by Liz Tyner
He gave his son a pat on the shoulder. ‘We’ll see.’
Willa became aware of the conversation. She kept the doll’s foot in her mouth and ran to Melina’s knees.
The earl’s face didn’t flicker as he looked in their direction. Instead, he took Jacob by the hand and left the room. Melina could hardly believe the difference in Warrington. He’d not spoken to her privately after the night Ludgate had appeared. Perhaps she was more like the earl than she realised, seeing not the person, but the appearance, and she’d been misled.
Warrington hadn’t burst with smiles on the ship, but now he acted colder, and this man’s hands would not touch a slop bucket now. She had no question in her mind concerning that.
Willa ignored Warrington much the same way as he avoided her. But she had to be restrained from toddling to Broomer if he walked into a room where the little girl was, and even though the servant acted put out by it, Melina could tell he exaggerated the irritation to please Willa and he made silly faces at her when he thought no one noticed. He’d even given the nursemaid a little carved toy for Willa.
Now Willa sat, pulling at the dress on her wooden doll, the plaything’s stoic expression a complete opposite of the little girl’s. Willa had a fan, a full-sized one, and waved it over her doll, hitting the toy’s face often as not.
Melina stayed with her until Willa fell asleep on the floor. Lifting Willa, Melina placed her on the bed. The nurse woke at the movement, and mumbled that she’d finish getting the little girl to bed.
*
Melina went in search of Jacob, but truly she knew she looked for his father.
Warrington sat on the sofa in the sitting room, in his usual relaxed pose of his eyes half-closed, legs relaxed in front of him. His cravat hung loose. Jacob slept beside him, looking as if he’d fallen over, and he used Warrington’s lap for a pillow.
‘I’ll get him to bed,’ she whispered.
‘Nonsense. Sit with us and watch a fireplace with no flames.’
She hesitated. ‘It’s late.’
‘It’s getting later and then it will get early and become a new day.’
The melancholy air of the room touched her, but she stayed.
‘I hope you remember your time in England well, even if you might now think it is filled with the worst of the world…’ His voice rolled smoothly into the room, curling around her the way the flames would have wrapped around burning coals had the fireplace been alight.
‘I will remember you.’ She walked behind him, putting fingertips on his shoulder.
He reached up and clasped her hand. ‘I hope it has not all been difficult for you, Melina.’
‘The world has been so different from what I am used to. I miss my adelfi, my sisters, and the plainness of Melos. Each day is the same as the day before. And the sea—I liked the sea. Even the smells are different here. The scents there are from the earth and nature. Here, they are from the people cooking and bringing horses about.’
‘I will give you a dowry.’
She shook her head, feeling lightness in her next words. ‘There is no need. My father’s wife has promised to see that we have what we need.’
The uplift of one brow was all the acknowledgement he gave her.
‘I’ve arranged for Broomer to travel with you back to Melos.’ Warrington’s voice was a husky murmur. ‘He’ll get you home, safely. Threaten Stephanos or do what is needed. I’ve told him every woman on the island is as lovely as you. He asked how soon he can leave. I’ve instructed him to gather his things.’
Melina looked forward, and saw not what she’d seen before, but the world through Warrington’s eyes. And knew she was not in it.
*
Warrington lay in his bedchamber, trying to force himself to sleep. The brown sacks he’d dressed her in didn’t work. Nothing would. His weakness hadn’t left him.
Nor was her presence easing his memories.
Something inside gnawed at him, reminding him of the time he’d thought he would have the dream of a loving family. He’d wanted the world he saw reflected when one looked at the portraits of a man, his wife and children, carefully arranged, and all around them tidy.
Clawing desire burned in him, and not just desire for her body, but for a world where feelings were pure.
Warrington pressed his face into the pillow, trying to smother the thoughts torturing him.
At least Melina seemed to care for the girl. She patted the child’s back when she held her and he didn’t think she even knew she did.
