She watched him pour himself a brandy. She was about to speak when he said abruptly, his voice meditative, “I am twenty-seven years old. Not all that far removed from childhood. But I’d forgotten that children have such separate and distinct personalities. Theo—good Lord, the lad’s so intense, so grown up. Was he ever a little boy?”
“A bit more before his father died.”
“Ah.” Knight looked down into his brandy snifter. “That’s another thing. The children haven’t spoken at all of their father. Isn’t that somewhat odd? Shouldn’t they say something? Shouldn’t they grieve?”
They had grieved, Lily thought, each of them in his or her own way, in private, which wasn’t all that good, especially for the children.
“Since his father was killed, Theo has tried to become the head of the family. He always was a serious little boy, but now—” She shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right about Eton. Perhaps in the company of other boys his age he’ll become younger, more carefree. I should like him to get into just one Sam-like scrape. But he’s a scholar, you know, and I don’t see anything changing that.”
“Well, now our scholar will become an expert on steam engines. And Sam?”
“Sam is just the opposite. Since Tris’s death, he’s become a handful. He’s always been an imp, but now it’s as if, well, he has to misbehave. Please realize that since Tris’s death, the children have known no security. We made the long trip from Brussels to Yorkshire not knowing if the Damsons would take us in. They did, but Gertrude didn’t like any of us, and then there was the debacle with Arnold. I had to uproot them yet again, very quickly, to bring them here. Once more we weren’t certain of our reception. The children are frightened, though they’d rather die than admit it.
“Sam’s very aggressive, always wanting to plant someone a facer. It’s his way, I think, of handling his fear. As for dear Theo, I believe he thinks that the more mature, the more adult, he acts, the more at bay he keeps his fears.”
“Laura Beth seems to have escaped.”
“Not at all. Since her father’s death, she won’t let Czarina Catherine out of her sight, or her arms, and she won’t take her thumb out of her mouth. As you’ve noticed, she’s also clingy with me. As for a show of grief, I have heard Sam crying late at night and gone to him. He’s had his fist shoved into his mouth so Theo wouldn’t hear him. I wasn’t able to bring myself to intrude on his grief. It would unman him, I think.”
“He’s a little boy.”
“Yes, a very proud little boy.”
“I see,” Knight said slowly. “You appear to have figured all this out in vast detail.”
“I love them. I care about them. The changes are obvious to me, as are the reasons for the changes. Cause and effect, I suppose you’d say.”
Knight set down his snifter. “Why are you still up?”
“Sam,” she said, expelling a deep breath.
“Sam? Ah, I see. He’s been indulging in an impish little-boy prank?”
“Yes.”
After a few more moments of silence, Knight said on a deep sigh, “I’m waiting, Lily.”
“I suppose I should tell you, particularly since I waited up to do so, but—”
“I won’t eat you or Sam.”
“He stole Cuthbert’s rising bread dough from the kitchen and wrapped it around the stairs leading to the servants’ quarters on the third floor. Only servants’ candles light that staircase.”
Knight simply stared at her. “My God! How incredibly inventive. Did anyone scream? Die of fright? Go catapulting down the stairs into oblivion?”
“Betty shrieked the house down. She thought she’d put her hand ‘inside a dead body,’ as she so aptly put it. ‘Sticky and puffy and oozy.’ I don’t know about the oozy part. It would seem to me that Cuthbert wouldn’t make oozy bread dough, but then again—” She stopped to stare at her host, who looked not at all angry but rather bemused and somewhat admiring.
Actually, Knight was trying to remember twenty years before. Had he ever executed such a clever prank? He couldn’t remember.
“You—you’re not furious?”
“As in will I kick the lot of you out of my house?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“No, but I will have Sam clean off the bread dough.”
“I’m not that doting a mama. I made him do that immediately. It was quite a prolonged task.” She drew a deep breath. “There’s something else.”
“I begin to think I should bring a priest into the house, for confessions. It appears there’ll be a steady stream of work for him. Is there more to expiate tonight?”
