by Anne Gracie
“Please do.”
“Judith and Selina take good care of their little sister, but it is far from an ideal situation. Judith seems to feel she is responsible for both her younger sisters, and though she handles the responsibility well, she needs to be a child again, not be a little mother at the age of eleven.”
“I quite agree.”
“What are your intentions for the girls, then?”
He raised a brow. It was not for this spinster schoolmistress to question his intentions—he was their father. For a moment he was tempted to give her a sharp set-down, but he had to admit she had impressed him, and it did seem as though she had attempted to do her best by his daughters.
Though there was that letter . . . He pulled it out and placed it on the desk in front of her. “How do you explain this?”
She glanced at it and nodded. “I’m afraid that was my fault.”
“In what way?”
She sighed. “Judith had fallen behind on her evening assignments, claiming she was too busy with Deborah to do them. I informed her that if that was the case, perhaps Deborah would be better off sleeping with Betty, the maid I’d hired to look after her during the daytime. I was bluffing, of course—I would never have separated them—but Judith didn’t know that, and she was, naturally, furious.” She gave him a rueful glance. “Quite a temper your eldest daughter has.”
He tapped the letter. “This letter is completely different from all the others I’ve received from the girls.”
She grimaced. “I know, they copied the others from model letters. You probably won’t believe me, but that’s not the common practice here—their grandmother gave strict instructions as to how they should communicate.” She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I caught Judith trying to smuggle this letter out. I confiscated it, read it, and then posted it myself.”
His jaw dropped. “You posted it?”
“I did,” she said composedly. “And it achieved what both Judith and I intended.”
“And what was that?” This woman was surprise after surprise.
“It brought you here.” She leaned forward across her desk. “Those girls need a home, Lord Tarrant, not a room of their own in a boarding school, no matter how good the school, and I pride myself that this is one of the best. I’m quite willing to keep them—they are dear girls, one and all—but it is my opinion that they need to be part of a family, to belong, to have a home and to feel loved.”
He blinked. “I couldn’t agree more. While I thought they were happy and being well looked after by their grandparents, I was content to leave them. Life in the army was no life for small girls, not without their mother.”
“And what has changed?”
He refolded the letter and tucked it away. “My older brother died recently, and I inherited the estate and the title and the responsibilities. I now have a home to offer my children, and the income to support them. I have resigned my commission and intend to make my life here in England, with them.”
She sat back, smiling. “I am so glad.” She picked up a small bell and tinkled it. A moment later a young woman appeared. “Would you bring down the Tarrant girls, all three of them, please.” The young woman’s gaze slid to James, but the headmistress said, “Don’t explain—just tell them they’re wanted in my office.” The young woman left.
James waited. Impatient and absurdly nervous, he rose to his feet and began to pace around the headmistress’s office. The door was open. He could hear footsteps and voices on the stairs. He glanced at the headmistress. “If you don’t mind, I’ll . . .” and he was out in the lobby, gazing up the stairs, waiting for his children.
They came down the stairs in a group, three across, Judy and Lina on the outside, little Deborah in the middle, holding their hands. The teacher or assistant, or whatever she was, brought up the rear. Not that James even noticed her. He had eyes only for his daughters. They’d grown so much.
They saw him and came to an abrupt stop halfway down the stairs. “P-Papa?” Judith said uncertainly. Then, at his smile, “Papaaaaaa!” she shrieked, and letting go of her little sister’s hand, she leapt down the stairs and flung herself at him, just as she always used to. He caught her and managed not to stagger back.
“Oh Papa, Papa, Papa!” she said, hugging him in a death grip around his neck. “You came, you came!” She was laughing and sobbing at the same time.
He hugged her to him, his little girl, all legs and arms now. So tall. Eleven. He couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat. Oh, those lost years. He ached for them.
Eventually Judy loosened her grip on him and slid down to resume her own two feet. Smoothing her hair back, he turned to greet his other two daughters.
There was Selina, the image of her mother, staring at him with big blue eyes—her mother’s eyes. She waited on the stairs, making no move to approach.
“Lina, it’s Papa. It’s Papa!” Judith shouted.
But when Lina had last seen her father she was not quite four.
“You don’t remember me, do you, Lina?” James said gently.
She just looked at him, her forehead furrowed. And then she shook her head.
“But it’s Pa—” Judy began.
“It’s all right, Judy,” he said. “Lina was a very little girl when you left. She was not quite Deborah’s age. It’s not surprising she doesn’t remember me.”
He glanced at Deborah, the child he’d never met, and took a swift breath. Dark-haired little Deborah didn’t resemble her mother in the least. She was the image of his brother, Ross, at the same age. There was a portrait somewhere of Ross as a child, with the exact same expression. She eyed him suspiciously, then, scowling, plonked her bottom on the stairs and folded her arms, making it clear she had no intention of coming closer.
He almost laughed; Ross, too, had had that same stubborn expression.
A hesitant tug on his coat drew his attention. It was seven-year-old Lina. After an intense, troubled scrutiny, she held up her arms, the way she used to as a toddler. “Up?” James said softly, as he used to.
