The Wicked Wyckerly

by Rice, Patricia

Abby pushed her kippers around on the plate. She’d always wanted to visit a real theater instead of the amateur theatricals the village put together. But how could she enjoy herself until she saw the children and knew for certain how they fared? The marchioness’s solicitors had verified only that they were being fed and kept well, not that they were loved.

  It was much too easy to be tempted into believing her desires were more important than her siblings and to accept the easy assurances that the children wouldn’t care. And maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe she was wrong about stubbornly wishing to see them. But she had to know. Unfortunately, she was too intimidated by her hostess and her elegant surroundings to fight back.

  She was fairly certain the marchioness meant well. But the dowager didn’t have children and wouldn’t understand how deeply fear affected them. Her siblings had already lost both mother and father. Abby was quite certain that to be abandoned by all those they loved would harm them for life.

  After the marchioness left for her office to attend a matter of business, a footman brought Abby a note on a silver salver. Surprised that he’d brought it to her and not the dowager, she opened it and admired the strong masculine scroll across the bottom—Wyckerly. Not Danecroft. It was as if he would always be an ordinary gentleman with her.

  I have a cabriolet today. Would you care to take a small excursion into Surrey?

  Her spirits lifted immediately. “Tell the messenger I can be ready within the hour. I’ll be waiting at the park entrance.”

  She could scarcely believe her good fortune that Danecroft had agreed to take her on this excursion. She knew it was improper, but a firing squad couldn’t stop her from accepting the invitation. She’d never had a need to practice deception, but desperation drove her. The dowager wouldn’t approve of the earl taking her to Surrey, so she would have to pretend she was elsewhere if she didn’t wish to seem ungrateful.

  By the time she’d donned her new lilac-colored pelisse with the matching bonnet adorned in violets, Abigail had formed a plan. Carrying a reticule containing the few coins she’d brought with her, taking her new parasol as if she meant to stroll in the sun, she sailed down the stairs to the front door.

  “Tell Lady Belden that I’m meeting Lady Sally at the milliner’s to look for some more hat ribbons. I’ll see her this evening.”

  She wasn’t a young miss who needed to take orders from anyone. That she’d startled the servant didn’t worry her in the least.

  Of course, propriety required that she take a maid with her if she meant to travel with the earl, but who would know or care what she did? She had no reason not to trust him and every reason to believe she was safe in his company. Besides, they’d have Penny for a chaperone.

  She had triumphantly convinced the milliner to refund her ribbon money in coin and was waiting at the gates of the park when a lovely yellow cabriolet pulled up. Penny waved enthusiastically from it.

  Holding the reins of his horse, the earl opened the low-slung door, and climbed down to greet her. Despite his hat, his hair had tumbled across his brow, and he sported a devilish grin that turned Abby’s insides to mush.

  “Miss Abigail, it’s a pleasure to see you. I trust the ogre did not give you much trouble when you made your escape?”

  Her fingers tingled with the solid grip of his gloved hand as he assisted her into the seat. She’d always been aware of Wyckerly’s masculinity, but his proximity hadn’t seemed so dangerous when she was on familiar ground. Tasting the forbidden apparently led to all manner of sinful thoughts. She squeezed onto the seat beside Penny and hoped she hid her flutter of anticipation.

  “I’m a free woman, beholden to no one.” She dismissed his concern. “This excursion will more than erase any debt you feel you owe me,” she continued, clasping her hands around her reticule in some inane attempt to keep from floating with joy as the earl climbed in on the other side of Penny and set the carriage in motion.

  “If only all my creditors were so generous.” He steered the horse with expertise around a broken flower cart. “I trust you have some idea of our direction and that we won’t be spending the day wandering around Surrey. We’re likely to get rained on.” He glanced at the clouds as if he already regretted his mad urge to take her visiting.

  “South of Croydon, off the Brighton Road,” she answered promptly, so he had no excuse to back down on the offer that he had to know was beyond propriety. “I applied to the children’s executor for directions. I was disappointed to learn that the Surrey Iron Railway requires use of one’s own wagon. Wouldn’t it be more profitable to provide the wagons? But it would have only taken me to Croydon, and I had no way to travel the rest of the distance.”

