Madeleine shot him an inquiring look beneath her dark lashes. She didn’t know how to react to this backwards compliment, and neither did he. MacAllister answered for both.
“Miss Redding, you shouldn’t apologize for your fairness. There is room for both types of beauty, and the two ladies in this chamber are the finest examples of each.”
“Well said!” George declared. “Ring for tea, Alice. I’m famished.”
The next few moments were absorbed in the serving of tea. Alice performed her office beautifully, and somehow, in the midst of seeing each one of them had the requisite beverage and his or her desired selection of toasted French bread, cheese crumpets, cranberry muffins, and delicate ham sandwiches cut in heart shapes on rolls so light they seemed to float into one’s mouth, she had a padded stool brought to elevate Ethan’s leg and pulled a chair next to him on the pretext of hearing every detail of his accident. He told her no more than he had his other visitors, trying to include Madeleine in his conversation; but the angle at which Alice had placed her chair made it impossible to speak with both at once unless he swung his head like a pendulum. Therefore, he felt grateful to hear Madeleine talking with George and MacAllister behind him.
“But how did you come to fall?” Alice asked. “You never fall, Ethan. You were always the finest rider of all of us.”
“Lucan was the best,” he reminded her gently.
“Ethan, my dear, in your mind, Lucan was the best at everything; but that’s simply not true. He wouldn’t be pleased that you idealize him so.”
“As if you didn’t. You adored him from childhood.”
Her face lengthened, and she turned her eyes downward. “He was an unusually fine man. Did I ever tell you of the time we found a small child wandering along the lane close to the chapel?” When Ethan shook his head, she continued, “I was for leaving the little boy with the Abbotts, for we were riding to Anya Merriweather’s and would be late if we didn’t hurry. He wouldn’t have it. Lucan retraced our route, asking at every cottage along the way until he found the boy’s parents, who had so many children they hadn’t even noticed he was missing! I can’t think of many men who would be so patient.”
She turned her eyes full on Ethan, and he saw with sadness they were filled with tears. She blinked, then dashed the moisture away, brightening suddenly. “But you are no different; your heart has always been kind, too. I recall the day you saved the baby hawk that had fallen from its nest.”
“I have always been different from Lucan,” he said quietly, leaning toward her, hoping the intensity of his voice would lend his words more impact. “We are not the same, Alice. You must remember that.”
Alice scanned his face, her expression revealing gentle amusement, almost as if she were looking at a recalcitrant child. She had not heard him, not at all. “How is that delightful baby?” she asked. “I wish you’d brought her. I seem to recall nursery clothes stuffed into a dresser in one of the guest rooms; surely a number of my own infant outfits are there. We could play dress-up.”
“Not if her new nursemaid was present,” Ethan said, glad of a change of subject. “She would tell you Dorrie is not a toy.”
Alice looked very interested. “Who is her new nursemaid? Do I know her? Is she a termagant?”
“What are you two discussing over there?” MacAllister said, raising his voice in a friendly fashion. “You’re both very absorbed.”
Ethan could not help feeling a trifle put out at the man’s intrusiveness. He was, after all, a servant—an educated one, but a servant nevertheless, and his question bordered on overfamiliarity. Apparently, Alice felt the same.
“We’re speaking of the baby’s new nursemaid,” she answered in annoyed tones. “Ethan says she is a shrewish woman who rules everyone.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said, irritated, and turned to face the others. “She’s marvelous with the child.”
“Yes, she’s a very kind woman,” Madeleine added. “She puts the infant’s needs first.” She shifted her gaze in his direction. “Dorrie’s own mother could not be kinder to her. Mrs. McDaniel is a very ... motherly woman.”
Imp, his eyes told her. Never missed a chance, did she? How he would love to kiss that teasing smile off her face.
“What did you say her name was?” George asked.
“Mrs. McDaniel,” Madeleine answered. “Rose McDaniel.”
George appeared to search his memory. “Don’t believe I’ve heard the name before. Well, now, wait a minute ...”
