What a Lady Craves (20 page)

Henrietta’s expression hardened to wood. “And Francesca isn’t? Besides, Helena hardly has her mother any longer.”

“No.”

What else could he do but agree to that statement? Not when any justification he could come up with was poor at best. He really had no excuse, and he didn’t wish to admit he’d never felt a true paternal connection to Helena. She’d come along at a time when he was adjusting to so many other changes—marriage to the wrong woman, the death of a close friend, the knowledge that he’d put Henrietta truly beyond his reach—and he hardly knew what to do with a newborn, other than allow the nurse to take care of matters. And really, what else did anyone expect of him? Still, a prickle of shame that Henrietta found him lacking heated the back of his neck.

“She needs you now more than ever,” she went on. “You really must find a way to show her you care for her. I believe they wouldn’t squabble so much if you learned to treat them with equanimity.”

“Equanimity?” He attempted to put her off with a grin. Anything to lighten the mood. “What is this, a game of seeing who can use the most fifty-pence words?”

“This is no joking matter.” She laid a hand on his arm, and he wondered if she even realized. God only knew he did.

“If you paid Helena a bit more attention,” Henrietta went on, “she wouldn’t have to
compete for it. She wouldn’t have to find other ways to prod her sister, to make herself feel better. They might actually get along.”

“Get along? They’re sisters.” As he replied, he kept his watch on both girls and his tone low and even. No sense in attracting their notice with tense voices. Not if he wanted to put an end to this discussion, by God.

He’d hoped the courtyard would give the girls a much-needed breath of cool summer air and sunshine while he talked to Henrietta privately. This way, at least, they ran no risk of Lady Epperley surprising them alone. The harridan would no doubt produce her special license and demand he marry Henrietta on the spot.

A wail from the opposite end of the enclosure grabbed his attention. Several more kittens had materialized, all flocking about Francesca. She pulled the creatures into her lap and dangled a piece of grass in front of them.

Henrietta nudged him. “Here’s your chance to smooth things over.”

Part of him wanted to react the same way Helena did—by poking out his lower lip and fussing. But the rest of him knew Henrietta was right, even if he hadn’t the slightest clue how to handle the situation. Damn it all, but he had no experience in these matters. He trudged in the girls’ direction, as reluctant as a schoolboy faced with the promise of a solid caning.

Helena raised her gaze as he approached, and her spine stiffened. Her expression solidified to wood the same way Henrietta’s did at the mention of the girls’ mother. Blast it, if Henrietta wasn’t right. Helena had certainly detected his favoritism. Even now she expected him to rule in Francesca’s favor.

“What seems to be the matter?” He was careful to address his question to Helena.

She turned her head to one side and regarded him through narrow eyes. That look sliced through to the quick. The deuce take it, a five-year-old should never have to view the world with such suspicion.

“Francesca has all the kittens,” she replied tremulously.

“Indeed she does, but perhaps she’d be willing to lend you one or two.”

“I didn’t take them, Papa,” Francesca protested. “They came to see me because they like me better.”

In spite of himself, he glanced over his shoulder at Henrietta. She held back, observing from the opposite end of the courtyard. He could almost feel the force of her gaze piercing through him, just as cutting as any look Helena turned on him. Just as focused, just as precise, just as perceptive, as if she saw directly into his soul. The same Henrietta he knew from before
he went to India, but the years of their separation had honed her. Pain and experience had sharpened her senses.

She gave him a slight nod.
Go on. Finish it.

“I don’t think they’ve had a chance to make Helena’s acquaintance.” He hadn’t the vaguest idea where this inspiration came from, but as long as it was there, he’d snatch it up. “I’m sure they’ll like her once they’ve got a chance to know her, as well. Why don’t we see?”

He reached for a ball of gray fluff, half expecting Francesca to complain, but the girl lifted a shoulder and went on playing with the three remaining kittens in her lap. He placed the animal in Helena’s hand. She put out a tentative finger and stroked the kitten’s head. Ever cautious, as if she expected someone to swoop down and whisk the cat away at any moment.

“I’d wager these are Albemarle’s descendants,” he said.