  Fitz’s well-shaped brows rose. “You would have been brave enough to attempt a railway?”

  She shrugged. “They are horse-drawn wagons. If they fall off the rails, it can’t be at very great speed. Overall, it sounds smoother and less dangerous than a crowded turnpike.”

  “You would do better to hire a post chaise. And I’d rather you not travel alone at all. You have no idea of the dangers of the road,” he said reprovingly.

  “Now you begin to sound like the marchioness,” she said. “I am not an utter gudgeon. I did ask for your assistance, you recognize. But had you not offered, I was prepared to do whatever it took.”

  “You terrify me, Miss Abigail,” he said with what sounded like laughter, apparently brought back around to her way of thinking. “Is there nothing you will not undertake for your siblings?”

  She gave that some thought. “I assume there must be, for I would not spoil them, but they are very young. I doubt that they could ask anything difficult of me.”

  “Is that how families normally behave?” he asked. “I had not noticed many older siblings looking after younger ones. Mostly, I’ve noticed them fighting.”

  “I’m all they have. And I was already well grown by the time they came along, so I’ve always been more of a mother to them. I am no saint. There have been days when I would have liked to lock the lot of them in their rooms and run away just for some peace.”

  “Mrs. Jones locks us up,” Penelope said. “She said we give her no peace. I gave her a piece of my bread, but she threw it away.”

  A quick glance at Danecroft revealed his knuckles whitening on the reins and his jaw clenching until it twitched. He obviously had not known how his daughter had been treated. She could lecture, but it seemed he was beating himself up quite adequately.

  She laughed at Penny’s phrasing and hugged her narrow shoulders. “You need not worry yourself over Mrs. Jones ever again. You are a very lucky girl to have a daddy who will look after you. I think you will like meeting Jennifer. You’re almost her age. Maybe the two of you could watch over the twins. They’re not yet three and don’t speak as well as you do.”

  “Mrs. Jones sometimes took care of babies,” Penny said. “They stink.”

  That forced a chuckle from the earl. “You used to stink, too. I visited you once when you were very little, and you wet all over me.”

  “I did not,” she said indignantly.

  But Abigail could tell she was intrigued to know that her father had come to see her even when she was small and stinky. He wasn’t a bad man, just one who didn’t know how to be a good father. She knew many men like that.

  And she would admire the gentleman’s attempt to be a father to Penny more than was good for her if she gave his behavior any more consideration.

  After they’d navigated the crowded city streets, it was a pleasure to traverse the country road through villages of pretty cottages and past fields of sheep. Enjoying the fresh air and the company and the freedom to be herself for a while, Abby did her best to ignore the gathering clouds overhead. The cabriolet’s hood would protect them somewhat in a shower, she hoped.

  Once they left the main highway, her directions were a little more vague, and they had to stop at a crossroads to ask for the correct turn. She was holding her breath by the time they found
the low stone wall leading up to a three-story house constructed with a tile facade intended to resemble brick. The Weatherstons either were avoiding having to pay the brick tax or thought brick too old-fashioned. Either way, a fashionable new house grander than her aging country cottage was now home for her siblings.

  Fitz cast his passenger an anxious glance as he pulled the rig to a halt at the front steps. Miss Merry had carried on a lively and intelligent discourse all the way here, but upon their arrival at the drive, she’d turned into a stone-faced sphinx.

  He leaned over to squeeze the gloved hands she clenched in her lap. “I’m sure they’re fine. Wait here, and I’ll rouse the household.”

  She nodded curtly. He left her studying the ugly new construction while he pounded the knocker. Nouveau riche, he concluded, noting the knocker was painted iron and not the brass that required an army of servants to keep it polished.

  A maid with mobcap askew answered the door, bobbed a startled curtsy when he presented his card, and rudely left him standing on the step. Somewhere beyond the wide-open door, he could hear children yelling. Or romping. Small feet pounded on wood floors.