“It’s Cuthbert. He bellowed to the entire neighborhood that he was going to leave.”
Knight’s look and voice were weary and cynical. “Don’t let Cuthbert’s threats worry you. I pay the fool much too much for him ever to consider leaving my employ.”
“But he was quite voluble in his threat that if we didn’t leave, he would.”
“Fine. Let him. I don’t care.”
It was Lily’s turn to stare at Knight. “You’re not angry? Truly not?”
“No, but I am tired. Let’s retire now, Lily.” The instant those words were out of his mouth—double-edged only to him—he felt lust flood through him.
He turned quickly away from her, only to halt at the door as he remembered his valet’s snide comment to him just before he’d left to visit Daniella. “Have you had any difficulty with my valet, Stromsoe?”
She had, but she didn’t want to get that man into trouble. She shook her head.
She couldn’t lie well, he thought, but he let it go. He said a clipped good-night and took himself off to bed.
As for Lily, she followed more slowly upstairs. Stromsoe hadn’t really troubled her, not really. He’d been rude, true enough, but he was just being protective of his master. She’d handled him quite well; at least she thought so. He’d stopped her in the upper hallway earlier in the evening—
“May I ask where you are going, ma’am?” he’d demanded in his prissiest voice. He was actually barring her way.
Lily looked at the pompous, pomade-haired, very rosy-cheeked man and grinned. “No.”
“No what?”
“No, Stromsoe.”
“Madam, if you please.”
“Very well, Stromsoe, you may not ask. It is none of your business.”
That had taken him aback. “Then may I assist you with something, ma’am?”
“If you will fetch me a glass of warm milk. It is for one of the children.”
His rosy cheeks became fiery. “Why, that isn’t my job.”
“Then why did you ask if you could assist me? You aren’t making any sense, Stromsoe.”
And that had routed him thoroughly. She wondered what the prissy little man had said to the viscount to make him mention it to her. He’d probably referred to her as an encroaching female with a passel of indigent brats and stuck a disdainful nose in the air. But it was all true.
Lily was tired, and if the truth be told, she was every bit as frightened as the children. Because she was a grown woman, she was able to hide her fears more successfully than the children, but they were there nonetheless.
She shook her head as she quietly undressed. She could hear Laura Beth’s soft breath from the bed and knew that the little girl would be sprawled in the middle, her arms and legs flung wide, Czarina Catherine nestled close.
Before she fell asleep, Lily realized that she wanted peace. She wanted security. She wasn’t able to think beyond that.
Knight had wondered why they hadn’t shown grief. She should have told him that there simply hadn’t been time.
The next day Knight, deep in thought, walked into his library to fetch several papers Tilney Jones had requested. He came to an abrupt and very surprised halt.
On her knees in his chair was Laura Beth.
She was studiously poring over a large piece of foolscap on top of his desk, his quill bearing down unti
l he was certain it must split.
Some rather important papers surrounded her, moved by her, he saw, in piles that were precariously positioned very near the hand-carved onyx inkwell. He cleared his throat, saying softly so as not to frighten her, “Laura Beth.”
The child jerked up and stared at him, her dark blue eyes large and wary. He was struck again about how different she looked, not at all like Lily, or Tris, for that matter.
“Oh,” said Laura Beth. “Hello.”
“May I ask what you’re doing here?”
Laura Beth stood on his chair, leaning her hands on his desktop. “I’m drawing,” she said. “Would you like to see?”
“In a moment,” he said quickly, one eye on that damned inkwell. “Why are you drawing here? This is my room and my desk.”
“Oh,” said Laura Beth again, not looking one whit abashed.
“Where is your mother?”
“Mama’s in bed. She’s sick.”
Knight took a quick step forward. “Of what? Why did no one tell me?”
“She’s not really sick, just her tummy.”
“Her tummy? Did she eat something that didn’t agree with her?” Cuthbert, he thought. Had the damned fellow blamed her for the bread-dough fiasco and fed her something bad? No, that was absurd.
“I’ll go see her.”
