by Carla Kelly
Her heart full, Lucy led the boys from the counting house and around the corner to a neat brick building. A rap on the knocker produced a gray-haired woman in dark dress and apron, who introduced herself as Mrs. Hodgson. In a matter of minutes, the boys were enjoying gingersnaps and milk while the housekeeper went in search of her tape measure.
“Please, miss.”
Lucy turned her attention from the sampler on the wall proclaiming, “God’s will be done,” to Michael, gingersnap in one hand and half empty glass in the other. “Yes, my dear?”
“Mama wants me to distinguish myself, too, but I mostly like horses.”
A miracle had already happened with Edward. Lucy was ready for another one. “I have no doubt that Mr. Bledsoe will find a way,” she assured him.
Michael nodded, but his worried look barely changed. “I also don’t want to be far from Edward,” he said in a whisper.
She glanced at Edward, who stood with his arms out as Mrs. Hodgson measured him for a suit jacket. “We’ve always been together,” Bradfield-Ashby’s newest apprentice said.
In her mind’s eye, she saw both boys trudging dusty Spanish roads, following their father as he marched toward his own destiny. She thought of Clotilde, and how her sister’s London Season and subsequent engagement had driven a wedge between them, with the gulf growing wider. Soon they would barely know each other. What would Mama have said about these boys?
“Let me talk to Mr. Bledsoe. I’ll see what he can do.” She moved closer to Mrs. Hodgson. “May I speak to Edward’s patron?”
“Certainly you may, Miss Danforth,” the housekeeper said. She paused to write Edward’s measurement on a tablet. The tape went around his waist next. “After all, we still have a half dozen gingersnaps to go.”
She walked back to the counting house just as Miles was shaking hands with Mr. Bradfield at the entrance.
She stood there on the pavement, pleased all out of proportion by the welcoming smile on his face. She thought of all the hours they had spent with each other and felt suddenly as shy as Michael Lonnigan. She knew this cousin of hers so well, but one of them was changing. Whether it was he or she, Lucy did not know.
He took her arm on the sidewalk and shepherded her toward a bench under a counting house window. “Where away, Miss Danforth?” he asked.
She could have just told him what Michael wanted, but she had to say more, had to tell him what was in her full heart. He might think her silly; she hoped not. If she had learned anything in the last few remarkable days, it was that one shouldn’t leave things unsaid. And this was Miles, who knew her better than any man alive, even Papa.
“Miles, you’re the most magnificent person I know,” she said, and felt her face grow warm, even with snow beginning to fall. “At … at the beginning of this week, I was just going to take a basket of food to a hungry family.” She looked down at the snow settling on her cloak, relieved when his arm tightened around her shoulder, as if he were encouraging her. “Here we are in London, and you have just guaranteed a young lad’s future.”
“The work is still his to do,” he said. “Lucinda, I’ll confess to you that I am so happy about what just happened that I want to give you a whacking great kiss and dance a little jig.”
“You know you’re more dignified than that,” she said with a laugh.
He didn’t kiss her, but he rested his cheek against hers for an all-too-brief moment. “Kindly do not overlook the good you have done for Mrs. Lonnigan, Mary Rose, and even Aunt Aurelia. Doing good seems to beget more of the same.”
“I believe Mama intended that,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Michael loves horses, and neither boy wants to be separated from the other. What do we do now?”
He loosened his grip on her shoulder, but did not release her. “I suggest we think about the matter, if you don’t mind sitting in the snow.”
“Not at all, since you are here, too,” she said, which changed his expression from good humor to something more serious. Lately she was seeing more and more of this side of her dear cousin. She wanted to tease him about it, but there was her own shyness to account for, which she could not.
“I started this journey thinking we would go to Portsmouth on the way home to Tidwell. I sent a message by post last night to a surgeon friend of mine at Haslar Royal Navy Hospital,” he said. “He is always saying he needs more loblolly boys to do the fetch and carry in the wards.”
