Bewildered by Love (Kendawyn Paranormal Regency)

by Amanda A. Allen

  Whatever was he doing and whatever did he want?

  Martha, Rodger’s mother and Phoebe’s sister-in-law, told Phoebe to expect an offer, but that was ridiculous. Martha had said it with hands rubbing together in glee and whispered guesses at his value. There were ridiculous stories of pirating in the mortal world and the untold wealth that had come back with him. Those faradiddles were nonsense, pure and simple. And outside of that mythic wealth, there was no way he would want her for a wife. And if he expected her to consider an offer to become an…an inamorata, he had another thing coming.

  Even if he left her shivering with something she could hardly name.

  If he didn’t want marriage or a mistress, whatever could he want? She was too old for marrying. In this world of those who looked ever-young, age was more sensed than seen. But most females married by their hundredth birthday and males usually before the end of their 2nd century. Phoebe was one hundred and seventy two. Her power—what there was of it—was pure and strong. She lived with her brother, his wife, and their children and hated it.

  Hated it enough to consider the offer of Mr. Pallister of Shillsbury though she could hardly stand the man. The truth was…she had long since taken care of being poor. But setting up a household anywhere near Lyndone was simply not done by single females. Perhaps if she gathered up some ancient aunt. But she didn’t have one. And Phoebe didn’t want to leave Rodger. The other children were horrible brats, but Rodger was special. He needed her in this family of hyenas and she needed him.

  Her brother was a terrible parent. She could stay with them until the boy was at school and then set up a home in Arathe-By-The-Sea. She could find some respectable matron for a companion. Or perhaps a very proper elderly spinster. Someone four or five hundred years old, with tight lips and a rigid spine.

  Phoebe’s hand was settled into the crook of George’s elbow, but he was listening to Rodger blather on about hot air balloons and the mortal realm and airplanes, giving her the chance to examine their companion and what was happening.

  “Have you ever been to the mortal world?” Rodger’s piping little voice carried as they walked. He was only seven and would be going to school in the fall. Perhaps then she’d leave her brother’s family. Perhaps…she could return when Rodger was home for the holidays. Certainly that would be better than Mr. Pallister and his horrible breath or Mr. Bentworth and his beguiling eyes.

  Phoebe stopped daydreaming to pay attention again as Mr. Bentworth replied.

  “Indeed, I have been several times.”

  “Did you go when there were airplanes? Did you fly in one? Was it amazing? It was top notch, wasn’t it?”

  George grinned. He used his free hand to ruffle Rodger’s hair before answering. “On my first tour of the mortal realm when I had just completed my schooling, I went with several cousins, a few members of my pack, and my very best friend. We saw much of their world across much of their time. And, yes, I did get the chance to fly in an airplane, and it was amazing. But my favorite conveyance has always been a ship. A ship with sails and the wind and a compass.”

  “A ship! But we have those here.”

  “Too true. I have a yacht of my own, and there is not much I like more than to gather up some of my friends and family and sail down the coast, fishing and swimming and visiting my favorite places.”

  Phoebe grinned at Rodger when he tossed her a look that seemed to say, “Can you believe this fellow?”

  “But you have flown in an airplane?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Do you think it’s hard to learn how to fly them?”

  “It takes a while,” George said, “to learn to do it properly. But it’s not so hard that it can’t be done.”

  Rodger gasped. Almost struggling for air, he asked, “Have you, yourself, do you know how to fly airplanes?”

  “Indeed,” George answered.

  Rodger stopped walking, almost unable to contain his excitement.

  “Do you think that someday…” He stopped.

  Phoebe bit her lip, wanting to stop Rodger from asking. He wanted, without doubt, to ask Mr. Bentworth to bring Rodger to the mortal realm next time, to take him on a flight, but it was too much to ask, and the boy knew it, for he struggled to stop himself from asking.

  It hurt. Even Phoebe—with all she’d done to change her circumstances—could not afford a visit to the mortal realm for her nephew. If only it were as simple as selling Grandmother’s pearls or some other such treasure. But visits were not so easily had. Even with money, you had to be better connected than Phoebe.

