Family In The Making (Matchmakeing Babies 2)

by Jo Ann Brown

  “Gwendolyn, what—?”

  “Forgive me, Arthur.” She did not let him ask the question. Instead, she affixed a smile on her face, a smile that struggled to escape and let her expression reflect the tension in her brown eyes. “I am babbling because I have something to tell you that I am not sure how you will respond to.”

  Sympathy filled him. This was as difficult for her as it was for him. He reached out and took her hand. “We have known each other too long for you to be hesitant about anything.”

  “I am glad you feel that way, because I want you to know I am deeply in love.”

  He gasped. He had not expected her to broach the topic with such forthrightness. Had she tired of waiting for him to propose? She had given him enough openings, but then closed them as if she did not want him to ask her to be his wife.

  His face must have betrayed the astonishment because Gwendolyn asked, “Why don’t you stop regarding me like a gaping fool and say something?”

  “I am not sure what to say.” How could he tell her that he yearned to give his heart to another woman? Taking a deep breath, he said, “I am pleased, because it will make a marriage between us much more pleasant.”

  “Marriage? Between us? Did you think I was talking about being in love with you, silly boy?” She laughed as she used the name she had called him when she wanted to tease him. She pretended to scowl. “You need not look relieved to hear that.”

  “I am not relieved,” he said; then needing to be honest, he added, “Perhaps a bit, but even more I am happy for you.”

  “And admit it. You are happy for yourself. How could you consider marrying me when it is obvious you are in love with your Miss Oliver?”

  “Gwendolyn, I never said—”

  She wagged a finger at him as if he were no older than Bertie. “Don’t try to dissemble with me, Arthur. I have known you most of my life, and I have never seen your eyes twinkle and you smile as broadly as you do each time you speak her name. She has turned on the light in you that dimmed in recent years. Have you told her that you are in love with her?”

  With Gwendolyn, he had always been honest, so he found it easy to say, “No.”

  “Because of a silly scheme our fathers concocted?” She shook her head as she reached across the space between them and squeezed his hand. “You silly, silly boy. If I had known, I would have included a message to you in one of our communications, to let you know I had accepted Otis’s offer to become his wife.”

  “Otis?”

  “Otis Miller.” Her face grew dreamy as she spoke her beloved’s name.

  Gwendolyn was going to marry their host’s son? Arthur had met the young man a few times and would never have considered him a match for her. Otis Miller’s quiet ways paled before her vivacity. With such a garrulous father, he probably seldom had a chance to air his vocabulary. However, Miller was an educated man, which would appeal to Gwendolyn. She was well-read, and if she had been a man, her intelligence would have made her a favored student at Oxford or Cambridge.

  “Does he know?” Arthur lowered his voice as he leaned closer to her. “About your activities?”

  “Yes. I would not be dishonest with him about such an important matter. He was, I must say, shocked. Yet, when he had a chance to consider the situation, his consternation became interest in helping me.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am happy to have his assistance. He collects the information when it comes ashore, and I don’t have to worry about being out on lonely coastal roads after dark.”

  “You should have asked me to take that task.”

  “I was about to when I realized I needed to be honest with Otis.” A soft laugh burst from her lips. “And your household suddenly increased in size.”

  Arthur chuckled, unable to restrain his happiness for her and for himself. He could not be certain Maris would welcome him courting her, but her kiss had been fervent and eager. That must mean something.

  “How long have you been in love with him, Gwendolyn?”

  “Six months.”

  “But the request from your father came a month ago.”

  Shaking her head, she said ruefully, “Father thinks Otis is too much like his father.”

  “Eager to get ahead and make a place for himself amongst the Polite World?”

  “Yes, but Otis would not care if I were a queen or a scullery maid. He loves me, and he loves my children. As important, they adore him. Winnie does not remember her own father, of course, because she was young when he died. Tim is Otis’s shadow when he calls, which delights both of them.”

  “I know.” He thought of how Bertie wanted to be with him and copy what he did. To have the little boy become his son, and know Bertie would be in his life for good was a heady thought, so Arthur could guess how much Gwendolyn’s son’s adoration meant to Miller. “And I am glad you are not going down to the coast on your own to collect the information coming ashore.”

  “Otis has been wonderful to take over that task, and I have been trying to teach him how to handle the correspondence with the couriers. He is learning more slowly than you did, but he is trying. In fact, you saw the results of an early attempt he made.”

  “The note that made no sense? Miller wrote it?”

  She rolled her eyes and nodded. “Oh, Arthur, I never meant for that message to leave the house. Imagine my dismay when I realized I had sent you the wrong page. You must have thought I had taken leave of my senses.”

  “It did cross my mind.”

  “Arthur,” she said, smiling, “I have missed talking with you. No one I have ever met is as droll as you are.”

  “Did he send the most recent note, as well?”

  “The one without the message to transfer on to your next courier? No, that was my fault.” Her cheeks reddened. “I was distracted by knowing Otis was about to call, and I thought of nothing but finishing my task so I could enjoy our time together. I am sorry, Arthur, to cause you extra work by my lapse.”

