by Farr, Diane
“She is different,” conceded Natalie. “As you told me she would be.”
“You don’t think her stupid, and for that I am grateful. But doesn’t she strike you as lazy? Willful? Disobedient?”
His voice sounded sharper than he had meant it to. She looked up from her plate, reproof in her gaze. “No, sir. She is gentle and shy. There is nothing abnormal in her behavior. Nothing except—” She halted in mid-sentence, biting her lip as if vexed with herself. “Nothing at all,” she finished lamely.
The silence spun out while Malcolm meditatively selected a peach from the fruit bowl in the center of the table. “Nothing abnormal at all,” he repeated at last. “And yet you agreed with me that she is different.”
The color fluctuated in Natalie’s face. She diligently applied butter to a slice of bread, refusing to meet his eyes. “She is, as I expected, highly imaginative. This is coupled with a remarkable ability to shut the world out when her attention is fixed on something that interests her. I daresay this combination of traits—particularly the latter—might be construed as laziness or disobedience. Or feeble-mindedness, for that matter.”
“How so?”
“Easily. If one gives her a direct order when her mind is elsewhere, she appears not to hear it. If one assumed that she did not understand, one might think her slow-witted. If one assumed that she understood but chose not to obey, one would think her lazy or willful.” She paused, looking a challenge at him. “But many people feel hostility toward anyone they do not understand. I think what perturbs people about Sarah is that the matters occupying her attention are frequently invisible to the rest of us.”
“You don’t call that abnormal?”
“No, sir, I do not.” Natalie sat straighter in her chair. “If you insist on knowing my thoughts—” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, Miss Whittaker. I do.”
“Very well. I am less disturbed by the fact that Sarah imagines things than I am by what she imagines. Not always, but often.” She was turning pink again, but her gaze met his levelly. “Too frequently, she seems to imagine that she will be punished—for the tiniest of infractions. I own, I would like to know the source of her fears before tackling any behavior problems she may have. In my view, it is her profound anxiety, not her overactive imagination, that is harming her.”
Whatever insights he had hoped—or feared—she would express, he had not expected this one. Anguish clutched him in a swirl of rage and guilt. He rose from the table and crossed to the railing of the veranda, his back to her as he fought for composure.
What a mess he had made of everything. He had no one to blame but himself, but knowing that only made it harder to find a solution. How could he expect this inexperienced girl to mend matters? And yet, he realized in a bitter flash of self-knowledge, that was exactly what he had expected. Irrationally, unreasonably, he had pinned all his hopes on Natalie Whittaker’s kind heart and intuitive understanding. Now he must pay the price for following his instincts. She was a little too perceptive. And far too frank.
“Miss Whittaker.” His voice sounded tight. Clipped. “The past cannot be changed. Looking backward accomplishes nothing. We must look forward.” He turned to face her. “I have brought Sarah here to ... begin a new life. She has formed a habit of expecting terrible things to happen to her. We must work together, you and I, to change Sarah’s expectations. Then, and only then, will she lose her fears.”
And become a normal child. No. No, that was too much to hope for. He must confine his goals to what was attainable.
Natalie was regarding him gravely, studying him as if she could find answers to her questions in his face. He kept his expression carefully neutral, praying she would probe no further. When she spoke, her words surprised him. “You love her very much,” she said.
Knocked off-balance, he said exactly what was in his heart. “She is the most important thing in the world to me.”
He scrubbed his face with one hand, annoyed with himself. He was ashamed to have shown so much emotion over nothing. At least, it must seem like nothing to a stranger. But Natalie’s face betrayed no contempt or embarrassment over his unmanly outburst. She nodded her acceptance, compassion in her eyes. “I am glad,” she said simply. Then, after a moment, she added: “I will do whatever I can to ease Sarah’s fears. Consistent kindness will, I think, go a long way. But if you think of any specific thing I can do, or anything you think I must avoid doing, pray tell me at once.”
How calm she was. How competent. He shook his head, humbled by his good fortune. “Providence has surely sent you to me, Miss Whittaker,” he said. He tried to say it lightly, but his voice shook a little.
She shot him a mischievous look. “The stars, I think you mean.”
Some of the tension left him. “Something celestial, at any rate.” He returned to the table. “I hope your afternoon goes as well as your morning did. May I escort you home at the end of the day?”
She looked a little nervous. “Certainly. If you like.”
“By the way, you needn’t worry about your abrupt departure this morning alarming your relatives. I took the liberty of sending word to Crosby Hall regarding your whereabouts. I promised to return you after dinner.”
Natalie smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes. “Unnecessary, but thank you. If my family missed me at all—which I doubt—they would have known where to look for me.” She held her fork aloft, studying the bit of chicken it held. “Although I suppose it’s a good thing you acted,” she mused. “Hector might have assumed I was gone for good; we were that angry with each other yesterday. Heaven knows what mischief he might have tried, had he assumed that. He might have sent at once for Mr. Brownbeck.”
“Mr. Brownbeck?”
“Our solicitor.” She popped the bit of chicken in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “He lives in the village,” she said helpfully, seeing that Malcolm was still puzzled by her remark.
