by Heather Boyd
One of his brows rose. “Is that so?”
“Yes, of course. Why, you’ve hardly changed at all since I was last here as a girl,” she promised.
His eyes narrowed. “There’s no need to butter me up.”
“I wasn’t speaking untruths,” she promised but then began to feel uncomfortable.
Uncle began to tap on the arm of his chair. “What is it you want with me, Niece? And I do know you want something.”
She dropped her gaze a little. “My husband’s sudden passing revealed how unwanted I was in his family. They had intended to bind me in marriage to a man I’d never met.”
“You should be grateful they considered your future at all by arranging a marriage,” Uncle Vyne suggested.
“I was not consulted until it was nearly too late to avoid the connection. I believe the marriage would have brought further disgrace upon me.” She lifted her gaze to her uncle. “I feel sure my family would not have approved of me marrying a potato farmer. He was not wealthy or important. He was not a suitable connection.”
“That describes your unfortunate marriage, too.”
“I was young and in love. But I am older now and ready to make amends.”
Vyne narrowed his eyes. “You fled from them, just as you did from your father’s home.”
She wet her lips. “I had no choice. Mr. Roper has not allowed me to write to any member of my family since my husband’s death. I wanted to ask your advice.”
Vyne started nodding again. “You did the right thing coming here first. Your father washed his hands of you long ago.”
Ruby winced.
“And he would not wish you to return home to spoil your younger sisters’ chance of making a good match by stirring up that old scandal you made again.”
She had worried about them, too. “What should I do then? I need to provide for my son. Pip needs a home and a gentleman’s education befitting a member of our family. Will you help us?”
“At least you possess the wit to come to me. You are your father’s daughter, all right, but at least you’re honest about why you want my support,” Lord Vyne grumbled. “Alexander always had his hand out.”
Ruby knew that. Father supported his family as well as he did because of the grudging generosity of his elder brother. For herself, she needed very little. “I hoped you might take an interest in my son’s future.”
Uncle pursed his lips as he studied them both for several uncomfortable minutes. His expression was inscrutable. Ruby glanced at her son, who’d remained silent at her side, and she saw that he was drowsing off to sleep. She quickly nudged him until he opened his eyes wide again.
“How old is the boy?” Uncle asked at last.
“Pip is four years and five months old.”
“Healthy? Strong?”
“Yes. Pip is very smart, too. I have already begun teaching him his letters, and he is a very keen student of mathematics and geography.”
Uncle waved her remarks away. “I will consider later what I might do for him. As for you…”
Ruby held her breath.
He squinted even more. “I will require something in return for any assistance. I will expect you to marry a man of my choosing to wipe away the disgrace you brought upon the family,” he warned her. “I will have the final say, young lady. I will brook no argument, or you may leave tonight.”
Ruby had been expecting such a requirement, but from her father, not her uncle. She did need protection, and a biddable husband would certainly help her cause, too. It was not the way she’d want to make a second marriage, but Ruby was prepared to say yes to any good man recommended to her, if it meant food in her son’s belly.
She inclined her head. “I would be pleased to meet any gentleman you and my aunt might suggest, Uncle.”
“I expect you to comport yourself as a lady while you are here, Mrs. Roper,” Uncle said suddenly. “You will not speak of your unfortunate marriage to anyone after today without expressing the deepest regret for your past actions.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Ruby agreed, but her cheeks burned. Ruby would never regret her marriage to Liam. “I promise I will give you no trouble, Uncle, but might I speak of my husband with my aunt?”
“No, you may not,” he snapped. “Keep your son out of sight for the time being, too. Now, off with you before I change my mind.”
Ruby fled for the door, dragging Pip along in her wake.
Chapter 5
Hector could have spent this Christmas in London, gambling, drinking, and whoring with his closest friends. Instead, he was sitting before a massive marble fireplace, feeling the warmth caress his cheeks in frozen Derbyshire. Hector wore a pair of new wool breeches, his best Wellington boots, and had rested his feet upon a tasseled velvet stool. But there was no one to see his sartorial splendor—he was utterly alone and quietly miserable in his solitude.
He glanced around the cavernous library with weary resignation. He doubted half the titles up there had been read in years, but they certainly looked impressive. That was the sad story of The Vynes. It might impress at first glance, but when you looked beneath, spent any length of time here, you soon found out that was as far as the thrill ever went.
Lord Vyne rarely came downstairs, or so he’d been told over his lonely breakfast. So upon hearing that, Hector had toured the downstairs rooms and elected to make himself at home in this chamber until Meg and Clement arrived. Less work for the servants. Less disturbance for him. He had everything he needed within easy reach.
Across the room, there was an exceptional array of spirits to consume later. Hector would eat his luncheon upon Lord Vyne’s huge and unused mahogany desk and put his feet up on it afterward. No one would know because no one was here. But he expected that by afternoon, he’d be ensconced in one of the four deep-padded window seats, which provided outstanding views the estate, even in inclement weather. Or perhaps he’d take a nap.