“That’s silly,” Francesca chirped. “Albemarle’s a boy. Lady Epperley says so.”

“Lady Epperley calls Henrietta George.” Helena continued to run her finger through fluffy gray fur, while the kitten purred. “That’s a boy’s name. Maybe she doesn’t know the difference.”

Alexander tamped down a bark of laughter. “One does have to wonder sometimes. But perhaps, when we leave here, she’ll let you each have a kitten of your own, and you can call it whatever you like.”

Francesca scooped up one of the balls of fur in her lap. “I want this one.”

“Not so fast. I believe it’s Helena’s turn to choose first. Another time it will be yours.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed on Francesca’s kitten. Uncanny, that expression. It bode nothing good, as Alexander knew from hard experience. He’d seen the look often enough on Marianne’s father’s face, and that man had guarded his own as fiercely as any mastiff.

Before her sister could claim the animal, Francesca clutched the kitten to her chest and let out a wail. “She already has
that
one.”

“Papa,” Helena said evenly, “you said I could choose first.”

Not good. Not good at all. What he wouldn’t do for an easier problem, like sorting out Lindenhurst and Battencliffe’s differences, whatever those were. “That I did, but—”

“I want
that
one.”

“No,” Francesca moaned. “This one is mine.”

“I’m afraid that one is spoken for already.” Thank God Henrietta had crossed the courtyard and seen fit to step in. Heaven only knew he’d never find a solution.

“That isn’t fair,” Francesca argued. “Helena can’t have this one.”

“No, she cannot,” Henrietta agreed. “That one is George. Lady Epperley promised him to me. You may have your pick of any of the others, but only once Helena has chosen first. Now, both of you, run along and make your choices, but if you quarrel, we’ll just have to leave the kittens here. You must show you’re grown up enough to take on such a responsibility.”

The girls stared at each other mutely, while Alexander fought to maintain a sober mien. If he laughed, his daughters would never learn to take him seriously.

Helena considered the kitten she held in her hand. “I suppose I like this one well enough.”

“Oh, what will you name it?” Francesca asked.

At a pointed glance from Henrietta, Alexander eased away from the girls. When they stood at a safe distance, he held her gaze. “Thank you. Where have you learned to deal with children that way?”

You need her.
The thought punched him in the gut with all the force of the truth, hard as any blow life had dealt him. His lungs cried for air. Henrietta wouldn’t solve all his problems, but she’d take the matter of the children into her capable hands, leaving him free to work out his financial difficulties. As to that, her very presence anchored him in a way he hadn’t felt in eight years. Not since he’d embarked for India. He may well need her, but convincing her to remain with him and his daughters was simply impossible. Impossible, entirely his fault, and far too dangerous to consider.

She shrugged and looked away, one hand clenched about the opposite arm. “It’s common sense, nothing more. They’ll vex each other on purpose, as long as they perceive you care more about one than the other.”

“I do n—” he began, but the protest was weak.

She turned to him. “I know you love your girls, but you clearly love one of them more. I only ask that you be aware of it. You’ve made a start now with Helena. If you can head off the worst of the squabbles, when they’re older they might just be happier with each other. They might help each other out in society.”

“What are you talking about, help each other out?”

She heaved a sigh. “You have never had to negotiate society’s maze as a young lady. It’s full of pitfalls. But if you have a sister or a good friend, she can help you avoid the worst obstacles. Surely your own sisters must have helped each other.”

“Not that I was aware.” But perhaps he should have been. He’d navigated his own form of social maze at school—but then, he’d made friends there to help him find the center. In India,
he’d been out of his depth as well, until Harry and Marianne’s father had taken him in hand. A foot wrong there could kill a man. He’d witnessed as much.

“No, I don’t suppose men are aware of such things. Don’t you see? Men are allowed so much more latitude. They must maintain reputations, of course, but it’s not the same thing. They are expected to gain so much more experience of the world. This is even seen as desirable. While girls must be guarded at all cost and kept in ignorance and naivety. Perhaps if we allowed them a bit more latitude in that regard, rather than shut them away …”

“Latitude? Good God, what have you been—” He would have pushed forward, but a movement at the edge of his field of vision stopped him.

