Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Oh. Well, but still, if I had known…” Emma ran a hand over Henry’s smooth head. He was sucking on his fist, getting hungry most likely. All he needed was to be fed and washed and hugged. So simple.

  “Do not apologize. I’m very happy your sister was there. If she hadn’t been, Johnny might never have met her.” Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled broadly. “When he got home, I could tell something of interest had occurred.”

  “Really? Did he mention Meg?”

  “Oh, no. Johnny is very taciturn, especially concerning his feelings. He just seemed less…content. More restless, short tempered…surly, even. And he spent even more time with his plants.”

  Henry let himself down, crawled over to Mrs. Parker-Roth, and tried to pull up on her skirts.

  “Henry!”

  “Oh, it is quite all right. I love babies. I can hardly wait for my daughter to present me with my first grandchild.” Mrs. Parker-Roth offered Henry her fingers. “Here, my lord, let me help you.”

  Henry looked up to see who belonged to this strange voice. He wobbled for a second and then sat down with a thump. His lower lip jutted out, and he clearly considered crying, but turned and started crawling away instead. Emma caught him just as she saw Isabelle approaching.

  “Isabelle, will you take charge of Henry, please?”

  “Of course. Come here, Henry.” Isabelle scooped the baby up and sat him on her hip. “Do you want to go see the ducks?”

  Henry grinned and clapped his hands.

  “Be sure to keep him away from the water, Isabelle.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  Isabelle sounded so confident, but did she have any real understanding of the danger? It took only an instant for tragedy to strike. “Look for Charles, Isabelle. He’s probably down by the pond with Charlie.”

  Isabelle just waved.

  “They’ll be fine,” Mrs. Parker-Roth said.

  “But…” Emma let out a short breath. “I worry.”

  “Of course you do. You’re a mother.” Mrs. Parker-Roth laughed. “Let’s go down to see these ducks. That way you can also see what a splendid job Isabelle does—and if something goes wrong, you’ll be on hand to fix it.”

  They descended the stairs and started over the lawn.

  “Does mothering ever get easier?”

  “Not really.” Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled. “When children are small, you try to keep them safe from all the dangers around them—like duck ponds. If they stumble into one, you can rush and pull them out. But when they are older, you have to stand back and watch them wade into life’s duck ponds if they want. You can’t do a thing to prevent them—except advise them not to do it, but most times they won’t listen.”

  “Why won’t they listen?”

  Mrs. Parker-Roth laughed. “Because they are young and they think they know everything.” She smiled. “I wager you wouldn’t have followed your mother’s counsel either, had she lived to provide it.”

  “No, how can you say so?” Emma stopped and frowned at the older woman.

  “Because that’s the way of all children, Emma.” Mrs. Parker-Roth linked arms with her, putting her head close to hers and resuming their walk. “But if we are discreet—and a little bit cunning—we can influence them very nicely.” She grinned. “Now, how shall we influence my stubborn son and your charming sister to see reason and make a match of it?”

  Chapter 13

  Viscount Manders let out a hearty belch, quite impressive for such a small person. He grinned as a trail of milk dribbled down his chin.

  “Good boy,” Lizzie said, wiping him off and kissing him before offering him her other breast. He made little grunting, snuffling sounds and then was quiet, the tiny fingers of one hand spread out against Lizzie’s celestial blue gown.

  Could she ask Lizzie about the odd scene with Bennington and Felicity? Meg shifted in her chair. She and Lizzie—and Lord Manders—were seated under an oak tree quite a distance from the rowdy group playing bowls.

  Would Lizzie know the answer? She was a married woman—but what did the activity in the garden have to do with marriage, besides the fact that the viscount was now engaged to Lady Felicity? Surely Robbie hadn’t—no, she could not contemplate the thought.

  She was not a complete innocent. In her many hours spent outside observing plants, she’d happened on a few animals engaged in the act of procreation. She had a general idea of the mechanics of the deed—or at least, she’d thought she had. A hot flush heated her cheeks.

