Ah yes, the horses the old nursemaid had mentioned before she’d fled into the night.
“I own several horses, but no ponies at this time. Perhaps on a warmer day I—” No. He would not get involved in this child’s life. The house was big enough they need see very little of one another until the boy could be sent off. “Perhaps the stable lad can give you a tour. Or your new nurse.”
Andrew looked at Mrs. Evans. “I called on Mrs. Whittington, and she has advised me there is a woman who might be suitable. I don’t know her name, but she is the sister of the bookseller. Do you know who I mean?”
“I do, my lord. A wonderful choice if she is available. Her name is Mrs. Townsend. She was nanny in a duke’s household before the children grew up. Then she came here to care for her daughter’s brood.”
“Fine. If you could arrange to meet with her and, if she’s agreeable, see if she can move in right away. I’ll speak to the steward. Please thank your niece for filling in.”
“I shall, sir. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
She rose, pulling the child up with her. “We bid you good night, sir. Cook informed me your dinner is about to be served if you are ready.”
“I am. Good night.” He gazed at George who stood stiffly next to the housekeeper. “I trust we will have many conversations in the future.”
The child swallowed twice and nodded before wrenching his hand free and running out into the hall.
Well, this parenting business isn’t so bad.
If only the child wasn’t the picture of his mother, a constant reminder of the woman who had ruined his life.
Stop. You ruined your own life.
He wasn’t likely to forget.
Chapter 11
Emily slipped her spoon into the blancmange and let the smooth concoction slide down her throat. She didn’t think she’d have an appetite tonight, but after Cardmore left, she found she was ravenous. She and Aunt Lily hadn’t changed for dinner. Strict rules followed by society were lax here. If Mama knew, she’d faint.
“Shall we take our tea here or in the drawing room, Emily?”
“Whichever is warmer.”
“Follow me then.”
The footman pulled back her chair, and Aunt Lily rose with the grace of a queen and led the way into the drawing room. The usual wood fire burned in the hearth. She seated herself close to the heat and let her back sink into the cushions.
“I’m not sure I can swallow tea. I ate too much,” Emily said. “Your cook is far superior to the one in the London townhouse.”
“She’s been here for a quarter of a century. I daresay she knows how to cook by now.”
Emily studied her aunt as the older woman reached down and removed her half boots, extending her toes toward the fire. Such a free spirit, she was. Emily had always wanted to be exactly like her.
“So what did you make of Cardmore’s revelations this afternoon? Did you know his son had survived?”
Emily sniffed her tea and then set the cup in a saucer. A pattern of tiny pink flowers circled the edge. It might make a good embroidery design for a garment, if she could copy it. She gazed into the fire before answering.
“I only knew Caroline died in childbirth. Not once did anyone say anything about the child. Like me, I believe most people assume the babe was stillborn.” She glanced at her aunt’s profile. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
“It may shock you, but I am not a busybody. I detest gossip although I admit to creating my share of it back in the day with my behavior. But no, this was new information. My dismay is not due to the announcement, however. I’m disappointed in Cardmore’s attitude. How can someone not love his own child?” She set her cup down with a thud and glared directly into Emily’s face. “You know him better than most. How do you explain it?”
Andrew had said the child was not his, but even if she believed him—which she did not—she had never known him to be cruel. She remembered an injured rabbit he’d nursed back to health before releasing it, and there was the night he’d shivered in a cold stall, soothing his mare while she gave birth to a healthy foal.
Emily pulled at the fabric of her skirt, debating whether to tell her aunt what Andrew had shared.
It’s not your secret to tell.
She shook her head, forming her words carefully. “Think back, Aunt, to the late Earl of Cardmore. The man would have qualified as an inquisitor if he’d been a Catholic. Andrew grew up with a pious tyrant as a role model. His sisters escaped by wedding the first men to offer for them. One was barely seventeen as I recall. But Drew was the youngest and the heir. He had no way to escape. His father held all the purse strings.”
“Except for your dowry.”
Emily grimaced, remembering the day Papa had called her into his study to announce her dowry had been returned—in full. She could put the tawdry experience aside and move on with her life, find an honorable gentleman who would value her.
As if she’d wanted anyone else at the time.
“My dowry was going to buy Cardmore’s peace. He’d planned to purchase a house in town, ostensibly for me to engage in all the frivolous town activities. He realized he had to pretend to be interested in running the estate, in order to remain in favor with his father, but he would then have had an excuse to escape the man.”
“To pay attention to a wife who refused to go to the country, but craved life in town?”
“Exactly.”
Aunt Lily laughed. “I didn’t realize what schemers you both were.”
Schemers? She’d thought she was saving her friend—her beloved—from a hellish existence. Then he’d betrayed her.