“Started?” she prompted, when he said nothing more for a long moment, lost in thought.
“A simpler child is Michael,” he said finally. “He’s young for his age, and I have made myself uneasy with the thought of pitching him into such a place as Haslar.” He ran his hand along Lucy’s arm, probably not even aware. She wasn’t about to say anything, not even in jest, because she loved the feeling. “My friend would watch him, but Michael is a tender little fellow.”
“It’s probably not the place for him,” Lucy agreed. “He likes horses.”
He smiled and brushed at her hair. “Snowflakes,” he said. “They’re quite becoming on you, Miss Curly Hair Beauty Fair.”
For the first moment in her lifetime of knowing his cousin of hers, she could not think of anything witty to say in return. She realized she had no wish to break the lovely spell.
The boys did that for her, Michael still a child, but Edward changed. The older boy smiled to see them sitting there, but there was something more in his look now. He had been measured for a suit; he was on the path to adulthood. To Lucy’s delight, he wore maturity well.
Dusk had settled over London. Feeling their upcoming separation, the boys wanted to share the same seat in the post chaise, which meant that Lucy was shoehorned in with Miles, his arm around her to make more room. She hadn’t really meant to rest her head against his shoulder, but there he was, and so handy.
“You’re not wearing bay rum,” she said, which only hours ago would have struck her as silly conversation.
“You noticed?” he asked, and sounded pleased. “I tried something new that Roger brought back from Spain on his last visit. You like it?”
“Sí, señor,” she teased, which suddenly lightened the odd tension she felt.
The butler informed them that dinner would be served in a half hour, so she hurried upstairs to her usual room to dress. The boys went next door and she heard them laughing and talking.
She sat on her bed for the longest time, thinking about Miles Bledsoe, the cousin who had teased her, laughed with her, got her in trouble now and then, shared her silliness, and rescued her from occasional folly. How did he know how desperate she was to never forget her mother, and how unhappy to see Clotilde miserable when she should be over the moon with joy? How did he know?
After her sister’s wedding Miles would return to Christ Church College in Oxford. Well aware how he threw himself into his studies, she did not expect to see him, or even get the occasional letter until the end of Hilary Term. Suddenly March seemed so far away. Could she last that long without hearing from her cousin? Worse and worse, she would be in London for her Season, something she knew Miles had no interest in. He disliked ballrooms as much as she did. The hard fact was that she might not see him again for months, a realization which made her uneasy in the extreme.
Reason took over. Certainly she would manage without any word from or news of Miles Bledsoe. He was just her cousin, she reminded herself, and a second cousin at that. She knew she would be forever grateful for his Christmas intervention this year. She would have to thank Papa for inviting Miles to Tidwell; it had proved to be a stroke of genius, a word not generally associated with her fox hunting, pleasure-loving father. Mama had always been his leaven, and without her, Papa floundered. All the more reason to beg off from a London Season this year, and stay home. Papa needed a daughter at home, and Clotilde would be gone.
She resolved to thank her father when they returned to Tidwell. She also told herself to enjoy this evening with the Bledsoes, almost as dear to her heart
as her own parents.
She took the boys hand in hand down to dinner, pleased to be joined by her Cousin Vivian, who offered her arm to Edward to escort her to the table. Miles and his father came down the hall from the bookroom, Miles serious, but Cousin Will smiling.
“Lucy, my dear, you grow lovelier by the hour,” her cousin proclaimed, to her embarrassment. “No, Miles, it’s my turn to see her in to dinner.”
Any fears that dinner would overwhelm the Lonnigan brothers proved to be groundless. The footman led them to the breakfast room instead of the dining room.
Even better, the servants had put the entire dinner on the table in serving bowls. There would be no footmen standing about to offer dishes, and embarrass little boys not used to this much grandeur. She smiled at Vivian, communicating her pleasure at the woman’s thoughtfulness.
