The Forest Lord (17 page)

"I am sorry," she said. "I have been thinking only of myself." She rested her forehead on Claudia's shoulder. "Perhaps you should return to
London. You still have your own jointure. You would be happier there."

"And leave you here alone?" Claudia felt for her hand. "No. You need me, Eden, even when you do not realize it." She turned a haunted gaze on
Eden. "I must protect you, as your father did not." Her eyes glazed. "Protect you."

Shaken,
Eden squeezed her hand. "Come sit down, Aunt, and I will bring you a nice dish of tea."

She made Claudia comfortable and sent Armstrong for refreshments. Half afraid to leave her aunt in such a state, she settled to wait out the afternoon with a bit of needlework.

She was in the midst of completing a very tedious section of fine stitching on a handkerchief when the footman announced one Miss Waterson, just arrived from
London.

Eden
set down her work and glanced at Claudia. Her aunt seemed perfectly restored; if anything, it was as if she had never had the lapse at all.

In a moment Miss Waterson, dressed in a severe gown of tobacco brown stuff, entered the drawing room. She gazed about with a completely expressionless face and curtsied to her employers.

"Ah, Miss Waterson," Claudia said with gracious condescension. "I am so pleased that you could come in such good time." She glanced at
Eden. "Lady Eden, may I introduce Miss Amelia Waterson."

Miss Waterson curtsied again, with a precision that suggested she recognized and accepted the degree of separation between a governess and an earl's daughter. "Good afternoon, my lady."

Her voice was cultured but without music of any kind, and her mouth,
Eden thought, belonged to a person disappointed in life. Considering how often governesses were impoverished gentlewomen,
Eden could hardly blame her. She ought to pity the woman.

"I trust your journey was satisfactory?" Claudia asked, gesturing to a chair.

"Indeed, my lady." Miss Waterson took her
seat,
more erect in posture than the chair back itself. "You were most generous."

"You must be fatigued. Your quarters are near the nursery. As you see, we are still making improvements, but I believe you will find your room acceptable."

"Thank you, Lady Claudia," she said with a humble nod. "May I see the boy?"

Eden
flinched.
So soon?
Was this colorless woman to take charge of her son's life, just like that?

"If you wish," Claudia said. "I had thought, after such a long journey—but I understand and applaud your diligence." She signaled to Armstrong, who lingered just outside the doorway. "Bring Donal to us at once. You may find him at the stables."

"He spends a great deal of time with horses, my lady?" Miss Waterson asked. "I do not ride."

"It is not expected. My nephew has far better things to do with his time than tarry in the stables. As I informed you in my letter, his upbringing to this point was most unconventional, through no fault of Lady Eden, whose uncle in
Ireland had the raising of him. He will need a firm hand and a strict schedule."

"I can assure you that he will have both."

Eden
sighed, and Claudia cast
her a
warning glance. In truth,
Eden could not object to any specific thing about the governess. As a rule, English governesses were often tyrants and as much hated as loved by their charges—or so she had heard from friends and relatives.

Her dislike of Miss Waterson came from her reluctance to give Donal into a stranger's care. It was irrational and unfair, this fierce maternal jealousy. Miss Waterson must at least be given a chance.

An awkward silence fell as they waited for Armstrong and Donal. But when the footman returned, he came alone.

"Where is Master Donal?" Claudia asked.

"Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but he wouldn't come."

Claudia exchanged glances with Miss Waterson. "You see how much he requires discipline. Is he still at the stables, Armstrong?"

"Yes, your ladyship."

"Then we shall fetch him ourselves."

"I will,"
Eden offered, hoping to steal a few moments alone with Donal. She rose and hastened for the stables.

Donal was there, with Hartley. They were not doing anything in particular; in fact, they seemed to be waiting. Hartley watched her come with die wary reserve he had shown since the first ride into Birkdale. She gave him a stiff nod.

"Donal," she said, "Armstrong came to fetch you because you are wanted in the house." She held out her hand. "Come."

Donal folded his hands behind his back and shook his head.

Eden
glanced at Hartley, feeling the heat of a flush creep up her neck. "You may return to the stables later; but now there is someone I want you to meet."

"A governess."

Hartley's voice had the same effect on her it always did, though at the moment it was heavy with what she could only assume was disapproval. He must have questioned Armstrong, although why he should take a personal interest in Donal's governess perplexed her. Men of his station did not have governesses and so could not very well develop a dislike of them.

She shook off the conflicting sensations of annoyance and attraction and wrapped herself in her dignity. "Donal, a lady has come all the way from
London just for you. She'll teach you many interesting things." The words caught, as if on a lie. "You must come in now."

"I don't want her," Donal said firmly. "I want you and Hartley."

The flush had reached
Eden's cheeks. "Hartley may be your friend, but he cannot take care of you."

"You can," Hartley said.

"I'll thank you not to judge what is best for my family, Mr. Shaw," she said.
And this has gone quite far enough
. "Donal, you must do as I ask." She grasped his hand and firmly pulled him toward the house.

His compact body was full of resistance, but he came. He looked back at Hartley in appeal. The man had enough good sense not to follow.

