by Farr, Diane
“No, but you mustn’t judge her by my impressions. I’m afraid my view of her is completely jaundiced! My dislike of Mabel is no reflection on Hector, either. She brought a large dowry with her, so despite her flaws she is considered quite a prize.” Natalie suddenly realized how waspish her words had been, and gave a tiny gasp. “Oh, pray do not laugh! I should not have said such a dreadful thing.”
Lord Malcolm’s shoulders were shaking. “Too late! I am picturing a cow with a blue ribbon round its neck. Sorry.”
Natalie was mortified. “I hope you are able to put the picture aside when you meet her, sir. It would be fatal for you to think of a cow. I very much fear you would laugh out loud.”
“Resembles one, does she?”
“Well, yes,” Natalie confessed. “But she is in the family way, you know. Her appearance may improve once the ordeal is behind her.”
He threw back his head and uttered a crack of laughter. “Poor Mabel! So you will soon be an aunt. For his sake, I hope the child takes after his aunt and uncle rather than his parents.”
Natalie began to suspect that Lord Malcolm, for some unknown reason, was emptying the butter boat over her. She looked accusingly at him. “You are talking a great deal of nonsense, sir. You haven’t met the baby’s parents. Nor its Uncle Derek, for that matter.”
His blue eyes smiled down at her. “I stand corrected. I hope the child favors his aunt, and only his aunt.”
She stared up at him, now certain that he meant to compliment her. “I think—I think you are trying to flatter me,” she stammered. A few moments ago, his shadowed eyes had been cold and bleak. Now they were warm, lit with teasing laughter. The abrupt shifts were very unsettling.
He pressed a hand to his heart as if in pain. “Why would I do that?” he exclaimed, the picture of injured innocence.
She tried to look stern. “I’m sure I don’t know, but I wish you would stop. It puts me out of countenance.”
“Your wish is my command.” He adopted a more respectful air, but simultaneously tucked her hand more snugly under his elbow. It wasn’t really a familiarity, she told herself. It couldn’t be. His intentions were, must be, completely innocent. Really, she must stop reading too much significance into their contact. She had walked this closely with other gentlemen, arm in arm, and it had never crossed her mind that there was anything unseemly about it. But somehow, when Lord Malcolm touched her, it felt improper. Why had she suddenly turned skittish?
“Did you go away to school, or have you lived all your life at Crosby Hall?”
“What! Another question?” She shook her head, torn between amusement and exasperation. “You seem to want my life history. I can’t imagine why it would interest you.”
“You interest me.”
Natalie almost stumbled, and Lord Malcolm hastened to correct himself. “I mean,” he said, “that I need to understand your background, since you are acting as my child’s governess.”
Natalie had the distinct impression that that wasn’t what he had meant at all. Her pulse kicked up a notch. The difficulty with Lord Malcolm was, one never knew what he would say or do next. He was generally perfectly charming and gentlemanlike, but every so often he would blurt out the strangest things! Or touch her in a way that made her feel ... unsafe. He certainly seemed to be a creature of impulse. She tried very hard to banish the memory of his peculiar mention of marriage yesterday, but it would intrude. Repeatedly.
Oh, dear.
When she did not immediately reply, he spoke again. “I was asking about school, actually, because I wasn’t sure how long Hector has been the master at Crosby Hall. I imagine life was easier for you while your father was living.”
It was a question disguised as a statement, but his tone was friendly enough. She could hardly refuse to answer. The safest thing to do was reply, she decided, and then turn the subject.
“The estate has belonged to Hector for eight or nine years, in point of fact, but he only took up the reins lately. When he married. He used to live in London with his mother.” They had reached the bottom of the hill and were heading into the wooded area where the stream ran between their properties. Natalie pointed. “The path is to our left,” she said, glad that their misdirection gave her an excuse to let go of his arm and lead the way. He trailed in her wake until they reached the path, narrow but clear, that meandered toward the footbridge. A low-hanging branch partially blocked the entrance to it and he lifted it for her, saying, “Allow me.” She gulped her thanks and ducked beneath his arm.
