by Lynn Collum
Before the castle door opened, Wesley began to fuss as he squirmed in Delia’s arms, wanting only to be in his bed, not understanding why he was awakened so late. Tiny fists rubbed at weary eyes as his whimpers grew louder.
Emily extended her arms and said, “Here, I shall take him, my dear. You must be exhausted. You have cared for him since we left Wells this afternoon.”
Delia surrendered the baby, then took the birdcage from Honoria, who appeared quite exhausted despite wide, curious eyes. Allowing her gaze to rest on her employer, the widow said, “I cannot like the idea of our arriving so late, Emily. You know what the innkeeper at the Hart and Hound said about the earl.”
Emily laughed as she patted the baby’s back to quiet his cries. “That Lord Hawksworth was a notorious rake-hell? Do you fear for our virtue, my dear?”
“Don’t be silly. ’Tis only that it might be considered unseemly to be residing at a rake’s residence, no matter the reason. I lack sufficient beauty to interest a rake, but you are both lovely and an innocent.”
“I doubt his lordship will have the time to give a second glance to two unfashionably dressed females who are about to turn his raffish world upside down.” At that moment a footman opened the door. Dressed in black livery with gold frogging and a neat white wig, he swept the lot with such a look of condescension that Emily wished they’d had the time to be outfitted with new wardrobes.
With a self-assurance she was far from feeling in her drab gray traveling gown and plain poke bonnet, Emily announced, “I should like to see Lord Hawksworth on a private matter.”
Speaking with all the arrogance he could muster, the servant, whose name was Martin, intoned, “His lordship is not at home to visitors this evening, madam.”
He made as if to shut the door, but to his surprise the female in grey boldly thrust her hand upon the door, stopping him. “Perchance I did not make myself clear. I am here to see his lordship on a matter of some urgency, and these children should not be left standing in the cold.”
Martin chewed his lip pensively. He liked the prestige that being employed at the castle netted him at the local tavern. He’d held his position as second footman for nearly a year, but this was the first time he was responsible for handling visitors, Bedows having gone to bed sick early in the evening. As he pondered what he should do about this pushing female, his gaze dropped to the young girl and boy peeking around the woman who was trying to force her way in. At once he was struck with the resemblance the children held with his lordship.
In an instant, the footman guessed that this woman was some soiled dove who’d enjoyed his lordship’s favors. Now she was trying to force her way into the castle to dun Lord Hawksworth for blunt for her base-born brats. Straightening with indignation, Martin knew his duty.
“Go about your business, you brass-faced hussy. His lordship don’t want your kind darkenin’ his doorway. Nor any brats disturbin’ his peace. Likely he would call the magistrate to have you thrown in the gaol for immoral behavior and who would blame him.” With that the servant stepped forward and extended his arm to give the woman a shove out of the way.
But his hand had barely landed on her shoulder before Martin felt something grip the back of his collar, and his feet flew off the floor. He was jerked about and found himself staring into the black eyes of an insane brown giant with a white sheet wrapped round his head.
“You will not touch my memsahib in such a manner! Do you understand?”
Emily watched the footman’s mouth open, but words failed to come out. Swarup gave him another gentle shake and the frightened servant was able to croak, “Yes.”
At that moment, the sounds of masculine laughter echoed from the far reaches of the building. Emily, her ire raised by their shabby treatment at the hands of Lord Hawksworth’s footman, decided to seek the gentleman without the servant’s help. She was beginning to wonder what kind of man Mr. Carson had for a brother, who would allow a servant to turn children away on a bitterly cold night.
“Swarup, put him down. Children, follow me.”
The Indian obeyed his mistress. He tossed the footman onto the ground as if he were yesterday’s rubbish, causing the fellow’s wig to go flying into the gravel. Then Swarup joined the others who filed into the Great Hall of Hawk’s Lair.
