by Tuft, Karen
“The dress is a lovely choice, and I’m sure it is one of your favorites when you are feeling well,” Lavinia said. “May I offer to help with the children? I know Hannah would be delighted to help as well.”
“That’s really not necessary, Lavinia,” Lady Thurlby said. “You have other responsibilities to see to, and Mrs. Wynn is a very capable nurse.”
“Lavinia had been telling Susan and me how she and Lucas met and fell in love,” Rebecca interjected rather unnecessarily.
Isobel set down her fork.
“I would dearly love to meet the children, Lady Thurlby, and I’m sure Mrs. Wynn would appreciate having a brief respite,” Lavinia said, wishing to avoid the subject of love, especially with Isobel present. “Lucas would enjoy getting acquainted with his nieces and nephews too. Perhaps he will join us when he returns.”
Clara’s eyes brightened at the idea, and the change to her countenance was remarkable.
“Good point,” Lady Thurlby said. “Very well, then. Between Lavinia and her friend, they should be able to handle your combined six for an hour or so later this afternoon, eh? Clara? Isobel? Better yet, I will join you, Lavinia. An hour or so with the children would be delightful.”
“Thank you, Lady Thurlby,” Lavinia said.
“Oh, I wish we could join you, but Susan and I have promised to make calls in the village.”
“Indeed,” Susan said. “I daresay the calls could wait for a different day, were it not for the fact that Mrs. Smith’s nephew is visiting from Cambridge and Rebecca would like to be introduced before he vanishes.”
“Oh, Susan!” Rebecca poked her in the arm.
“Thank you so much,” Isobel said, offering the same acidic smile to Lavinia that she had before. “Sadly, I won’t be able to join you either.”
Lavinia smiled back at Isobel with more treacle than acid. She loved children, and spending time with them was sure to be a welcome diversion from everything else that was going on. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall go inform Hannah of the plans for later.” Besides, it was getting to be late morning, and she wanted to be sure Delia and Artie were not off wandering on their own, weaving tall tales about Lavinia’s childhood to all and sundry.
And then she was going to lie down with a cold compress on her forehead. If only for a minute or two.
Chapter 14
Lucas and the others arrived back at Alderwood around four o’clock, dusty and tired, but Lucas wanted to find Lavinia straightaway and let her know what they’d learned. A more detailed meeting with Finch could wait until tomorrow, but he knew Lavinia would not want to wait until tomorrow to hear the news, nor did he want her to wait.
He was also anxious to know how his “betrothed” had coped with his family during his absence.
As they dismounted and handed their horses over to the grooms, they could hear shrieks and squeals coming from somewhere nearby.
“What is that infernal noise?” Thomas asked. “Has someone set the pigs loose?”
“I do believe they’re children, Thomas,” Isaac said. “Ours, no doubt.”
Finch bid them farewell and returned to his office, leaving the three brothers to investigate.
As they rounded the corner of the house, Lucas spied six children of varying age and size prancing about beneath the large oak tree not far from the house, laughing and playing—with Delia and Artie, of all people. He blinked to make sure he was seeing things correctly. Seated on blankets in the shade nearby were Clara and Lavinia, who were clapping and laughing along with the children. Hannah was shooing one little scamp who’d strayed from the group back toward the other children, and Lucas’s mother stood nearby watching the spectacle. She spotted them and walked toward them.
“Where is Mrs. Wynn?” Thomas asked in a demanding tone. “And what in heaven’s name do you call that?” He pointed toward the raucous group.
“I call it perfectly acceptable childlike behavior, Thomas,” their mother replied. “You were a child once yourself, you may recall. We decided to give Wynn an hour to herself; heaven knows the poor woman has earned it the past few days. Lavinia offered to play with them all, and her elderly cousins were more than thrilled to join in the fun.”
She glanced over her shoulder, drawing Lucas’s and the others’ attention back toward the children. Artie was dancing in a most awkward fashion to the song Delia was singing, though it was barely audible over the shrieks of laughter the children were making as they watched Artie and mimicked him.
