by Meara Platt
Julia had a sudden urge to toss the black kettle at him.
Of course, knowing that such an outburst would undermine her already precarious position, she clenched her fists and forced a smile, determined to do nothing to aid in the arrogant earl’s nefarious purpose. “I’m his guardian and have cared for him all of his life,” she pointed out quite reasonably. “I think–”
“As I said, we’ll discuss it later.”
Though he spoke calmly, Julia had dealt with the Eastbourne family in the past and knew better than to trust any of them. They were a cold, proud clan, devoid of any warmth or concern for those outside their class. She doubted the earl would be any more enlightened than his parents.
“Well?” he asked with a surprisingly charming quirk of his eyebrow. “Do you need me to do anything… besides toss myself off the nearest cliff?”
Despite her efforts to suppress it, a small smile escaped her lips in response to his unexpected bit of humor. “I need more wood for the fire. There’s a stack in the shed beside the stone wall.”
He glanced toward the window, noting the rain pouring down in torrents. “Out there?”
“Would you prefer warm mutton and potatoes for supper or stale bread and cold cheese? I can’t cook without a fire. The choice is yours.”
He strode to the parlor to retrieve his cloak while she contemplated how to stretch this evening’s meal. Perhaps adding a few more vegetables to the stew and baking another loaf of bread would do. She and Charlie could forego a few pieces of the mutton she’d tossed into the mix.
“I warn you, Miss Marsden,” Eastbourne said as he returned, swinging the cloak about his broad shoulders with a casual arrogance bred by years of command. “Don’t even consider locking me out.”
In truth, she hadn’t. The Eastbourne family was too powerful to be trifled with and she’d done all she could to keep out of their way. In any event, the Marsden family had always welcomed the lost and helpless into their home and would continue to do so even after the last morsel was spent. The earl’s clan, on the other hand, was practiced in shutting everyone out – even young Charlie, one of their own.
She marched to the back door and unfastened the latch. “Keep the wood dry or it will pop and sizzle and fill the house with smoke, but never burn.”
“I was a soldier for many years, forced to endure much worse than a little rain. I know how to gather wood, Miss Marsden. I’ve even started a campfire two or three hundred times.”
“Then this should be an easy task for you.” She opened the door and let him out, briefly contemplating his statement while awaiting his return.
He must have been fighting on the Peninsula, she realized, busy subduing Napoleon’s forces while his elder brother, Charles Hawke, had been busy seducing her cousin, Laura. Her innocent cousin had fallen in love with the handsome man, claiming the sweetness of his smile and beauty of his green eyes had melted her resistance.
Julia, more cautious than her cousin by nature, knew better than to fall victim to the charms of the Eastbourne men. The devastating Eastbourne eyes were as dark and forbidding as the shadows cast upon the emerald meadow by Friar’s Crag. Indeed, everyone knew Friar’s Crag was dangerous, that those drawn to its heights invariably slipped off its jagged rocks and plummeted to their deaths. Laura had been drawn to Charles Hawke much as those foolhardy climbers had been drawn to that dangerous peak. A few soft kisses in the moonlight, a cruel promise of marriage, and Laura was his for the taking… and dead before the year was out, leaving a baby boy in Julia’s care.
Lord Eastbourne pounded on the door. She hastily opened it to let him in, allowing rain and violent wind to pour into the kitchen along with the earl and his burden. “Where shall I put the wood?” he asked, shaking water off his wool cloak as a dog might shake water off its sleek coat of fur.
“In the bin by the hearth.” She fastened the latch before following him. “Here, let me take your cloak.”
He eyed her with obvious surprise.
She, too, was surprised by her own slip of politeness. The sense of courtesy was ingrained in her, learned under the guidance of her father who had never spoken harshly against anyone, not even the Eastbourne family who deserved it.
