her, she stared at
him in confusion for a moment before shrugging in resignation and
taking a single step into the room.

Hunter forced a serious countenance. As an
adult, he felt he should deal with this intrusion in a firm manner,
but in the face of the girl’s impish grin, that was difficult.

“I wasn’t sure I’d make it,” she commented
with wave of her hand in the direction of the balcony.

Perhaps it’s unfortunate that you did,” he
offered seriously.

The girl did have the grace to flush
slightly. “Yes, well…it appears I’ve arrived at a most inopportune
moment.”

“I should say,” he returned dryly, but he
was inwardly surprised as he realized the girl spoke as if she were
fifty years old. And old soul, he thought. Alastair’s influence, no
doubt.

Now her smile disappeared, but her eyes
maintained contact with his. “Well, I had to come and see what all
the fuss was about.” She blushed and looked as if she could have
bitten her tongue.

“Fuss?" Hunter raised his eyebrows,
questioning.

“Denis and Florence are all excited about a
guest in the house,” she explained.

“I see.” He smiled, not really seeing at
all. He retrieved his cheroot from the small table beside the tub,
but he kept his eyes on her as he drew deeply on the tobacco.
Hunter was fascinated to see that she was not at all intimidated by
the situation. “And you came to appraise this…curiosity?”

“Oh! Not a curiosity!” she hastened to
reassure. “They both thought you were beautiful!” Maggie had the
grace to blush again at her own ineptitude while Hunter threw back
his head and laughed. “Mind you, I don’t judge people by their
appearance,” she added, deepening the hole into which she wanted to
fling herself.

“No?” He was still amused.

“Well, no. You could be the most handsome
man in the world and be an ogre deep down inside.”

“Very astute,” he commented with a wry
drawl.

She hurried foolishly on, afraid she had
offended him. “Although I’m certain you are not an ogre, you
understand.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked with
feigned seriousness.

The girl looked confused again and cocked
her head to one side. “Are you?”

“Only when young ladies invade the solitude
of my bath.”

“Oh,” She flushed yet again. “I supposed I
should leave. I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.” But, in
truth, Maggie was enough of a female that she was having difficulty
tearing her eyes away from the man seated in the tub. His eyes were
so dark she was certain they must be black, and he had much more
hair than her father. Thick hair that shone in the light of the
room like sun rays reflected off the blue-black of a raven’s wing.
His chest was wide and more muscled than any Maggie had seen and
she found that staring at him promoted a delightful, tingling
experience deep in her core.

“My dear, you do not make me uncomfortable,
but I surmise you will be made to feel more than uncomfortable if
your father discovers where you have been.”

To his surprise, she giggled in the face of
the threat.

“Oh, Papa would absolutely fly into a rage
if he knew I had disturbed you, and Anna would be forced to lecture
me about the impropriety of entering a gentleman’s room.”

Obviously the girl felt she could cope with
both of these situations.

“Anna is quite correct, you know.”

Maggie felt he was taking on an adult role
in chastising her, and stiffened her spine. Lifting her chin in
what she felt was a completely alluring pose, she said, “Yes, well,
I simply wanted to welcome you to Treemont, Mr. Maguire. I shall
see you at supper.” With that she turned toward the terrace
doors.

“Miss Downing?” he called, choking back the
need to laugh with delight.

Maggie turned to look at him.

“I suggest you become familiar with the
quaint but civilized custom of entering and leaving rooms through
the doors.”

“Oh!” she breathed with girlish humor and
then half curtsied before turning to her right as her blond braids
flew with the abruptness of her movements.

Hunter waited and listened as she darted
from view. When he heard no sound of the door opening, he looked
over his shoulder to see her hesitating, one hand on the
doorknob.

“May I ask you one question, Mr.
Maguire?”

He sighed for dramatic effect then turned so
she would not see his smile. “Quickly, then.”

“Papa said you have recently traveled in
Europe. Will you tell me about the places you have seen?”

“I shall give the matter some thought, Miss
Downing.”

“Will you tell Papa I was here?” she asked
quietly.

“
That, too, will require
some thought,” he said softly. “Now scoot!”

With a giggle she was gone.

CHAPTER 2

Dressed in a fresh white shirt, a dark green
coat, and buff trousers, Hunter returned, refreshed, to the main
floor of the house. The color of the coat complemented his dark
hair and eyes and he cut such a tall, elegant figure that no one
would have dreamed he did not consider a fine house and fine
clothes his natural state. Some considered him confident almost to
the point of arrogance, casual almost to the point of appearing
aloof, intelligent almost to the point of genius and complementing
all these traits was a fine sense of humor. In fact, he was a man
of strength and fortitude who was also comfortable displaying his
gentler side.

Tonight he was shown to the wide parlor
doors by the frowning Anna. Stepping inside the large, airy room,
Hunter’s attention was immediately drawn to a life-sized portrait
hanging above the elegant marble mantel over the fireplace. The
subject was a woman gowned in soft blue, with eyes to match and
hair so fair as to be almost white. The glorious curls cascaded
over one shoulder and covered one breast as if to protect it from
artist and viewer alike.

She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen.

“My wife, Margaret,” Alastair offered.

Only then did Hunter realize that the man
had stepped to his side. He glanced briefly at his host before his
gaze drifted back to the portrait. “She was lovely, Alastair.”

“Aye,” the man said. “I miss her.” Then, as
if shaking off a morose mood, Alastair Downing clapped a firm hand
on the younger man’s shoulder. “Come and meet my girls,” he said
lightly. “They are anxiously awaiting you.”

