by S. G. Rogers
“Would you like your tea now, sir?”
“No, thank you, I’m not hungry. Has the lad settled in?”
“I believe he’s having tea with Mrs. King in her sitting room.”
His footsteps slowed. “Perhaps I’ll look in on them.”
He made his way to Larken’s side of the house. As he neared the open door of her sitting room, he heard his name mentioned.
“Do you think Mr. King is handsome?” Myles asked.
Somewhat keen to hear the answer, Brandon paused.
“No. Quite the contrary,” Larken said.
Brandon frowned and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Well…that’s not strictly fair,” she said. “I haven’t had a terribly good look at him.”
“I don’t like his whiskers,” Myles said. “They make him look like a bad man.”
Taken aback, Brandon lifted his hand to his chin and smoothed his beard.
“I’m sure Mr. King’s not a bad man. After all, if he traveled all the way to America to fetch you, he must have a great deal of good in him. Nevertheless, if I could be married to anyone in the world, I think it would be Lord Apollo. He’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.”
At that, Brandon was bewildered. Lord Apollo? Of whom was Larken speaking?
“Is the man in that painting really named Lord Apollo?”
“I’ve no idea what his name is, but the painting reminds me of an actor I met once. Apollo was the Greek god of light and the sun, by the way.”
“Did you paint him?”
“Oh, no. I found the painting in the attic and brought it down here to keep me company.”
“Attics are scary places.”
“Do you think so? I’ve spent loads of time exploring the attic since I arrived. Would you like to see it tomorrow?”
“Only if you come with me.”
“Naturally.”
Brandon’s curiosity finally got the better of him. He sauntered into the sitting room, amused at the look of alarm on Larken’s face. It seemed obvious she was wondering if he’d overheard any part of their conversation.
“Hello, Mr. King,” she managed. “Will you join us?”
“For a little while.”
He sat down underneath the dangling top hat, and for some reason Myles burst out laughing so hard and so long the boy had to hold his ribs. Mystified, Brandon raised his eyebrows at Larken, whose lips were quivering with amusement as well.
“Will someone let me in on the joke?” he asked.
“It’s just that, well, you’re sitting in Lord Topper’s lap,” she said.
“What?”
Another round of hysterical laughter from Myles.
“I’m sorry,” Brandon said. “Can you explain?”
“That’s Lord Topper you’re sitting on.” Myles pointed to Brandon’s chair, and then went around the table pointing at different chairs. That’s Lady Peabody. That’s Miss Josie.” He pointed toward the mantle. “And that’s Lord Apollo.”
Brandon’s eyes widened as he regarded the painting, and it took him a moment to find his tongue. “What a handsome devil! I didn’t realize we had any Greek gods in our family tree.”
“As you see, there’s no name plate. We were hoping you might be able to tell us who he was,” Larken said.
A shrug. “Lord Apollo seems as good a name as any.” He stood and changed his seat for the undecorated chair next to Myles. “Am I safe here?”
The boy nodded, his eyes sparkling with merriment. “I sat on Lord Topper’s lap too when I first came in.”
“The gentleman has had a very taxing evening, then. May I ask how we’ve come to have so many illustrious guests at tea?”
“They’re Larken’s pretend friends,” Myles said. “Now they’re mine, too.”
“Really? How extraordinary.” Brandon’s gaze shifted to Larken, who busied herself with the teapot.
“I invented them as a game to pass the time,” she murmured. “I tend to be whimsical.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention a whimsical nature on your application.”
“Why would I?” Her intelligent blue eyes gave him a level stare. “That wasn’t part of your criteria.”
It took a moment for him to realize the girl was reproaching him. Unsure how to respond, he decided to retreat.
“You’re right, it wasn’t.” Brandon smiled to cover his irritation. “Enjoy your tea party.”
Exasperated, he went for a long walk on the grounds of his estate. Larken had no right to chide him for anything, but he shouldn’t have visited her sitting room in the first place. His presence must have given the girl some ridiculous notion he was interested in her opinion one way or the other. Her sole purpose at Graceling Hall was to tend to the lad, as she’d been made aware. Fortunately, she seemed capable of drawing Myles out in a way that had eluded him. The boy hadn’t laughed during the voyage or even cracked a smile—not that Brandon had really expected it of him so soon after losing his mother. It had been surprisingly good to see the child enjoying himself so thoroughly. Whimsical or not, Larken was exactly what Myles needed, so he had no wish to deal harshly with her. Of course, he had no wish to deal with her at all.
After breakfast the following morning, Larken led Myles to the attic. He was taken aback by the sheer number of boxes.
“How do you find anything up here?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“It’s not easy.” She pointed toward the numerous paintings leaning against the wall. “That’s where I discovered Lord Apollo. Perhaps you’d like to choose a painting for your room?”
“Do you mean so I can have a pretend friend of my own?”
“Exactly. Look, here’s a painting of your guardian and his brother.” She showed him the portrait. “Theo and Brandon King. I don’t know which is which.”
“Neither one looks like Mr. King.”
“True.” She laughed. “It’s difficult to imagine Mr. King was ever a little boy.”
