The Baron and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 3)

by Paullett Golden

She glanced over her shoulder. He nodded, looking perplexed, a hand sweeping through his curls, his discarded coat and waistcoat slung over the arm holding his tricorn. A hand to her breast, braced for whatever banshee hid in her cottage, she opened the stable door.

  Inching to her, its stomach against the floor, its head bowed, and its tail wagging, was a tri-colored, long-eared puppy. As soon as she gasped at the sight, it stood on wobbly legs and galloped at her, flopping onto her feet and whimpering, knowing at first sight that she must be his new mother.

  “Oh. Oh, Walter,” she mouthed, unsure if she spoke the words aloud. “What have you done?”

  The pup looked up with large brown eyes and gave a woof. How could she resist such a face? Reaching down, she picked up the bundle and nuzzled its neck.

  Walter stood behind her just outside of the cottage. “The innkeeper bred this lot to train for Sir Gene’s hunts. I absconded with one. With permission, of course. He’s a fine-looking Foxhound if ever I saw one, though I suppose you’ll have to train him to track the scents of herbs rather than foxes.”

  When she turned to him, the puppy in her arms, she saw only a blurry-edged figure. Why, for goodness’ sake, she would tear up over a puppy, she could not say.

  Wiping her eyes with the palm of one hand, she said, “Do come in. I’ll make tea.”

  “No, I should take my leave. It wouldn’t be proper, not without your brother present.”

  The puppy pawed at her as she scratched behind his ear. “Have you reverted to insisting I have a chaperone? Come in, Walter. The door will remain open. It always does. And besides, I’m a grown woman.”

  He hesitated, looking over his shoulder, not at all at ease with the situation. Nevertheless, he entered.

  Lilith could not stop herself from admiring him as he set his coat and waistcoat over the top of a chair, wearing only his shirt, the open vee at the neck revealing a dusting of reddish curls. The last time she saw him so undressed, he had been running on the beach. Breathless and blushing, she buried her face against the puppy.

  To hide her reddened cheeks, she carried the puppy with her to the kitchen for the wash basin and a breath of air. After a few deep, calming breaths, she brought the bowl out for Walter to wash his hands of dirt. She set it on the table next to her flowers.

  “Jasper,” she said, sitting in one of the fireside chairs and nestling the puppy on her lap. “I shall name him Jasper after the wise men.”

  Walter sat opposite her, grinning from ear-to-ear. “You like him? Not too ostentatious? He seems too smitten with you to return him.”

  “I have no idea what I’m going to do with a puppy, but yes, I like him. Love at first sight. Thank you.” Gratitude did not express the torrent of emotions, but it was all she could say.

  To express the sentiment to Jasper, she rubbed his neck until his back foot thumped her leg.

  “Will you hold him while I make tea?”

  “I daresay tea making can’t be above my skill set. If I can master gardening, perhaps I can excel in the kitchen, as well. Point me the way, give me instruction, and I’ll make the tea, shall I?” he said, already on his feet.

  “Sit. I’ll not have you bumbling about in my kitchen. Making tea is an advanced skill, and you’ll only end up over-steeping my leaves.” Her tone was light and teasing enough to deepen his smile and twinkle his eyes.

  When she handed over Jasper, who whimpered to leave her embrace, she was reminded of when she had placed Freya in his care, their arms overlapping, their bodies nearly touching, separated only by new life, and Walter’s face full of curious trepidation.

  To break the spell, she said, “I’ll need to get him a doggy bed. He can’t very well be carted around and held by everyone. Oh, heavens, what do puppies eat?”

  “Fear not,” said Walter, rubbing noses with the pup. “I’ll bring all you need. The shops are amazingly accommodating, as is the innkeeper, Mr. Hill.”

  When she stepped into the kitchen, leaving the boys to fend for themselves in the parlor, she aimed to be as quick as she could about things. She did not fancy wasting quality time with Walter or the new addition to her life standing in a kitchen. Leaning against the cabinetry and drumming her fingers against the countertop, she stared at the kettle, waiting for the water to boil.

