“Take your leave politely,” she reminded them when it seemed both boys would dash off.
They bowed, said their “good afternoons,” and then turned and ran for the stairs.
She nearly called after them to correct their speed, but she caught the earl staring at her and closed her mouth over the admonition.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said instead. “You’ve made them friends again.”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and folded his arms across his chest. “As I said, I have a younger brother. Marcus and I were nearly always in argument over something, but my father made us work together to solve our problems. He offered up the same solution, the same glue, when I hurt my brother’s favorite toy boat. We’re both lucky I remembered the occasion.”
“Yes, we are.” Virginia remained grateful, but had to ask, “What brought you into the hall, my lord?”
He looked from her to the parlor door and back again. “I thought to offer my assistance is all. I understood the situation before you left the room.” He cleared his throat and adjusted the cuffs of his coat. “Would you care to rejoin the others, my lady?” He offered his arm.
Virginia considered his escort, hesitating. But why? It was a considerate gesture. Normally even small altercations between the children drained her of late. Each argument, each childish hurt, chipped away at her self-possession. But today, with this man’s assistance, she did not feel the need to collect herself before facing the others.
“Yes, thank you.” She took his arm. He led her back into the parlor, releasing her after a few steps inside, and she retook her seat.
“Is everything all right, Virginia?” Christine asked, her eyes darting from the earl to her cousin. Her smile, Virginia thought, was uncertain.
Hastening to reassure them, Virginia began relating the story of the broken horse and the earl’s gallant offer of glue. Mrs. Gilbert praised his quick thinking.
“It was nothing, ma’am,” he insisted, taking up his cup. “I am happy to be of service in any way I can.”
If only all our problems could be solved as easily as applying a little glue. Though Virginia did not voice the thought, when she met Christine’s sympathetic gaze, she knew her cousin was thinking something similar.
Chapter Four
Lucas arrived home after dark, having taken his evening meal with the Gilbert family. He had been grateful for their lack of formality, the warm welcome of Thomas Gilbert’s parents, and the easy conversation to be found at their table. In London, much of his time was divided between the heavy talk of politics or the inane babble of society. Here, in their quiet corner of England, they spoke of apple harvests and spring foals, gardening, the needs of their village. It was also more comfortable to be among people who were not trying to persuade him to their way of thinking on political matters.
He admitted, though only to himself, that he’d enjoyed observing Lady Virginia Macon, Baroness of Heatherton. The woman’s troubles revealed to him, she became an object of interest. In mourning, and experiencing great personal hardship, she still carried herself with all the grace and gentility of a duchess.
In the candlelit dining room, made intimate by the smaller table employed by the Gilberts for family meals, he’d studied her carefully from the corner of his eye. Had he not known of her circumstances, it would’ve been difficult to guess that her mind was not fully engaged in the present. But he saw her gaze turn inward a time or two, watched her smile falter into an uncertain frown. He had seen the weariness in the slight drop of her shoulders before she would remember herself, her posture straightening again.
Did her family at the table see it, too? They must, knowing her situation. But no one spoke of it with him present.
The boys had appeared before the adults had their supper, the two of them showing no evidence of their prior argument. Edward did venture, albeit shyly, to ask when he might expect Lord Calvert to visit the next day.
“First thing after breakfast,” Lucas had promised. It would be an easy thing to send the glue over with a servant, if the Gilberts didn’t have their own, but Lucas meant to be there for the repair of the toy.
Might there be a way he could assist in repairing the family as well?
In the years since his wife’s passing, Lucas had attempted to fill the hole she left in his heart with other things. He discovered, after trial and error, the best way to mute his grief was in helping others. Though he would not discuss it, knowing it would sound trite to people who did not understand, Lucas knew the truth of the matter. When he put aside his personal hurts and instead alleviated the pain of others, his peace returned.
Thomas and Christine Gilbert’s marriage was the latest of his victories. Through his quick-thinking and manuevering of Christine’s father, Mr. Devon, he had made it possible for the young couple to wed.
Congratulating himself on their account, he’d next turned his attention to his younger brother. Marcus had married in order to obtain his inheritance, not realizing the woman he chose loved him deeply.
Marcus had asked him, months ago, if Lucas would ever remarry.
Lying in his bed, alone in the house apart from the servants, Lucas considered the question anew. His younger brother had no wish to be his heir. Marcus was happy to remain a country gentleman and avoid the snares of society and rank, as was his wife.
Sleep eluding him, Lucas rose and pulled on his robe. He lit a candle and left his room, going to the family gallery on the floor above.
He walked with purpose, his thoughts spinning through the memories of the day. Again and again, the image of Lady Heatherton kneeling before her crying son came to his mind. Her blonde hair, piled atop her head in a curling crown, gave her a regal air. Green eyes, a shade reminding him of fields in the summer, had looked by turns uncertain and determined. She was tall, for a woman, but still shorter than himself. The gray of her gown, her fair skin, gave her a rather somber look.
