Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Arthur, you don’t remember either riding in front of me before your grandfather died or riding with him.”
“Yes, I do. You rode a grey horse and grandfather rode a chestnut one.” He sighed. “I can’t remember what he looked like.” He wiped the tears from her eyes with chubby hands. “Don’t cry, Mamma.”
She slipped an arm around her son’s shoulders and held him close. “One day, I’ll tell you more than you already know about your father and grandfather. For now, you only need to know is they were gallant soldiers, who would have loved you.”
While she stroked Arthur’s hair, he put his head on her shoulder.
“Today, we shall see if Bessie is at home. If she is, you may ask her to return to the abbey to take care of you.”
“Thank you, Mamma. Do you think she will agree?”
Harriet smiled. In her opinion Arthur expressed himself exceptionally well for a four year old. She frowned. Without siblings to share the nursery he needed to play with other children.
Harriet did not want her son to be lonely. She must find out which families in the area had sons of a suitable age to play with Arthur, and invite them to visit him.
She kissed the top of Arthur’s head. If she had not been famished and feverish when Pennington took her in, she would not have been so submissive. While she recovered her health, her father-in-law gained more and more authority over Arthur. Now, whatever the cost she must regain it.
Even if she did not mistrust the earl, she would want to be independent.
She drew an imaginary battle line. If the earl agreed to compromises, she would not declare war, and would remain at Clarencieux with Arthur. If not, hostilities would commence and sooner or later she would leave the abbey.
Chapter Fifteen
“Arthur, we have arrived at the Cooper’s cottage. If you want Bessie to return to Clarencieux, please remember to behave like a little gentleman.” Harriet looked back over her shoulder at the groom, who accompanied them. “Peter, please knock on the door.”
Even if he were surprised by her visit to a cottage not within her father-in-law’s jurisdiction, the groom’s face remained impassive.
Peter dismounted and, after he secured the reins of his horse to a fence post, he walked to the front door along a path bordered by a mixture of bright flowers, fern-like carrot tops, bright green curly parsley, fat cabbages, rosemary, thyme and sage.
Harriet’s spirited grey, which the earl had allowed her to ride, when he was certain she was an accomplished horsewoman, side-stepped. Arthur’s sleek pony tried to lower his head to nibble grass growing along the edge of the fence.
The front door opened. Mrs Cooper, wiping her hands free of flour on her linen apron, bustled outside, hurried towards them. “My lady, Lord Castleton.”
Harriet smiled at her. “Good day. I apologise for interrupting you when you are obviously busy.”
Mrs Cooper bobbed a curtsey. “Not too busy to attend you, my lady. I was only kneading bread dough.”
“I shall not detain you for long. My son has something he wishes to say to your daughter.”
Mrs Cooper hesitated while she looked from Harriet to Arthur. “I’ll fetch her.”
Harriet turned her attention to the groom. “Please help Lord Castleton to dismount.”
His feet on the ground, Arthur glanced up at her. She nodded to reassure him and watched him put one foot on the cinder path.
Bessie, rosy-cheeked, a frilled mob cap on her head, stepped out of the cottage.
Arthur ran to her, and pressed his face against her. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry for getting you into trouble,” he said, his voice muffled by her cotton apron. “Nurse, please come back to the abbey to look after me.”
For a moment, Bessie’s hand lingered on his head, then she gently disengaged herself. She looked down the well-trodden path towards the lane and bobbed a curtsey. “My lady.”
Harriet beckoned to her. “Nurse, if you have not found another position, I would welcome you back at Clarencieux.” She took a deep breath, and childishly crossed the fingers of one hand behind her back. “So would the earl, who deeply regrets the injustice you suffered,” she told the young woman, although she doubted the earl’s conscience troubled him. To the contrary, more than likely he had found a reason to justify his actions.
“Please, Nurse” Arthur implored.
Bessie turned around to face her mother, who stood near the door.
Mrs Cooper shrugged. “It’s for you to decide.”