A storm raged outside just now, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d bother to stir himself to go and look about the district or visit the local tavern. A pity. There had been a charming piece of fancy at the distant inn he’d enjoyed upon his visit last year. He’d planned to see her again, and might even now have been entangled with her but for the foul weather.
But Meg had still not yet arrived, so he was stuck waiting for her to come. Once he’d spoken a few words with his sister and brother-in-law, dined with them once or twice, he’d probably slip away discreetly and avoid those disapproving scenes Meg was so fond of creating in recent years when he drank too much.
But in this weather, until Meg arrived, Hector would be better off amusing himself right here in this warm, well-appointed chamber.
“Here is your journal, my lord.”
Hector was startled by the abruptness of hearing his valet’s voice ringing out right behind him, and yelped. “Would you please learn to scuff your boot as you enter a room, Parker. If I were advanced in years and possessed of a weak heart, you’d have me finished off, and you’d be seeking new employment,” he complained even as he held out his hand for the journal.
“Apologies, my lord,” Parker murmured as a slight weight settled on Hector’s palm.
He brought the journal to his chest and caressed the familiar leather. “What news?”
“No one is talking still. Not about her or the child.”
“Is she still here?”
“Indeed, yes. A large breakfast tray was sent to her chamber early.”
“One to the nursery, too?”
“No. The nursery remains empty.”
Wealthy women did not often share their beds, their chambers, with their offspring. They shunted them off to the servants to care for their needs. Lord Clement had been assigned four servants by his father when he was a boy, and Hector, from a slightly less-well-off family, had been granted two. “What about her servants?”
“There are plenty about, but none of them seem to belong to the lady. I was curious about the chil
d and went up to see for myself. The nursery is empty and quite cold. Nothing is being done to make it ready for habitation yet.”
“Perhaps the child has gone.”
“No one has left the estate since the carriage departed last night, my lord. Not in this weather.” He shrugged. “There is a visitor expected in a few days, though.”
“Who is it?”
“No one would say.”
“Ah, well that’s something to look forward to.” Hopefully not another of Vyne’s unwelcome surprises like last year. Last year, Vyne had tried to match his son with the daughter of one of his toadies. “Keep your ears open.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Hector hoped that whoever was coming was someone nearer to his age rather than Lord Vyne’s. Older men tended to become stodgy and humorless. Lord Vyne was a prime example of what happened when men reached a certain age.
He peered at his valet, who was still hovering at his side. “Any word from Lord Vyne?”
“None, my lord. I believe he does not rise early, though.”
“Or at all. Well, perhaps I’ll see Vyne in the afternoon.” But for now, it seemed the morning was likely free to spend as he liked. He couldn’t imagine Clement forging on in this dreadful weather, not with Meg along and likely complaining of the cold every half-mile. “You can go. Why don’t you go butter up a maid and find out more about our mysterious lady guest?”
The fellow’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Shall I take that as an order to consort, my lord?”
He shrugged. “As close as you’ll ever get from me, I should think. But remember, I’ll not rescue you from any below-stairs scandal should you get a child on any chit. You’d have to marry her etcetera, etcetera.”
“Never fear. Like you, I value my independence far too much to make such a careless mistake with a woman.” He bowed and sauntered from the room, leaving Hector to his solitary comforts.
But first.
The journal.
Hector got to his feet, rounded the impressive library desk, and sat down in the well-padded leather chair. He reached for quill and ink and added a few words about his arrival at The Vynes. There wasn’t very much to say, unfortunately.
December 18 ~ Dreadful weather. Arrived before Meg and Clement. Lord Vyne indisposed to conversation. Port before bedtime an excellent vintage. Slept well. Breakfast ham was a little dry. Mysterious guests intrigue me.
Chore done, Hector closed the book. He’d kept a daily record of his life from the moment he’d inherited the title. In those pages were scandals and conquests, joy and heartbreak. All the things he’d experienced. He did not censor himself. He wrote the unvarnished truth so that his own son would know more of him than Hector had of his father.
He was about to rise from the desk when a child suddenly raced into the room—a small boy, wearing a rumpled brown suit. The child’s face was narrow and pointed, hair pale and falling to his shoulders. The child laughed before flopping onto a wide velvet chaise.
A willowy beauty raced into the room, scolding someone called Pip about daring to run away. They did not see Hector sitting across the chamber, so they carried on with their own business.
The woman punched her hands to her hips but smiled down at the boy. “What am I going to do with you, young man?”
“Love me,” the boy replied, giggling as he wriggled on his back on the velvet chaise looking up at her.
“Oh, I do love you, my lad,” the woman said as she scooped up the child and hugged him tightly. “More than you’ll ever know. Forever and ever and ever.”
It was a sweet scene, but it was a private moment he shouldn’t have witnessed. He ought to announce himself before they burst into songs about love and other such nonsense.
Hector stood and cleared his throat.
But he wasn’t quite prepared for the impact of the mother’s beauty when she turned to face him. The woman was stunningly pretty with wavy dark hair and wide blue eyes. Her full red lips parted in surprise; her delicate, ring-less left hand rose to the base of her throat. He feared for a moment that she might scream. But instead, she quickly curtsied and apologized.
