“I will watch the children while you talk with him,” Irene whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the viscount. “You were kind enough to listen to my troubles, so I can repay the favor now.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed the kitchen maid’s hand, then squared her shoulders.
Keeping her polite smile in place, Maris returned to where Lord Trelawney was talking to the twins. She waited for a break in their conversation about the dolls the girls were eager to show off. After sending the twins to play with Irene, she watched them scurry across the room to sit at the table.
“Thank you for bringing Bertie back,” she said in lieu of what she really wanted to tell him. She could not forget the shock and hurt in his eyes when she had pulled away from him. The sight had haunted her for the past week. He had brought forth memories she yearned to keep buried forever, but he had not done so intentionally. She owed him an apology, but how could she say she was sorry without an explanation?
Lord Trelawney clasped his hands behind his back as a faint smile flickered across his face. “I should thank you for rescuing me from a discussion of dolls and the new gowns you apparently have made them.”
“Mrs. Hitchens gave us some scraps.”
“You should see if she has any more of this material in her cupboards.” He held up a piece of green silk.
“She may have more scraps. Do you wish me to inquire, my lord?”
“No need.” He handed her the tiny gown she had sewn while the children napped. “Bertie asked if I would take him on an outing.”
“I will remind him that he needs to wait for an adult to make plans for him.” She kept her gaze on the doll’s dress.
“I don’t want to subdue the boy’s spirit, so don’t chide him. However, I agree he should not slip away from the nursery without alerting you.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
“And you?”
Surprise brought her head up, and her gaze locked with his before she could halt herself. Emotions flashed through his eyes, but she saw hints of happiness and anticipation she had not previously. Her heart did a flip in her chest. Had she helped lessen the sorrow that often dimmed his expression?
“You are asking me, my lord?” She did not want to make the mistake of thinking it was more than a rhetorical question.
“Yes.”
“Of course I need to know where the children are. That is what I am supposed to do.”
“And you always do what you are supposed to?”
“I try.”
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. That released her from his strange hold on her.
“There is a vast sea of difference between yes and I try when answering that question,” he said.
Maris laughed with him. She was unsure if she could trust Lord Trelawney—or anyone else—fully ever again, but she appreciated his sense of humor. Before his first visit to the nursery, he had seemed grim, always rushing from one end of the estate to the other.
Had being with the children brought this change? If so, Lady Caroline had been wise to suggest he practice with youngsters in order to learn how to charm Lady Gwendolyn and her children at the hunt.
Something sharp cut into Maris’s heart at the thought of him courting Lady Gwendolyn. Don’t be want-witted! Lord Trelawney saw Maris and the time he spent with her as a means to an end.
Nothing more.
If she believed more was possible, then she was an even greater fool than when she had believed Lord Bellemore would heed her when she tried to countermand his guest’s lies. Hadn’t she learned the nobility saw everyone else as tools to get what they wanted?
No! That protest came from deep inside her. She did not want to believe Lord Trelawney was like that. Hadn’t he asked her opinion? She could not imagine Lord Bellemore, who had known her since her birth, caring what she thought. He would have heeded Belinda’s assertion if she had said Lord Litchfield was feeding him a feast of lies. Belinda was his daughter, not a charity case living under his roof.
But why hadn’t Belinda come to Maris’s defense? Her friend had stood there, not meeting her eyes, while her father raged at Maris for being an ungrateful wench. Belinda had said nothing even when Lord Bellemore demanded Maris apologize to the man who had attacked her. Unable to do that, she had fled with little more than the clothes on her back.
“If I may…” Lord Trelawney’s voice freed her from the dark cloud of pain and grief.
“Yes?”
“I would like to take a walk.”
“A walk? With the children?” Maris knew she sounded witless.
“And with you to help me keep them from running in every possible direction.” He cocked his head and gave her the smile that set butterflies dancing a quadrille inside her. “You will come with us, won’t you?”
“Most certainly.”
“I thought the children would like to fly their kite again. Up on the moor the wind is always brisk, and we won’t have to worry about them getting too close to the cliffs.”
“Up kite!” Lulu stood, and her chair fell to the floor with a crash.
The other children, including Bertie, who jumped down from the window bench after a slight hesitation, crowded around him. They all talked at once. Who would fly the kite first. How high it would go. What speed they needed to run to get it into the air.
“Hush!” Maris said. “If you don’t listen, you will never get answers to your questions.”
Her request lowered the volume, but not the number of questions fired at her and Lord Trelawney. When she saw his grin, she could not help smiling. The children’s joy was infectious, and she wanted to enjoy every moment with them and the viscount.
With Irene’s help, Maris got the children ready to go. They convinced Bertie to stand still long enough to button his coat, but then he ran over to Lord Trelawney.
Irene bobbed a curtsy to the viscount, then looked at Maris. “Thank you again.”
“Anytime.”