  “There is no need to apologize.” Coming to his feet, he bent and kissed her cheek again. “I wish you every happiness.” And I hope I soon can tell you good tidings of my own.

  “Thank you.” She took his hand and brought him to sit beside her on settee. “From you, that means everything. You are my first and dearest friend, Arthur. When Papa asked me to accept your proposal, I was distraught.”

  “I understand. You were distraught because you love Miller.”

  “Yes, but also because I love you. I love you as my friend, as the brother I never had, as the person I have always been able to trust. I want you to know the love God created between a man and a woman. I want you, Arthur, to have the love of the woman who makes you glow.” She gave him a sly smile. “Like Miss Oliver.”

  “That may be, but I am not sure the affection is returned.” Or at least not now, he amended.

  “You will never know unless you try.”

  He chuckled. “I have heard you say those words before. Just before I jumped from the stable’s loft, I believe.”

  “That is likely.” Gwendolyn relaxed, and he realized how stiffly she had been sitting. “You are not a man to give up, Arthur. Don’t give up on your Miss Oliver.”

  “You are right. I don’t give up.”

  Her happy expression fell from her face so fast he was startled. “But you must give up what you are doing, Arthur. Please stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Searching for the man who caused Mr. Cranford’s death.”

  “Mr. Cranford?” He stared at her in shock. Some husbands and wife were formal, even after years of marriage, but Gwendolyn and Cranny had never been.

  She grasped his hand. Her fingers trembled against his. “I know how you idolized him. You believed him to be a good and honorable man.”

  “I did.”

  Her brows rose in a silent request for him to continue.

  “I have learned I may not have known Cranny as well as I once believed.”

  “Nor did I
when I wed him. I thought he was a wonderful man, and he was wonderful. Then. Everything changed after we exchanged our vows. The first time he raised his hand to me was during our honeymoon.”

  “He struck you?” His stomach rolled in disgust.

  “His temper was frightful, Arthur. It could flare at any moment, and anyone could be its focus. A stranger, a servant, the children. Most often, its target was me.”

  “I had no idea.” His mouth tightened so he had to spit out each word. How could he have been blind to the truth? He recalled seeing her with bruises she had tried to hide with lace and heavy powder. The one time he asked her, she had assured him that dealing with an active baby had caused the bruise on her arm.

  Why, God, did I accept her lie? Was it because I did not want to believe a man I once respected could be evil? Or was I so intent on doing my duty for Cothaire that I put that ahead of everything and everyone in my life?

  He had become focused on his tasks until Maris opened his eyes to the aspects of life he had forgotten. Laughter, music, an easy stroll, sailing a toy boat, flying a kite, the delight in the taste of a cake shared with children. While she introduced the little ones to many new experiences, she had reintroduced him to life.

  “If I had known,” he said quietly, “I would have insisted he stop, and if he had not, I would have made him wish he had never seen you.”

  “I know you would have, Arthur, which is why I never wanted you to know. Mr. Cranford would not have accepted criticism even from you. I feared what he might do if the truth became known beyond our household walls.”

  “But you worked with him as a courier.”

  “My hopes for Britain’s victory over Napoleon had nothing to do with my private little war at home.” She wiped her hands together as if dismissing her past. “I am looking forward, and you must, too. Tell me you will come to my wedding, Arthur.”

  “I would not miss it for the world.”

  “And promise me one thing.”

  “Ask what you will.”

  “Introduce me to your Miss Oliver before you return to Cothaire. I want to give her a hug to thank her for bringing you back to life.”

  “Me, too.”

  When Gwendolyn laughed at his words, he did as well, though they had come directly from his heart. The heart he was free to offer Maris, but would she accept it?

  * * *

  The house was even busier than when Maris had arrived. She had settled the boys in the nursery with the children of Mr. Miller’s other guests. They were hungry, so she left them with one of the other nurses and went in search of something to replace the tea they had missed.

  She was astonished that a justice of the peace possessed such a grand house. Everything within the walls was new. There was no sense of tradition and permanence as at Cothaire. Maybe in two hundred years this house would have gained that aura of time.

  Twice, she had to ask a footman for directions to the kitchen. And she was still lost. She was sure she was going in the right direction, but entered a room at the end of the house that did not open into the kitchen. Stopping another footman, she hoped he was not one she had spoken to before, because they were all tall, dark-haired and good-looking, like a set of tin soldiers taken from the same box.

  He pointed her in yet a different direction, and she began to wonder if, once she found the kitchen, she could return on her own to the nursery with the food for the boys. She needed to hurry.

  With her head down, Maris rushed along the corridor. Voices were coming from the opposite direction.

  Familiar voices.

  She looked up and stared. She had never thought she would see Belinda and her father again. Lord Bellemore was talking with a man Maris did not recognize. He was as handsome as Mr. Miller’s footmen, but not as tall, and his brown hair matched his bushy mustache.