The boy bowed, too, quite flawlessly for someone so young.
Hector approached them slowly, drawn in by the pair and the chance for conversation. The lady was a fetching wench indeed, one he felt keen to become acquainted with. Perhaps Hector might just get his Christmas wish for an enjoyable holiday after all.
Hector extended one leg and swept into a deep bow worthy of a court appointment. Women tended to enjoy being treated like queens in their own right. “Forgive the start my presence must have caused you. You must be another of Lord Vyne’s Christmas house guests.”
The woman nodded. “How do you do?”
“Very well, and all the better for seeing you and your son.” Hector glanced around, but there was no one to introduce them. He wouldn’t let that dissuade him from talking to her, though. “I had started to feel I might be the only soul about the house, save for the servants.”
She looked toward the boy for a moment. “My son has an energetic disposition and is still of an age to think it funny to elude me. Forgive us the disturbance.”
“No apologies are necessary.” Hector looked at the child now, feeling he should acknowledge the boy if he wanted to make the best impression with the mother. He extended his hand. “How do you do? Pip, isn’t it?”
The boy nodded.
“You shouldn’t run away from your pretty mama like that. You could be easily lost in a house this size, and she might never find you. Make sure you stay close to her from now on.”
The boy hugged his mama’s skirts. “I won’t be lost.”
The woman hugged her son to her side. “Forgive me, but who are you?”
He didn’t mind that the woman made a bold request to find out his identity. She’d saved him the trouble of dropping his name and title into the conversation. “Lord Stockwick, madam.”
“I see,” she said, then her eyes narrowed. “Stockwick, did you say?”
“Indeed. I see you are familiar with the family name.”
“I was, once, but I’ve been away a long time. I remember an older man—with gray whiskers—held the title then.”
“Ah, you must be thinking of my father, whom I am happy to say I don’t at all resemble. There’s no gray in my whiskers, as you see. Were you very well acquainted with him?”
“Only in passing. I recall a daughter, though I am afraid it has been many years since I’ve thought of her. I cannot remember her name.”
“Margaret. Or perhaps you knew her as Meg.”
“Oh, yes. That’s it. Meg. We spent some time together right here. Well, upstairs in the nursery.”
“Then we are likely already acquainted, too.”
“I don’t recall meeting someone like you,” she began, her frown growing as she peered at him. “Unless…”
“Hector,” he supplied, and then smiled as she appeared to recognize his name.
But her eyes had narrowed upon him. “Oh, it’s you. I don’t suppose you’re here to return the silver bell you stole from me.”
“I…” He gaped, stunned. “Ruby Clement?”
“Ruby Roper. Mrs. Ruby Roper.” She scowled. “So will you at last admit the truth?”
“I…” he began, but then her request sank in. “I admit you accused me of theft of that ridiculous thing when we were children.”
“It was not ridiculous,” she argued, voice rising. “That bell meant a great deal to me.”
Hector punched his hands on his hips. “Well, I didn’t take it.”
“Do you swear?” she asked.
“Every day and every way I can,” he shot back. “I was falsely accused, and you owe me an apology.”
For a moment, Ruby seemed taken aback by his statement, but then her face pinked with a blush, and she looked down. Her child had moved between them, looking up at them with a bewildered expression.
Hector took a pace ba
ck, appalled by his heated outburst. He hadn’t seen Ruby in a dozen years, and she could still stir up his temper over something so inconsequential as a silver bell. The way she’d done as a girl, too. He remembered they had become bitter enemies over the lost bell, but those childish fits of rage belonged in his past.
Ruby Clement had lost a silver bell somewhere in this vast pile, and Hector had the unfortunate luck to be the last person to admit that he had seen it. And because he had, he’d been suspected—by Ruby, mostly. His possessions had been searched, and he’d even been deprived of a meal in a bid to entice him to admit the bell’s location. He should have kept his mouth shut instead of trying to help with the search. He’d never coveted the stupid bell, since he had one of his own.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I should not have raised my voice to you.”
“No, I beg you to forgive me, my lord. Apparently, some losses never lie quietly in the mind. I hadn’t truly thought of my bell in years.”
“Well, no harm done.” He took pains to calm his ruffled feathers. He was no longer a little boy who needed everyone to believe he spoke the truth. He swept his hair back from his eyes, noting his brow was damp and hot. “Well, that little disagreement between us certainly got the blood pumping through my veins on a day I thought would be utterly uneventful. No chance of being chilled for a while now, eh, Mrs. Roper? Would you care to sit down with me so we might conduct a more civilized conversation and renew our acquaintance? It has been some time since we last met. I’m sure much has happened since that we could catch up about. I must admit, I haven’t kept up with news from that side of Lord Vyne’s family.”
She shook her head and turned away. “I really should return Pip upstairs. Excuse me.”
Hector was keen not to let her go away yet. He had been rather bored until she’d swept into the room, and the chance to talk to a near-stranger was vastly more appealing than watching the snowfall outside. “If you’re worrying about Lord Vyne’s restriction denying the chance for children to be in the lower part of the mansion, I happen to have it on good authority that he rarely comes downstairs these days.”