  He had no experience at dealing with an entire brood of imps, and he almost regretted his impulsive urge to take Miss Merry visiting. But he’d not been able to get an appointment with the family solicitor until tomorrow, and he’d thought it a good idea to take Penny to the safety of the country, where ruffians and creditors weren’t likely to find them.

  He glanced over his shoulder to the carriage, which Penny was attempting to escape. She’d been remarkably well behaved these past hours, but now it was her nap time. He dreaded the whining and screams that might shortly ensue.

  From the sounds of it, four more rapscallions were scampering around upstairs, about to descend in a stampede. He was feeling overwhelmed and out of his element.

  How had he thought he could ever be a father?

  Unfortunately, if he married for money, wedlock rather required breeding heirs.

  “Abby!” a shrill voice shrieked from the upper story.

  “You stop right there, you little hooligan,” a woman with a vaguely Irish accent shouted. “It’s nap time.”

  Definitely bad timing. Fitz stepped back as he realized his petite companion had joined him on the doorstep. The brim of her annoying bonnet brushed his cheek as she peered inside. He’d much rather enjoy her expressive face than those damned violets, but he supposed it was safer if women hid their faces from slavering wolves like him. Now that he had a better idea what she hid behind her modest clothing, his mind wandered like an errant schoolboy’s in her presence.

  “Abby! Abby! Abby!” An onslaught of childish chants accompanied more pounding feet.

  Penelope clung to his leg, creasing his trousers to peer around his knees.

  Why the devil had he agreed to this insane expedition? He didn’t owe Miss Merriweather that much for landing him in pigsties and strawberry fields.

  Still, he’d definitely developed a taste for rhubarb tart. . . .

  A fair-haired girl with a long braid nearly broke her neck racing down the stairs to fling herself into her sister’s arms. His daughter gripped Fitz’s leg tighter and stared, making him wonder if she’d ever had a friend of her own. And realizing it was pathetic that he didn’t know.

  Behind the girl, a tall boy with carrot-colored hair solemnly prevented a pair of toddlers from tumbling headlong over the last few steps. The boy cast an anxious glance at his half sister before donning a mask of insouciance. Fitz’s heart nearly broke in two watching the lad attempting to appear like a man who didn’t give a damn.

  He painfully recognized the attitude that hid a world of fear and uncertainty.

  Behind the children, at the top of the stairs, stood the maid who’d left him on the step and someone he assumed was a nursemaid, wringing her hands and looking frighteningly stern.

  Miss Abby had knelt down to squeeze and kiss the toddlers, who were pulling off her bonnet and wrinkling her fashionable skirt and rubbing grubby hands on her expensive pelisse. The pure bliss on her face told Fitz she was oblivious of the destruction—which made him unaccountably ache even more.

  “Miss Jennifer, I assume?” He donned a gallant pose and addressed the shy girl hovering on the far side of the door. “May I introduce my daughter, Miss Penelope? I believe you may both be of an age.” Penny crept halfway from behind his knees, eyeing Abby and the twins with a hunger for acceptance.

  Leaving the girls to work it out, Fitz turned to the young boy clutching his hands behind his back and watching the proceedings. “You must be Mr. Thomas Merriweather, caretaker of this lively brood. I am most pleased to meet you. I’m Fitzhugh Wyckerly. Your sister has twisted my arm until I cried uncle and brought her to visit.”

  The boy properly held out his hand and shook Fitz’s.

  “Pleased to meet you, sir. I thank you for bringing Abby to see us. The children have missed her greatly.”

  And Tommy would have missed her even more, Fitz would wager as he watched Abby grab Tommy’s neck and hug him. The boy turned three shades of scarlet but still squeezed her back, however briefly.

  Which was when Fitz knew he wanted this kind of affection for himself and for Penny. Which meant he had a bigger problem than any his notorious family had ever brewed, because in his experience, wealth and affection never went hand in hand. Expecting both meant achieving neither.