“I appreciate that more than you can know.” Color flashed up her face as her eyes shifted to Lord Trelawney. She whirled and rushed from the room at a speed that would have gotten the children a reprimand.
Maris saw the viscount’s curiosity, but he did not ask why Irene had thanked her. She was glad, because she could not reveal how the kitchen maid had come to discuss a problem involving another young woman in the kitchen. Irene had not brought her concerns to either Mrs. Ford or Mrs. Hitchens, because she wanted them to believe she could handle a difficult coworker on her own. Maris had listened while Irene worked out a solution by talking about the situation.
Maris found herself willing to listen because no one at Bellemore Court had listened to her.
And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.
The familiar verse from the book of Luke whispered in her head. She was amazed the words should come to mind after her loss of faith that night in the book room and afterward.
She had no time to ponder that puzzle as she took the twins by the hand, and Lord Trelawney did the same with Bertie. She tried not to think how they resembled a happy family as they walked out into the windy day.
A closed carriage awaited them. After assisting the children in, Maris was not surprised when Lord Trelawney held out his hand to help her. His excellent manners compelled him to hand in a woman, even a servant. As her gloved fingers settled on his palm, the layers of leather could not halt the bolt of heat leaping from him to her. She calmed the quiver racing through her and kept her eyes on her feet as she climbed in.
Perhaps Lord Trelawney had not felt the sensation. He sat beside Bertie, facing backward, and began chatting with the children. Maris folded her hands in her lap while she listened to their excited voices.
As the carriage followed the curving road to the moor, the dull rhythm of the beam engine could be heard. “We are not going near the mines, are we?” Maris did not want the children chasing a kite in an area that might be pocked with the entrances to aband
oned mines.
“In the opposite direction.”
“Toward Dartmoor?”
He smiled. “Yes, but we will be many miles from the place where the prisoners-of-war are kept.”
“I am glad to hear that.” She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold, as she thought of how narrow their escape had been from the French pirates who tried to capture Porthlowen. Those men were now behind the walls of Dartmoor Prison and would be given no chance to slip away again.
“There is an open field that will be the perfect. As well, there are ancient foundations for the children to explore.”
“Foundations?” Her brows dipped toward each other. “Won’t it be dangerous?”
“Not these. They are at ground level. The walls themselves are no more than two or three feet high. Raymond and I spent many hours as children exploring the circular foundations.”
“When you were older than these children?”
“Yes, but you and I are here to watch them.”
“True. How many of these foundations are there?”
“We found more than a dozen hidden among the gorse and grass. When I asked my father how long they had been there and who built them, he said no one knew for certain.”
“Did he know what they were for?”
“He guessed they were storage or shelters for shepherds whose sheep grazed on the common lands.” Shifting, Arthur gave Bertie space to get on his knees and look out the window. “Father suggested I check the book room and see if there was something there to help me. It took me several days, but I discovered a history of the area written more than two hundred years ago. However, the author was baffled by the foundations, which were considered ancient even then.”
“Have you learned anything else about them?” She put out both arms to keep the twins from sliding off the seat as they knelt like Bertie so they could see outside, as well.
“Only that there are other places in Cornwall with this type of foundation hidden in the weeds. Most are on the moors, not far from the sea. The book’s author was far more intrigued by the old burial barrows and fogous.”
“Fogous? What are those?”
“You will hear people call them fuggy holes, but they are properly called fogou. The word comes from the Cornish for cave. They are underground rooms where food once was stored. But you don’t need to worry. We never found a fogou here.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Not as much as when I was a boy and hoped we could find a tunnel to play in.”
“I am glad there are no tunnels. I am sure at least one of the children would need to be retrieved, and I have no wish to crawl in among spiders and mice and who knows what else.”
Lord Trelawney laughed. “True. If you wish to learn more, Miss Oliver, you are welcome to use our book room.”
“No!”
At her sharp cry, the children stared at her. Lord Trelawney did the same before asking, “What is wrong, Miss Oliver?”
Why hadn’t she thought before she reacted? She could not explain how the idea of entering a book room made her stomach twist. To say that would open the door to other questions and threaten the facade she had created for Maris Oliver, nurse. She could not endure the idea of Lord Trelawney regarding her with disgust, as Lord Bellemore had when he cast her out of the only home she had. Or watch him turn away as Belinda did, as if the sight of her were repulsive.
“I am sorry,” Maris said, having no choice but to devise another lie. “I thought one of the children was going to slip off the seat.”
That explanation satisfied the youngsters, but Lord Trelawney said, “As long as nothing else is wrong…”
“Other than me overreacting, no.” How many more lies could she tell before her tongue turned to stone? But what good had telling the truth done her at Bellemore Court?
The viscount settled against the seat. “Why don’t I have the book brought up to the nursery? When you have finished reading it, I would like to know your opinion.”
