When they had reached a grassy area away from the house, she handed him a pair of wooden rods. “Now, here’s what you do. You use the sticks to catch and toss the hoop. The catching bit is easy enough, but the tossing part takes a little practice. You cross the sticks like the letter X and pull them apart quickly so the hoop takes flight. Like this.”
She placed the hoop on the end of her pair of sticks and demonstrated the motion. The wooden circle sailed through the air to land on the grass several feet away.
“If we stand far enough apart, we can toss the ring back and forth. You have to watch it as it flies through the air so you can anticipate where it will fall. Once you get under it, you can hold your sticks up to catch it, and then you’ll be ready to toss it back. Would you like to try?”
Jeremy didn’t look quite convinced, but still he nodded. Thank goodness. If he stuck to this activity with the same assiduity with which he’d applied himself to writing his name, he might overcome some of his clumsiness. Eventually, he might learn to walk without falling so often.
She retrieved the hoop and placed it on his set of sticks. “Let’s try just tossing it for now.” She put her hands over his to show him the proper motion. Beneath her palms, his wrists trembled, the same as when she first set a pen in his fingers. “When you make up your mind to go, you have to pull cleanly and crisply. If you hesitate, it won’t work, and your hoop won’t fly. Ready? Go.”
In a deft movement, she uncrossed the sticks along with him. The hoop sailed through the air and fell to the grass. “Very good. Do you want to try it by yourself now?”
At his nod, she retrieved the hoop and stood facing him. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Face scrunched in concentration, he jerked his hands, and the ring flopped to the ground at his feet.
“That was a good try. You may need to practice a bit.”
He reached for the hoop and tried again to a similar result. The next several attempts showed little improvement, and soon Cecelia found herself straining to maintain a cheerful demeanor. He could learn this, she told herself. He’d learned to write his name. It just might take him a little longer to master the movement.
The next try produced a pitiful result.
“I can’t do this,” he wailed.
“Of course you can,” she countered. “Remember how you had to work at signing the letter to Miss Crump? But you kept at it until you got it right. This is the same. You just need to prove to yourself you can do it.”
Another effort and another, and as the attempts piled up, his expression darkened.
“Would you like me to show you again?” Cecelia asked in desperation.
“No.”
Wonderful, he’d regressed to monosyllables. Never a good sign, that. Before long, he’d be off in his own little world with his tin soldiers. “Why don’t I take a turn, then? I’ll toss and you try to catch.”
But that proved just as disastrous. Jeremy concentrated. His gaze followed the flight of the hoop through the air, but the moment he took a step to get under it, he fell flat on his stomach.
Drat it all, couldn’t something go right? Cecelia had held out such hope that this activity would be within his grasp and it might teach him some grace. She didn’t want to end on a failure, either, because he might never wish to try again.
“What are you doing?” chirped a voice.
Cecelia turned to find a familiar-looking little girl watching them from the path. “Emmy, good heavens. What are you doing here?”
“I came up with me dad.”
Thank goodness, at least one of the adults responsible for her was aware she’d come all the way to the manor. But still, what a long walk for her little legs. “I’m glad no one will be worried about you when you turn up missing.”
But Emmy was far too interested in their activity. She ran and picked up the hoop.
“Can I try?”
Cecelia hesitated. While a partner his own age might encourage Jeremy, he could give up altogether if Emmy proved proficient at the game without putting in any effort. “I suppose you can at that. Here’s how you do it.” She demonstrated the movement. Emmy watched, her brow furrowed. “Do you want to have a go?”
Emmy took the rods. “Yes.”
Cecelia set the hoop on her sticks. With a quick movement of her hands, Emmy pulled the sticks apart. The hoop sailed a foot or two before it landed on the grass, the attempt better than Jeremy’s efforts, but still nothing close to expert. Or catchable.
“Why don’t you try it again?” Jeremy suggested.
