That’s what Wycliff should do, care for his heir.
His faith, that all would work out for the better, was still inside. His hope was deeply rooted, just like his need for revenge.
Both halves of Wycliff had to win.
…
I kept my lips firmly positioned in a frozen smile and hoped it wouldn’t melt and expose me in Mama’s parlor. In my hands, I held a beautiful piece of parchment wrapped with a ruby-red tie.
Clancy removed his silver tray on which he’d carried Mr. Marks’s note. Perhaps the butler thought that the parchment bound in ribbon deserved an honorable way to be delivered.
But this note was from Mr. Marks.
It meant no visit, no tea with him today.
It saddened me, but I only half-expected him to show. The first time I’d received a letter with fancy ribbon, I’d felt so special. This prestigious man I’d been corresponding with through the London Morning Post had taken the time to bind his letters to me. I didn’t realize that all his legal briefs were sealed in this manner. It was convenient for him to do so.
Mr. Marks’s letters talked of his passions for the law and his need of a marital partnership to support it. Having spent the past week with Lord Wycliff, I realized the difference between attentiveness and tolerance.
How had I set my hopes so low?
When had I decided I didn’t need attentiveness?
Mama set down her knitting. The pale-blue booties she was making for Mrs. Johnson’s baby-to-come were almost complete. “How’s Mr. Marks today? Will he be running a little late?”
“He’s fine.” The words left my throat, easy and sweet. I hid the disappointment stewing in my stomach. “He apologized for missing church Sunday.”
“He’s a hard-working man.” Mama unrolled her knitting wool. Her voice was very even. She should be disappointed from all the work she and Mrs. Fitterwall had done to prepare teacakes and biscuits for my tea.
I tweaked my spectacles and took a closer look at Mama. The woman didn’t have on a mobcap. In fact, her typical walking gown was replaced with a resplendent burgundy carriage gown. “Mama, are you going to visit Mrs. Carter? Is her gout still bothering her?”
“Not today. But I may later in the week.”
That was too succinct of an answer. Mama wasn’t one to run on, but she seemed to be turning and looking at the clock on the mantle. “You look very pretty today, Ruth. Emerald green suits you.”
I had dressed with a little flair. I wanted Mr. Marks to notice me. I liked the color, liked the way the gown nipped at my waist, the fullness at my hips. Yes, I’d dressed for him and for me.
Well, this would be the perfect clothing for knitting. “Thank you, Mama.”
“Will Mr. Marks be here soon?”
My gaze dropped to the note in my lap. Having to say no thawed my frozen smile. “No tea today.”
“You were going to be in the formal dining room with him?”
The surprise in my mother’s voice shook the confidence I had, my resolve in accepting Marks’s absence. “I’ll make great progress on my knitting.”
“If you accept him, how much of your life will be spent waiting?”
“I don’t know.” I held my breath for a moment. “I think that this is not going to work.”
One. Two. Three. I waited, counting the seconds before she admonished me for being foolish, of losing this respectable man.
But she said nothing.
She looked over her shoulder toward the clock.
“Mama, do you have anything to say?”
Head down, her tidy gray locks looking shiny and satiny, Mama looped woolen yarn about her needles. “Read your letter. You must know where you stand.”
I made up fanciful reasons in my head—A burning building, a lost orphan, ten other widows in dire straits. I pulled at the ribbon and unfolded the letter. “Books. He has to study case law. He thinks he may show next week, definitely next week.”
“Will he show up for his own wedding day?”
Ah, the tigress did have an opinion. She’d approved of the barrister at Yuletide, but was she like Papa, rooting for the baron now?
Ester barreled into the parlor, her hands full of charcoals. “Did I leave my sketchbook in here? Ruth, I thought you’d be upstairs having tea with the handsome barrister.”
“No. Not today. Something has come up for him.” Again.
My sister offered me a small smile and patted me on the shoulder. “He’s a busy man. You see how long Bex’s days are.”
