“What does Kenrick think of Billy?” Gerald asked.
The last thing Elizabeth had intended that morning was to share her worries with Gerald, but when she looked into his eyes and found there a measure of understanding, she could not resist the temptation. After all, she reasoned, Gerald had grown up with her husband. Surely he could help her understand Kenrick’s strange reaction to Billy.
As Gerald listened to Elizabeth’s concerns, his expression grew increasingly solemn. Once or twice he sighed deeply, and by the time Elizabeth had finished telling about Kenrick’s sudden anger toward her following her description of Billy, Gerald was staring straight ahead with a furrowed brow as though he was deep in thought. When he again turned to Elizabeth, there was a look almost of bleakness on his handsome face.
“I can readily understand, my dear Elizabeth, why you are confused by my cousin’s behavior. I, unfortunately, am perhaps the only person in the world who could explain it to you, for I believe no one else has experienced Kenrick’s peculiarities to the extent that I have. Ordinarily, of course, I would never speak of them, but in your case I must, for I could never forgive myself if I did not warn you.”
Despite the warmth of the sun, Elizabeth felt a decided chill creeping up the back of her neck. “Warn me? Warn me of what, Gerald?”
Gerald glanced around. They are ridden almost to the Serpentine, which could be seen through a small grove of trees to their left. “If memory serves me correctly, there is a spot just beyond those trees where we can be private. Would you sit with me for a few minutes?”
After one look into his troubled eyes, Elizabeth nodded.
Five minutes later, their horses tethered nearby, Elizabeth and Gerald sat side by side on a bench beneath a spreading oak, but Gerald now appeared reluctant to continue the conversation he’d initiated. He sat slumped forward, staring at the ground, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.
“What is it, Gerald?” Elizabeth at last prompted. She was growing increasingly uneasy.
He raised his head, turning to look into her eyes. “As I believe you know, your husband and I were raised together at Aston Arbor.”
“Yes, Mary told me.”
“I’ve never complained, but it wasn’t always easy growing up with Jeremy.” He paused and smiled briefly. “I hope you don’t mind that I sometimes privately refer to Kenrick as Jeremy. That’s all I ever called him before he came into the title, of course.”
Elizabeth returned his smile. “Of course I don’t mind. I’m accustomed to hearing his mother use his first name on a regular basis, and I must try to get used to doing so myself.”
Gerald nodded. “Yes, you definitely should. In any case, I want to make clear that Aunt Mary was wonderful to me as I was growing up. She treated me almost as though I was her own son, and I never wanted for anything. Except, perhaps, someone my own age to befriend me.”
“But you and Jeremy are very close in age, are you not?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.
“Yes, but Jeremy and I were never friends. I am sure you have noted my cousin’s antipathy toward me. It began when we were boys. Looking back, I think he always resented sharing his mother’s attention with me. But my and Jeremy’s real differences developed the summer I turned ten. Jeremy and I often spent our afternoons playing in the woodland. On one particular day, we first waded in the brook and then decided to climb some of the taller trees lining the banks. I was a good climber and could always go higher than Jeremy, but this day, with my feet still wet from our wading, I slipped and fell several feet, breaking my leg when I hit the ground.”
“Oh dear,” Elizabeth said. “Was it a very bad break?”
“I don’t want to distress you with the details, but yes, it was an extremely bad break. Jeremy ran for help, and two of the grooms soon arrived and carried me back to the house. The doctor set my leg, and eight weeks later I was allowed to begin walking again.”
“I am sorry, Gerald, but I don’t understand why you’re telling me this story. It appears that Jeremy was not responsible for your fall and that he brought help for you as soon as possible, so—”
“All of that is true,” Gerald said quickly, “but the problems between me and Jeremy really manifested themselves when I started walking again. You see, I had developed a severe limp. It turned out to be a temporary condition, but at the time, the doctor believed I would be disabled for the rest of my life.”
Elizabeth frowned to herself, wondering if she was being unusually obtuse. “No doubt my comprehension is at fault, Gerald, but I still don’t understand where this is leading.”