“Oh, everyone sounds familiar to you.” Alice rejoined her brother on the sofa, her silk gown rustling like leaves in a gentle wind. Behind her, the scent of lavender lingered, reminding Ethan suddenly of her mother. “Have you heard the name, Jarrod?”
The tutor looked pleased to be included. “No, Miss Redding.”
“She comes from Cornwall, I believe,” Madeleine said.
George chuckled. “Well, that explains why nobody knows her.”
Alice rang for fresh tea. “Why have you taken on another nursery maid, Ethan? Surely your cousin will return any day now.”
Feeling Madeleine’s eyes upon him, he studiously avoided glancing in her direction. “Oh, as to that. I’ve not heard from Connie since she first came, and now I fear the worst. James was always irresponsible. I’m beginning to think they’ve taken off somewhere, that the story about his mother dying was a ruse. Connie and James knew the baby would be safe with me. Evidently they want to be free of responsibility while leaving open the possibility of returning at any time to reclaim their child.”
The maid entered carrying a silver pitcher. “How horrid of them!” Alice said, then thanked the servant and began to freshen cups. “But how can you be certain they haven’t had an accident, Ethan?”
“I’m sure I would have heard something by now if that were the case,” he said uncomfortably, accepting a cup of tea he didn’t want.
“Heard something about what?” said William Redding from the doorway.
Ethan’s spirits dived as he regarded the elderly man. Redding had not removed his greatcoat, and he was rubbing his hands briskly as if cold. Judging by the flushed condition of his nose and cheeks, he was. Ethan thought that odd; on the ride over, he’d found the outdoors comfortable for the first days of May. Perhaps the iciness of Redding’s spirit lowered his body temperature.
“Father!” Alice said gladly. “Come and have refreshment.”
“No, my girl; Links gave me something in his office. I’ll not stay; just wanted to give the viscount and Miss Murrow my greetings. What was it you were talking about?”
“We were discussing Ethan’s cousin,” Alice said, aligning the tea service as she spoke. “He believes she has run off and expects him to keep the babe indefinitely.”
Ethan did not care for the knowing glint that appeared in Redding’s eyes. “Haven’t heard from her, is that it?”
The viscount lowered his tea to the table and broke one of the crumpets on his plate in half. “Not a word.” He popped the morsel into his mouth without looking at Redding again.
“Hard to believe people could act like that,” George said. “Unnatural.”
Redding humphed. “Unbelievable is the word I’d choose.”
“I’ve seen worse behavior,” Ethan said, carefully keeping his gaze on the delicacies on his plate, “by people old enough to know better.”
Redding could not have missed the meaning of this reference, and perhaps he felt a measure of shame, for he only cleared his throat and said, “How fares your mother, young lady?”
“She is improving, thank you,” Madeleine replied.
“A fine woman, that. Puts me in mind of my own dear wife.” With obvious reluctance, he returned his attention to Ethan. “And you, Ambrose; heard you took a spill. Best to look where you’re going, what? How’s your animal?”
“Doing well.” He cut a wry look at Madeleine. “Viking should make a complete recovery.”
“Father, aren’t you going to as
k how Ethan is?” Alice scolded.
“There’s no need; I can see he’s fine! Have you had a change of heart yet about your stallion, boy? I’ll give you a good return on your investment.”
“Viking’s more than an investment,” Ethan replied, struggling to keep his tone even. “He’s not for sale now, nor shall he ever be.”
“Careful what you say, Ambrose. No one knows what he’ll do when the wolves are at the door. At least your beast would be safe here; we’re not careless with our stock—haven’t had an accident in years. Your black’s bloodline is excellent and should be preserved.”
“It will be,” Ethan said softly, anger pounding at his throat. “At Westhall.”
The butler had moved timidly near his master, and Redding shrugged off his coat and handed it to him. “Have it your own way, Lord Willfulness; but don’t expect me to rescue you when your horse breaks his leg the next time you allow him to fall.” He straightened his jacket and marched away.
