An Unlikely Father

by Lynn Collum

  The Frenchman’s face grew quite purple with rage. He took several menacing steps towards Emily, but Swarup edged between the cook and his target. The Indian spoke not a word, but merely crossed his arms. Antoine halted but a moment, then unleashed a new round of abuse on the lady, shouting and waving his arms.

  “What is the meaning of all this clamor?” Lord Hawksworth’s words knifed through Antoine’s tirade.

  In the silence that followed, Emily turned her gaze to his lordship. He was fully dressed for a morning ride in a dark blue coat over grey buckskins, gloves and riding crop in hand. He looked amazingly handsome, but he was the last person she had wanted to see at the moment. She had hoped to get the children away from the kitchen before the earl learned of this disaster, but that was not to be.

  In an instant, Antoine began to pour out his tale to his employer in rapid French. As his lordship’s brows drew downward, Emily’s heart began to plummet. What would he do? She could only guess, but she would defend the children’s right to visit the kitchen. This was their home now, and they should be allowed to treat it as such.

  Hawksworth sighed as he listened to the Frenchman’s tale of coming into his spotless kitchen and finding complete disorder visited by his lordship’s wards. The fellow was threatening to give notice if his lordship did not order all and sundry to stay out of Antoine’s kitchen.

  Miss Collins stood staring at him defiantly, her lovely brown hair tumbling in soft curls well below her shoulders. His grime-coated wards were clinging to her skirts, their trembling mouths showing red remnants of their feast. It was just as he had thought—his brother’s children were going to completely disrupt his household if he were not careful.

  The lady determinedly announced, “My lord, I don’t know what your cook is saying, but the children merely came down to have some bread and preserves. I know the kitchen looks a mess, but surely it can be easily cleaned. I am certain there is a reasonable explanation if they might be allowed to speak.”

  “ ’Twas an accident, Uncle,” the boy blurted out, then drew back to the lady’s skirts when his uncle’s gaze settled on him.

  Jamie’s wide, frightened eyes gave Hawksworth pause. The boy looked so much like his father at that age that the earl was reminded of an incident when he and James had come to the kitchens to find bread and cheese along with a flask of water so they might spend the day in the woods near the river, only to break a dish while searching for what they needed. His stepmother had been much like Antoine, demanding all kinds of punishment. But for once his father had stood firm, saying there was no true harm and merely ordering the boys to stay out of the kitchen if they meant to break things. Lady Hawksworth demanded they send a servant for what they wanted, as was proper.

  He hoped he might never be as unyielding as his stepmother, but he would not have his wards running wild all over the castle. Strict discipline would be the key. Once his niece and nephews were given a set of strict rules, no doubt things would run more smoothly.

  “Miss Collins, see the children are properly cleaned up. Have them in the library at ten o’clock.” Despite his best efforts, his tone sounded clipped and angry even to his own ears.

  For a moment he thought that she intended to protest, but then she seemed to think better of arguing. With a surprisingly docile, “As you wish,” the lady shepherded the children from the room, the small black dog and the large brown servant trotting behind.

  With that Hawksworth turned his attention to his cook. The man had a smug look on his face, as if he’d won a battle. There could be no denying that the fellow was a true genius with food, but Oliver knew that he’d allowed the Frenchman far too much control in household matters. Hawksworth risked losing the finest cook in England, but things at the castle had permanently changed with the arrival of his wards. Antoine would have to go back to London.

  “I would have a word with you, Monsieur LeBeau.” When the earl finished telling the Frenchman what would occur, the pompous man left the room in a huff, raining muttered curses on all women and children.

  Hawksworth ordered Bedows, who arrived moments after him, to summon Mrs. Tremont at once. The woman cooked for the castle staff when his lordship was in London. There would now be a full-time position at Hawk’s Lair if she was interested. Also, maids were again to be employed—that news sent a murmur of excitement through the footmen. With a final order to clean the cursed place, the earl left determined to enjoy his morning ride with Sir Ethan.

