The most important barrier to dismantle, before she could consider what might develop between herself and Alastair, was the one she’d been forced to erect between herself and the small boy whose emotional future depended upon her. With that thought, she set off for the nursery.
Chapter Seventeen
Diana found James rearranging the soldiers staged on shelves in the nursery. A delighted smile sprang to his face when she walked in. ‘Mama, see what wonderful soldiers Minnie found for me! There’s twice as many as my army!’
‘So I see. Do you want to play with them, or go into the garden with me?’
James set down the soldiers at once. ‘I should like to go outside, if you please.’
‘Then outside we shall go. Minnie, if you’ll get his jacket while I fetch my cloak?’
Diana hurried back to her bedchamber, gathering up a warm hooded cloak and her heaviest gloves. When she arrived back at the nursery, she noted approvingly that James was also warmly attired.
‘You needn’t go with us, if you’d prefer to remain inside,’ she told the maid. ‘I promise I won’t get him too untidy.’
For a moment, the girl hesitated. ‘Very well, ma’am, I’ll stay here and catch up on my mending.’
Diana felt a little glow of satisfaction, as if she’d passed some sort of test. In the few short weeks since she’d begun making overtures to her son, this would be the first time she would spend time with the boy without Minnie hovering nearby.
‘Are we going to a park?’ her son’s piping voice interrupted.
‘To a garden,’ she answered as she ushered him out and down the hallway. ‘We’re going to hunt plants.’
‘Plant hunting? Is that like the fox hunting Papa used to do?’
Her jaw automatically tightened at the mention of his father. He can’t touch you any longer, she told herself, pushing aside the reaction. ‘No, it’s the sort of hunting your grandfather, my papa, used to do.’
‘The papa who taught you to paint?’
‘The very one. We’re going to find some flowers for Mrs Ransleigh’s tables—giving flowers to your hostess is a very good idea, even if the flowers come from her own garden—and we’ll look for some of the little plants my papa used to paint, too. I’ll show you how later, or perhaps you’d like to make a portrait of some of your new soldiers.’
‘Can I do both? I like painting.’
‘And you are quite good at it, too.’
The child glowed at the compliment, and Diana felt a stab of regret. Her father had been lavish with his praise, whether complimenting her skill at reading and letters, or offering encouragement and advice as she began to experiment with paint and brush. James needed appreciation, too, and from more than just his doting nursemaid.
After asking direction of a footman, they set out for the cutting garden behind the kitchen garden. As Mrs Ransleigh had promised, the autumn flowers were reaching full bloom: chrysanthemums in rust and orange, asters in lavenders and whites, and Bourbon roses in the final flush of beauty.
After obtaining scissors and a trug from one of the gardeners, Diana let James carry the basket and helped him cut an assortment of the vivid blooms. They then returned to the kitchen garden, where she wandered among the rows to add sprays of mint, tansy, and rue to add a variety of green hues and a piquant aroma to the bouquet.
In between cutting the flowers, she allowed James to hopscotch down the flagstones of the back terrace, toss some pebbles from the gravel walk surrounding the herb beds into puddles left from the previous night’s rain, and make friends with one of the kitchen cats sunning itself on a bench.
When at last the trug was full, she said, ‘We’ll arrange the flowers and greenery into vases when we go back to the house.’
His smiling face sobered. ‘Must we go in already?’
She smiled at his disappointment. ‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it? No, I don’t suppose we must return to the house yet. Would you like to walk some more?’
‘Oh, yes! I can see woods from the schoolroom window. Could we walk there?’
‘It might be too far away, but we can walk in that direction.’
So they set off, James full of curiosity, commenting on every wall, bench and tree, noting its similarities or differences from those in the gardens at Graveston Court.
‘Why aren’t there any stone people, Mama?’ he asked suddenly.
She suppressed a smile at her son’s description of the valuable antiques her husband had placed along the series of descending terraces that led away from the house at Graveston Court, where visitors could see them and be suitably impressed. ‘Not everyone likes a very formal garden with statues,’ she replied.
He nodded. ‘Some of them were scary. I like this garden better.’
Smiling as she recalled some of the classical themes—the Rape of the Sabine Women, for one, which could in no way be considered appropriate viewing for an impressionable young boy—she said, ‘I prefer just plants, too.’
Around a turn bordered by a wall of boxwood, they reached the end of the gravel walk. Beyond a wide expanse of grass stood a field of wheat, the long tassels nodding in the breeze, and at a good distance beyond that, the woods James had seen from his windows.
‘Mama, it’s so pretty—the tall grass that’s all gold!’
‘Part of that pretty grass is ground into flour to make your bread,’ she told him.
‘Really? Can I go see it?’
She tensed, wondering whether the watchers would allow them to cross the lawn to the edge of the estate’s working fields. A second later she remembered: there were no watchers, ready to herd her back to the house—or drag her there, if need be—if she strayed too far.
A heady sense of freedom filled her, made her feel as light as if she were floating above the earth in one of those new Montgolfier balloons. ‘Yes, let’s go see the wheat.’
