An Unlikely Father

by Lynn Collum

  “Yes, Uncle Oliver.” Jamie dug the toe of his boot into the dirt nervously.

  “What brings you to the stables?” Hawksworth asked the lad, but glanced up to see Miss Collins gazing at him. He took note that she worried her lower lip with even white teeth. Was the intrepid lady regretting her barbed comments in the library earlier? Or merely considering lambasting him further for his moral turpitude?

  Jamie, unaware of the undercurrents from the adults and having been absolved of his crimes in the kitchen, peered into the shadows of the building that housed his uncle’s prime cattle. Like most young lads, he was eager to inspect the interior of so fine a stable. “We came to visit our goat, Matilda. We want to make certain she is happy in her new home, sir.”

  Hawksworth signaled his head groom, who had moved away with the arrival of the children and Miss Collins. “Bates, take my wards to wherever you have their goat housed.”

  The craggy-faced fellow grinned at Jamie and Honoria, then gestured for them to follow. “Come this way, for I’ve got yer pet in the rear barn with the yearling.”

  Without the least fear of the old man, the two young Carsons dashed after Bates with Kali on their heels and soon fell into step with him as he led them down the aisle and through the rear doors of the barn. Hawksworth arched a dark brow when Miss Collins remained standing in front of him.

  “Do you not wish to inspect Matilda’s quarters as well?” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  The lady’s cheeks flamed pink. “I have no doubt that the children’s goat is being properly cared for.”

  “So you think it only my wards I neglect.”

  Emily knew she deserved his disdain. “My lord, I ... regret, er, that is I wish to offer you...” She struggled to find the right words.

  The earl found himself enjoying her chagrin, but he was not a cruel man and took pity on her discomfort. “It is dashedly awkward, is it not?”

  Emily gave an embarrassed grin; then her face grew sober. “It is, sir, but it must be done. I do regret my unkind remarks in the library and hope that you will forgive my unmitigated impertinence in criticizing the manner in which you conduct your affairs.”

  As the lady apologized, Oliver wondered what he found so intriguing about her. Clearly, she was not like any other female of his acquaintance, but then, those women had rarely intrigued him. He’d had little interest in getting to know any of the ones who’d satisfied his lust.

  Miss Collins was headstrong and unconventional, yet she possessed a genuine concern for his wards. Her interests weren’t solely centered on her own comfort and reward. He was certain his grandmother might wish that he would learn empathy for others from the lady. But he would learn little if they continued at odds with one another.

  Realizing the lady had finished with her apology and was waiting expectantly for a reply, Oliver said, “I do believe the better part of our acquaintance has been spent in one or the other apologizing, Miss Collins. Do you think we might cry peace and start anew with the knowledge that we both want only the best for my wards, even if our vision of what that is differs?”

  The lady smiled with such radiance that Oliver found it difficult to believe he had thought her plain upon her arrival. But then, she’d had little to smile about that first night with his implacable orders about what he expected of her.

  Miss Collins extended her gloved hand, bringing him out of his bemused thoughts. “I think that an excellent notion, my lord.”

  She had a surprisingly firm grasp for a female. As she drew her hand free, she asked, “Shall we go find the children? We wouldn’t want them to fall into mischief.”

  Oliver had only to remember the disaster in the kitchen which had cost him his French cook to realize the truth in that. He gestured her forward and they entered the stable, walking past a variety of horses. As the lady stopped to admire his lordship’s prized stallion, Oliver, determined to make a new start with his guest, inquired, “Do you or Mrs. Keaton ride? I have been remiss in not offering to accommodate you.”

  Emily stroked the black horse’s nose. “I do, my lord, but Delia is more comfortable being driven. Might I be so bold as to request the use of one of your vehicles? When time permits, I should like to drive round the local countryside, for we are both most anxious to once again see the English landscape.”