He’d stayed away from Melina and he could feel her presence in the house every moment he kept inside. And when he walked outside, he could hardly wait to return.
He could attend a few soirées, Drury Lane, and he’d surely be able to find a woman with some appeal. The way he felt, he doubted he could find one who didn’t have enough to tempt him into her bed. He could go to Almack’s and find someone he didn’t find attractive, and perhaps then he could believe himself safe to bring her into his home. A woman he might have no true passion for and who could not blind him with her body and beauty and dancing eyes.
But before he left, he wanted to—
But if he did what he wanted to do before he left he’d not need to leave the town house.
He rolled himself out of bed and wrapped on his dressing gown.
Warrington went to the door and knocked, then opened it.
‘Melina,’ he whispered.
She sat up on the bed and he could tell she wasn’t fully awake. Her face looked as puzzled as Jacob’s would have.
‘Come with me for a moment.’ He reached out, taking her hand.
When he pulled her to her feet, she brought the covers with her. He took them from her hand and pushed them loose so they slid to the floor.
He saw her open her eyes wide and shake her head, and she moved back.
‘Come with me,’ he whispered again. ‘I wish to talk to you without children or servants about.’
‘It would be as easy as closing a door.’
Her feet didn’t move when he took her elbow. He increased his grip.
‘You’re right,’ he grumbled, getting her to the hallway. ‘I’m awake now, though, and by coincidence so are you.’
He slipped a hand at her back, to guide her to the sitting room. Touching her was the wrong thing to do. He remembered how she felt when he embraced her, skin against skin. And he didn’t need any reminders since he couldn’t get the thoughts to recede from his mind for even a half-second. But he didn’t know if he could let her go again if he touched her.
She moved to the window. Not sitting. He wondered if she didn’t want to sit in his presence, afraid of getting too comfortable.
‘I would have thought you would lead me to your bedchamber.’ Her words were tart.
In the shadowy dimness, he could tell her hands were clasped together.
Apparently, growing up in Greece had robbed her of the awe she should feel from having the attention of an earl of some funds. And he was certain his mirror hadn’t lied. He was not an ogre. Hell, he was better looking than Dane and Dane had a scar on his face and women practically fainted at his feet. But this was Melina. So different than what he understood. He crossed his arms.
‘It is silent in here for someone being awoken because someone else had to urgently speak with them,’ she grumbled and he heard the rustling of her movements. ‘I’m sure the nursemaid thinks we often meet secretly in the night. She smiles in such a way when she tells me to have pleasant dreams.’
‘If she thinks we’re together, then I certainly hope she believes it is of great frequency.’
He moved to stand beside her at the window. They were as close as two people could be without touching.
‘I shouldn’t be in a part of your life. I’m to be gone soon. Now I am watching your— Willa,’ she said.
‘You can call her my child.’ His voice held bitterness. ‘She and I are stuck with each other for the moment. I realise she is my chil
d, by possession if not by birth. Ludgate doesn’t want her and never will, I am certain of that.’
‘And how could he have marched up and demanded her?’
‘He could have asked for her the other night. Or he could have told me earlier, by post for his own safety. Or through Cassandra when she was alive. My wife, who’d not even written to see if I lived or died while I was ill—though I understand. It would have been laughable for her to express concern when she so obviously felt none. When she returned, she knew I couldn’t possibly think the babe was mine. Particularly as I refused to touch her and did not return to her bed until after the girl was born.’
He patted the back of the sofa. ‘When I no longer see Willa around to remind me, I can put all this to rest. Maybe now that I…’ He paused. ‘I now feel such anger for Daphne, too. More than Ludgate, I suppose. Had she come to me and spoken openly—it would have been different. But she paid a man to taunt me—as if I had not had enough. That must have been something she and Cass learned as children. They were so determined in it.’