  What in good heavens was she going to do with a puppy? Or tulips and snowdrops for that matter? Love them, of course. Love them for the heartfelt intention that brought them into her life. Love them for their own loveliness. The real question was what she was going to do with Walter? If only he could be of her world, a farmer or a tradesman in the village. But then, he would not be Walter.

  As though summoned by thought, he stepped into the kitchen and leaned a shoulder against the rounded cob doorway, his booted ankles crossing one over the other, Jasper cradled in his arms, sound asleep in puppy bliss.

  “We thought you might be lonely,” he said.

  “I don’t believe Jasper was terribly concerned.” She eyed the sleeping pup.

  “Right. Well. You were taking too long.”

  “Ha! Now we have the truth. I believe I’ve sabotaged myself, for a watched kettle never boils.” Lilith busied herself by portioning the leaves.

  Walter watched her silently, one of his hands scratching Jasper’s neck.

  “When I was young,” he said once she rescued the kettle from the coals, “I would sneak into the kitchen to watch Cook prepare tea or food or desserts. Mrs. Barstad was her name. Waddled when she walked. At the time, I thought it was because she got into the pies. Now, I suspect it was from gout. I loved watching her bake. It fascinated me. I dreamed of becoming a great cook in the King’s kitchen. Of course, she’d remind me of my station and that I employ cooks rather than the other way around, but a child’s dreams can’t be staunched. She retired after my father passed, lives in the country with her husband. We have Mrs. Avery now. Seems nice enough. Can’t say I’ve watched her in the kitchen, though.”

  Lilith listened to him as she prepared the tray. There was something appealing about the image of a russet-haired little boy with angelic curls and fairy green eyes peering over a counter to spy on the cook.

  Did puppies eat biscuits? She wondered. She added an extra biscuit to the tray just in case. Tray in hand, she nodded to the parlor and followed behind Walter. Setting it on the footstool between the chairs, she poured them each a cup.

  Jasper woke with a yawn, stretch, and tail wag. Nudging Walter’s leg, he begged to be let down. The puppy made short work of wobbling his way around to sniff the floor, the chair, the footstool, and Lilith’s feet. He did not stay awake long, only long enough to prop his head on her foot and harrumph himself back to slumber.

  “What else did you dream?” she asked, curious what heirs to baronies dreamed when they had everything already.

  Orphans rarely dreamed. Oh, they did, but dreams were depressing when there was nothing but the harsh reality of life. She was fortunate to have been sent to Mrs. Brighton’s orphanage. The alternative would have been a convent or workhouse.

  Mrs. Brighton had encouraged dreams, but practical ones, ones that would help the orphans decide a trade they might wish to learn. Even those dreams were outrageous for orphans. Mrs. Brighton, in her brilliant way, made as many of those dreams come true as she could, working with industry tradesmen to set up apprenticeships and more. When some of the girls would toss a fit about dance lessons, knowing full well they would never see the inside of a ballroom, Mrs. Brighton would weave a tale of all the many ways they might attend a village assembly, tales realistic enough that the girls would dance their hearts out.

  But what of little boys who had the world in their hands?

  Walter stared into his teacup. “You mean, what did I dream aside from being a chef?”

  Stretching his long legs in front of him and leaning back against the chair, he tapped his sa
ucer in thought.

  “I don’t think I ever stopped dreaming. I dreamt extravagant dreams. Magic carpet rides included. It wasn’t until reality intruded that my dreams changed shape. When I reached my majority, I dreamed of a carefree existence. I wanted to win curricle races, travel to more countries than my mates, eat the spiciest food to win a bet, ridiculously dim-witted things that meant nothing. I saw every one of those dreams to fruition.”

  “And now?”

  He pressed his lips together, closing his eyes for a moment. “I stopped dreaming after my father’s death. I didn’t see the point. All I would have dreamed was to have him back, and that’s something no amount of wealth or connection can accomplish. There was nothing I wanted except him.”

  Lilith set her teacup on the tray and reached a hand to touch his leg. She would have aimed for his arm, but he sat too far away.