  Despite his best intentions, Oliver frowned. He was often known to comment disparagingly on the women in town who drove carriages in the park. They either drove timidly, obstructing traffic, or at such a spanking pace that the animals’ mouths were subjected to a great deal of abuse when reined to an abrupt halt for the ladies to socialize with their friends, as was their wont.

  “My coachman is at your service. All you need do is send word to Bates and you can be driven to wherever you desire.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary, sir. I am quite capable of driving myself.” Emily was no fool. Too often, she’d been confronted with gentlemen who doubted her abilities with the ribbons. As she watched the changing expression on the earl’s face, it was clear their new pact of peace was about to be put to the test.

  Hawksworth grew thoughtful, then announced, “Very well, Miss Collins, I shall inform Bates to make a vehicle available for you and Mrs. Keaton.”

  Just then the sound of Kali’s excited barking and a shout echoed from somewhere behind the stable. The earl and Emily exchanged a worried glance, then hurried in the direction that the children had gone with the head groom.

  The sight that greeted them on entering the yearling barn made Oliver’s blood run cold. His young heir had gone up into the hayloft and now sat perched on an open rafter, clinging to a beam which ran across the wide aisle. On the same timber sat two calico kittens watching the young lad with eager curiosity.

  “Uncle Oliver, Uncle Oliver,” Honoria called as she dashed towards them, her bonnet loose on her shoulders. “ ’Tis all my fault. Jamie went to bring me a kitty and now he cannot come down.”

  Oliver was certain he’d never known such anxiety as he watched the lad rocking back and forth on the oak beam, trying to extend his foot back to the top of the wall. If his nephew fell to the cobblestone floor, there would be nothing to be done for him.

  “Where is Bates?” Fear made his voice harsh. Honoria’s gaze was locked on her brother, but she hesitantly responded, “H-He told us to stay in the pen with Matilda while he went to make certain his lads weren’t idling with the new milkmaid.”

  Oliver would take a strip off the old man’s back later for his negligence, but he knew Bates was as unfamiliar with children as he was. For now he needed to get the boy down. He removed his coat and tossed it heedlessly over a stall rail. Beside him Miss Collins called, “Don’t move, Jamie. Your uncle will be up to help you down.” The earl took the stairs two at a time and entered the hayloft. It took only a moment to determine how his nephew had managed to climb to his precarious location. Oliver scaled the wooden slats, scraping his Hessians in the narrow space never meant for climbing, to where the lad sat frozen in fear. “Take my hand, Jamie.” His lordship’s ward seemed to find confidence in his uncle’s calm voice. After one fearful glance at the distant floor, he stretched out his dust-coated hand and grasped his rescuer’s.

  Below, Emily held her breath. She watched the earl pull the boy to him, drawing him tight against his chest. Within a matter of minutes, the two were safely back down on the loft floor.

  His lordship hugged the lad for a second longer. “Are you all right, Jamie?”

  The boy merely nodded his head. Honoria dashed up the stairs and hugged them both. “Thank you for saving him, Uncle.”

  Emily felt her heart warm as his lordship gazed down at the pair and ruffled their dark locks. “I told you I would take care of you. Now promise me you will never do anything so foolish again.”

  “We promise, Uncle Oliver,” the pair chimed in unison.

  When the trio were once again standing on the cobblestone aisle, Miss Collins thanked him. There w
as a warm glow in her amber eyes that surprised the earl and gave his spirits a lift. But there was no time for private conversation as the children drew the lady to Matilda’s pen. After some moments of admiring the goat, she announced that they’d all had enough excitement for one day. With that, she swept the children back towards the castle.

  The earl shrugged on his coat as he watched his young relatives and Miss Collins disappear round the corner. Oliver wasn’t certain when it had happened, but he’d actually begun to like those two mischievous imps. Was that what Miss Collins had been trying to bring about? There had been a look of pure delight in her amber eyes as she’d watched the three of them hugging in the loft.

  Clearly the children were going to be a handful, but with Miss Collins’s guidance, he was certain he would manage. But would the lady be at Hawk’s Lair much longer? The thought that she would be returning to her own life and affairs left him feeling unaccountably dissatisfied. Could he cope with the children without her guiding wisdom?

