Under The Wishing Star

by Farr, Diane

  She continued to back away from him. “Not that crazy.”

  She backed into the railing and was forced to stop. He could not suppress a chuckle. “You shouldn’t ask what a man is thinking if you really don’t want to know.”

  “I shall bear that in mind in future,” she said. She sounded honestly shaken.

  He shouldn’t be enjoying this, but now that the humor in the situation had struck him, he couldn’t help it. He advanced on her, moving leisurely. Her eyes dilated. She clutched the railing behind her with both hands, bracing herself. He cornered her and grinned down into her startled face.

  Surely she wasn’t frightened. Not really frightened.

  He deliberately placed one hand on either side of her, holding the railing, trapping her between his arms. His thumbs brushed her wrists, but that was the only point where they touched. She leaned so far backward to avoid bringing their bodies into contact, she almost tumbled over into the shrubbery. Her fragrance teased his senses again, warm and faint, the barest whiff of musk and sweetness.

  He waggled his eyebrows like a villain in a melodrama. “Ask me what I’m thinking now.”

  “No,” she said hastily. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “What a pity.” He let her go and moved away, still grinning. “Sorry! I shouldn’t have teased you. But it was irresistible.”

  An expression of relief replaced her fright as she straightened her body and let go of the railing. A scowl descended on her features but—as he had hoped—most of her anger had evaporated with the fear. She now looked merely annoyed. “You are the most peculiar man I have ever met.”

  “Well, you know what they say about the aristocracy. We’re all a bit potty.”

  “You shouldn’t joke about such things,” she scolded. “What if I had truly thought you were offering marriage? What if I had accepted you?” She shook her head in disgust. “Dangerous! I never heard anything to equal it.”

  “Oh, come now.” Since she was half-reclining against the railing, he seated himself on a stone bench against the wall. He gave her his most disarming smile. “I knew I could rely on your good sense.”

  “You knew nothing of the kind.” She looked severely at him. “You know nothing about me. For all you knew, I might have been perfectly desperate to marry, and ready to jump at the first offer I received. What would you have done then, I wonder?”

  “Marry you, I suppose.” He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle, leaning back against the wall of the house. “Would that have been such a dreadful fate?”

  She bit back a laugh. “Do not expect me to answer you with the same frankness you have shown.”

  “No need. You have already warned me about your true nature,” he assured her. “First you told me you were a willful, uncontrollable child, and then you told me that you haven’t changed much over the years.” He winked.

  This time, she laughed outright. “I might have known my candor would come back to haunt me. So now you imagine that I am still single at four and twenty because no man will have me.”

  “Four and twenty is not such a great age. Who knows? Your luck may turn.”

  She tapped her chin with one finger, regarding him in skeptical amusement. “I wonder what you mean by that? Do you mean that I might suddenly become lucky—or unlucky?” She held the finger aloft in a gesture of warning. “Be careful, sir.”

  He chuckled. “I dare not reply.”

  “Hum! That’s the first sign of prudence I have seen you display.”

  They smiled at each other in the gathering darkness. The sky was turning a soft purple and the first stars were visible. He could have picked a worse moment to blurt out something stupid. In the dreamy luminosity of a summer’s evening, his momentary lapse into madness seemed forgivable. Even amusing. He shuddered to think what her reaction might have been, had he abruptly proposed marriage in the harsh glare of noontime, to a woman he had known for only a few hours. He doubted that they would be smiling at each other so warmly, ten minutes later. Timing is everything, he thought wryly, and had to smother another grin.

  She looked inquiringly at him. He waved her off, a rueful twinkle in his eye. “No, Miss Whittaker. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself this time.”

  What he was thinking was, he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled this much.

  Chapter 7

  They strolled back into the lamplit house. Natalie was brought up short by the sight of Nurse calmly drinking tea, not far from the windows that looked out onto the veranda. She was sitting out of earshot—thank heaven—but her expression was a bit too neutral. The glance she sent from Natalie’s face to Lord Malcolm’s was just a shade too bland for Natalie’s comfort.

