You amaze me, too, she thought, piqued. “Why do you dislike Mr. Brandt?”
This appeared to surprise him. “Beg pardon?”
“It’s apparent in how you address him.”
“Surely you exaggerate.”
“You were very unkind to him last evening, sending him out into the rain.”
“Someone had to go,” he said in a reasonable tone of voice. “Why not him?”
“Oh, Ethan, really.”
His grin transformed his face. Looking at him, she felt a wave of pleasant helplessness. He was maddening, a complete rascal, and utterly compelling. How could he think anyone preferred Lucan to himself? His brother must have been insipid in comparison.
Oh, she was lost, so lost.
“All right, Miss Murrow,” he said. “I’ll admit to having mixed feelings about Scott, but I don’t dislike him.”
He appeared to be done, and Madeleine’s curiosity was far from satisfied. “I’ve wondered about him since we came. Sometimes he seems to be your servant, other times your friend.”
“That’s a fair summation, I believe.”
“But if he’s a servant, why does he live like a guest?” Seeing the amused look in Ethan’s eyes, she hesitated. “Or am I being too inquisitive?”
“If you were not, I wouldn’t recognize you.”
Madeleine’s eyebrows pulled together. “I beg your pardon; I didn’t mean to offend.” She extracted the ever-present copy of Rob Roy from her reticule and opened it to the embroidered bookmark on page five. “I shan’t trouble you anymore,” she added in injured tones. “I’m certain you are in pain, and that causes you to be ...” She mumbled a word under her breath.
Ethan stretched forward and tapped her book with his cane. “Causes me to be what?”
“Difficult,” she said quietly, not raising her eyes from her volume.
He laughed and tapped her book a second time. “Put that away; you hate it, or you’d have made more progress by now.” She continued to read or made a pretense of it; she couldn’t comprehend a word with him sitting across from her. “If you don’t set it aside, you’ll miss the complete story of Scott Brandt as I know it,” he added tantalizingly.
She settled her bookmark in place, slowly closed the tome, and replaced it in her bag. Only after she folded her hands did she look at him. “As you wish,” she said.
“You minx; you’ve been manipulating me.” He dropped his cane to the floor beside him and shifted position carefully. “It’s a peculiar relationship, I suppose. We grew up together, Scott, Lucan and I. Scott’s father, Gordon, was older than mine and served as valet to both my father and grandfather.
“The year before my father’s death, my parents journeyed to the Cotswolds for a holiday. During a hike in the hills, Father slipped and fell partway down a cliff. Gordon rescued him at great risk to himself. As a reward for saving his life, my sire promised the valet that his children would be educated with Father’s own. As it turned out, Gordon had only the one child, Scott, who was a babe in arms at the time.
“As you already know, my father died soon after; but he’d written his wishes into his will, and my mother honored them. Scott shared our tutor and later our house when his parents died.”
“Then he is almost like a brother.”
“In a way, although there was always that difference. Lucan and I received an allowance from the estate, but Scott’s portion was regarded as wages. He has evolved into a kind of steward, but more; sometimes I think he worries to a greater degree than I about our future. And there’s worse. Since Lucan’s death, he’s come to think of himself as my keeper, I believe. If I did not remind him of his place occasionally, he would slip the reins from my control.” Ethan rested his head on the back of the chair. “Or he would try.”
“You resent him.”
“To say truth, I wish he would leave. He’s educated in the law; he could establish a decent living for himself somewhere. Instead he remains, as if bound to Westhall. I can’t think it healthy.”
“Westhall is his home,” Madeleine said, feeling surprise that Ethan didn’t understand. “Doubtless he does feel bound here.”
“Too much so. I realize it’s difficult for him, living as he does between two worlds, serving the estate but knowing he can never own it, never be viscount. There have been enough incidents over the years to give me a sense of his resentment. Even Lucan felt it, and he was more friend to Scott than I ever was. To give you an example: Scott’s invitation to ride with you in my place today. I’m surprised he hasn’t done such a thing before now. Lucan and I used to laugh at how he’d try to steal our ladies from us.”
