“What has happened to young Nash?” he asked.
“He is at present residing in the schoolroom.”
“It’s to be hoped he stays put.”
They shared a smile.
“Nash can read, he pounced on the books,” she said. “As long as we feed him and supply enough reading material, he will behave. At least until Hugh decides what to do with him.”
“He can read, eh? That is surprising.”
“Isn’t it remarkable?” She grinned. “Apparently, his mother taught him.”
He swung her into a fast turn, and she caught her breath as his legs pushed against her skirts and his strong arms guided her through the steps.
When they slowed, she fought to regain her breath. Heavens! Dancing with Hayworth seemed more physical than with others, although it might be because she was very much aware of him as a man. Foolish! She cautioned herself. She was an aunt for heaven’s sake. And aunts should not succumb to ridiculous romantic notions. Despite herself, her gaze was drawn to his intelligent eyes.
“Are you thinking what I am, I wonder?” he asked.
“That he might be an aristocrat’s by-blow?”
“Exactly.”
“Nash’s mother told him his father was a gentleman. No one came to help them, apparently, for she fell upon hard times.”
“And there was no one to come to his aid when she died. What does the duke think?”
“He hasn’t said, but I believe he might suspect it to be true.”
“Mm. Can’t have Nash finding his way back on to the streets. What’s to be done then?”
“I wish I knew.” She had been wrestling with the idea of moving to the country and taking him with her, but she wasn’t ready to voice it. She knew the idea would be met with resistance.
“If I can help, you have only to ask.”
“Thank you. That is kind of you, but I don’t see how.”
“I don’t either just at the moment. But I find myself intrigued, nonetheless. I should like to speak to the boy to try to learn more. Might I call tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course.” A warm glow spread through her at the thought of seeing him again.
The conclusion of the dance ended their conversation. Hayworth returned her to her sister, excused himself, and left them.
Eleanor related their conversation to Georgina.
“His mother could have been a maid who some gentleman forced himself on,” Georgina said in an undertone. “She would have been dismissed from service. We’ve heard those dreadful stories.”
“Yes. I always instructed my maids to be careful and my footmen to be on the alert when any gentlemen visiting Gordon drank too much at card play. Most men you can trust, but regrettably, there are some whom you cannot.”
Georgina shuddered. “Not all men are as honorable as those in our acquaintance. Lord Hayworth would be another trustworthy man I feel sure,” she added mischievously.
“He is calling tomorrow. He wishes to see Nash.”
“Of course he does,” Georgina said with a sly grin.
“Here comes your husband,” Eleanor said, relieved as Hugh made his way toward them. “I believe he wishes to dance with you.”
“And look who is with him. Lord Beacham.”
Eleanor’s heart sank. The gentleman painstakingly paid his attentions to her. His reasons were obscure but certainly not loverlike.
Their dance seemed interminable. Lord Beacham’s smile was strained, his hands so sweaty their warm wetness penetrated her gloves.
“You rival all the debutants tonight, Lady Eleanor,” he said as he led her solidly through the steps.
“Nonsense, my lord,” Eleanor said with a kind smile.
His face flushed. “A woman in her… ah… advancing years can offer so much more…” He paused to execute a turn, narrowly avoiding treading on her foot.
Eleanor wanted to giggle, and might have, except she felt rather sorry for Beacham. Why he was courting her was a mystery. Might he wish to curry a duke’s favor? Seek an endorsement in a business transaction? It was certainly not love or even lust that she discerned in his manner. She must act quickly to make it clear she was not interested.
“I find I have to disagree with your assessment, Lord Beacham,” Eleanor said when the music slowed. She took his arm with a smile as they formed a line to leave the dance floor, uncomfortably aware that Lord Hayworth followed behind them with another lady. “I would prove a dreadful disappointment to any gentleman wishing to gain my attention. I have so many interests that claim my time, you see. And I am perfectly happy with my life.”
He looked shocked before he recovered himself and bowed. “I would have thought… er…well. Please excuse me, my lady.”