Harriet hoped the nurse would agree. “If you return, Bessie, you will take your orders from me. If anyone countermands them, you have my permission to ignore them.”
The nurse gazed down at the hard-packed path beneath her sturdy shoes.
“Please come back.” Tears rolled down Arthur’s cheeks. “My new nurse is not… not nice. I miss you, and know it was horrid of me to complain because you took my silver cup away. I am truly sorry,” he repeated. “If you come back, I won’t be rude to you.”
Bessie swooped down to put her arms around him. “There, there my little love, don’t fret yourself.”
Harriet winced. Her father-in-law would be appalled by the term of endearment and Bessie’s kind-hearted action. He would consider her unsuitable to be his heir’s nurse.
“Bessie, if you agree to care for Arthur, I shall expect him to be well-behaved.” She turned to her son. “You are too old to scream and throw tantrums if you may not have whatever you ask for. Do you understand?”
Arthur wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Yes, Mamma.”
She must not allow the nurse to think she could spank Arthur. “We know children are mischievous by nature, so I am not in favour of harsh punishments.”
Bessie bobbed a curtsey. “Neither am I, my lady. Why, no matter how naughty he’s been, I’ve never shouted at Lord Castleton or raised my hand to punish him.”
“Good. We understand each other. So, what have you decided?”
“To return, my lady.”
“To take care of me?” Arthur asked.
Bessie nodded. “Yes, if you are be good.”
He danced up and down with excitement. “I will be.”
“I am pleased, Bessie,” Harriet smiled at her. “Present yourself to me in Arthur’s nursery at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
‘And now,’ thought Harriet, while she and her delighted son rode back to Clarencieux, ‘to confront the earl at nuncheon, before I conduct the next dance lesson at the rectory.’
* * *
Pennington’s plucked eyebrows drew together. “Lady Castleton, it is not for you to dismiss any member of my staff.”
Harriet sought for the means to tactfully propitiate her outraged father-in-law. “Well, Papa, I know you don’t allow Arthur to be disciplined by a nurse. I am sorry to say I did not trust Bessie’s replacement to obey you. I also know Arthur does not like the woman. You want him to be happy, and to have his every whim satisfied, so I thought it best to be rid of her. Fortunately, Bessie Cooper has agreed to return in spite of the former contretemps, or should I say misunderstanding?”
“Has she?” Pennington’s eyes flickered.
“Yes. Arthur is delighted. Should you refuse to re-employ Bessie, he would be upset and cross with you.”
Pennington scowled. “It seems I have no choice other than to agree. I shall instruct Vaughan to pay whatever is due to the nurse you dismissed without my permission.”
Harriet ignored the earl’s ill humour. “How good of you. Thank you, Papa. I shall write a reference for her. It would be cruel to deny her one without which I doubt she would find another position.” Harriet poured more coffee and put the cup at the right of her father-in-law’s plate.
She finished her lamb sandwich, and drank her coffee, while trying to choose what to wear in the afternoon. The new primrose yellow cambric afternoon gown worn over a white satin slip and bound with a daffodil-yellow ribbon beneath the hig
h waist? Yes, it would do well. She would wear it with her spencer the colour of the first hazel leaves in the spring.
* * *
Gwenifer stood when the maidservant ushered Harriet into the drawing room, from which most of the furniture had been removed. “Good day, Harriet. How pretty you look.”
“Thank you.” Harriet dipped into a curtsy, which Gwenifer returned.
“Please sit yourself down, Harriet. Ah, here is my brother.
“Dominic, I complimented her ladyship on her appearance. I am sure you agree she looks charming, quite charming.”
Despite her embarrassment over the unsought praise, Harriet allowed herself to peep at the rector.
Dominic bowed. “Indeed, Lady Castleton, my sister is right. Your portrait should be painted in this ensemble. You are the personification of spring.”
“Please don’t put me to the blush with your flattery, sir,” Harriet reproved him, inwardly pleased. She looked at the spaces on the wall. Apart from the areas where paintings once hung, the salmon pink wallpaper had faded.