“That may be true, but I feel certain he was only being kind in my case. Mr. Brandt has been very proper to me. In point of fact, he has spoken highly of you on numerous occasions.”
“His fears for the estate are the source of that. Once we marry”—He stared at her beneath lowered lids—"or perhaps I’d better say, should we marry, he will consider you fair game, I warn you.”
“Good heavens; I can’t imagine he’s like that.” She wanted to think jealousy caused Ethan to speak so, but she had known women who behaved as he described Mr. Brandt. Their desire had little to do with the object of their attentions but had everything to do with winning. She disliked such people.
“You should have seen him pursuing Alice last year. She found his attentions so embarrassing she doesn’t enjoy his company any longer.”
Madeleine considered his words for a moment. “If you feel this way, why don’t you ask him to leave?”
“Impossible. It was my father’s wish he be provided for, and I can’t ruin a man’s dream. If the idea to leave came from him, it would be much better.”
She tried to hide her smile. “Another example of your cruel nature at work, I see.”
The look he gave her was so sensuous she could hardly breathe. Goodness, but he was dangerous. She almost wished her papa would enter the library and rescue her—not from Ethan, but herself. How easy it was to imagine curling into milord’s lap and feeling his beautiful hands moving across her shoulders as they had that night ...
“Oh!” she squeaked, realizing of a sudden that Burns was ushering yet more visitors into the library. She hadn’t heard a carriage or the front door. Had she been asleep?
To her astonishment, Reverend Abbott and his wife and daughter stood on the threshold, all of them dressed in black. The clergyman held an old round hat in his hands, nervously turning the brim around and around.
“Welcome,” Ethan said, flickering an intrigued glance at Madeleine. “Pardon me for not rising.”
“Oh, no, please don’t get up, Lord Ambrose, not for us,” the reverend said. “We heard of your accident and wanted to tell you how very sorry we are.”
The viscount thanked him and bid them to be seated. When Mrs. Abbott sat in the wing chair and her husband took the bench, Madeleine pointedly moved aside to make room for Leah on the settee. With her eyes cast down, the young woman reluctantly joined her.
“You look well,” Elizabeth Abbott said to the viscount, fanning herself with her hand. She wore a high-necked mourning dress of thick wool, and evidently the fire or the activity of visiting was making her overheated. “What a relief! We’d heard—well, you don’t want to know what we heard.”
“That I was on my deathbed, probably,” Ethan said.
“You can’t believe all you hear,” Reverend Abbott said heartily. “Take Mrs. O’Tooley. How many times have I gone to her deathbed for nothing!”
“Dear, that didn’t sound quite the thing,” his wife said with a forbidding look.
A chagrined expression crossed the clergyman’s face. “You’re so right, so right. What I meant to say is, I’m happy for her recovery, but I think she’ll be the one to bury me!”
“She’ll probably bury us all,” Ethan said pleasantly, watching Leah.
As if taking her cue, Mrs. Abbott said, “As soon as we heard about your accident, my
lord, Leah couldn’t rest until we came to visit this morning.” When the girl made no response, the older woman lowered her head, her squinted eyes fixing on her daughter, reminding Madeleine of a bull about to charge. “Leah!”
“I’m sorry about your accident,” Leah said without raising her head.
Ethan steepled his fingers as he gazed at her. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Abbott nodded briskly. “Yes, our girl was devastated, especially after those silly things she said when you visited us day before last.” Her voice grew louder. “Weren’t you, Leah?”
“Yes,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”
“She wasn’t feeling well,” Mrs. Abbott expanded. “You understand how these things are. Sometimes we women fly into the boughs over the least little thing, don’t we?” She cast a conspirator’s look at Madeleine, forcing her to agree or appear ungracious.
Reverend Abbott laughed companionably. “Yes, you should see how my wife gets at times, especially when she fixates on a certain subject—dare I say phaetons? Only imagine her hoping to have a carriage named after the unfortunate son of Apollo and that nymph, Clymene. When you recall what happened to Phaeton when he tried to drive the chariot of the sun, it makes you think twice, doesn’t it?”