  With a gentle squeeze of his thigh, she encouraged him to continue.

  “For the year or so before he died, he tried to settle me. He wanted to teach me about the barony. Hoped I would marry and set up a nursery. I put him off, thinking I had plenty of time. The day he died, I was supposed to have gone with him. I had promised. I was to meet him in his study for a talk with the steward, and then we were going to tour the home farm and call on neighbors. He had the whole day planned for us. Except, I was with my mates and lost track of time. One of the fellows bet another to a curricle race. I thought I had time, so I lingered to see who would win. It wasn’t until it was too late that I learned Papa had given up and left without me.”

  As he spoke, Lilith’s hand crept from his leg to cover her mouth. She understood where this was going. She shook her head slowly.

  “It was that damned race. One of them took a corner too fast, and there was my dad. How was I to dream after that? It was my fault. If I hadn’t been with my mates, they wouldn’t have tried showing off. If I had gone to the house to meet him, he wouldn’t have been on the road.”

  Lilith watched helplessly as his eyelashes darkened with tears. “Walter, none of that was your fault. They would have raced without you. And if you had gone with your father, you might have been killed too.”

  “That’s not the worst of it,” he said, not hearing her. “He died thinking I didn’t care enough to show up.”

  “Oh, Walter. He knew you cared. Of course, he knew.”

  “Did he?” Walter wiped his cheeks and sniffed. “I’m sorry, Lilith. I don’t know where that came from. How dreadfully embarrassing.”

  “There’s nothing for which to be embarrassed. Here, let me refill your cup. Tea makes everything better.”

  He leaned to offer his cup.

  “What happened to the curricle driver?” she asked tentatively.

  “Reggie. Lord Reginald Pratt. Youngest son of the Duke of Bidcombe. He dreamed of purchasing a commission, but his father wouldn’t allow it. Now he’s a recluse. I’ve not seen him since that day, though I’ve written to him a thousand times and made attempts to see him.”

  “He’s battling his own demons. Best to leave him in peace,” Lilith said, reaching a hand down to pet the sleeping Jasper.

  “Lilith, I haven’t dreamed for three years. Not until I met you. A light shone into my world when you walked out to the gazebo. I saw before me the woman who would give my life meaning. I’m not a morose person. I haven’t spent three years wallowing. It’s only…I’ve been lost. Listless. Unable to envision what I wanted out of life. But then I saw you. Everything fell into place, even the legacy I want to create and leave behind. That’s what I dream about, Lilith. You.”

  Walter could tell his words embarrassed her. She tucked her head and made an exaggerated effort to pick up Jasper and coddle him. In all fairness, he had not meant for those words to tumble out, at least not yet.

  He was far from ready to propose. As his mother had said, marriages need more than love, or however she had phrased it. Being in love with Lilith was not enough. Not only did she need to be as in love with him, she needed to love him, and they needed to ensure they could battle against the odds, that she could live in his world, and that they could beat the censure without it tearing them apart. He wanted to propose when he was sure or mostly sure of those things.

  As Roddam had pointed out after Sir Gene’s dinner engagement, it did not matter if they presented Lilith as his half-sister or his sister, she would be ridiculed for her time at the orphanage. The most cold-hearted of the beau monde would find other reasons to belittle her. Her country ways, her rustic accomplishments, the questionable manner of her disappearance. They stood a chance if she would agree to be introduced as legitimate. Without that, they fought a losing battle.

  Yes, he wanted her. No, he was not ready to propose.

  He watched her play with the puppy. She avoided eye contact.

  Without warning, she stood and left the room, the puppy prancing after her with poised tail and uncoordinated feet.

  Well, dash it all!

  This was awkward. He sat in her parlor, twiddling his thumbs and feeling sticky from the gardening. Was this her way to dismiss him after his bold words?

  He waited. He ate a biscuit.

  He waited longer. He ate another biscuit.

  He polished off the plate of biscuits. Just as he was about to rise from the chair to take his leave, she came bouncing back into the room, wearing a wide smile that lit up her features, puppy at her heel.