“But why would he send for his solicitor?”
She opened her eyes at him. “Why, to punish me, of course. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Good lord.” He paused in the act of slicing his peach. “Your brother would have punished you using a solicitor?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“It sounds extreme.”
“Oh, it would have been,” she agreed, serenely salting her chicken. “But since you sent over a note, we needn’t worry about it.”
Malcolm finished slicing his peach. “Forgive me,” he said at last, “but I am expiring of curiosity. Exactly what would your brother have asked the solicitor to do? I think you had better tell me, if only to prevent my imagination running wild.”
She looked embarrassed for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose I’ve no objection to telling you. In fact, I hope it will make you understand why I decided—with the utmost reluctance, I assure you—to stay at home rather than move to Larkspur after all.” She sighed. “Had I left home, Hector was planning to do several things. First, stop all my income—”
Malcolm, startled with his mouth full of peach, made a sort of choking sound. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, that was no great loss, believe me. He also threatened to write me out of his will, as I recall, but I paid little attention to that either. I’m quite certain he was bluffing.”
“Even were he not, any solicitor worth his salt would have talked him out of it.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that Hector wouldn’t do such a thing. I just doubt he could, since it’s difficult to remove what doesn’t exist in the first place.”
“I see.” Malcolm swallowed. “You realize, of course, that we never negotiated a salary for you. Under the circumstances—”
But Natalie was shaking her head, looking very serious. “No, my lord. I am not trying to squeeze a higher wage out of you. I will not mislead you into thinking that my income is large. Hector has no ability to take from me anything worth having. The only reason why I caved in to his demands ...” Emotion swept across her fac
e. She looked away. “The only reason why I decided not to leave Crosby Hall was that Hector threatened to cut off Derek’s income as well as mine.” She cleared her throat. “I could not allow that, of course.”
Malcolm stared at her. “Far be it from me to disparage your near and dear, Miss Whittaker, but your brother Hector sounds like a complete rotter.”
She gave a little choke of laughter. “Hector may be near, but he is not dear. You may disparage him with my good will.”
He leaned back in his chair, thinking. “If Derek found it expedient to seek employment with Lord Stokesdown, he can’t be receiving much from Hector. If I paid you a sufficient amount to live here with us—”
“No.” She looked regretful. “And pray do not think I hadn’t thought of that! I did, but it will not do. No degree of generosity on your part will suffice, I am afraid. Put yourself in Derek’s shoes. You are a man of honor, sir, and not without your pride. Would you accept money from your sister, knowing she was earning it with her own labor?”
“I suppose not,” he said regretfully. “What a pity.”
“Yes. It is, actually.” She sighed. “I would dearly love to be free of Hector. To free Derek from him, too, would have been heavenly.”
Natalie toyed with her fork, looking wistfully past him at the daisy-spangled lawn. It was clear her mind was elsewhere—probably with Derek, who seemed to be the only member of her family whom she loved. A breeze ruffled the wispy ringlets that had worked loose from her coiffure. She looked pensive and pretty and sad. Something about her brought out the protective instincts in a man. He wished he could do something to help her.
It occurred to him again how many problems would be solved at one stroke if he just married her. It would solve her problems as well as his, apparently. What a bother all these modern notions about courtship were. A hundred years ago, nobody insisted on being well-acquainted before tying the knot. Nowadays, a man looked like a mooncalf—or a boor—if he proposed matrimony to a woman he had just met. Malcolm had barely managed to get away with it last night. In the clear light of day, he’d be lucky to escape with nothing worse than a slapped face.
He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew the contents of the letter he had posted to his solicitor this morning. He almost winced, picturing the fireworks. No lady would be pleased to learn that an investigation into her background had been set in motion. But a man in his position couldn’t be too careful. If he really intended to consider Natalie Whittaker as a marital prospect—and the more he saw of her, the stronger his inclination grew—he had to know more about her. In the meantime, he would try to soften her up. Because if Patterson returned with a good report, that would seal the thing ... at least as far as Malcolm was concerned.
Finally, after years of failing Sarah, he would do something right. He would give her a mother.
Chapter 9
Lord Malcolm had offered to walk her home. For some strange reason, that thought preyed on Natalie’s mind all afternoon. Reading with Sarah, walking with Sarah, playing games with Sarah, her thoughts kept straying to the fact that Lord Malcolm would walk her home this evening. And every time she thought of it, a shiver of excitement ran along her nerves.
She could not decide whether she was dreading it or looking forward to it. And either way, she could not fathom why. Why dread it? Why look forward to it? Either reaction was ridiculous. It finally occurred to her that the walk was so short, she would doubtless be alone with Lord Malcolm for less than a quarter of an hour.
Unless, of course, they dawdled.
At that thought, the shiver went through her again. What on earth was the matter with her?