Emily led the children across the black-and-white marble floor to the oversized fireplace. As they all stood basking in the warmth of the blaze, she surveyed the many white doors that lined the blue walls of the cavernous foyer. Despite her anger, she found herself impressed with the grandeur of Hawk’s Lair. The beautiful Elizabethan building might be owned by a rake, but it showed no signs of neglect or impoverishment.
Young Wesley again began to whimper, reminding Emily of her mission. She gently patted his back as her gaze began to rove over the doors closed against the chill of the hall. At last she saw light glowing from under one. She assumed that was where she would find Lord Hawksworth. She marched forward, her little band loyally following her into battle, or so it seemed.
But at that moment, the rapid beat of footsteps sounded and the footman appeared from behind them at a full run. His wig was again perched upon his head, but now the white queue poked out the front like the horn of a rhinoceros. The man planted himself in front of Emily, his hands locked on either side of the door frame in an effort to bar her from entering. Breathless but determined, he announced, “You cannot disturb his lordship.”
Emily’s amber eyes glittered with a mixture of anger and determination. “Can I not?” She glanced to her servant, and an unspoken message passed between them. Without a word, Swarup’s large hand again shot out, grabbing the footman by the collar. The Indian carried his burden back to the middle of the Great Hall, the footman dangling like a marionette, before allowing the subdued Martin’s feet back on the ground. As he relinquished his hold, Swarup issued a stern warning for the man to stay away from his memsahib.
Emily was seething. She shot Delia a look which did not bode well for the earl, then squared her shoulders and reached for the door handle.
“I say, Hawksworth, where are these dashing chippers you promised? There wasn’t even a single housemaid to warm my bed last night,” Mr. Malcolm Abbot complained as he peered over his cards at the earl. A pompous man with a vast inherited fortune, he was short and stout, his brown hair going prematurely grey.
The gentlemen had been playing whist since dinner, and Oliver was thoroughly bored with the game and all of his house guests save his old friend, Sir Ethan. The earl, in desperation to find guests, had made the mistake of tossing out the invitation at White’s to a lively group of men. Their mood had been jovial as they discussed the delights of Freezeland Lane, the name given to the stretch of the Thames frozen solid for over six weeks and containing a Frost Fair.
Unfortunately, despite the throng’s cheerful humor, the only takers to his offer were the portly Mr. Malcolm Abbot, heir to a Northumberland barony, and Mr. Samuel Bonham, a blithe young man called Bones by his friends due to his lean, angular build and his fondness for dicing. Oliver supposed these gentlemen were his punishment for having told his grandmother a falsehood.
If it hadn’t been for Sir Ethan, the earl was certain he would have gone insane over the past few days. The burly Scotsman’s teasing humor and ready smile helped Oliver keep his sense of humor about this damnable party.
Oliver surveyed his cards with feigned interest before answering the question. “As I mentioned this morning, Miss Colette Devereau and several of the actresses in her company shall arrive at the end of the week. Exactly when depends on the condition of the roads from London.” He looked at the clock and wondered how much longer he would have to endure Abbot’s inane comments.
Mr. Bonham, his thin blond hair crimped into curls, eyed the card played by Sir Ethan, then, after making a selection to discard, said, “That’s a long time to wait for our promised entertainment. With your butler ailing, ain’t no saying but that we shall all be out of frame by
the time the ladybirds arrive.”
Sir Ethan grinned, then in a voice with a soft Scottish lilt said, “Didn’t know you were such a devil with the lasses, Bones.”
The young man did his best to give a wicked grin, but looked more the fool than the rogue. “Have to be a devil to steal a march on Hawksworth and his harem.”
Oliver stifled a yawn as the play continued. “My reputation is greatly exaggerated, I assure you.”
Abbot lowered his cards and made a great show of straightening the ruby ring on his pudgy fingers. “So the tale about you escorting a lightskirt to Lady Willingham’s musicale was just a rumor?”
“No, that is true. Avanley wagered me a monkey I couldn’t fool the old tartar, but I did.” Oliver chuckled at the memory of his next encounter with Lord Willingham after word got about. The fellow had actually crossed the street to avoid him. Oliver might be a rake, but Society knew him for a crack shot.