“I must say, Lucas, your Lavinia’s cousins are a singular pair,” Mama said. “I’m not quite certain what I make of them. Despite the fact that the children are being highly entertained, there is something unnerving about seeing an elderly man down on his hands and knees, braying like a donkey.”
Thomas’s eyes looked as though they might pop from his skull at their mother’s comment. Isaac snorted and covered his mouth with his hand to avoid laughing outright.
“Braying like a donkey?” Lucas managed to ask with a nearly straight face.
“Yes. He reenacted a fable about a man and a boy and a donkey. I believe your Edmund portrayed the man in the story, Thomas. Isaac Junior was to have played the boy, but Mary felt it unfair that all the parts were being played by males, so we adapted.”
“Edmund did what? Did Isobel agree to this?”
“Now, Thomas, don’t be so stuffy. Sometimes I think Wynn can be overly strict. Children need to play.”
“Play, yes, Mother. Some vigorous exercise, especially for boys, is an important part of a child’s daily regimen, but in an orderly fashion, with other children, not with decrepit old men who pretend they are donkeys.”
“Well, yes, that was somewhat of a shock, but he wasn’t actually playing with Artie, Thomas. It was a play—not so dissimilar as doing charades with one’s friends for an evening’s entertainment. I recollect plenty of instances during your own childhood when you were a pirate king or a musketeer or some such—you and Martha and James were always coming up with escapades of that sort. Delia and some of the girls were fairies at one point this afternoon, and she made a most wonderful witch, too—just scary enough to delight the children. Lavinia herself played the good fairy that rescued little Annabel from the witch. Annabel thought it great fun and asked to be rescued again.”
“Is that right, Annabel?” Isaac said, reaching down to pick up the little girl who’d wandered over when she’d seen her papa. “You were rescued from the witch by a good fairy?”
The rosy-cheeked cherub pointed at Delia and grinned. “Bad witch. Funny.”
Lucas looked at Annabel in wonder—his niece. Samuel was the baby in leading strings, and the young girl who looked so much like Clara must be Mary, with Isaac Junior standing next to her. Isaac and Clara’s children.
Isaac, only four years Lucas’s senior, had four children already. Four. And another on the way.
The boy with light-brown hair, who was plucking grass and tossing it at everyone, must be Edmund, then, and sitting next to Lavinia was his little sister, Sarah.
Thomas and Isobel’s children.
Little golden-haired Sarah looked exactly like Isobel had at that age. Lucas was flooded with bittersweet memories. Sneaking into the stable with Isobel to play with newborn kittens. Pulling off their shoes and stockings to splash about in the lake that lay between their parents’ properties and ending up completely soaked. Hiding from Isaac and Susan—and Simon, who was three years their junior. A shared first kiss.
He and the others walked over to the oak tree to join the happy little group. Artie’s comical dancing had ceased, and another story was underway.
“And so the beautiful little princess grew and became even lovelier with each passing day,” Lavinia said, narrating. Delia—the beautiful princess in question—swished her skirt and picked daisies, humming softly.
“But one day, while her parents were busy, the princess decided to explore the castle. In a small room she’d never noticed before, she spied
an old woman spinning wool. ‘How delightful!’ the young princess exclaimed—” Delia clasped her hands to her bosom at Lavinia’s words—“‘May I try?’
“‘Of course, dearie.’ The woman cackled.” Lavinia’s own voice cackled as she spoke the words. “No sooner had the princess reached for the spindle, but she pricked her finger on it and immediately fell into a deep sleep, as did everyone else in the castle.” Delia’s outreached hand jerked, and then she collapsed into a heap on the ground.
“Gracious, I hope she’ll be all right,” Lucas’s mother whispered to him behind her hand. He was about to remind her she hadn’t actually fallen into a hundred years’ sleep when she continued. “She’s an old woman; she could break a hip doing something like that.”