  Maris sought a way to escape. She slipped into an intersecting corridor, pressing against the shadowed wall. The trio walking past paid her no mind. Or so she thought, until Belinda glanced in her direction. Her friend’s eyes widened before Belinda looked away. She replied to something the attractive man by her side had said, acting as if she had not seen anything out of the ordinary. She did not look back as they continued along the corridor and disappeared into a room.

  Resting her head against the wall, Maris blinked as she tried to keep tears from sliding down her cheeks. She never had imagined, even when Belinda did not come to her aid after the attack, and stood in silence while Lord Bellemore cast her out of Bellemore Court, that her friend would cut her direct.

  She put her fingers to her lips to silence a broken gasp. Would Belinda tell Arthur that Maris was accused of seducing a young lord and then crying foul? She wrapped her arms around herself, but could not hold in the shivers racking her. What if Arthur believed Belinda, as Belinda and her father had Lord Litchfield? Once Arthur knew about Maris’s lies, he would have no reason to believe anything she said. Even if she was foolish enough to admit she loved him.

  And if he knew the truth of her falsehoods, how could she return to Cothaire? Nobody wanted to have a liar among the household staff. She closed her eyes and saw him in her mind’s eye. Shocked, hurt, as betrayed as she had felt at Bellemore Court as he put her out of his life.

  “Don’t go,” she wanted to cry out. “Won’t you listen to me? No one else did. Not even God. I don’t want to be alone any longer. Stay with me.”

  How addled her dreams were! She had been foolish to think a nurse, one who had written her own recommendation for the position, could win the love of an earl’s heir. He treasured the truth and despised liars. Liars like her. Even if he had not yet asked Lady Gwendolyn to marry him, there could be no future for Maris and Arthur.

  Lord Trelawney.

  She must never think of him in any other way until he assumed his father’s title as the Earl of Launceston. Marrying was his most important duty as the heir to the ancient title. He needed to marry a woman of impeccable birth who could give him a son to follow as earl after him. Not a woman who had lied about her past in order to become the nurse at Cothaire.

  Somehow, Maris found the kitchen and food for the boys. Somehow, she traced her steps back to the nursery without getting lost. Somehow, she smiled as she gave the food to the boys and then asked another nurse to watch them while Maris did something about her roiling stomach.

  Nobody else was in the attic room when she rushed to where the visiting servants would sleep. She reeled as far as her simple bed beside a dormer window; then sank to her knees beside it. Dropping her head, she let the thin wool blanket absorb her tears and the sound of her sobs.

  Lord, I feel alone.

  The prayer burst from her heart before she was even aware she was sending it up.

  Our lesson today is from Hebrews 13. The parson’s voice from Sunday’s sermon whispered softly in her mind. I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.

  So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.

  “I need Your help,” she whispered. The four words opened a floodgate long closed in her heart. Father, You know how sorry I am I have had to lie. Now the lie weighs on my shoulders like a yoke. I cannot carry this burden any longer by myself. I thought it was my way to free myself of the past. I never thought it would threaten my future. Help me, God. Please!

  She pressed her forehead to her clasped hands. With her next breath, a calm settled over her. The heaviness faded from her. She raised her eyes toward the stars glittering between the clouds. From inside her came a knowing that was neither a voice nor a feeling, simply an awareness that she was not alone.

  “You have always been there for me,” she whispered, too in awe of the truth to speak more loudly. “Even at my darkest hour, You were there with me, leading me away from the pain. Nothing, even the worst my enemies and my friends could do to me, could change that. You have never forsaken me and kept hope alive in my heart. I cannot see Your path for me clearly, but I know I want t
o walk it, because that is where You will be. I never want to forsake You.”

  She bowed her head again, awed by the power of the love that had always been all around her. When more tears fell, they were tears of healing and joy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maris hoped any signs of her tears had washed away when she returned to the nursery. Bertie and Gil clung to her, and she knew they were exhausted. She drew out a book to read them a story, but was interrupted by a call from Lady Caroline.

  “I will be right back,” she assured the boys.

  “Read story?” asked Gil.

  “Yes.”

  “Arthur come.” Bertie had suffered as much as she had when Arthur—no, Lord Trelawney was how she must think of him—had stopped visiting them. Guilt tightened her throat. The viscount had given them a look-in in the nursery, but either she and the boys had been “helping” Mrs. Ford in the kitchen or the children were napping and she had been elsewhere.

  “I am sure he will come to see you one of these days,” she said, hoping for Bernie’s sake she was right. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

  Maris hurried to Lady Caroline’s rooms. The lady must want her to watch Joy while Mr. Miller’s guests went in to dinner. Jubilation at rediscovering her faith made Maris’s feet as light as the kite dancing on the wind. She felt as if everything in her life had been set to rights.

  Almost everything, she realized when she entered Lady Caroline’s sitting room and found the lady was not alone. The viscount stood beside her. Both of them were dressed exquisitely for dinner. The lady wore a bright purple gown with a string of gold beads woven through her black hair. Lord Trelawney—oh, how it stabbed at her to think of him formally—had never looked more handsome than he did in his black coat worn over a white waistcoat and breeches. His shoes shone with Goodwin’s polishing. Brother and sister were talking intently, their voices low and sharp. Were they arguing?