by Regina Scott
She rose and paced, making him feel a little less sanguine about the subject she was going to bring up. She seemed to realize how nervous she looked, for she forced herself to be seated beside him on the bench. “I think you know that I ran away with Nathan Jacobs because I adored him. You and I have a different relationship. I like to think we are . . . friends?”
He nodded. “Certainly. And partners for the boys’ well being.”
“Yes.” She tried to take strength from his calm demeanor, but her palms were sweating in her gloves. “I hope you will understand, then, that I am somewhat reluctant to resume a wifely role?” She looked at him pleadingly.
So, he’d make an excellent father even though she couldn’t bear the thought of him as a husband. That was really the heart of the matter. He couldn’t compete with the dashing Nathan Jacobs when the man was alive, and he couldn’t compete with him now that Jacobs was dead. Yet, if she could be so forthright about her feelings, so could he.
“You’ve had more experience being a wife than I have being a husband,” he replied. “But isn’t marriage supposed to be about more than simply caring for children?”
He hadn’t meant it as a criticism of her first marriage, but she obviously took it so. “Nathan and I shared a bond that went far beyond our children,” she told him haughtily. “Did you expect me to immediately form such a bond with the first eligible bachelor who proposed?”
He refrained from pointing out how quickly she seemed to have formed the bond with Nathan, leaving family and friends behind for nearly ten years. “Of course not. But if you put constraints on our marriage, will you keep that bond from ever forming?”
She got up and walked to the edge of the hedge. This was not how she wanted this conversation to go. She had loved Nathan, would always love Nathan. For all that Daniel was gentler, more forthright, and much more dependable, he had not captured her heart. “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she murmured. “But I’m simply not ready to be so intimate.”
She had not said it, but he seemed to hear the word “yet” echoing after her declaration. He could also hear the boys calling in the greenery and tried to remind himself again that he was doing this for their sakes, after all. He had no right to assume that Cynthia would be his reward. But if she were here, with him, would he have a chance at winning her heart? The desire to do so was suddenly overwhelming.
“I understand completely,” he lied, doing his best to keep his usual smile in place. “Please, Cynthia, let me assure you that I did not make that proposal to put you into a compromising situation. If you wish our marriage to be platonic, I will honor your request. But you must not ask me to give up hope that one day you will change your mind.”
She wasn’t sure why that frightened her, but it did. She glanced back at him. He was smiling warmly, and the sunlight glinted off the rich mahogany of his hair. He looked even more innocent than her sons. But if he was plotting mischief, it would be more dangerous to her than anything her sons tried. If Daniel succeeded, she would lose her heart again. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.
She heard John call to James and Adam and forced her fears aside. Daniel was being more than generous in agreeing to all her terms. What did she have to complain about?
“Very well, then, Daniel,” she replied with a bright smile. “I accept your proposal. I will marry you.”
* * * *
They were married two weeks later in the church in Wenwood, Daniel having procured a license from the local bishop. A pleased Jonathan hosted a wedding breakfast at Kinsle House, then Cynthia, the boys, and their assorted belongings were packed into the carriage and trundled down the drive, around the bend, and up the road to the Lewiston estate.
The boys ran laughing into the hall when they arrived, voices echoing to the hammered beams a full story above their heads. Daniel knew they had already begun to see the house as home, but he still detected a change in their attitudes, as if they had suddenly been set free in a new world. They wanted to explore and touch and demand an explanation for everything from the Tompion marquetry clock in the library to the gilt-framed Lawrence painting of his Great Aunt Chloe upstairs in the portrait gallery. In following them from room to room, he had to admit he had never realized what a fascinating house he had.
Cynthia found it difficult to share her sons’ joy in their new home. The lofty Gothic ceilings with their open carved beams, the dark wood that seemed to panel each room, and the thick-limbed many-knobbed furniture with the scarlet upholstery seemed oppressive to her. Odd that she had never noticed it as a child, but then most of her memories of being in the house with Daniel’s sisters were pleasant.
Now the dust she had first noticed in the withdrawing room was everywhere, and the thought of cleaning it from so many rooms depressed her further, until the footmen began marching past with her belongings and she remembered she would not have to lift a finger if she didn’t want to. She trailed behind the procession up the massive central stairway, gazing at the rich-hued tapestries, Oriental vases, and Greek statues that lined the long halls, until Evenson stopped her at the doorway to a large bedchamber.
“Your room, Mrs. Lewiston,” he intoned.
The name sounded surprisingly lovely on his lips, and she smiled as she stepped past him. Then her smile froze on her face. Staring at her in the center of the chamber was a huge box bed whose burgundy and gold hangings reached to brush the high ceiling. Twin dressing tables stood on either side of it, the elaborate carvings of twisting dragons on their fronts matching the headboard of the giant bed. The size and complexity of each piece of furniture was overwhelming enough, but what upset her far more was the tortoise-shell comb and brush set on one of the dressers, with all the accouterments a gentleman might need to shave and dress in the morning. A young woman in a black dress and white apron was setting Cynthia’s brushes and belongings on the other table.
“This,” Cynthia said in icy tones, “is not my bedchamber.”
