Antonia pulled herself to a more upright position in the chaise lounge. “Dear, Mr. Redding appeared suspicious and cross about the viscount in every little matter.”
“True. Redding had little patience for him. That’s another blot against Lord Ambrose.”
“Or a blot against Mr. Redding,” Madeleine said.
Thomas studied her. “In all the years he’s lived next to the viscount and his father before him, Redding had not heard of this relative. That’s very odd.”
“What do you think it means?” Antonia leaned her head against her pillow and watched him beneath drooping lashes.
“When an infant is left on a particular gentleman’s doorstep, it generally signifies one thing.”
“Oh, Papa,” Madeleine said, scandalized. “You can’t think the child is his.”
“Surely not, Thomas!”
He stood abruptly and went to the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared outward. “Have you looked at that infant? Really looked?”
Madeleine recalled the child’s blond beauty and felt a knot of dread tighten in her throat. She had to admit finding a resemblance did not stretch her imagination too far, but ... no. Her father was spotting enemies when none was there.
“It seems to me you have Lord Ambrose accused and condemned in one stroke,” she said. “Have you also determined the identity of Dorrie’s heartless mother?”
“Mayhap I have.” Thomas turned, his eyes narrowing in curiosity upon his daughter, and she suspected he was wondering why she defended the viscount so strongly. “Do you recall last night that Mr. Abbott saw the maid running across the garden? I saw her, too. She also had the same coloring as the child. Why do you suppose she left so abruptly? Could it not be that she and Ambrose had a lover’s tiff? Or perhaps seeing her babe set feelings of guilt into motion.”
Madeleine stifled an impulse to run screaming from the room. After last evening’s meeting with the viscount, she had felt her doubts turning to trust, her attraction deepening to something more serious, perhaps love. To hear her father’s suspicions now was like being splashed with freezing, briny water.
“It’s not like you to be so unfair,” she said. “There are a thousand possible reasons why the girl had to leave; and as to the baby’s resemblance to her or Lord Ambrose—many people have fair hair and blue eyes. This is England, may I remind you, not Spain or China!”
“Don’t try me, child. The moment I discover that infant is his, we are quit from here. My daughter will not be subjected to the shame and grief of raising an illegitimate child, nor shall I allow her to join with a man who would do such a thing. I had rather consign you to a convent!”
“A convent!” Madeleine cried, and, hoping to restore her father to his senses, added, “We’re not even Catholic!”
“Thomas,” Antonia protested, her voice growing reedy, “you’re only speculating. Are you certain these doubts are not caused by the thought of losing your daughter finally becoming real to you, and you will grasp at anything to prevent it?”
“Antonia, there is nothing I want more than to see our daughter settled and happy.” He sighed deeply and stared at the ceiling. “There is also the matter of the curse.”
“Oh, yes, the curse,” Antonia reflected slowly. “That did frighten me a little. You don’t think there’s anything in it, do you?”
Madeleine tried to rein in her fear. “Surely you don’t. A curse doesn’t hold power; that would mean magic is real.”
“Did you hear yourselves just now? Both of you are intelligent ladies not given to fancies, yet I heard the tremble of fright in your voices. To answer you: No, I don’t believe in curses. But I believe the viscount does, else why did he not share it with us before he was forced to do so last night?”
“Perhaps he didn’t want to worry us,” Madeleine suggested, “in case one of us believed in such things.” She looked from one parent to the other. “Which we don’t, of course,” she added firmly.
Thomas shook his head. “Where there is belief, there is power. If Lord Ambrose believes he will die at thirty or before, he very well may do so. I’ve seen it occur on the battlefield. Men will awaken one morning convinced that is their day to be shot and it will happen. I have no desire to see Madeleine widowed within a year’s time.”
“I think Lord Ambrose can be counted upon to have more strength of will than that.” Madeleine invested her words with a conviction she did not entirely feel.