Lucas stopped in the gallery, standing before his wedding portrait. Raising his candle higher, he met the hopeful, happy eyes of the young groom the artist had captured. The man in the painting had the whole of England at his feet and a bright future before him. He did not know that the woman at his side would not be long in the world with him.
Abigail’s beauty could not, Lucas told himself, ever be captured by earthly mediums. When he looked upon her portrait, studying the lines of her figure, he knew there were details his memory must make up for where the artist’s skill had lacked. The laughter in her blue eyes was hinted at, but impossible to truly see. Her light brown hair, strewn with pearls, brushed her shoulders in elegant twists.
The years since her passing had dulled the ache in his heart. Lucas accepted her death, but he missed her companionship still.
I loved her with everything I was, he thought. What would she think of me remarrying?
She would not wish him to be alone forever. He knew that. Had he been the one to go, he would hope for her to find happiness again.
“I don’t think I can love again,” he said aloud, staring up at her oil-painted eyes. “But Lady Heatherton might understand. She lost her husband recently, you know.” He was not really speaking to Abigail so much as thinking out loud. But it helped. When the one person in the world you could confide everything to vanished, it was hard to go back to keeping your own counsel.
He put the candle down on a table, allowing the shadows to conceal most of the painting. Lucas sat down beneath it, on the ground itself. He rested his forearms across his knees, allowing his hands to hang limply.
“She’s in trouble,” he said to the darkness. “And her sons. They are too young to suffer more loss.” He’d been a grown man when his father died, leaving him the title and responsibilities of an earl, and his pain had been acute. How did children cope with such a loss?
“I could help them.”
As he’d helped many people over the years. He’d whispered in the right ears sometimes or boldly extended his protection at o
thers. It had become his habit to save people, to see them happy, to spare them pain.
Why should this case be any different? Assisting the baroness would be practical as well. Someday, he would need an heir. He could give her time to mourn, treat her with all the respect and deference a woman in her position deserved, and someday have a son of his blood to inherit the title.
The baroness’s sons would benefit from a stepfather like him, too. He could see them well trained for their futures, ensuring Edward received an education and entered a profession wherein he would thrive.
If she must marry to keep her sons, why not marry me?
Lucas constructed the plan in his mind, tipping his head back against the wall. The more he thought it through, the more at peace he felt in his decision. He closed his eyes and relaxed, preparing the proposal he would put to Lady Heatherton.
Virginia, he reminded himself. Her Christian name is Virginia.
¤
“My lord? Your lordship?”
The summons drifted through the fog of sleep, startling Lucas awake. He opened his eyes to a blur of shadow and light. He reached up to rub his eyes, disoriented. He tilted his head up and a terrible crack sounded from his neck. He bit back a curse and forced his eyes open again.
Gresham stood over him while Randal looked over the elderly man’s shoulder. “My lord,” the butler said, stooping. “Are you well, sir?”
“Perfectly well.” Lucas glanced about him, realizing he sat on the floor in the gallery. The night’s restlessness came back to him and he groaned. “Fell asleep in the wrong place is all.”
Randal and Gresham exchanged a look before Randal reached down. With his help, Lucas came to his feet and then leaned heavily on the table where his candle had burnt itself out. He chanced a look over his shoulder at his wedding portrait. He sighed and gathered his robe more tightly around him.
Sunlight blazed through the windows across the gallery, giving all his ancestors on the wall a most excellent view of his disarray. He wondered what they would make of him.
“What time is it?” he asked, raising his hand to cover a yawn.
“Half past nine, my lord,” Randal answered, fidgeting with the end of his coat. Lucas recognized the agitated movement. Randal thought something was wrong with him and wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d fixed it.
“We came looking when you did not come for breakfast, my lord.” Gresham fixed him with a sterner expression than most servants would dare. Perhaps he was less patient in his old age.
“Breakfast. Yes.” Lucas’s memories of the night before, of going to the gallery, finally coalesced. He did curse aloud then. “I’ve no time for that. I’m going to be late to an appointment at the Gilbert home.” He strode down the hall, his robe flapping behind him, and didn’t look back until he’d gained the doorway. “Randal, are you coming or shall I shave myself?”
Randal, who remained standing where he had been, started and then came running down the hall to catch up. “Coming, my lord.”
Lucas tried not to laugh at the man’s startled expression and hurried to his room. If they could get the business of shaving and dressing over with quickly, he might make it to the Gilberts’ a quarter after ten. That would still be later than he wished, but he could hardly help it at that point.
A man didn’t present glue and a marriage proposal without being properly shaved and attired, after all.
Randal rushed through his usual ministrations. Lucas never had a reason to find fault with his valet. When he was shaved in record time, he gave the man a tip for his trouble. The glue was sent for from the work shed, then he went to obtain a horse and be on his way.
Lucas rehearsed his decision and its reasoning to himself again.
Lady Virginia Macon needed a husband to save her children from an overzealous uncle. The boys needed a man in their lives to bring them up properly prepared for their futures. He needed, eventually, an heir to his title and estate to spare his younger brother the responsibility. Marrying the baroness would sufficiently fulfill all those needs, and others besides. There would be a Countess of Annesbury again, seeing to his houses and tenants. He knew his estates lacked a woman’s touch. And perhaps, God willing, she would be a good companion for him.