Beacham took himself off. Did he think she was desperate for a lover or a husband? Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to go home.
*
The next afternoon at two, Mark walked through the gates of Broadstairs Court, a large stone mansion in Mayfair only a few streets away from his own. The butler admitted him in his usual formal manner. “Good afternoon, Loveday.”
“Lady Eleanor expects you. She is in the blue salon, milord.”
Mark entered the room to find the lady dressed in a becoming primrose-colored gown, knitting a small garment. For a moment, an unwelcome vision of Susanne in the months before her death caused him to falter. It vanished when Eleanor hurriedly put her knitting away in a bag and rose. As she came to greet him, her hair gleamed like gold in a shaft of sunlight. “Good afternoon, Lord Hayworth. Nash will be pleased to see you again.”
In the light from the window, her gray-blue eyes turned the color of violets. She was so very lovely, he caught his breath. “Nash is quite a character. I look forward to meeting him again.”
She met his smile and took the hand he offered. “I trust you enjoyed the ball?”
He hadn’t. He’d been dancing within earshot and overheard Beacham’s veiled insult and her clever reply. It had angered him more perhaps than it should. But the fellow deserved to be taught some manners. Mark wasn’t sure why his feelings were so raw when he was known for remaining dispassionate and restrained when dealing with royalty and volatile statesmen. “It’s unfortunate, as it is often required of me to attend those affairs, but I prefer a soiree or dinner party to smoky ballrooms and fighting my way through a huge crush of people while sweltering beneath hundreds of candles.”
She laughed. “I must agree. I always want to fling open the doors and escape onto the terrace.”
“You should have. I would have joined you.”
“Well, you must be eager to see Nash,” she said briskly. “Shall we go up to the schoolroom?”
Mark nodded to the footman who opened the door and followed her out into the corridor. “How has the rascal been behaving?”
“Remarkably well, which has surprised my sister and the duke.”
“But not you?”
“No.” She turned to smile at him. “I find him an absolute delight.”
When they entered the schoolroom, they found the maid ringing her hands, and on the verge of tears. “I excused myself for only a moment, my lady. And when I came back, the boy had gone.”
“Don’t worry, Rebecca,” Lady Eleanor said, patting the girl’s shoulder. “He won’t have gone far.”
As they descended the stairs again, she stopped, a hand on the banister. “I hope this hasn’t been a waste of your time. I know you must be very busy with the coronation approaching.”
“I’m confident we’ll find the rapscallion,” he said. “Nash would hardly leave this comfortable life and return to the streets, or back to that cruel fellow who sent him up chimneys.”
She smiled and continued down. “You are right, of course. Perhaps the kitchens. He’s always hungry. I believe he’s filled out since he came here!”
Mark gazed into her concerned face while he fought the urge to hold her. Beneath her composed exterior, he sensed a wounded heart. He understood
only too well how losing one’s beloved affected one. While he had emerged from his grief and wished now for more from life, she may not feel that way. Her declaration to Beacham that she was happy with her life might have been the truth.
During the night he had wrestled to understand why he was so drawn to her, and to the boy. As far as Eleanor was concerned, it was the pleasure of her company, which he enjoyed a little too much, and which may be unwelcome, should he voice it. His interest in the boy was likely to be the result of losing a beloved son he had never known. Mark was equally determined as Eleanor that Nash would not be cast adrift into the cruel world that was London.
As he followed her downstairs, it occurred to him that she must find his interest surprising. He hoped she didn’t suspect him of seeking an affair. He had no desire for such an unfulfilling arrangement. But what he did want and what he might have, seemed at war with each other.
They entered through the kitchen door.
Chapter Four
In the kitchen, Cook rolled out pastry while the kitchen maids, boot boy, and scullery maids bustled about. “Nash is there, milady.” Up to the elbows in flour, Cook nodded toward the butler’s pantry.
Nash sat on the floor eating a bun with one of the kitchen cats curled up on his lap.