  Emily hadn’t been surprised at the earl’s angry response to the disaster in the kitchen. He had shown little tolerance for the children interfering in his household routine. She knew they were not out of the woods yet. They still had to face the gentleman’s reprimand after Jamie and Honoria were bathed and dressed. She only prayed the punishment would not be too severe.

  By nine-thirty she and Delia had the children, hair washed and neatly dressed, sitting in the Blue Drawing Room awaiting the meeting with their guardian. Emily had changed to a sedate grey merino wool morning gown, trimmed with black piping. Her hair was combed into a simple chignon at her neck. She hoped she looked wise and responsible enough to dispense advice.

  The ladies had brought down a game of Pachisi, a Hindustani board game, to distract the children from their worries about what their uncle would say about their little adventure. Honoria was fascinated with the painted shells used in the game, but Jamie listened carefully to the simple rules, determined to win.

  The game had barely begun when the sound of carriages arriving at the castle drew the ladies and children to the front windows. Two post chaises with an excess of luggage strapped to their backs had come to a halt on the driveway below. Within minutes, the postboys had opened the doors to each of the vehicles, and the travelers stepped to the ground.

  Emily and Delia could only gape at the sight of the four females descending from the carriages. There could be little doubt who and what the earl’s visitors were.

  A great deal of braying laughter and ribald comments about the postboys could be heard as the visitors inspected the castle. Due to the height of the drawing room windows, all the watchers could see of the females below were gaudy hats with an over-abundance of dyed feathers and garishly colored capes trimmed with swans-down, which were tied so as to expose a great deal of the callers’ feminine assets to the world.

  Delia’s hand fluttered to her mouth as she whispered, “Surely Bedows will not allow those creatures entry.” Emily suspected this might not be the first time the castle had been invaded by light-skirts, for that was clearly what they were. Hawksworth was a rake after all. Anger at the earl began to well up inside her. Did he care so little for his young relatives that he would expose them to such women? Or worse, had he intended to merely lock the children into the nursery during his debauched revels?

  She struggled to keep a rein on her growing ire. “No doubt they were invited to entertain his lordship’s guests.”

  Honoria tugged on Emily’s hand to get her attention. “How come you never wear such pretty feathers on your bonnets, Miss Collins?”

  Delia quickly replied, “Ladies of quality do not need such vulgarly ornate adornments, my dear.”

  Emily, realizing the children were watching the arrival avidly, said, “Delia, would you escort Honoria and Jamie upstairs until his lordship’s guests are sent on their way?”

  Emily was determined to see that happen before the afternoon was well advanced.

  “Are you not coming?” Delia asked in surprise.

  “Not at the moment.” Emily could not explain to her friend what she intended to do, for she wasn’t quite sure herself.

  Downstairs, Bedows’s eyes grew quite round when he opened the door and discovered four birds of paradise chattering like magpies about the elegance of Hawk’s Lair. The butler was well aware of the earl’s reputation with women, but over the course of the last ten years, there had never been such vulgar females housed at the castle. The old man knew from his lordship’s v
alet that Hawksworth as a rule did not dally with common actresses, preferring the willing ladies of Society.

  But then the male guests invited to the castle on this occasion, with the exception of Sir Ethan, had not been up to the earl’s usual standards either. Perhaps his lordship had intended these coarse creatures to entertain Mr. Bonham and Mr. Abbot.

  The old servant wondered if the earl had forgotten to uninvite these light-skirts after the arrival of his wards and the defection of his guests. Bedows was in a quandary. Should he usher the women into a drawing room or send them to the Red Lion in the village until his lordship could make other arrangements?

  In truth, Lord Hawksworth had sent a message to the actresses not to come, along with ample compensation for their inconvenience. But unfortunately for Miss Colette Devereau, the missive had arrived during her performance at the Drury Lane Theatre. The manager of the small troupe of actors and actresses had intercepted the missive and pocketed the fifty pounds, hurrying to his favorite ale house. He’d disappeared without informing the actress that she and her friends would not be needed at Hawk’s Lair. So the ladies had hired carriages and set out on the long, cold journey to Bath.