“Many years passed,” Lavinia told the children in a hushed voice. “And all around the castle, huge briars sprang up, growing thick and thorny and dangerous, until the castle itself all but disappeared from view, and the people in the village forgot about its existence and the royal family and beautiful princess who’d lived within its walls.”
Everyone was transfixed; the silence around them profound—it seemed to Lucas that even the songbirds had stopped to listen to Lavinia’s tale.
“And then one day, a hundred years later, a handsome prince decided to hunt in the woods nearby.” Artie rose to his feet, suddenly appearing for all the world like a young prince as he pantomimed aiming his invisible bow here and there and shooting invisible arrows. He’d been sitting off to the side, and Lucas had completely forgotten he was there, so engrossed he’d become with Lavinia’s words. “He spied the castle and remembered the old tales that had been told of a sleeping beauty within a sleeping castle. ‘I must see for myself if the stories are legend or true,’ he declared. He slashed at the brambles that seemed nearly alive and fighting against him in his quest.”
Artie slashed and slashed again at Lavinia’s words. “I will not give up!” he cried. “Help me fight the brambles. Lend me your strength!”
“You can do it, handsome prince!” Mary cried while the others clapped and encouraged him to be strong and keep battling through the thickets. Edmund and Isaac Junior leapt up, followed quickly by Mary, and joined Artie, slashing with their own make-believe swords.
“After one final slash, the prince made it to the castle. He broke down the door”—Artie pantomimed this remarkably convincingly—“and climbed the stairs to the very top. And there he spied—”
“A hundred-year-old crone, from the look of things,” Thomas murmured under his breath.
“The most beautiful woman I have ever seen is asleep here,” Artie pronounced with reverence.
“He tried to awaken her,” Lavinia said. Artie gently nudged Delia’s shoulder once and then again. Her arm, which had been resting on her chest, slid limply off to the side. “But to no avail. In sadness, he watched her as she slept.”
“Wake up, Deela,” Annabel cried, clutching Isaac’s shoulders tightly.
Isaac kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, poppet. Keep watching.”
“Suddenly,” Lavinia’s voice rose with excitement, “the prince remembered an important part of the tale of the sleeping castle—that only a handsome prince could awaken the princess by offering her a kiss.”
The boys groaned.
Artie went down on bended knee. “Beautiful princess, forgive my rashness, but for you to awaken, I must kiss you.” He leaned over, propping himself with one hand so he didn’t lose his balance and fall in a heap on top of Delia, which would ruin the dramatic effect completely, and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
It was the sweetest of kisses, Lucas thought. His lips had barely touched Delia’s, but there had been a tenderness that had transcended mere playacting.
Well, of course it had. Lucas had already noticed Artie’s affection for Delia—but what was completely obvious to him now was that Artie loved Delia. Loved her deeply.
It made the story that much more poignant.
Delia’s eyes opened, and she blinked several times. “Ah, my handsome prince! I have been waiting for you,” she exclaimed, smiling radiantly at Artie.
Did she have an affection for him as well?
“I certainly hope your betrothed’s cousins hail from different branches of the family tree after a kiss like that,” Thomas murmured.
Lucas shot him a glare.
“And I have found you,” Artie said. He maneuvered stiffly to his feet and then assisted Delia to hers.
“They fell in love,” Lavinia said triumphantly. “And were married soon thereafter. And they both lived . . .”
“Happily ever after!” the children crowed.
“In a way,” Lavinia said, holding up a finger to silence them. “For they lived fully—through sickness and sadness and good times and difficult ones. But in so doing, they found happiness of the very best kind, for they grew together in their love for each other for the rest of their lives. The end.”
Everyone clapped—even a begrudging Thomas—and Artie and Delia gave several elaborate bows to their enthusiastic audience, as Lucas suspected they had done at the conclusion of every performance they’d ever given for the past half century.