But her man always came home to her and acted as if he hated to be parted from her. I was happy for my sister, truly happy. I merely wondered if I’d ever be as fortunate. When would my Job’s luck turn good?
Maybe it had started to change, but I’d let my fears chase Wycliff away. He’d said to write to him. Maybe I should.
“Why don’t you and Ruth enjoy the tea upstairs?” Mama said. “I can—
“What is he doing here?” Ester bolted to the window. “Why?”
“He who?” My heart beat hard. Mr. Marks had changed his mind. “My barrister? What a lovely surprise.”
“No, it’s Wycliff, and he’s carrying a bouquet of daisies. Did you invite him, Ruth? I thought you banished him.”
Chucking Marks’s note on the table, I craned my neck to see what Ester saw, but these old lenses showed nothing but blurs. “I didn’t invite him.”
Mama rose from her chair and balled up her project. She jabbed her needles deep inside the wool. “I accepted his invitation. He’s here for me and Christopher.”
Ester and I weren’t twins. A few years separated us, as did our differences in height and Shakespeare and knitting, but we looked at each other with identical mouths, wide-open Os.
Clancy announced the baron and led him into the parlor.
I fiddled with my spectacles to get a good look at him.
He made a slight nod in my direction but went straight to Mama.
She held her hand out to the exquisite man.
Buff breeches, a chocolate-brown coat, and ebony-colored waistcoat embroidered with indigo stars—why did he have to look so well and be here, when all I had was a note?
“Mrs. Bexeley, Mrs. Wilky.” He bowed to us but then turned again to my mother. “These are for you, Mrs. Croome. Are you and my little cousin ready?”
“Yes, Mrs. Fitterwall is getting Christopher dressed. He’s been jumping up and down all morning since I told him.”
“Come, Ester, help me catch our little frog.”
Ester’s head swiveled between Mama’s and mine. The girl lifted her hands to send me some sort of signal, but everyone did as Mama wanted. Ester followed Mama, almost dragging from the room.
The baron and I were alone.
I counted to three, pinned a smile to my lips. “I thought we had an understanding, Lord Wycliff.”
He flopped into Mama’s chair. “Yes. You made it clear that you want nothing romantic between us.”
I tucked away a confession of thinking of sending for Wycliff. “Then why are you here?”
“I promised the boy to teach him the proper way to chase frogs. I keep my promises.”
“You said that to cheer him up from his fright.”
“No. I said it because I meant it. That boy bears Adam’s name. He’s my heir until I marry and am fortunate to be blessed with a son.”
A son? I hadn’t thought of that.
“I’ve publicly declared that you are Adam’s widow. There are expectations that come with that responsibility. I’m not ignorant of this. Nor do I take the responsibility lightly.”
I hadn’t thought of that, either. “Oh.”
“And until the other half of the registry is found, I should act in a manner that supports our claims. I am tending to my heir, Adam’s son.”
I rubbed my temples. I’d completely missed these notions. My cheeks flushed with shame. I should not have discounted Wycliff’s commitment to my son.
Mama returned w
ith Christopher dressed in a hat and green pinafore that almost matched my dress.
Lord Wycliff bowed to the boy. “Are you ready to go, young man?”
“Gama says you and my daddy were friends.”
Big tall Wycliff bent down to the child’s level. “Yes. The best of friends. It’s a pleasure to know his son.”
He picked up the boy and set him on his shoulder, then stood.
Christopher whooped and held on to the man’s ears.
“Hold on, little fellow.” He held out his arm. “Mrs. Croome, are you ready?”
“Lord Wycliff, I’m afraid I must cancel. Mrs. Carter’s in a bad way. Her gout is acting up. I suppose we must delay. I’m so sorry to have gotten you all the way out here for nothing.”
He frowned for a moment, even biting that maddening lip. “Christopher and I could go on our own, ma’am. Right, young fellow?”
“No. You can’t.” My voice was loud and showed all my fears. “You can’t take Chris.”
