by Wilma Counts
“Told you I could be quite useful,” Beaconfield said softly, grinning at Harriet.
“So you did. ’Tis obvious that someone missed her nap. The others will tire soon too, I fear. Perhaps we should go.”
“You be the judge,” he said, “but Lady Elinor and I are doing well at the moment, so let the others enjoy for a while yet.”
“Oh, la, Lord Beaconfield,” Harriet teased in the gushing tone of a mincing belle of the ton, “if you continue in this most untoward behavior, your reputation in the beau monde will suffer abominably.”
His grin broadened. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Now don’t make me laugh and wake this child.”
“Yes, sir.” Harriet gave him a mock salute as Sarah tugged at her hand to drag her farther along the walkway.
* * * *
Within a week Harriet and her charges were on their way back to Sedwick Hall. On the second day of their journey, the weather turned cloudy in the morning and by midafternoon, the heavens issued a pouring rain that turned the road into a muddy quagmire and forced them to stop earlier than they had planned. The rain followed them north, slowing their progress considerably, and a broken wheel slowed them even more. Having sent a message of their intended arrival, Harriet chose to push on, hoping they would arrive at Sedwick before dark. It did not happen, but they were so close and the local men driving the vehicles assured her that yes, indeed, they could manage through this remaining drizzle what with carriage lanterns and the moon flitting through clouds from time to time. So they pushed through, though not without necessary stops for animals or humans, each stop requiring dashes through the rain.
When they finally did arrive at the Hall tired and wet, Harriet directed the nursery maids simply to take all the children, the dog, and the kitten directly to the nursery rooms. Harriet would see that a kitchen maid sent up some warm food and milk or tea for all of them and they were to prepare immediately for bed. Testimony to their degree of fatigue was the fact that not one of them protested this plan.
Chapter 4
Harriet retreated to her own rooms to remove her wet cloak, her wind-blown bonnet, and mud-begrimed half-boots. Having lost half the pins from her hair in the wind and rain at their various stops, she told her maid Collins to give her hair a hurried brush and then leave it hanging. She washed her face and hands and returned to the nursery to check on the children again. She found Tilly already asleep in her crib, and the others, attired for bed, gathered around the table in the schoolroom-playroom, making short work of the supper that had been sent up.
She squeezed into the chair Phillip had jumped up to hold for her between his own place and Sarah’s. Harriet noted that they had made their way through a good deal of the cheese, bread, sliced ham, and ginger biscuits that had been brought up for them, along with milk and weak tea.
As Harriet settled into her seat, Robby leaned around Sarah and asked Phillip in an eager tone, “Did you give it to her yet?”
“’Course not,” Sarah said disdainfully. “You be quiet afore you ruin the s’prise.”
Robby settled back with a pout.
Phillip had remained standing next to Harriet.
Maria, in charge of the drinks, handed Harriet a cup of tea, which Harriet took with a silent “thank you” and a smile of approval. It dawned on her that there was a sense of anticipation about this little group. The twins and Sarah leaned forward, looking at Phillip; Elly sat on her knees leaning forward on her elbows on the table, though Maria tried to urge her to sit properly.
Phillip cleared his throat and bowed to Harriet. “Aunt Harriet. As the current Earl of Sedwick I speak for all of my immediate family—those presently awake, at least—in expressing to you our sincere thanks to you for taking us to London.”
She smiled at the practiced formality of his speech. “It was my pleasure, and something your parents and I often talked of doing.”
Phillip reached into the pocket of his robe and extracted a small blue box, which he handed to her. “This is from all of us. To say thank you.”
“Oh, my goodness.” She stood and hugged him as she accepted it, then quickly sat back down, stunned.
“Open it,” Robby demanded.
“Wait,” Maria admonished him.