“It was then that Jeremy began to truly despise me, Elizabeth. Because I limped, you see. Jeremy, unfortunately, has an abhorrence for anything that is less than perfect, including people.”
“What?” Elizabeth asked on a gasp, her eyes widening with shock and disbelief. She jumped to her feet, suddenly too unnerved to continue sitting, and turned to stare down at Gerald’s bowed head. A stray beam of sunlight reflected off of the silver end of Gerald’s riding crop, momentarily blinding her. She quickly looked away. “Surely you misunderstood, Gerald. Jeremy wouldn’t have turned against you simply because you were the victim of an unfortunate accident. Such an attitude is without reason.”
Gerald also stood, reaching to catch Elizabeth’s hands in his own, the intensity of his grasp bearing evidence of the turbulence of his emotions. “I realize such an attitude is difficult to understand, and I fear I am doing a lamentably poor job of explaining it. You see, I have never before attempted to describe Jeremy’s strange aversion toward anything that is flawed. I do so now only because I want you to understand should he be less than accepting of little Billy.”
Elizabeth sat down quickly as her knees threatened to give way beneath her. She was recalling her husband’s words last week when she told him about Billy. “These street children can be both manipulative and malicious,” he had said, voicing a severe judgment about a little boy he had never seen.
“Elizabeth? Are you all right?” Gerald was gazing at her with concern clear in his darkened eyes.
“Yes, I’m fine. But I would like to hear more about this repugnance my husband exhibits toward imperfection.”
Gerald reseated himself beside Elizabeth and sat staring at the sparkling waters of the Serpentine for several seconds before continuing. “I first noticed this tendency of Jeremy’s when we were just children. We had a set of toy soldiers made out of metal that we had enjoyed for over a year. Then one morning I entered the schoolroom to find Jeremy standing before the fireplace, holding the box that contained our soldiers. He would pick up a toy soldier, look it over carefully, and then toss it into the flames. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was merely getting rid of the ones with scratches on them. I, of course, objected and tried to rescue the remaining soldiers. We had our first fight. I lost, for Jeremy was always stronger than I was. Our entire set of soldiers ended up as a melted lump of metal.”
“Oh my.” Elizabeth could think of nothing else to say about such obviously irrational behavior.
“From then on,” Gerald continued, “Jeremy systematically destroyed any of our toys that became damaged in even a minor way. I recall one Christmas—we were twelve at the time—Jeremy received a package from an elderly aunt. The book it contained was new, but the ink on one of the pages was smeared. Although Jeremy had been longing to read this particular work, he tossed the entire thing into the fire.”
“Did you never tell his mother about his behavior?”
“I considered doing so, but you must understand that Aunt Mary was suffering a great deal during those years. Although we lived secluded at Aston Arbor, rumors of her husband’s affairs still trickled in through letters from her former acquaintances and gossip from neighbors. I didn’t want to add to her burdens. Besides, I kept hoping that Jeremy’s obsession for surrounding himself only with perfection was merely a childish fancy which he would soon forget. I lost that hope when I developed m
y limp.”
Elizabeth’s mouth had gone dry as she listened to Gerald’s tale unfold. So much about the reason behind her husband’s attitudes had suddenly become clear. She understood now why she had seen repugnance in his eyes on the eve of their wedding when he had found her disheveled from her ill-fated trip through the rose garden. And how he must have despised her the following morning when she appeared for their wedding dressed in clothing that would have offended a beggar. No wonder he had so eagerly embraced the excuse she had given him later that day to banish her from his life.
Licking dry lips, Elizabeth looked into Gerald’s sympathetic gaze. “How you must have suffered when you developed your limp,” she said softly, reaching to place a comforting hand on his arm. “I, too, have known the grief of being scorned for imperfections over which I had no control. You have my deepest sympathy.”
