“I let the other two eat and go out,” Lord Barnes said. “I hoped just this once we could skip the prayer.”
“It’s your conscience.” I winked at Josephine.
“I’ll say my prayer silently,” Josephine said. “Fiona, you should do the same.”
“Yes, Jojo.” Fiona kept hold of my hand as we contemplated what to choose for breakfast.
I added a blob of eggs to Fiona’s plate in addition to the two pieces of bacon she asked for. Once we were seated, Lord Barnes set aside his Denver Post.
“Any news from the world?” I asked.
“Not anything worth repeating,” Lord Barnes said. “Would you like it? The news is a week old by the time I get it, but at least I can keep somewhat abreast of the world’s events.”
I declined his offer, saying I might read it later if I had a quiet moment.
“And what do we plan to do with our day?” he asked the girls.
“We’re showing Miss Quinn our pigs,” Fiona said.
“And the rest of the barn,” Josephine said. “We have chickens and Buttercream.”
“What’s a Buttercream?” I asked.
“Our cow,” Fiona said.
“Because she makes us butter and cream,” Josephine said, sounding like a weary old woman.
“Cymbeline named her,” Lord Barnes said. “She’s rather fond of both.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said as I slathered butter on the sourdough bread Lizzie had made so expertly. “I’m not sure there’s anything better than butter.”
Fiona giggled.
“You’ll need to borrow a pair of my rubber boots,” Lord Barnes said, “if you’re going out to the barn. Yours won’t do. I’ll accompany you. I wouldn’t want you to slip and hit your head again.”
I laughed and let my eyes twinkle back at him. “Lord Barnes, I’m perfectly capable of walking out to the barn without supervision.”
“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” he asked.
Aware that we’d been lost in each other gazes, I looked away. Josephine and Fiona both beamed at me.
“This is going to be a great day,” Josephine said as she let out a happy sigh. “All of us together.”
“Like if you were our mama, Miss Quinn,” Fiona said.
I flushed from head to toe. Was my crush on Lord Barnes this obvious that even a three-year-old could see it? Or did they want a mother so badly they’d projected that role onto me?
I stole a glance at the object of my affection. He grinned at me, then winked.
I gulped and looked down at my plate, overcome with sudden emotion. Could it be possible that Lord Barnes saw a future between us that involved more than employer and nanny? If so, was that what I wanted?
Of course it is, you ninny. Pretending otherwise is ridiculous. Who wouldn’t want Alexander Barnes and his brood of sweet angels?
After breakfast Lord Barnes convinced me to pull on a pair of long, unattractive farmer boots as well as a manly jacket made of coarse canvas material. Lined with flannel and stuffed with down feathers, I was too warm standing in the foyer. They placed a gray knit cap on my head. I was about to pull on my gloves when Lizzie appeared with a pair made from a gray cashmere yarn.
“I made them for you,” Lizzie said. “These are your Colorado gloves. They’ll keep you warm on your rides to and from school and if you want to go out for a walk with Lord Barnes. For example.”
“Thank you, Lizzie.” I smiled, admiring the perfect stitches. “How did you find time for this?”
“I like to keep my hands busy,” she said.
Lord Barnes had taken another jacket from the closet and was now putting it on over his brown coat and trousers.
Fiona jumped up and down, clapping her gloved hands. “Hurry, Papa and Miss Quinn. I want to find Cymbeline.”
Josephine and Fiona wore matching thick red coats, white hats, and scarves.
“You two are pretty as a postcard,” I said.
They smiled. “You are too,” Josephine said.
“What’s a postcard?” Fiona asked.
“I’ll explain later,” Josephine said.
“Ah yes, one last thing.” Lord Barnes reached up to the top shelf of the closet and pulled down a scarf. “You’ll want this too, Miss Cooper.”
I reached for it, but he ignored me, wrapping it around my neck. His mouth turned upward in a slight smile as he looked down at me. “Now you’re ready.”
I had to tear my gaze from his beautiful eyes for fear I might fall into them and never escape their green pools. “Thank you,” I said. “And now we must go out before I roast.”