“Oh, my goodness,” Harriet said again, recognizing the box from one of London’s most exclusive jewelry shops. She lifted the lid with trembling fingers. Nestled in folds of blue velvet was a lovely piece of jewelry shaped like a basket of flowers that might be worn as either a brooch or a pendant. The “basket” of very fine gold filigree work held seven “flowers” fashioned of different-colored semiprecious stones: garnet, lapis lazuli, gold topaz, amethyst, pink crystal, and two of aquamarine. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“Can I see?” Sarah asked.
“You saw it before—in London,” Robby said.
“I want to see it again. I like to look at pretty things,” Sarah said.
“As do we all!” Harriet agreed, showing her the object at a better angle. “How did you all manage to keep this a secret from me all this time?”
“It was not easy,” Richard said. “Elly nearly spoiled the surprise when she asked at supper yesterday if you liked flowers.”
“Do you like it?” Elly asked. “Do you really, really like it?”
“Yes, my darlings, I really, really like it.”
“But you’re crying!” Elly and Richard said at the same time.
“These are happy tears.”
“Oh.”
They were all quiet for a moment as Harriet gathered her composure again. She straightened her shoulders and smiled at each of them and looked at the piece of jewelry again. “Seven flowers. One for each of you. Who chose the colors?”
“We mostly picked our own,” Maria explained. “Sarah wanted red—so garnets; I wanted the topaz; Phillip chose the blue lapis; Elly liked the sparkle of crystals; and we persuaded the twins that aquamarines matched their eyes, just as amethyst matches Matilda’s eyes.”
“So it does,” Harriet agreed. “I shall never get my flowers mixed up. And I shall treasure this gift forever. Forever.” Her voice caught.
“It was Maria’s idea,” Phillip said in an apparent attempt to lighten the level of emotion in the room.
“But we all agreed,” Maria added hastily, “and it was Phillip who actually approached Uncle Charles and Great-grandfather to negotiate the funds and the trips to the jeweler.”
“I wanted diamonds and sapphires, but Grandfather said I should wait until I was of a proper age and had full control of my fortune,” Phillip said. “So someday—”
“Hmm. Still, that took some strategy,” Harriet commented.
Phillip grinned. “Remember all those trips Uncle Charles and Great-grandfather and Jeremy and I took to Tattersalls to inspect horses and go to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon?”
“I may never trust any of you Sedwick or Hawthorne men again,” Harriet said fondly and stood. “Now, off to bed with the lot of you. But first, as we did on the journey, let us say the Lord’s Prayer together, then you can say your individual prayers as you get into bed.”
They said the group prayer and she kissed each of them good night as they went off to their own rooms. She turned Lady Elinor over to the nurse, who would see her to the room she shared with Lady Matilda.
* * * *
Despite her own exhaustion from the day’s journey, Harriet was too keyed up to seek her own bed just yet. Given the hour and the general silence of the house, she doubted anyone else was still up, so she ignored the fact that her hair hung in tendrils about her face and that besides a few small spots of mud on the plain gray linen of her dress, the entire hem was decorated with three inches of that still-drying addition to the embroidery there. The dress was ruined, but as she had told her maid earlier, “With luck, once the next few weeks are o
ver, I shall not have to wear such a garment again for a long, long time.” Using the servants’ stairway, she would just slip down to the kitchen and make herself a cup of tea and raid the pantry for another biscuit.
Expecting the subdued light of the lowered lamp that Mrs. Hodges, the cook, always left at night in the middle of the kitchen work table, Harriet was startled as she pushed open the door from the stairway to see the table brightly lit. And two people were calmly having tea—at this hour! Mrs. Hodges and a man! Before Harriet could just quietly retreat, Mrs. Hodges spotted her.
“Oh, Miss Harriet, do come in. Join us.”
The man rose from the opposite side of the table and seemed to just keep rising. He was dressed in buckskins and a woolen shirt such as field workers might wear, the sleeves rolled to the forearms. He was deeply tanned, had light brown hair, and a riveting look about his hazel eyes that seemed to miss absolutely nothing. She had never seen him before, but she knew at once who he was. She came nearer the table, transfixed by his gaze, unable to avert her own gaze.