Gerald placed his gloved hand over hers. “Ah, but I did not tell you this story to gain your sympathy, my dear Elizabeth. You see, I grew out of my limp, and I grew away from the need for Jeremy’s friendship. It is little Billy who must be our concern now. I am not suggesting that Jeremy would do him physical harm, but we both know the impact upon a child of the curled lip of contempt, the glaring gaze of revulsion. It is from these hurtful gestures that I would hope to protect Billy.”
“Heavens, yes,” Elizabeth murmured, much struck by Gerald’s reasoning. “I shall have to keep him out of Jeremy’s path.”
“I think that would be best.”
Elizabeth sighed, deeply and with a biting sense of loss. “I would like to go home now, Gerald. But I do thank you for sharing your story with me. It cannot be pleasant for you to talk of those unhappy days at Aston Arbor, and I appreciate your willingness to do so for Billy’s sake.”
Gerald merely smiled, patting Elizabeth’s hand where it still lay upon his arm, before standing and gently helping Elizabeth to her feet. “Just remember, my dearest cousin, that should you ever have need of me, I will always stand your friend.”
“I’ll remember,” Elizabeth said, suppressing a sigh.
Friendship such as Gerald had offered her was a rare and wonderful gift, she reminded herself as she allowed him to toss her into the saddle. He was obviously caring, considerate, and loyal. So why, she wondered, glancing up at a bright blue sky that seemed unaccountably to have lost its sunny glow, did she feel as though her best friend had just deserted her?
Chapter Fifteen
“Mary! What brings you to the breakfast parlor at such an early hour?” Elizabeth asked, looking up from the book propped open beside her plate. She was aware that Mary preferred having her chocolate and toast in bed. Pushing aside a copy of Sense and Sensibility, Elizabeth looked sharply into her mother-in-law’s face. “You are not ill, I hope?”
The dowager marchioness smiled, even as a teasing twinkle brightened her eyes. “What a poor opinion you must have of me, my dear, fearing I am ill merely because I see the need to get an early start. No, child, I am not unwell. I am up and about because I wanted to see Jeremy before he left. I need to talk to him about something. Have you seen him?”
Elizabeth was annoyed with herself when she felt a blush coloring her face. She and her husband had grown very adept over the past few days at avoiding each other’s presence while living under the same roof. Still, she didn’t want to worry Mary by betraying the extent of their estrangement, which had intensified since Jeremy’s return from Oak Groves. With her new knowledge about her husband’s character, Elizabeth had made it a point to avoid him, which had proven easier than she would have guessed. Their schedules, it seemed, usually took them in opposite directions.
“No, I haven’t seen Jeremy this morning,” Elizabeth said, ducking her head toward her plate as though developing a sudden interest in the appearance of her muffin and jam.
“Oh, well. No doubt I shall catch him later. As long as I’m here, I’ll have one of those muffins you are admiring with such devoted concentration.”
Stifling a sigh, Elizabeth looked up into her mother-in-law’s twinkling eyes. “Why do I find it impossible to hide anything from you, Mary?” she asked with a tiny edge to her tone. “I swear you are the most complete fraud I have ever known. Despite all your claims of absentmindedness, you are probably the most astute woman of my acquaintance.”
“Astuteness is one of the few advantages of advancing age, my dear. Have you and Jeremy quarreled? I thought you were getting along well once he allowed me to explain that you had not duped him into marriage.”
“Jeremy has been very busy of late, ” Elizabeth responded, hoping to sidestep Mary’s question. “He has ridden to Oak Groves twice to assure himself that all is well there.” She didn’t mention that she was aware of her husband’s activities only because she had overheard the servants discussing them.
“I’m delighted that Mr. Smithfield is recovering so nicely,” Mary said with a bright smile. “That means Jeremy will have more time to spend with us.”
“Yes, that’s wonderful,” Elizabeth muttered, crumbling the last bit of her muffin between her fingers. “What are your plans for this morning, Mary?”
“I had two reasons for getting up early today. Not only did I want to talk to Jeremy, but I also plan to accompany my old friend, Gertrude Layton, to visit a school for orphans. I am sure Gertrude wants me to make a contribution to the school and wishes me to see it for myself, probably so I’ll be inclined to give more generously than I normally would. Gertrude has always been concerned with improving the plight of the poor, and frankly, had I not lived so secluded, I would have enjoyed taking an active role in her charities. That is really why I agreed to go with her today. Poor Gertrude may find that she has unwittingly taken on an accomplice as well as a contributor.”
