At the carriage door, Annabelle looked back. Peeking shyly up at Damon, she asked, “Is this really where we are going to live? Really?”
Damon smiled across the carriage at her. “Yes.”
“Come on, Annabelle,” Lizabeth called from outside. “I want to see it.”
One of the outriders appeared around the corner of the carriage just as the boys grabbed the strap and swung themselves out. Matthew poked his brother and pointed up past the stairway to the house. “Lookit that, Julius,” he crowed with clear pride, as though staking ownership already. “I bet we get our own rooms!”
The carriage was finally empty of children except for Roderick, as he lay in his basket staring up at the ceiling with bleary eyes. Damon slid over and pulled the door shut, sealing them in and the sounds of the children out, cocooning them. He leaned over to catch her hands between his own. “What is wrong? I see it in your face. Talk to me. How can I help if I don’t know the problem?”
The sudden privacy felt odd. The children had been a wonderful buffer between them for four days. She took a deep breath. He had asked. He needed to know. “I knew London would be different from what we were used to, but this is beyond anything I imagined.” She shook her head, but a smile started. “Did you see Matthew? He already wants to race carriages down the street.”
He grinned at her. “I will teach him how to do it safely.”
“Oh, you!” She shook her head. “I don’t want him racing down the streets at all.”
He eased across the carriage to her side, and put his arm around her. “You are not doing this alone. The children seem to trust me. I can use that to guide them through the changes they will be facing. There is so much here to entertain them, so much to see and do. I want them to be happy here.”
His dark eyes that looked at her as though they could see right through her. “I think they are pleased we wed, but I agree this move has been a big change for them. Because it was my idea, if they run into any difficulties, they might hesitate to come to me.” He nudged her with his knee in a playful gesture. Against her will, the gesture charmed her. She wanted to have his same lightheartedness.
He picked up one of her hands and kissed it lightly before setting it back down. “We are a team, now, you and I. If they tell you anything I should know, will you tell me, so I can fix it?”
Words caught in her throat, tangled there by the wish for him to kiss her mouth as well. They had not been intimate since the journey began, and she was so surprised that she missed it. His eyes warmed as if he had the same thought, and he leaned closer, his mouth coming so close his breath tickled her face.
“Promise me you will come to me if there are any problems?” His lips claimed her, sealing any answer in her mouth, his scent carrying faint traces of the soap he used to shave. He shifted and she felt his muscles cord and ripple despite coats and layers of clothing.
“What is the matter in here?” Lizabeth’s face poked in through the doorway, popping the mood with the dash of cold air pouring through the opened door. “Are you coming out? I can’t wait to get inside, and besides, we are all freezing.”
Damon pulled back abruptly. “We are coming,” he said but he did not take his gaze from Verbena.
“Oh, good. Can we go in without you?” Lizabeth bounced on her toes, whether from excitement or cold, Verbena did not know.
Damon finally turned toward impatient Lizabeth, breaking the hold of his gaze. “Certainly. In fact, I would be surprised if my butler is not already waiting for you to walk up. Go on ahead.” He slid across the seat toward the door. The steps had been put into place, Verbena had not even noticed anyone do it.
Damon got out and reached back into the box. “I will take the basket so you can get out. Hand Roderick over, please, my dear.”
He did that so often, slipping endearments into his sentences, endearments that tugged at her heart and pleaded for belief. But it was too early to give her heart yet. Much too early.
She handed out Roderick, to discover a young maid wrapped in a shawl behind her husband with arms already outstretched. Damon passed the basket over, then held out a hand again, but her gaze would not leave the maid, hurrying with the precious burden toward the big doorway where light drifted out.
Her husband caught her just as she reached the steps, one large hand closing around her arm, stopping her in mid-stride. Verbena slipped on the frosty walk. His firm grip was all that kept her upright.
The maid and Roderick were inside. Without her. Verbena whirled around to him. “Why did you do that? Where is she taking my baby?”
Damon did not release her. “He is fine. You keep forgetting that he is as much my nephew as yours. And I stopped you because you are not going in without me.”