“Miss Harriet,” Mrs. Hodges said, “I don’t believe ye’ve met—”
“Colonel Lord Quinton Burnes,” Harriet said, managing to find her voice. Without taking her eyes from his, she accorded him a formal curtsy.
“Miss Harriet Mayfield,” he said with a polite bow and gestured to a seat at the table beside Mrs. Hodges. “Do join us. Mrs. Hodges was just telling me of your perilous journey.”
“Thank you,” she said, pushing an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. Drat. Why had she not allowed Collins to at least tie it up with a ribbon? She took the seat on the bench opposite him, scarcely aware that she continued to breathe in and out, scarcely aware that Mrs. Hodges had risen to procure another mug. Somehow her whole being seemed to be in a state of suspension, focused on the expression in a pair of dark hazel eyes across the table from her.
“Not so much perilous as tedious and bothersome. The closer we got to home, the harder the rain fell and the muddier the road, it seemed. And then we were delayed by a broken wheel and had to change our route because a bridge had been washed away.”
“The hazards of travel,” he said. “Try it across uncharted territory with several hundred troops, along with attendant camp followers, gear, carts, pack animals, and—whatever. At least you had some choice in the matter.”
“Here ye go, dearie.” Mrs. Hodges placed a ceramic mug of hot tea laced with milk in front of Harriet. “Master Quint—I mean his lordship, the colonel here—he likes his tea on a cold night like this one same as you and I do: with ginger and cinnamon and milk and honey.”
“It was a treat I longed for as we were crossing the Pyrenees last winter,” he said. “But Hodgie, you must drop that ‘lordship’ business.” Harriet knew that Mrs. Hodges had been working in the kitchen at Sedwick Hall for nearly three decades, and that both the Burnes brothers had regarded her with a great deal of affection as they were growing up.
Mrs. Hodges bristled. She shook a finger at the colonel. “Now don’t ye be tellin’ me how I’m s’posed to address me betters, Master Quint. I had right proper trainin’, I did. Your mama—”
“I don’t doubt my mother can quote Debrett’s guide to the peerage chapter and verse, but that nonsense has little meaning in real life, and so long as I am in charge at Sedwick Hall, we shall minimize it. And for the record, I am in charge—until the current Earl of Sedwick reaches his majority. Would you not agree, Miss Mayfield?”
“With what, my lord? Er, Colonel? Er—?”
He sighed. “Colonel. At least I earned that one. Do you not agree with what I just said? Or would you like me to repeat myself?”
“Oh, there is no need to repeat. Yes, I agree that Lady Margaret is well versed in forms of correct address for various elements of titled personages. And certainly I agree that you are at least nominally in charge of all that is of concern to Sedwick Hall until Phillip reaches his majority.”
“Nominally?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I doubt you are keeping count of the sheets in the linen closet or the number of deer in the park.” She pushed that errant tendril of hair behind her ear again and locked her gaze with his again. “But, no, I do not agree that having people aware of their places in society—and their responsibilities—is mere nonsense.”
“Good grief! You are not at all the democrat you pretend to be, are you?” he challenged.
She sat back. “W-why? W-what do you mean?”
“Win told me about your writing. Sent me clippings from the ‘Lady Senator’ he thought I would find amusing.”
She raised her mug to sip her tea to hide her surprise—and the glare she wanted to direct at him. “I’m glad you found my work ‘amusing.’ My writing is not a secret, though it is easier as a woman to publish under a pseudonym.”
“I meant no disparagement of your writing, Miss Mayfield.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
He drank deeply of his tea and stood. “We’ve all had a long day of it. I shall bid you ladies good night.” He looked at Harriet. “We shall continue this conversation tomorrow, Miss Mayfield. We have much to talk about.”
“As you wish, my lord—uh—Colonel.”
He smiled, nodded, and left.
“That one allus did have the nicest smile,” Mrs. Hodges said, and Harriet had to agree: even, white teeth against a rich tan and a smile that showed natural dimples deepened by laugh lines was, indeed, “the nicest smile”—even if the man promised to hold views with which she would have to take issue.
