“No, no.” She sniffed, bringing her hand to her face. “You never did, you never said . . . it was all my misunderstanding, I can assure you.”
David rather thought so since he could not recall a single instance when his conduct might have been questionable. He took this moment to consider her as a woman. There was nothing precisely wrong with her. He did not find her lean form particularly fetching, nor her plain brown-colored hair. Overall, she was not the type of female to warrant his notice.
“It is only . . . you never mentioned having a . . . a wife.” Another sniff.
“Perhaps not . . .” Probably not. “I cannot believe Gran did not mention . . . it has been some years since I wrote her of my marriage.”
Mrs. Pitt’s gaze darted about, displaying some guilt. “I believe there may have been some ramblings of such . . . I had thought her delirious—I apologize. It is no fault of yours. I . . .” A deep sigh this time. “Please, do not give it another thought.”
Apparently believing such was quite the disappointment. He would not be the one ending her widowhood. “Do not think I care nothing, dear lady.” At his pronouncement her moistened eyes gazed into his, and he realized he may have overstepped his bounds . . . but David meant nothing more than mere words to ease her pain, not carte blanche. “I am more grateful for your actions than I can say.”
“Grate-ful,” she echoed in a drawn-out whisper with what David took as another bout of disappointment.
Devil take it! Could he say nothing right? He was trying to relay his appreciation. He’d best shut it before he dug himself into a place where extrication would be impossible.
“I cannot have thought more of you than if you and Miss Harding were my very own sisters,” he intoned with heartfelt sincerity. Referring to a lady on sisterly terms could not have been taken in any way as affectionate, he surmised. It was a sentiment encompassing a close and nurturing association, avoiding any unwanted warmer regards. “My family and I appreciate what you and your sister have done. It has meant”—he’d do well to take care what he said here—“a great deal.”
A long silence followed before Mrs. Pitt smiled in return. David hoped he had made some amends and somehow eased her anxiety over the matter. He did wish the conversation between them would return to being easy. He had always thought her companionable.
“Let us sit and be comfortable, shall we?” David had to do something. Now what should he do? “Allow me to call for some fresh tea in hopes it will revive you.”
“An excellent idea.” Mrs. Pitt’s tears had been stanched, and her sniffles were no more.
“Do take a seat there”—he led her to the end of the sofa and allowed her to sit before heading to the door—“and I shall see to your refreshment myself.”
“It is considerate actions such as this that make me believe you care for me more than you let on.”
David glanced back at her and realized he needed to take extra care with Mrs. Pitt at present. He did not wish her to get the wrong notion or offend her. He was being polite, not showing a marked interest in her; kind, but not flirtatious. He studied her a moment longer, feeling a little unease creep over him, and wondered if she knew the difference.
Chapter Six
Car-o-line . . .” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s dry, soft voice emerged from the bed. She stretched out her arm to beckon Penny near.
“Do not exert yourself so.” Nurse had taken to her feet and tended to her patient. In the next moment she drew a chair close to the bed for Penny. “Madam desires you to keep her company while Miss Harding reads.”
“I am here, ma’am.” Penny spoke in a clear voice as to be easily heard.
The young lady stood, staring at Penny, clutching a book in her hands. “So you are Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
“Yes, she is Master David’s wife.” Then Nurse clarified for Penny’s benefit, “Miss Harding and her sister, Mrs. Pitt, are sisters of Madam’s doctor. They come nearly every day and take turns reading her poetry or sometimes letters. I daresay Madam enjoys their company very much.” A kind smile touched Nurse’s lips, and she said much softer for Penny’s ears only, “They’re not medical persons, but they do report on Madam’s condition to their brother. He stops by at least once a week to check on her, more often if he feels there’s the need.”
Penny felt guilty about the lie she perpetrated. The unease had lessened when she could see the comfort it lent the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh. Extending the falsehood to her staff was, naturally, understandable, but now to include Miss Harding and Mrs. Pitt, and by association Dr. Harding, caused Penny to wonder where it would end.
Penny sat next to the bed with Mrs. Cavanaugh’s hand held within her own.
Miss Harding sat on the far side of the bed facing them with her back to the wall. “Shall we continue?” She held a book and opened to the place marked with a slip of paper.
“Not that today.” Mrs. Cavanaugh waved her thin hand, in a remarkably graceful fashion, at Miss Harding. “Do fetch the novel my Davy sent recently. It’s there, atop my dresser. The first volume, if you will. We shall hear a new story.”
Miss Harding crossed the room, lifted the topmost book of the stack of three, and opened to the front while strolling back to her chair. “This is Emma, written by the author of Pride and Prejudice,” she read aloud.
“That sounds so very nice,” Mrs. Cavanaugh commented. “Do you not think so, Caroline?”
“I expect it will be a splendid tale,” Penny agreed.
“Chapter one . . .” Miss Harding began.
Grandmother Cavanaugh enjoyed the novel and encouraged Miss Harding to continue after the end of the first chapter. Chapter two began with the introduction of Mr. Weston, who just married Emma’s governess, Miss Taylor. Emma’s father, Mr. Woodhouse, could not see the benefit of the union and had great concern for all regarding the ill effects of consuming the wedding cake. This was interesting enough to those in the sickroom, but the elderly lady’s eyelids grew heavy and her breath deepened with every passing paragraph.