Hunter smiled then, lowering his gaze to the
area before the wide fireplace. Two plump upholstered sofas faced
each other across a low, rectangular table and three well-groomed
young women sat quietly, staring in his direction. When they
noticed Hunter’s attention focused on them all three rose in
well-rehearsed unison to stand perfectly still, lacing their
fingers together before them. Hunter felt as if he was expected to
inspect the king’s guard.

“Come along,” Alastair took a few steps
across the room. “Jennifer, my youngest, is only six. She is with
her nanny, but I would like to present my older girls,” he said,
with considerable pride.

Extending his hand, Alastair acknowledged
the first girl who dipped into a respectful curtsy. “This is
Florence,” he said, frowning as the timid girl seemed to wilt under
the scrutiny of the two men.

Smiling, Hunter repeated her name but the
girl ducked her head and refused to look at him. Alastair gave her
a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Turning then, the men faced the two oldest
girls; the first Alastair introduced as Denise, a pretty girl of
perhaps thirteen or so who possessed the same creamy, ivory skin
that all three of these children seemed to have inherited.

And then his bedroom visitor was dropping
into a low, graceful curtsy before rising to smile up at him with a
slight tilt to her head; as if they shared a confidence.

"And Maggie is my eldest,” Alastair
proclaimed.

It was clear to Hunter that this daughter
was a miniature of her mother. Although her skirts were not yet
full length, Maggie’s appearance, highlighted by the soft blue of
her adolescent gown, hinted at the woman yet to come and it was
obvious to Hunter, as it must be to Alastair, the girl would
undoubtedly be a beauty.

A heart-beat later, Hunter found it
difficult not to laugh, knowing this elegant young woman hid a
distinct mischievous streak. “Maggie, is it?” he said softly.

Maggie looked a bit concerned when he failed
to smile.

“We have met before, of course,” Hunter
continued. Alastair looked startled, and the girl’s complexion
seemed to warm as she took a deep breath, obviously fearing the
worst. “Perhaps not,” he added thoughtfully and then chuckled when
Maggie breathed a soft sigh. “I believe I saw you on the landing
when I first arrived?”

Maggie gladly grasped at that. “Yes. On the
landing.”

But Hunter knew exactly what she was
thinking and laughed softly as he reached out and lightly touched
her cheek before turning away. “Your daughters are lovely,
Alastair,” he said, facing his host once again and giving Maggie a
much needed moment to recover.

Alastair nodded, bowing slightly in
acknowledgement of the compliment. “Off to your supper now, girls,”
he said, then smiled as they obediently filed out of the room. When
he turned back to his guest, Alastair offered, “A light libation,
perhaps?”

Hunter caught a last pleading look from
Maggie as she whirled in preparation of closing the parlor doors
before joining her sisters. He smiled and nodded, reassuring her
that he would keep her secret.

Alastair took the nod as assent and asked,
“Brandy or wine?”

“Brandy. Thank you.” Seating himself in a
large wing-backed chair, Hunter asked, “Your daughters don’t join
you for suppers?”

Firmly shaking his head, Alastair turned
from the rose-wood table in the corner and handed his guest a
snifter of brandy before taking a chair. “They are a bit young yet
for formal dinners but I did promise Maggie she could serve as
hostess for her birthday supper in a few months time.”

Hunter was not surprised by this. Seldom had
his own father allowed the younger children to join him for meals
in his own formal dining room. But while Hunter was aware of this
custom, he was not particularly in favor of it. If a child
possessed the rudiments of polite behavior, why excluded them?
Besides, he liked children. But to his host he merely held the
brandy snifter aloft in a silent toast before inhaling its fragrant
bouquet.

*

Maggie could hear the distant drone of male
voices and thought her father and Hunter Maguire were surely going
to talk in the parlor all night. Meanwhile she could detect the
fragrant odors of their supper from the far side of the dining room
doors and was dying of starvation! If the men did not soon make a
move she just knew she would swoon and they would find her in a
heap on the floor outside the doors to the dining room. It was true
that nervous flutters, as well as hunger, were causing funny
feelings in her tummy, but she was determined to see this through.
It was time she played hostess and Hunter Maguire would admire the
way she carried out the task. Why she craved his admiration, she
did not question.

Maggie had longed for years to take her
mother’s place as the hostess of Treemont and had long thought she
was ready. Tonight she would prove it to her father and to that
handsome devil, Hunter Maguire. And he certainly was
handsome…beautiful as Florence would have said. And Maggie liked
his manner, for while he appeared to be a gentleman, she felt he
was also quite daring. After all, how many men would have sat
quietly in a tub and talked to a woman? Her behavior had not been
at all proper and the memory of her afternoon visit stirred
Maggie’s sense of adventure. She should never have entered his room
but being naughty was a bit breathtaking, like sneaking out of the
house in the middle of night to gaze at the stars. The fact that it
was forbidden only enhanced the experience.

Leaning her head against the doorframe,
Maggie closed her eyes, listening for any sound that might indicate
the men were finished with their drinks. She was famished! Only the
thought of seeing Hunter Maguire’s brilliant, devastating smile
seemed to be keeping her upright. And then she heard the near
murmur of male voices as they moved into the dining room. Maggie
straightened, smoothing her gown in concern for her appearance.
Normally she was more interested in running and riding free and
unhindered but when the situation warranted it, she would fret over
her appearance as she fretted over the condition of her room.
Tonight her best blue dress was crisp and clean and every strand of
hair was in place. She had brushed out her braids and left her hair
to flow down her back in a very bold move toward adulthood. She
prayed her father would not scold her for her daring and wished she
were old enough to possess a sophisticated ankle-length gown. But
that would come in a few months time when she became, officially,
sixteen.