The Forest Lord (19 page)

"My dear, you look troubled," Claudia said. "May I help?"

Eden
turned to her with a strained smile. "Oh, I have just been woolgathering, Aunt."

"An apt occupation in these climes," Claudia said dryly. "But take care not to let the rustic odors cling to your person."

Eden
started.
Careful
, Claudia warned herself. She must not let on that she'd seen anything of
Eden's conversation with Shaw.

"Donal—is he with Miss Waterson?"
Eden asked wistfully.

"They are getting better acquainted in the nursery. I'm sure you agree that it is best for Donal to eat his meals there, so that he can become accustomed to his new schedule." She took
Eden's arm. "Come. We've had little time to talk, with you so determined to save the local population. I realize that I have neglected my part in the running of this household. I wish to become involved in your projects and make this more of a home for both of us."
Until such time as circumstances free you of your current madness
. "Please, do tell me about your village, and the farmers. Let me know how I can help."

This time
Eden's smile was genuine. "I am so glad to hear you ask. I had thought you did not approve."

"It doesn't matter, dear Niece, if it is what you wish to do. I have been harsher than I should have, I daresay. Please forgive me.
" ,

"Of course.
But there is so very much to improve…"

Lost in her new passion,
Eden prattled on about roof repairs and her plans for the tenants' dinner on May Eve. Claudia shuddered to think of it, but she hid her true feelings readily enough and agreed to help
Eden with the arrangements.

It might even be possible to use the gathering as a means to emphasize the vast gulf that lay between Eden and the people she wanted to help. A few
discouragements,
and
Eden would be more than willing to abandon this notion of becoming a female country squire.

Or of keeping her plowboy lover.

Eden had not forgotten her quarrel with
Hartley,
or all
that he knew about her. It lay in the back of her mind all the while she spoke with her aunt, just as the memory of his touch haunted her.

How did he know? Mrs. Byrne would not have talked, and certainly not my aunt. Who?

It was all she could do to behave as if nothing had happened, as if she had nothing to conceal from Claudia. And when her thoughts were not on Hartley, they were with Donal, "caged" in his gloomy nursery with the prim Miss Waterson.

The only happy circumstance of the afternoon lay in Claudia's decision to begin helping her with the charity work and the tenants' fair. It marked a return to the comfortable rapport that had marked their relationship before Spencer's death.

She and Claudia were still in accord when they sat down to dinner, though the table seemed terribly bare without her son.
Eden was prepared to summon Donal from the nursery, governess or no governess.

"
Your governess will not remain above a week, and you shall be the one to wish her gone
." Hartley Shaw was so sure she would surrender to her maternal desires. But the traditions of English society had been created for a reason. Who was
Eden to upset such time-honored methods?

So she told herself, again and again, while the meal dissolved to ashes in her mouth.

When the dinner had been cleared away and she and Claudia had retired to the sitting room, Mrs. Byrne and the maids began to bustle about the house on some new, mysterious task. Too distracted to concentrate on her needlework,
Eden watched curiously as they carried armfuls of candles of all shapes and sizes. Glancing at Claudia, she slipped from the room and followed the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Byrne," she said, catching up in the drawing room, "tell me—do you expect this particular night to be so much darker than every one that has come before, or are you scheming to burn my house down?" She smiled conspiratorially. "I own that I often think it would be no great loss."

Setting down her current armload on a sofa table, Mrs. Byrne rubbed the small of her back and smiled. "Burn down this great pile? Now, then, I'm not sure it's possible." She selected a candle and held it up to the dim light that spilled from the chandelier. "Wouldn't you
be knowing
that it's St. Brigit's Eve?"

"Another saint?"
Eden asked, touching a blackened candlewick. "Wasn't it St. Agnes's Eve just a fortnight ago?" She concealed a shiver, recalling the dreams that had come to her that night.

"Aye, so it was. But tomorrow is the second of February, which is the day of the blessing of candles.
Candlemas."

"But we are not Catholic."

"The traditions go back much farther than the coming of the priests," Mrs. Byrne said as she began setting out a row of candles along the windowsill. "In ancient days, Brigit was a goddess of
Ireland, who presided over the hearth, healing, fertility, and marriage, especially women about to marry. Here in
England she was known as Briganta. When she became a saint, there was a women's shrine kept to her in
County
Kildare
—my own home."

"And what will you do with all these candles?"

" 'Tis
the tradition to put candles in every window of a dwelling at sundown and burn them until dawn."

"That is hardly frugal."

Mrs. Byrne paused in her work. "Shall I put them away, your ladyship?"

"No. I shall not stand in the way of your charming customs." She helped Mrs. Byrne arrange the candles and cocked her head to study the results. "There is little else to celebrate at this time of year."

"Yet Candlemas also marks a cross-quarter day—halfway between the winter and spring solstice
. 'Tis the symbol of spring's promise and of new life."

Eden
laughed. "Why, Mrs. Byrne, have you a bit of the pagan in you? Perhaps you are an Irish witch of some sort, or the descendent of an ancient priestess?"

"If I were a woman of such power, would I work as a housekeeper?" She tapped the side of her nose with a mischievous look. "Should I not have a wart about here?"