  14

  Abby cuddled Cissy on her lap and ruffled Jeremy’s golden curls where he leaned sleepily against her knee. She desperately needed to hug Jennie and Tommy as well, but she could not keep an earl waiting forever, or disturb the nursery routine for much longer.

  “I am so very, very grateful that you have allowed me to visit,” Abby told the nursemaid. Sitting at the tea table, she offered her half of a biscuit to Jeremy, who stuck it all in his mouth and smeared crumbs across his face. “I have been desperate to visit, but the distance is difficult. I hope I will not cause you any trouble for this.”

  “The missus is out visiting. She’ll be home directly, if you want to stay,” the nursemaid said with sympathy. “The mister stays in the city most nights. It’s her what wanted the children, and he gives her all she wants.”

  “I wish I could stay.” Abby threw Lord Danecroft a glance. He’d been remarkably patient, not complaining when the twins attacked his impeccable gray trousers and slobbered on his polished boots. He sipped his tea some distance from her. Having taken a rocking chair, he cradled a doll the girls had handed him, and discussed insect lore with Tommy.

  She didn’t think there could be anything so virile as a man confident enough in his masculinity to lower himself to a child’s level.

  At first, the earl had looked doubtful enough that she feared he might flee back to London on foot. But he’d made a courageous recovery after Penny had tackled his knee. Abby might be ill-disposed toward shallow charm, but Danecroft’s magnetism apparently worked on children.

  “His lordship must return to the city shortly, and I fear it will rain soon. You will convey my apologies and my gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Weatherston? I hope they will be so kind as to bring the children to visit upon occasion. I’m certain the marchioness would not mind. I will send a note around with a proper invitation.”

  Abby desperately needed to know the people caring for the children. She had sent lists of instructions, but did they bother to make Jennie lie down in a dark room when her head hurt? Or remember that the twins had bad reactions to bee stings and should be kept away from flowers? Did they even care or did they expect nursemaids to do it all? It didn’t look as if she could satisfy her concerns today. At least she now knew they had a comfortable roof over their heads.

  “Don’t go!” Cissy whined when Abigail set her down and prepared to leave. Her twin immediately mimicked the cry, and Abby sent the earl a wry look over their heads.

  Despite his height and the confinement of his clothing, Danecroft rose agilely from the low chai
r and returned the doll to Jennie. “We thank you for the luncheon, ladies, gentleman.” He bowed to the pouting, crying children and spoke to them firmly. “You must promise to behave and listen to your nanny if we are to be allowed to return. You don’t want your sister to worry herself to death if she can’t see you again, do you?”

  Tommy and Jennie instantly picked up the little ones and dried their tears.

  “Brilliant,” Abby murmured as they made their escape down the stairs and to the door. She was already fumbling for her handkerchief to wipe the tears spilling down her cheeks. “You learn quickly.”

  Above, she could hear Tommy’s voice crack as he directed the twins to their bed.

  “I wanna stay here,” Penny said, trying to flee Danecroft’s hand. “I wanna play dollies.”

  “If you stay here and play dollies, you can’t have dollies at home,” he said, picking up his daughter and again offering his arm to Abby as they descended the outside stairs.

  “I want dollies at home!” Penelope cried, on the verge of weeping.

  “All right, you can have dollies at home, but you can’t sleep until we get there.”

  Abby fought a smile at Danecroft’s ridiculous sternness.

  “I will too sleep if I wanna!” Penny shouted back.

  “Not for very long.” He slid his recalcitrant daughter into the seat, then aided Abby up the step into the carriage.

  “All day and all night!” Penny retorted, but even she giggled weepily, as if this was a familiar form of argument.

  Sinking into the carriage seat, Abby simply wanted to cry her eyes out, and the banter between father and daughter made her ache even more. The earl might be as poor as a street urchin, but he had Penny, and his life was much the better for it, whether he realized it or not.

  She would easily give up all the coins in the world if only she could have the children back again.

  She cast a longing glance around the carriage’s hood as the horse trotted down the drive. Four small faces crowded an upper window, waving frantically.