James set off at a trot, and she kept pace beside him. After a moment, tentatively, she reached for his hand. Eagerly, he grasped her fingers and together, they skipped over the uneven surface towards the golden sheaves beckoning in the distance.
Arriving, James realised the stalks blocking their path to the far-away tree line were nearly as tall as he was. ‘Look, Mama, it’s like the maze in the park we went to in the city.’
The Sydney Gardens maze had fascinated James and his friend Robbie, who had been taken there by kindly Uncle Alastair.
‘Can we walk through it?’
‘It’s not cut in a pattern like the one in the city,’ she explained. ‘But I suppose we could walk down some of the rows, as long as we’re careful not to harm the plants. This part...’ she pulled a stalk closer and showed the kernels to James ‘...is ground into flour for bread.’
‘Come, Mama, you walk down that row and I’ll walk down this one.’
Amused by his imagination in turning a common farm planting into a playground, Diana agreed. For a few moments they walked parallel, before with a giggle, James darted several rows away. ‘Come find me, Mama!’ he shouted.
Warmed by the afternoon sun and her son’s innocent enthusiasm, Diana walked along, peering through the sheaves and calling his name, pretending she couldn’t find him, then bounding across the few rows separating them to seize him. His shrieks of laughter as she caught and released him made her laugh, too.
‘Again, Mama!’ he pleaded.
For a surprisingly enjoyable interval, Diana searched and pounced as James ran about, hiding among the wheat. When at last she told him they must return to the house, so they might arrange the flowers they’d picked into vases before they wilted, he’d protested.
She’d given him no more than a warning look before he instantly capitulated. ‘Don’t get angry, Mama. I’ll go back. Minnie says I mustn’t tease you, and I don’t mean to.’<
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Another pang of sorrow for time and circumstance lost went through her. She couldn’t ever remember worrying about ‘teasing’ her father with her questions or her presence—he had always had time for her. How many years had the nursemaid been protecting her son from the seemingly harsh scrutiny of his parents?
But time and circumstance were different now, and she meant for James to benefit from it.
‘I know you weren’t trying to tease me. There’s a treat for you before we go back to the house, too. Shall we go see what it is?’
He brightened instantly. ‘A treat! Is it ices?’
‘No, but something I think you’ll like even better.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said solemnly. ‘There’s practically nothing as good as ices.’
* * *
As she had suspected, once they arrived at the stables, ices were forgotten in his delight with the mother dog and her pups.
‘Mrs Ransleigh said you may choose one of the puppies to be your dog for our visit,’ she told him.
‘Can I? A dog for my very own?’
She nodded. ‘You won’t be able to bring it to the nursery; he or she is too young yet and must stay with the mama. Which one would you like?’
James took his time, his little face serious as, with a grinning groom’s assistance, he held and examined each spaniel—until a brown-and-white-spotted puppy with fly-away ears stretched up to lick him on the nose. Drawing away at first in alarm, he then leaned forward to get another lick. ‘I think this one is choosing me!’
‘I believe you are right. What shall you name him?’
‘How about Pebbles? He has little brown spots just like the pebbles I threw in the puddles.’
‘Very well. You must say goodbye to Pebbles now, but we can visit him again tomorrow.’
Before setting the dog down, James lowered his face for another enthusiastic round of puppy kisses. ‘He likes me, Mama!’ James exclaimed with a giggle. ‘I like living here. Can we stay for ever?’
Diana opened her lips, then closed them, the worry over their future that always hovered just out of mind surfacing at that remark. She didn’t want to spoil her son’s enjoyment by correcting his innocent assumption that Barton Abbey was now their home.
‘Mrs Ransleigh is a very kind lady, isn’t she?’ she evaded.
‘Oh, yes! She came to the nursery after Minnie found the soldiers and showed us where to get more. And she brought some teacakes Cook had just made. They were almost as good as ices.’
‘I hope you thanked her politely.’
‘Oh, I did! I told her she could bring me cakes any time.’
Diana grinned at his artless self-confidence. Oh, that she might share it about their future!
She wasn’t sure where their eventual home would be, though it almost certainly wouldn’t be Barton Abbey. As long as it was somewhere they could be together, beyond the Duke’s reach, she would be content. She trusted Alastair to strike as good a bargain as he could for them; he’d also promised she would no longer have to be afraid—and she was trying to believe him.
But for now, until that eventual fate revealed itself, she vowed to be more like James, pushing aside worry about what the future held—with or without Alastair—and enjoying the respite he and his mother had given her. To breathe free and run through the fields, to get to know her son better, to read books, make conversation, paint and reacquaint herself with the pianoforte.
Her son was not the only one who was finding Barton Abbey a wonderful refuge, she thought as she followed him into the house.
* * *
A week later, after a futile stop in London, Alastair finally tracked his cousin down at Salmford House, the small estate Will had purchased in Sussex. Arriving in mid-afternoon, he was shown to the library, where the butler told him the master was going over the estate books.
‘Alastair!’ Will exclaimed with delight as the butler announced him. ‘What an unexpected pleasure! Tate, would you bring some wine and see if Cook can scare up some meat and cheese? If I know my cousin, after the ride in, he’ll be famished.’