Though she was not as kind or gentle as her father, neither was she prone to rudeness. In truth, there was more to think about than merely hurting Lord Eastbourne’s pride. Charlie’s well-being was of greater concern and she would do nothing to further overset the boy, for he’d experienced more than enough excitement for one day. The sooner she restored their simple, daily routine and returned calm to their home, the better. “I’ll bring Charlie into the kitchen. He likes to watch me prepare supper.”
“I’ll carry the lad in.”
“No, you need to dry off. And I’d appreciate your help in starting the fire.” She opened the linen cupboard and withdrew two towels, the larger one to blot the soil and water stains from his finely made clothes – oh, they were so obviously of the finest quality. Savile Row, no doubt. And the smaller towel to wipe the rain from his hair. “Here, let me have your jacket. I’ll work the stains out of it as soon as I’ve put the stew to simmer.”
She set his jacket on the back of the rocking chair beside the hearth, then hurried into the sitting room. Charlie was, as always, settled by the large window that ran along the sheltered wall and offered an excellent view of the flowers.
This was Charlie’s favorite spot in the house to read or watch the play of nature in the garden. When weather permitted, he sat outdoors and basked in his chair beside the bluebells. Too often lately, she’d found him talking and laughing animatedly with his imaginary friends. Unfortunately, there was little she could do about it other than banish him to his room and that was something she would never do.
It wasn’t fair to punish the poor boy for creating a make-believe world when so few children his own age lived nearby. Charlie rarely had real friends come to visit. “Will you join us in the kitchen, sweetling?”
He smiled brightly. “I like him, Julia. I think Uncle Douglas is nice.”
“Mmm.” A vague reply was better than spilling her true feelings which she’d already made clear with disastrous results. No, better to keep the boy happy for now.
Charlie was all giggles by the time they returned to the kitchen. She wheeled his chair to the sturdy wooden table then fetched a chess set from the table’s drawer. “Do you play, Lord Eastbourne?”
He had been kneeling by the hearth, stoking the cooking fire, but rose with a shrug upon hearing her question. “A little.”
She watched him as he stood framed in the fire’s glow. He looked elegant and imposing, the very image of a noble lord. The gray silk of his vest and matching cravat shimmered brightly against the firelight. The dark superfine of his breeches molded perfectly to his muscled thighs and his shirt of finest lawn outlined his broad chest. There was something quite spectacular about the earl, something that jolted her senses and jumbled her usually reasoned thoughts.
“Thank you for the towel.”
Their hands grazed again as he handed the larger one back to her.
“Not at all.” Clearly, Laura was not the only Marsden female dangerously attracted to Eastbourne men.
No! She wasn’t attracted to this man.
She wanted him to go away and never come back.
Yet, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing a glance as he absently brushed his dark mane back into place with his fingers. “Don’t mind about my cloak and jacket, Miss Marsden. My valet will see to my clothes as soon as I return to town.”
“As you wish.” She turned to start their supper while he settled beside Charlie and helped him set the chessmen on the board.
“Do you think you can beat me, lad?” Lord Eastbourne teased.
Charlie giggled. “I know I can, Uncle Douglas.”
“Then let’s have a go,” he said, casually tossing one arm over the back of his chair as he settled in to play against Charlie.
&nbs
p; Lord Eastbourne was of the haut monde, of that there was no doubt, Julia mused. He moved with grace and a commanding ease, but nobility of rank did not necessarily mean one was of noble character. Indeed, Julia considered most of Lord Eastbourne’s peers to be quite low in character and expected that he would prove no better.
What was she to do about him?
Despite the gentle scene, she cooking while the men joked and played, a volcanic tension flowed between her and the earl. She and Charlie were completely at his mercy and, by the occasional glances he tossed her way, it was obvious he would not let her forget it. Yet, he took care to be very gentle with Charlie.
She was thankful for that small gesture.
“Oh, brilliant move!” the earl said with a groan a short while later.
Charlie burst into sweetest laughter. “I have you now!”
“We’ll see about that!”