She nodded, and he picked her up, a stiff, wooden doll in his arms. And then she suddenly softened and leaned forward and pressed her face against his neck. “Ohhhh, you smell just the same,” she whispered and hugged him tightly. “I do remember you, Papa, I do.”
James just held her for a long, long moment, fighting back unmanly tears.
And then it was time to meet his third daughter. He approached the stairs and knelt down so that their faces were more or less level. “Good afternoon, Deborah. We’ve never met, but I’m your f—”
“Debo,” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m Debo, not Deborah.”
He nodded. “I see. Well then, Debo . . .”
She leaned sideways and looked past him at Judy and Lina standing behind him. “You sure this is Papa?”
They assured her he was. She examined him carefully. She didn’t look too impressed. Her scowl was as black as ever. She leaned forward and hit him on the shoulder. “You left us.”
“I did,” he admitted. Technically they’d left him, but he wasn’t going to argue.
“Why you left us?”
“I had to. I was a soldier, and the king needed me. A soldier works for the king.”
“The king?”
He nodded.
“Because of the king . . .” She considered that. Her scowl deepened, and her lower lip pushed out. She hit him on the shoulder again. “Then I hate the king.”
And there it was, another piece of his heart given over to a small, helpless, angry creature.
“We’re all going to be together now. I’ve come to take you and your sisters home.”
“Where is home?” Debo demanded.
“With me, with all of us together.” He hadn’t yet taken cont
rol of the country estate—he still thought of it as Ross’s estate, Ross’s home. But he’d lived there as a boy, and it was his now. “I have a house in London and a house in the country, but we’re going to live in London first.” There was work to be done in London, documents to be signed, reports to consider and act on.
And a lovely, skittish lady . . .
Debo considered the possibilities, then tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You got a cat in London?”
“No.” Cats made him sneeze.
“Hmph!” The scowl was back.
Behind him Miss Coates spoke, “Deborah has a great fondness for cats. She has been waiting for the kitchen cat to have kittens.” She added softly, “The kitchen cat is a very fat tom.”
James turned back to his smallest daughter. “There might be a cat in one of the houses, Debo—I don’t know.”
The frown didn’t lift. Clearly “might be” wasn’t good enough for this small, adorable despot.
“I suppose we could get a kitten.”
“Good.” Debo stood up. “We going now?”
Chapter Nine
Alice sat at her desk, doing the accounts, as she did at the end of each month. She’d always done the domestic household accounts—Thaddeus considered them women’s work; he’d dealt with everything else. His allowance to her for the household had never been generous, and Alice had been taught by her mother to keep strict account of everything.
After Thaddeus died and the extent of his personal debts was discovered, Alice had worked hard to clear herself of debt and bring everything back into balance. But now the money Bamber had given her for Lucy’s expenses was all gone, and she was sliding once more into debt.
She hadn’t been extravagant; the money had mostly gone on clothing and shoes—and Alice didn’t begrudge a penny of it. A young lady entering the marriage mart needed to look stylish and fashionable if she were to have any success—and everything depended on Lucy marrying well.
Both she and Lucy were used to making ends meet, and Miss Chance, too, had done her best, designing several evening dresses with removable gauze overdresses so that three dresses could become nine. And wherever possible, Alice had lent Lucy shawls, hats, gloves and other accessories.
Neither of them wore much jewelry, either. The pearls Lucy had worn that first day were so obviously false it was better to wear nothing. In any case, Lucy favored a pretty gold locket her mother had owned.
Bamber had promised to send Alice more money, but none had been forthcoming. And with no way to contact him, it didn’t look promising.
Alice closed the account book, locked it away in her desk and went looking for Lucy.
She found her, as usual, in the garden, under her favorite tree, the big old plane tree, with her sketchbook. Seeing Alice coming, she hastily shut it. Whether she actually ever did any drawing, or whether it was a ploy to enjoy some free time, Alice didn’t know. Lucy had never offered to show her drawings to Alice, and Alice didn’t want to pry.
“Lucy dear, I’ve been wondering about those five schools you attended.”
Lucy said cautiously, “What about them?”
“Why did you leave?” There was a short silence. Lucy shifted uncomfortably and avoided her eyes. Alice added gently, “It wasn’t because you misbehaved, was it?”
Lucy swallowed. “No.”
“Was it something to do with money?”
Lucy nodded.
“Every time?”
Again, Lucy gave a shamefaced nod. Alice felt a sharp spurt of anger at the father who had consistently put his growing daughter in such an invidious position. She hadn’t intended to press Lucy any further, but suddenly out it all came.
“He always picked the most exclusive schools he could get me into—he lied, you know, giving me grand imaginary relations. And he was always very openhanded with money at the start.” As he had been with Alice.
“But the money always ran out,” Lucy continued bitterly. “It was so embarrassing. The headmistress would call me down for little talks in her office—whatever address Papa had given her no longer worked. Her letters and bills were returned. It was so uncomfortable—none of them ever believed that I knew as much as they did about Papa’s whereabouts.”