  Then he remembered there was to be a female in his life—Lady Cora. For almost the entire week, he’d managed not to think about the woman his grandmother had him practically betrothed to. He hardly knew her, so why did the very thought of her plunge him into such gloom?

  At that moment, Bates returned to the barn, and Oliver put aside his concerns about Lady Cora to chastise his head groom for his carelessness. Afterwards, as he made his way to the castle, he realized that he was looking forward to spending a pleasant evening with the ladies and Sir Ethan. His grandmother would be all amazement to find him content with such provincial entertainment. But for the first time since reaching his majority, he found himself not longing for the delights of London after a week in the country.

  Seven

  The following morning found the residents of Hawk’s Lair much engaged in their individual concerns. Lord Hawksworth, applied to by his steward, Mr. Grant, had left early to help settle a property dispute on the northern boundary of the estate. In the upstairs sitting room, Miss Collins was happily entertaining young Jamie and Honoria while Mrs. Keaton played with Wesley under the watchful eye of Nurse.

  Only Sir Ethan was at loose ends after writing several letters to his various family members in Scotland. Thinking to enliven his morning, he went to join the ladies.

  Once granted entry, his gaze was drawn to Mrs. Keaton as he announced, “The morning is too fine for such bonny lasses and bairns to be indoors.”

  Emily noted Delia’s cheeks flame pink under the baronet’s scrutiny and began to suspect that the widow, despite her avowals of never remarrying, was developing a tendre for Sir Ethan. Thinking to promote a match for her friend, Emily said, “That is true, sir. Would you be kind enough to escort Delia and the children round the gardens?”

  The baronet reluctantly drew his gaze from the widow. “Are you not to join us then?”

  “Not this morning. I have another matter I must attend to.” Emily was determined to begin her search for property in the immediate area this very morning. She’d spent a pleasant evening in his lordship’s company. He’d even had Nurse bring the children to the drawing room before they dined and laughingly told the tale of the mishap in the barn, but she felt certain that a rake would only be amused for a short while with such domesticity.

  Sir Ethan eyed her a moment, but made no comment. Instead he was content to offer his arm to the lady of his choice. Within a matter of minutes, Emily found herself alone as Nurse took Wesley to the nursery and the rest of the party went to don coats against the spring chill.

  Emily returned to her bedchamber and quickly penned a letter to the solicitor who’d been her uncle’s man of business in London, informing him of her return and her wish to purchase a small house in Somerset. Once the missive was sealed, she went in search of Bedows to have it posted to Town. She discovered the butler in his lordship’s library overseeing the placement of the new, larger cage designed for the parrots.

  After the two birds were moved into their new home and the workmen left, she went up to the cage to inspect the structure. It stood as tall as a wardrobe and twice as wide.

  “It is a very fine cage,” she said, counting some ten different perches and two swings behind the thin wire bars.

  “Aye, Miss Collins, his lordship rarely does anything by half. Was there something you wished?”

  She handed him her letter, but just as she was about to request it be posted, Janus squawked, “Awk, Miss Collins, awk, Miss Prunes and Prisms.”

  Emily felt her cheeks warm.

  Bedows glared at the green bird. “Now, miss, you know the feathered beastie don’t mean it.”

  “Of course I do.” She had little doubt who had uttered the phrase in front of Janus, and had meant the slur. Her pride was pricked, but she decided to put the matter from her mind. Perhaps her drive in the country might put her in better spirits.

  “His lordship offered me the use of a team and carriage. Would you send word that I shall be going out in some ten minutes?”

  “Very good, miss.”

  She returned to her room and donned her warmest apparel with the help of the newly employed maid, Jane. Emily wore her blue wool habit trimmed with black velvet. At last ready, she summoned Swarup to accompany her. After setting a low-crowned black beaver hat at an angle over her brown curls, she made her way downstairs. Despite her pique with Lord Hawksworth, a surge of excitement raced through her at the thought of driving in the English countryside.