  “Someday, young Rodger, we’ll sneak through to the mortal realm, fly in a few of the different airplanes that they have to offer, and come home before your aunt gets us in trouble.”

  Rodger swallowed and pressed his lips together, searching George’s face.

  Phoebe wanted to gather her nephew up and run away. She stiffened as she raged. How dare Mr. Bentworth even pretend to consider such a request? How dare he make a promise he would never keep? Her fury burned so bright she had to fight it to keep it contained. So many times, Rodger’s father had said off-handedly that they’d do something and never followed up. She reminded herself that Mr. Bentworth could not know that. She tried to anyway. She felt a growl rising in her throat, but Phoebe Varling did not growl in anger or let her emotions be colored by her wolf.

  “On my honor,” George said when he saw Rodger’s face. “On my honor, I will take you with me as long as I can convince your parents to entrust you to me. But…if I have to, I will wait until you reach your majority, and we’ll go even if they disapprove.”

  “Ph--,” Rodger looked over at his aunt, back at George. Her nephew wanted to believe so desperately, but he’d learned this lesson too well.

  She said it for her nephew. “Don’t promise it, please. Don’t tell him that when you won’t follow through.”

  She knew George Bentworth of the Wolfemuir pack could do what he’d said. It would be so easy for him to make Rodger’s dreams come true. But, a person had to be very well-connected and very rich to travel to the mortal realm. She knew the man was both but…but one simply didn’t do such things for random children from the park. Even if you wanted that child’s aunt as a mistress.

  George sent her a look of blinding anger and stopped walking. He let go of Phoebe’s arm to squat in front of her nephew. Lifting the boy’s chin, Mr. Bentworth examined the face she loved more than anyone else.

  “‘On my honor’ means that I will do it,” he said, vehemently. “I know that sometimes people make promises, especially to children, that they don’t intend to keep. I keep my promises regardless of who they are to.”

  Rodger’s eyes were wide and shiny with tears that he wouldn’t shed. George’s growl was low enough that Rodger probably couldn’t hear it. It took a matured wolf’s ears to hear such a thing. But when she heard his growl, she couldn’t help but think, “My goodness, he is actually going to take Rodger to the mortal realm.”

  She swallowed feelings of shame for what she said, and when Rodger looked to her, she nodded. He understood what she was telling him—she thought that George Bentworth might be worthy of their trust.

  “Really?” Rodger whispered to George, eyes still on Phoebe.

  “Really,” George answered seriously. “Now, I don’t think your parents will let me bring you with me without knowing me a bit better, but it turns out, I needed to go to the mortal realm in a few months anyway. Perhaps by that time, they’ll trust me enough to bring you along. If they do…well it won’t be so hard to adjust my travels to visit a time when there are airplanes. However, young one--” his voice was serious before he paused.

  This was it, Phoebe thought, this was when the catch came out and crushed their hopes.

  “I expect,” he continued, “you to also enjoy a ride on my ship. You just see if the wind in your face, the sea on your skin, the smell of the ocean, and the feeling of flying over the waves isn’t better than a metal cylind
er with a few propellers attached.”

  “Deal!”

  Phoebe bit her lip when Mr. Bentworth rose, took her hand and settled it back into her arm. He’d done more in that moment than he knew. She thought he just might have ruined any ability she had to think on Mr. Pallister and his proposal and perhaps even on her semi-formed plans for Arathe-By-The-Sea.

  CHAPTER THREE

  George listened to the boy’s incessant chatter as he met the boy near the field where they’d been playing cricket.

  “Phoebe will hardly believe that you came to the park again,” Rodger said.

  Two days had passed since George’s promise to the lad, and still Rodger couldn’t stop bouncing with the excitement that rode him.

  “She went driving with Mr. Pallister instead of coming to play with us. I wish she would not do that.”

