by Farr, Diane
Sarah settled her spectacles firmly on her nose. “Very good,” she said, giving him a cheeky little grin.
“Sauce-box.” He rumpled Sarah’s hair until she squealed and swatted ineffectually at his hand. “When will you learn to treat me with respect? I should upset the water on you. Teach you a lesson.”
“Pho! You never would,” said Sarah confidently. She looked up at Cynthia. “His bark is worse than his bite,” she explained.
“Where did you hear that phrase?” demanded Derek.
“Nowhere. I read it in a book.”
“Well, that’s what comes of educating females.” He shook his head in mock disgust. “I warn you, don’t start mouthing proverbs at me. I won’t stand for it.”
Sarah giggled, then looked self-conscious when she noticed Cynthia’s unsmiling face. “He doesn’t mean it, you know,” she said anxiously.
Cynthia, seeming to recall her manners, gave Sarah a strained little smile. “Of course not.”
Derek sensed that Cynthia was retreating further, and that if he did not draw her into the conversation she would find an excuse to leave the room. He winked at her, jerking his chin to indicate Sarah. “She’s a little tyrant, isn’t she? Don’t let her rope you into admiring her watercolors.”
Cynthia looked startled. Sarah cried indignantly, “I haven’t roped her—have I, Lady Cynthia?”
“No, my dear, you certainly have not.” She laid a hand protectively on Sarah’s shoulder. “I enjoy looking at your work. You are extremely talented.”
“She comes here every morning, Uncle Derek. She likes it here.”
He rolled his eyes. “What a rapper! Why would a grown woman like hanging about in a nursery?”
To his secret delight, Sarah and Cynthia immediately joined forces and turned on him.
“Uncle Derek, she is a friend of mine—”
“I have always enjoyed the company of children—”
“—and I won’t let you drive her away.”
“—and Sarah is a particularly delightful child.”
He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Very well. You needn’t shout.”
“We weren’t shouting,” said Sarah, with dignity. “We were just telling you.”
Cynthia had turned slightly pink. “You are joking again,” she observed, giving him a look of reproach.
He smiled at her. “Right. Sorry.”
“He is always joking.” Sarah gave a disdainful sniff. “It’s best to pay no attention to anything he says.”
“Here, now!” exclaimed Derek. “Watch what you say, brat. I’m frequently in dead earnest. Frequently,” he repeated sternly, when Sarah stifled another giggle. “As you’ll soon discover, if you don’t mend your ways.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” She lifted one of her wet brushes and pretended to flick water at him. Derek, roaring like an outraged bear, dashed around the corner of the table. A brief chase ensued, followed by a tussle for control of the paintbrush. Throughout, Derek was aware of Cynthia watching in amazed silence as he pinned the wriggling, laughing child to the floor, straddled her, and emerged triumphant, waving the brush like a flag.
It seemed that Cynthia did not know what to make of all this. Derek scrambled to his feet, tugged his waistcoat back into place, and reached out a hand to Sarah, who was still on the floor. Sarah took it, and he hauled her to feet in one motion.
Cynthia looked a little anxious. “Are you all right?” she asked Sarah, moving to smooth the little girl’s hair and brush invisible dust from the back of her frock.
Sarah looked surprised. “Of course.”
“It’s good for her,” said Derek firmly, tossing the paintbrush back onto the table. “Keeps her in line.”
Sarah leaned affectionately against Cynthia. “He’s quite my favorite uncle, you know,” she confided.
Cynthia smiled. “Does your mother not mind, that he plays so roughly with you?”
“No, for he’s her favorite brother as well.”
Derek grinned. “That’s not saying much,” he admitted. “I daresay you haven’t met her other brother. No? I congratulate you.”
Now Cynthia definitely looked shocked. Derek hastened to reassure her. “He’s our half brother. I’ll tell you the story one day. I wouldn’t want you to think ill of us—Natalie and me—for keeping our distance from him. Once you hear the tale, you’ll understand.”