  Natalie was well aware that she had rarely, if ever, spent time alone in the dark with a single gentleman. Nurse was aware of it, too. It was impossible to believe that she could refrain from speculation after witnessing such an interesting event.

  She tried to send her henchwoman a warning frown, but Nurse ignored her. Instead, she rose politely from her seat and addressed Lord Malcolm in deferential tones, informing him that she had taken the liberty of putting Sarah to bed.

  Lord Malcolm looked startled. “Did she allow it?”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Nurse permitted herself a tiny smile. “Allow me to compliment you, sir, on your daughter’s sweet disposition. She’s a very well brought-up, prettily behaved child.”

  Lord Malcolm actually flushed with pleasure. Natalie was both amused and touched to see how strongly he was affected by Nurse’s simple words of approval for his little girl. It was heartwarming, really. Endearing. In Natalie’s experience, men did not care deeply for their daughters.

  It occurred to her that he must have loved Sarah’s mother a great deal. That thought gave her a strange little pang.

  She returned her attention, with difficulty, to Lord Malcolm and Nurse. They were conversing quite amicably. It seemed that he was reconciling himself to the notion of hiring Mrs. Bigalow. This, also, gave Natalie a pang. She couldn’t remember a time when Nurse had not slept in the room next to her own, forever within call. It would feel lonely to know she was no longer there.

  She sat and poured herself a cup of tea. It was cold. She pulled a face and set it down again. Lord Malcolm and Nurse were shaking hands, apparently well pleased with each other. Natalie had to suppress a sigh. She had made her bed, she reminded herself, and now must lie in it.

  “It’s all settled, then,” Lord Malcolm was saying. “I’ll send word to my solicitor to put both of you on my books as of today’s date.” His bow was nicely calibrated to include Natalie as well. “In the meantime, Mrs. Bigalow, I hope you have arranged to have your things removed from the pony cart? Yes, very good. In that case, I imagine you have some unpacking to do.”

  Nurse acknowledged it, but seemed reluctant to leave the room. She looked fixedly at Natalie. “Daresay we should have brought young Daniel with us, to see you home. Should have thought of that. It’s full dark now.”

  Natalie waved this off. “No matter. I am unlikely to get lost between here and Crosby Hall.”

  “I will escort you, of course,” said Lord Malcolm.

  Nurse looked over her spectacles at him, as if trying to read his intentions. Her expression was sharp. Fearing that she was about to launch into a scold, Natalie stood up hastily. “Thank you, but I do not require an escort.”

  She was sure that Nurse had been about to mortify her by admonishing Lord Malcolm for his improper suggestion. But, to her amazement, Nurse folded her hands before her and said placidly, “Don’t be a goosecap, Natalie. If Lord Malcolm is kind enough to offer his escort, you should take it.”

  Natalie stared at Nurse, astonished. “I wouldn’t dream of putting him to so much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all,” Lord Malcolm assured her.

  “The distance is ridiculously short!”

  “As Mrs. Bigalow points out, however, it is dark now. I couldn’t let
you drive home alone.”

  She would look foolish if she protested further. Natalie tried to smile. “What a to-do over nothing! Very well, Lord Malcolm, I accept. Thank you.”

  She did her best to ignore the nervous flutter that had begun when he offered to escort her home. If Nurse saw nothing wrong with Lord Malcolm escorting her home, she told herself firmly, then she was surely safe. Nurse had always been overprotective of her. She would never send her into danger.

  Of course, Nurse was unaware of the more bizarre aspects of Lord Malcolm’s behavior. Hiring strangers at the drop of a hat, without references, was the least of it.

  She stood in the entrance hall, smoothing her gloves and trying to appear composed, while Lord Malcolm called for the pony cart. She attempted to quell her nervousness with common sense. There was nothing extraordinary about this situation; nothing out of the way. Just a simple visit to the house next door. Just a short ride home with a friendly escort. Lord Malcolm was only being neighborly.