Cecelia smiled. “You’re being a proper gentleman.” At the very least she could encourage his manners and sportsmanship.
Emmy tried again, but the result wasn’t much better. “This is hard,” she proclaimed.
“Yes, it is,” Jeremy agreed.
Cecelia’s heart felt light as a balloon. If another child agreed the activity was difficult, perhaps Jeremy wouldn’t feel so bad about his lack of success. “Shall I show you again?”
Wordlessly, Emmy handed her the sticks, and Cecelia demonstrated.
“Did it take ye an awful long time to learn?” Emmy asked when the hoop soared through the air to land several yards behind Jeremy. He’d been so transfixed by its flight that he forgot to try to catch the ring.
Cecelia smiled. “I honestly cannot recall. I was probably no bigger than you when I first played this game.”
Jeremy retrieved the hoop. “It’s my turn now.”
This time, the hoop flew in Cecelia’s direction, a credible effort, indeed. She lunged and caught it on the very end of her sticks. “Well done, Jeremy.”
Emmy clapped her hands and bounded on the spot. “Good fer ye!”
Cecelia sent the hoop back in Jeremy’s direction. He stretched to catch it and missed, but at least he didn’t fall this time or even trip. Perhaps, just perhaps, the activity might prove beneficial. She handed the sticks to Emmy. “It’s too bad we don’t have an extra set, or we could all play. I’m afraid I’ll have to give up my place.”
She settled in the grass, her skirts billowed about her, while the two tried to send the hoop back and forth. They missed more often than not, and when they succeeded, it was most likely an accident, but at least they were having fun. They giggled and shouted and ran, and while Jeremy tripped a few times, he didn’t fall once.
In fact, a new note infused his childish laughter, one Cecelia hadn’t heard from him as yet. He’s happy. The thought struck her from nowhere, and she knew it to be true. Stronger than that was the realization that such moments were rare for him. And no wonder. Stuck up in the nursery most days, a string of governesses force-feeding him lessons without taking the time to understand him. A distant father. The desire to run and play beyond his physical capabilities.
Perhaps whatever ate inside him, whatever gave rise to that expression of pure hunger she’d noted on his face, would be appeased for the moment. She could hope. And she could plan. As soon as she had a moment, she would contact Henrietta and see about Alexander’s daughters paying Jeremy a visit.
A sense of accomplishment filled Cecelia. She might well be guessing what the role of governess required, yet she was improving her charge. Granted, it wasn’t any academic achievement, but perhaps Jeremy wouldn’t be such an embarrassment to Lind if she could teach him to move with some semblance of grace. After all, when he was older he’d be expected to attend balls, where he’d have to dance without tripping over his own feet.
“Emmy,” she called after the children had played a while, and the game had devolved into downright silliness, “won’t your papa be looking for you to go back home?”
Emmy looked over, her laughter fading. Her cheeks reddened. “He don’t know I came up here.”
“Emmy.” Cecelia did her best to control her tone, a difficult prospect when her heart had leapt into her throat. Good Lord, the last thing she needed was another accusation of being responsible for a child’s disappearance. “That is not what you
told me.”
“I said I came up here with him. I didn’t say he knew I came.”
Drat, drat, and drat. Cecelia took a breath before replying. “I think we’d best see you home, then, before your mama misses you.”
“I was hoping I’d get a ride on your pony.”
“My pony? I don’t have a pony,” Cecelia said.
“No, but he does.” She pointed to Jeremy. “That’s what me dad came up here for. His lordship bought you a pony, and Regan asked Dad to come up to put shoes on it.”
Cecelia jumped to her feet. “With any luck, your papa isn’t finished the job yet, and he can take you home before anyone gets to worrying.”
“I want to see my pony,” Jeremy said.
“I think it might be more important to make certain Emmy gets home,” Cecelia said. “After that, we can take a look at your pony.” And why hadn’t Lind thought to mention such a purchase?