Bones puckered his brow in thought. “And the story about having to climb out a second-story window and down a trellis when Lady Shotwell’s husband arrived home unexpectedly?”
“Well, that is true as well. But that was years ago.” Oliver frowned, amazed at how many of his exploits were common knowledge.
Sir Ethan snorted. He’d been friends with Oliver for over ten years and knew the worse firsthand. “As you can see, Lord Hawksworth’s reputation is all exaggerated. Clearly he is a much maligned choir boy.”
The gentlemen laughed.
The game then resumed. Oliver informed the group that his groom had discovered there was to be a mill at Marksbury the following afternoon and proposed they go. He named the combatants. The weather would be the determining factor, since the bitter cold and snows of winter had been as relentless throughout March as in February. The company was in agreement that a bout of fisticuffs would be an excellent diversion.
The card players grew quiet when the sounds of voices could be heard coming from the hall. All looked expectantly at the door, thinking the female entertainment had arrived early. But to Oliver’s utter amazement, his drawing room door was thrust open without so much as a knock and a pair of drably gowned females, three children and several animals marched into the drawing room as if it were their own.
Curious as well as angered by the interruption, the earl’s gaze swept the women as he and the others politely rose. His first thought was that Martin had better be dead because if he wasn’t, Oliver was likely to kill him for allowing this shocking collection into his drawing room.
His gaze quickly riveted on the female who carried a baby. He could tell little about her features, which were obscured by a drab poke bonnet, but her plain garb, which encased a shapely feminine figure, looked much like that of a governess or vicar’s wife. Unlike the others, who hovered hesitantly at the door, she made straight for the table.
With surprising agility for a female of her size, she lifted the baby up and sat him right in the middle of the green baize table atop the whist deck. She appeared heedless of the banknotes scattered about, as if money were of no importance in the scheme of things. She rounded on the earl with little hesitation. “Lord Hawksworth, despite your servant’s efforts to bar me from this house, I am here to deliver your family to you.”
Oliver’s stunned gaze scanned the children at the door, then dropped to the child sitting in front of him. The baby, too young to understand the drama of the situation, picked up a brightly colored card to inspect, then began to chew on the edge while gazing up with bright blue eyes. Why, the child was his very image! But Oliver was certain he didn’t know this woman, nor had he ever fathered any children, to his knowledge.
At last finding his tongue, the earl barked, “Madam, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”
Before the lady could speak, Abbot rudely interrupted, “I say, Hawksworth, ’tis plain as the nose on your face. Your lady has come for blunt to feed this litter. Isn’t Bonham who is the devil here.”
Oliver frowned at the man beside him. “Sir, if you like the present size and shape of the nose on your face, you will kindly refrain from interfering in this matter.”
Malcolm Abbot’s face turned deadly white and he took a step back. But Bones chuckled, even as he peered at the visitor through his quizzing glass. “Not your usual style, old man. More a peahen than a bird of paradise.”
Oliver fell silent, glaring at the woman who stared defiantly back. What else could his guests think when this woman arrived with a trio of brats bearing a remarkable resemblance to him? The whole situation left him speechless.
In the lengthening silence the woman spoke in a voice full of challenge. “Well, sir, what have you to say?”
Sir Ethan cleared his throat. A tall man with an athletic build, he got behind the earl’s guests and nudged each in the back. “Gentlemen, I think it time we took our leave while our host discusses this private matter with the lady.”
Mr. Abbot and Mr. Bonham, despite their curiosity, knew the better part of valor was retreat where Hawksworth was concerned. Each quickly said good night and departed for their rooms. But Sir Ethan, while moving to the door, remained in the hope that he might help his friend in some way.
At last Oliver gathered his thoughts and spoke his mind. “Madam, I don’t know who you are or what your game is. I don’t care. But if you take these untidy brats and leave, I shall not find it necessary to call a constable for this prank.”