  None of the creatures she’d seen in the fields and farms of Kent had engaged in any of the activities Mr. Parker-Roth had initiated. The animals had not even faced each other during the encounter. Really, the whole thing had looked rather embarrassing and uncomfortable—not that she had looked carefully, of course. Once she’d ascertained what they were about, she’d averted her gaze. She knew the rules of proper behavior, even if she chose to break them on occasion.

  Frankly, the only reason she’d been able to discern for enduring such indignities was to have a baby—and even that was a mixed blessing. Emma had been terribly uncomfortable when she’d been in the family way. She’d been tired and ill in the beginning, and tired and cranky at the end. She hadn’t been able to eat or breathe or see her feet. Lizzie had managed a little better, but she and Robbie had been frantic when her pains began, afraid she’d die in childbed like her mother.

  And then, of course, there was all the work and worry of actually tending an infant.

  No, after hearing Emma and Lizzie discuss their ordeals—suitably edited for her poor, unwed ears—and watching them go days without sleep with fussy babies, she wasn’t terribly eager to take her turn. But if she wanted her own home, she’d have to marry, and men wanted children—or at least they wanted to engage in the activity that resulted in children. Not that they had to do the work of bearing and birthing their progeny. Of course not. If they did, well, she’d wager there’d be significantly fewer children in the world.

  Still, the things Parks had done to her had certainly been…intriguing. She fanned herself with her hand. Perhaps there was something pleasant about procreation.

  Lizzie coaxed another burp from Lord Manders.

  What had Lord Bennington been doing with Lady Felicity? Parks seemed to know all about it, but he’d never ventured under her skirts, though his attentions had caused a very odd reaction in—

  She fanned herself harder. Surely Bennington hadn’t been investigating that part of Felicity’s anatomy?

  “Why are you so flushed, Meg?”

  “I’m not flushed.”

  Lizzie snorted and returned her attention to Lord Manders.

  Lady Felicity must have been so embarrassed. She hadn’t looked embarrassed, though. She’d looked almost triumphant once Lord Bennington had finally emerged from whatever activity had occupied him under her skirts.

  “You’re such a lovey boy, aren’t you, Bobby-wobby?” Lizzie was nuzzling Lord Manders’ neck. The viscount giggled. “Such a smart widdle baby.”

  Meg kept herself from rolling her eyes…barely. What was it about babies that turned sensible adults into idiots?

  “So, when are you going to marry Parks?”

  “What?” Her jaw dropped. She snapped it shut. Where had that come from? “I told you I’d declined his offer.”

  “I know you did. Robbie and I couldn’t believe it.” Lizzie settled Viscount Manders in her lap. He sucked his thumb and stared at Meg. “Surely you’ve changed your mind?”

  “I have not. Mr. Parker-Roth no more wants to marry me than he wants to marry Lady Beatrice.”

  Lizzie laughed. “Oh, I’m certain he wants to marry you more than Lady Bea.”

  Meg suddenly understood the expression “gnashing one’s teeth.” “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I? Tell me why Parks was in Easthaven’s garden with you, then.”

  “How do you know he was?”

  Lizzie gave her an expressive look. “Emma told me, of course. And
if she hadn’t, I would have heard it from Robbie—Charles told him.”

  Meg wished her friends and relatives were a great deal less busy about her business. “We were not discussing matrimony.”

  “No? What were you discussing?”

  Meg flushed. “We weren’t discussing anything.”

  Lizzie merely looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Meg felt her face burn even redder. Botheration.

  “The fact remains that Mr. Parker-Roth came to my aid when Lord Bennington was accosting me. He should not be punished for doing a good deed.”

  Lizzie rubbed Lord Manders’s head. “Well, of course not. There’s no punishment involved. He’s obviously madly in love with you.”

  Parks in love with her? “You’re the one who’s mad. Mr. Parker-Roth views me as a source of aggravation and annoyance, nothing more.”

  “Right. That’s why he was sitting in Lady Palmerson’s hideous red chair with you half naked on his lap.”