Miss Harding paused when she realized Mrs. Cavanaugh had dozed off. Penny silently urged her to continue. It would only take a few moments longer to make certain the patient was well asleep. No doubt the soothing sound of Miss Harding’s voice aided the entrance to Morpheus’s realm.
Not two seconds later Penny gasped when Mrs. Cavanaugh’s eyes opened wide and her hand lifted from the counterpane, halting Miss Harding’s progress. “What is that I hear?”
Miss Harding fell silent and glanced up from the book in her hands. Her eyes glanced about as if in search for the disturbance. “I hear nothing, ma’am.”
Penny listened closely. The muted cries and shrieks of children were barely audible. “I believe that is . . .” She rose and moved to the window and pulled the heavy curtain away to peer outside. “Yes, it is Lucy and Davy playing on the green. They have finally arrived. How very nice for the children to finally get out and run around.”
“Open the window so I may hear them, will you, dear?” Mrs. Cavanaugh entreated.
Mrs. Sutton had followed Penny and now looked over her shoulder to view the scene below.
“Oh, no! You do not wish to allow the cold air to come inside,” Miss Harding warned. “It is most bad for the lungs!”
“Nonsense. I daresay a bit of fresh air won’t hurt at all.” Mrs. Sutton drew the heavy drape away from the window with a great tug.
Sunlight poured into the room, and Penny opened the window wide enough to hear the peals of joyous noise below drift into the room. They gazed down to the stretch of lawn.
They could hear the high-pitched shrieks and children’s laughter while they ran about, taunting the dog to chase them into good-natured play. “Here, Pug! Here! Pug! Pug! Pug!”
With the book still in hand, Miss Harding left her chair and approached the window to have a look for herself. “Children? Your child
ren?”
“Why, yes, they are my family,” Penny said, keeping to the truth; however, she understood they believed something entirely different. Instead of facing Miss Harding while upholding the lie, Penny glanced toward Mrs. Cavanaugh to observe the effects of the fiction she had just told.
“Dear Lucy and dear little Davy.” Mrs. Cavanaugh spoke their names with such affection and longing. “I do so wish to see them.”
“They have only just arrived, ma’am,” Penny told her. “They have been closed up for so many hours, they must run about—”
“And be children,” the elderly lady finished. “Pug must be having the time of his life. Just listen to him.” The barking had not stopped for one second. How did he manage a breath?
“They are not used to the confinements of travel.”
“Up . . .” Mrs. Cavanaugh attempted to push herself upright, expending great effort without much success. “Help me up!”
“Here now, ma’am. Allow me—” Nurse came to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s aid. Penny returned to the bed. Together Penny and Nurse propped pillows behind the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh’s back, allowing her to sit upright.
“Do you think I could go to the window and see them?”
“Perhaps later,” Penny said with as much encouragement as she could manage. “You can rest some while the children settle in. They’ll be staying for some while, I expect. There’ll be time enough to visit in the days ahead.”
“Yes, I could use some rest. I find I am all of a sudden quite tired.” The excitement of hearing the children must have taxed her.
With Nurse by her side, the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh returned to her supine position. Miss Harding retired the first volume of Emma to its neat little stack upon the dresser on the other side of the room. Mrs. Sutton pulled the window shut and replaced the drapes to darken the room once again.
“Not too much, Sutton,” Mrs. Cavanaugh instructed. “I wish to hear the children while they play.”
“Very well, ma’am.” The window and drapes were left open a few inches as requested.
The ladies moved about, preparing to quit the room.
“Sutton,” Mrs. Cavanaugh called from the bed. “Do remember to have Mrs. Shore replace the dear figurines in Davy’s room.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the companion replied.
“And make certain both his bedroom windows are open before he retires for the night.” Mrs. Cavanaugh settled her head upon her pillow and, under the careful ministrations of her nurse, quickly grew heavy-lidded with sleep.
“Yes, ma’am, I shall.” Mrs. Sutton led Miss Harding and Penny through the doorway.
“Good.” A hint of a smile crept across the elderly woman’s dry lips. Perhaps Penny had been mistaken, but she thought she saw a twinkle in those pale blue eyes. Mrs. Cavanaugh drew in a deep breath and in a voice filled with overwhelming joy heralded, “Listen to them. Listen to those darlings, bless their souls.”
“Da!” Young Davy’s shrill, youthful voice carried across the green, around the house, and up to the attics, no doubt. The lad came barreling toward David as the prime example of exuberance that dwells in all boys.
Much like horses stalled up during a harsh winter, the children needed to run about and kick up their heels after a long confinement. David smiled, remembering the times in his youth when he’d scampered about with his brothers. It seemed as if they never grew tired. He imagined they must have at some point. Their legs, their stamina, could not last forever.
“Da!” Lucy cried out, running in David’s direction well after her brother. “Come on, Pug!”
The dog bounded after her, his tongue lolling from his gaping mouth. He had probably never been so overset in all his life. Companion to Gran could not be near the same as accompanying these young ones.
