What a Lady Craves (9 page)

Alexander strode toward the foyer, a smile broadening across his face. “Why didn’t you say so? Where are they, then?”

A squeal echoed through the corridor, followed by a pattering of feet across the parquet. Another voice, this one far more subdued but just as girlish, joined the first.

The wrinkles about Lady Epperley’s lips deepened into a frown. “Children,” she muttered, as she stood. “The last thing Albemarle needs around here is children touching everything with their grubby hands, making noise, and tripping everyone up with their running about. Humph.”

She shuffled through the door, leaving Henrietta to trudge in the old lady’s wake. She didn’t particularly want to see the laughing evidence of Alexander’s marriage. Not one child, but two, both of an age to run and ask for their papa. She tamped down a mental image of the older one, born, to Henrietta’s mind, alarmingly soon after the wedding. True, everyone said it was normal for the firstborn to come quickly, while the second nearly always took nine months, but Henrietta wasn’t sure she believed that.

She held back in the passage, hardly daring to look. Part of her, though, burned with curiosity. Would they both resemble their father, or would one of them look like her mother? And that was truly the question plaguing Henrietta’s mind—had Alexander’s wife been so overwhelmingly beautiful that he just couldn’t help himself? Had he felt compelled to seduce the woman and seal his fate? Henrietta had to know, the same way that as a child she could never resist probing the sore gum with her tongue whenever she lost a tooth.

Alexander knelt on the floor hugging two giggling moppets close. Sturdy arms and legs poked from beneath skirts and out of sleeves as one of the girls attempted to scale her papa like a mountain. He winced. The child must have prodded his injured ribs.

“I was ever so scared,” said the older one, suddenly serious. A cap covered her hair, but it looked to be dark, as were her eyes. “The ship rocked something awful.”

“But you came through all right, didn’t you?” he replied.

“Why, Papa?” the younger one asked. “Why couldn’t we all go on the same ship?”

He pushed a mop of blond ringlets beneath her cap. “Because I had two ships, and there were better cabins on yours.”

“I wish I could have gone with you.”

“No matter. You’re here now, and I’m
very
glad we’re together again.”

Henrietta’s breath caught at what he’d left unsaid—surely he was thankful those girls had been on the stronger ship. They’d have been lost in the wreck.

“Come and meet your aunt,” Alexander said.

Both girls stepped back, their eyes round, as they looked over a scowling Lady Epperley. The smaller one’s lower lip began to tremble.

“I am not their aunt,” Lady Epperley pronounced. “I am not even your aunt,” she added to Alexander.

Alexander gave her a hard look. “I know that, but it’s simpler.”

“I am their great-grandaunt, and they may call me such. Now, where are they staying?”

“For the moment, they have little choice but to stay with me,” Alexander said, “but if you will not welcome them here, I shall be obliged to find other lodgings.”

Behind her back, Henrietta crossed her fingers in hopes that Lady Epperley’s antipathy toward children would carry the day.

“You are in no condition to find other lodgings.” Damn it if Lady Epperley didn’t nod in Henrietta’s direction with that pronouncement. “You will stay right where you are. Hirsch, send a maid or two to make up the beds in the nursery. That will keep them out of Albemarle’s way. Have you a nanny to take them in hand?”

“I do not. Until recently enough, they had their mother.”

“Good heavens. Who saw to their well-being on the voyage, since you did not go with them?”

“A missionary family returning to England booked passage with us and agreed to see to their welfare. In fact, where are they?” He looked from one girl to the other. “Who brought you here? Where are the Turners?”

“Mrs. Turner sent us on with a servant,” said the older daughter.

“So they remained in Falmouth?” Alexander asked carefully.

The child nodded in reply.

The younger one tugged at Alexander’s sleeve, and pushed herself up on her toes to whisper something in his ear. “No, you don’t have to go back to the Turners, dear.”

The girl gave him a fleeting smile before darting a glance at Lady Epperley and resuming her study of the patterned parquet, hands demurely folded.

“Well, you cannot expect me to amuse them. I’m simply not equipped for such.” Lady Epperley peered about the room, as if entertainment for two young girls might magically present itself. Unfortunately, her gaze came to rest on Henrietta. “Ah, George. The very thing.”

