by Laura Landon
“”Tis always so, isn’t it, Lady Atherton? Rest assured no mischief will come to the babe while I live and breathe.”
Her bold declaration was both stunning and reassuring, and put an end to Lia’s worry that anything further needed to be said.
Lia and Mrs. Rodgers spoke with Frannie McTavish for several more minutes and by the time George had been fed and laid down for his nap, Lia was certain the girl was perfect for the position.
She was young, that was for sure, but she held and ministered to the babe as if he were her own, yet not in a possessive way that caused even the smallest alarm. Lia watched as she cared for the babe, and felt a pang of sorrow that little George wasn’t her own. The little scene made her grieve for the pain and suffering young Frannie had endured already. It must have been heart-wrenching to have lost a babe before it had drawn its first breath.
“May I ask,” Frannie said with a slight blush to her cheeks, “why you haven’t nursed the babe yourself, Lady Atherton? Nothing is more special for a mother.”
Frannie’s question shouldn’t have taken Lia by surprise, but it did. She swallowed several times before she came up with an answer. “I was ill in the first weeks after George was born, and have not been able to nurse him. I don’t have enough milk.”
“I see,” Frannie answered. “Well, I’ll have no problem on that score. Since I lost my babe, I’ve helped out several women whose babes want more than their mothers have.”
“Then we are fortunate that you can help us out.”
“Oh, aye. I’ll be happy to give your lad as much as he needs to grow strong and healthy.”
“Then I’ll be grateful to you.”
When Lia had discussed all the details of the girl’s employment, she left Frannie with Mrs. Rodgers to explain Georgie’s daily routine.
She walked down the stairs and returned to the library. It was the room that held the best view of the front drive. Lia wanted to stand watch for Miles. If she was lucky, Hunter Montclaire would have retired and she would have the room to herself.
But luck, it seemed, wasn’t with her. He sat where she’d left him as if he’d been waiting for her.
. . . .
“What did you think of the young girl Mrs. Rodgers found?” Hunter asked when she returned.
“She will do very well.”
“Good,” he said. “Please, have a seat. Will you join me in a glass of wine?”
At her nod, he rose and poured her a glass of wine then handed it to her.
She’d walked to one of the two wing chairs set before the fireplace. But before she sat, she looked out the window. He presumed she was checking once again for her brother. Unfortunately for her, the drive was empty. Hunter watched her shoulders drop as the lady breathed a heavy sigh of disappointment.
“I owe you an apology, my lady,” Hunter said as he took his seat in the chair opposite her.
“As I do you,” she answered, taking a sip of her wine. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did. Although I have to admit that you were right when you said it might be best for us to avoid one another.”
“Why do you think that is?” he asked her.
At first Hunter thought she didn’t have an answer for him. But she did. From the expression on her face she was debating whether she wanted to share it or not.
“Go on, my lady,” he said as he relaxed in his chair. “Tell me why you think it wise of us to avoid each other.”
She took another drink from her goblet. “Perhaps because we seem to rub the wrong way.”
“Yes,” Hunter answered in a harsh whisper. “We do seem to rub the wrong way.”
“And the solution for this would be?”
Hunter shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps there is no solution,” he said. “Perhaps we will only need to make an effort to tolerate each other as much as possible.”
“Yes,” she answered, then stopped when she seemed to hear a noise from the drive in front of the house. A noise Hunter hadn’t heard. She rose from her chair and went to the window, standing in the same spot where she’d stood the day before as she watched for her brother.
He didn’t want to remind her that they would leave in the morning whether this brother of hers was here or not.
She clasped her hands so tightly at her waist that her knuckles were white. Her muscles were braced so tautly he was sure if he walked up to her and pressed against her shoulders, the muscles beneath would shoot like springs from her flesh.
“Come and sit, my lady. Watching will do no good.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“What is it you’re so concerned over? That your brother won’t come and you’ll be left to face me alone?”
“He’ll come. I know he will.” She looked out the window yet again. “And even if he doesn’t, I won’t be alone with you. There’s Aunt Mildred, you know.”
Hunter walked to the window and stood beside her, though careful not to crowd. She didn’t notice him at first, and when she did, she jumped.
“Blast it all, what the devil is the matter?” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you what the matter was. You seem terribly nervous. And if I’m any judge of character, I would say you were hiding something from me.”
She spun to face him. The terror in her eyes told him he’d hit an exposed nerve.
“What is it you’re keeping from me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do, Lady Atherton. And I’m not about to give up until I find out what it is.”
Her face lost what little color it previously possessed. His brother’s wife had a secret she was guarding and he would pursue her until he discovered what it was.
“Would you like to save us both a great deal of time and tell me now what you’re keeping from me?”
“Leave me alone!” she cried out. She clutched the side of the window as if she needed to hold on to something solid to steady herself. “Isn’t it enough that I have to worry about your father and what he will do if he discovers he has a grandson he wants to eliminate?”