Her father went on as if he had not heard her. “Now that we’ve shared our misgivings, I have a proposal to make. It seems senseless to remain for the second week. I suggest we leave now, today, before Madeleine’s affections become engaged.”
Madeleine’s heart sank. She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that Papa.”
Her father stared. “Oh, Madeleine,” he said quietly.
“Oh, Madeleine!” exclaimed her mother, and clapped her hands.
* * *
It had become her mother’s habit to send for the baby between luncheon and her afternoon nap. Today, in light of the questions Thomas had caused to enter their minds, Madeleine wondered if that invitation would be extended. She need not have doubted; Antonia made her request of the viscount as always. He gladly complied, going to fetch the child himself as he sometimes did.
When he entered the library with the baby, Madeleine could not help thinking how possessively he held Dorrie. He beamed as he handed her to Antonia, commenting on how mature the babe was growing, saying she hardly cried anymore.
Reluctantly, Madeleine succumbed to the pull of Thomas’s eyes. He gave her an expressive look that plainly conveyed his thoughts: The viscount sounded proud of Dorrie.
As proud as a father.
Oh, how she detested thinking such things about Ethan. She blamed her own sire. How could someone that dear be so annoying?
She was enjoying her turn with the baby—Dorrie kept trying to pull Madeleine’s fingers into her mouth—when she heard the front door open. Seconds later, Burns announced their visitors: Miss Redding, George, and a gentleman named Jarrod MacAllister— the tutor, Madeleine recalled, thinking she’d never seen anyone who looked less like one. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and had thick, waving hair, one lock of which lay across his forehead in romantic disarray. His nose was too large for handsomeness, but the warmth in his eyes and his air of friendly intelligence made him highly appealing. He wore an odd, black velvet jacket over his pantaloons.
Alice and George were dressed in riding clothes. Alice’s crimson velvet habit set off her golden brown hair beautifully. That much Madeleine would give her, but no more.
She feared she would not be able to converse with the young woman to any degree of civility, but her gentle raising rescued her. When Miss Redding came to sit at the end of the settee nearest her chair, Madeleine even summoned a smile.
“Oh, there is that delightful baby again,” Alice said. “When you are done, I should like to hold her. I almost never get to see any children; only our youngest uncle’s brood, and his last is five years and not at all amusing.”
“Guess you’re surprised to see us so soon after last night,” George said. “We rode as far as Cotter’s Cottage, and Alice decided at the last minute to stop on our way home.”
“I wanted Master Jarrod to meet Madeleine,” Alice added. “And now he’s to see the infant, too. What a fortunate day for you, Jarrod.”
“I feel fortunate,” he replied. He came to stand beside Madeleine, then crouched at her chair. “May I? No, I don’t want to take her; she might break. I simply want to look.” Madeleine raised Dorrie a little higher for inspection. “What a lovely child,” he said after a moment. “May she grow as wise as she is beautiful.”
“Jarrod, are you blessing babies now?” Alice said with a laugh. “I vow there’s no end to your accomplishments.”
“I thought it a pretty one,” Antonia remarked in a tired voice. Madeleine felt a familiar pang as she studied
her mother’s face for signs of exhaustion. Not far to go before she must rest, she thought, then caught Ethan’s gaze on her. He smiled, then turned his eyes to Antonia. She watched his expression narrow to one of concern.
Gradually she became aware that Alice was tapping her knee. “Gracious, Madeleine, where were you? Is it my turn now?” She laughed as Madeleine placed Dorrie in her arms, then began to make comical faces at the baby. After a moment Madeleine was laughing, too, albeit grudgingly. Alice drew one in, that was certain; and she lacked pretension—an unusual quality in a beauty. She did not mind looking foolish.
“Ethan, when your cousin returns for Dorrie, you must make her promise to bring her child back every few months so that we can watch her grow.” Alice clapped the baby’s hands together in a playful rhythm. “You will, won’t you?”
“What? Oh. Yes, certainly.”
“Have you heard from her yet?” Thomas asked. Madeleine directed an irate look at him.