“He was out all evening looking for you and the young ones,” Mrs. Hodges went on. “We was so worried when we got word you was at Hendley at noon and then you hadn’t arrived here by suppertime. So Lord Quint and his man, Mr. Gibbons, and two grooms set out looking for you, ’spite o’ the rain. Course they was looking on the very road you did not take—’cause of that washed-out bridge an’ all. Wild goose chase. They come in ’bout an hour after you did. What a night!”
The two women bade each other good night and Harriet made her way to her bed, half afraid that a nice smile and a pair of hazel eyes that seemed to see more than they should would keep her awake, not to mention the fact that she thought she sensed a certain animosity in his demeanor. They did keep her awake—though not for long—but they were the last things on her mind that night—and the first that popped into her mind when she awoke.
* * * *
Quint cursed himself as he climbed the stairs to his bed chamber. Didn’t handle that well, did you, Burnes? What happened to all those vows of “putting that infernal woman in her place immediately,” of “not letting a single moment pass before she understood quite, quite clearly just who it was who was in charge at Sedwick”?
Instead, he’d been ambushed.
That’s what it was: ambushed. Struck dumb by a mass of dark hair, a creamy complexion, and downright mesmerizing smoky blue eyes. He feared he’d made a fool of himself staring into her eyes as he had. Were they blue? Or were they gray? And that hair. Black. Or very dark brown. Hard to tell in lamplight. He grinned at himself. It was a mess, but his fingers had fairly itched to touch it. He quelled a fleeting image of it spread across a pillow. Jesus, Burnes! It really has been a long time, hasn’t it?
And he ought to be exercising more caution about this woman. Had his mother not warned him of the extraordinary influence she seemed to have on Win and Anne’s offspring? Had Miss Mayfield not already deliberately defied him in taking the brood to London, and look how that had turned out!
Quint had arrived at Sedwick Hall ten days ago, fully expecting to find the new earl and his siblings in residence, presumably anticipating his arrival. At first, he merely thought it a bit inconvenient that the family were not present when he arrived, but after all, he’d not given them a specific date, had he? On the other hand, had he not made it quite clear that he expe
cted the children to remain at the Hall? Colonel Lord Quinton Burnes was accustomed to having his slightest suggestions obeyed as ironclad orders, so their absence did not sit well with him. Never mind the fact that, initially, he was frankly grateful for a day or so of quietude and rest, for the long journey had not been easy on his still mending body. His mother, of course, had been on hand and not only welcomed him warmly, but tried to bring him up to date with family news and with such of the local community as he remembered—which was a surprising number of the inhabitants of several villages.
As he waited none-too-patiently for the return of his charges, Quint found himself filtering out much of his mother’s chitchat—just as he had done during most of his youth. Quint and his mother had never been close. As Countess of Sedwick, Lady Margaret had scarcely had time for the heir she had dutifully produced, let alone the mandatory spare. She and her husband had been far more interested in the social and sporting sets than the nursery lot when their children were young. Later, both parents and children had welcomed the separation when the boys went off to boarding school and seemed to spend as many holidays away with school friends as they had at Sedwick Hall.
Quint knew that for a short while after her husband’s death, Lady Margaret had reigned supreme as chatelaine and hostess at Sedwick Hall, but then Winston, the sixth earl, had brought home his bride—the beautiful and personable Anne—and the dowager countess had not taken well her banishment to the dower house, elegant and lavishly equipped though it was. Quint remembered those long letters in which Win poured out the sometimes amusing, sometimes frustrating clichés of a husband caught in the throes of not-quite-open conflict between wife and mother. Now his mother seemed to have assumed that, in the absence of a true Countess of Sedwick, it was her prerogative to move back into the Hall and take on the duties and privileges she had once enjoyed in that position. As he reflected on some of the comments his mother had made over the last few days, it occurred to him that she might have transferred her antipathy toward her daughter-in-law to the daughter-in-law’s sister, for she had had precious little positive to say of “that willful girl.”