  Bedows, hoping his lordship would return from his ride at any moment, opted to delay the women’s entry. It just didn’t feel proper to have these fancy articles in the castle when ladies like Miss Collins and Mrs. Keaton were in residence. In a voice that left no doubt of the superiority of his station in life, he asked, “Are you certain that you are expected, madam?”

  The smile on Miss Devereau’s face grew a bit brittle. “Of course we are expected. Do you think we have driven all the way to the country for our health, you silly old sod?” With that the three females behind her brayed with laugher. “Now stand aside, for his lordship is waiting.”

  The old retainer looked down his nose at the female with the painted face. “Lord Hawksworth is not at home this morning, madam. Mayhap you would go to the nearest inn and allow his lordship—”

  “Go to an inn!” The actress put her red calfskin gloved hands on her hips. “Who do you think you are to be turning his lordship’s invited guests away, you tallow-faced old—”

  From behind the butler a female voice interrupted, “Is there a problem, Bedows?”

  The butler gave the young lady a frown. “Nothing I can’t handle, Miss Collins.”

  Emily scrutinized the women outside with interest. She had never been quite this close to such females, and she was truly curious what it was that the gentlemen saw in such flamboyant creatures.

  Miss Devereau, seeing a woman inside the castle in a plain grey gown, jumped to the faulty conclusion that she was the housekeeper, albeit a very young one. But then, rakes were called rakes for a reason. “I have been telling this obnoxious fellow that we are invited guests of Lord Hawksworth.”

  Emily didn’t know what possessed her, but she suddenly announced, “Then, Bedows, escort his lordship’s guests to a drawing room to await the earl’s return.”

  Bedows appeared relieved that Miss Collins had arrived to take the responsibility from his aged shoulders. “Very good, miss. This way ... ladies.”

  He led the quartet of actresses to the Queen’s Saloon, the finest chamber in the castle, hoping that the grandeur of the room would intimidate the creatures into a semblance of sedate behavior.

  About to depart, he was startled when Miss Collins entered behind him and requested that refreshments be served. The old man cupped his mouth with a thin bony hand as he whispered, “Miss, you needn’t stay with this lot. ’Tain’t proper, nor would his lordship expect it.”

  Emily merely smiled, saying, “But I am interested in meeting Lord Hawksworth’s guests.” Placing a reassuring hand on the servant’s arm as his worried expression deepened, she added, “Do not worry, Bedows. I am quite capable of managing things of an unusual nature.”

  As the butler left, he heard Miss Collins greet the loose females as if they were from the local church sewing society instead of the Haymarket ware they were. He shook his head, wondering what Lord Hawksworth would make of the gathering in the saloon upon his return.

  Some thirty minutes later, Hawksworth and Sir Ethan cantered into the stable yard after a brisk ride about the earl’s estate. Oliver was in a far better mood than he’d been when he left. At least he was reconciled to the loss of his French cook at Hawk’s Lair, if not happy about the matter. There could be few house parties at the castle until the children were grown, and Mrs. Tremont’s fare of simple but good English cooking would suit him during his brief visits in the future.

  The earl was startled to see two strange carriages drawn up beside the paddock. His dark brows drew together as he looked at his friend. “What new catastrophe has arrived in my absence? I begin to think my life has suddenly become cursed by some evil demon.”

  Sir Ethan laughed. “Are you growing superstitious on me after all these years?” The baronet, recognizing the look of hired livery and the abundance of heavy luggage still strapped on the vehicles, suspected the identity of the visitors. “Perchance it is something simple. Did you forget about Miss Devereau and her companions’ arrival?”

  Oliver experienced a moment’s discomfort at the thought of an assortment of singularly coarse actresses invading the castle with his wards and two females of quality in residence. “It cannot be. I assure you, I sent Colette Devereau a letter informing her of the change in plans and included ample compensation to soothe any actress’s greedy little heart.”