He sounded angry. He looked angry as he leaned down to her, his face close enough for her to see his expression in the dimness. “You are my wife now. We are going to present a united front just as we did at your old house, both to the children and the servants. We are not having you dash inside and leave me standing out here as though I were nothing more than a coachman. No one will ever be allowed to say that you were more eager to be with your nephew than your husband.”
He wrapped her hand around his arm and held it there with his other hand, his grip unyielding. “Now. We will proceed in and I will present you to our staff.”
Our staff. She, Verbena Barnes, lately of the rundown house on the edge of Thernwood, was going to have servants.
Verbena forced herself to take a deep breath. Her hand clamped down on Damon’s arm, needing something strong to hold on to. Our staff, both his and hers. This was not Damon’s parents’ house. And the other children were already inside. No one could take the baby away.
The door opened and they stepped into the light of candles whose sweet scent proclaimed them to be of beeswax. A line of servants traced the wall of the foyer, all of them staring at her with ill-concealed curiosity. After the first startled look when uniforms blended and the faces seemed to stretch down the hallway, Verbena realized it was really a small staff.
Thank goodness.
And at the far end, the young maid stood, still holding the basket with Roderick.
Damon pulled off his gloves and handed them to what had to be the butler. He turned to her, untied the bow of her bonnet and lifted it off her head. “Your cloak as well, my dear?” That, too, was handed over, along with Damon’s greatcoat, to be passed down to the next servant in line.
Moving behind her, standing like a guard at her back, Damon’s hands came down on her shoulders. “As you all have no doubt figured out, this is my wife, Mrs. Thern. Verbena, this is our staff. First of all, my butler and all around right-hand-man, Samuels.”
Each step into this new life brought changes that, however welcome, did not sit easily. Verbena took a bracing breath, stepped forward, and stopped in front of the butler. He stood rigidly before her. “I’m glad to meet you, Samuels. We are all new to London, and any help you can give us will be appreciated.”
He bowed to her, no smile yet, but Verbena thought she sensed pleasure. “I will be happy to help in any way possible.”
She looked back at Damon, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction on his face. After that it was easier to go down the line, trying to memorize names. There was a Tom, a Reggie, a Bob, all footmen, tall and broad-shouldered, easily capable of carrying up loads of firewood and bathtubs. Damon had outfitted them in uniforms that resembled those at Thernwood, subdued in dignified navy blue with stripes of grey. Next came Mrs. Thompson, the housekeeper, and two maids, Nan and Tessa, whose rough red hands announced they worked in the kitchen. They were young, maybe Julius’s age.
At last, at the end of the line, almost blended within the clump of her brothers and sisters, the little maid with Roderick. Now that she got a good look at the girl, Verbena was startled at how very young she was, halfway between Lizabeth and Matthew. How sad the world was, that a child had to go to work alone and away from her f
amily. And such a pretty child, delicate features, long hair a blonde so light it looked white, and big eyes so blue they put the sky to shame.
All Verbena’s protective instincts rose up. “And your name?”
“Alice, miss – er, ma’am.” A soft blush rose up her cheeks.
“You can put the basket down, Alice. Roderick will be fine.”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” the girl protested. “I don’t mind holding ’im.” Despite her brave words, she was beginning to bow backwards to offset the weight of Roderick, the basket, and the mound of coverings tucked around him.
Damon said in a gentle voice, “It is fine, Alice. You can put him down. He has been in a carriage so long I’m certain solid ground would feel good to him.”
“Yes, sir.” Alice quickly set the basket down and bobbed a curtsy, relief washing over her face.
Damon beckoned to the children. Gesturing to one child after another, he gave their names, then nodded at the butler, who dismissed the staff. As the foyer emptied, Damon beckoned Mrs. Thompson over, and whispered something in her ear that brought a bright smile.
“Yes, sir,” she beamed up at him. “You know you can count on me.”
Damon gave her a hug, just like he might have done with his mother if his mother was the kind of woman who welcomed such an affection. Mrs. Thompson giggled, actually giggled, and scurried out of the room like a woman on a mission.
