She nodded toward Finn. “Mr. Trewlove.”
“You’re kind to have us, Mrs. Baker.”
The woman merely nodded. “Please, do come in. Angela is playing in the back with her fa—with Mr. Baker.”
The front room was as warm and welcoming as the woman, with a fire burning on the hearth and comfortable-looking furniture scattered throughout. Lavinia didn’t want to think about the woman holding her daughter on her lap, with a quilt wrapped around her as she read or sang to her on a cold evening.
“Would you care for a cuppa tea?” Mrs. Baker asked.
“No thank you.” Her stomach was such a coiled mess she feared she wouldn’t be able to hold down the simplest of brews.
“Of course not,” the woman said, seemingly embarrassed now that she’d made the offer. “You’ll be wanting to meet . . . her.”
“I’ll just wait here,” James said, lowering himself into a chair, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped, his head bent. A man not too pleased with his role in all this.
Fanny Baker led them through a room with a table that would seat six and on into a kitchen that smelled of fragrant spices. Through a door and into a garden where pansies still bloomed in spite of the colder weather.
And there at the far end, standing beside a man at what appeared to be a makeshift workbench, was a little girl, her blond ringlets blowing in the breeze. Reaching out blindly, Lavinia found Finn’s hand, squeezed it. The joy and love that swept through her nearly took her to her knees.
The girl turned, her eyes brightened, and she began running toward them, holding something. “Mam! Mam!”
Lavinia nearly lowered herself to the ground and spread her arms wide, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fanny Baker doing the same and had to acknowledge that she wasn’t the one to whom the girl was running, wasn’t the one she was calling out to. But soon, she would be. Soon they would have moments like this.
The lass was taller than she’d expected her to be, slender, but when she flung herself at the woman greeting her, she nearly caused her to tumble. “Look, Mam! Da taught me to use the hammer.” She showed her mother a block of wood with one small nail protruding from it. “I didn’t hit my thumb when I wielded it. He taught me a new word, too. Wield. That’s what you do with a hammer.”
Her smile was bright, with a gap in the front where a tooth should have been, her face filled with such joy that Lavinia’s chest tightened into a sweet ache.
“Well done, I say,” Fanny Baker said. “But we have company. This is Miss Kent and Mr. Trewlove.”
The girl looked up at them through huge green eyes. “Hello.”
Releasing her hold on Finn, Lavinia knelt. “And you’re Angela. What a pretty name.”
“I’m named for the angels what brung me.”
Aware of Mrs. Baker backing away, Lavinia reached out and skimmed her fingers over the child’s hair. “I like your ringlets.”
“Mam fixed them special this morning.” She scrunched up her face. “But I like my braids better.”
How many other things did she prefer—preferences Lavinia would learn with time.
Finn knelt beside her, placing a forearm on his raised thigh, clutching his hands together, and she wondered if he did that to stop himself from reaching for the child, for hugging her close. “You did a smashing job with the nail.”
“I’m practicing.” Her eyes sparkled. “We’re going to build a cottage in the tree.”
She pointed toward a huge oak at the back of the garden, and Lavinia wondered when the plans had been made, how many other plans her actions would interrupt. Her daughter grabbed her father’s arm—not realizing, of course, that it was her father’s arm she held. “Come on, I’ll show you,” she exclaimed excitedly, as though they couldn’t see the tree perfectly fine from here.
Finn glanced over at Lavinia, and she gave a small nod. He unfolded his body, reached down, and drew her to her feet. Then he swung Angela up into his arms and her delighted screech echoed around them. He strode to the tree where Mr. Baker met him and shook his hand, while his daughter began pointing at various branches.
“They’ve been planning to build the hideaway in the tree for some time now. Joe promised her they’d do it in the spring for her birthday. She likes climbing, is fearless when it comes to heights. That’s why she squealed when your man lifted her up. She’s happiest up high. Is he her father?”
“Yes. We were very young, not married. I wanted to keep her, but my mother took her from me while I was too weak to stop her.”
“She’s been a blessing to us. Smart as a whip. Already knows her letters. She likes flowers. Helped me plant the pansies. Occasionally she’ll hold a funeral for the blossoms that die. Don’t know where she got the notion to do that.”
Lavinia thought of the funerals she’d held for her brother’s butterfly collection. Were they so very much alike? What other things might they have in common?
“I’m trying to think what else I should tell you, but I suppose you’ll figure it all out,” Fanny said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go pack up—”
There was a catch in her throat. She gave Lavinia her back, and using the hem of her apron, dabbed at her eyes. When she circled back around, she offered a tremulous smile. “Forgive me. The breeze always causes my eyes to water.”
This woman was being so brave, striving not to let Lavinia see that she was dying inside, and suddenly she knew that’s exactly what the woman was doing—because she had died when she’d begged her mother not to take the baby from her. All the sorrow and grief—a lifetime’s worth—had been smashed into those few minutes when she’d watched her child being taken beyond her reach.
