The Forest Lord (30 page)

Francis stood and paced a tight circle about the room. "I confess that I never expected… never conceived of you as a mother," he said. The words carried a trace of strained humor, but
Eden was not deceived. "It must have
come
as quite a shock to you, so soon after Spencer's passing."

Eden
was relieved at Francis's bluntness. It spared her so much. "Yes.
A wonderful shock.
I cannot regret him, Francis. I wished you to know this before… before we continued. There is another thing you must understand. I have made it known that Donal is the son of my late cousin, and that he had been living with my uncle in
Ireland until Mr. Fleming became too ill to care for him. I intend to maintain that fiction, whatever I must do to keep it. I realize that you may not wish to be party to this… but I will be most grateful if you would keep this matter to yourself, whatever our future dealings." She let no emotion touch her face or voice. "Of course you will need time to consider what I have told you. And perhaps distance as well."

Now she gave him an easy escape back to
London. Her heart beat fast, but she still could not decide what she wanted him to do, what would be best for Donal.

After a while, Francis went to the mantelpiece again and leaned on it heavily. "Forgive the question, but did Spencer—did your marriage suffer because—"

"It cannot have helped." She gave a small, crooked smile. "I cannot blame him. And though it is the way of the
ton
, I know I failed him as a wife in many ways." She closed her eyes. "If only…"

"This Cornelius Fleming.
Did you ever see him again?"

The harshness of his voice revealed his true feelings. She faced them squarely. "No. And I doubt I ever shall. He is gone."

"The blackguard."
Francis fisted his hand on the mantelpiece. "I will not ask you what you learned of him that made you break the elopement, but I cannot… I will not hold you to blame,
Eden."

How could she have anticipated such acceptance? "You are generous, my lord," she said warmly.

He turned to face her. "Who told you that your son had died?"

Even now she could not bring herself to speak it aloud, but Francis would guess. "It is so long ago. The details no longer seem important—only the fact of Donal's presence in my life."

Francis resumed his seat, leaning forward. "You cannot have found this easy, Lady Eden. Your honesty is… laudable."

My very selective honesty
,
Eden thought. "There can be nothing but truth between us," she said. "That is why I confided in you. You have been a good friend, and I am grateful."

"Have been?" He gazed at her, unsmiling. "Is that your wish,
Eden?"

How could she answer, when she didn't know her own mind or heart? "It is my wish, above all, to provide for my son and give him a loving home and the future he would have had if… if he had been Spencer's. Can you understand?"

"Yes." He rose. "It seems that there are depths within you I did not suspect. Perhaps even within myself."

And is that an answer, Francis? Have you, indeed, accepted so easily?

Eden
got to her feet. "You are welcome to stay to dinner, but naturally I do not expect it."

He glanced toward the window. "You have granted me your confidence,
Eden, and I will not treat it lightly. If you will forgive me, I shall spend a quiet evening at Caldwick."

"Of course."

With an air of distraction, he bowed and started for the door. At the threshold he paused.

"Whatever may happen,
Eden," he said, "you will always have my friendship."

"Thank you. Thank you, Francis."

"Good night."

Armstrong gave him his hat, gloves, and cane, and Lord Rushborough left quickly.
Eden went into the sitting room and stared out the window as he
walked,
head down, toward his waiting carriage.

The emotions she ought to feel were completely absent.

But that had been the case for some time now, and she was almost used to the condition. Numbness seemed the safest course.

But that luxury was to be denied her. Out of nowhere, Donal burst into view. He ran up to stand before Lord Rushborough and spoke words
Eden could not hear.

The marquess laughed. She could see his shoulders move. And then Donal turned around to face the carriage horses. One of them began to shake its head from side to side. The other half reared in its harness. Francis's groom rushed to quiet them, but they danced away.

Donal pointed at the horses and spoke again. Francis turned his head just enough so that
Eden could see his expression. It was far more appalled than it had been when
Eden had made her confession.

The groom made several more attempts to catch the horses, and then Donal calmly walked up to them and caught the near horse's bridle. At once the animals were quiet. Donal smiled at the marquess.

Francis glanced back at the house.
Eden ducked behind the curtains, but not too soon to observe that the marquess was upset. The groom took his place at the rear of the curricle, and Francis jumped into the driver's seat, urging the horses into an almost violent start. The curricle flew down the lane as if the devil himself pursued it.

Eden
dashed out of the sitting room and into the hall. By the time she reached the porch, Donal had disappeared. Her first thought was that he had gone to Hartley.

Halfway to the stable she caught up with him. He heard her coming and turned, flinching as if he expected a blow.

Eden
's heart dropped into her stomach. She sank to her knees on the path and opened her arms.

Donal rushed into them. She held him until her own heartbeat had slowed. Only then did she set him back so that she could see his face.

"Do you want to tell me what happened between you and the marquess?" she asked. "I promise that I will not be angry, but I would prefer that you tell me the truth."

Donal searched her face. It was a terrible thing to see such conflict in a child so young.
Eden wanted to weep.