But that was all in the past. He had the child with him now and must find ways to overcome his distress and treat the child with kindness. Perhaps in time he would learn to give him the affection he’d craved during his own childhood. Losing one’s mother had to be the worst experience of a child’s life. George had never known a mother’s love. It was a shame he had nothing to remember her by.
“You seem mesmerized by the fire. What are you thinking?”
“Andrew needs to change his attitude. Cardmore Hall must be overwhelming to a child. The place is ancient and drafty with long corridors of unused rooms. ’Twas so even when the old earl lived. The size alone could frighten a child. I was often intimidated by the place.”
“You and your mama spent quite a lot of time there when the countess was alive. I, on the other hand, being the wife of a man who made his fortune in trade, was never asked to tea.”
“Did you care, Aunt?”
“Perhaps at first, then not at all.”
A memory made Emily’s lips curl up into a smile. “I got lost in the house once. The old earl’s carriage wheel broke, and he returned home on a day he was supposed to be calling on the vicar. He bellowed for Andrew, and Andrew left me in one of the corridors, promising to return as soon as he could get away.
“I’d longed for a tour, and he’d taken me up through an unused staircase in the walls. I had no idea where I was. I waited for two hours, shivering with cold, sure my parents had discovered my absence. Andrew eventually returned, having been ordered by his father to accompany him to the chapel to pray for a speedy repair of the wheel. Once it had been done, he’d raced back up to find me huddling in a corner of a vacant room, terrified because I swore one of the sheets covering the furniture had moved. He laughed at me and with great ceremony whipped off the sheet.”
“What did he reveal?”
“A rat the size of a squirrel.”
Aunt Lily’s laughter filled the room.
“It wasn’t funny.”
“And you returned home unscathed.”
“I didn’t say that. Mama discovered my absence and scolded me for being with Andrew w
hen I was supposed to be in my room fending off a cold. I was confined to the house for three days.”
Aunt Lily giggled like a schoolgirl, probably recalling similar mishaps she’d engaged in. Emily had not visited the Hall again, confining her visits with Andrew to the lake. When he proposed, she’d been appalled such a place would one day be her home. She liked smaller structures and simple pursuits and couldn’t imagine living in such an intimidating place, let alone being its mistress.
“What of your maid? I cannot imagine your maid not tattling on you, even if you’d known Cardmore from birth. Surely she accompanied you on some of your adventures as you grew older.”
Her lips curved up at the memory. “Not often. When Mama insisted my maid accompany me, Andrew bribed the woman to find somewhere else to be. On more than one occasion.”
“He’s always been resourceful, I’ll give him that. Handsome, too, although I think he’s come into his looks now, as a mature man. War changes men who enter the service as boys.”
Handsome—he’d always been handsome. Now he was devastating. Too bad she could never completely forgive him. But she could help him with the child, prod him into doing right by the boy. He’d told her he wanted her friendship. She could relent and at least see to the boy’s needs.
Old habits died hard, and relying on her, a girl, was ingrained because he’d had no close male friends until he moved to Cambridge.
By then I’d grown up and had to act like a lady.
Lost in thought, she remembered the day at the pond when she’d emerged from the water dressed only in her shift and he’d turned away, his head lowered. After she’d put on her dress over her wet undergarment, she’d approached him and placed her hand on his shuddering back. He’d run away through the trees, not speaking.
One day later, as they’d sat side by side on their rock, she’d asked him about it. He’d turned to her, anguish in his eyes, and brushed her lips with his own, his touch like a feather drifting across her mouth.
With eyes wide, he’d told her their relationship would be forever changed. They could no longer swim in the pond or spend long periods of time alone. Growing up meant rules, and they were both of an age where they must respect the tenets of propriety. They could still be friends, but their conversations would need to be in company or in public places in sight of others.
They’d broken the rules on occasion, drawn back to their rock by the pond. But he didn’t touch her until a year later.
Snapped out of her reverie by a log settling in the fireplace, she put her teacup to her lips.
She would not think about that occasion now. She had plans to make.
Chapter 12
If ever a house’s purpose was to intimidate, this one would do nicely, thought Emily as she alighted from the carriage and approached the massive front door of Cardmore Hall.
A ballroom, central hall, large and small dining areas, and formal receiving room occupied the ground floor. Study, library, and other less formal rooms were on the first floor with bedchambers and nursery on floors above. Stretching four stories into the sky with an assortment of symmetrical towers, pillars, and wings, the building was considered a masterpiece of the gothic style.
She shivered as she waited on the cold doorstep. She’d been invited to tea and had come prepared. After spending hours in the village shops, seeking toys and books suitable for a child of six, she knocked on the door and was surprised when Andrew himself opened it.
“Where’s your butler? I thought you were bringing Spencer back.”