“Ahh, Ma, no.” Christopher kicked his legs out. “I want to go.”
My mother looked my way, but she needn’t have had that pleading look.
I launched from the sofa. “My plans have been cancelled for the day. I can go, if you must go today.”
The look on Wycliff’s face wasn’t one of a man triumphant in accomplishing a goal. His eyes were penitent, the dark-gray, almost-black irises. They searched for answers I couldn’t offer. “I suppose it best for Christopher to accompany me with a chaperone. I’m but a stranger to him. Master Wilky, is it fine for your mother to take Mrs. Croome’s place?”
“Mama. Mama. Yes. She should go.”
“You are right, Master Christopher. Your mother does needs to come.” He held out his arm to me. “Mrs. Croome, I won’t have these two out too late.”
“I’m sure you’ll take good care of them. Ruth, I’ll give your best to Mrs. Carter.”
Wycliff may not have been up to something, but the catbird look on Mama meant she surely was. She seemed happy that I was going with him.
We strolled into the hall, and I picked up the wide-brimmed bonnet that I’d set on the entry table.
“Mama, you going to chase frogs, too?”
I looked at my son and the man bent on entertaining him. “No, girls don’t chase frogs. They kiss them and make them into princes.”
“That’s disgusting.” Chris covered his cheeks.
Wycliff laughed, a good hearty one with his raspy throat. “I suppose it is, son. I suppose it is.”
I stopped on the steps as they kept moving. I had to catch my breath. My head echoed the word, son. It was louder than the usual roaring in my ears.
Son.
It was just a label often tossed about to young men, but hearing Wycliff say it to Chris touched something deep inside.
The baron marched back up the steps. He put Chris in my arms, then as he’d done before, he put his arm about me and led me down the steps. The pace was slow. We took them together, one by one.
I closed my eyes and leaned into him. I peeked every few steps and was strengthened by the joy on my boy’s face.
Wycliff settled me into the carriage. He sat me on one side while he and Chris shared the other. He took a frog puppet and put it in my son’s hands.
My sweet boy jumped up and down. He leaped at Wycliff and hugged his neck like the man was a horse.
I saw Wycliff wince even as he hugged my baby. I wanted to know what was wrong, but I was so happy to see my boy being loved that I buttoned my lips. I didn’t want to say anything wrong and ruin the moment.
I closed my eyes. I thought hard about breaking off with the barrister. Was a cousin spending time with my son a balance for an absent stepfather? I’d have to figure things out soon before Chris became too attached, for I had an offer from a man not here but had turned down marriage from the gentleman holding my hand.
Chapter Nineteen
Frog-Hunting Friends
Wycliff didn’t know what to make of his fortune. Ruth and Christopher were spending the day with him. As much as he loved a plan that ensured things worked in his favor, this was unexpected.
And dangerous.
An active young boy who could run off and a woman who could become unsettled in open spaces were a great deal of work. He’d have to be sharp and lucky.
He gulped deep and hard when he saw Lawden drive off with the carriage.
What could go wrong? His brainbox pictured disaster, like fishing Christopher out of the Thames, frightening the little boy’s panicked mother to death.
With Christopher in one arm, he shrouded Ruth with his other and kept her moving to the pavement leading to the dory boats.
She stopped at the steps. At the water’s current height, Ruth only needed to come down two steps to enter into the dory.
“Wycliff, I’ve never done this before.”
The low voice didn’t sound frightened, but she wasn’t moving, either.
Over her shoulder, he studied the scene. Placid waters. A tiny flat-bottom dory bobbing in the ripples of the breeze. The man he’d hired was at the helm. Another couple, a young man and his sweetheart, were seated on the far bench.
“Ready, Mrs. Wilky? My little cousin is very ready.”
Christopher squirmed and wiggled like he’d jump into the boat.
Ruth seemed composed, staring straight ahead. “Settle down, Chris.”
“He’s just excited. I am, too. This isn’t a frigate or my father’s fishing boat. It’s a first for me.”