Cynthia still stood with one hand resting on Sarah’s shoulder. “Your family is quite different from mine,” she said softly.
“In what way?”
She seemed to hesitate before she spoke. “It’s difficult to explain, really. I suppose I would say you are much... freer with each other. In various ways.” A slight smile disturbed her gravity. “I was never allowed to play with my brothers, for one thing. Or, needless to say, my uncles. Not that it would ever have occurred to me to try.” She glanced down at Sarah, who was looking up at her with a very serious expression. Cynthia almost laughed. “Does that seem tragic to you?”
“Well,” said Sarah gravely, “I haven’t any brothers. But I think that if I were not allowed to play with Uncle Derek, I might be rather lonely.”
“You have a sweet little sister.”
“Oh, yes, quite! And I do love Pippa. But it’s not the same.”
“Pippa doesn’t pummel her hard enough,” explained Derek. “And she’s too small—yet—to pin Sarah to the floor.”
Cynthia looked puzzled. “But no one enjoys being pummeled and pinned to the floor.”
Sarah and Derek exchanged glances. Derek shrugged. Sarah looked back at Cynthia, her expression indignant. “He would never hurt me.”
The bewilderment on Cynthia’s face made Derek chuckle. “Give over, Sarah. Lady Cynthia has never been properly pummeled. Until the day she is, she’ll never understand how much fun it can be.” He leaned back against the edge of Sarah’s table, watching Cynthia. He tried to banish the image that had just taken strong possession of his mind: himself pinning Cynthia to the floor... and making sure she liked it. “Tell us about your family,” he suggested. “Are they more like the Chases than the Whittakers?”
She bit her lip. “It can’t possibly interest you.”
“On the contrary.” He signaled Sarah to second his entreaty. She peered obligingly up at Cynthia, looking like a kindly little owl in her spectacles.
“Pray tell us, Lady Cynthia,” she urged. “Are they frightfully stuffy?”
Cynthia laughed aloud at that. “Certainly not. My papa is anything but stuffy. He’s quite the avid sportsman. In fact, he taught me how to ride as well as my brothers do. It was mostly indoor things I was not allowed to do. Sitting on the floor, for example, or kicking the legs of my chair, or speaking too loudly, or slouching. Running in the house. Taking the stairs two steps at a time. Things of that nature.” Her eyes took on a faraway look as she remembered. “I was punished once for sliding on the dining room floor in my stocking feet, after it had just been polished. It was great fun, as I recall. Rather like skating. But it wasn’t ladylike.”
Sarah opened her eyes at this. “You weren’t a lady yet,” she announced, firing up in defense of the child Cynthia. “And how did you play at jackstraws if you couldn’t sit on the floor?”
“I played at a table.”
Sarah looked skeptical. “Dull work,” she remarked. “I had rather sit on the floor.”
This was all highly illuminating, Derek thought. Repressed as a child, Cynthia had grown into a reserved, secretive woman. A woman who feared... what? Divine retribution, if she crossed some invisible line?
He studied the nearly imperceptible changes in her expression as thoughts and feelings raced through her. There were hidden depths of emotion in Cynthia, as he well knew. He sensed a growing chaos there, as if long-held assumptions, carefully instilled in her by her strict upbringing, were being unexpectedly challenged, one after the other. Was he the source of her confusion? He hoped so. A little confusion never hurt
anyone. In fact, it often proved a catalyst for change. And he intended to bring changes to Cynthia’s life. Big changes, and soon.
“Judging by the look on your face when I gave my opinion of Hector, your family never speaks ill of each other,” he remarked. “We might do well to copy that. What say you, Sarah? Shall we turn over a new leaf? Stop ragging each other?”
“We don’t rag each other.” Sarah frowned. “Only in jest. That’s different.”
“But we never mind our tongues, do we?”
“We don’t need to.” She settled her spectacles more firmly on her nose. “People who understand each other know the difference between a joke and a scold.”
Derek laughed. “Sarah, my pet, you are wise beyond your years.”