“Check!” the little scamp cried out. “I’ll have you in checkmate within the next three moves, Uncle Douglas.”
“Not a chance.”
“You’re right. I’ll have you in two moves.”
“The devil you will,” he said, then burst out laughing when Charlie did exactly that. “Who taught you to play so well?”
Julia held her breath, fearing another mention of King Cadeyrn.
“Vicar Marsden did,” the boy said innocently. “Julia, the stew smells great. I’m hungry. Is it ready yet?”
“Almost.” She stirred the pot while Lord Eastbourne returned the chessmen to their positions and challenged Charlie to another game. She allowed herself to be taken in by the pair’s antics, cheering eagerly when Charlie won another round.
To Lord Eastbourne’s credit, he cheered as enthusiastically for the boy’s victory.
The evening passed swiftly, the undercurrent of tension between her and the earl set aside for the moment. Then, after dinner, Eastbourne and Charlie returned to the sitting room while she cleaned up.
She heard snippets of their conversation as it carried down the hall, heard boyish laughter, and finally realized Lord Eastbourne was reading him a bedtime story. Ah, bedtime. She bit her lip in consternation. Where was she going to put the earl?
They couldn’t sleep under the same roof, it simply wasn’t proper. Neither could she banish him into the stormy night, much as she would like to do just that. The shed or the barn would never do, and she couldn’t send him back to the Ashness Inn. He’d lose his way in the fells, fall off a crag… anything might happen to him.
Not that she cared.
But the local magistrate might frown upon finding a dead earl in his jurisdiction.
She considered handing Lord Eastbourne a blanket and letting him fend for himself in St. Lodore’s Church. There, he could settle his large frame on one of the pews or in the back room that had served as her father’s office when he was alive. Sighing, she dismissed the notion as quickly as it had come to mind. The church was unheated and would be as cold as an ice cave. She’d just have to figure out the sleeping arrangements later.
After putting away the clean dishes, she put more water on to boil and placed gingerbread cake on a tea tray. The Marsden family had few possessions, the fine tea service being one of them. It seemed foolish to carry on the pretense of gentility when she hadn’t a shilling to her name, but she wasn’t going to let the proud earl see just how destitute she had become.
She had some pride, too.
Goodness, not even Charlie realized just how dire their situation was and she intended to keep it that way as long as possible.
She carried the tray into the sitting room and found Charlie cozily seated on his uncle’s lap, listening intently to the last of his story. A fire blazed in the hearth, casting the room in soft amber light. There was something reassuring about having a man in the house – not this particular man – but, in general, she would have liked to have a man about to share her days and lonely nights.
Charlie was also starved for male companionship. He’d taken to his uncle as readily as a frog took to a lily pad.
“Here, let me help you.” Lord Eastbourne carefully set Charlie back in his chair, then crossed the room and took the burden from her hands.
She’d used her best tray, a silver one with ornate handles, to carry the teapot, cups and saucers, along with a sugar container, small ewer of milk, and slices of gingerbread cake. The display must have seemed shabby to his jaded eye, but if it was, he didn’t show it.
She acted the hostess, as was her place when her father had been alive and the vicarage buzzing with activity. Lord Eastbourne took his tea with a spot of milk. She took hers with far too much sugar, but allowed herself the one extravagance since she’d scrimped on everything else.
“That’s what makes you so sweet,” her father used to tease. She doubted the earl found her that way at all.
Charlie finished his cake and then let out a yawn.
“It’s past your bedtime,” she and the earl said at the same moment, a coincidence she found most irritating. He’d never met the boy before today. What right did he have to determine Charlie’s schedule?
Charlie laughed. “Can Uncle Douglas tuck me in tonight?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. He doesn’t know your routine or where your belongings are,” she explained in practical terms, though the boy’s request had also hurt her heart.
“I can show him. Anyway, you always fuss over me.” He made a moue of distaste.