  “Uhh.” Put that way, it did sound…odd. “Mr. Parker-Roth was merely…he was just…that is…” Lizzie looked highly skeptical. Meg addressed Lord Manders instead. “I’d just had an upsetting experience with Lord Bennington. Mr. Parker-Roth was comforting me.”

  Lizzie snorted. “With your gown down around your waist and your br—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “—breasts completely exposed?”

  “Ohh.” She was going to die of mortification here at the Duke of Hartford’s estate. Meg dropped her face into her hands.

  “I don’t know what you are so upset about,” Lizzie said. “You were quite taken with Parks at Tynweith’s house party last year.”

  Meg raised her head. Why deny it? “That was last year. The man didn’t make the slightest effort to seek my company again until he found me with Bennington. I obviously failed to make much of an impression on him.”

  “I don’t know about that. He looked rather impressed in Lady Palmerson’s parlor.”

  “Urgh.” Meg dropped her head back into her hands.

  “Didn’t you tell me when I was in a similar position that some men are afraid of matrimony, but settle down nicely once the knot is tied—like a horse being broken to bridle?”

  “I am certain I was wrong. Mr. Parker-Roth is nothing like a horse. He is more like a mule—stubborn, headstrong, completely infuriating.”

  “Ah, I see. Then he is a simple creature merrily eating, sleeping, and fornicating?”

  “Must you throw my words back at me?”

  Lizzie laughed. “It is amusing.”

  Lord Manders grunted and squirmed.

  “Oh, dear. I think Bobby is going to need a change in a moment.”

  “I see.” There were some things Meg did not care to see if she could avoid them. She stood quickly. “I believe I’ll go watch the bowlers.”

  “Coward.” Lizzie grew serious. “Just don’t be a coward about the important things, Meg. I think Parks is perfect for you.”

  Meg shook her head. “Oh, really? Tell him that.”

  Lizzie didn’t smile in reply. “I don’t think I need to tell him. Remember, Meg, Robbie didn’t want to offer for me, either. If Lord Andrew hadn’t attacked me and forced the issue, I might still be unwed—and Bobby would not be here.”

  Lizzie hugged her baby. Meg frowned. The situations were not similar at all. “Robbie’s loved you for years.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “You would have if you’d opened your eyes.”

  “And perhaps you need to open your eyes, Meg.”

  “Balderdash. I—”

  Lord Manders grunted once more and something other than his eyes opened.

  Meg backed away. “I’ll see you later after you, um”—she gestured toward the viscount’s posterior—“tidy up.”

  “You’re sure you wouldn’t like to practice changing a baby?”

  Meg just waved and kept walking.

  “Well done, Parks.”

  Westbrooke clapped him on the back. Parks grinned. It had been an inspired bowl if he said so himself. He’d sent Bennington’s ball spinning off to the right, far beyond hope of scoring, and guaranteed his team the win. He bent to pick up his coat.

  “I don’t believe you’ve made a friend, however.” Lord Frampton, his other teammate, nodded at Bennington. The viscount was definitely glaring at him. If looks could kill, Parks would be taking his last breath.

  He shrugged and turned away. “Bennington and I have an unpleasant history.”

  “Because you came between him and Miss Peterson?”

  “Good God, no.” Parks stared at Frampton. The man looked sincere. He was not being malicious—just stupid. “Where did you get that notion? Miss Peterson has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  “No?” Frampton raised his eyebrows. “There were rumors Bennington was interested in her for her connections. Oldston told me he overheard the viscount talking at White’s about some expedition he needed funds for—a trip to South America or Africa or some outlandish location—and that he might take a stroll in the garden with Miss Peterson. Sample the wares, he said, to see if he could bear to make her an offer. Said he probably would, though. That he could bed any goose if she laid a big enough golden egg, and anyway, there were plenty of whores to warm a man’s bed if a wife proved too chilly.”

  “Bloody hell!”

  Westbrooke laid a hand on Parks’s arm. “You might want to keep your voice down to a low roar. You’re distressing the ladies.”

