The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Alex’s black eyes snapped with emotion. “It’s been nine months. It’s about time he wrote. I’ve grown tired of hearing about him from others. It seems I’ve spent half my life waiting for letters from that rapscallion brother of mine. Well, where is it?”

  Dudley gleefully produced the long-awaited letter from behind his back and handed it to Alex. Alex snatched the letter, opened the envelope, and unfolded a thin sheet of parchment covered with small, neat writing.

  “It does not appear to be very long,” Alex commented worriedly as he eyed the single sheet.

  “But it begins encouragingly,” Beth countered as she looked over Alex’s shoulder. “Read it aloud.”

  Dudley shifted from one foot to the other. “Perhaps I should leave.”

  “No, stay, Dudley,” said Alex. “It’s obvious you want to, and I can’t think of anyone more entitled to listen than you. Sit down and quit fidgeting.”

  Dudley readily obeyed, leaning on the table with his freckled chin supported by both freckled fists. Alex began to read.

  Dear brother and sister,

  I hope you will forgive me for failing to write sooner, but I have traveled a rough road these past few months. The worst of it has been the necessity of coming face to face with my own blemished character. You have reprimanded me before for dwelling on my faults, so I will not. Let me just say that while I do not presume to suppose I will ever be perfect, I am striving to become a more sensitive, responsible, right-thinking man.

  I still miss Tessy. That is an understatement, I might add, for the pain I’ve felt—and still feel—has been difficult to endure. As spring breaks over the moor, so does the new honeysuckle, its fragrance as sweet as Tessy’s spirit.

  But I will not wax morbid. And do not fear that I’ve become a hermit, either. I keep quite busy with estate business, and Beth’s mama keeps me well supplied with letters of invitation to neighboring homes for dinners, soirees, musical evenings, and the like. It seems my recent disgrace has not discouraged the local marriage-minded mamas and their sweet, simpering daughters but has actually lent me a bit of rakish cachet. Such attention rather sickens me, but I suppose I shall have to put up with it till the scandal dies down. At least I am frequently in the company of others, which is preferable to sitting alone and brooding.

  As for company, Gabby has been most dedicated in seeing that I don’t brood, for hardly a day passes that the determined child doesn’t ride over to while away an hour or two with me. She is, as Beth always was, a ray of sunshine in my sometimes dreary world.

  Thank you both for your letters. They’ve been a source of support and joy as you’ve kept me informed of the excellent progress of Torie. If she truly is the golden waif you describe, the shortened version of her name exactly suits. Give her a kiss and a hug from her uncle Zachary. And pray tell Dudley that I do not mind if he behaves like a fusspot in matters concerning Torie. Tessy would have taken great delight in his interest in her child.

  Enough said. I’m still not up to much writing, but I shall try to do better in future. I simply want you to know that I cherish your love and your friendship, and I pray God each night to bless you.

  As ever,

  Zachary

  “Well, that was not precisely as cheerful as I might have wished,” Alex said on a sigh as he refolded the letter.

  “However, Master Zachary’s words reflect quite a reasonable state of mind under the circumstances,” Dudley suggested. “Indeed, I think he is coming along just as he ought.”

  “Dudley’s right,” Beth added gently. “If he had recovered too suddenly from his megrims, I might have been forced to conclude that he had suppressed the worst of his feelings and was not truly dealing with his grief. It will take time.”

  “At least he does not seem to regret his decision to allow us to raise Torie,” said Alex. “I’ve worried about that.”

  “Yes, so have I,” Beth admitted. “I’ve come to think of her as mine.” She reached over and laid her hand on Alex’s. “As ours. I don’t think I could bear to give her up, even to Zach.”

  “You shall never have to, my lady,” Dudley said with conviction. “Mastery Zachary wants what’s best for the child, and what’s best for Torie is, quite simply, contained within these walls.”

  “Despite Miss Brynne?” teased Alex.

  “Which reminds me, my lord,” Dudley said, standing up and assuming the affronted air he wore whenever some ineptitude was committed by one of the other servants. “You’ll never believe this, but I feel duty-bound to tell you even though you may feel compelled to dismiss Miss Brynne.”