I squinted into the bright light. My eyes watered from the shock of the cold. Still, the fresh air invigorated me. A new layer of dry snow made the world quiet and without scars. The air crackled with energy. I had an urge to flop down and make an angel as I had as a child.
Josephine smiled up at me. “Do you see it? How perfect it is after new snow?”
“Yes, very much so.”
Fiona had hold of Lord Barnes’s hand. “Come see our swing, Miss Quinn.”
Josephine linked her arm in mine as we walked in the fallen snow, following behind Lord Barnes and Fiona. I bunched my skirt into one hand. Despite the awkwardness of my overly large boots and cumbersome dress, we moved easily through the powdery snow until we reached a large oak. A primitive wooden swing hung from a thick branch.
“Look up,” Josephine said.
I did so. A square wooden structure perched in the branches above. Snow covered its flat roof, and a rope ladder dangled from an open doorway.
“Papa built it,” Fiona said.
“Really?” I looked over at him.
He chuckled as he took a tobacco pipe from his jacket pocket. “Don’t look shocked, Miss Cooper. I’m not only a useless lord.”
“Would you like to swing?” Josephine asked.
“Oh no. I’m too big,” I said.
“Nonsense,” Lord Barnes said as he lit his pipe with a match. “This swing holds me.”
Before I could protest, Josephine dragged me over to the swing. Someone must have used it already this morning, because the wood had been cleared of snow and ice. However, the seat hung about six inches over the snow. I’d have to keep my legs straight if I were to move at all. “How will I pump my legs?” I asked.
“Papa will push you,” Fiona said.
“It’s the only way in the snow.” Josephine tilted her head, as if this were a most serious matter.
I sat gingerly and stretched my legs out into a straight position. Holding tightly to the handles, I waited as Lord Barnes, with his pipe in one corner of his mouth, walked around to the back of the swing. The scent of the pipe tobacco came with him.
His first push on the small of my back was no more than a nudge. I could feel the gentleness of his hands even through my layer of clothing. The second, however, was more powerful, lifting me high into the air. Skirts flying around me I swooped up and back, each time flying higher. I laughed like a child. Fiona squealed with delight, obviously thrilled that I was having such fun. Josephine’s expression, on the other hand, was one of longing. Did she miss her mother? Had Lord Barnes pushed her on the swing like this?
“All right, that’s quite enough swinging for one day,” I said.
Lord Barnes wrapped his arms around my waist to stop me. For a split second he held me tightly against his broad chest. I drew in a sharp breath and smelled his shaving cream mixed with tobacco smoke. His physical nearness evoked something carnal. A stirring of my blood. Heat and desire and the wish that I could know all of him. I longed to be swept into his arms and taken to his bed. Never in my life had I imagined such things.
He loosened his grip. I tried to jump gracefully from the swing. Instead, I fell into the snow face-first. Sputtering, I shook the snow from my head and face. Fiona bounded toward me, laughing. She launched herself into my arms and we both fell backward in the snow. We giggled as we tried to untangle from e
ach other and the snow. Lord Barnes set his pipe on the abandoned swing and dropped down next to us. With one hand he lifted Fiona to her feet. He offered both his hands and helped me upright.
Josephine and Fiona were now lying on the snow and fluttering their arms and legs, making angels.
He kept hold of my hands and looked into my eyes. “Do you know how to make a snow angel?”
“I know exactly how to make a snow angel,” I said, sassy.
His gaze shifted downward and seemed to fix on my mouth. “Shall we have a competition?” he asked, low and husky.
“What’s the prize?” I asked, matching his tone.
He blinked three times, clearly surprised at my flirtatiousness. “You’re a lady. Which means you get to decide. If it were up to me, I’d ask for a kiss.”
“A kiss?” I whispered. “In front of the children?”
“I’d wait until later if you wanted me to.” His eyes glittered under the sunshine as he leaned close to my ear. “I’d wait a lifetime if I knew at the end, I could have a taste of your mouth.”