He moved to a crystal decanter at a side table and released the stopper. He filled a glass with brandy. He didn’t put the stopper back into the neck, but instead absently clicked the crystal against the rim. He finally let the stopper fall into the top and slapped it down with his palm. He swirled the liquid, then took a drink. ‘Choices.’
‘For Jacob, and for yourself—let it go.’
‘I would have done so long ago, if I could. I’m trying. Tomorrow I have a couple arriving who might take Willa.’
She gasped. ‘Are you sure they are good people?’
‘Broomer would not mislead me. Three years ago, they heard of a street woman who had a child she could not care for and they took the boy in. With no recompense from the mother.’
‘Perhaps they wanted…someone to help with the ergo, the work.’
‘Perhaps. But Broomer said the boy is well fed and clothed, and has turned from a scampering street urchin to a whistling child who is being schooled.’ He walked back to the mantel, and stared at it. ‘I’ll be glad to have the girl gone. The last image of my wife. The last ghost.’
‘You aren’t getting rid of the last ghost. That one is inside you.’
He nodded. ‘I can’t take a knife and cut it out of me. Or I would. I would rather have thoughts of you instead of memories of her. But I cannot forget what has gone on before.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Melina stared out of the nursery window, looking into a day that would have been better served with rain, instead of the fading fog and wet air.
When the couple arrived, Melina noted that Warrington’s carriage delivered them. They stepped out. The woman adjusted her bonnet, her skirts, and gave the man a hopeful smile.
Melina heard little clinks behind her, of Willa playing with a doll and the feet tapping together.
Melina could barely look at the little cherub face, feeling like a Judas. She could not be a Judas.
Even Willa seemed to sense a difference and Melina felt a tug at her clothing. Willa stood, looking up, with one arm cradling her own baby tightly.
Melina gathered the girl up and took the doll from Willa’s hands, holding the girl snug. She used the baby to give Willa’s cheeks loud kisses. The little one immediately laughed—her face showing she’d forgotten about everything else in the world but her doll.
A few minutes later, a maid entered the nursery.
‘Miss.’ The servant stopped just inside the doorway, giving a smile in Willa’s direction before her face turned serious and she looked at Melina. ‘His lordship has called for you.’
Melina tensed and walked to Warrington’s sitting room, giving one last glance at Willa while she stayed behind with the servant.
Warrington stood in the doorway, leaning into the frame. He wore a dark waistcoat and frock coat and had no lightness about him. Tightness lined his face. Sleep hadn’t been kind to him. ‘They’re here. Broomer will bring them when I ring for him.’
He moved from the doorway and stepped back into the room, letting her cross in front of him.
‘I saw them arrive,’ she said.
‘Do they pass your inspection?’
She gave a nod and halved the distance between them. ‘I do not want Willa to feel abandoned.’
‘Perhaps she will feel like she has a mother and father who care for her—like a true family wants her. She needs a family. You know that.’
She looked at him, hoping for a sign of his compassion for Willa.
He gave the slightest shake of his head, standing straight. ‘I don’t feel any warmth for the child. I don’t. She will grow into her mother’s image. I do not want that face in my sight for the rest of my life. This is the only way I can rid myself of Cassandra.’
Melina turned back to the window and stared at the horizon. Willa did deserve a caring family. Melina reached out and pulled the bell.
When the couple entered, Melina noticed the serviceable dress of the woman, but around the neck, she’d embroidered a row of flowers—the same ones Melina had once stitched on her sister’s handkerchief.
The man, Sinclair, a furniture maker by trade, bowed. He stood thin, too thin, and wore dark clothing. After her introduction, his wife almost vanished behind him.
‘This is Melina. She’s been assisting in Willa’s care,’ the earl said and guided Melina to sit on the sofa.
‘I hope you found the trip comfortable,’ Warrington addressed the Sinclairs, moving behind Melina.
‘Yes,’ Sinclair answered. ‘My wife is not one to leave the house often except for Sunday Services. I’ve promised her I’ll bring her to Drury Lane before too many more months pass.’