Davy collided into David, grasping him tightly around his knees. David had instinctively braced himself for the impact. This was a common greeting. Lucy’s welcome was always far more gentle. She slowed and came to a halt before wrapping her arms around his waist for an enormous hug.
“If only I could inspire such affections.” Mrs. Parker came up behind them. She had followed him from the house after bidding their guests farewell, not nearly as anxious for David’s attention as the children. Pug romped around waiting for his turn to have a welcome pat on the head.
Both Lucy and Davy, nearly at the same time, stepped back from David and nodded their heads in respect. “Good day, ma’am.”
Mrs. Parker held out her arms, giving silent permission that it was acceptable to approach her. “Children—” Penny bent low and pulled them to her in close embrace. “How are you?”
“It was the best time, Aun—” Lucy stopped and her eyes widened as she misspoke. “Sorry . . . um, ma’am.”
“Do not fret, for I’m certain no one overheard,” Mrs. Parker whispered. David’s gaze met hers for an instant before they both glanced around, checking that no one was near enough to eavesdrop on their family conversation.
“I shan’t do it again, I promise,” said the girl. She turned to her brother. “It’s the game, Davy.”
“I have faith that you will remember,” her aunt replied with obvious confidence.
“I’ll ’member, too,” added Davy, as not to be left out.
“I have every certainty you shall.” Mrs. Parker gave his arms a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s a game!” Davy exclaimed.
“That’s right, we are pretending,” their aunt acknowledged. She straightened his vest, which had worked its way up from his waist and turned about his torso.
David could see why Frances allowed her two youngest to be in the care of the woman before him. Mrs. Parker was so very good with them. There wasn’t a single concern as to their well-being. She behaved quite naturally, and David supposed minding these two was no different than caring for her sister, the Duchess of Worth’s offspring—three girls and one boy in that family.
“Come with us, Da!” Lucy called to him. The children pulled Mrs. Parker along by her hands. Her mild refusal to attend seemed to be shouted down by Pug’s insistent barking.
“I shall be most vexed with you if you do not accompany us, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Parker threatened over her shoulder.
David couldn’t have that and quick-marched in order to catch up. The children abandoned their aunt once they reached the green. It must have been a great relief to Mrs. Parker.
“Come on, Pug!” Lucy dashed away with Davy and Pug following in her wake. The children’s laughter and playful shouts began again.
“Do you ever remember behaving so carefree?” David wondered when had the last time been. When he was twelve? Ten? Five? Far too long ago for him to recall.
“Not really,” she replied. “I was much younger than my two older sisters, and my parents never thought to give me a pet.”
“Dogs can be such marvelous companions. That’s why I sent Pug to Gran.”
“Instead of keeping company with her yourself?” The remark sat just on this side of a judgment.
David curbed his retort and conceded that it had basically been the truth. He could not fault Mrs. Parker for her insight. During his silence she had stepped away from him and joined in the frolic. With two fistfuls of her skirt she ran the circuit, either in front of or chasing the children, it was difficult to determine. It did, however, appear that she was enjoying herself immensely.
In David’s experience, adults were not capable of free-spirited laughter, outgrowing such behavior soon enough. Responsibility, duty, and deaths in the family brought grim reality to a growing youth. Mrs. Parker’s glee-filled delight rose as she raced around with the children, looking natural and very convincing. This was a family dashing about the green in good fun.
Pug, a recent adoption to the children’s party, appeared to blend in without any difficulty whatsoever. David realized, as
he stood apart from the rest, he was supposed to be the head of this family, and by behaving as an observer, he did not give the impression he belonged. He glanced about, looking to see if anyone looked on. He appeared safe. David best join the others if he wished anyone to believe their tale. Off he went, stepping behind Davy to snare the giggling rascal.
Some minutes later, David hoisted his godson into the air, causing him to squeal loudly enough to be heard by every neighboring estate, before setting him on the ground once again. Mrs. Parker stepped out of the dizzying chase to catch her breath. David soon stood by her side in equal need of air.
“I fear I am not as young as I used to be.” He gasped between words.
“No one is, sir,” Mrs. Parker replied, while watching the children gallop alongside Pug. It was clear all were having a great deal of fun in the attempt. “They can keep this up for hours.”
“Children have the ability to occupy themselves at the most mundane times.” David always remembered such things when he came here.
“This is not one of those times,” Mrs. Parker commented.
“No, I was referring to the ride from London. It’s too blasted long.” Persons attempting to transport children across the country must be quite mad.
“Please, sir, your language!”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” David’s apology was most sincere. Why had he felt comfortable enough in Mrs. Parker’s presence to allow himself such liberties?
“You better not speak in that manner in the presence of the children. You know what a dreadful mimic young Davy can be,” she chided him. “He might repeat one of your colorful phrases in front of an audience, and then where would we be?”
“Point taken,” David conceded. “In the future, I shall choose my words with more care.”
“See that you do.” Her gaze swung back to the activity on the vibrant green lawn. This house had always held fond memories for him. Mrs. Parker exhaled the great final one that told him she had successfully caught her breath.
An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) Page 6