No. No, she couldn’t possibly …

Henrietta returned her employer’s stare. “My lady, I haven’t the slightest idea what to do
with young children.”

Lord, the irony. Only yesterday, she’d stolen off and purchased a newspaper from Tilly. Among its pages, she’d discovered an advertisement. Viscount Lindenhurst was seeking a governess. She’d written the notion off until she became truly desperate.

“You cannot expect Albemarle to take them on or me to do it at my age.” Lady Epperley grasped at her bodice for emphasis. “It’s very easy. You keep them quiet and out from underfoot. And you’re perfectly situated. Your bedchamber is right next to the nursery. No, my mind is made up. You will take these girls in hand. Make sure you keep them away from Albemarle. I will not have him disturbed.”

Lady Epperley sailed off before Henrietta had a chance to object. Alexander stepped forward, one arm outstretched. Thank goodness, he pulled it back before he laid it on her.

“Satya can look after them. You needn’t concern yourself—” He broke off as the younger girl tugged once more at his coat. “What is it?”

“Is her name really George?”

“Of course it isn’t. It’s Henrietta.”

“Then why did that lady call her George?”

Henrietta couldn’t resist a smile. She crouched until she was at the girl’s level. “Because she’s old and a little odd.”

“She’s mean.”

“She only wants you to think that.” Henrietta worked to keep the cheer in her voice. Her throat was still oddly tight, and she couldn’t chase a certain echo from her mind.
These could have been your girls.
“She likes putting people off their guard. What do you want to wager, the next time you see her, she’ll offer you jam tarts and tea?”

The girl blinked at her, as if she couldn’t imagine anything more outlandish. “Is she your aunt, too?”

“No, she’s my employer. She hired me to be her companion and keep her entertained. Perhaps she scared off all her friends,” Henrietta couldn’t resist adding. “Now, what do you suppose you tell me your name, since you know mine?”

“It’s Francesca.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Francesca.” Henrietta turned to the sister. “And what’s your name?”

The dark-haired girl regarded her soberly. “Helena.”

“And how old are you?” Henrietta couldn’t resist asking. Best to confirm her suspicions
now.

“I’m six.”

“You are not,” Francesca chimed in. “You’re still five.”

Helena scowled at her sister. “I’m
almost
six.”

Almost six. And hadn’t it been about six years ago that Henrietta began hearing the rumors of Alexander’s sudden marriage? Given the time required for the news to cross the ocean, her suspicion that the wedding had been hasty stood on a firmer base.

With a grin, Francesca swung her arms. “Then I’m almost four.”

“Wonderful.” Henrietta intervened before an outright quarrel could break out. “And now that we’ve been properly introduced, perhaps you can tell me what you like to do.”

The rasp of a throat clearing caused her to look up. Alexander. She’d almost forgotten he was there. And she wasn’t quite sure she liked the way he was watching her. In his gaze mingled assessment, amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite identify but which warmed her through. For some reason, her mind fled back to the kiss they’d shared in the upstairs corridor—right outside the nursery. Right where she’d have to take these girls before too long and settle them in.

She shook her head. His girls needed a mother. If she wasn’t careful—if she did her job too well—he might just become more persistent in his pursuit.

“For someone who hasn’t the slightest idea what to do with young children, you’re swimming along rather nicely,” he said.

“Good heavens.” She forced her smile a notch broader. “This kind of thing doesn’t take any effort.”

“Keep on as you are, and you’ll be just fine.”

God willing, this job would remain temporary. On the other hand, Mary Wollstonecraft had worked as a governess, and she’d even managed to inspire her charges. Right. Henrietta could take these girls in hand and start them on a proper education, one that involved improving their minds rather than stuffing their heads with embroidery and hair ribbons, dancing lessons and future husbands. And if their father disagreed with such instruction, so much the better. He could find someone else to look after his daughters.

“Will you really let us drink tea?” Helena asked. Her eyes were wide and brown and serious. “Mama never let us.”