She took the girl by the hand, and grasped Jeremy with the other. He came along without complaint since he wasn’t being singled out for such treatment. His palm pressed against hers, and she noted the ever-present tremor. He transferred it to her along with the trust that she’d keep him in balance. She must not let him fall.
But when they arrived in the stable yard, all was quiet. The horses stood in their stalls chomping hay. In one box at the end, a small gray with a white blaze down its nose regarded them with enormous liquid eyes. If it had recently acquired new shoes, the job was now complete.
“It looks like your papa’s finished his job and gone home,” she said to Emmy. “We’ll have to walk.”
“That’s all right.” The girl’s face brightened. “I know a shortcut. It’s not so far.”
Cecelia hesitated before agreeing. She was familiar enough with the lay of the land to understand what Emmy meant by a shortcut—the path through the copse that led to the pond. Even if Lind didn’t have his reasons for avoiding that spot, he couldn’t have ridden that way. Not when he’d allowed it to become clogged with underbrush and low-hanging branches.
But she also knew Jeremy’s legs would never carry him so far if they took the long way around. And he’d have to return to the manor under his own power, as well. She could leave him behind, of course, but a glance at his face told her he’d not stand for that. The boy was happy, blast it all, a state he rarely knew. Governess or no, she didn’t have the heart to spoil that for him, and the deuce take Lind’s dictates.
“All right, then, Emmy. Show me your shortcut.”
Chapter Thirteen
At the top of the rise, Lind reined in Judas and allowed the horse a moment to breathe. Their gallop had been invigorating, but he also knew better than to overdo it, both for his mount’s sake and his own. As he’d hoped, the air and exercise did him good, but no horse had the stamina required for Lind to outrun his demons. Or thoughts of Miss Sanford, for that matter. They might well have been one and the same.
From the hilltop, his lands spread before him. In the distance, his manor stood on another crest, its terraces broadening out to fields and parkland. To the left, a stand of oaks surrounded the pond. Suppressing a shudder, he moved his gaze quickly past to alight on his tenants’ dwellings. A couple of abandoned cottages stood apart, but most of them huddled in a cluster.
The Powells’ stood in its midst. From the outbuilding that housed the forge, a plume of smoke wafted lazily from a redbrick chimney. The blacksmith must be back, which meant the boy’s pony had been delivered and shod, just as he’d asked. An indulgence, perhaps, but Miss Sanford had a point where it came to starting the boy’s practical education early. After all, if he was clumsy on his feet, how clouded might his mind be? None of the other governesses had made any headway with him, and how difficult was it to teach a child something as simple as letters?
Your fault.
That voice. It sounded much like his memory of his wife and caused a shiver to creep down his spine. He pushed it away, but its far-off echo continued to taunt him. He stared at the sky for a moment, hoping to erase the image that had just entered his brain. Indelible, and if he was going to sleep at all tonight, he’d need an entire bottle of brandy to help him along.
Only alcohol in sufficient quantities was enough to blur the sight of Lydia, lying flat on her belly on the frozen pond, both arms in icy water as she reached…reached…reached, but it wasn’t enough. The woman in his mind inched forward, plunging her arms to the shoulder. Great white clouds emerged from her nose to mingle in the frigid air. Icy droplets clung to the fringe of hair just visible beneath her bonnet.
Another inch. A crack. Too late, he called a warning. The ice beneath her gave way, and she disappeared with a splash…
Cursing, he spurred Judas down the slope, but he could not outrun the torturous conjuring of his imagination. He’d stood by powerless, his goddamned leg refusing to support his weight. The feeling of utter uselessness had only increased once the doctor came. The boy would be fortunate to come out of his faint. His mother only sickened from her chill to slip away from him days later.
“Argghhh!” The wind tore his wordless cry from his lungs, but the echo of the anguish behind it pounded in his ears, his pulse, his entire being.