“She is certainly talented beyond her years.” Cynthia came to the table and bent over the delicate blooms rendered so beautifully by Sarah’s hand. “These are lovely. Good enough to illustrate a gardening text.”
Sarah ducked her head and beamed, expressing both shyness and pleasure. Seeing that his niece had momentarily lost her tongue, Derek chimed in. The best way to ease Sarah’s self-consciousness was to say something ridiculous.
“If you must know,” he said, in a pained voice, “we’re all very proud of her. I’m just doing my part to keep the brat humble. A difficult task, as I’m sure you can appreciate. I try to limit my compliments to one per week; no more. Deprivation is good for the soul.”
Cynthia looked amused. “Whose soul? Yours or Sarah’s?”
He feigned surprise. “Why, Sarah’s, of course. My soul was whipped into shape long ago. Hers is still in the formative stage.”
He loved to see the spark of laughter in Cynthia’s eyes. “Who whipped your soul into shape?” she inquired. “Did you have an uncle, too?”
“No, alas, I was not so fortunate. I had to wait for life itself to teach me, and thus learned everything in the hardest possible way.”
“I could wait for life,” Sarah offered. “You needn’t put yourself out, trying so hard to help me.”
He placed one hand against his heart and lifted his eyes piously toward heaven. “Dear child! If you only knew the trouble you cause me. But I was never one to shirk my duty.”
Cynthia and Sarah both laughed at that absurdity, which pleased him. He held the chair for Sarah and she sat, removing her eyeglasses and placing them, again, at her left hand. A dreamy look came over her as her world went out of focus. She selected a brush, one of the tiniest of her set, dipped it in the water, expertly swirled it against a cake of color, and bent close to the paper. Derek knew, from long experience, that she had already entered a trance-like state, so utterly focused on what she was doing that she was oblivious to their continued presence. They would have to shake her if they wanted her attention now. He smiled. Sarah was an odd duck, but he was, actually, quite proud of her. Fond of her, too.
He glanced at Cynthia and saw that she, too, was aware of Sarah’s powerful ability to shut out the world—and that it did not lessen her admiration or affection. She lifted her eyes to his and for a flash of time they smiled at each other, walls down. Then she dropped her eyes, and the unguarded moment passed.
He sought to bring it back. “I’m glad you see what we see in her,” he said softly. “Not everyone does.”
She seemed to know what he meant. “Has she found it difficult to make friends of her own age?”
“I think so.”
“Extremely clever children are often a bit eccentric.” A wistful smile curved the corners of Cynthia’s mouth. “I envy her a little. I wish I had invented, when I was a child, such an excellent way to escape reality.”
Sarah’s absorption was so complete, they might as well have been alone. Electricity seemed to hum in the air between them. Cynthia evidently felt it, too. She folded her arms across herself in an unconscious gesture of protection.
“Well,” she said, offering him a forced little smile, “I think I shall leave her to her work. Good day, Mr. Whittaker.”
She was already halfway to the door, but he caught up with her in two quick strides. “May I ask where you are headed?” He kept his tone neutral, pretending it was the sort of idle inquiry she might receive from anyone. “I would be glad to escort you.”
“I don’t need an escort, thank you.”
He gave her his most disarming grin. “I didn’t say you needed it. I said I would be glad to provide it. A subtle, but important, difference.” He held the door for her.
She hung back for a moment, seeming irresolute. “Thank you,” she said tonelessly. “But I had rather you didn’t.”
“Perhaps I haven’t expressed myself clearly. It would be my pleasure to accompany you.” She had looked away, so he bent himself nearly double, catching her lowered eyes by placing his face, willy-nilly, in her line of vision. “Come now, Cynthia,” he said coaxingly. “Don’t make me beg. For such a little thing?” He held up his thumb and forefinger, pinching them nearly together to demonstrate how tiny the favor was that he asked of her. “I promise to do nothing alarming.”
Her lips twitched. “Very well,” she said resignedly. “But only because I fear you would follow me everywhere, like a duckling, if I refused.”