  “And who is Mr. Pallister? A family friend?” George controlled his wolf with effort for the first time since becoming an adult, for Pallister did not sound like a friend…he sounded like a beau. The growl was at the back of George’s throat and the need to track her down, right then, and make her his own was a vicious need.

  “No,” Rodger shook his head frantically. “He’s Phoebe’s beau. But Phoebe doesn’t like him very much even if she doesn’t say so. Mr. Pallister has a pinched mouth and always looks like someone smells bad. Papa thinks she should take an offer if she gets it. Papa tells Mama that Phoebe isn’t getting any younger. Mama said that Phoebe’s contribution to the household is a nice addition and Mr. Pallister isn’t rich enough to make the connection worthwhile.”

  George had to swallow his growl again before he cleared his throat. “And what does your aunt say?”

  George wondered if he should feel bad prompting a little boy to uncover his aunt’s secrets. But he decided not. She needed to stop giving her attention to this Pallister fellow so she could turn her mind to him. Perhaps this Pallister was why she didn’t seem more interested in George.

  “She don’t say nothing. Mama says she’s a deep well of thinking too much of herself but that she should get her head out of the clouds. Papa says she should marry and have some children so she has someone to focus on. But I think she should stay and play with me and not marry Mr. Pallister.”

  George was easily persuaded to join Rodger for tea that day. George’s mother would have been appalled that he’d do such a thing, but he found he didn’t care as much when he accompanied the boy home for a nursery tea.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Varling said as George excused showing up uninvited by any adult member of the house. “Of course. You are welcome any time,” she said as she eyed the large stone in his signet ring.

  “Rodger has helped me rediscover my love of cricket,” George said unapologetically. He grinned at Rodger’s mother in the same way as he’d grinned at his own when he’d been a boy. “I apologize for intruding, but I told my mother about my little friend, and she thought that your family would like to join us for a picnic in the countryside next Saturday. I promised faithfully to deliver the invitation to yourself, any other children, Miss Varling, and, of course, your husband should he want to come. We have a champion cricket field.”

  “Oh yes,” Rodger breathed. “Please say yes, Mama.”

  “Well, I’ll need to ask Phoebe, of course, and speak with my husband, but I imagine that we shall join you, Mr. Bentworth.” The avaricious gleam in her eyes stated that they would certainly be there.

  “Are the family estates yours?” Rodger demanded. “Are you a lord or something? Did you go to Neton? I’m going there next year even though Jack and Danny are at Newburys. Some old aunt left me money for school if I go there. Father says it’s a waste, and he says that the professors won’t put up with my antics. My big brother Danny says I’ll get beaten every day just for looking at the professors wrong.”

  “Well,” George said, squatting down in front of Rodger as the front door opened behind him, “I won’t deny that I got a few beatings at Neton. But for the most part, they just take away privileges or puddings or send you home if you get in real trouble.”

  “Were you lonely?” Rodger pretended that he wasn’t worried, but George could see the shine to the boy’s eyes.

  “For a while,” George agreed. “For a while, it’s pretty hard. But then you make friends and you find that you’re having fun, and you always have someone to play cricket with, and sometimes family sends you money under the wax seal of a letter or your mother will send you chocolates, and it gets better. By the time you go home for the holidays, you find that you’ll miss your friends as much as you miss your family.”

  “Really?” Rodger’s eyes were fixed on George’s face, who nodded solemnly.

  “It’s hard at first, but you’ll be all right in the end. You’ve got to muster through and keep an eye out for the friends who’ll be your friends for life. To this day, I spend part of the summer with my friends Alfie, Willoughby, and Devlin. We go shooting and swim in the lake and spend entire days just fishing. We talk of the old days and the adventures we’ve had since then. And now that we’re adults, no one will beat us when we steal all the tarts from the kitchen and never show up for tea.”

  Rodger laughed delightedly and grabbed George’s wrist quickly before letting go. George knew it for what it was—this need for affection. He wanted to growl and shout at the parents of the boy. George had been a third son, too. His father had never seen any of his children as anything less than a blessing, but many of the upper class saw a need only for an heir and a spare. Any child after that was a burden.