Daniel was chasing Adam down the corridor that held the family bedchambers when he was pulled up short by Cynthia’s voice. It wasn’t so much that it was any louder than usual; if anything it sounded oddly stilled.
“I assure you that there has been a mistake,” she was telling Evenson, who stood erect and proper just inside the door to the master bedchamber. “This cannot possibly be my room.”
“Hey, ho,” he called, moving to his butler’s side. “Is something amiss?”
One look at her confirmed his suspicions. Under the pale pink rose buds on the rim of the fetching straw bonnet she had worn to their wedding, her chin was as firm as Adam’s when he was determined to have his way. Even the lady-like flounce of her pink silk wedding gown failed to hide the fact that her dainty foot was tapping in her agitation.
Evenson cleared his throat. “Madam does not find the bedchamber to her liking.”
“Oh?” Daniel glanced around the large chamber. He didn’t immediately see anything that might trouble her in the heavy polished walnut furniture or burgundy bed linens; but then he’d seen it every day since he had been eight. “If it’s the decor that bothers you, Cynthia, we can easily have it redone. I suppose it is a bit on the manly side.”
She was alternating between blushing and paling, and he knew something must be seriously wrong.
“Evenson,” he remarked casually, “go see what the boys have found to amuse themselves with so quietly, would you?”
Evenson bowed with obvious relief. “With pleasure, sir.”
As his man hurried off down the hall, Daniel stepped to Cynthia’s side. “Now, then, suppose you tell me what’s troubling you.”
She glared up at him, anger rising as she felt a tear trickle down one cheek. How could he stand there and pretend the only thing troubling her was the color of the bed linens? She had once thought him lack-witted, but now she wondered whether he was a lecher as well. “You promised!” she hissed.
Daniel blinked. “Promised?”
She stepped back from h
im, livid. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t remember. To think I trusted you. Call the carriage at once. The boys and I are leaving.”
“Cynthia!” He caught her hands in his, and she pulled them quickly out. “I don’t understand. If you don’t like this chamber, you have only to pick another. Gads, there must be at least twenty in this monstrosity.”
Arrested, she stared at him. “Choose another?”
“Yes, please, if that’s what’s troubling you.”
She stepped a little closer, peering up into his face but saw only earnest concern. He stood as still as possible, wondering what on earth had happened to make her so skittish. “Where are you sleeping?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
“I asked Evenson to move my things down the corridor closer to the nursery stairs,” he told her honestly. “I thought you’d need the bigger room. But if you don’t like it . . .”
She expelled her breath slowly and forced her fists, which were balled at her sides, to open. “No, no, this chamber is fine. I’m sorry I made a fuss. You see, this is obviously the master’s bedchamber, and I noticed your things on the dresser and that made me think . . .”
“That I was installing you in my bedchamber,” Daniel finished, understanding at last. “I’m sorry I’m such a slow top. I should have explained it to you. In fact, I probably should have let you make the arrangements. It strikes me now that perhaps you’d rather the boys slept on this floor, near us.”
She picked at the lace on the sleeve of her gown, afraid to ask him for even such a small favor after making such a silly mistake. “Would you mind?”
“Not in the slightest. As I said, we’ve plenty of space. I daresay John at least is of an age at which he’d like his own.”
“My own room!” John gasped in the doorway.
Daniel smiled at his face. Despite the look of astonishment, it was cheerier now than anytime he could remember. It pleased him to think he might have had some hand in that. “Your very own, if you’d like it.”
“I’ll say!” John declared. “Hear that, you two?” he called to his brothers who were hurrying up the corridor with Evenson puffing at their heels. “I’m to have my own room!”
“I want my own room too!” Adam demanded.
James looked thoughtful. “I don’t think I should like to sleep alone just yet. Especially in a strange house.”
“It’s not a strange house,” Adam said with a pout. “It’s our home, isn’t it, Mr. Daniel?”
“It certainly is, my good man,” Daniel told him, scooping him up and depositing him on his shoulders. He caught Evenson grimacing at the gesture and grinned. “There are at least eight bedchambers along this corridor. You may have your pick of the lot, with your mother’s approval, of course.”
Cynthia nodded, and John and James dashed off in opposite directions, whooping in delight. Daniel felt Adam wiggling.
“Hurry up, Mr. Daniel. We don’t want them getting the best rooms!”
Evenson cleared his throat. “Might I be excused, sir? If you’re going to be making alternative living arrangements, I really should let the staff know.”
Daniel shooed him out of the way, heading out into the corridor while Adam cried out impossible directions. It felt a little odd being pointed by a child hanging onto his ears, but Adam wasn’t a heavy burden and they were quickly in the midst of the search.
It took over an hour for them to inspect each of the chambers in the family wing and decide on a likely grouping. John picked a corner chamber with a turret window overlooking the west fields. After some consideration, James and Adam decided they would share the larger chamber next door for the time being, as it had a connecting door to a chamber that could be used as a playroom.