As he applauded the performance, Lucas reflected further upon Lavinia’s concluding statement about the prince and princess growing together in their love for each other through happy and difficult times. She’d been raised in the theater, where fantasy was acted out on stage every evening, where people went to escape sickness and sadness and difficult times and imagine fanciful lives beyond their own. And yet, her own mother had left when Lavinia was little more than Annabel’s age. Her father had done little for her as her parent after that. Her version of “happily ever after” was utterly plain—but would be of great worth to someone who’d never experienced it.
With the aid of the ever-gallant Artie, Lavinia rose to her feet and took a modest bow herself before being thronged and hugged by all the children, except Edmund and Isaac Junior, who stood awkwardly by as boys of that age generally did. Lucas couldn’t take his eyes off her. She seemed relaxed and happy in a way he’d not seen her before. She was beautiful.
Well, of course she was beautiful. That was blatantly apparent to anyone who cast eyes on her. She was extraordinarily so.
But this was different.
This was a beauty that came from within her and made her luminous. She was not of this earth, nor from any fairy tale she might have shared with the children this afternoon.
She was heavenly.
Her eyes caught his, and he hardly dared breathe. She smiled at him—first with her eyes and lips and then with her whole countenance. My angel, he thought. Mine.
He crossed to her and bowed low over her hand, leaving a prolonged kiss there. “My beautiful Lavinia,” he murmured, “what an honor it is to have you in my life.”
He meant every word, and he realized with urgency that he must find a way to keep her in his life, to make the betrothal one in truth.
* * *
“I understand from Thomas that I missed a rather extraordinary theatrical performance this afternoon,” Isobel said at dinner as soon as everyone was seated. Delia and Artie had asked to take their meals in their rooms so they could retire early, their antics entertaining the children having thoroughly worn them both out, and Hannah had opted to join them. “I’m sorry I missed it. I had already heard from the children about it. They were quite enamored by it all, from what I understand. I must congratulate you, Lavinia.”
“Thank you,” Lavinia replied demurely, taking a sip from her goblet. She was still feeling shaken from the look she and Lucas had shared after the last story. His eyes had burned with an intensity that had made her heart pound. It was similar to looks other gentlemen had given her over the years—but also completely different.
He’d looked at her with passion, but a passion that went beyond physical attraction to a higher plane. It was at once exhilarating and terrifying.
“I, for one, was
enchanted,” Clara said. “I wish you had been there, Isobel. And Susan and Rebecca too.”
“Nothing of note ever happens around here except when we have appointments in the village we are obliged to keep,” Rebecca said, dipping a spoon into her soup and blowing gently to cool it before taking a sip. “The chestnut soup is divine, Mama.”
“I believe Cook added bacon to the recipe this time,” Lady Thurlby said.
“Perhaps you can be persuaded to do an encore performance for those of us who weren’t there,” Viscount Thurlby said, directing his comment to Lavinia.
Lavinia looked at Lucas, which was a mistake. Her insides trembled again.
“Perhaps tomorrow evening, Father, with your—and the others’—permission,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Tonight, I should like to spend some time with my betrothed showing her the portrait gallery.”
“Be warned, Lavinia,” Susan said as the main course of pheasant and vegetables was served. “There is a horrid picture of Lucas there—the only image we had of him before he left for Spain. You wouldn’t recognize it as him unless you were told. I dare you to not laugh when you discover which one it is out of the many fine Jennings men hanging on the walls there.”
“It’s not so bad,” the viscountess said.
“It’s terrible, Mama,” Lucas replied. “One might think it was painted upon my return from war, having become disfigured in battle.”
Lady Thurlby waved her hand at him in dismissal. “They exaggerate, Lavinia. While I will concede it isn’t the best likeness—”
The viscount coughed, making Lucas laugh.
“Nonetheless, it looked enough like him for me to feel comforted that I had something to remember him by should—” She stopped speaking abruptly and looked down at her lap.
Everyone paused while she collected herself. After a moment, she sniffed and dabbed at her nose, and then raised her head to continue. “I’m beyond relieved that you are returned to us, Lucas, when so many mothers lost and continue to lose their sons in this cause. Now, enough of my foolish sentiment. What did you learn on your inspection of the farm?”