“She is well loved,” Daniel said, getting to his feet. “She must learn to make her way, but she’ll have supporters, your brother first among them. Bellefonte makes a formidable ally, and his countess does not suffer fools. Lady Susannah has memorized every colorful insult the Bard concocted, all in the interests of literary wit, of course.”
Lady Kirsten needed reassurances and understanding.
She needed a consoling hug.
Remaining in the country was by no means a desertion of her sisters, and yet a wiser man would have chased Lady Kirsten off to London, previous positions on the matter notwithstanding. Daniel passed Kirsten the half-eaten bread from her plate, butter glistening in abundance. She took it, and again, their fingers didn’t brush.
Daniel, his immortal soul, his breeding organs, and his honor were all safe with Kirsten Haddonfield. Damnation, but he could not manage to be grateful for the security she afforded his gentlemanly integrity.
“Shall we finish our meal?” he asked. “I’ve been meaning to ask you how the choir’s first rehearsal went.”
He had given the choir half a passing thought at some point.
Her ladyship took a nibble of buttered bread and sat back down across the desk from Daniel. They chatted about ailing parishioners and who should be invited to join the choir despite lack of musical ability.
The food disappeared, and Daniel’s pocket watch said he’d best check on the progress of his budding toad drovers on the next floor down. He lingered another five minutes with Lady Kirsten, not because he desired her, not because academic administration required it, not because she was lonely.
And not because he was lonely, either.
Olivia had never once spent a pleasant midday meal with her husband, discussing parishioners, students, toads, or flirtatious young people. Not once. The lack of support from his wife put Daniel in mind of Lady Kirsten enduring her social seasons, beset by gossip, judgment, and emotional hazards on all sides.
London had plagues enough, even without grasshoppers or frogs.
Daniel remained those extra minutes with Lady Kirsten because he and she simply liked each other, and everybody—every single person on the face of the earth—deserved the comfort of simple friendship.
Why hadn’t he known that? Why hadn’t his inability to be friends with his own wife bothered him a great deal more and a great deal sooner?
When Ralph arrived to take the empty trays, Daniel bowed Lady Kirsten on her way, knowing she’d look in at the schoolroom before she crossed the garden to rejoin her family.
“All but one hop toad is tucked up right and tight in the tea-rare-ee-thingum,” Ralph said when Lady Kirsten had left. “The last little blighter is quicker than the rest. All six boys together haven’t been able to catch him. It’s been proper entertaining, sir.”
“Get some lunch, Ralph,” Daniel said, for he was a country vicar, and catching even nimble, independent toads was in his gift. “We’ll soon have the lone fugitive incarcerated with his fellows.”
Though not for long, because toads belonged at liberty in the countryside. How Daniel envied the homely toad, who would soon be hopping free in the puddle of its lowly, warty choice.
For a few daring, useless moments, Daniel allowed himself to envision a life without Olivia. Either divorce or annulment would cost him his calling, bring scandal down on Danny, and reduce Daniel’s means to that of a common laborer, for no gentleman ought to employ an ordained refugee from a failed marriage.
Daniel mentally boxed up his musings and shelved them under the increasingly broad heading of “penance.”
One last feckless toad needed rescuing from its own independent nature, and six little boys were doubtless on the verge of starvation.
Eleven
“How can country boys know nothing of horses?” George asked. “Digby was isolated from the stable by a combination of maternal hovering and his uncle’s miserliness, but Squire Blumenthal loves to ride to hounds, and Denton Webber never misses a race meet.”
“Not all boys are raised by the Earl of Bellefonte,” Kirsten said. “Ponies are an extravagance.”
George took Kirsten’s arm and led her across the stable yard, which, for the first time in days, was dry.
“Did Nick cut up badly about having a herd of ponies added to the stables?” George asked.
“He said ponies were a fine notion for teaching responsibility to small boys, and if you ever tired of being the equitation master, he’d gladly step in.” Kirsten had nearly hugged her brother at that offer, but Nicholas had muttered this pronouncement with his nose firmly planted in some ledger or other.