  Then he appeared in the doorway, driving gloves on and hat at a jaunty angle. She felt an undeniable, almost overwhelming, pull of attraction.

  Heavens! This would never do. The butterflies in Natalie’s stomach fluttered anew. She gave him an apprehensive smile and allowed him to lead her to the cart. He handed her up into it. She was glad it was too dark for him to see her blush. She looked away, feigning indifference, as he hopped up and sat beside her.

  The pony cart had never seemed so small.

  She slanted a look at him. “Shall I drive?”

  “Certainly not.” He headed the pony toward the road. “What would the neighbors think?”

  She smiled. “I am ‘the neighbors.’”

  “In that case, I depend on you to direct me. Crosby Hall is to the south, I think you indicated?”

  “Correct.”

  Night was a long time coming in July. Despite Nurse’s fears that full dark would have arrived by now, the horizon was still rimmed with orange. However, Larkspur’s long driveway was lined with trees. As they headed toward the road, the trees met overhead and plunged them into true darkness. Natalie shivered.

  “Are you cold, Miss Whittaker?” He sounded concerned.

  “No,” she said quickly. “Not at all.” It was the intimacy of sitting next to him in the blackness that had made her shiver. She dared not let him guess that. She cast about in her mind for something to say. “After you set me down, you must drive the pony cart back to Larkspur, of course. I can send our Daniel to fetch it in the morning.”

  “Very well.”

  His voice was so deep. At the sound of it, she nearly shivered again. She was glad when the avenue of trees ended and they emerged into the comparative brightness of the summer dusk. The gates stood open before them, and then the pale ribbon of road. There was not another soul in sight.

  “I don’t remember ever seeing the gates of Larkspur standing open,” she remarked, trying desperately to make conversation. “It is wonderful to have you here at last.” That sounded oddly familiar. She added hastily, “I mean, it will be pleasant for the neighborhood to have the house occupied, after it has stood empty for so long.”

  “I understood you the first time.” Amusement quivered in his voice. Natalie felt herself blushing again. Odious man! She would sit mute rather than subject herself to his teasing.

  He turned the cart left onto the road. After a few seconds of silence had spun out, he spoke. His deep baritone held a tentative note she had not heard in it before. “Miss Whittaker. I have been wrestling with a question. I wonder if I ought to speak with you—and Mrs. Bigalow as well—about Sarah. Before we begin.”

  She looked at him, and was surprised to see his brows drawn low over his eyes and his mouth set in a troubled line. “Is there something you think we should know?”

  “Perhaps. I am wondering if it would help you deal with her, to understand her a little better. Sarah is ...” He paused for a moment. “Different. On the other hand, I hesitate to say anything, for fear it would prejudice you. I think I may have inadvertently done that with Mrs. Thorpe.”

  “How so?”

  “I warned her that she might find Sarah a little odd. And now I wonder whether it was my well-intentioned warning that poisoned her mind against Sarah. She seemed to take her in instant dislike.”

  His confession seemed to be causing him pain. Natalie had to quell an impulse to lay her hand on his arm to comfort him. Her voice was very gentle as she said, “Lord Malcolm, I can safely promise you that I will not take Sarah in dislike.”

  His expression lightened a bit. He looked down at her with the glimmer of a smile. “This,” he said softly, “is why I found you irresistible.” His words seemed to strike him as ill-chosen. He cleared his throat. “I mean, your rapport with Sarah is what made me want to hire you.”

  “Lord Malcolm,” she said demurely, “I understood you the first time.”

  He laughed, recognizing his own words flung back at him, and she smiled, pleased to have her jest understood.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think I should know, and then I can tell you whether I think we should share the information with Nur—Mrs. Bigalow.”

  He scratched his chin. “Hm. How much time do I have?”

  “Five minutes. When we round the next bend you will be able to see the turning to Crosby Hall.”

  “Then there is time to tell you this much. Sarah has an overactive imagination, as I think you have guessed. I asked Mrs. Thorpe to do what she could to break her of her ... daydreaming habits. I believe that is why Mrs. Thorpe was so harsh with her. It may have been the wrong approach, but she was trying to teach Sarah to live in the real world rather than a world of her own making.”