"I… I told the marquess that I could hear his horses talking," Donal said in a small voice. "He didn't believe me."

Oh, Lord
. She smiled encouragement. "What did you think the horses were saying, Donal?"

"They told me that he makes them go too fast on the roads, because it's too bumpy and hard here, not like where they come from." A flicker of mischievous spirit danced in his eyes. "I had to show him that I could talk to the horses, so I asked them to dance for me."

Eden
remembered the rearing and head-tossing. "You… wouldn't let the groom catch them."

He shook his head. "The first horse wanted to run away. Then the second horse told the first one that he shouldn't think bad things about their master, but the first horse said that the man wasn't so much better than they were. The marquess chases fillies all the time, and sometimes he takes off his boots and stockings and picks between his toes, like he has thrush. Then I told the marquess what they said."

Eden
was speechless. For a moment she didn't even question that the horses had, in fact, said what Donal claimed.

That was madness. But she had witnessed it all with her own eyes. Evidently Francis had believed it. How else to explain his look of horror and his hasty escape?

"What did the marquess say to you then, Donal?"

"Nothing.
He was afraid. He just ran away."

Eden
drew him close again. "Why did you do all this? Is it because you don't like the marquess?"

His body stiffened. "He doesn't like Hartley. Hartley said…"

"What did Hartley say?"

But Donal shut his mouth and would not answer. She didn't compel him. Altogether, the implications of what he had said were more than enough to worry her. She had been through this before. Either he was a master, at five years old, of entirely credible lies, or he was capable of something no child should be.

No
human
child.

"It will soon be time for dinner," she said with as much authority as she could muster. "Go to your room, and please remain there until Mrs. Byrne brings up your meal. Will you do as I ask this time?"

With a look of relief, Donal nodded.

She cupped his cheek in her hand. "We will talk more of this later, but I think both of us have had enough excitement for one day. Off with you."

He ran a few steps, paused, and looked back over his shoulder. A pair of turtledoves circled down out of the sky. One made a perfect landing on Donal's thatch of brown hair and balanced with a flap of its pale wings. Its mate settled at
Eden's feet and bobbed a bow.

Eden
looked from the bird to Donal. "Did you…" The question lodged in her throat. Donal gently removed his dove from its perch and cradled it between his hands. He held its darting head close to his.

"I promise," he said, and cast the bird skyward.
Eden's dove followed, its wings nearly brushing her face.

Donal smiled at
Eden and continued for the house as if nothing had happened.

With the feeling of walking on quicksand, literally and metaphorically,
Eden made her way back into the house and to her room. She sat down at her dressing table and stared into the mirror.

She wasn't sure she recognized the face she saw. The younger
Eden had witnessed the incredible and fled from it, refusing to accept its reality. That girl no longer existed. And yet only a few months ago, at the stables with Hartley, she had dismissed Donal's supernatural claims as childish fancies.

Could the woman she'd become face the possibility that the incredible might be a permanent part of her life… and of Donal's?

And what of the marquess and those like him?
She had seen Francis's reaction to her son. If Donal could speak to horses and call birds from the sky, would his choice be to hide such gifts, or hide himself?

Can you ask your son to be what he is not? Are you not already doing
so ?

Unable to compass the enormity of such prospects,
Eden's mind sought less oppressive worries. It struck her as odd that Claudia had not come to demand the reason for Francis's early departure. Donal's puzzling comment came back to her: "
Aunt Claudia forgot about me. Mrs. Byrne let me out
."

Claudia had made clear that she thought Donal should not be introduced to the marquess until some indefinite time in the future, presumably when he had committed himself to marrying
Eden. Had Claudia deliberately tried to prevent the meeting?

Is it possible that we have grown so far apart, dear Aunt
? If Mrs. Byrne had let Donal out of the nursery, then she could provide answers.

Mrs. Byrne wasn't in her sitting room, but Hester directed
Eden to the stables.
Eden knew that the housekeeper and Hartley were friendly, but an inexplicable conviction came over her that far more was going on at Hartsmere than she comprehended.

Mrs. Byrne sat on a three-legged stool in the tack room, and Hartley leaned against a stall with his arms folded across his chest. He was looking toward the door when
Eden entered.

The housekeeper stood and acknowledged
Eden with an air of wary expectation, as if she anticipated the questions to come.

"Mrs. Byrne, I wish to speak to you."
Eden looked toward Hartley, meaning only to steal a quick glance. But he trapped her with his eyes, and they were full of the same promises and questions they had held at the party.

Her mouth went dry. "Mrs. Byrne—"

The housekeeper followed her outside the stable. The very openness of the yard made it as discreet a place as any for
Eden's questions.

"Is it true," she asked, "that Donal was locked in the nursery?"

"Aye, your ladyship."
Mrs. Byrne pressed her lips together.
" 'Twas
Lady Claudia who asked me to watch over him there."

"And was this shortly before Lord Rushborough's arrival?"

"Aye.
But the lad insisted that he was to see you, and… pray forgive me, your ladyship, but I thought I should let him go to you."