“My apologies for the lack of furniture,” Gwenifer said. “We intended to refurbish my brother’s study first, but after rolling back the carpet for our dance lessons, we decided this room should be the first to be repapered and painted. Today, I hope you will have time to tell me what you think of my choices for it. My brother is not sure whether or not he likes my suggestion of pier glasses and alabaster ornaments.”
The rector chuckled. “Your eyes, my dear sister, are as brimful of mischief as one of the Cornish pixies in stories Mamma told us when we were children.”
Gwenifer’s face assumed a demure expression, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Dominic, if you accused me of misleading the unwary like pixies, it would not be true.”
Harriet glanced at the brother and sister. She found their banter endearing, and wished she had a sibling.
Gwenifer faced her. “I hope you will advise me.”
“I am at your disposal, Gwenifer, and promise to give you my honest opinion,” Harriet intervened, on the verge of laughter. “By the way, Mister Markham, I am delighted to tell you I have dismissed my son’s nurse, and Bessie Cooper will return to Clarencieux Abbey tomorrow to look after him.”
“What good news,” Dominic responded. “I am sure it will please Mrs Cooper to have her daughter close to home.”
Harriet looked from him to Gwenifer. It would be a relief to confide in them. To explain she intended to wrest control of Arthur from the earl, but she did not think it would be proper to raise the subject.
At the end of the lesson, breathless with pleasure, not only because Harriet loved to dance, she gazed up into Dominic’s eyes. “You and your sister are excellent pupils,” she praised them, while he continued to clasp her hand.
“Thank you for the compliment. I shall offer one in return. You, Lady Castleton, are as light-footed as a fairy.”
In response to the unmistakable passion in the depths of his eyes, her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, both of them stood as motionless as the pair of china figurines on the mantelpiece.
Gwenifer cleared her throat. “After so much exertion both of you seem too exhausted to move. Dominic, Harriet, a glass of wine to refresh you?”
Harriet turned her head to look at Gwenifer, who regarded them with palpable speculation.
“Yes, please, dancing always makes me thirsty. Indeed, I am over-heated. I wish I had remembered to bring my fan,” Harriet gabbled, embarrassed by the attraction between herself and the rector, which she could no longer deny.
Edgar, I am sorry, she thought, truly sorry. I never thought I would be drawn towards another gentleman. I intended to remain faithful to you unto death. She sank onto a chair overwhelmed by her sudden desire to be sheltered by Mister Markham’s strong arms.
“Harriet, shall we send my brother to write his sermon in the study, while we partake of wine in the morning room and look at the samples of wallpaper and fabric?”
Harriet nodded, keen to escape the spell the rector seemed to have cast over her.
“Come. “Gwenifer led her into a room with a large trestle table set up to accommodate swathes of fabric and pattern books. “Perhaps a glass of homemade lemon barley water would be more refreshing than wine on such a hot day,” Gwenifer suggested. She looked out of the window. “I am sure the weather will break and thunder will roll tonight or tomorrow. I am glad the wheat from my brother’s glebe has been harvested, and daresay the farmers are making haste to gather the rest of theirs.”
Harriet smiled. “A glass of lemon barley water would be most welcome.”
“Please be seated at the table while it is fetched from the well in which it is kept cool.”
Alone, Harriet pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and thought of the past. She could have married one of the well-born officers who proposed marriage to her. Unable to imagine replacing Edgar with another husband, she had refused to wed for convenience, though no one would have censured her for doing so. Marriages between widows and men, who wanted the consolation of a wife before possible death on the battlefield often took place. Indeed, some women married four or five times.
Gwenifer returned. “The maidservant is fetching the drink.” She rifled through some papers on the trestle table. “Dominic warned me not to choose a pattern his parishioners would be shocked by, dragons and suchlike, which are so popular due to the Prince Regent’s Chinese décor at his pavilion in Brighton. These are the samples I have cut from the pattern book.” She handed them to Harriet. “I have decided on cream-coloured paint which will set off any other colours to advantage.”