“She said she wanted to sleep for a while, then she’d be all right.”
It was Knight’s turn to say, “Oh,” which he did. “Did your mother tell you to come here to my study?”
Laura Beth had the grace to look down. “No,” she said barely above a whisper. “She thinks I’m in her room. But I didn’t like the charcoal, it’s messy.” She bounded up suddenly in the chair to show him the charcoal streaks on her pale pink muslin gown. He saw her shove at the desk and send the chair spinning backward on its casters. The inkwell flew up, toppled, and spewed thick black ink on every important paper that had held a place of prominence on his desk.
She shrieked and Knight dashed forward to catch her before she was flung from the wildly spinning chair. He felt the ink end of the quill brush his cheek. He felt Laura Beth’s skinny arms go around his neck and squeeze as hard as she could. The chair bumped against his knee and for an instant he lost his balance. He landed against the edge of the desk and felt black ink seep through his immaculate buckskin trousers.
Knight closed his eyes. Laura Beth squeezed tighter. Duckett opened the door and gaped.
“My lord!”
Laura Beth whimpered and buried her face against Knight’s neck.
“It’s all right, Duckett,” Knight said. “We’ve had a minor accident. I’d tell you to take Laura Beth to her mother, but Mrs. Winthrop isn’t feeling well.” Knight ground to a halt. What was he to do with the child? He was saved by Theo, who had heard the commotion.
“Oh, dear,” Theo said, stopping beside Duckett. “Oh, sir, what has she done?” Theo saw the answer to his question. Black ink was everywhere, on the viscount’s trousers, on his pristine white cravat, even on his cheek. Theo closed his eyes to blot out the horror.
Knight, who was ready to toss Laura Beth out the study window, saw Theo turn as white as his collar. He saw the flash of fear in the boy’s eyes. He smiled. “It’s all right, Theo. No harm done. Laura Beth and I just had a minor accident. Is your mother awake, by any chance?”
“No,” Theo managed, trying not to moan at the awful black-ink mess. “She’s not well. I’ll take Laura Beth, sir.”
“Very manly of you, Theo, but I fear that both Laura Beth and I have been tarred, so to speak, with the same brush. I’ll take her upstairs and bathe both of us.” He saw the boy swallow convulsively and he felt a wave of compassion so strong it made him blink. “Should you like to do me a favor, Theo?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Anything.”
“Go to the drawing room and tell Mr. Jones that he is to be denied my presence this afternoon. Tell him I’m occupied with a very strong-armed little monkey and I’ll get the papers he needs to him on the morrow.”
Theo nodded quickly, and Knight knew in that moment that the boy would bow and scrape and indulge in all sorts of unnecessary apologies to Tilney.
“Theo,” he said easily, “just deliver my message. You’re a Winthrop and this is your home. You belong here. Don’t ever forget that, all right?”
Theo swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Good boy. Now, Duckett, if you would be so efficient as to remedy the destruction in here.”
“Certainly, my lord. Er, would you also wish me to take Miss Laura Beth?”
“No, she comes with me.” Knight grinned at his butler. “Besides, I don’t think anyone could pry her off my neck.”
If anyone had told Knight that he would be bathing a four-year-old girl in his roomy copper tub in his bedchamber, stripped down to his trousers, he would have laughed his head off.
As it was, he had to face Stromsoe, who looked as though the world as he knew it had finally exploded. Knight supposed that it had. “Fetch a tub of hot water and lots of towels, Stromsoe. Laura Beth and I are going to have a nice scrubbing.”
“My lord.”
“Good God, man, obey me. Go.”
When the now speechless Stromsoe backed out of the viscount’s room, Knight said to his rider, “Now, sweetheart, down with you. We’re both a mess.” He managed to unpeel her arms from about his neck, and in the process his pristine white shirt, which hadn’t known a day’s soiling in its existence, was covered with small handprints amazingly detailed in black ink.