The echoes of an empty Annesbury Hall would not need to be borne again.
Chapter Five
Virginia watched her sons in the garden, amused by their whole-hearted concentration on their current game. They had built up an animal infirmary and gathered several toys to be ill and others to nurse the afflicted. The wooden horse started the patient roster, as it was laid on a sun-warmed brick with a handkerchief to cover its battered body. A soldier was added as doctor, but then more toys filled sick beds. A wooden lion, a clay dog, a paper bird, were all abed with scraps of cloth to keep them from catching a chill. Tin soldiers were the primary nursemaids, but Edward had found a doll in the nursery and set her as head nurse.
Having breakfasted some time before, the boys had thought the earl would show up immediately after they finished their toast.
“But Lord Calvert cannot come until he has finished his own toast, and we know not when that will be,” she had explained. They decided to wait in front of the house, in a small garden.
Virginia accompanied them with a book, though she found it difficult to concentrate on its pages. Her mind remained consumed with the problem at hand. Phillip’s voice, raised fearfully, interrupted her thoughts.
“—not consumption. None of them can have that.”
“But it’s a real sickness,” Edward, innocent and trying to be clever, argued. “We can have a doctor come and—”
“The doctor didn’t save Papa.” Phillip’s young voice, heavy and somber, cut off his brother’s words. Then Phillip turned away from their make-believe hospital, folding his arms. “This is a silly game anyway. I don’t want to play anymore.”
What could she say? As his mother, what could she possibly do to comfort his heart? He missed his father terribly. Phillip’s words touched a tender spot in Edward’s heart, she could see, as her younger son’s face began to screw up, as though he might cry or shout.
“Now then, what have we here?” she asked, keeping her tone bright as she left her bench and came to kneel in the grass. “What a very fine place for creatures in need. Tell me, Edward, what ails the lion? Has he a toothache?”
Edward’s expression changed back to one of easy happiness. “No, Mama. He’s like the lion in the story with the mouse. He has a thorn in his paw.”
“But where is a mouse to help him?” she asked.
Phillip, slumped over and glaring at the grass, said nothing. Edward began to spin a tale of the missing mouse and talked of an expedition being mounted to find him.
“He must remain in hospital until a mouse can be found to do the job,” he said at the finish, nodding emphatically. “But it’s all right. Someone will come save him.” His complete faith in a miraculous rescue, however imaginary, made Virginia smile.
She had given up on expecting someone to save her from her troubles. That very morning, she’d woken with the conviction that she must act. Her heart was torn between two possibilities. She must find someone to marry, preferably a man with enough of his own wealth to leave her sons’ inheritance alone. Or she could flee to the Americas, where the British courts could not touch her. But that scheme was fraught with its own danger and more unknowns than she cared to think upon.
Either decision required a great deal of study and fortitude on her part.
The sound of hoof beats on gravel brought the boys’ attention to the road. Virginia turned to see the arrival of the Earl of Annesbury atop a large chestnut horse. He waved when Phillip leaped to his feet.
“He came, he came,” Phillip shouted happily.
“Hooray!” Edward jumped up and down, throwing his little fist in the air.
The earl dismounted and gave the animal a pat. A groom appeared from the side of the house, where he must’ve be
en stationed to wait upon the earl’s horse.
“That is a hero’s welcome, if ever I heard one,” Lord Calvert said, his words laced with good humor. He thanked the groom for taking his horse and came to the boys, a drawstring bag in his hand. “And what is all this?”
“We made an animal hospital,” Edward answered.
Phillip went to the horse’s brick-bed and pulled back the handkerchief. “But the only one really injured is the horse.”
Virginia watched, surprised, as the earl lowered himself to the ground between the boys, studying the horse carefully.
“Mm. I see. Just as it was yesterday.” He glanced up at her and winked, which made her smile. His consideration to her sons, his willingness to enter into their game, gave her reason to be kindly disposed to him. “I have just what the poor fellow needs.”
“The glue?” Phillip asked, his eyes dropping to the bag in the earl’s hands. “Will it work?”
“It should. But we must make doubly sure it holds, so I’ve brought a special bandage as well. It is careful work, mind you, and you will have to do it together.” The earl opened his bag and removed a small pot of glue, putting it on the brick nearest the horse. Then he withdrew a brush, a thin strip of white cloth, and scissors. “Here are the necessary tools. Phillip, as the elder brother, it falls to you to glue and hold the leg in place. Edward, you are to carefully wrap the bandage and trim the ends.”
“We can do it,” Phillip said, and his younger brother gave a firm nod.
“Excellent. I leave your patient in good hands then.” The earl stood and stepped back to Virginia. She was grateful to him and impressed. He gave the children the tools they needed to repair the horse and their argument.
It was something like what Charles would’ve done. She had the feeling Charles and Lord Calvert would’ve gotten along well, had they known each other.
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