“Nash! You were told to remain in the schoolroom.” Eleanor gazed down at him. “Your rescuer, Lord Hayworth, has come to visit you.”
The gray-striped cat leapt off Nash’s lap with a meow of protest. The boy climbed to his feet, a guilty expression on his face. He popped the last of the bun into his mouth and licked crumbs from his lips. “Sorry, milady. Milord.”
“Come upstairs.” Eleanor took his hand. “I’m sure you can manage a little more afternoon tea. Shall we have it in the small salon?”
In the comfortable room, embers glowed in the fireplace. Nash wandered over to study the fire with what seemed to be professional interest. “Who cleaned the chimney?”
“I’ve no idea, but it was not one of Grimsby’s boys,” Eleanor said. “His Grace would make sure of that!”
Nash frowned. “Grimsby will be angry.”
“But that no longer concerns you. Come and sit.” She patted the sofa, and Nash sat down beside her.
When Hayworth took the armchair opposite, she turned to him. “A man like that should be dealt with severely by the law.”
“The laws need to be strengthened,” he agreed.
Mark leaned toward him, his hands resting on his knees. “Can you remember much of your life, before your mother died, Nash?”
Nash’s eyes took on a haunted expression. “We lived in an alms house for a while. Ma took in sewing. She was good at it. The nobs liked her work,” he said proudly.
“Did you always live in the city?” Eleanor asked.
He shook his head and hunched his thin shoulders. “Grandpa’s farm. We had a cow and chickens. Then he died, and we had to leave.”
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Annie Simkin.”
“Do you know the name of the village where his farm was?” Mark asked.
Nash squinted then shook his head.
“Can you remember anything about the village, Nash?” Eleanor asked.
“A river.”
“That doesn’t tell us much,” Mark said. “Anything else?”
“There was a mill.”
“What kind of mill, Nash?” Eleanor asked as the tea tray was brought in.
Nash followed the actions of the maid as she began to unload cups and teapot along with sandwiches and cakes on the occasional table in front of them.
“Nash?” Eleanor repeated as she met Mark’s smile.
“It was a corn mill. Grandpa worked there.”
“Ah, that narrows it down a bit,” Hayworth said. “Do you remember if there were any big houses?”
“Ma worked as a maid in one. Huge it was, the lands went right down to the river. She took me to see the ducks sometimes.”
Hayworth raised his eyebrows. “Can you tell us more?”
“You know it?” Eleanor asked with growing excitement.
“Perhaps,” Hayworth said. “Try to think, Nash.”
“We used to watch them flood the meadows.”
“Water meadows.” Mark gave a thoughtful nod.
Eleanor studied him. “What are they?”
“A means of irrigating the grass sward to feed the livestock in early spring.” He sought her gaze, his eyes alight with excitement. “Sounds like it could be Bexley in Kent.” He thought for a minute. “Yes, by Jove! There’s a mill on River Cray.”
His eyes on the food, Nash edged forward in his seat.
Eleanor smiled and turned back to the table. “Some sandwiches and cake for you, Nash?” She handed him a plate and a napkin.
With a nod of thanks, he tucked the linen into his collar.
“No, across your lap, please.” She smiled at Hayworth. “Tea, my lord?”
“Thank you. Might you and Nash consent to accompany me to Bexley, Lady Eleanor?”
She gasped. “You can take us?”
“I can.” He smiled as he reached for a ham sandwich. “You don’t expect me to walk away when this has become so interesting, surely?”
“Is it far to Bexley?” she asked as she seized the teapot.
“No. A mere fifteen miles or so. We can be there and back in time for dinner.” He took the cup and saucer from her hands. “Is tomorrow convenient?”
“Oh yes! What do you say, Nash?”
Nash swallowed a mouthful, his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Can we visit grandpa’s farm? He had a donkey, used to let me ride him.”
“The donkey may no longer be there, Nash,” Eleanor cautioned.
“We shall go and see,” Hayworth said. “I believe I shall try the cake before Nash eats the lot.”