I stared at him, mesmerized by his proximity and boldness, and whispered into his ear. “Lord Barnes, I thought you were a gentleman.”
“You make me lose my head. I’m powerless when I’m near you and unapologetic for my adoration.”
This, after two weeks? Oh well, I thought to myself. If he refused to be unapologetic, why couldn’t I?
Without another word, I shuffled through the snow next to the girls. Lord Barnes followed me into the snow and like the children, we moved the snow with our arms and legs into a pattern of an angel.
“I’m making another one,” Fiona said, shouting as she flung herself backward into the snow next to me.
I turned my head to look at Lord Barnes and caught him watching me, his eyes startling green in all that white. “I guess you do know how, Miss Cooper. But mine’s still better.”
I laughed. “Let’s ask Josephine to judge.”
Lord Barnes got to his feet first and lent a hand to me, pulling me up, then brushing the snow from my jacket and cap.
“Which is better, Josephine?” he asked.
She looked from his to mine. “Well, Papa’s wins for size but Miss Quinn’s is more even. See there, Papa, one of your angel’s wings is bigger than the other.”
“Jojo, look,” Fiona said. “Do you see the bird?”
A winter sparrow hopped from one bare branch of an aspen to the next. The girls headed that direction, temporarily distracted from their father and me.
He drew close. “I’m devastated to lose. I had my heart set on that prize.”
I blushed, laughing. “I’ll have to think about what I want, then.”
He gave me a wolfish grin. “Don’t think too long or I might forget all about it.”
“You could forget me so easily?” I asked, teasing.
“A thousand years could pass and you’d still be on my mind, Miss Cooper.”
“You’re much too charming for your own good,” I said.
“Let’s go, Papa. Chase me, Papa,” Fiona shouted as she ran toward us.
“Saved by the baby,” he yelled back to me as he set out after Fiona. “Or I might have gotten a prize after all.”
“Don’t you wish,” I said.
Fiona ran toward the barn with her father on her heels.
Josephine hung behind with me. She offered her arm. “You best hold on to me. Those boots are much too big for you.”
There was a quiet energy in her as we walked arm in arm toward the barn.
“What are you thinking about so intently?” I asked.
She tilted her head toward me until it almost touched my shoulder. “I was just thinking how happy Papa’s seemed since you came here. And the kids too.”
“Does that make you sad?” My heart was in my throat suddenly. Did she not want me here?
“Quite the opposite. We’ve been waiting for you for such a long time.”
I swallowed. What did one say to that?
Josephine pressed my arm against her side. “I knew you’d change everything.”
“For the better, I hope?” I kept my voice light.
“Yes, Miss Quinn, for the better. You’ll see in time I’m right,” Josephine said. “You’re meant to be here with us.”
“Has it been hard to look after the younger ones?” I asked as we made our careful way toward the barn.
“I don’t know any other way, so I can’t say for sure. Papa’s needed me, and I’ve done so because I love them. Anyway, I’m happy when I’m helping others.”
“I love the sentiment, but you mustn’t forget about yourself. You’re still a child, after all. You should be having fun, not worrying so much.”
“That changed the moment my mother walked into a blizzard.”
Her raw honesty made my legs and arms tingle. “Oh, Josephine, that must have been awful.”
“It was a bad time, but we made it through. That’s what people do, you know?” Her voice was as brittle and fragile as a piece of crystal. I wondered how much her stoicism cost my little Josephine, this grown woman in a child’s body. Would it make her into a bitter woman? One who wished she’d had the gift of innocence for longer?
By now, we were at the barn. I caught the scent of hay and horse stalls. “This is like a barn from a picture book,” I said.
“Really?” Josephine said. “To me, it’s just a barn.”
“It’s much more than that.” Painted red, with white-trimmed doors, the handsome barn added to its idyllic surroundings instead of taking from them. A wooden fence made an area for the animals to roam free in warmer weather. How I wished my mother and sister were here. “This barn is like art.”