He stripped Laura Beth and wrapped her in a towel. “Sit on that chair and don’t move.” His tone held just enough menace to ensure the child’s obedience. He wondered for a moment if it was proper for a gentleman to strip off some of his clothes in front of a little girl. There were doubtless rules governing such a situation, but he didn’t know them. It really didn’t occur to him to wonder if there were also rules governing the bathing of little girls. He shrugged and stripped down to his trousers. Laura Beth giggled when he applied himself to his boots.
“You find that funny, do you, you little hellion?”
“I’ll help,” said Laura Beth.
“No, you won’t. You’ll sit quietly until the hot water comes. Sit.”
She obeyed. They had some minutes before the water arrived. Knight stretched and scratched his chest. Laura Beth said, “You’re pretty. Can I touch?”
Knight dropped his arms. “You already did. You nearly choked me.”
That brought forth another giggle.
“You have hair all over you.”
“Well, you can’t touch and I don’t have hair all over.”
Laura Beth subsided at that, and Knight watched her try to untangle several tresses of hair that were ink-coated. He said thoughtfully, more to himself than to his guest, “I guess what we need is a nursery. You know, a place where you can destroy things without it mattering. I’ll have to think about that.”
Stromsoe returned, directing two footmen with buckets of hot water. Knight, knowing his dignity was in serious question and not wishing witnesses, dismissed all of them, stripped off Laura Beth’s towel, and placed her in the water.
She shrieked and splashed. He winced at her enthusiasm, believing his eardrums shattered, and got as wet as she. He ended up washing her hair as well as the rest of her. He was pouring his cupped hands of water over her hair to get out the soap when he heard a gasp from the doorway. He looked up and saw Lily.
“Hello,” he said, grinning. He gave her a small salute with one wet hand and finished his task.
“Mama!” Laura Beth yelled, her legs pumping in the water. “Cousin Knight is washing me! Look at my hair! He’s not as good as you, but he’s fun!”
“You insult me, you ungrateful little witch?”
She gave him a beatific smile. A very small hand touched the hair on his chest. Two fingers tightened and tugged.
Knight yowled, more for effect than from pain. Laura Beth laughed
and laughed.
Lily couldn’t think of a thing to say, nor could she look away from the viscount. She’d seen her father and the boys, of course, in a similar state of undress, but never a man of Knight’s age and physical endowments. Laura Beth was right, he was pretty. More than that, he was beautiful. She stared at the long, smooth line of his back, the deep, firm muscles of his shoulders and arms, the sworls of dark hair on his chest. She swallowed, wondering at her reaction. Then he turned, suddenly, and met her eyes. She flushed to her eyebrows, quickly looking away. Oh, God, here she was, gawking at him like an idiot half-wit. Stromsoe had knocked on her door, pulling her from sleep. He’d told her that the child was in his lordship’s bedchamber, that the child was in his lordship’s tub. He was mortally offended, and Lily, terrified of what the child was doing, rushed down the corridor.
“Laura Beth, hold still.” Knight lifted the wriggling little body from the tub and wrapped her in the huge towel.
It was another game, and Laura Beth shook with laughter when he pulled the towel from her face.
“My turn. My turn.”
“Your turn for what?” Knight asked as he dried her hair.
“I’ll wash you now.”
“Oh, Laura Beth,” Lily said, having finally discovered her tongue. “Knight, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for her—what did she do? Oh, dear, you’re covered with black. What is it?”
“Ink,” said Laura Beth, peeking out from the towel.
“Ink,” Lily said.
“From Cousin Knight’s desk.”
Lily went blank. Knight had seen the surprised awareness in her eyes when she’d first rushed in, and he realized she hadn’t seen him as a man until that moment. She’d liked what she’d seen, he knew enough about women to sense that quickly enough. It pleased him inordinately. But now he saw the same fear in her eyes as he’d seen in Theo’s. It made him feel like some sort of monster. He said sharply, “For God’s sake, Lily, stop it. I’m not going to kick you out of my home, ever. Will you please contrive to believe me? Now, I understand you’re ill. Go back to bed. You look like hell.”
Night Shadow Page 8