Coolness and a woodsy scent immediately enveloped them. It was like walking into a tunnel of green. Lord Malcolm breathed deeply. “What a pleasant spot,” he said, pleasure warming his voice. “Even better in the afternoon than it was this morning. I am thinking of putting in a bench of some sort. Perhaps overlooking the stream. What say you to that?”
“I?” She lifted her brows in surprise. Why on earth would he consult the governess on such a question? How odd. “You must do as you see fit, of course. Do you fish, my lord?”
“A little. Is there any sport to be had in this brook? I had thought it too small.”
“Well, perhaps there is more sport to be had by the extremely young,” she admitted with a laugh. “I have fond memories of summer days spent down here with Derek, getting exceedingly wet and dirty. But now that I think about it, I believe most of our haul consisted of tadpoles and frogs.”
“You know, I begin to feel a twinge of sympathy for Hector after all,” remarked Lord Malcolm. “Where was he, while you and Derek were off playing?”
Natalie refused to rise to this bait. “I know what you are implying, but I assure you, you are wrong,” she said, with mock severity. “We did not blight his life by excluding him, and there was nothing deliberate about it. He was simply too young to play with us.”
She saw the query forming in his eyes and pretended to cover her ears. “No more questions, I beg of you! I will volunteer the information. I was nearly six when Hector was born. Derek is thirteen months younger than I. Pray bear it in mind, because when people see us together they too-frequently assume that we are twins.”
“Thank you, I will,” he said meekly, and she smothered a laugh.
They had reached the little wooden bridge. Natalie ran lightly to its center and leaned over the rickety rail, peering into the slow, muddy stream. “There!” she exclaimed, pointing. “Tadpoles.”
It had been a mistake to stop. He immediately came up beside her, his arm brushing hers. The contact sent a tingle all through her. Most inappropriate! She dared not let him guess how crazily his touch affected her. If she jumped away from him, he would surely wonder at it. So she stayed where she was, pressed lightly against him from shoulder to elbow, and endured the tingle.
It was an interesting sensation. One could even grow to like it.
“I see them,” he said, and the bass rumble of his voice seemed to resonate down his arm and into her, vibrating the length of her body. “We must show them to Sarah sometime.”
We. The word sent another jolt of electricity through her. Oh, this was madness. She had to pull away. “Yes,” she said brightly, taking a step back. “We must.”
He glanced curiously at her, but made no objection to leaving the bridge and continuing their stroll. He insisted on handing her over the fallen log that blocked the path on the other side of the brook, but that was the only alarming moment she faced until they emerged back into the sunshine on the other side of the narrow band of woods. At that point, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he took her hand and tucked it back in the crook of his elbow. She would look like an idiot if she objected, she thought. So she did not object, but docilely clung to his arm all the way up the grassy rise to Crosby Hall.
“I don’t know what the protocol is in this situation,” he remarked as they approached the house. “It seems a bit cavalier to drop you at the door and walk away. On the other hand, I haven’t sent my card round. And even if I had, I am
unsure of my welcome at Crosby Hall. Your brother and sister-in-law may regard me in the light of a kidnaper.”
“Pooh! Do you imagine that Hector and Mabel will turn you away? They will not dare.” Natalie’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Although I suppose it would be helpful to decide what your role is. Are you visiting a neighbor, paying a courtesy call on the local gentry, or merely seeing one of the servants home?”
“Ouch,” muttered Lord Malcolm.
She laughed. “In all seriousness, there is no need to come in unless you wish to.”
“In that case, I will postpone meeting Mr. and Mrs. Whittaker until another time. Much as it pains me to delay the treat, of course.”
He took a very polite leave of her, pressing her hand in both of his and smiling in a way that puzzled and alarmed her. Her experience of men was limited—well, it was almost nil—but had any other gentleman looked at her in such a way, she would have thought he was deliberately trying to charm her.