  Natalie was puzzled. “Does she have imaginary playmates and so forth? I believe it is normal for a child of her age to—”

  Lord Malcolm was shaking his head. “That is not what I mean. I don’t know how to describe it. She ... retreats. She seems to have enormous powers of concentration, and unless she is checked in some way, she spends the majority of her time off in her own little world.”

  Natalie hesitated. She hoped she was not asking too personal a question, but she had to ask it. “Is she lonely?” she said softly.

  He shot her a keen glance. There was pain in his shadowed eyes. “Ah,” he said quietly. “I had forgotten how perceptive you are. Yes, I think she may be.” He sighed. “I suppose you have deduced that her mother is no longer among the living.”

  “Yes,” said Natalie gently. “I am sorry.”

  “Thank you.” His voice was toneless. “Not that Sarah knew her well. Catherine has been gone for three years now. But Sarah is such a sensitive child. She never seemed to recover, as a more resilient child might have done. I think she still feels the loss—although she may no longer be able to give it a name. This is why I had hoped, as I think I explained to you, to find someone for her who would act as a companion as well as a guide and teacher. A mother figure, I suppose.” His voice dropped until it was barely audible. “Had Sarah been a boy, things would be different. I am unequal to the task God has set for me.”

  Natalie held her breath; she felt she was hearing private thoughts he had not intended to share. Then he seemed, with an effort, to return to the moment at hand. “Is this the turning?”

  “Yes,” she said absently, wishing they had walked rather than driven. “We are nearly there. Tell me, does Sarah have any friends?”

  He frowned, seeming to focus enormous attention on turning into the drive. Natalie was not deceived. She knew the pony knew the way by heart.

  “No,” he said at last. “My brother—Lord Grafton, you know—has five daughters. But he and his family live most of the year in London. When we see them, Sarah’s spirits noticeably improve—even though Arthur’s girls are older than Sarah. He is my elder by nearly twelve years.”

  “I see.” They were pulling up to the house. The lamp by the door had not been lit in anticipation of her ret
urn, and Mabel’s new butler was nowhere to be seen. Natalie felt embarrassed. She hoped Lord Malcolm did not notice anything amiss. She did not expect the butler to make an appearance; he would know it was only Natalie who was arriving, and he seemed to labor under the impression that waiting on Natalie was not part of his duties.

  The pony stood quietly while Lord Malcolm hopped down and crossed to Natalie’s side of the cart. She almost told him that she didn’t need his assistance to alight. She really didn’t. She could jump down perfectly well on her own. Still, it would look churlish to refuse his outstretched hand. She placed her hand in his.

  His fingers closed around hers, and even through their gloves she felt his warmth. She moved to jump, and suddenly felt his other hand at her waist, steadying her. She was too startled to do anything other than finish her movement, and jump—and ended up jumping almost into his arms. He set her on her feet and stepped back. She had to remind herself to breathe. “Thank you,” she said, in a strangled voice.

  “Shall I see you to the door?”

  “No,” she said, a little too vehemently. She then managed a weak smile. “You have already done so, my lord.”

  “Good night, then.”

  “Good night.” She moved quickly up the shallow steps to the door. Behind her, she heard the creak of the pony cart as Lord Malcolm climbed back into it. She turned when she reached the safety of the door and waved to him. He saluted her and drove off.

  Natalie entered the house feeling more unsettled than she had any right to feel. Nothing untoward had happened; Lord Malcolm had done nothing improper. Unless one counted that ridiculous marriage proposal, which hadn’t been a real marriage proposal at all.

  As she lit a candle and mounted the stairs she remembered that she had a right, after all, to feel rattled. Her entire life had unexpectedly changed today. Nurse was gone, perhaps forever, and she was beginning employment of her own tomorrow. Anyone might feel a trifle off-balance under these circumstances. She supposed she would toss and turn all night, a prey to hopes and fears.