  “That would cause you a great deal of anguish, I make no doubt,” Alex commented, surreptitiously winking at Beth when he thought Dudley wasn’t looking.

  “Don’t mock me, my lord, I beg you,” said Dudley, arranging his face in a pained expression. “I’m sincerely concerned about this matter.”

  Beth reached up to thread her fingers through the thick hair at the nape of Alex’s neck. He had been wearing his hair longer since they’d been in Italy. It curled over his collar now. She loved it that way. “Do explain yourself, Dudley,” Beth said encouragingly, trying to pay Dudley the attention he was seeking, though she knew his concern was exaggerated because of his devotion to Torie.

  “Miss Brynne has been feeding Torie”—Dudley paused for effect—“fish”

  Much to Dudley’s disappointment, this announcement did not faze his listeners in the least. Beth continued to twine her fingers lazily through Alex’s hair, which, in Dudley’s opinion, reduced his lordship’s mental faculties to the level of an idiot. Beth finally said with composure, “Oh, is that supposed to be an unhealthful thing to do? I can’t believe Miss Brynne would feed Torie anything that would be bad for the child. What do you think, Alex?”

  Dudley observed his employer with skepticism. It was obvious what his lordship had on his mind, and it assuredly was not fish, babies, or incompetent nurses. “I think Torie has a remarkable appetite and a stomach like a cast-iron kettle,” he said at last, his eyes fixed on his wife and not a bit on his valet-cum-nurse. “To my memory, Miss Brynne has never fed anything to Torie that the child did not find eminently digestible.”

  Dudley heaved an exasperated sigh. “She’s only nine months of age. Despite Tone’s obvious enjoyment of a wondrous variety of food, it has been my experience that children under the age of two do not digest fish.”

  Beth daintily wiped her mouth with a serviette and smiled at Dudley, her single dimple punctuating her rosy right cheek. “But you must admit that Torie is a special child and cannot, as a rule, be lumped into the same category with other, more average children.”

  Dudley knew Beth was appealing to his belief in Torie’s inherent uniqueness, and her tactic was working. Torie was unique. She had proven that from the beginning as she consistently exceeded the expectations one might have for premature babies. She smiled, she turned over, she sat up, and she crawled sooner than most full-term babies, and at nine months she was walking, despite her small size. She was an extremely intelligent child, and fish was said to be food for the brain….

  “If Mr. Dudley is telling tales on me again,” came a disgruntled female voice from the French doors opening onto the veranda, “I shall have to offer my resignation.”

  Miss Brynne was angry. Her mobcap was askew, her white hair escaping from its pins to wreathe her flushed round face like spun sugar. In truth, she looked like Beth’s idea of a fairy godmother, all soft and pink and rotund. And the golden-haired, golden-eyed child she held in her arms simply looked like a fairy, an ethereal waif plucked straight out of one of Pye Thatcher’s drolls.

  Beth sat back in her chair to watch Dudley and Miss Brynne spar. This was a daily occurrence and one that never failed to entertain. They both loved Torie so much they were constantly at odds with each other over the proper way to attend to her needs. Torie flourished under their care, seeming to sense that their frequent disagreements were just as harmless
as they were. Beth felt Alex’s arm ease around the back of her chair, his long fingers brushing her shoulder. Such a light touch, so gentle, so casual, yet just as exciting as it had been months earlier when he’d first touched her.

  “I should be well pleased if you did resign. Miss Brynne,” Dudley said stiffly. “Feeding fish to a baby, of all things!” He harrumphed disdainfully.

  “Don’t turn your nose up at me, Mr. Dudley,” Miss Brynne retorted. “Fish is good for healthy babies like Torie. I ought to know—I’m the child’s nurse, not you. Though you seem to think otherwise.”

  “She’s right, Dudley.” Alex reached for the baby, Miss Brynne handed her to him, and then the roly-poly nurse crossed her beefy arms and stared cockily at Dudley. “Though your interest in her is estimable,” Alex continued, “and quite unobjectionable to Lady Roth and me, you’re not Torie’s nurse. And there would be a great deal more tranquillity about the house if only you would refrain from trying to run roughshod over Miss Brynne’s authority.”