* * *
“I will never go there again,” Ethan said when he and Madeleine were once more in the gig, heading home.
“Of course you will,” she said, her voice consoling. “Mr. Redding is difficult, but you handled yourself well, considering your temper.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “What do you mean, considering my temper?”
“Nothing, only that I knew you were close to losing all control.”
“And how did you ascertain that? I was perfectly civil to him.”
“I’ve learned to read the little clues you send out. You become very still, as if waiting for a lion to pounce; your fingers tremble oh-so-slightly, and the rate of your breathing increases. Also, your skin flushes and pales alternately, sometimes becoming mottled.”
“How attractive you make me sound,” he said with a cool stare. “Sometime I’ll recite a list of his sins against my brother for you, and then you’ll see why I’d rather be flayed alive than sit in the same room with him.”
“Oh, I think that’s a trifle extreme. At least he was kind enough to ask about my mother, unlike Alice, who seemed to have forgotten everyone except you.”
She could always make him smile. “Jealous, are you?”
“No, merely surprised that she forgot to be her charming self. I thought she had that quality down to perfection.”
His grin widened, and he made a sound like a cat hissing.
“Oh, please don’t do that! I can’t bear for women to be compared to felines, much as I like them.”
Dismay seized him. “You don’t own cats, do you?” His life was becoming too complicated: first a baby, hopefully a wife—this wife—but surely, surely not this.
“Not currently,” she said sadly. “Tricksy died in her sleep last fall, and I haven’t had the heart to replace her.”
“In that case, will you marry me?”
She laughed merrily. “Oh, Ethan, you are beyond price.”
I’m not trying to be amusing, he wanted to tell her, but caution warned him not to pursue the subject. He knew what she would say: “Too soon!” or “We don’t know who the baby’s parents are.” All her father needed was an excuse of that nature. Should her parents decide against him, he feared Madeleine would not go against their wishes. She had her own strong mind, but how could he compete against a lifetime of familial devotion? He was beginning to despair of a happy resolution.
“I shall keep asking until you accept me,” he warned good-naturedly, although his hopes were plummeting.
Her eyes softened upon him. “Good,” she said.
* * *
Shortly after dinner that evening, Ethan claimed his leg hurt and bid his guests an early good night. Truth was, he would like nothing more than to spend the evening with Madeleine by the fire; but his leg was throbbing, and he had plans other than sleep. His prime occupation now was to unravel the mystery that threatened his future and Madeleine’s.
Stiffly, he climbed the back stairway to the nursery and encountered Betsy in the corridor carrying a tray of empty dinner utensils. “Well, well,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “You’re hobbling better than I reckoned you would. Nice of you to put the scare into everybody. Have you found out who strung the rope across your way?”
“How did you know about the rope?”
“Don’t shout at me; I work for you out of the milk and kindness of me heart. Besides which, the whole household’s talking about it.”
He groaned. “I’ll wager Rathbone started it. I told him not to spread tales.”
“It weren’t Rathbone that did the yammering—it were Lindon, the Murrows’ groom. What are you doing up here, anyway—come to see your baby?”
“Hush, woman,” he whispered fiercely. “All I need is for Janice or Mrs. McDaniel to hear you call that child mine.”
“They wouldn’t know what we was talking about if they did.” She balanced the tray on one hip and smoothed a strand of brittle hair from her eyes. “Although that Rose is sharper than most. She tends your baby like it was her own—you don’t think it is, do you?” She cackled while he prayed she wouldn’t notice his silence. Apparently she didn’t, for she went on, “Then, while the baby sleeps, she cleans the nursery almost as good as I would.”
“High praise indeed.”
She huffed. “Listen to me, milord; I do the best I can with all I’ve got to do. Here I try to give you a pretty word for finally hiring somebody worth paying, if it was ever to come to that, and all you do is talk down to me like I was a lowly slattern.”
Ethan apologized and hastened around her into the nursery. Janice, who was sitting in one of the rocking chairs and knitting, glanced up, colored, then stood. Curtseying shyly, she slipped into the adjoining bedroom where he assumed her own child was resting.