  Somehow, once he had Phoebe secured, they’d weasel the boy from their parents. But then again…perhaps all he had to do was promise to educate him beyond Neton and prepare the boy for a career. It was eminently clear, the more he thought of it, that that would be more than enough. He was also certain that his Phoebe would be delighted with the plan. The more he’d seen of her with her family, the more certain he’d been that his Phoebe tolerated the others but loved Rodger.

  “See,” a soft voice said from behind them, “nothing to worry about.”

  “There’s the beatings,” Rodger piped up, but his eyes were no longer shiny and his face was wide with a grin. “Phoebe, George came to have tea with us!”

  “I see that,” she said before nodding to him and saying, “Hello, Mr. Bentworth. Isn’t it fine weather we’re having? May I introduce my friend, Mr. Merlin Pallister?”

  Rodger snorted softly, but though Phoebe clearly caught it, she ignored it as George coughed to cover the boy’s lapse. Her eyes glimmered with amusement as George nodded, “Pallister. I believe we were at school together.”

  The man had been foul as a boy, too. As an adult he was portly, his nose was red and dripping, and George was baffled by Phoebe’s presence on Merlin’s arm.

  “Indeed,” Pallister replied. His face was just as sour now as it was then. “Wasn’t aware you were friends of the Varlings.”

  “Rodger is my cricket buddy,” George said. “Been playing a few rounds in the park lately.”

  “Sounds like what I’d expect you to grow into,” Pallister said, looking down his nose at them even though George was significantly taller. He’d been an uptight prig in school, too, George remember. Now the man was an uptight prig in a coat that was too small due to the extra flesh. His buttons strained across his belly, his hair was thick—this was Kendawyn after all—but there something lank about it. Perhaps the man just neglected to bathe properly.

  Phoebe delicately cleared her throat, her cheeks pinking delicately.

  George ignored the comment and turned to Mrs. Varling. “Thank you for allowing me to bother you, Mrs. Varling. Rodger and I will go wash up and relive our cricket exploits, shall we?”

  “You should hurry along,” Mrs. Varling said to them. “For certainly we must get to the tea while the muffins are still warm. We’ll have it together in the parlor.”

  George was happy to see that Mr. Pallister had not been invited to tea, but
he also felt the need to toss Phoebe and Rodger over his shoulder and make his escape. These niceties—always something he did better than the rest of the cousins—were wearing thin.

  Very thin indeed.

  “Mother,” George said two hours later. He’d stayed long enough to play a game of spillikins with Rodger and had done his best to charm his Phoebe and her sister-in-law. The sister-in-law was too easy—enchanted as she was by his ring and the his well-cut coats. And Phoebe was far too difficult. “I need your assistance.”

  “Of course, darling,” she said, putting down her silks. She didn’t embroider so much as play at embroidery.

  “Perhaps you remember that I told you about my little friend, Rodger Varling?”

  “Of course,” Mother said. “The boy from the park.”

  “I was thinking I’d provide a picnic for the boy and his family on Saturday. I don’t really have the first…”

  “Oh, George,” Mother said, knowing he was asking her to take care of all the actual work of it. “I am supposed to…”

  George could not allow a negative response, so he added, “It’s possible that I have pursued my friendship with the scamp because I have an interest in his aunt.”

  Mother choked and sat up straight. “Did you say that you have an interest in a young woman? In the way that…”

  “Mother, yes, in the way of I’d like her to be my wife. She is on the verge of being engaged to someone else. I don’t have the luxury of time.”

  “Well, if her affections are engaged, darling, perhaps you should consider Miss…”

  “Mother,” George interrupted and was surprised by a growl coloring his words. He hadn’t growled at his mother since he’d been on leading strings. But even still, he was having a hard time keeping his wolf at bay. The realization that Pallister had his eye on Phoebe—it made George’s skin crawl.

  His mother’s eyes were wide and delighted as he said, “Mother, I want Phoebe Varling. Not Miss whoever or your dear friend’s niece or goddaughter or sister’s cousin’s child.”