He was probably the shyest earl ever to dread the opening of Parliament.
“Nicholas loves children,” George said. “As do I.”
George’s marriage to Elsie had come as a surprise to his siblings, and probably to George himself. Upon coming down from university, he’d cut a swath through Town that had ventured into some of the riskier shadowed corners favored by the likes of Byron and Brummel.
Della hadn’t been able to unearth too many details—a certain handsome young earl’s name had come up—and Kirsten hadn’t wanted to hear details in any case.
She’d deal with important matters directly, though. “Will you and Elsie have children?”
“Sit with me, Kay-Kay.” George was the only sibling who used that nickname for Kirsten. When he led her to a sunny bench, she took the place beside him.
“You’d be an excellent father,” she said, meaning every word. “Digby worships the ground you strut about on, and you’re wonderful with him.”
“And I love the boy, but…Elsie said I must tell you first.”
George stared at his dusty riding boots, his smile sweet, distracted, and bashful. He was a stunningly handsome man, but in the stable yard, smelling of horse and turned out in less than his company finery, George was also a radiantly happy man.
Another niece or nephew, then. Kirsten hugged her brother fiercely.
“I am so happy for you, George. So very, exceedingly, unendingly, witlessly happy for you and Elsie. I’ll be a relentlessly doting auntie, I warn you. The first time I held Nicholas and Leah’s baby—”
Kirsten had fallen in love, then she’d gone to her room to cry. Lately, she’d worn a path back to the nursery and dreaded the infant’s coming absence.
“Elsie said I was a fool to worry,” George replied, hugging Kirsten back, “but one does.”
One’s brothers did because they were wonderful brothers. “I will never have children,” Kirsten said, “but that only means the ones I can love are dearer to me.”
She’d worked that out in the last week, while admiring the shine on Danny Banks’s boots and the brawn of little Thomas’s biceps. No parent kept a child close forever. Children grew up, God willing, and left home to make their way.
Nobody had a child all for her own for very long, not in the normal course of things.
George took out a handkerchief and slapped at the toes of his boots. “Elsie says I’m also not to worry about you dodging the pretty in Town this spring, either.”
“Why would you worry about me when I’m—?”
He left off whacking at his boots, which would only get dirty again anyway. “I’m your most wicked, harum-scarum brother,” George went on, “to hear some tell it. I’m the last person who would judge you for indulging yourself with a few stolen moments in a lonely vicar’s arms.”
A few weeks ago, Kirsten would have either laughed or stomped away, insulted by George’s innuendo.
“George, hush.”
“I see how Banks watches you across the riding arena, Kay-Kay. When he took meals with us at Belle Maison, he labored mightily to not even glance your way. I know a pair of smitten wretches when I see them.”
Kirsten was smitten, but she was not wretched�
�not entirely wretched. “Daniel Banks is married, George. He’ll always be married, and even Della hasn’t divined the details of the estrangement between the vicar and his wife.” Mrs. Banks. Kirsten would not refer to her thus aloud, because the woman who’d stolen Daniel’s trust did not deserve that title.
“What has Banks told you?”
Without using words, Daniel had told Kirsten that he cared for her, and were he free, he’d desire her as well. A bouquet of sentiments that must always remain in the realm of wishes and dreams.
And not venture into even the realm of glances.
“Mr. Banks has told me he respects me,” Kirsten said, “and that his wife misappropriated funds from both his sister and the church. I gather he blames himself.” Less so than he had a few weeks ago, though. “He is devoted to that child and to his vocation.”
Kirsten would never betray Daniel’s confidences regarding Danny.
“You’ve met Banks’s sister, Lady Fairly?” George asked, stuffing the now dusty handkerchief into a pocket.
“Of course.”
“She bears a very close resemblance to her nephew. You might ask Banks about that.”
Thus was a good man’s privacy both protected and threatened.