  In high spirits Emily arrived at the stable, but once again suffered a wound to her pride. She discovered that instead of a team and curricle, Bates had put an aged cob between the shaft of an ancient gig. She had no doubt the order for such a modest equipage had come from the earl. The insult to her skill with the ribbons, coming as it did on top of the slur repeated by the parrot, sent all her good judgment flying.

  “This will not do. You,” she called to the young groom who was holding the vehicle in anticipation of her arrival, “unhitch this horse. Then go to the carriage house with my servant and bring out one of his lordship’s curricles.”

  The lad’s eyes grew round as he gazed at the oversized Indian, but he quickly did as he was bidden. Within some ten minutes, a neat black curricle stood with his lordship’s team of greys strapped in the traces.

  With a defiant toss of the train of her blue habit, she took Swarup’s hand and climbed in, waiting only for the servant to fit his large form into the perch in the rear. Giving a smart crack of the whip above the leader’s head, she bowled out of the stable yard and down the drive.

  Hawksworth had spent a surprisingly entertaining morning in friendly argument with his closest neighbor in regard to the north boundary, which was marked by a small creek on both deeds. Over the course of the past ten years, the small tributary’s banks had moved progressively north, according to Mr. Evan Fawkes, owner of the next estate, depriving him of some of his more fertile lands. After inspecting the area, Oliver determined that with the melting of the recent heavy snows, the stream had indeed moved north in some areas. But there were also points where it had moved southward onto his property. After riding the disputed line and much debate, the gentlemen had returned to Fawkes’s manor and drunk a glass of claret, agreeing to leave matters as they stood for the present.

  The problem handled, the earl tooled his curricle along the road towards his estate, but as he came over a rise, he drew his team to a halt to admire the beauty of the Somerset countryside. Gazing fondly at the Mendip Hills in the distance, which glinted with a blue tint in the sunlight, Oliver wondered why it was that he spent so much time in smoke-filled London. Just then a flash of movement drew his attention to his left.

  At the bottom of the hill stood a man, a white turban on his head, holding a team of horses drawn up beside the road in front of the rundown Broomfield Cottage. He recognized Swarup at once, but what puzzled him was that Miss Collins’s man stood at the head of—damnation—at the head of Hawksworth’s greys! Was Bates al
l about in the head to have defied orders and given one of his best teams to a female? Then he realized there could be little doubt of who had made the switch.

  With a snap of the reins, Hawksworth put his team into a bone-jarring gallop, starting down the hill towards the servant and waiting carriage. Too concerned about his team, he gave little thought to where Miss Collins was.

  Approaching the curricle, the earl furiously realized he had little choice but to allow Miss Collins to drive the team back to the castle, as he had no tiger with him. He reined his team to a halt just as the lady stepped through the arbored gate of the abandoned cottage. She paid little heed to him as Swarup aided her to step into the vehicle.

  She took the ribbons in hand before she turned and smiled rebelliously. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  “Miss Collins, what is the meaning of this? I left instructions you were to be given the gig and Old Belle.” Even as he spoke, his expert eye scanned the state of his greys but found nothing untoward in their condition.

  “My lord,” Emily replied sweetly, despite the glitter in her amber eyes, “I was certain there must have been some mistake, for old Belle looked as if she was done for even before we started. I ordered something more suitable.”

  “Madam, there are no females of my acquaintance who have the skill to handle a team of this calibre. Pray return them to the castle at a sedate pace without doing them any further harm.”

  Two red warning flags appeared on Emily’s cheeks, but her tone was polite. “I shall return them ... at my own speed, my lord, and you can be certain they will be unharmed.”

  With practiced expertise, she cracked the whip and set the curricle at a spanking pace, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. Hawksworth, furious at her defiance, set out after her, muttering curses about women trying to drive carriages. He determined to overtake her, then slow his curricle to block her path, but the gentleman had not reckoned with the lady’s skill and the obstacles in his path.