  “I interfere only when I see a problem, my lord,” Dudley coolly asserted. “It just so happens that I see problems on a daily basis.”

  “Oh, posh,” hissed Miss Brynne, her face reddening to the bright tint of a ripe tomato.

  “Oh, look, Alex!” Beth exclaimed, catching a glimpse of something she knew would be of interest to them all and might perhaps end the quarreling of Torie’s two nurses. “I believe Torie has a new tooth on the bottom.”

  The delicately featured baby, dressed in a white flounced gown and knitted shoes, was perched on Alex’s knee, secured by one of his large hands on her stomach and the other on her back. Miss Brynne had pulled Torie’s fine baby hair atop her head in a decorative plume that looked remarkably like a rooster’s comb. She was energetically kicking her legs and rotating her arms, her laughing mouth obligingly open to expose the new tooth.

  Miss Brynne and Dudley immediately forgot their grievances to bend over and peer into the baby’s mouth.

  “A beautiful specimen!” Miss Brynne declared proudly.

  “She’ll have a dazzling set of ivories by the time she’s ready to set London on its ear,” Dudley concurred.

  “It’s undoubtedly the result of such a fine diet,” Beth suggested demurely.

  Dudley straightened and pulled at his chin with thoughtful fingers. “I don’t know about that.”

  Miss Brynne also straightened and faced Dudley squarely—or perhaps roundly would have been a more appropriate description—her arms akimbo. “When are you going to admit, Mr. Dudley, that I know what I’m about when it comes to raising babies? I raised Lord Fabber-sham’s seven daughters and three sons with nary a peep of complaint from my employers. And certainly none of the other servants dared criticize me.”

  Now it was Dudley’s turn to redden.

  Alex interrupted the exchange. “While you—pardon the pun—digest Miss Brynne’s latest piece of prickly pie, Dudley, won’t you take Torie to the nursery? She needs her napkin changed.”

  “I should be pleased to, my lord,” Dudley replied stoically, sending Miss Brynne a withering look. “Never let it be said that I shirked my duties because of a little unpleasant odor.” He lifted Torie from Alex’s knee and wedged her in the crook of one elbow, his free arm wrapped about her chest. “Come, sweeting,” he crooned to the baby. “It’s time for your bath.”

  Miss Brynne followed Dudley from the room, her short, pudgy legs barely keeping up with his long-legged stride. “Now, Mr. Dudley,” she was saying breathlessly, “you know the water must be merely tepid, not overly warm. You’d best let me bathe the baby. You might get water in her ears, and that would never do.”

  Alex chuckled. “Those two are quite a pair. They couldn’t be more devoted to the child. But then, she easily inspires devotion, the little charmer.” He turned to Beth, his Gypsy eyes crinkling in a loving smile. “I hope there’s no jealousy between the children. Torie is used to a great deal of attention, but she’ll have to share Dudley and Miss Brynne when another child comes along.”

  “Which reminds me,” said Beth, looking at him from beneath coyly lowered lashes, “it’s been nine months since we married, time enough to have given birth to a child since our marriage in August.” She ran a finger lightly along the seam of his trousers, from knee to mid-thigh.

  “Just as we planned, my Beth,” he said thickly, watching her intently. “Now no one can say Torie isn’t ours. Surely when we return to England next year people will only look at Torie’s small size and not take into account her abilities, which will assuredly be beyond those expected in a child of her purported age.”

  “We shall just say she is exceedingly bright,” said Beth.

  “Which she is,” Alex agreed.

  “But there is something else, my love.” Beth leaned forward and touched her lips lightly to Alex’s chin, to his jaw, and lower, to his neck. She thrilled when she heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “What is that, my Beth?” he rasped, gently grasping her shoulders and pulling her into his lap.

  “Isn’t it time we started another baby?” She snuggled against him.

  Alex chuckled. “So soon? Everyone will think I’ve no consideration for you. People will call me a brute and look at you pityingly if we return from our honeymoon with two children within less than two years.”

  Beth slipped her hand inside Alex’s open collar and spread her fingers over the warm, hair-dusted surface of his broad chest. “I’m quite sure I will not engender pity, Alex. Rather I will stir envy in the hearts of all women who look upon me, since I’ll be glowing with satisfaction and happiness.”