“I’ll not pry, George, and you needn’t avoid the library in the coming weeks for fear you’ll find the vicar and me on the blue sofa, so to speak. Mr. Banks and I are friends, and I do not enjoy Town. There’s an end to it.”
Across the garden, Mr. Banks led an orderly line of six little boys, each hand-walking a pony, from the stable to the large water trough near the stable’s cistern.
“Elsie isn’t at all impressed with my looks,” George said, which odd conclusion seemed to please him.
“Both of my fiancés were accounted fine-looking men. I wasn’t impressed with them either.”
“I’m gorgeous though,” George retorted. “Byron himself declared it so, and any number of ladies and a few gentlemen have confirmed his opinion.”
“You’re a handsome idiot who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket,” Kirsten replied by way of support, because George’s looks were a burden, not a blessing. They called attention to a man who was shy, tenderhearted, and good with children and animals.
“What I’m trying to say is that Elsie is my friend, Kirsten. She laughs at my attempts to sing and doesn’t care if my cravat is frilly or if I’m even wearing one. She won’t tolerate any criticism of me by others but has scolded me roundly for buying her earbobs. I thought I merely liked her, but in appallingly short order, I’ve fallen in love with my wife.”
He’d fallen into bed with her too, apparently. Lucky Elsie, and wise Elsie.
“George, I am pleased for you and Elsie, for I’ve no doubt she returns your sentiments, despite your looks. What has this to do with my situation?”
“The straight path is for storybooks and sermons,” George said. “I’m not suggesting you elope with another woman’s husband and bring disgrace to an innocent boy. I’m suggesting you accept the gifts that are yours at no cost to others. Banks is a good fellow, even if he isn’t exactly the right fellow.”
“We’re friends,” Kirsten said again. “I could never have been friends with either Sedgewick or Morton, and yet I would have married them, and that would have been wrong. I will never marry Mr. Banks, but—”
“Exactly,” George said. “Life is not always tidy and balanced. Think about that while I ride home to tell my lady that Digby has survived another equitation lesson without breaking any bones.”
At that exact moment, pandemonium broke out among the ponies and the little boys trying to lead them about.
* * *
Daniel blamed the mishap on his besottedness with Lady Kirsten.
While the boys had groomed their ponies, George Haddonfield had pulled Daniel to the back of the stable, where the earl maintained a woodworking shop—or private trysting site.
“Banks,” Haddonfield had muttered, “you cannot look at her like that. Not in public.”
Daniel left off admiring sketches of a fanciful birdhouse—or pretending to. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Haddonfield?”
The shop was roomy, but with a man Haddonfield’s size pacing about, Daniel didn’t know exactly where to stand.
“For the duration of the last hour,” Mr. Haddonfield went on, “as six little boys went bouncing by, ponies churning up dust, and me bellowing encouragement from the center of the ring, you and my own dear sister made sheep’s eyes at one another.”
“You could tell this from halfway across a riding arena?”
“I could have seen those glances from the maids’ quarters on the fourth floor of the manor house. Get hold of yourself, or Nicholas won’t be able to ignore the situation.”
Him again. Nicholas—the earl, the head of the family, the nobleman who held the Haddondale living.
“And is the earl ignoring the situation?”
“He exhorted me to keep a close eye on Kirsten in his absence, but not too close. Elsie and I will bide here, at Belle Maison, though my wife and I have responsibilities to see to under our own roof too.”
That qualified as ignoring the situation but not the appearances.
“My own sister was led nearly to ruin by a randy curate, Mr. Haddonfield. Do you expect me to debauch Lady Kirsten and cast aside my marriage vows?”
Mr. Haddonfield stopped pacing. “Don’t be dramatic. A discreet affair is hardly an orgy beneath the full moon. What you and Kirsten get up to in the privacy of some butler’s pantry is of no interest to me, but for God’s sake, exercise some discretion.”