“That won’t happen. I won’t let it.”
“You can’t make that promise. Your father wields too much power and influence. What match are you against his authority and manipulation?”
“Do not underestimate me, Lady Atherton. I have spent my whole life battling my father. The years I spent fighting the enemy in the war were not nearly as treacherous as one day battling my father.”
Hunter watched her eyes open in fright, then her hands clasped around her waist as if she needed to hold herself together. For a moment he regretted his harsh words, but he couldn’t allow himself to soften toward her.
“Do you really think your father would do his grandson physical harm?”
Her words reverberated in his mind, words he dared not answer. The admission seemed too outrageous. Too inconceivable. Too deadly.
How could he answer her question when he didn’t doubt for a moment the lengths to which his father would go to make sure the son of a commoner would never inherit the Trentridge dynasty?
Chapter 6
It was a fool’s errand, but try as she would, Lia found it impossible to abandon her post. For what seemed hours, Lia waited impatiently at the library window. She abandoned her watch long enough to go to the nursery to check on the babe, then returned to keep her vigil. It was nearly dark outside. Time was running out.
She didn’t know what she would do if she had to match wits with Lord Hunter Montclaire by herself. The only thing she could think of that would be worse would be if his father knew of the baby’s existence. Her world would be altered irreparably if the Marquess of Trentridge and Montclaire both demanded possession of the babe.
She looked out onto the empty graveled drive. Thankfully, Montclaire had left her in peace for much of the afternoon. Thankfully, she hadn’t had to battle his unpleasantness. She didn’t think she could manage that right no
w. She’d never been so frightened in her life.
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over her lashes. It had been difficult enough to assume responsibility for her nephew, after having watched while her sister lost her life birthing him. Then, to discover that Lord Atherton had asked his brother to take care of his son so their father would never gain control of him only added to everything she’d been forced to deal with.
To be uprooted and moved to a place that was unfamiliar. To live with a man whose hostility toward her was unrelenting, and who wanted possession of the babe as desperately as she did, was almost more than she could cope with.
Lia swiped at a second tear that trickled down her cheek, then turned her gaze to the window. The sight before her blurred and she was forced to blink several times before she clearly saw a figure riding toward the manor house.
“Miles,” she whispered, then raced toward the front door.
Hobson opened the door and she ran through it on her way to meet her brother.
“Miles!” she called out.
Her brother leaped from his horse when she reached him and gathered her in his arms.
“Lia,” he said wrapping his strong, muscled arms around her. “I got here as quickly as I could. Are you alright?”
“I am now, Miles. Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here.”
Her brother brushed a tear from her face and held her for another second.
“Your letter was a bit sketchy, I’m afraid. What’s going on?”
She nodded. “Come in and I’ll explain everything. But, you have to remember to call me Janice.”
“Janice? Why?”
“Because Lord Hunter Montclaire doesn’t know Janice died giving birth to a son. He thinks his brother’s wife is still alive.”
“Oh, Lia.”
He gathered her close again. “And you’ve been living as Janice?”
Lia nodded.
“Let’s get you inside, sister. You’re trembling like a leaf.”
Her brother wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her into the house. They stepped into the foyer and Lia lifted her head. Her gaze locked with Lord Hunter Montclaire’s.
Lia stumbled and Miles steadied her.
“Miles, I’d like you to meet Lord Hunter Montclaire, Georgie’s uncle. Montclaire, my brother, Miles Halloway.”
“How do you do, Halloway,” Montclaire said.
“It’s a pleasure,” Miles answered.
“Please,” Lia said. “Let’s go into the drawing room. I’ll send someone for Aunt Mildred. I know she’ll want to see you. It’s been quite a while since you were last here.”
“Yes. And you need to sit before you fall,” her brother said.
“Are you unwell?” Montclaire asked. There was concern in his voice and in the expression on his face.
Lia didn’t like it that he might think she was ill. Or weak.
She glanced over to where he stood. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.” She hadn’t been feeling herself all day, but she was not about to let them know it. “Come,” she said and led her brother to the drawing room.
A footman opened the drawing room door and Miles led her to a chair. Montclaire poured a glass of sherry and handed it to her.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Montclaire nodded, then shifted his gaze to Miles. “Brandy or port?”
“Brandy, if you please.”
Montclaire poured two glasses of the good French brandy then sat, after he’d handed one of the glasses to her brother.
“Has Lady Atherton explained our plans?” Montclaire asked.
“Not fully. She only said that it was imperative that you move the child someplace where he won’t be found.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Found by whom?” Miles asked.
“By the boy’s grandfather. By my father.”
“He’s in danger from his own grandfather?”
Lia intended to answer Miles’ question, but Aunt Mildred rushed through the door and all conversation ceased. The topic went to their aunt telling Miles how good he looked, which he did, and how glad she was to see him. He’d always been a strapping boy, but the war had molded him into a handsome fellow who exuded strength. Lia was surprised that he wasn’t married, but like many men who’d survived the war, they came home with memories that haunted them. It took some of them a long time to adjust to normal life.