Mrs. Abbott glared daggers at him. His laughter choked into a cough and died.
“I want to see that baby,” Leah said loudly into the sudden silence.
Ethan moved so quickly he winced. “You want to see the baby?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
Madeleine’s hopes whirled. “But I thought you didn’t like babies.”
“I’m to get over it,” she said through clenched teeth, her lovely but lifeless eyes leveled at her mother.
“Oh, what a delightful surprise!” Mrs. Abbott said. “You want to hold that sweet, precious baby!” She turned to Ethan. “Shall you send for it, or should I go after it myself?”
The viscount blinked once, slowly. He turned his head toward the hall and called Burns. Within moments the disgruntled butler returned with Mrs. McDaniel trailing him, the baby cradled lovingly in her arms.
As requested, the servant went to stand before Leah. She lowered the infant with the care of one handling a costly glass figurine. Leah accepted the bundle with wooden arms, holding Dorrie at a distance that precluded looking into her eyes or even Leah’s own comfort.
“Oh, Leah,” Mrs. Abbott said, giggling with embarrassment. “Put her in your lap, or hold her closely to your br—er, chest. Your arms will tire in seconds like that, and you might drop her.”
Leah’s mouth drew downward. “Don’t want her any closer. She might vomit or wet me.”
Mrs. Abbott shrieked, then turned her reflexive response into shrill laughter. “Oh, let me show you, girl!”
She bustled to the settee, stared hard at Madeleine until she gave up her seat, then took the baby. “Snuggle her like this, see? Then speak sweetly to her. Heed me, Leah!” She turned her frenzied gaze on the child. “Look at de widdle dinkums, her is such a doll, dare never was such a sweetie, never in all de world.” Her head swerved back to her daughter. “See? Babies love that. Now you try.”
She lifted the infant toward her scowling offspring. Leah shrank backward.
Dorrie began to cry.
Mrs. McDaniel walked between them and took the child. “She is not a plaything,” she said quietly, and, holding the babe against her heart and speaking soft words of comfort, she walked from the room.
“Well!” Mrs. Abbott burst. “Did you see that, Lord Ambrose?”
“I did indeed,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on the empty threshold.
If I were King Solomon looking for potential mothers, Madeleine thought, I know whom I’d choose.
Chapter 12
Shortly before four that afternoon, the viscount drew his gig to a halt in front of Redding House and viewed the sprawling Tudor with affection and dread. So many hours of his life and Lucan’s had been spent here. There was not an angle of roof, a jutting of chimney, or a mullioned window that seemed unfamiliar. The mold bleeding through the freshly painted walls, the fresh growth of ivy climbing the trellis, the splintering timbers framing the windows, the sculpted shrubbery and neat beds of spring flowers—all these were alive with memories of youth and dreams and, most of all, his brother. Inside, the images would be even more intense: the staircase leading to a large nursery packed with books and toys, and three attics where the five of them had played endless games; the baize door at the end of the hall sheltering an enormous kitchen and its cooks—a forbidden zone to the children, but one which they haunted constantly for bits of dough, tastes of beef, and bread warm from the oven, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and almond, oozing with butter.
The memories were vividly painful and bittersweet. He could hardly bear coming here anymore. There was a time, back when lovely Mrs. Redding was alive, that this house had seemed more like home than his own.
Even as Legacy proudly tossed her mane at achieving her destination, a groom came running from the stable, and two footmen descended the steps from the house.
Ethan could not help making comparisons with his own estate, where guests were fortunate to have the butler open the door for them, and the overworked stable staff might notice someone had arrived and tend to the horses when they found time.