“No.” The viscount sounded distracted. Exactly as she might expect him to sound, Madeleine ruminated, if he were lying. Immediately, she felt guilty for thinking such a thing. Her father was not correct; he could not be. “No, not yet. I’m sure I will soon.”
Alice slanted mischievous eyes at him. “Do you remember when we were young and used to play orphanage?”
“You used to play it,” George said. “I don’t think you enlisted us more than once, and, as I remember, it was your birthday.”
“Oh, more than once, I’m certain. Am I not right, Ethan?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Of course you do! You would play the director and I the nursemaid. George, Scott, and your brother were the orphans we rescued from the shipwreck. Oh, what terrible children the orphans were! Madeleine, we had to lock them in a closet until they promised to be good.”
“Lucan was the director,” the viscount said quietly.
Alice looked bewildered. “Was he? Are you certain?”
Master Jarrod said, “What does it matter, after all these years?”
“I suppose it doesn’t, except I was so sure ...”
“Mayhap they switched places that day,” George said. “The twins were always doing that,” he added, looking at Madeleine, “especially when they were younger.”
Alice scooped the baby higher in her arms and rose. “Really, George, as if any of us would have been fooled by that.” She came to stand beside Mr. Murrow’s chair and, much to his surprise, deposited the infant in his arms. Returning to her seat, she continued, addressing her remarks to the Murrows: “They were more unalike than alike, especially if you knew them as well as we did. The twins never deceived us—”
“Or so we think!” George interrupted with a laugh.
“—because their interests were very different.”
“Not about horseflesh, they weren’t,” George said.
Alice smoothed the folds of her skirt where the baby had rested. “That’s true. From childhood they rode together every day, always the same route around the estate.”
“Not always,” Ethan said.
“Well, almost. Lucan once told me your mother said a master should make his presence known.” Again, she turned to Madeleine. “She encouraged them to ride the grounds when they were small, and it became a habit, I believe.” Her gaze returned to the viscount. “Ethan continues to make that circuit. Sometimes, if I awake early enough, I spot him from my window.”
No wonder he has not asked me to ride with him, Madeleine thought. This ritual is a link with his brother. She was not certain such a thing was healthy. He had dwelled alone far too long.
With her eyes still fastened on Ethan, Alice continued, “At that distance, I can almost imagine it’s Lucan I see.”
“Come, Miss Redding,” said Master Jarrod, shifting forward in his chair. “You’ll have everyone thinking you’re of a gloomy frame of mind.” He scanned the Murrows with an apologetic look. “She’s not usually like this. I think she’s tired.”
Alice gave an exasperated laugh. “Really, Jarrod, you overstep yourself.” The tutor flinched and fell silent as she began to speak of their planned excursion on Friday.
Evidently Alice’s graciousness did not extend to the hired help, Madeleine thought with a twinge of sympathy for the man. And then, her attention caught by a movement, she turned to watch Thomas shift the baby to her mother’s arms. His face was impassive, but she recognized the distaste in his eyes.
Ethan is not the father of that child, she wanted to say.
But if he was, could she bear it?
After Bettina, she didn’t know if she could.
The arrival of Scott Brandt pushed aside her dismal thoughts. He looked windblown and tired after his morning outside. Madeleine noticed a smear of dirt on the sleeve of his jacket. He stood tenuously at the threshold, as if he didn’t know whether to enter or not.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.
“How could you interrupt?” Ethan replied, sounding cross. “You live here.”
“Yes, I know, but—” He seemed to realize the futility of explanations and gave that sad smile Madeleine was coming to know. “I’ve visited the cottages.” Walking forward, he took a seat on a footstool near the fire. “All but two need rethatching. Mrs. O’Tooley appears to be in her final decline and has requested the vicar—”
“Excuse me, Scott, but all those repairs and things; it sounds as if you have business to discuss, and we were just leaving.” Alice stood, and Master Jarrod immediately sprang to his feet, followed by a more reluctant George. “Please don’t be offended, but Father expects me to read to him this afternoon. His eyes are not what they used to be. No, don’t get up, gentlemen. Burns will see us out.”