“I’ll go pack up her things, shall I?” Fanny Baker continued. “I didn’t want to do it before you got here. She’s a curious one, would have been asking questions, and I don’t know that I have the right words. Hopefully you do.” She turned—
“No.” Lavinia had pushed the word up from the depths of her soul. She met the gaze of the woman staring at her. “We won’t be taking her.”
Fanny Baker released a great sob, sounded as though she was strangling on the next one trying to keep it from bursting forth, pressed a trembling hand to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes and flowed over onto her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Forgive me for crying.”
Shaking her head, Lavinia drew her daughter’s mother into her arms. “It’s all right. For seven years, I lived with the guilt of not protecting her. All I wanted was for her to be loved and happy. I can see that she is, more than I ever hoped for.”
Fanny eased back, swiped at her damp cheeks. “Thank you, m’lady. Thank you for not taking her.”
“Vivi, please. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I were to be her auntie and came to visit from time to time.”
“You’d be most welcomed.”
“Thank you.” She glanced over to where the child was still nattering, and Finn was smiling. She hoped he’d agree with her decision. Based on his stance the evening before, she was rather certain he would. “I think I need to take a closer look at that tree.”
She wandered toward the group, feeling a sense of peace she’d not experienced in eight years, not since the night when she’d made plans to run off with a boy she’d desperately loved. As she neared, Finn turned his attention from their daughter to her, the smile that had been so bright for the lass dwindling, his gaze sobering. She stopped beneath the wide boughs of the tree. “It’s time for us to leave. Just you and I.”
Warmth seeped into his dark eyes, one corner of his mouth eased up slightly as he threaded his fingers through hers.
“Thank you,” Joe Baker said, his voice hoarse with emotions.
“No,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Baker. Thank you for loving her.”
He placed his large roughened hand on Angela’s small delicate shoulder. “You need to give the nice lady a hug goodbye.”
Without any hesitation at all, h
er daughter raced toward her. Lavinia dropped to her knees as the slender arms were flung around her neck with enthusiasm. Closing her own arms around the slight body, she held her precious child close, inhaling her fragrance of grass and woods, her cheek pressed against a smaller one, not caring one whit that her eyes were filling with tears, rolling down her face, remembering how she had screamed for her mother to let her hold the babe just once . . . just once.
Now at long last, after all these years, she had the embrace she’d longed for.
Angela began to squirm, and Lavinia released her hold, not surprised to find Finn’s hands cradling her waist, providing support as she rose to her feet. With gratitude, she took the handkerchief he offered and wiped the lingering tears from her cheeks.
“Did I hurt you?” Angela asked.
“No, sweetheart, you made me all better.”
Joe Baker lifted his daughter into his arms. “Say goodbye now.”
“Bye.”
“Perhaps we can come back to visit sometime,” Lavinia told her.
“You can play in my cottage with me,” she said, pointing up.
“I’d like that very much.”
With her hand clinging to Finn’s, she walked away with her heart at once joyous and breaking.
Sitting across from Vivi in the carriage, Finn watched her carefully striving to get a sense of what she was feeling. He’d asked James to ride atop with the driver because he was rather certain Vivi was in need of some time alone, would not want any witnesses should she fall apart. Instead she merely glanced out the window as if the graying scenery was the most fascinating thing in the world. Rain began pattering on the roof, adding to the somber atmosphere. He’d have to give James a few quid for the inconvenience of being rained on.
“She looks like you,” he finally said.
She released a light laugh and glanced over at him. “Funny. I thought she looked like you.”
“She has your green eyes.”
Her smile was whimsical, as though she couldn’t decide whether to be happy or sad. “She does that, but I think she got your height. I was surprised by how tall she is already. For some reason, I expected her to be smaller.” She looked down at her gloved hands, clasped so tightly that he suspected the knuckles were turning white within the leather. “I couldn’t take her, Finn.”
Leaning forward, he placed his hands over hers. “I know. I’m glad.”
“Perhaps if she was still a baby who didn’t know she was being taken.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “But she isn’t. She has plans. To build a cottage in a tree. She loves Fanny and Joe Baker, and they love her. That was so obvious. She has roots there. If I had pulled her up, she might have withered.”
She shook her head, the tears spilling over onto her cheeks. “I worried for so long that she was with someone who wouldn’t care for her or love her as I would, that she was mistreated and miserable, but she has a good life, I think.” More tears. She covered her mouth. “But still it was hard to walk away from her, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
Crossing over, he took her into his arms, held her tight, hated the trembling he felt coming from her. “I know.”
“Was it hard for you?”
“It nearly killed me, even knowing you’d made the correct decision, that it was the right thing to do. I didn’t expect to love her so much, so quickly.” The moment she’d turned and he’d seen her smile, he’d been lost. “I don’t know where you found the strength to walk away, but I admire you for it.”
“I do want to see her again, often, but not enough to interfere. Although maybe when we’ve met with success, we can establish a trust for her, help provide for her. If I’m still your partner, that is.”
Drawing back, he cupped her cheek, damp and cold with her tears, and stroked his thumb over it. “You are, in all things.”