  “Saucy baggage!” he murmured. “You are the most seductive creature I’ve ever known. Sweeting, if you want a baby, you shall have one.”

  “When, Alex?” she prompted brazenly, leaning over to bite him neatly on the ear.

  Alex did not reply. He was a man of action who considered words unnecessary in this case. He lifted her and carried her into the house, up the stairs, and into her bedchamber, where he locked the door behind him.

  Dudley had heard his lordship’s booted footsteps on the stairs and down the hall, striding swiftly past the nursery. He poked his head into the gallery just in time to see Lady Roth’s dainty slipper and the tip of Shadow’s tail as they disappeared through the entrance to her chamber. A breathless silvery laugh of sheer delight commingled with the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  Dudley smiled and returned to Torie and Miss Brynne, who were ensconced in a rocking chair by the window. The childish ditty the nurse was singing wafted on the soft breeze that blew in from the sapphire sea to imbue listeners with sleepy content. Miss Brynne did have a nice, soothing singing voice, Dudley admitted to himself.

  As he watched Torie’s golden eyes drift shut, Dudley leaned against the door casing and closed his own eyes. He thought of Tessy and felt the familiar ache in his throat that didn’t seem to diminish no matter how much time passed. But he knew she’d be happy about the way things had worked out for Torie. He’d lied like Old Harry himself—to the vicar, to the other servants, to anyone who’d asked about the babe Tess had borne. But in his heart’s heart—a heart too tender for his own good—Dudley knew he’d do it again in a pig’s whisper.

  Epilogue

  Ockley Hall, Surrey, England—December 1831

  Beth never tired of the view from her bedchamber window, and on this Christmas Eve it was a winter wonderland of pristine white. The clouds had been threatening all day, but in the last three hours the snow had fallen in earnest, just as though a plump pillow full of goose feathers had been split open and dumped by a playful God over the rolling Surrey countryside.

  The river Eden, which wended its way through tall, winter-bare oak and ash trees, was an ice-flecked, chilling blue, and the road to the nearest village of South Godstone was piled high with downy mounds of new snow. As each hour passed, the ability of a coach and four to traverse the thoroughfare seemed more and more doubtful to Beth
.

  Though it was only six o’clock, dusk was upon them, and golden light spilled through the windows from the bright, lamplit interior of Ockley Hall onto the shadowed exterior of landscape and cobbled courtyard. The silvery pink of the outbuildings, made of the same weathered brick as the main house, melded with the muted colors of eventide. Snow-flakes drifted against the many-paned chamfered windows, wedging in crescent designs in the corners.

  Beth’s brow furrowed. The scene was ideal. But she was viewing this beauty from the vantage point of her snug bedchamber. Those who were forced to travel in this unusually severe snow storm would probably not appreciate its beauty so much as they would curse its inconvenience. Zach might be quite frozen when he arrived, but since he was already half a day overdue, Beth’s main concern at this point was that he would arrive at all.

  If the weather was worse to the west, Zach might decide to wait out the storm at an inn, and Torie and Jason and Cecily would be terribly disappointed to miss their uncle Zach this Christmas Eve. Truth to tell, so would Beth, and she knew that Alex felt the same way. Zach had been spending the holidays with them for the past four years.

  Beth turned away from the window and moved to the dressing table, the top cluttered with perfume atomizers, a pretty variety of combs, a length of emerald green ribbon left over from her abigail’s dressing of Beth’s hair for the evening, and a small jewel casket. She picked up her brush and began to upwardly stroke the wisps of hair that had fallen from her chignon.

  “Don’t tidy them,” came a low voice from the door. “You know how I love the way those dainty curls riot against your beautiful neck.”

  Beth not only felt the tremor that ran down her spine at the sound of her husband’s deep, admiring voice, but since she was sitting in front of a mirror, she saw it, too. They had been married for ten years, and yet his mere presence—the sound of him, the look of him—still thrilled her. She set down the brush and turned toward the door, a ready smile at her lips. But the impact of seeing Alex, dressed fine as fivepence in evening black with a green brocade waistcoat and a sprig of holly pinned to his lapel, quite took away her ability to do anything but stare.