Nash grinned unabashed.
After tea, Eleanor saw him to the door. She smiled. “You can change your mind, you know.”
“I have no intention of it.” He looked back at the boy who was studying a book on butterflies. “How could anyone not want a son like Nash?”
“Indeed.” She heard the yearning in his voice, and her heart squeezed with compassion.
*
Mark entered his house and for once wasn’t struck by how quiet and empty the rooms were. Surprised at how much he looked forward to their trip to the outskirts of London, he prayed tomorrow would be one day when he wasn’t called to Carlton House to reassure a nervous king. He poured himself a brandy and settled in his library with a book, but his concentration seemed to fail him. He kept thinking of the pleasure of a whole day in Eleanor’s company. Her manner was without artifice and she never sought to flirt with him. He wished she would, it would give him some license to do the same, and he’d certainly enjoy it, while accepting that it may not lead to anything more.
He understood why she was taken with Nash. The boy was a brave little soul and most appealing.
Chapter Five
“So, you’re taking Nash to Bexley today.” Georgina raised her eyebrows. “With Lord Hayworth.”
“Yes, Georgie.” Eleanor gazed across the breakfast table and waited for her sister’s objections. Traveling into the countryside alone with an unmarried man who was not a relative was just not done. Despite her being a widow and no longer young.
Georgina buttered her toast. “I’m not sure that Hugh would approve.”
Eleanor poured herself more tea. “Then I shall not worry him about it.” But she rather suspected Hugh might be perfectly happy with the arrangement. He made no secret of his wish for her to remarry. She was aware that her single state worried him. Not that he minded her living with them, for they got on very well indeed, but rather, he hoped to see her happily married once more, as did her sister, her brother John, and his wife Sibella, and numerous other relatives.
“Hugh likes Hayworth. Not that it matters, I hasten to add. Hayworth has expressed no wish to marry me. He has mer
ely offered to take us there. I suspect he’s as intrigued about Nash’s past as I am.”
Georgina warmed her fingers around her cup and peered at her over the rim. “Hayworth has the ear of the king. And with the coming coronation, he must be extremely busy.”
“I thought that, too.” Eleanor took a mouthful of toast and jam and chewed thoughtfully. “Perhaps he merely relishes a day away from London. I am sure his majesty can be very taxing.”
“Hugh certainly finds him so. Well, you seem confident that you will be perfectly safe and not compromised by such an action, so I suppose you should go,” Georgina said, surprising Eleanor. “Although I don’t see what you expect to find there. Nash’s family no longer live in Bexley, do they?”
“Not as far as we know.” Eleanor sighed. “We may not find anything at all, and I fear it will be upsetting for Nash. But we must at least try.” She scrunched her napkin and rose from the table. After an early frost, the sun shone from a clear blue sky beyond the breakfast-room window. “I’ll go up and get him ready.”
An hour later, Hayworth’s curricle crossed the River Thames and they drove through Greenwich. Soon, the bustling city was left behind, and they were on the road leading into Kent. The spring breeze was fresh on Eleanor’s face and toyed with her poke bonnet. Hayworth’s curricle was big enough for two plus the small boy sitting behind them. He was an excellent whip hand in Nash’s opinion, and had a prime set of bloods.
They passed the Dover mail coach lumbering up Shooter’s Hill.
“This used to be a haunt for highwaymen,” Hayworth said.
“Really?” Nash’s voice rose. “Do you have a pistol, Lord Hayworth?”
“I carry one as a matter of course. But we’re unlikely to come across any,” Hayworth said soothingly. “Not in broad daylight at any rate. In the past, Shooter’s Hill was infamous for its gibbets of executed felons.”
“My goodness,” Eleanor said, as Nash gave a gusty sigh in her ear. She suspected he might like to see one, and was thankful they no longer existed in this part of the country, at least.
Eleanor Fitzherbert’s Christmas Miracle (Dangerous Lords Book 5) Page 3