“Thank you. I look forward to that.”
“Good.” He glanced out as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Here we are. Or as close as the vehicle can take us. It is a short walk.” He held up his hand. “And before you ask, Miss Oliver, I assure you I am more than capable of walking that distance as well as helping the children fly their kite. However, I would prefer if you don’t tell my family or Mr. Hockbridge I was running about on the end of a kite string.”
Warmth slid up her face when he gave her a conspiratorial smile and a wink.
“This color is charming,” he said, brushing her cheek with his crooked finger.
She should look away, but she melted into his gaze. There was nowhere else she wanted to be and no one else she wanted to be with than him. He was kind. He was amusing. He made her feel as if she were an important part of his world.
As he leaned toward her, she held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Oh, how she wished he would! His finger glided down her cheek to tilt her chin at the perfect angle for his lips to find hers.
Suddenly a small form pushed between them. Bertie! The little boy grabbed the door handle to open it. “Go! Go! Go!” His excited shouts were echoed by the girls.
Maris was unsure if she or Lord Trelawney or both of them pulled back, as if the thread tying them together had severed. She began to laugh. She could not halt herself, especially when the viscount joined in along with the children, who had no idea why they were laughing. In truth, it was beyond ludicrous a little boy should act as her conscience, reminding her of her place, which was not in the viscount’s arms.
He soon would be marrying another woman. Maris could not forget again, no matter how much her lips yearned to feel his against them.
Chapter Seven
Circular foundations were scattered across the field, some on one side of a low ridge, the rest on the other. Each circle was approximately eight feet across, and a break in the wall marked a doorway. Grass had grown over most of the stones. Dried with the coming of winter, the blades crackled underfoot.
Bertie, Lulu and Molly ran to the first foundation. They raced in and out, chasing each other and laughing. They did not pause before they did the same in a second circle, then a third. As the girls moved to a fourth, Bertie climbed up the stone to stand on top. He raised his hands high as he jumped up and down.
Maris let them play with childish abandon. They might scrape a knee or a hand if they fell, but the walls were too low for them to hurt themselves more.
She entered the first circle and saw stones set into the earth in the center. Two bowls were cut into them, the right size for a pestle. She wondered if that was the purpose of the stone depressions.
“Can you feel it?” Lord Trelawney asked as he approached. He carried the kite and spindle of string.
“What?”
“The weight of time on this place. If the book I read is right, people were living here around the time of Jesus’s birth and maybe before. Wouldn’t it be amazing if the stones could tell us what they have witnessed through the millennia?”
Maris stepped out of the open-sided foundation. “I never imagined you to be a romantic about stones.”
He set his foot on top of a low wall and rested his elbow on his knee. Watching Bertie dance along a nearby circle while the girls clapped to the tune he sang, the viscount said, “Not stones, Miss Oliver, but the people who placed them there. I am curious how they lived here, where they came from and why they left.”
“We may never know.”
Lulu ran over to Lord Trelawney. “Up kite?”
“You should not interrupt,” Maris said, squatting so her eyes were level with the little girl’s, “when others are talking. You must wait and take your turn.”
She nodded. Barely a second passed before she asked, “Wuwu’s turn?”
Maris could not keep from smiling as she heard Lord Trelawney try to conceal his laughter, turning it into an inelegant snort.
“Yes, Lulu,” she said. “It is your
turn.”
Lulu spun to look at the viscount. “Up kite?”
“Go to the top of the hill past the stones,” he said, gesturing beyond the foundations. “We shall fly it there.”
Cheering, Lulu ran to the others. They sped up the small hill.
As she walked with Lord Trelawney, Maris was surprised when he asked, “How do you make Lulu feel listened to when she does not want to listen?” He stopped, so Maris did, too. “How do you offer a child comfort with such ease?”
“Simply remember how your parents comforted you. Learn from what they did right and from what they did wrong. Try to do as well and try to do better.”
His brows shot up. “So simple?”
“Yes. If you would like my advice—”
“I do.”
She began to walk toward the children, not wanting him to see her face after he had said the words he would repeat when he took Lady Gwendolyn for his wife. “No two situations and no two children are alike. What do you know about Lady Gwendolyn’s children?”
“There are two. A girl and a boy, I believe.”
“You don’t know the games they play?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know their ages?”
“They are young like our children, but beyond that I don’t know.”
Maris’s heart danced foolishly at his words. Saying “our children” was no more than a turn of a phrase.
Calming her rapid heartbeat, she asked, “Do you know their names?”
“No.” His expression was half smile, half grimace. “It would seem I know nothing about them.”
“You know more than you think. You spent time with Lady Gwendolyn from an early age, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And her husband? Did I hear you met him when you both were at school?”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing.
“If you knew Lady Gwendolyn and Mr. Cranford as children, remember how they acted then. Chances are good the children have similar temperaments.”
Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set Page 32