After they’d conversed a while, Lia set her glass down. “Would you like to see your nephew, Miles? He should still be awake.”
“Of course I want to see him.”
They rose and climbed the stairs to the nursery. When they entered the room, Miles stepped to where Frannie held little George in her arms. “Oh, Li— Janice,” he corrected. “He’s beautiful.”
Lia tried to cover Miles’s near mistake. “Lord Montclaire says the babe resembles his father, the Earl of Atherton. I agree. He does.”
Miles held out his finger and the babe clasped onto it. “Oh, what a grip he has, Janice. He’s going to be a strong lad.”
Lia stepped close to her brother and her nephew.
Miles reached out his hands. “May I hold him?”
“Of course,” Lia answered. “Miles, allow me to introduce you to Frannie McTavish. Frannie, this is my brother, Miles Halloway. He will be traveling with us.”
“It’s a pleasure, Miss McTavish.”
“Likewise,” Frannie answered, then held the babe out for Miles to take.
Miles cradled little George closely as if he’d held dozens of babies in his life. “How old is he, Janice? I wasn’t home when he was born and I’ve lost track of when that was.”
“He’s just four months. If you hold his little fists he tries to pull himself up.”
Lia watched while little George lifted his tiny fingers and touched the stubble on Miles’s chin. He made a cooing sound, then touched Miles’s chin again.
“How long have you been home from the war, Halloway?” Montclaire asked.
“The same. Nearly four months.”
“I thank God you came back to us, Miles.” Lia reached out a hand to touch her brother’s arm. “So many didn’t.”
“Far too many,” Miles agreed.
“Come,” Lia said when the conversation threatened to turn too serious for her. “Dinner should be ready soon, and we’ll need to retire early if we intend to get a decent start tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Montclaire said, then led the way from the room.
Aunt Mildred kept the conversation going through dinner. She was interested in everything that had happened to Miles since she’d last seen him. Even Lord Montclaire joined in the conversation with interest. Under different circumstances, Lia could imagine her brother and Lord Montclaire becoming fast friends. But that was hardly possible when chances were likely that they would have to watch one another to make sure the other didn’t gain control of the babe.
Before they left the room, Lia found a moment to whisper to Miles that she would meet him in the garden later, after everyone else went to bed.
She couldn’t wait to share her burden with Miles. The weight she carried was so much heavier than she thought she’d be able to sustain on her own. She was glad he was here with her. Glad she would be able to have another set of shoulders with which to bear her burden.
. . . .
Lia slipped down the servants’ stairs to reach the side door to the kitchen garden. Once she opened the door, the cool air hit her and brought welcome relief. She’d done nothing but pace back and forth in her room until the house was quiet and she was assured everyone was asleep. By the time she’d taken a few steps, she realized she should have brought a wrap against the cold, damp night air. But in fear of looking as though she intended to leave the house, she left it behind.
Now, just steps away from the door, she already shivered.
She walked around the corner of the house, crossed the terrace, and took the steps that led to the formal garden. She hurri
ed down the path, praying she’d chosen the right one to where Miles waited for her. She’d gone several feet into the garden before she heard his voice.
“Lia.”
She stopped, turned, then toppled into her brother’s arms. “I’m sorry, Miles. I can scarcely hold myself upright these past few days.” In truth, her lack of balance of late had actually begun to annoy her.
Her brother held her close and rubbed her back with his strong, sturdy hands.
“Are you sure you’re well? You seem terribly pale.”
“Yes, Miles. I’m fine.” She swatted him playfully. “When have you ever known me to be ill?”
That should have brought a smile, but didn’t.
“Then what is it, Lia? Has Montclaire hurt you?”
“No, no. It’s just that so much has happened. You must forgive me, I’m just a watering pot these days. I was so worried you wouldn’t come in time and I’d be forced to leave with Lord Montclaire without anyone with me.”
“You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”
“I’m not afraid of him, Miles. I’m only afraid of what he has the power to do.”
“Come,” he said as he led her to a corner bench. “Sit with me and tell me everything. Why are you pretending to be Janice?”
Lia sat beside her brother and leaned against him. He draped his arm around her shoulders and rested her head against his chest.
“Lord Montclaire arrived last week. He had been searching for his nephew.”
“Why does he call you Lady Atherton?”
“Because that’s what Janice would be if she were alive. She and the Earl of Atherton, Lord Montclaire’s brother Evan, were married.”
“They were married?”
Lia felt her brother’s arms stiffen at the shocking revelation that his youngest sister had been secretly wed.
“Yes, Miles. Lord Atherton married Jannie when he discovered she was carrying his child. But he contracted a terrible fever and died about the same time the babe was born. He made his brother vow to take care of Jannie and the child before he died. If the babe had been a girl, I doubt there would be much fuss over her. But—”