“So what happened then?”
“They gave me jobs to do to pay my way: helping in the kitchen, looking after the younger pupils, cleaning—you name it.”
Alice cringed on her behalf. The snobbish girls would have shown her no mercy at her fall in status. No wonder Lucy hated “ladies.”
“But your father always came for you in the end.”
Lucy nodded. “Usually weeks later. He’d swan in with no apology, declare his daughter ‘too good for this rubbishy institution’ and announce that he was withdrawing me to place me in a much better school.” She grimaced. “Which he did.”
“And the same thing happened again.” It wasn’t really a question. Five different schools, and each time, nothing at the end but humiliation for Lucy. Alice had no doubt that this had also happened with the Austrian opera singer and the French comtesse. And now her.
“Yes.” A slight breeze rustled the leaves. Lucy folded her arms and shivered, although it wasn’t cold. After a minute she turned and faced Alice. “The money’s run out, hasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” Alice said regretfully. “Of course, your father might be arranging to send more even now—”
“He won’t. He never does. He flashes it around at the start, but that’s it.” There was a long silence, then she took a deep breath. “I suppose you want me to leave now.”
“Of course I don’t,” Alice said indignantly. “You forget, I made a vow when I became your godmother.”
Lucy said dully, “Yes, but that wasn’t real. It was just one of Papa’s schemes.”
“It was real to me. I made a promise before God, and I meant every word.”
Lucy stared at her a moment, then her confusion cleared. “Oh, of course—the blackmail. I’d forgotten for a moment. You can’t afford to let me go.”
“It’s not that at all. Of course I am worried about what your father will do with the letters, but it’s your father I blame, not you. Money or not, you are staying right here.”
Lucy bit her lip, then took Alice’s hands in hers. “I’m so sorry for all this trouble, Alice. I promise you, I’ll find a husband as fast as I can and get out of your way” She took a deep breath and added, “I’ll even marry a lord if you can find one who’ll have me.”
Alice would have laughed if the poor girl wasn’t so bitterly ashamed and in earnest. “There’s no need to go that far,” she said in a bracing voice. “Blackmail or not, I’m not letting you go to anyone but a gentleman who will love and cherish you as you deserve to be loved and cherished.”
Lucy’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You are so good to me, Alice. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You don’t need to thank me. We might have started off badly, but my life was quite drab and uneventful when we first met. Now scarcely a day goes by without something exciting happening, and I’ve met all sorts of interesting and unusual people.”
Lucy gave a cynical snort. “Blackmailers, liars—”
“Yes, indeed, not to mention poets, pedants and passionate pig breeders.”
It surprised a reluctant laugh out of Lucy. “You can blame your nephew for those ones.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. But my point is, your coming to live with me has brightened my life immeasurably. And despite the difficulties—and the blackmail—I’ve enjoyed it more than I would have believed possible. In fact”—she linked her arm through Lucy’s—“I’ve come to love you like a daughter. So I won’t hear another word about your leaving—unless it’s on the arm of a handsome, thoroughly besotted man. Now, shall we go in and see what Mrs. Tweed is preparing for luncheon?”
“Oh, Alice.” Lucy’s eyes flooded with tears and she hugged Alice tightly. “No one has ever been as good to me as you, and yet you have every reason to hate me.”
Alice hugged her back. “Nonsense. You’ve done nothing to be blamed for, and besides, there’s enough hate in the world. I refuse to add to it. Now come along and wipe your eyes. It’s time for luncheon!”
* * *
* * *
After luncheon, Alice called on her nephew at his lodgings. It was one thing to refuse to allow Lord Tarrant to help her when it was just about the blackmail. But to let Bamber abandon his daughter to poverty and humiliation again? No indeed. She wanted the wretched man tracked down and called to account.
And if that was at the expense of her own dignity, so be it.
“You’ve made the right decision, Aunt Alice,” Gerald said when she explained.
She’d given him her permission to take Lord Tarrant into his confidence and was still feeling quite hollow and a bit sick at the thought of Tarrant’s reaction. But it had to be done. Bamber had left her with no choice.
“When do you think you’ll speak to him?”
“Tarrant? Oh straight away, I should think.” Seeing her surprise, he added, “He arrived in London last evening—I saw his carriage pull up outside Tarrant House last night and three little girls tumble out. He’s had plenty of time to get himself and his daughters settled in.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I’ll call on him this evening.”
* * *
* * *
It was well after the dinner hour. James’s girls were tucked up in bed under the supervision of Nanny McCubbin, who’d arrived in London before them and had taken control of not only the nursery but also the whole house, apparently. The servants jumped to her command. The girls were reserving judgment, but as their former headmistress had said, they knew how to follow orders. James had every faith in Nanny McCubbin.
He was in the library sipping brandy by the fire, having a quiet night in, when young Thornton dropped by. Over a brandy, Thornton explained his aunt’s problem, after first swearing James to secrecy.