Turning back to Alastair as the butler bowed himself out, he said, ‘I didn’t think we’d see you until we returned to London. Much as she loves Paris, Elodie needed some time here in her gardens before heading back to the city.’
‘I did look for you there first, but no matter. A trip to Salmford is always a pleasure. Everything is well, I trust?’
Will nodded. ‘It’s always better when Elodie can bring Philippe to England with her. She’s had her son back such a short time, she’s never truly easy when he’s out of her sight. Luckily, she was able to persuade the comtesse to let him accompany us on this trip. What brings you here?’
‘Have you heard nothing?’
‘About you? No. What have you got yourself into this time? Max didn’t mention a word when we stopped to see him in Kent.’ He shook his head. ‘It seems I need to add to my network of informants. What is it?’
Well aware of Will’s dislike of the woman who’d broken their engagement, he warned, ‘Before I tell you, you must promise to reserve judgement until you’ve heard the whole.’
Will’s grin faded. ‘Must be serious indeed, if you’re issuing such a warning to me, the most affable of men. Forget the wine, this calls for brandy.’ Motioning Alastair to a chair, he walked to the decanter on the desk and poured them each a glass.
Seating himself again, he faced his cousin. ‘Very well, begin.’
Alastair did. Though some thundercloud expressions darkened Will’s face during the recitation, he honoured his promise and made no comment as Alastair related once again the reasons behind Diana’s rejection of his suit, her ongoing battle of her marriage, and the new fight with her husband’s heir.
Will’s silence continued for some time after Alastair finished his account. Knowing he would not win approval by pressing Will, Alastair stifled his impatience and sipped his brandy, waiting while his cousin reflected on all he’d been told—and mentally trying to construct an alternate plan for thwarting the Duke, if Will refused to help him.
At long last, Will sighed. ‘The tale is spectacularly unbelievable—which, I suppose, is the strongest recommendation for its truth. In any event, since I ended up marrying the woman I swore to drag back to England, to the gallows, if that proved necessary to vindicate Max, I suppose I don’t have room to object to your championing the lady who injured you.’
‘The story is hard to accept, I admit. Swallow that whole for a moment, and while it digests, let’s move on to what we need to do now. Something I think you’ll find much more palatable.’
‘Something has to be done?’ Will said with a grin. ‘That does sound promising.’
‘I called on Graveston to try to impress on him his responsibilities to his father’s widow. Far from being convinced, he announced his intent to broadcast his suspicion that his father did not die of natural causes; he intends to accuse Diana of his murder.’
Will’s eyebrows flew up. ‘Has he any grounds?’
‘Beyond his wish to punish her, not really. It’s a ridiculous accusation that, were he anyone else, would probably be laughed at by local authorities. But because of his rank, he would probably be able to force an investigation. He seems certain he can find witnesses to support his version of events.’
‘Or buy some?’ Will interjected drily.
‘I see you have as much confidence in the reliability of our legal system’s evidence-gathering methods as I do,’ Alastair replied acerbically. ‘Now that I’ve had time to think about it, having his father buried already probably works in his favour. The coroner may well conclude there would be no purpose in exhuming the body, as it would be too late to find any evidence.’
‘Either to prove—or more importantly, to disprove the charges,’ W
ill said, shaking his head. ‘I saw evidence enough during my years on the streets of how the law supports the mighty,’ he added, his tone turning bitter. ‘Boys transported because a shop owner claimed they stole bread, innocent men imprisoned over evidence from thief-takers intent upon winning a reward. So, what do we do to defend your lady?’
‘Since I am too well known to be of much use, what you can do is more important. I’d like you to go to Wickham’s End, the village nearest Graveston Court, and hang about. See what you can nose out from the locals about the old Duke’s death, his relationship with his heir—anything of interest you can find. Anything we could use to persuade the heir not to drag Diana into a sordid public battle.’
‘If it comes to that, we could buy witnesses of our own,’ Will pointed out.
Alastair laughed. ‘Yes, that’s the rogue I need! I knew I could count on your expertise. But I’d prefer it not come to a trial.’
Will nodded. ‘So you want me to poke about, see what I can find that might persuade His High-and-Mightiness not to move forward with charges? Excellent! I have to admit, though the give and take of bargaining on wine lots is exciting, much of the negotiation over trading rights between the Crown and our new French allies is damnably dull. I shall relish a bit of an adventure.’
‘There’s probably one more thing I should tell you.’
Will raised an eyebrow. ‘Why is there always one more thing?’
‘The Duke also threatened me. He had Diana watched, and so discovered that, very soon after she fled Graveston Court for Bath, we...began a relationship. He advised me to keep my distance, warning that if I intervened to help her, he would drag me into this, claiming that I’d encouraged her to do away with her husband so she might take up with the man who’d once been her lover.’
‘The cad!’ Will exploded. ‘There’d be immense satisfaction in thwarting him just because he’s a duke—but now, it’s personal. No one can get away with threatening one of the Rogues. But devil’s teeth, Alastair,’ he added in exasperated tones, ‘you certainly led straight into the Duke’s trump suit with that play!’
The Rake to Rescue Her Page 18