Edward may have been the more astute of the two brothers, but Michael was the storyteller, once he overcame his natural shyness. His face animated, he regaled the Bledsoes with more stories of following the drum through Portugal and Spain.
“Do you miss the life?” Vivian asked, as she filled his plate again with more quail and potatoes.
“I suppose I should,” he said finally, “but I don’t mind change.” He turned his attention to Lucy. “Miss, do you think your housekeeper and that Froggie cook will keep Mama and Mary Rose on?”
“I think it entirely likely,” she said, happily perjuring herself, even though she had no idea. “The secret to success is to make yourself indispensable.”
“Mama is good at that,” Edward said.
“Then do not doubt,” Lucy said, touched at the Lonnigan family’s mutual devotion. She glanced at Miles, who was looking at her. She swallowed, thinking of her cousin’s many kindnesses to her, and his own devotion. All of a sudden, her heart felt too large for her bodice.
The dinner continued with food and small talk, neither of which seemed to register with Lucy. When the boys were starting on their chocolate pudding, Miles stood up and held out his hand to Lucy. “I have something I need to talk to you about.” He glanced at his father, as if for reassurance. “It really can’t wait.”
Lucy stood up, her mind in a whirl. The odd notion that her cousin might declare himself made her breath come faster. She took his hand, and then his arm as he escorted her from the room.
In silence, he walked her down the hall to the library, a room she particularly enjoyed because she loved to read. He sat her down, but took himself to the fireplace, standing with his back to her as she waited and hoped.
He turned around, looked at her as if already measuring her response, and spoke. “Lucinda, I learned something today.”
I believe I did, too, she thought, terrified and overjoyed at the same time. A week ago, she never would have felt this way. He feels the way I do, she thought with gratitude.
He sat beside her, but he didn’t reach for her hand, even though it lay quite available on her leg. “It’s this: Mr. Bradfield let drop an alarming bit of news. He couldn’t say much, because he is an ethical man, and this is effectively none of my business.”
Suddenly deflated, Lucy did her best to appear interested. “Better tell me,” she said, as her heart plummeted into her shoes, probably destined to remain there for the rest of her life, if it was a life without Miles.
“He intimated that Lord Masterton isn’t as plump in the pockets as he may have let on.”
“What?”
He took her hand then, and Lucy gladly let him. “Mr. Bradfield could show me no facts or figures—that would be monumentally unethical—but he cautioned me and suggested in a roundabout way that someone should say something to your father.”
Lucy forgot herself and let that unwelcome news sink in. Miles obviously had no intention of declaring himself, or protesting his love, or any other silly scheme she had imagined, but he was still concerned for her family. That was enough. Most girls didn’t fall in love with their cousins, anyway. She pushed that thought into a closet in her mind, locked the door, and gave him her attention.
“Will Lord Masterton ruin us?” she asked, suddenly fearful for her ramshackle, dear father, who never met a horse he didn’t like, and who had probably depended on her mother for sound decision-making. She felt her heart grow cold with fear.
“He could, Lucinda, and that is what worries me,” Miles said. “As matters stand now, your father will pay the Danforth marriage portion to Lord Masterton and Clotilde will marry him. I fear that Cousin Roscoe’s new son-in-law will continue to demand money and more money. I fear it greatly.”
He released her hand and stood up, walking back to the fireplace to kick at a log. He stopped in front of her and blew out his cheeks in exasperation. “Deuce take it, Lucinda, don’t think me a churl if I say that without your mother’s calm judgment and wisdom, your father will be pudding in the hands of a practiced sharpster like Lord Masterton.”
He sat down beside her again and put his arm around her, pulling her close. “I won’t see you and your family ruined, but how can we stop him?”
“You need to tell Papa what you have told me,” she said immediately, wanting to leap up and run all the way through London until she was home in Kent. “I must speak to Clotilde.” She took his hand. “Miles, I honestly do not know if she has the strength of will to end the engagement at this late date.”