“Nothing wrong with a few hugs and kisses,” she grumbled, certain the Eastbourne family had never shown any affection toward each other. Cold and heartless, that’s what all of them were.
“Sure, for a two-year-old child. But I’m a grown boy.”
Eastbourne gazed at her in surprise, then he shook his head and let out a soft chuckle. “You won’t mind the female attention when you’re older, Charlie. We’ll both tuck you in. I’ll have to learn sooner or later.”
Not while she had breath left in her, Julia silently vowed.
*
Douglas followed Julia as she wheeled the boy out of the sitting room into the hall and through a quaint blue door with a rounded top. He couldn’t help but notice the soft sway of her hips as she walked, or that she was nicely rounded in all the right places. Her legs, he could tell by the outline of her gown, were long and slender.
“What do you think, Uncle Douglas?”
He forced his gaze from Julia and turned his attention to Charlie and the small room they had just entered. The walls were decorated with intricate drawings of not only of St. Lodore’s Church, but of mythical scenes of faeries in their royal court, frolicking in meadows and gardens. There were also drawings of fire-breathing dragons, their rendering so real, he could make out the details of their shimmering scales. “The two black dragons are Brihann and Bloodaxe,” Charlie said. “The red dragon is Mordain. Necros is the amber dragon and Python is the emerald dragon. And these scenes are of the faerie king, Cadeyrn. He’s king of the Woodlands and that makes him High King of all the faeries.”
“Did you paint these?” he asked Julia, determined to stifle his admiration. Not only were they beautifully done, but revealed an intelligence and creative aspect to her nature.
She frowned lightly. “No, Charlie did.”
“Well done, lad.” In addition to talent, the boy had a vivid imagination and a knowledge of the surrounding countryside. Obviously, his mythical characters had been drawn in local surroundings, and though he did not wish to give Julia credit, he had to admit she had not kept the boy cooped up inside despite his infirmity.
Douglas surveyed the small room more closely and nodded his approval. The bed was sturdy, the linens fresh, and the curtains delicate but not feminine. The boy’s window overlooked the bluebell garden and bookshelves lined the opposite wall. A writing desk stood on one side of the bed and a functional nightstand with a basin and ewer stood on the other.
Whatever her faults, and he knew Julia had them, she’d taken good care of
the boy.
“How big is your bedchamber at Eastbourne, Uncle Douglas?”
“Enormous, as big as this entire house.”
Charlie’s eyes grew wide in gleeful amazement. “I’d like to see it someday.”
“You will. I promise. Soon.”
Julia stepped between them, gently taking Charlie by the hand and leading him the few steps to his bed. “Enough dawdling, young man. Let me help you out of your jacket.”
She moved efficiently, stripping him out of his clothes and into his nightshirt, then helped him to wash his hands and face. “Don’t forget your prayers,” she said while folding his clothes.
“I’ve said them already.”
“You have?”
“Yes, Julia. I prayed and prayed, and that’s how Uncle Douglas came to us.”
“It’s time for bed,” she said, letting out a ragged breath as she bent down to kiss him.
Douglas bent over him, as well. “Good night, Charlie. Pleasant dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He left the room, allowing the boy and Julia a moment alone. She seemed to need it, though he wasn’t certain why he should care. However, he remained near the doorway, able to hear the exchange between the pair, and was surprised when Julia began a simple bedtime story instead of issuing further warning against the Eastbourne family.
Once upon a time in a magical kingdom there lived a young prince. His parents, the king and queen, loved him very much…
Douglas turned away with a sigh.
He’d meant to take the boy away this very evening, but his plans had changed the moment Charlie had gotten up from his chair and immediately struggled to regain his breath. That incident had shaken Douglas. No wonder Homer had gotten so riled.
So he’d changed his plan and arranged to meet Julia in the sitting room after she’d put the boy to bed. He wasn’t certain what he was going to say, other than make clear the boy would come with him to Eastbourne with or without her cooperation.