Myles returned to sorting through paintings, and a few minutes later he let out a triumphant chortle. “Here she is!”
“Who?”
He held up a portrait of a young woman with glossy black hair and a perfect oval face. “This is Mama.”
Larken could see the resemblance between Myles and the woman right away, but she was confused. How did his mother’s portrait end up in Mr. King’s attic?
“She’s extremely beautiful,” she said. “What was her name?”
“Mariah Pettigrew.”
Mrs. Mason appeared at the top of the attic stairs. “Excuse me, Mrs. King, but the young master is wanted in the stables. Mr. King wishes to teach him to ride.”
With an excited whoop, Myles jumped up and down.
Larken laughed. “Go on then, and I’ll bring your mother’s portrait to your room.”
The boy raced down the stairs with Mrs. Mason following in close pursuit. Larken picked up Mariah’s painting and examined it more closely. The woman had been a rare beauty. It would not be difficult to imagine she and Mr. King had been more than good friends—perhaps lovers. Maybe Mariah had been shipped off to America when it became clear she was about to embarrass him with a child. Why wouldn’t Mr. King marry her, especially if she was to produce his heir? It was too monstrous to contemplate. Clearly, he’s devoid of emotion and that’s why he has no interest in a real marriage. Was some pang of remorse responsible for the man finally bringing Myles into his home?
Her head spun as she realized she might never know the answers to what had transpired so many years previous. Furthermore, the true character of the man she’d married would always be obscure. Thank heavens she and her husband were to live separate lives and she’d never grow to care for him. Any woman unfortunate enough to fall in love with Mr. King was destined for heartbreak.
From atop his horse, Brandon smiled at the boy and pony trotting alongside. Two weeks had gone by since he’d returned from America with Myles, and the child was settling
into a routine. Although he hadn’t originally intended to involve himself in the boy’s life, he’d decided to teach him to ride at least. To Brandon’s surprise, he’d begun to look forward to their morning rides. Many years had passed during which he’d not taken pleasure in much of anything. Perhaps he wasn’t as comfortable with habitual solitude as he once was.
Myles had a look of concentration atop his mount, and Brandon decided a little praise was in order. “You’re doing well.”
He was rewarded with a grin. “Mama always said I should learn to ride.”
“As a gentleman, you’ll learn much more than riding. You’ll have a tutor before long, and then you’ll go off to school for a classical education that includes fencing with swords.”
“Swords! Do you know how to use a sword?”
“I was a champion fencer in college. When you’re old enough, I’ll be able to begin your instruction.”
“I’d like that.” He paused. “I’m learning my letters. Larken reads to me every night.”
“That’s good. Do you enjoy her company?”
“Oh, yes! She’s an orphan, like me. Her parents were killed in a train accident where everybody else died except her. She said the newspaper called her the Miracle Orphan.”
“The Miracle Orphan?” A vague recollection surfaced. “I-I didn’t know that was Larken.”
“She has nightmares about it, I think. I can hear her cry out in the middle of the night.”
Brandon frowned. He’d vowed not to think about Larken at all, and knowing as little as possible about her background was helpful in that regard. Unwittingly, Myles had just transformed her from a distant stranger into a human being with sentiments and emotions. He’d done his best to eradicate his own feelings, and didn’t need anyone making him feel anything again. He shook off the sudden burst of empathy and turned his attention back to the lad. Myles’ expression had turned cloudy.
“Are you tired? We can turn around if you wish,” Brandon asked.
“No, I’m not tired. It’s just…I said something mean to Larken when I first met her, and I wish I could take it back. Have you ever done anything like that?”
“Yes, unfortunately. I spoke in anger to someone I cared about very much once, and that person went away forever. Sometimes you can never take it back.” He glanced at Myles. “I’m sure in your case, however, it’s not that serious. What did you say?”
“I told Larken she wasn’t as pretty as Mama, but I was just angry. I think she looks like a fairy-tale princess.”
“Does she? I hadn’t noticed.”
“May I buy her some splendid new dresses? All her gowns are quite worn and don’t suit her at all.”
“You’re very kind-hearted, Myles, but there’s no need. I’ll make sure she has a few new things.”
After their ride, Brandon sent Myles up to his playroom while he went for a walk in the garden. He happened upon one of the maids singing as she filled a trug basket on the ground with roses. Her clear, lovely soprano rang out like a crystal bell, and he paused to listen. Moments later, however, she noticed his presence and broke off as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. Her gold braid fell forward when she bent to pick up the trug, and he realized he’d mistaken Larken for a servant once again.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “You don’t have to stop because of me.”
“Thank you, but I was finished.” She turned away.
“Wait.”
Although Larken hesitated, she didn’t meet his gaze. Her profile had a beautiful symmetry, but as Myles had pointed out, her appearance was indeed poorly served by her plain dress. In addition, her wedding ring was missing.
“I beg your pardon, but where is your ring?” he asked.
Her color rose. “When I’m gardening, I leave it on my vanity table.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “It’s been two months since you arrived at Graceling Hall, and you haven’t bought any frocks. You do realize I’ve given you a generous allowance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Look, we’re legally married, so let’s dispense with all that nonsense. Call me Brandon.”