He leaned back, tugging her with him. “She must, Lucinda,” he said. “There might be repercussions of an embarrassing nature for Clotilde—you know, young lady jilts distinguished marquis.” He kissed her hand. “And you might find yourself quite unwelcome in London. I have no doubt that Lord Masterton will spread rumors to soothe his pride.”
“You already know how I feel about my London Season,” she answered.
“I certainly do.” He gave her a hand up to her feet. “We’ll be out of here first thing in the morning and ready to do our duty.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Miles. We’re going to be ever in your debt.”
He gave her a hug—the cousinly kind, to her dismay—and started down the hall to the breakfast room, where she heard laughter. He stopped and tapped her nose, something he hadn’t done in years, but which he had done to get her attention when she was eight or so.
“Lucinda, there is something even better going on in there. My father may have just made an offer to Michael.”
She grasped his elbows. “Please tell me!”
“Nope. Let’s just hurry to the breakfast room and see if I’m right.”
What she saw made her heart seem too large for her breast. Both Michael and Edward sat close together, nearly on one chair, their arms around each other, both in tears, but with smiles, too.
Vivian dabbed at her own eyes, and Will laughed at them all. “My dears, a man makes a simple request for services, and everyone turns into watering pots!” he said.
Lucy knelt by Michael. “You’d better tell me, my dear,” she said. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve. “Here. Blow.”
Michael did as she asked. He found a dry spot and handed it to his brother. “Miss, I’m going to stay right here and help in Mr. Bledsoe’s stable!”
Lucy bowed her head in relief and gratitude, as she wondered just how many emotions of a startling nature were going to plague her this Christmas.
“Among other matters, Miles and I discussed this before dinner,” her cousin said, giving his son a pat on the shoulder. “My stable master is getting a bit creaky. He has been asking for help. I believe Michael here will be just the ticket, eh, Michael?”
The boy nodded and spoke to Lucy. “Miss, he has promised me a room of my own over the stables, and … and Edward can stay here on his day off, if he’d like.”
“I would like that, above all,” Edward said. “Miss, we’ll look out for each other in London, and you can look out for our mam and sister in Kent.”
“It’s a promise,” Lucy said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
U
&nb
sp; With a full heart, Lucy kissed the Bledsoes goodbye on the morrow, after hearing their assurances that they would be arriving soon for Clotilde’s wedding. Miles disappointed her by sending her and the brothers on without him.
“I have a matter of business here in the city,” he told her. “It will be done by noon, I am certain. I’ll take my horse and meet you in Tidwell by nightfall or sooner.”
She nodded, part of her relieved that she wouldn’t be sharing close quarters with the man she wanted to kiss, and the other part unhappy for the same reason. In one day she had gone from being a practical, rational female, to someone even sillier than Clotilde, and all because of a cousin she had known for years. She didn’t like the feeling.
Occupied with their own plans, the Lonnigan brothers paid no attention to her, which suited Lucy completely. She thought through her uncomfortable dilemma, realizing with a pang that she understood precisely what it felt like to be in love, because she was. She consoled herself that she was young, and someone else might come along someday who would make her laugh, and worry, and want to become the best person she was capable of. Miles was interested in being just a cousin, and not a husband.
Better now that Miles Bledsoe not even return to Tidwell. If she could convince her father and Clotilde of the folly of an alliance with Lord Masterton, there was no need of his comforting presence. Mrs. Little could gather up his clothing and books and ship them to London, or to Christ Church College. He would go his way, and she, hers. They would likely meet now and then at family gatherings, but she would be prepared and calm.
She swallowed her tears and focused on the Lonnigans. With Miles’s magnificent help, she had kept Christmas for Mama. One less family was headed toward ruin. She had made a difference in four lives, each life as God-given and important as hers, no matter their difference in station and class. This was charity of the best kind, the charity that mattered. It had been Mama’s gift to her, given beyond death.