The woman looked at her husband when he spoke and seemed scared to meet Warrington’s gaze.
‘You have a boy?’ Melina asked.
‘Yes.’ The man looked to his wife, guiding her to sit. ‘Today, he’s with my wife’s mother. She lives with us.’
‘Do they get on well?’ Melina asked.
‘Very well,’ the man answered, sitting straight. ‘When Thomas is not helping with my work, he’s asking his granny for a story. I do not know where the woman comes up with the tales she tells.’ He smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. ‘Sometimes, she tells of clumsy knights and dragons who have blackened teeth from their burning flames. All her dragons have blackened teeth, except the one who cannot muster a puff of smoke. That is the one Thomas must hear stories of over and over.’
‘Why do you want Willa?’ Melina leaned forward.
‘My wife wishes for a daughter.’ He shot a glance at her and then turned back to Melina. ‘We would not mind to have another boy in the house. It would be nice for Tom to have a brother. But a daughter…’ He patted his wife’s hand. ‘Alice would like to have a little girl to keep her company and so she can show her things a woman needs to know for a home.’
‘Willa’s timid.’
Sinclair turned to his wife. ‘So is Alice.’
Melina stood. ‘I suppose you should see Willa and she should have a chance to meet you.’
She hurried from the room and returned, slowly tugging Willa by the hand. Melina smoothed down the tufts of blonde hair too wispy to be braided. No woman could turn her back on a doll so fair. And her little woollen dress, the plainness only contrasted to show the beauty of the child.
When Melina sat, Willa stayed near her and leaned against Melina’s legs. She burrowed against Melina and her eyes had a sleepy droop.
‘She’s quite behaved.’ Alice spoke, her eyes locked on Willa.
‘Not always.’ Melina brushed her hand over Willa’s hair again. ‘But she truly is a good-natured child.’
Warrington’s foot moved, tapping several times back and forth, but he didn’t speak.
Melina continued, ‘Willa does get irritable when she doesn’t get her nap, according to her nursery maid, but she will drag you to her bed so she can be tucked in. And she does like to beg attention from he
r brother with a bit more force than she should use.’
She brushed down Willa’s hair, again feeling the baby skin of her cheek, and looked to Warrington. He appeared more interested in the painting over the fireplace than in the discussion.
‘She likes porridge—but not cold.’ Melina spoke the words to the woman.
‘Tommy is the same,’ Alice said. ‘I have a place at the back of the stove where I sit the pot. It stays warm there.’
Melina nodded. ‘Do you plan on taking in other children?’
Sinclair shook his head. ‘We didn’t plan on Thomas, but once we heard about him and met him, we decided he should have a home with us. He’s a good lad and my wife thinks another child would be dear. Tom’s six, but she’s already worried about him growing up so fast.’
Melina talked more with the couple, aware of Warrington sitting beside them, occasionally moving his boot, or rubbing away a speck on his clothing or a mote from the nearest surface. He looked to have no more attention for the conversation than he might if the cook explained how a chicken was plucked.
Melina rose, pulling Willa up with her. ‘We will be sure to let you know of Warrington’s decision. But he is still a bit undecided on letting her leave.’
His eyes darted to her. His jaw was locked. His decision was plain to see in his black stare.
He spoke a few courteous words to the Sinclairs as he walked them to the door and left, still talking to them.
Melina hugged Willa tight, but the cherub pushed away, and Melina lowered her to a standing position.
When Warrington returned, he had Willa’s nursery maid with him. The woman picked up her charge and left the room.
‘I would like to speak to you a moment, Melina.’ Warrington shut the door and then walked to her. He put both hands on her shoulders. ‘They are good people. The kind of people who should make up the world.’
‘But not right for Willa. I want to take her back to Melos with me. I will be a good mother.’
His fingers tightened. ‘They are already parents of a son. They are more right for her than either you or I. They can care for her without knowing what has gone before. They will be good family for her. You will start a family of your own.’