  But a few moments’ conversation with the postboys dashed the earl’s confidence. Somehow there had been a mix-up, and Colette and her band of high flyers were now inside his home. With due haste, Hawksworth made his way to the castle.

  On entering the front door, he was greeted by Bedows. Oliver immediately asked, “Where are they?” There was no need for him to explain to his servant who “they” were.

  “In the Queen’s Saloon, sir.” The butler hesitated only a moment before adding, “Being served tea by Miss Collins.”

  “Good God! Was there ever a more troublesome female? Had she no sense of decorum?”

  The earl turned on his heel without waiting for or expecting a response from either his butler or his friend to his rhetorical question. He marched straight into the Queen’s Saloon without any warning to the room’s occupants.

  His gaze locked with Miss Collins’s the moment he stepped through the door. A defiant light twinkled in the amber depths of her eyes, as if to warn him of her mood.

  She calmly rose, dressed in the prim grey gown she’d arrived in. “Good morning, my lord.”

  Before he could utter a word of reproach to the lady for socializing with such low females, the ever-ambitious Colette, upon seeing his lordship, rose and dashed towards him, throwing her arms round his neck. “You have come at last, dear Hawk.”

  The cloying odor of the actress’s perfume made the earl’s stomach chum with revulsion. Or was it the heavy paint on her lips and cheeks he found so repellent? All he was certain of was that he found the woman completely unappealing as he pulled her arms away and set her from him.

  “Did you not receive my message not to come, Miss Devereau?” His tone was cool.

  Collette Devereau, being the daughter of a tanner, had very little education, but like most women in her profession, she did know men. Every line of his lordship’s face was telling her she and her friends were an unwelcome sight. Did it have something to do with the pretty little chit who’d welcomed them into the castle? She watched the earl’s blue gaze stray to where the young woman was seated, but there was more of an angry glint in their depths than lust. All she was certain of was that she didn’t want to alienate the earl. He might not be interested at the moment, but one never knew when their paths might cross again.

  “No, I did not, my lord.”

  The earl paid little heed to Miss Devereau. His gaze was again riveted on Miss Collins. Anger at her interference in his affairs drove him. He stepped around
the actress even as he apologized.

  “Sir Ethan will explain the misunderstanding and compensate you and your companions for your misspent time, but you must forgive me, for I have an urgent matter which I wish to discuss with Miss Collins.” Without another word, he went to the lady, took her by the arm and marched her from the company of the London light-skirts.

  Six

  No sooner had the drawing room door closed than Emily attempted to pull her arm from his lordship’s firm grasp. But his strength was considerable, and he held her tightly until he had guided her across the Great Hall and into the privacy of the library.

  The earl released her arm as he taunted, “Miss Collins, have you taken complete leave of your senses?”

  “Is there a problem, my lord?” Emily inquired with feigned innocence.

  The earl’s dark brows drew downward in a frown as he glared at her. “Do not play the henwit with me. I have been on the receiving end of your pointed comments enough to know you are not lacking in intelligence and can well see what those women are.”

  Emily straightened the sleeve of her gown, brushing out the wrinkles the gentleman had inflicted. “What those women are, sir, are your invited guests.” She looked boldly into his blue eyes, and asked, “Would you have them sent away without any refreshments after their long, cold journey at your request?”

  “I would not, but neither would I have expected you to be acting as hostess in my absence.” There was a slight upward tilt to his firm mouth as he seemed to realize he’d landed a blow to the lady’s pride.

  Emily blushed as his remark struck home. She had been out of line to assume such a role. But never would she admit as much to the man who had summoned such females into the very home which housed his wards.

  Determined not to give an inch in the argument, Emily airily said, “Pray forgive my putting myself forward in such a manner, my lord. But Bedows seemed to be at something of a loss to have such women in Hawk’s Lair. I fear his principles were getting in the way of your amusement.” The audacious twinkle in the earl’s eye was too much for Emily to bear. “But then, rakes are not known for paying much heed to principle, are they?”