“Prank, sir? I did not travel thousands of miles to play a jest on the most odious man it has ever been my misfortune to meet. I am Miss Emily Collins, and these children you malign are your niece and nephews, which in my opinion is an unfortunate circumstance for them. You, Lord Hawksworth, are now their guardian.”
Oliver’s bleak gaze shifted back to the baby on the table, who was now happily mangling every last playing card within his reach. In a choked whisper, the earl asked, “And my brother and his wife are...?” He could not bring himself to think of James being dead despite their bitter quarrel and not having seen him in over ten years.
Emily watched the pain and realization settle into the gentleman’s blue eyes. Even as she experienced rage at this arrogant man, she felt a sudden rush of sympathy. Her voice softened as she gave him the news. “I fear Mrs. James Carson passed away giving birth last year. Of your brother’s fate, I cannot tell you, but he was gravely ill when his solicitor requested that I bring the children to you. I am certain Mr. Avery, your brother’s man of business, will write when there is news.”
The earl bowed his head and walked to the fireplace. He stood in his grief with his back to his visitors. No one spoke a word, giving his lordship a moment to fathom the dark news.
But the silence of the room was pierced when Matilda, always looking for food, decided the yellow tablecloth beside her might be tasty and pulled it off the small occasional table, sending a shower of family miniatures to the Oriental rug.
There was a sudden bustle of children and adults trying to recover the pictures from the floor and to right the cloth. Kali barked at the disturbance and the parrots joined in the chorus by squawking beneath their cover. Matilda, frightened by the commotion, dashed to the other side of the room, taking refuge behind a painted screen.
Delia, having no reason to converse with his lordship, hurried to retrieve the troublesome animal and led him out into the hall. Sir Ethan followed the lady, leaving only Emily and the children to finish the task of righting things.
Emily, having just set the last miniature back into place, realized that his lordship was again standing at the table watching his youngest nephew with distaste as the child shredded the pasteboard deck. All traces of mourning were gone from his handsome face.
When his gaze settled on her, Emily had to stifle a gasp. He was a handsome man with raven-black hair framing a rugged, well-defined face. But a chill raced down her spine at his cold stare.
“Miss Collins, I fully intend to honor my obligation to my brother. I want you to understand, however, that I sha
ll not tolerate these children disrupting my household. You are expected to keep them quiet and in the nursery when I am in residence. I demand that you behave in a more decorous manner than you have this evening if you wish to keep your position. I—”
“My lord, I would not work for you if I were penniless.” By now Emily’s temper had got the better of her. Hands on her hips, she continued, “I am not the children’s governess nor is Mrs. Keaton, my companion. We simply brought the children as an act of kindness, something I would guess you know little about.”
A muscle twitched in the earl’s angular jaw, but he made no retort. Instead he asked, “Then where is their nurse?”
“Why, the last time I saw her she was disappearing down a street in Madras.” Emily smiled benignly.
“Are you telling me you have no female servant whatsoever to attend these children?”
Emily wasn’t certain what the expression on the earl’s face indicated, but she could swear it was one of near fear. She and Delia had discussed hiring someone, but thought it best to leave the matter to the children’s guardian. “My companion and I have seen to the children’s needs. But I should think one of your housemaids can take charge until you can bestir yourself to employ a nurse and governess.”
“But I have no housemaids or females of any kind in residence in the castle.” The earl stared at his nephew as if the child had grown a second head.
“No female of any kind?” That gave Emily pause. Then her eyes narrowed. “I must suppose no respectable person in the county would allow his daughter to work for an infamous rake.”
His lordship’s head turned sharply as he looked down his nose at her. “I have never forced my attentions on a female in my employ, madam, even in my salad days.”
Emily hesitated a moment before making a comment, her mind busy trying to decide what must be done. There was no doubt that she would stay and help until the children were settled, but she saw no reason to let Lord Hawksworth know that. The indifferent lord needed to be taught a lesson.