“I’m sorry for everything I said to you last night.”
“We’ve survived worse than ugly words, Vivi.” He wanted to kiss her but didn’t think now was the time. She was too heartsore, and his emotions were raw as well. “Will you have dinner with me this evening?”
“I’d like that very much.”
He tucked her face back into the crook of his shoulder and held her near as they journeyed toward a destination he was beginning to doubt was right for them.
Chapter 25
Having not slept the night before and enduring all the emotional upheaval of the morning, she retired exhausted to her bedchamber after they returned to the club. With Meg’s assistance, she removed her clothes, climbed into bed, and rested her head on the pillow. Within a few minutes, the rain pattering on the panes lulled her into sleep.
When she awoke, the room was cast in shadows, night had fallen, and her heart was not as heavy as it might have been. It helped immensely to know her child was well cared for. Hearing the mewling, she got out of bed and lifted the kitten from its box.
“I shall have to give you a name. Mouser, I think. No, that’s not right. I shall consult with Robin on the morrow. I’m certain he knows the perfect name for you.”
Setting the kitten back into its box, she pulled the sash that rang the bell downstairs. Soon after, Meg joined her and began to help her prepare for dinner. When she was finished, she had the servant carry the cat down to the kitchens to be fed, while she took a few more minutes of quiet to settle herself. She needed to stop looking back, and to begin looking forward. She needed to stop blaming the young girl she’d been for things that had not been her fault, matters that could not be changed. She needed to forgive herself.
With a sigh, she headed for the door. Perhaps the forgiveness would come on the morrow.
Stepping out of her rooms, she saw Finn once again at the landing, arms folded over the railing, glancing out over his domain. She thought she’d never cease to take pleasure from the sight of him. When he glanced over at her, that sensual smile taking possession of his mouth, she thought her chest would forever tighten as her heart swelled with the love she felt for him. She would forever remember the sight of him swinging his daughter into his arms, the moment of bittersweet realization that she couldn’t give him his child forever, that he had understood and accepted long before she did that it was an impossibility.
He straightened. “You wore the gown.”
Taking the skirt in her hands, she swished it around and gave him a saucy smile. “I thought you might take me waltzing as well.”
“I don’t have the orchestra on hand tonight, but I can hum.”
“That will work.”
He tenderly touched his fingers to her cheek. “Are you all right?”
“I will be. Sleeping for a bit helped. How are you?”
“Thinking I might help with the building of a cottage in a tree in the spring.”
“You might have to have Angela teach you how to pound a nail into wood.”
“We’ll see her often, Vivi, I promise.”
Of course, she could go see her daughter without him, but it would be more pleasant to have him about. And it was time to turn their attention to other things. “I’ve thought of a couple of more ladies we can offer memberships to. I’ll write out invitations to them before Robin arrives tomorrow to dispatch them.”
His smile dwindled, his brow furrowed. “Is it what you really want? To manage this place?”
“It’ll provide me with an income, so I can establish homes for children who might otherwise go to baby farmers. And I want to write my articles.”
“What if there was another way for you to have an income?”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“This business”—he waved his hand through the air as though to encompass all the space between the walls—“this club for ladies was never a dream of mine. I had the notion of it because I thought it might bring you into my world where I could wreak my revenge on you.”
She arched a brow. “I see. You wished me ill.”
“I did.” He didn’t appear the
least bit contrite. “Although I suspect not as much as you wished ill upon me.”
“I cursed your name every night before I went to bed.”
“Perhaps you’ll curse it tonight as well, but as more of a benediction, in gratitude rather than disappointment, as I pleasure you. But I digress. As I was saying, this was not what I dreamed of before I went to prison, it wasn’t what brought me excitement, what spurred me on to work so hard.”
“I remember you wanted to have a horse farm. You wanted a place that looked out over London.”
He grinned, no doubt pleased she remembered that long ago outing. “I’ve been thinking about your dream of providing a good home for children. Yes, the success of this place could, in time, make that happen. But there is a more expedient way to bring about your dream and mine.”
“What would that be?”
“I’ve been considering what your brother said before we left him. If you marry, your husband gains land.” He wrinkled his brow. “What was it?”
“Wood’s End.”
“Right. Thornley will purchase it from you at a good price, from what I’m given to understand. You could buy some land outside of London, build a residence with a hundred bedchambers. I’m sure I could talk Mick into giving you a bargain on building it. When it’s full, you’ll build another. And another. You let women know that their children, born out of wedlock, do not need to be handed over to a baby farmer. You’ll have all the children you can love, and you’ll be there with them.”
“Where will you be?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d be amenable to my raising horses there. You would share in the profits, of course, and with them, you will have funds for the foundling home.”
“How are we going to manage this club and a foundling home and breed horses?”
“I have another idea for the club—and it won’t require that we be here at all. We’ll live in the country.”
As though pondering his words, finding it difficult to comprehend, she rubbed her chin. “There’s only one little problem with this plan of yours. I would have to find a gent to marry, one who wanted to marry me, a fallen woman.”
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 30