Hirsch hovered in the doorway leading back into the house. “Sir, you have a visitor.”

Thank the heavens. Anything to remove him from this situation. The last thing he wanted to discuss with Henrietta was the moral standard to which both sexes were held.

And what if his visitor was Battencliffe? If Alexander could get at the root of the falling out between his old friends, he might feel like he was accomplishing something at last. “Show him out here.”

“Would you like me to occupy the girls?” Henrietta asked in a tone that told him their current conversation was merely set aside for now. But if she could untangle his daughters’ affairs in the meantime, he’d be grateful. More than that, he’d owe her.

He waved a hand toward the far end of the courtyard where the babies frolicked. “If you would.”

She fixed him with a stare that penetrated straight into his brain and out the other side. “At some point, you’re going to have to learn to deal with them directly.”

“Isn’t that what governesses are for?” And mothers. Fathers were meant to dole out adequate sums of money when required, but for that matter, Alexander was short on blunt.

“You’re not going to have me much longer.” Her eyes sparked with the striking cleverness that had so captivated him eight years ago. Once more, that particular beauty of her speared him through.

“Wait.” He reached for her hand. “You will make some lucky man a wonderful wife someday.”

She opened her mouth, no doubt to argue the point, but he squeezed his fingers about her knuckles. Thankfully, she did not try to pull away. “I know, you’re still thinking. I can’t help but wish it could be me.”

Her eyelids shielded suddenly bright eyes, and a pang of regret tolled in his chest. What
they might have had together.

“Come along, girls.” Her voice was thick. Avoiding his gaze, she held out her hands to his daughters and led them toward the house.

The thought of an impending separation settled uncomfortably beneath his heart and dulled its beat.

“Sparks … I should say, my lord.” Henrietta’s embarrassed stammer pulled Alexander from his thoughts. What the devil was Sparks doing here in place of his brother, Battencliffe?

True to form, the Earl of Sparkmore barely reacted to Henrietta’s slip, but then he barely reacted to much of anything. Slow and steady as any tortoise, he inclined his head before plodding in Alexander’s direction, each measured step falling with a heavy thump on the paved garden path.

Rather than wait half the afternoon, Alexander strode to meet him. “My lord, to what do I owe this honor?”

“I have come from my brother’s.” Like his footfalls, each of Sparks’s words were measured, enunciated with precision.

“I might have guessed as much. I don’t suppose he gave you a reason for not answering my summons personally.”

Sparks blinked like a man who had just emerged from too many hours spent in his wine cellar. “Oh, it was pure chance I happened to be with him when he received your note. I won’t repeat his exact words. Suffice it to say, he’ll pay you a visit when Lucifer can sustain an ice house.”

“Did he send you to deliver that message?”

Again that slow blink. If anything, Battencliffe had sent his brother purely for the annoyance factor. “Of course not. Thought I’d come to see you myself since you’ve returned. You must have an interesting tale or two you can recount over a bottle of brandy.”

“I’ll tell you of India if you tell me what’s happened between your brother and Lindenhurst.” A prospect that might well require more than one bottle—which was just as well, since Alexander’s throat was suddenly parched.

Henrietta entered the library to find Alexander seated with his back to the door, staring out the window, his fingers curled about a glass of brandy. The empty carafe at his elbow indicated he was not nursing his first drink.

“Are the girls with you?” he asked without turning around.

She stared at the back of his head, not that her glower did her much good. “If you’d turn about like a proper gentleman, you’d see they are not.”

He remained in place, but his knuckles whitened on the glass. “Who is watching them?”

“They’re perfectly fine up in the nursery with Satya.” She had little choice there, after all, and Alexander did trust the man. “I only thought to find a book to read to them.” Determined to ignore his foul mood, she turned back to the shelves to peruse the titles. “Do you think they’d like
Robinson Crusoe
?”

“Don’t you think that strikes too close to home with the shipwreck and all?”

He had a point there, but she’d never mentioned the shipwreck to them. “Do they know anything of it?”