If Daniel were to violate those vows with Kirsten, he’d do it in a wide, fluffy bed, on fresh linen, behind a locked door, not in some dusty—
God help him. “Your warning is appreciated, Mr. Haddonfield, but entirely unnecessary.”
“Oh, right. Forget I said anything, then, but virtue makes a cold bedfellow, Mr. Banks, and has never been known to ease a broken heart. Next week, you’ll hack out with me and the boys.”
Lovely. An interminable, plodding walk with six pony-sized slugs, while Beelzebub capered and cavorted his way down one lane and up the other.
“I’ll look forward to it, Mr. Haddonfield.”
Daniel was still pondering his newfound capacity for falsehoods when he led the boys and their steeds out to the watering trough fifteen minutes later.
Danny did well with his Loki, but then they’d had time to learn each other’s habits. Thomas’s mount was a solid, cobby gray, and Fred and Frank had been given matching duns.
Matthias and his little bay mare were nervous of each other, so Daniel put them at the end of the line. The mare, however, took exception to waiting for her drink, and shouldered forward of her handler, leaving Matthias holding the lead line as two ponies, indifferent to a mere boy, jostled at the trough.
“She’s being bad!” Matthias screeched, hauling on the lead line to no avail. “She won’t listen, and she’s mean.”
Loki’s head came up, his hairy chin dripping. Thomas’s beast barged into the mare from the opposite side, and Matthias hit the limit of his courage.
“They’re squashing me,” he howled, shoving at the ponies’ quarters. The mare, being a mare, swung her back end into the boy. Matthias wriggled free between two wringing pony tails, and bellowed that the pony’s wretched tail had nearly taken his eye out.
“Boys, hold steady,” Daniel said, for Matthias had dropped the mare’s lead line. “Matthias, quiet. You’re frightening the ponies.”
“But my eye hurts! She did it on purpose, and ponies are stupid, ugly, hairy—”
“Hush, Mattie,” Thomas bellowed, and now the mare’s head came up too.
She probably sensed that nobody held her lead line, though all too easily some boy or pony might step on it.
George Haddonf
ield came striding over from a bench in the garden, while Lady Kirsten—bless her common sense—hung back from an increasingly restive herd of boys and ponies.
“Matthias Webber,” George said, “you will take yourself over to her ladyship, who will inspect your eye. You lot, look to your—”
Had Daniel been thinking, rather than envying Matthias Webber his place plastered against Lady Kirsten’s waist, he might have simply tromped on the mare’s lead line.
But no, Daniel was an idiot in love, and he bent down amid sharp pony hooves and little boy boots and picked up the lead. All might have gone well from there—George was sorting the boys out—but the mare had decided to take advantage of her owner’s desertion at the precise instant Daniel grasped the rope.
The mare tried to bolt, the rope burning across Daniel’s left palm like a hot knife as he closed his grip. He snatched the rope into his right hand and yanked stoutly.
“Settle, drat you to perdition!”
The mare stood docilely, blinking innocent brown eyes at Daniel, while six boys goggled and five other ponies went still.
“Come along, gentlemen,” Mr. Haddonfield said pleasantly. “Put the geldings into their stalls. The mare thinks to earn attention with her misbehavior and the best we can do is ignore her. Mr. Banks has her in hand.”
Mr. Banks was mentally bellowing every foul curse a vicar had ever overheard and inventing a few of his own.
“I’ll take the cheeky little besom,” old Alfrydd said, shuffling out of the stable. “Wants a firm hand is all, and yon boy hasn’t the knack yet. Come with me, Your Highness.”
The mare trailed along, lifting her tail and expressing her sentiments in Daniel’s direction, as horses were wont to do. Matthias turned loose of Lady Kirsten, his spirits evidently restored by his pony’s timely flatulence.
“Put her up,” Daniel said to the boy. “Your eye may smart for a bit, but Freya needs to know you haven’t abandoned her.” More to the point, the pony needed to understand that she couldn’t scare off her lord, master, and owner with a mere swish of her tail and stomp of her dainty hoof.
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