Judas galloped fast for a hedge. Too late to turn. Muscles throbbing a protest, Lind gritted his teeth, leaned forward, and took the jump. On the other side, a spear of pain pierced his thigh. He reined his horse and rubbed, but the stabbing only increased.
Damn, damn, and damn. He’d have to take the rest of the ride home at a walk. But whatever he suffered, it was nothing to what he’d put Lydia through. And perhaps he deserved every last jab as a reminder.
He skirted the edge of the Powells’ fields, making for the path that wound its sinuous way up the terraces to his house, where a bottle and oblivion of a sort awaited. More than awaited, it called to him like a damned siren.
If he were to tempt fate and take the path that led past the pond, he’d arrive all the faster. But no, Judas would never make it through. He’d deliberately allowed that area to become choked with weeds, and demanded the deadfall from the trees remain where it fell. The sooner nature reclaimed that path, the better. He’d not take it again.
A shout on the wind made him look up. Three figures appeared from the trees at the far end of the field, at the very spot where the path emerged, if his recollection was correct. A female led two children by the hand. A very familiar-looking female, making hard for Powells’. That had to be the young girl with them, but for the life of him Lind couldn’t fathom how she’d managed to make her way up to the manor so that Cecelia would have to bring her home.
Damn Miss Sanford, could she not remember a simple order? And why in God’s name was she taking the boy on such a long walk? With his graceless lack of coordination, she’d exhaust him before they made it back home. And they would have to go back the way they came.
With his leg plaguing him, he could not afford to take the boy up in the saddle, and he most definitely could not play the gentleman and offer his mount to Miss Sanford. Not that she deserved a single bit of consideration now that she’d countermanded his orders. No, if he was going to show her anything it would be her walking papers.
Still, he sat in the saddle and watched them, reins slack. Judas dipped his head and tore at the grass growing at the edge of the path, but Lind ignored the beast. His gaze fixed on Miss Sanford, the smile evident on her face, even from this distance and despite the shade cast by her bonnet.
The trio approached the house, and Mrs. Powell emerged. With a grin, Cecelia sent the little girl on her way, before bending down to say something to Jeremy. Then they turned to retrace their steps.
Lind narrowed his eyes. He took up the reins once more and nudged Judas into an amble, keeping enough distance from Cecelia that she wouldn’t note her shadow.
At the same time, he questioned his wisdom. He ought to turn around and beat her home. He ought to confront her for disobeying his precise orders. He ought to to
ss her out on her shapely little arse. But damn it all, she was good at what she did, proper training or no. And she could keep the boy out of his hair. And if he did send her packing, he’d have to start all over again with a new governess.
The idea settled onto his shoulders like an insupportable weight. If he pretended to know nothing of her adventure today, he might legitimately keep her on. None of which had anything to do with his damnable attraction to her.
In fact, there was another point in favor of getting rid of her. If she ended up in his bed, that would turn into a complication he did not need. And she seemed awfully determined to find her way into his bed. At the same time, he was having a devil of a time resisting her charms.
I would never turn you away, indeed.
The last thing he needed was another female in his life after he’d bungled things so badly with the first one. The pain was simply not worth it. Besides, Cecelia was too bright, too full of life to sully herself with someone as dark as him. Whatever she believed, she could do so much better for herself.
And that was yet another point in favor of sending her away. If he turned her back over to her brother, Alexander would make sure she found a suitable husband. One who would come to adore her and give her children to dote on. Since, quite apparently, she had a singular talent in that direction.
He reined Judas in, intending to turn and take the bridle path back to the manor. Or better yet, he could meet her at the outlet on the other side of the copse, where he’d already confronted her once. The obstacles on the path around the pond would hold them up, as would Jeremy’s tendency to fall. He’d have time to catch them if only his leg would cooperate and allow him to tolerate a trot.
But a movement to his left caused him to rein in yet again. He squinted into the bushes. A man hunkered amid the branches. Quite clearly Lind was not the only one tracking Miss Sanford’s progress.
What a Lady Demands Page 13