“Yes, sir.”
He bit back a sigh. “You should buy new clothes. There’s a carriage at your disposal, so go into Newcastle and visit a shop or two. Buy a whole new wardrobe while you’re at it—I don’t care what it costs.”
She edged away. “Thank you.”
“Stop running off! I’m trying to talk with you.”
“I’m sorry.”
He cleared his throat. “I believe I should have treated you more kindly when we first met. It was an ungentlemanly way to behave, and I regret it.”
Although her expression changed, she said nothing. To his horror, he saw tears welling up in her eyes. Blazes! A slight panic made him gruff.
“You may go now.”
Perversely, she stayed put, seemingly struggling to speak.
“You’ve something to say?” he asked.
“Yes. Your apology is commendable, but unnecessary. Although it’s true I was hurt by your cold manner at the time, I’ve come to realize no true cordiality is required in our arrangement. Some conversation regarding Myles is to be expected from time to time, but otherwise it’s best we remain strangers, I think.”
Larken dropped into a perfunctory curtsy and then hastened toward the house. As he watched her leave, Brandon was stunned. She’d shown neither malice nor spite when she characterized their marriage exactly the way he’d laid it out from the beginning, so why was he so taken aback? Perhaps he was startled because when she’d voiced the relationship he’d devised, it had sounded quite stark and ugly. He stroked the whiskers on his chin. Maybe Myles thought his beard made him look like a bad man because he’d actually turned into one.
A few changes were in order.
As she arranged the flowers in a vase, Larken was annoyed by the emotion constricting her throat. She shouldn’t have been so undone by a simple apology. It was good Mr. King—Brandon—had said it, but his words couldn’t take away the pain of her wedding day. In truth, she wished he hadn’t offered an apology at all. Since the man had possibly been despicable in his dealings with Mariah Pettigrew, it would be easier to dislike him if he remained distant and cold. Furthermore, once again he’d seen her in a ghastly old dress and with her hair down to boot! She’d thought he and Myles were out riding and so had slipped into the garden without pinning it up. Obviously, she’d have to be more vigilant with her hair, lest Mr. King get the wrong impression about her morals. Suddenly, she laughed. The idea of protecting her virtue from a man who was her husband was completely absurd, but then so was her marriage.
She brought the vase of flowers up to her room and set it on the nightstand. Eighteen perfect red blooms to celebrate all the years behind her, and one white rose to celebrate the day of her birth. Her parents had always given her a party and presents on her birthday, but she’d not had anyone to care about it in years. Certainly her husband didn’t, although Mrs. Howley had said her birthday had been a required bit of information on the application. Either Mr. King hadn’t bothered to check, or it didn’t signify anything to him one way or another.
As was her annual ritual, Larken lit a candle and then blew it out. She used to make a wish on the candle, but stopped when they never came true.
“Happy nineteenth birthday, Larken. Many happy returns.”
With a sigh, she left her room and went downstairs in search of Nell, who was mending an apron in the staff dining room.
“Mr. King has requested I purchase some new clothes,” Larken said. “I know this sounds odd, but I’ve no idea where to go or even what to buy. My foster mother always gave me my clothes and I never had any choice.”
“Don’t fret. Let me get permission from Mrs. Mason to accompany you to the toon tomorrow.”
“Toon?”
“That’s what we Geordies call Newcastle around here. Anyway, I know a shop on Grainger Street where you
can get everything you need. It’s not a fancy London boutique, of course, but it does cater to the carriage trade.”
Relief flowed through her veins. “Thank you, Nell. I’m grateful for your help.”
At dinner, Larken told Myles she was to drive into town the following day to purchase clothes. He beamed with pleasure.
“I asked Mr. King if you could have some new dresses and he said you could.”
“So I have you to thank? That’s so lovely, Myles.”
His expression turned shy. “I think you’re pretty. If you wore prettier clothes, maybe Mr. King would like you better.”
“You ought not worry. I can assure you, he and I are both content with our relationship exactly how it is.”
“I don’t think so.”
A stern glance. “Please don’t matchmake, Myles. Lord Apollo wouldn’t approve of your interference.”
“Lord Apollo is just a pretend friend, but maybe Mr. King could make your bad dreams better.”
Larken was taken aback. “How do you know about my nightmares?”
“You cry out.”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I’ll move into one of the rooms down the hall right away so you don’t hear me. You need to sleep undisturbed if you’re to grow properly.”
Myles ate quietly for a few minutes before he stole another glance in her direction.
“What does it mean to be born on the wrong side of the blanket?”
Her eyes widened. “Why do you ask?”
“After my mother died, Great-Aunt Daisy said I was born on the wrong side of the blanket. She wouldn’t tell me what she meant, but it didn’t sound very nice.”
“I don’t…” Larken trailed off. She hated to lie, but she didn’t know exactly how to explain illegitimacy to a five-year-old child. A surge of anger toward Brandon ensued, but she tried to keep her countenance. For any man to put a child in such a difficult position was reprehensible.
“I-I can’t imagine why your aunt would have said that. Whichever way you were born was absolutely perfect as far as I’m concerned.”