  “What?” He looked in the direction the earl indicated. A gaggle of silly debutantes scowled at him and scurried away. Good. Fewer ninnyhammers for his mother to push toward him. He turned back to Frampton. The man was looking mulish.

  “It’s common knowledge Miss Peterson has been entertaining in the bushes.”

  Apparently the baron had the intelligence of a mule as well. “Miss Peterson has not been entertaining anyone in the bushes.”

  “Oh? She tried to drag me off into the shrubbery at Easthaven’s just the other night, if you’ll remember.”

  Parks took a deep breath and forced his hands to open out of the fists they’d formed. Starting a mill on the Duke of Hartford’s lawn with the majority of the ton as witness would not be a good idea. His intentions must have been clear on his face, however, because the baron stepped back.

  He would not shout. He took another, deeper breath and let the red haze of fury dissipate somewhat. “I hope you have not been spreading that tale, Frampton. I assure you sincerely—it would be a very serious error to do so.”

  Frampton had a death wish, it was the only explanation. The man blinked at him, then opened his asinine mouth. “Ah, yes, I see. I thought…well, pardon me for saying so, but the chitter-chatter had you declining to offer for the girl after you were found in rather compromising circumstances.”

  He felt Westbrooke’s hand on his arm again. He shrugged it off. He was not going to kill Frampton…today. When they weren’t standing in front of so many interested witnesses, however…well, the thought was extremely appealing.

  “Do you seriously think the Marquis of Knightsdale would have let me not offer for his sister-in-law if I had compromised her?”

  Ah, a new concept found its way into the ass’s brain box. Frampton scratched his head. “No, I don’t suppose he would.” He nodded. “So you have a private understanding?”

  “I am not at liberty to say.” He certainly wasn’t going to tell this idiot Miss Peterson had refused him.

  “But why keep it secret? You must know the girl is subject to all kinds of unpleasant speculation.”

  “You’ve just illustrated that fact.”

  Frampton flushed. “Well, yes, my apologies. I didn’t completely understand the situation.”

  “Damn right.” The situation was a bloody mess.

  “Are you fellows going to bowl or not?” Lord Pontly asked.

  “We’re done,” Westbrooke said. “Feel free to take our place.”

 
; They stepped away from the competition. Unfortunately, Frampton was like a dog with a bone—he would not let the subject go.

  “So why do you say it is not Miss Peterson who comes between you and Bennington? Stands to reason it would be. He wants her; you have her.”

  Sudden lust kicked Parks in the…He sent a stern reprimand to his most unruly organ. He did not “have” Miss Peterson nor was he going to unless she changed her mind.

  His body begged to differ. Begged and—

  He looked to Westbrooke for assistance. The damn earl was grinning at him like a bedlamite. Obviously, there would be no aid from that quarter.

  “Because,” he said, “—not that it is any of your concern, of course—Bennington has hated me for years. Long before either of us knew Miss Peterson graced the world.”

  “Why?”

  God give him patience. Did he quash the man for being a busybody or just answer his question?

  Westbrooke finally found his tongue—regrettably.

  “Plants, Frampton, if you can believe it.” The earl snickered. “Bennington hates Parks for his plants.”

  Frampton’s lower jaw dropped, causing him to bear a striking resemblance to a codfish ready for gutting. “Why would anyone be at daggers drawn over greenery?”

  Parks sighed. He was all too familiar with this reaction.

  “Because Bennington fancies himself in competition with me. He is jealous of my extensive gardens and greenhouses, especially my collection of exotic specimens. That is why he wants money—to search for new plant species.”

  Frampton continued to gape at him for another few seconds.

  “Bloody hell,” he said, finally. “I never would have guessed.”

  Parks did not care for the man’s tone. There was something about it…He did not think they were discussing Bennington’s horticultural ambitions any longer. “What wouldn’t you have guessed?”

  Frampton flushed. “Oh, nothing. Just surprised, that’s all.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sure flowers and weeds and what have you can be fascinating to a, um, certain kind of fellow.”