“Spencer is away visiting his daughter. Drake has sent a letter inviting him to return to his former position, if he still wants it, but he hasn’t had a response yet.” He looked down and narrowed his eyes. “What’s all this?”
“Gifts for George.” She nodded toward the pile. “Could you have someone take them up to the nursery? I’m anxious to make your son’s acquaintance.”
“He’s not my—“
“Stop it, Andrew. I’ll hear no more.” Lord have mercy, she’d been making free use of his given name. Well, she’d called him Andrew for years, and no one was about to tattle on her to Mama.
Emily stepped into the hall and spied a footman. “I have parcels on the front step. Please bring them up to the nursery.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Andrew offered his arm and escorted her into the large formal drawing room. It was dark, but clean, and smelled of lemon wax. The footman returned and helped her remove her outerwear.
“I know you wish to meet the boy. I’m having tea served in the nursery.” The draperies were wide, and sunlight sparkled on a polished silver urn. If the rest of the public rooms looked as well as this one, she had no complaints. Children needed a clean, wholesome environment. They also needed warmth and love.
She of all people knew Andrew was capable of giving love. Would he thaw toward the boy he claimed was not his blood?
He will if I have anything to say about it.
“Lead the way.”
He gave instructions to the footman and took the stairs two at a time. Emily followed more sedately, although watching him scamper up the stairs like he had when he’d been a boy made her smile. He must be feeling well today, or maybe her words had given him something to think about. She liked seeing him like this. Happy, carefree, as if the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders.
Had she something to do with this?
Don’t be cheeky. You are his conscience in this scenario. Nothing more.
The nursery in this house took up a huge space with several sleeping chambers and one big schoolroom. She entered the large room now, pleased to see that this place, too, had been cleaned and brightened, even with its heavy depressing furniture more suitable to a church than a child’s room.
Two wooden pews with ornately carved backs hugged a wall, and a trestle table with carved legs showing fiendish faces occupied the center of the room. High-backed chairs in a similar design were pushed into place beneath the tabletop.
In a far corner was an older woman in an apron and cap who came forward.
“This is Mrs. Townsend, the woman you mentioned.”
“I’m Lady Emily Sinclair, and I’m pleased you were available to help Lord Cardmore.”
“Nice to meet you, too, milady. I was pining for my grandchildren when I heard I might be needed here. Master George is a delight, although he misses his grandmother.”
“Then you are the perfect woman for this position.”
“I will certainly try to be, milady.”
Emily nodded as the woman walked back to the corner and peeked behind a padded chair. “Come out now, Master George. Your papa’s here with a lady for you to meet.”
A small hand appeared, followed by a leg and then a full body. The child ran out and hid partially behind his nursemaid’s body, clutching her skirt. She turned and bent toward him. “No need to be shy now. Stand up straight, take my hand, and come with me.”
He nodded and obeyed, his wary stare fixed on his father as they approached.
Emily crouched in front of the child. “Hello. My name is Emily Sinclair, but you may call me Lady Em. I have a niece your age who seems to find my full name too long and has shortened it. You may, too.”
He reached out and touched her hand then quickly snatched it back.
“One day you will learn to make a bow before a lady, but for now a handshake will do.” She beamed at the boy, and when he smiled back, a tiny jolt nudged her heart. She rose and gestured to the pile of packages on the table. “Shall we see what I’ve brought?”
His eyes widened at the parcels, and he scrambled up into one of the monstrous chairs.
Emily tugged at a string, but it wouldn’t give. “Cardmore, bring your manly skills and untie these parcels for me.”
“Come see this, Mrs. Townsend,” she called out in a cheerful voice.
“Is it his day of birth, milord?”
“No.”
“But we’ll pretend it is,” said Emily, “because tea will soon be served, and I’m sure there will be sweets.” Emily addressed the boy whose upturned face gazed hopefully into hers. “Do you like jam tarts and biscuits?”
He nodded vigorously.
The string broke, and Emily handed the parcel to George. “Would you like to open it?”
This one contained a carved wooden horse with a mane and tail made of silky threads.
“A pony!” He scrambled down from the chair and dropped to the floor, scooting the pony along with his hand.
“Come back and see the rest.”
He looked up at Emily with his eyes glistening. She stood and reached down to help him up. He threw his arms around her body. This poor child, alone and unwanted.
No longer. He has me now.
She led him over to the table and helped him back onto the chair. “Stay on your knees, and you can see better.”
Next he unwrapped a few books, a brightly painted abacus, and an entire regiment of toy soldiers with horses and cannons. Emily made note that on her next visit she would take some measurements and make him a set of new clothes. The ones he wore seemed too small and were quite worn. They were not fit for the son of an earl.
When everything was unwrapped and the tea was brought in, George sat next to her and stuffed biscuits in his mouth. Crumbs fell on his lap.
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