Mrs. McDaniel was leaning over Dorrie’s cradle, her back turned to him. From the look of things, she was changing the babe’s napkin, and the viscount swiftly averted his gaze. When she finished and nestled Dorrie against her shoulder, Ethan joined them.
“Lord Ambrose! You startled me,” she said. When he begged her pardon, a sweet expression lightened her face. “You’ve come to visit the baby, haven’t you?” She gently placed Dorrie in his arms. As he could see nothing to be gained in refusing to hold the mite, he walked to a rocker and eased himself downward, staring into the infant’s startling blue eyes while the maid continued to speak. “I’ve seen how good you are with her. Look how she smiles; she likes you.”
Although her praise pleased him, he forced himself to move forward in his queries. “Join me, won’t you, Mrs. McDaniel? And be careful to whom you say that. Some would suggest there’s a reason for her preference.”
“And what would that be, my lord?”
“That I’m her father.”
In the process of drawing a chair near him, she paused. “Why would anyone repeat such lies? Dorrie belongs to your cousin and her husband; at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
He studied the refined shock in her eyes as she sat opposite him. She looked much better than she had yesterday. Her moonsilver hair was drawn into a tidy chignon, and her Westhall livery, while not new, was an improvement over the ancient gown she wore at her arrival.
“That’s the story which is circulating, yes,” he said carefully.
Dorrie waved tiny fists in the air and thrust her tongue forward, then arched her back and squealed. Even at this age she did not like to be ignored, he thought, setting the chair back in motion. Womanhood must be bred into the bones.
“Do you mean it’s not true, my lord?”
He lifted his gaze from the infant and watched the maid closely. “As a stranger here, I’d be interested in knowing what you think.”
“What could my opinion possibly matter?”
She seemed unduly upset by his question, and he felt a measure of satisfaction. “Because of your objectivity, naturally. You see, it’s the question of timing that gives everyone concern.” She sat very still, waiting, her features expre
ssionless except for the anxiety he happily spotted in her eyes. “You met the Murrow family yesterday. Their visit is no ordinary one.”
“I know, my lord. Betsy told me there’s a possibility of marriage between you and Miss Murrow.”
“How like Betsy,” he said, annoyed. “At any rate, Dorrie arrived the same evening the Murrows did, but the Murrows never met Connie.”
She appeared baffled. “That your cousin brought the infant on the same night seems a happy coincidence to me.”
“But if someone wanted to discredit me in the eyes of my intended and her family, he or she could not have chosen a better time. Since there has been no public appearance of my cousin, people are beginning to gossip. As Mr. Murrow is also voicing suspicions, the chances of an alliance between his daughter and myself grow slimmer every day.”
Her forehead creased deeply. “But the timing of a baby’s birth is not controllable,” she reminded.
“No, but the delivery of it on my doorstep is,” he said.
She moved as if to rise, propping her hands on the wooden rocker arms, then sat again. “Lord Ambrose ... I’m still not sure why you are telling me this, but ... do you think your cousin is trying to prevent your marriage?”
How tempted he was to divulge everything, but she already knew the truth, didn’t she? If not, telling her could only put himself at greater risk; for although she projected an air of dependability, one could never be certain.
Dorrie had fallen into a light sleep, her lids opening to a slit now and then as if she didn’t want to miss a word.
“I can’t speculate on what my cousin is trying to do,” he said. “What I’m asking is, do you find it believable that she is the mother of this child, given the evidence I’ve presented?”
She gestured helplessly. “What evidence, my lord? You’ve mentioned only your word.” Quickly she added, “Which is well respected, I’m sure.”
“Not as well as you might think,” he said, leaning his head against the rocker’s high back. “Now you see my dilemma.” You can confess now, he thought. Please.
Her gaze skittered from his. “Then ... I’m very sorry for you, Lord Ambrose.”
The Bridegroom and the Baby Page 15