  In her hand, she held a makeshift dog toy. She had wrapped some sort of fabric or yarn or woman’s work around what looked like a wooden spoon.

  “It’s not what a baron’s puppy might play with, but it’s what mine does,” she said, sitting back in the chair and engaging the puppy in a game of tug of war. “I shall have to start collecting sticks when I’m out and about. Dogs like sticks, don’t they?”

  Walter chuckled. “I believe so. You might’ve simply tossed a ball of yarn into the room.”

  “Oh, goodness. A whole ball of yarn? Perhaps not. But I’ll remember that if I’m desperate and need a toy in a pinch.”

  He watched the two of them play before attempting conversation again. It was well beyond the polite time for him to leave. Manners dictated he not stay beyond a half hour. But he could not make himself move from the chair. Being with her felt so right.

  “At one time, Lilith, you said your dreams had been simple. A puppy, for instance. At Sir Gene’s, you talked about what orphans dream and your ability to help people realize their dreams. Have you given any thought to your dream? Tell me to be silent and leave if I’m overstepping.”

  It was too much to hope she would say she dreamed of him. Did she?

  “I’ve given this some thought,” she replied. “I’m uncertain I can put into words what I dream, but I have tried to dream since we parted last month.”

  She wrestled the toy from Jasper, who had all but fallen asleep with it in his mouth. Settling him next to her feet for another puppy snooze, she said, “It’s more of a feeling than a thing. I long for a place to belong. Someplace where I’m respected for what I do, valued, and needed. In some small way, I’ve found that in my work. I help people, a hands-on kind of help. I dream of doing that indefinitely, if not midwifery, then something similar where I’m helping women and children. It’s fulfilling and gives me that sense of belonging.”

  Walter leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs, which were filthy beyond recognition. His valet would have palpitations when he saw the breeches.

  “What if you trained midwives at my foundling hospital? Would that realize the dream?” His vision was for her as much as it was for himself.

  “Are you trying to hire me?” she asked with a laugh, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair.

  “Not exactly, but would it?”

  She thought for a moment before saying, “I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t t
hink so. Yes, I would enjoy training midwives. I’m doing it now with Miss Tolkey. But I’m not a teacher. I mean, yes, I am. I teach at the orphanage for heaven’s sake, but that’s not my trade. My skill and heart are in helping women. I would want to be involved with the process, the action, not simply talking about it in theory. That wasn’t the answer you were hoping for, was it?”

  He smiled but did not answer.

  What was he to say? That she could not practice midwifery if she married him? She could do anything that made her happy, if he had anything to say about it, but he did not set the rules for what was acceptable. There had to be a way to realize her dream and marry him. Surely.

  “The tea’s cold,” Lilith said after pouring herself another cup. “It won’t take but a moment to reheat the kettle since it should still be warm. You would like more tea, yes?”

  Oh, she hoped he did. She knew it was well past time for him to leave, but she wanted to extend his stay. She enjoyed his company. Being with him felt so right.

  “I’d love some,” he said.

  Ensuring Jasper was contently sleeping next to the chair, she carried the tray back to the kitchen.

  As she checked the water level in the kettle, she gasped to find Walter standing in the doorway again. Just as he had before, he leaned against the corner, one ankle crossed over the other, this time sans Jasper.

  He was virile. Positively virile. He filled the tiny kitchen. His frame may be slim, but he was toned and tall. Her kitchen felt small and overly warm. Though the corners of his lips were curved upwards in a slight smile, his eyes were far from smiling. The green depths watched her, memorizing her movements, studying her features, his eyelids drooping sleepily. No, not sleepily. Longingly.

  “A watched kettle never boils,” he said, his voice pitched lower than usual.

  However in control of herself she was, her body had yearnings of its own. At the sound of his voice, heat pulsed through her, sinking down to tingling toes, back up unsteady legs, and settling between her thighs.

  In two steps, she was leaning against him, her palms on his chest. Kiss me, she thought. Kiss me, or I’ll burst.