She wouldn’t go so far as to call his manner flirtatious ... no, he did nothing that went beyond the bounds of common courtesy. But she could not shake the feeling that Lord Malcolm was up to something.
She frowned as she climbed the stairs to the small sitting room that adjoined her bed chamber. If she hadn’t walked to the village yesterday, and hadn’t encountered Sarah and Lord Malcolm at the inn, she wouldn’t be in this tangle. She would have noticed the increased activity at Larkspur through her windows, discovered when everyone else did that His Grace’s second son was in residence, paid a perfectly normal social call, and made his acquaintance in the ordinary way. Under those circumstances, she had to admit, the notion that Lord Malcolm might be flirting with her would be ... well ... exciting.
But those were not the circumstances in which she found herself. Instead of meeting Lord Malcolm as a social equal—or something very near it—she had placed herself in a situation where, to him, she was little better than a servant. And she had no one to blame but herself.
And, of course, Sarah. At the thought of Sarah, her lips curved involuntarily. Sarah was a darling, and she had loved her at once. She could not regret taking on the monumental task that loomed before her. Had she refused, Mrs. Thorpe would be in residence at Larkspur and Sarah’s new life would be as miserable as Natalie suspected her old life had been.
No, she did not regret her choice, she thought tiredly, sinking into her favorite wing chair. Not yet, a tiny voice whispered in her mind. Not yet, and perhaps not ever, she told herself firmly. But the tiny voice of unease still nagged at her, warning her that if the inappropriate flashes of attraction she felt toward Lord Malcolm continued ... she could come to regret it very much indeed.
Chapter 10
By the time Patterson reported to him, more than a fortnight had gone by. The long summer days had formed a lazy, contented pattern. Every morning, Malcolm and Sarah walked to Crosby Hall, met Natalie, and brought her back to Larkspur for breakfast. If the weather was fair, they spent the rest of the day mostly out of doors. When it was too hot, or on the days when it rained or blew, the party moved indoors—but it always felt like a party. In fact, it felt more like a party during inclement weather than fine weather, because they were less likely to be interrupted by Malcolm’s social obligations. During fair weather, people made calls.
The circle of local gentry in the neighborhood was small, so the visits were not numerous, but Malcolm naturally did not want to slight those who did call on him. During these visits, and the calls that Malcolm paid in return, Natalie always withdrew with Sarah.
This, more than any other single factor, illustrated for him the awkwardness of her situation. These people were her acquaintances and friends, but when they called she disappeared.
It seemed wrong that she felt she must hide when people she knew arrived on his doorstep, but he understood her reasons. He could imagine the gossip that would begin if she were caught “visiting” him every single time one of the local ladies called. Natalie said nothing about it, but she formed a habit of working with Sarah in the park behind the house. It was very pleasant in the park. It was also well out of sight of anyone coming up the drive to call on Malcolm. He wished he knew which consideration had most influenced her choice.
Social calls, though a nuisance, were infrequent. It was business that took him most often from Sarah and Natalie. He chose a room at the back of the house for his study, so even while interviewing staff or poring over invoices his eyes could stray to the window and follow Natalie and Sarah in their summer frocks, bright splashes against the backdrop of green. Their favorite spot was beneath a certain chestnut tree that happened to be in full view of his study window. Natalie would spread a cloth on the shady grass and sit there with Sarah for hours. The sight of their heads bent together over a book, or Natalie’s hands guiding Sarah’s as she taught her penmanship or instructed her in needlework or drawing, always made him smile.
It was going well, he thought. It was going very well. It was going so well, in fact, that when he was greeted by the sight of Patterson one morning in early July, bowing and smiling and rubbing his plump hands together, he was strongly inclined to send the fellow away again. Still, arrangements had to be made for paying Natalie and Mrs. Bigalow, as well as the other staff members he had hired. The solicitor’s visit would not be a complete waste.
Malcolm waved him to a chair and Patterson looked around him at the neat bookshelves and comfortable furniture, beaming. “Very snug, my lord, very snug indeed. I congratulate you. High time you took up residence at Larkspur, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I don’t.” He gave the man a tight little smile. No point in being sensitive about it; Patterson had known him all his life. “I’m sure you have wondered what was taking me so long.”