No wonder old Redding had taken a dislike to Lucan and himself during the last year, when Alice became engaged to Lucan. Only two things seemed to matter to the former soldier: money and land. He knew the Ambrose estate was nearly penniless; the sole point in Lucan’s favor was the Ambrose acres, which, when joined to the Reddings’ two thousand, would make a formidable landholding. Nevertheless, Alice’s father insisted she could do better for herself, and only when she threatened to run away did he capitulate. Before that he’d shown little interest in either of the twins. After the betrothal, because he’d never learned to tell them apart, Redding’s distaste fell on them both.
Ethan understood Redding’s objections to his brother and himself, but he could not forgive him. The old fellow caused Lucan trouble and discomfort, belittling him at every turn. The most scorching occasion came to him now, and the very memory stirred rage.
On one of the final days of his life, Lucan had appealed to Redding to hire some of the servants he had been forced to release for economy’s sake. Redding responded by humiliating him in front of a small crowd of visitors, telling him loudly he would care for his own as any proper man would, but that he had no taste for mending the results of another’s improvidence.
Every moment of Redding’s cruelty had been unnecessary. If his twin’s life must be so short, it should at least have been as pleasant as possible.
Beside him, Madeleine murmured with appreciation at sight of the house, and he forced himself to lighten his mood. On the drive over, she had spoken of nothing except her suspicions regarding Mrs. McDaniel. He’d argued that Leah could as easily—easier, since she lived in Brillham—given birth to Dorrie; awkwardness in holding a baby and dislike for an infant’s bodily functions did not exempt her from motherhood. Madeleine and he had come to no conclusions, and he was glad she could think of something else for at least a moment.
“The house is unpretentious, yet elegant,” she said.
“And old,” he added agreeably. “Not so old as the Tudor Dynasty, of course, as it was built around seventy-five years ago. You’ll find the interior is harmonious with the facade; the furnishings were chosen for comfort as well as durability. When things wear out, the Reddings tend to replace them with something that looks the same. Nothing has changed since I was a boy.”
He waved aside the footman’s offer of assistance as he slowly descended from the gig. On the opposite side, the other servant helped Madeleine to the ground. Ethan offered her his arm, and the two of them walked inside. The butler took Madeleine’s pelisse and ushered them to the withdrawing room where Alice and George were waiting. Ethan was surprised to find Jarrod M
acAllister with them.
“I’m sorry Father isn’t here,” Alice said, after greetings were made. “He’s in the village attending to some business, but he may join us later.”
Ethan sincerely hoped he and Madeleine would be gone by then, but he made the proper sounds of regret.
“Glad you made it, Ethan,” George said. “Didn’t see how you could after what I heard. The second footman said the surgeon was thinking about cutting your leg off. Well, don’t just stand there! Come in and sit, both of you! What a fine cane. What is that, a dragon’s head? Makes you distinguished; you should use it always.”
The withdrawing room was one of the most formal at Redding House. Two blue sofas sat opposite each other in front of an intricately carved fireplace trimmed in white marble. Above the mantel was an oil portrait of Alice’s mother, her sweet eyes set in a pensive look, as if she knew her life would end too soon. A low, circular table with four curving legs extending from a pedestal squatted between the couches. Lightweight chairs were scattered in groupings around the chamber. As Ethan limped forward, MacAllister abandoned his seat opposite the Redding siblings, pulled one of the chairs between the two sofas, and stood beside it, inviting the viscount and Madeleine to take his place on the couch. After they did so, he sat in the chair and smiled genially.
“You are looking so well,” Alice said to Madeleine, leaning forward as if she wished to touch her. She was always touching people, Ethan noted with a measure of fondness. Her warmth knew no bounds. It was unfortunate she had overextended that warmth to him in her grief for his brother. He had never felt the old level of comfort with her since and wondered if he ever would. Every time they were together she deferred to him and cast long, hungry looks that made him squirm inside. She was doing so now. “Doesn’t she look pretty, Ethan? What a lovely shade of peach; it sets off the duskiness of her skin beautifully. I have always thought fashion silly for claiming fair skin as the ideal. Why, I feel utterly pale and colorless in comparison.”
The Bridegroom and the Baby Page 14