To her relief, dinner went a long way toward easing her mind. It was an informal affair: since Natalie had brought nothing to change into, Lord Malcolm also wore morning dress. Sarah joined them at table, and they shared a surprisingly merry meal. It warmed Natalie’s heart to see Sarah so animated. She was glad, too, to confirm that Lord Malcolm was not the sort of parent who insisted on silence from his child. Sarah chattered happily about her day and Lord Malcolm listened with an indulgent smile. The evening sun poured through the tall windows of the dining room, seeming to bestow heaven’s blessing on the threesome gathered there.
It was delightful to dine en famille with the Chases, but it made Natalie feel a little sad, too. Dinners at Crosby Hall had not been this pleasant since the barely-remembered days when her mother had presided over them. She mentioned as much to Lord Malcolm while tying her bonnet strings in the hall. “Not that I mean to complain,” she added hastily, catching his eyes in the mirror.
“I didn’t think you were.” The brooding look had returned to his features. “I’m glad you had your mother long enough to remember her. Sarah was not quite three when we lost Catherine. I doubt she will have any memories of her at all.”
Natalie felt a swift stab of sympathy. “You mustn’t despair of it,” she said gently, turning to face him as she pulled on her gloves. “Many children keep memories from their toddler years. I imagine some of mine date from about that age.”
“I hope you are right.” He gave her a rather strained smile. “May I ask how old you were when you lost your mother?”
“I was five years old. Derek was barely four, but I believe he remembers her, too.” She finished with her gloves and smiled at Lord Malcolm. “Ready,” she said brightly. Thank goodness her voice betrayed no nervousness.
He held the front door for her and they stepped out into the golden evening. Lord Malcolm slanted a look at her that she could not quite interpret. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.
For a moment, Natalie didn’t know what he meant. Then she remembered that they had just been speaking of her mother. She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you. It was a long time ago.”
“Yes.” Their feet crunched on gravel. “Had she been ill a long time?”
“Oh, no. It was an accident. She lingered for a few days only.” Natalie heard the tightness in her voice and cleared her throat. “We were not allowed to see her. She had been thrown from a gig and evidently her injuries were not a pretty sight. I suppose they thought it would be too upsetting for us.”
“I’m glad someone showed that much consideration for the children.”
She gave him a twisted smile. “Unfortunately, the result of that kindness was that Derek and I persisted for a long time in believing that our mother would return. Papa remarried quickly. I wonder, now, how much of our hostility toward Lucille stemmed from our confusion about Mama’s death. We did not truly understand what had happened to her.”
His features darkened in a swift frown. “That’s a pity. But it’s hard to know what course to take in such a situation, when the children are very young.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.”
She suddenly realized that he had had to make a similar decision when his own wife died. She wondered what had taken Catherine, and whether Sarah had been allowed to say goodbye to her mother. She dared not ask. The subject was obviously still a painful one for him. She attempted a lighter tone. “I’m not sure whose idea it was to protect us from harsh reality. It seems very unlike Papa; my father was not known for his tender heart. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
As she had hoped, he looked amused. “Was he cruel, or merely selfish?”
“Selfish, for the most part.”
“Ah. How proud he must have been of Hector.”
She chuckled. “There is a resemblance,” she agreed. “But you mustn’t think too harshly of them. Every family has its good eggs and bad eggs.”
“In your family, the good eggs seem to consist largely of you and your brother Derek.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s certainly how it seems to me, but you would hear a different view from Hector.”
“I devoutly hope I never hear Hector’s views. I have no interest in Hector’s views. I cannot remember ever taking a man so strongly in dislike, merely by repute. Generally one requires
familiarity with the actual human being, to form the sort of antipathy I feel for your Hector.”
“Napoleon,” suggested Natalie.
Lord Malcolm pretended to think for a moment. “Not even Napoleon,” he said at last. “At least I understand his motives. Hector’s villainy defies comprehension.”
Natalie peeped up at him uncertainly. “I hope you are joking,” she said. “It reflects very poorly on me, if my tale-telling has so prejudiced you against my brother.”
“Nonsense,” he said firmly, but she saw the glimmer of a smile in his eyes. They turned to start down the grassy slope toward the brook. “Take my arm, Miss Whittaker. The ground may be uneven.”
Natalie felt her pulse flutter. How annoying. She toyed with the idea of informing Lord Malcolm that she had tramped up and down these hills all her life, but discarded the notion as rude. It wasn’t his fault she was cast into fidgets by the prospect of touching him. Pasting a look of unconcern on her face, she took his arm. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
He immediately slowed his steps. Alarm bells rang all through her. He’s dawdling, she thought—then sternly banished the mischievous notion. He probably slowed his pace as a courtesy to her, something any gentleman might do. She mustn’t read anything more into it. Why was she having such crazy thoughts?
While she was still gathering her scattered wits, he segued smoothly back into their conversation. “Tell me more about your family,” he suggested. “Does Hector have redeeming features?”
The question startled a laugh out of her. “Oh, dear. Let’s see. He’s a fairly decent shot, and I’ve heard he rides very well to hounds.”
“Ah. A man of sporting proclivities.”
“I suppose so. And he can be charming when he wants to be—or so I am told. He naturally doesn’t waste his charm on me.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “He must have something to offer. He was able to win a wife.”
Lord Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. “From what you have told me, you are not overfond of his wife, either.”