Harriet passed her forefinger over a soft yellow sample with an intricate pattern of cream-coloured urns, from which emerged arrangements of stylised pastel flowers and the pale green leaves.
A maidservant entered the morning room, and found a space on the table for the tray she carried on her upturned palms.
Gweniver waved a hand at her. “You may go.”
Harriet considered a kingcup yellow sample embossed with gold lilies.
“Here you are.” Gwenifer held out a glass.
“Thank you.” Harriet scrutinised a traditional design of cream and crimson stripes interspersed with narrow, light green ones. She sipped the cool drink while admiring the fourth pattern, a peacock perched on a branch of a tree embellished with leaves and flowers against an ivory background.
Harriet put the half-empty glass down. One-by-one she held up each sample.
Gwenifer sat down. “Which one would you choose?”
Harriet finished her drink before she replied. “The striped wallpaper is stylish, but the small pattern of gold leaves scattered on it is irritating. I like the plain yellow.” She fingered her the one patterned with magnificent peacocks and thought of Mister Markham. Possessed of a handsome face, an excellent figure and deportment he did not need to dress in jewel-bright colours, yet the magnificent bird reminded her of him.
“This is my favourite.” She handed the sample to Gwenifer. “Should you think your brother will consider it unsuitable, the pale yellow is perfect for this room. Even on the coldest, dullest winter day, the soft shade will give the impression of mellow sunshine.”
Gwenifer clapped her hands. “I think you are right, Dominic would probably consider the peacocks too ornate for a rectory. More lemon barley water?”
“Yes, please.”
Glass in her hand, her thoughts of Mister Markham consigned to the back of her mind, Harriet helped Gwenifer to choose sage green velvet for the curtains, and green chintz with a pattern of yellow and cream roses and trailing leaves for upholstery.
“Thank you, Harriet. Your choice confirms my own, and I must say that both of us have exceptionally good taste.”
“I am glad to have been of help.” Harriet stood. “If I don’t take my leave, I shall not have time to change my gown before we dine.”
Gwenifer sent a message for Harriet’s groom to bring her horse around
from the stable. After they finished their drinks, and Gweniver escorted her to the front door, where they agreed she would return on the following day to give them a final lesson.
Mounted, Harriet waved farewell to Dominic when he looked out of the window of his library. She rode slowly home, trying to banish him from her mind.
At night she dreamt of Dominic in the guise of a fairy prince, who employed his unique magic to enchant unwary ladies.
Chapter Sixteen
Harriet watched Arthur hug Bessie after she had returned to work at the nursery..
The nurse smoothed back his hair from his forehead. “Now, now, my little lord, there’s no need for so much fuss.” She looked out of the window. “Look at those dark clouds. I raced here before the thunderstorm breaks. It wouldn’t be any good going for our usual walk. We would be soaked through. Do you want to play with your toy soldiers?”
“Yes.”
“Look at me, Lord Castleton.” Bessie raised her eyebrows and stared at him.
Arthur shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes, please.”
Bessie smiled. “That’s better, my lord, much better.”
Harriet lingered while Arthur arranged the small lead figures of redcoats in squares, and those of French mounted cavalry opposite them. She clicked her teeth together. Although tales of battles won and lost entranced boys, the sight of her son playing at war always made her uneasy. When he grew up, would he want to follow in his father’s footsteps and distinguish himself in battle? She prayed he would not.
Satisfied Bessie would ensure Arthur minded his manners, Harriet drew him to his feet and kissed his smooth cheek. “I shall return before nuncheon to hear you recite the alphabet, and practice writing the letters.”
Arthur wriggled free from her and sat down to arrange the little redcoats in a square.
“Bessie, I know I can rely on you to good care of my son. “ She left the nursery, and went in search of her father-in-law, whom she found with his secretary in the library.
She regarded Pennington, whose expression did not offer her a scrap of welcome, and transferred her attention to the document with a red seal which he held. “I apologise for interrupting you, Papa. I did not realise you and your secretary are busy.”
Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) Page 15