Mama. Someone Henrietta ought to hate for taking Alexander away from her. But these poor dears had lost their mama not too long ago. “The way I see it, there’s tea for grown folks
and tea that’s all right for little folks to taste—with lots of milk. Why don’t we go have a look at the nursery, and see what we can do about trying some? And perhaps later we might take a walk.”

She glanced at Alexander to make sure she had his approval for such an activity, and he gave her a nod. “Why don’t I come with you? I might show you the most fascinating little shop in the village.”

“The village? Are you up to going so far?”

“I believe I’m well enough recovered. And I’ve got some business with Tilly.”

An image of that mysterious box came to mind. She could have shown it to him before now, but he’d distracted her with his proposal, damn him. Drat him, rather. If she must take his children in hand for the foreseeable future, she’d have to be careful and mind her tongue.

Alexander trailed at the back of the group, his daughters in front of Henrietta, skipping down the path to the village. The sun peeked from behind a cloud, painting the pale cotton of their dresses in brighter hues. Thank the heavens, his daughters were safe.

The wind off the water carried the joyous sound of girlish chatter on the salty air, and his heart lightened to see them so carefree, and once again childlike. Months and miles may have accumulated since Marianne’s death, but at times, he’d wondered if the girls would ever smile again, let alone giggle. Neither had ever known English soil, but the change would be good. This place held no memories for them.

Henrietta glanced over her shoulder, her face shaded by a straw hat attached with long, pink ribbons that floated on the breeze. Making sure he was still following, rather than stumbling into insensibility, if he didn’t miss his guess. He wasn’t about to brighten her day by blacking out again. Not a hint of dizziness this time. Only the aches and twinges in his ribs when he tried to inhale too deeply.

He nodded to her, allowing his lips to stretch into a smile. Her hat hid her expression, but the stiffness about her shoulders told him all he needed to know. Under that broad straw brim, she was glaring at him.

Still prickly, still cold. Not that he could blame her; not that he could make up for what he’d done to her heart. The botched proposal certainly hadn’t helped. Heat crept up the back of his neck. Yes, and he ought to feel ashamed of kissing her, as well. He was an idiot for giving in to the temptation she still posed in spite of the intervening years—in spite of the woman he’d married instead.

Henrietta enticed him, as much as she did at eighteen. Her vivid intelligence brightened the pale blue of her eyes and enhanced even features. Hidden beneath an unadorned gown fit for a paid companion, her trim body intrigued. He’d dreamed of a chance to drink in her lithe figure unhampered by clothes. He wanted her naked to his gaze and touch. He wanted to know every last one of her secrets. No other woman he’d ever known could compare.

A clever man would recover his cargo, settle accounts with the captain of his second ship, take his girls, and be gone from her life. He’d be doubly careful about paying visits to his aunt. Given his aunt’s reaction to his daughters, he didn’t imagine she’d want to see him too often—at least not until his girls had turned into proper young ladies who would take tea with an old
woman and tell her the latest gossip.

He’d search out a wife, or at least a governess to give them a proper education.

Christ almighty. The last thing he wanted was another entanglement with a woman. Alexander’s first two experiences were more than enough to make him think and think again when it came to courting a third. Especially when his ideal wife strode down the path ahead of him, chattering with his daughters. He could already imagine them as a family, the one he should have had from the beginning.

A clever man would no doubt accept Henrietta’s rejection. A clever man would leave well enough alone. A clever man would chance the hopeful young misses in London next season.

Clearly, Alexander was not that man. Not when his heart strained toward the scene in front of him. He’d have to try again and not be such an idiot about it next time. He’d won Henrietta’s heart once. The kiss they’d shared had been a powerful reminder of how they’d nearly made it to the altar the first time. If he could stir those memories along with her feelings, he might have a chance.

If not, perhaps he could enlist his mother and sisters for a job he’d no idea how to take on properly. After all, in a very real sense, Mama, Cecelia, and Jane owed him. He’d sacrificed Henrietta for them. Not that he could ever express that thought aloud, but he had denied his tender feelings and gone to India to make his fortune and save them from poverty.

No, that was disingenuous of him. He’d have lacked the funds to keep Henrietta properly if he had laid duty aside and married her in spite of everything. His father had ruined him along with the rest of them. Henrietta would only have come to resent him in the long run.