"I would not wish such a blemish upon you, Mrs. Byrne, for any amount of magical power."

Feeling more at ease with the housekeeper than she did with her aunt,
Eden helped Mrs. Byrne place candles in every windowsill, even her bedchamber.

Claudia's room she left alone. Claudia, in fact, was nowhere to be found when
Eden returned to the sitting room. Grasping the opportunity,
Eden hurried upstairs to the nursery.

Miss Waterson sat at the opposite end of the room from Donal, arms folded and mouth pinched. Donal stared back just as stubbornly, and
Eden sensed that the impasse had been going on for quite some time. A tray of food, resting on a rickety table, was untouched.

She stepped into the cramped room and smoothly interposed herself between the combatants.

"Miss Waterson, if Donal has finished his dinner, I would like to talk with him before he retires to bed," she said. "You may spend a little time putting your things in order, and retire early if you wish. You must be very tired."

"My lady…" Miss Waterson looked ready to ring a peal—over her head or Donal's,
Eden didn't know which—but the governess got herself under control.
"Very well, my lady.
But it would be best if he does not spend too long downstairs."

"I understand."
Eden ushered her son from the room. Donal took her hand and practically carried her down the stairs. She almost asked him what he thought of his new governess, but she knew that would be a mistake. He needed more time to become accustomed to the woman.
As she must.

Donal came to a sudden stop at the bottom of the stairs.
"What are all the lights for, Mother?"

Eden
led him to the window. "You didn't celebrate Candlemas when you lived in
Ireland?"

He shook his head, and his lower jaw jutted. Perhaps it was just as well if his past—and hers—simply ceased to exist.

"Come," she said in a sly whisper. "Let's see if we can find something sweet in the kitchen. I'll wager that I can reach it before you!"

With a yelp of joy, Donal dashed pell-mell for the hall. She followed at a more leisurely pace, giving Donal plenty of time to arrive before she did.

The kitchen was redolent of the evening's dinner and something warm and spicy. The dishes and pots had already been washed and put away. A plate of fresh buns waited on the broad oak table.

"Cook has gone to bed,"
Eden whispered. "Do we dare?" She reached for a bun, letting her hand hover over the nearest pastry.

Donal grinned with a waggish expression she'd never seen on his face before. As one, they dove on the buns and took warm, sticky bites.

This was how life was supposed to be.
This simplicity, this contentment, this happiness.

Miss Waterson and Hartley Shaw could go to the devil.

Candlelight filled nearly every window of Hartsmere
, upstairs and down.

Drawn to the light, Hartley gazed up at the gray stone walls. This eve had long been celebrated by men as a time of transition. He felt that transition in his very bones: the rebirth of a new season tied, as if by twisting, succulent vines, to his very heart.

The candles hadn't been lit at Hartsmere for centuries.
Eden was not responsible; she had no knowledge of such traditions. But something in the warm yellow squares and rectangles, defiant against the darkness, reminded him of her. They gave the house a sense of peace it did not often have.

The horses, and even the returning beasts of field and forest, seemed very poor company tonight. He needed to know how Donal fared. That was excuse enough to make another sally into
Eden's fortress.

He started toward the house but paused after a few steps, sensing a hostile presence.

"Mr. Shaw."

Lady Claudia Raines moved with remarkable skill for a mortal woman. Hartley turned to face her, somehow unsurprised to find her seeking him under cover of darkness. He had known her once before.

She stopped, wrapped in her innate air of superiority over all lesser beings. She was a handsome woman, in her bearing as regal as the most High Fane. Hartley was not impressed.

Six years ago, she had controlled her niece in every way but one, and therefore she had despised the man she knew as Cornelius Fleming. He had sensed then, on several
occasions, that
she worked to undermine his courtship of
Eden.

He had never understood why. He hadn't cared. Lady Claudia had not been worthy of his attention.

He gave it to her now only because of the role he played. Like
Eden, she failed to recognize him. Her reasons for approaching Hartley Shaw were not difficult to guess.

"Your ladyship," he said with a slight nod. "How can I be of service?"

She put out her hand. In her palm lay a pouch. She spilled a few coins into her glove, and they shone silver in the moonlight.

"You will leave Hartsmere immediately," she said.

She was used to giving commands, but so was he. The hair along the back of his neck bristled. His foot dug a furrow into the earth of its own volition, as if he were a stag facing a rival during the season of rut. His brow felt weighted with the many-tined antlers of his heritage.

Instinct.
Instinct warned him she was his enemy in a way she had not been six years before.

"Why?" he demanded.

He'd expected to shock her with his insolence. She merely smiled.

"I knew you must be beyond bold to trifle so with Lady Eden," she said, closing her hand over the coins. "If you mean to gain wealth or influence by taking advantage of her, you are sadly mistaken. I shall not permit it."

So this woman had either seen him with
Eden or suspected their relationship. He was certain that
Eden hadn't spoken of their conversations. Even without recognizing him, Lady Claudia Raines was still intent on keeping
Eden from an unsuitable partner. Had she set her seal of approval on the man her niece had married?