Donal's steps dragged more and more as they approached the sitting room. He came to a full stop in the doorway, his lower lip thrust out.

"I won't like her," he said.

"Oh, Donal."
She knelt beside him.
"How can you know that, when you haven't even met her yet?"

He looked into her eyes. "I
know
."

"Did Hartley say something about her, Donal?"

"Ah, there you are." Claudia joined them, and Donal wedged himself behind
Eden's skirts. "Come, child," she said with a kind smile. "There is no reason to be afraid."

Eden
wanted nothing more than to turn around and take Donal in the opposite direction. Instead, she put her arm around his shoulder and guided him into the room. Miss Waterson stood up.

"And here is Master Donal," Claudia announced.

Donal froze. "No," he said clearly.

Claudia sighed. "Eden, my dear, I think it would be best if you retired. I fear that Donal will only be more upset if you remain."

Eden
could see that her presence complicated an already difficult situation, and that her newly awakened maternal impulses were a definite disadvantage. "Donal," she said gently, "I must step out for a little while. I know that you will make Miss Waterson feel welcome."

He stared at her, wide-eyed, until Claudia imposed herself between them.
Eden walked out of the room and the house, telling herself that this was for the best. Donal needed to learn to trust adults other than Hartley and his mother. But oh, why did this parting hurt them both so much?

A few steps beyond the garden doors she ran into something solid and warm. The shock of his touch told her who it was even before she looked up into Hartley Shaw's face.

Now that he held her, he didn't want to let her go
. Hartley's instinct had been to follow his son, regardless of the consequences. He knew he couldn't rush into the house and steal the boy from the woman they'd summoned to imprison him. But there were other ways of dealing with such an intruder. He'd learned enough of modern man to understand the role a governess would play in Donal's life, and he did not intend to let the woman transform him into a well-trained lapdog.

But as he felt the softness of
Eden's arms through the muslin of her sleeves, heard the pulse beat so quickly in her graceful neck, his compulsion struck a new course. He saw sadness and confusion in her eyes, and his anger evaporated.

He had never felt so strong an urge to kiss her. Give up the game, claim her in such a way that she would recognize him, surrender, and beg his forgiveness.

"
Eden," he said roughly.

She stiffened with affront. "How dare you."

He released her as if she had turned to Iron. Her indignation demanded an apology, but he could match her in outrage. "You gave the boy to another woman," he said.

Her eyes blazed with anger. "You astound me, Shaw. What do you know of governesses, or of the kind of life Donal was meant to lead?"

"I know more than you guess," he said. "I know that your kind give your own children away to be brought up by strangers. And you are deceiving yourself by agreeing to such an arrangement."

She laughed. "Your impertinence has no limits. This is what comes of letting Donal befriend a servant." She backed away. "Well, that has come to an end."

He answered her with a humorless smile of his own. "You will discharge me?"

"You have done your work well enough, and I still owe you a debt. But Donal will be too occupied from now on to follow you about like a… like a lost puppy."

"Not quite a puppy. But he has been lost, hasn't he?"

"What… what do you mean?"

"Isn't it true that the boy was raised in
Ireland, and he came to be with you only a fortnight ago?"

"It is
true,
and common knowledge," she said. "My uncle sent him—"

"Did he? Are you ashamed of Donal,
Eden? Is that why you tell everyone that he is not your son?"

She went stock-still. "What did you say?"

"You are his mother, Lady Eden Winstowe. Do not deny it. He is your son, but he never lived with you in
London."

With careful steps she moved back until she reached the garden wall. "How did you… find out?" she whispered. "Who told you this?"

"Never fear. It is not general knowledge, and clearly you wish to keep it that way. Why?"

"I cannot explain. Not here."

"Why did you send him to
Ireland?"

Her voice shook. "My son's
past, and mine, are
none of your affair."

Hartley pursued her, positioning himself so that his body formed a second wall to prevent her escape. "It's that simple, is it? You allowed your son to be raised by others, deny he is yours, and now you give him to someone else? Is that what you call love?"

The last thing he expected from her was tears. Indeed, she fought them, but they pooled in her eyes as if she had been holding them back all along.

"You do not know…" She averted her face so that all he could see was her profile.

He touched her chin with his fingers, turning her back to him. "
Tell me
."

She seemed beyond further outrage, exhausted by his persistence and her own interior struggle. "You have no claim on my son."

He wanted to shout, "
I am his father
!" He wanted to cry out, "
You are mine
." He did neither.

"I have the claim of affection," he said, showing mercy.
"His for me, and mine for him."
He let her go. "Why did you send him away?"

She leaned her weight against the wall. "I did not send him away. I did not even know where he was."

Hartley felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders even as a greater heaviness settled in his heart. "How can that be?"

A tear spilled over and trickled inelegantly down the side of her nose. "He was taken from me at birth."

By your father?
Did he steal the child from you, as he did from me
? Hartley braced his hand on the wall and lowered his head.
Eden's face was so close that all he need do was bend another inch to brush her neck with his lips. It would be so easy to comfort her.