Madeleine struggled to keep her expression even as she bid the Redding party farewell. When the front door closed behind them, Ethan turned to Mr. Brandt.
“Well, Scott, should I ever need a room cleared, I know whom to call.” Madeleine was struggling with her indignation at Ethan’s unkindness when his face suddenly cleared. “Did you say Mrs. O’Tooley wants the vicar? I’ll go fetch him.”
Surprised, Mr. Brandt said, “Had you not rather send the groom?”
“No, this needs the personal touch. I’ve known Mrs. O’Tooley forever.”
“Then I could go. It’s not necessary for you—”
But Ethan was already walking from the room.
“I should like to go as well,” Madeleine declared after him.
The viscount’s steps slowed, and he turned. “That’s very kind of you, but this is likely to be a dull errand.”
“It doesn’t sound dull to me,” she said, giving him a reproachful but twinkling smile. “I’m beginning to feel quite housebound.”
“Madeleine,” Thomas said uneasily, “why don’t we take a walk? That should cure your restlessness.”
“It might, but I’d like to speak with Miss Abbott again, and her mother,” she said, and prayed God would forgive her the lie.
“She needs company, Thomas,” Antonia said.
“Did we not just say goodbye to company?” he asked, sounding irritated.
“My stable is sadly lacking, I’m afraid,” Ethan added. “The horses—”
“If you have a light carriage, we could put one of our beasts in the traces if you like. Otherwise, I could ride our Legacy; she’s broken to the saddle.”
Madeleine looked at him hopefully. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her along, but she was determined to go if she had to run alongside his Viking. More than a few questions needed answering.
To give him his due, he capitulated graciously. “Miss Murrow, it would be my pleasure. We’ll take the gig; be sure to fetch your wrap.” He made as if to move on, then stopped. “And we may as well bring the infant, too. I’ll get her blanket.”
It was Madeleine’s turn to be surprised. She gazed at her parents in bafflement and received equally mystified looks in return.
Chapter 8
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sp; Traveling with a baby was not quite so simple as bringing along a blanket, Ethan discovered. The wet nurse insisted on feeding Dorrie before they left, as if the child would starve in the hour or two they would be gone. Then Betsy packed a basket with napkins, pins, a change of clothing, and other items he could not imagine them using. After that, in case she might take a chill, the babe was wrapped in enough layers to restrict the movements of a buffalo.
Life would be much simpler if he ruled the nursery, he was certain. Since he did not aspire to such an assignment, he let the women bustle and order him about while declaring him mad to take a newborn outside in the chilly air. He did not bother to remind them that it was a beautiful spring afternoon or argue in any way. Such would have only prolonged the agony of waiting since the maids were enjoying their roles as authorities far too much.
When he handed the babe up to Madeleine in the gig, he saw similar doubts mirrored in her eyes. She did not wait long to express them.
“Why did you decide to bring Dorrie?” she asked, as he snapped the reins over Legacy, the gentlest of her father’s bays. She looked down at the small head bundled within the blanket. “Not that I mind, of course.”
“Did you notice how much Mrs. Abbott enjoyed her presence last night?”
“Yes, and how her daughter did not.”
“Shyness, I’m sure.” And guilt. “I’m hoping to bring a little joy into their lives.” Among other things.
“I’m certain the ladies will appreciate seeing her, if they’re at home.”
They had better be there. He noted her eyes flickering over the worn fittings of his old black gig, then moving outward to scan the countryside. At least bluebells were blooming in the meadows. Even so, she must think the rolling, marshy landscape with its occasional cottage and sheep pen to be dull as ditchwater. Westhall was not far from the sea; he should take her there. Surely that would perk her eyes. But she had probably been to the shore a thousand times. He was a drowning man grasping for sunbeams to float him.
The Bridegroom and the Baby Page 9