That drew a hint of a smile.
It was unexpected to see her happy at such a small truth.
The wonderful lift of her lips made his pulse tick up, becoming expectant.
Goodness.
He shouldn’t be so aware of her—her breathing, the slight turn of her chin, the rub of her sleeve against his chest when she straightened Christopher’s pinafore.
With a shake of his head, he moved around her and hefted Chris then flopped an elbow in front of her. “Mrs. Wilky, you will love sailing or hate it, but I am prepared to sacrifice my arm for you.”
“Even after what I said to you in Papa’s study?”
“Especially after that.” He offered her a wink then moved into the dory and set Christopher on an empty seat. “Don’t move or we’ll never have adventures. Never, ever.”
The squirming boy grabbed the seat, his fingers fisting and clutching the wood.
Wycliff kept switching his gaze from Christopher to Ruth to their surroundings. He reached out to her. “Come on, Mrs. Wilky. Your son needs you.”
She half reached for his hand, but he stretched, caught her fingers, and drew her forward. She only had one step to go.
He made himself dizzy, looking back at the boy, forward to Ruth, and everywhere else in general. “Come a little more. Then I’ll have you.”
She leaned a little, and he seized her about the waist. Drawing her near, he stepped back to Chris’s seat.
The woman was still, but not shaking, then she put an arm about his neck.
Pleasure and pain.
The feel of her was sweet, but his neck was always raw.
“You smell good, Ruth.”
“Mama always good. More adventures, cousin?”
“Master Wilky, you did a good job. Now we must keep your mother warm. Sit on the floor and hold her legs.
“No. No one holds me down. Sit on my lap.”
Her son climbed up, and she buried her face in his hair.
Everyone was in place and safe. Relieved, Wycliff may have slumped against her. He definitely sighed and breathed in a mouthful of rose-scented air and creamy neck. Too cozy, he straightened. “Thank you for being a good sport, Ruth.”
“I didn’t expect adventure, Wycliff.”
“I didn’t expect you.”
Her brown eyes sparkled, giving light to his soul, hope to his black heart.
“You seem flustered, my lord.”
“I am. I thought Mrs. Croome
and Christopher were to be my guests.”
“Maybe the master planner needs spontaneity.”
“Perhaps. Was Mrs. Johnson at Nineteen Fournier?”
“No, she wasn’t. Why do you ask? You’re moving on to married women?”
There was only one married woman he was interested in. “No. She made some interesting statements last time we met.”
“Did she gossip about me? Did you set her right? She needs to hear the truth.”
“She’s concerned about her husband’s business. My dealings are intricate. I will protect the Croomes, but no one else. I don’t talk about my business with anyone, but I wanted you to know. Let her not press you because of me.”
“Why? You don’t think I can withstand?”
“The diamonds found about the Silk Road in India are hard and shiny, but men find ways to break them. You’re a diamond of the first water. You need never to be bothered by anyone or any circumstance. I’ll see to that.”
She put Chris into his arms and leaned into Wycliff.
His attention shifted to the lad. He was so curious, pointing at everything. How much of his world had been limited because he had no father to love on him as Wycliff had?
“Why couldn’t we simply take your carriage to Vauxhall, Lord Wycliff? I don’t think I understand why you chose to be out on the water. It’s so open, so vast.”
Her voice was light, a mere whisper.
“You need to be distracted.” He took her hand and threaded his fingers with hers. “Lawden will take the carriage by the Vauxhall bridge. I assumed with the sun so pretty and bright, Christopher would enjoy sailing. I heard that your mother used to enjoy taking to the waters. This was a treat for them.”
“People are staring, my lord. So many rumors can be started about us.”
“Our boat mates, those people behind us? They are looking at me, dearest, wondering how I could be so fortunate.”
“That’s not it. They want to know who we are, and why we are so intimate.”
He looked over his shoulder again, then smoothed her back. “They think we should be intimate? It’s a bit much to take orders from strangers, but it’s advice I’ll consider.”
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