Patterson looked embarrassed. “Oh, well, as to that, I’m sure it was nobody’s business but your own.”
“Quite,” said Malcolm dryly.
Patterson hastily changed the subject. “I hear you have been able to secure a number of excellent employees on short notice.”
“Yes, I have,” said Malcolm, easing into the leather chair he had placed behind his desk. “Not due to my own ingenuity, I’m afraid. It was sheer luck. My neighbors at Crosby Hall dismissed most of their staff only a few weeks before I came here.”
“You don’t say!”
“Amazing, isn’t it? They are all experienced, highly qualified individuals—and local. They naturally viewed my arrival on the scene as providential. And, I need hardly say, I viewed their availability for immediate hire in the same light.” His eyes twinkled. “I find there is nothing like mutual gratitude to put employer and employee on an excellent footing.”
“But how extraordinary,” exclaimed Patterson, his small, round eyes wide with astonishment. “Really, almost inexplicable. A competent staff is extremely difficult to retain, especially so far from London. Why do you suppose—?” He left the question delicately dangling.
Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. “There is a new bride at Crosby Hall.”
Enlightenment appeared to dawn. Patterson chuckled. “Ah. Just so. Well, let us hope that the young lady does not come to regret it. Very rash, upon my word! But a lucky stroke for us, as you say.” He fumbled in his satchel and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Shall we get down to business, then, my lord?”
Patterson whipped through the details of salary and banking arrangements with his usual efficiency, Malcolm signed his name a good many times, and by morning’s end everything was complete—or nearly everything. Patterson finished by stacking the papers with a practiced hand and peering kindly through his spectacles at Malcolm.
“There was one other matter, my lord.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have the results of those inquiries you asked the firm to put forward on your behalf.”
Malcolm leaned back in his chair, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I am fairly confident that you discovered nothing shocking in Miss Whit
taker’s background.”
Despite his confidence, it was a relief when Patterson replied, “Nothing whatsoever, my lord. A very respectable family, originally from Lincolnshire. Landholders for many generations. Not of the nobility, you understand, but solid stock, very solid. She has a brother who presently acts as secretary to Lord Stokesdown, and he speaks most highly of the young man. As for the lady herself, I uncovered not a breath of scandal, not a single rumor. I found nothing that you might lead you to think her unfit for ... for any position you might have in mind.” Patterson almost winked. It was evident that he had guessed the meaning behind Malcolm’s inquiry. “Is it too soon to offer my felicitations?”
“You are a little ahead of yourself,” Malcolm acknowledged. “Pray keep the matter confidential for the time being.”
“Certainly, my lord. As you wish.” The little man rose and gathered his things. “But if I may take the liberty of speaking frankly, sir, I have known you many years, boy and man, and it gives me great satisfaction to see you at last where you should be, here at Larkspur —and appearing to enjoy life a trifle.”
Malcolm’s smile became strained. He shouldn’t be enjoying life. Not after the terrible mistakes he had made. But he knew the solicitor meant it kindly, so he thanked him. Patterson bowed himself out and Malcolm’s gaze returned, frowning, to the scene framed by his study window.
Natalie was laughing, bending over Sarah and helping her disentangle the crochet work she had begun. Sarah giggled, leaning against Natalie’s knee with such a confiding air that Malcolm felt his heart constrict at the sight. Sarah adored Miss Whittaker. It would break her little heart if anything went wrong ... if something, or someone, took Natalie away. He could not allow that to happen.
Thank God, Patterson had found no scandals in Natalie’s past. No suitors either, but that went without saying. Had there been suitors, she would hardly be free at her age; a woman of her station would naturally have married had an opportunity arisen. The opportunity had evidently not arisen. Malcolm counted that as a stroke of almost miraculous good fortune. In fact, he had never experienced such an amazing run of luck in his life as he had enjoyed since meeting Miss Whittaker.