With some relief, Cynthia settled on the chamber opposite theirs and next to John’s. The single large south-facing window let in plenty of light, and, when she looked out, she could see the rose gardens below. The yellow and green bed hangings and upholstery on the chairs and stool near the white stone fireplace made the chamber seem much cheerier than the master bedchamber. The only problem was that Daniel chose the chamber next door.
He caught her eyeing the connecting door with obvious misgivings. As the boys discussed where they would put their few belongings, he drew her aside, hoping to calm her fears once and for all.
“Interesting architecture, don’t you think?” he nodded toward the offending door.
She managed a polite smile. “I suppose it was to allow visiting couples to reach each other more easily.”
“Undoubtedly. But the Lewistons of the past were a practical lot. Just in case the couples weren’t all that interested, the door can be locked from either side.” He reached up over the door jamb and took down the brass key that was kept there. “Here. You keep the key. If you ever need me, just use it.”
She paled again, and for a moment he thought he had gone too far.
“You are too good to us, Daniel,” she murmured, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I promise you, I’ll repay you somehow.”
Adam dashed up suddenly, hugging Daniel around the legs. “This is the best day yet, Mr. Daniel. We have our own rooms, and we get to be with you always.”
Daniel felt the now familiar constriction near his heart. He glanced from Adam’s beaming face to Cynthia’s watery smile. “Believe me, my dear, you already have
Chapter Seven
Cynthia’s watery mood barely lasted through the first course of an early dinner. It seemed impossible to believe that after nearly ten years of exile, she was finally to have the pampered, comfortable life for which she had been raised. The very thought made her feel a bit like a traitor to Nathan’s memory, but the sight of veal on her plate somehow pushed the guilt away with the memory. If she had to trade love for a mess of porridge, at least it was to be very good porridge.
Of course, that’s what she had assumed. It was well known that the Lewiston estate boasted a real French chef, and she had naturally supposed that the food would be beyond anything she had ever tasted. One mouthful made her reach for the damask napkin in dismay. Farther up the long table, which could easily have seated thirty, she saw that Adam was attempting to push the overcooked peas around his plate with his utensils and only succeeding in mashing them further. Across from him, James was chewing the cheddared potatoes, although with difficulty, and near Daniel, John had pushed the Yorkshire pudding away in disgust. Only Daniel at the head of the table was calmly eating as if nothing untoward was happening.
“Is this normal fare?” she called up from the foot of the long table, where her place had been set.
Daniel swallowed and nodded. “Seems to be Henri’s favorite dinner. I believe we have it on a regular basis.”
“Every Wednesday, sir,” Evenson supplied from his station at the side table, although Cynthia thought even he looked disgusted by the fact.
“Every Wednesday?” John cried. James swallowed, then reached quickly for water to drown the lump. Adam smashed the last pea triumphantly.
Daniel glanced around at the obviously displeased faces around him. “Don’t you care for it?”
Cynthia’s frown turned the boys’ eyes back to their plates. “I’m sure it’s quite adequate, Daniel. The boys and I have learned to make do with far less. However, I admit I’m curious. Do you like it?”
Daniel glanced down at the gray lump that was the veal. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never actually thought about it. Dinner and any other meal was just something to get through.”
Cynthia felt a sudden stab of pity. She could picture him rattling about this great house, conducting his estate duties alone, eating alone, reading himself to sleep alone, and waking up alone to do it all over again. She might not be able to keep him company at night, but she could certainly make sure that his home was clean and his food edible.
“I think it’s safe to say we can do something about this,” she said, smiling at everyone. “Evenson, I shall want a word with Mr. Henri this afternoon.”
&n
bsp; Evenson cringed. “Of course, madam. However, I think you should know that Monsieur Henri takes a nap everyday from three to six, and then of course he’s busy with the supper preparations, so perhaps I might suggest . . .”.
“Three o’clock,” Cynthia said sweetly, but the boys had the good sense to lower their eyes once again. “In the library.”
Evenson swallowed and bowed himself out.
* * * *
She didn’t wait until three. Once she saw that the boys were safely engaged in a protracted tour of the picture gallery with Daniel and one of the more trustworthy-looking footmen, she changed from the soft pink wedding gown Jonathan had magnanimously purchased for her into her mourning gown. She had hoped never to don the thing again, but it was guaranteed to look serious, and she needed to look as serious as possible for this interview. She supposed she ought to meet all the servants at some point or at least discuss arrangements with Evenson. For now, she would have to settle for handling “Monsieur Henri.”
She hadn’t reached the ground-floor landing before she heard the shouting. The fact that it was in French and filled with a considerable number of words her mother had never taught her only caused her chin to raise a few more inches higher. She followed the noise down the back stairs and swept into the kitchen. The scullery maids, who were huddled by the door, scattered. Evenson withdrew to a discreet distance, and the two assistant cooks who had been attempting to restrain the portly chef dropped his arms and bowed to her. She smiled, then stepped forward, holding out her hand.
“Monsieur Henri, I came as soon as I could.”
She knew the other servants were exchanging glances of puzzlement. Her appeasing attitude stopped the Frenchman in mid-tirade. She continued before he could recover. “My dear sir, you cannot know how delighted I am to be so fortunate to have an artiste of your caliber on my staff. Je suis enchante!”