“I’m sure Miss Layton would welcome you in both roles,” Elizabeth said with a cheerful smile.
“Do you think so, dear? Well, we’ll see. Oh my, I believe I hear one of the footmen admitting Gertrude now, so I must hurry. I still have to get my bonnet and gloves. If you will excuse me, dear…”
After hastily blowing Elizabeth a kiss, Mary hurried out, muttering to herself that she must not forget to take her reticule with her.
Alone again at the breakfast table, Elizabeth sipped her cooling tea and tried to analyze the sudden melancholy that had engulfed her. Surely she was not so selfish as to begrudge her mother-in-law a new diversion. On the other hand, she could not seem to suppress a hefty twinge of self-pity. It was a bit uncomfortable to find that Mary—who was the only person who had ever showed a tendency to make Elizabeth the center of her life—was suddenly finding other interests.
Feeling a bit like an orphan herself, Elizabeth allowed herself the luxury of a deep-seated sigh and then stood, a resolute expression on her face. She had much to be thankful for, she reminded herself, and she was not going to allow herself to—
“Excuse me, my lady.” Larkman stood in the doorway, a deep frown emphasizing the distraught expression in his eyes. “May I request that you accompany me to the kitchen immediately? Little Billy is acting most peculiar, and Mrs. Blanchard is distraught. She fears his mind is hopelessly disturbed.”
With a muted cry of concern, Elizabeth dashed around the table. “How is he behaving, Larkman?” she asked, hurriedly motioning for the butler to precede her down the hallway toward the kitchen area.
“He keeps pointing toward his arms and legs, my lady, but he won’t allow anyone near him. When one of the scullery maids tried to approach him to see what he was pointing at, he crawled under the table and then, somehow, clambered to the top of a tall cupboard. Now he refuses to come down. Mrs. Blanchard is hoping you can persuade him.”
“The poor little thing,” Elizabeth murmured. “Whatever can be wrong with him, Larkman?”
The butler shook his head slowly. “I wish I knew, my lady. I wish I knew.”
Never had Elizabeth seen such chaos in a kitchen. Mrs. Blanchard was slumped in a chair, bawling into her apron. A
rrayed around a tall cupboard were three scullery maids, one holding up a cup of tea, one a piece of bread and butter, and the third an iced cake, all trying to tempt Billy from his perch. A footman was just coming through the back door carrying a ladder.
“Oh milady,” Mrs. Blanchard said, biting back a sob as she jumped to her feet. “Thank ye fer coming. Lord knows I’ve done the best I could by the lad, but he’s gone loony. Crazy as a bedbug, he is. What are we going to do?”
Elizabeth looked up at Billy, determined that he was reasonably safe seated atop the deep cupboard, and decided her first priority must be to bring some order to the frenetic scene below him. He would never descend when so much confusion abounded.
She turned first to the footman, who was awkwardly trying to maneuver the tall ladder around a table near the center of the kitchen. “Please take that thing back where you got it,” she told him tersely. “We have no need for it here.”
The footman opened his mouth, took another look at Elizabeth’s resolute expression, and immediately started to turn. One end of the ladder swung around, whacking a scullery maid on the backside and sending her sprawling into the floor.
“Arrh, James,” the young woman yelped, jumping to her feet and glaring at the footman. “Why don’t ye watch where ye’re goin’ with that thing, ye dumb bloke?”
James took immediate offense. “Shut yer mouth, Alice,” he said indignantly. “Ye’re naught but a saucebox anyway.” Then, noting Larkman’s scowl, the footman flushed a bright red.
Elizabeth glanced up at Billy and was amazed to find him watching the contretemps between James and Alice with a wide grin on his face. Whatever was wrong with the child, Elizabeth concluded, his mind was still functioning normally.
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