“Come on, then. If you like this, wait until you see the piglets,” Josephine said, giggling.
We entered through one of the enormous double doors. Built of round-cut and crosscut timber, there were at least a dozen small windows that let in the wintry light. Bales of hay were stacked in the rafters. Pitchforks, shovels, and various other tools hung neatly in a tack room. The floor was made of wide, rustic planks and was surprisingly clean. Stalls for the four horses, the milking cow, and the pigs occupied one side of the barn. Poultry took up the rest of the space.
A dozen laying hens in various colors of red, white, and speckled scratched and pecked greedily from the cracked corn scattered on the floor. Twelve-inch nest boxes with beds of straw were built upon a three-foot platform.
Fiona ran between the chickens with her arms spread out like wings and made squawking noises. They must be accustomed to her, because the hens appeared undisturbed as they pecked at the floor.
Cymbeline ran toward us and tugged on my jacket. “Miss Quinn, do you want to meet everyone?”
“These are our chickens.” Josephine rattled off their names. Most were clearly chosen for their coloring: Cinnamon, Salt, Pepper, Chili, Clove, Cocoa, Ginger, Mustard, Nutmeg, Vanilla. Having run out of spices, Josephine explained, they went with beverages. “Coffee and Tea were all we could think of. You’d be surprised how hard it is to come up with so many names. And then in the spring, we get fryer chicks. They don’t get names because we kill those for food.”
“No, we don’t.” Cymbeline shook her curls and crossed her arms over her chest. “We get those from the butcher shop.”
Josephine shot me a look that told me the chickens for eating were not all from the butcher shop. “We can’t name anything we’re going to eat,” Josephine said. “That’s Papa’s rule.”
“Good rule,” I said.
Four turkeys, with their ugly red wattles like neck scarves, swaggered about in a group and glared at us from beady eyes. Did they know Christmas was coming soon?
“Do the turkeys have names?” I asked, feeling guilty that the thought of a crispy brown turkey right out of the oven made my mouth water.
Josephine gave a covert shake of her head, clearly not wanting to bring up a sore subject in front of Cymbeline.
&
nbsp; Cymbeline pulled me over to the water trough. Two white ducks lifted their heads. At the sight of Cymbeline, they let out a friendly, somewhat foolish quack from their orange bills.
“This is Gin and Tonic,” Josephine said. “Papa named them. They aren’t the cleverest animals. But they’re funny.”
“What’s their purpose?” Given their names, I knew they would not be for dinner. Thank goodness. They were too cute to be eaten.
“Sometimes they make fat eggs,” Cymbeline said. “Lizzie uses them for omelets.”
The twins called us over to look at the pigs. Josephine led me by the hand, and the boys parted to give me prime viewing. A long, plump pig lay on her side as eight piglets suckled. Mama didn’t raise her bristled pink head to greet me as the ducks had. I didn’t take offense. She was probably tired.
“Her name’s Sweetpea.” Theo had climbed up to sit on the four-foot wall that enclosed the stall. “She’s very smart. Pigs are intelligent animals. Did you know that, Miss Quinn?”
I smiled over at him, charmed by the earnest expression on his freckled face. “I’ve read about it in books, but having never met a live pig, I couldn’t say for certain.”
“Spend any time with a pig and you’d know,” Flynn said.
“Do you see their tails?” Cymbeline asked. “Aren’t they too perfect?”
“Perfect indeed.” The pink darlings with their swirled tails and pink tummies were much too adorable to think of them as bacon. I understood Cymbeline’s dilemma. I wondered how the sow had become pregnant, as I saw no other pig. I decided to keep that question to myself.
“Did you see our rooster?” Flynn asked, pointing to the red rooster. “We call him King.” The way he strutted about the barn as if he were in charge had certainly earned him his name.
“He crows very loud,” Fiona said.
“King’s rather obnoxious,” Josephine said. “But without him, we wouldn’t have fertilized eggs.”
Cymbeline’s eyes flashed with annoyance in the way my sister’s did when I told her something she already knew.
The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Book 1) Page 15