He straightened at once. “How well you know me,” he remarked, in a pleased-sounding voice. She laughed, and passed through the open doorway. He felt a strong impulse to whoop in triumph, but managed to suppress it.
“Where are we going?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
“Well, I had thought of walking in the garden.”
“Excellent.”
“But now it looks like rain.”
“Does it?” He smiled down at her. He could not stop smiling. “I see nothing but sunshine.”
She blushed! A hit, by thunder, a hit.
“Mr. Whittaker.” There was a slight quiver in her voice. “Pray do not smile at me so.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You put me out of countenance.”
“Impossible. You are never at a loss.”
Now she looked vexed. “You are teasing me.”
“Teasing you?” he exclaimed. “Nonsense. I never knew anyone with so much poise. You’re famous for it. I daresay I could beam at you like the village idiot for hours on end, and you’d never turn a hair.”
She covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a tiny gasp of laughter. “I beg you will not make the attempt! Pray remember, Der—Mr. Whittaker, that you promised to do nothing alarming if I allowed you to escort me.”
“Oh, would that alarm you?”
“Exceedingly!”
“Then I shall refrain,” he promised. “For the moment.”
She looked flustered. She looked very pretty flustered, of course. They walked on while she seemed to struggle with herself. “I hope you understand,” she said at last, “that I am wholly unused to this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?”
“Teasing. And flummery. And—well, I don’t know what else to call it. Blarney!”
“Ah, yes. You were reared in Ireland.” He chuckled. “I’ve never been to Blarney.”
“Well, no one would guess it,” she said tartly. “You’ve such a gift for nonsense, I imagine the Blarney stone would kiss you if it could, rather than the other way about.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Cynthia, me darlin’, I hope that’s a compliment.”
She choked. “It isn’t. And that’s the worst attempt at a brogue I’ve ever heard.”
He grinned. “It made you laugh, at any rate. I like to make you laugh.”
Her smile was alight with laughter, but she shook her head. “I don’t know why you make me laugh,” she remarked. “It isn’t the things you say, precisely. It’s something in your manner.”
“Right,” he agreed. “What I lack in actual wit, I make up in silliness.”
“Oh, dear. Is that what I said?”
“Something like it. Never mind! I don’t much care if you think
me a simpleton, as long as you smile for me.”
She looked scandalized. “Derek, really—! No one could possibly think you a simpleton.”
They had wandered down to the ground floor by now. Voices could be heard down the passage; evidently a group of some kind had gathered in the library. Cynthia headed automatically toward the hum of conversation. Derek placed a hand on her arm to stop her. She halted, the amusement vanishing from her face.
“Don’t go in,” he said seriously, lowering his voice so they could not be overheard. “I hunted everywhere for you this morning. After expending so much effort to find you, I intend to keep you.” He tried to return to flippancy, hoping it would relax her guard. “I think I deserve it. Don’t you?”
With his hand on her arm, he could feel the tremor that ran through her. “Keep me?” she repeated faintly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Keep you with me,” he amended. “For the present.” It wasn’t what he had meant—not entirely—but it would do for now. He lowered his voice further. “We have much to say to each other.”
The mood immediately shifted. The very air seemed to thicken around them. When she did not reply, he added, very softly, “I must speak to you or go mad.”
For a moment she did not move. Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes to his. “Don’t you understand?” Her eyes were filled with misery. Her voice was nearly inaudible. “There is nothing I can say to you. And nothing you can say that I should hear. I should not have walked with you, even so far as this.” She pulled away from him, shivering. “Do not persecute me. Let me go.”
But he couldn’t let her go.
He stepped to block her path. “Five minutes. That’s not too much to ask, is it?” He saw refusal in her eyes and hastily revised his request. “Very well; three. Three minutes.”
She was rigid with tension. Her gaze darted to the open doorway down the passage. “I cannot. Not even three minutes. Not here. Not now.”
“Where, then? And when?”
“Derek, for pity’s sake—”