He watched her go with a chuckle, then rubbed his hands together, and looked around the group still clustered in the foyer. “All right. Let us all get out of the hallway and into the sitting room.” He waved the children ahead of him into a room off to the right. As he held out his hand for Verbena, he kept talking. “Mrs. Thompson will bring us some refreshments. She is a magnificent cook. I know I can’t be the only one who is hungry.”
Well, now she knew something about handling the housekeeper, Verbena thought as she followed the children through the door. If she wanted to stay on Mrs. Thompson’s good side, she had to make Damon happy.
Verbena looked around at the room. It had the stamp of a bachelor’s domain. A large fireplace faced her from the far side, brick stained above from years of fires. A heavy darkish wood mantle ran along its length and more heavy wood went up to the ceiling on either side. The same wood was in the floor in wide planks. The floor was scuffed, the finish nearly worn through.
While it was wonderful to be in a house that did not threaten to fall down on her head, this well-used room held out a welcome better than the finest decorations.
Except for one thing. Everything was distinctly . . . dreary. Chairs, all large and heavy, with dark wood and equally gloomy upholstery, sat scattered around the middle of the room. More chairs of simple bare wood lined the side wall facing the windows.
Not that anyone could enjoy the view. All the windows were covered with dark draperies. The walls were a dark green halfway up, with cream above the chair rail, the softer paint the bare brightness in the room’s decor. Only a few candles were lit, making the room even more oppressive. Was the entire house this dark?
Something must have shown on her face, because a deep male chuckle vibrated the air nearby.
“Don’t blame it all on me,” Damon said. “I bought it as it was. The colors suited me at the time.” Hands on his hips, he looked around the room. “Do what you like to it, just don’t paint it pink, and don’t put up flowered wallpaper.”
Do what you like to it? A bubble of excitement, of optimism lifted through Verbena’s heart. Do what you like to it. She looked around the room again, ideas and dreams popping up like colored sketches.
Damon walked across the room, going past her without stopping, his limp more pronounced than she had noticed in a while, and leaned against the mantle. Julius and Matthew strode past her over to Damon. The boys leaned against the fireplace on opposite sides, trying hard to look as masculine.
“Roderick will have to sleep in our room,” Damon said when she reached his side. “Until we can set up a nursery and hire a wet nurse to stay with him, we will need to keep him close.” Verbena thought she saw white lines around his mouth. He would need her ointments tonight. She felt a tug of pride at his stoicism. He was the best example her brothers could have of facing adversity with courage.
“Well, bless my soul, and if you are not the prettiest little girls I have ever seen.” Mrs. Thompson’s warm voice crooned behind Verbena.
The housekeeper and two maids came in, carrying trays laden with food. The large trays were set on side tables. Elegant cups were filled with tea, and plates were loaded, chicken and thin slices of ham, flakes of smoked fish and thin-sliced, fried potatoes, with small frosted sugar cakes for dessert.
“Julius? Matthew? Come get something to eat.”
Verbena nodded to the kitchen servants. “Thank you very much. We will carry everything down when we are done. Damon can show us the way to the kitchen.”
Mrs. Thompson raised horrified eyebrows. “Oh, no, Mrs. Thern. You can’t be carrying your own dishes about the house. You just ring, and we will come get them.”
At least she had made the offer to help, Verbena thought, and Mrs. Thompson liked the girls. That was a point in their favor.
Maybe they could fit into Damon’s household.
That only left his entire strata of society.
And his family.
CHAPTER 22
Damon stood in the hallway outside the dining room, dressed for the first formal family breakfast, and watched the children practice being seated at the table. The scents of breakfast teased his nose, eggs and bacon, fresh-baked bread and muffins. Morning light shone on the polished table, reaching to the plates and bowls, the tableware and china cups.
He grinned as he stood silently watching the tableau before him.
His footmen, much to his delight, had clearly discerned the children were totally out of their element. Instead of upturned noses or rolled eyes, the men went through the routine again and again of guiding the boys into pulling out the chairs, helping the girls into them, and pushing them in.
“No, Mister Julius, push it in slowly, and don’t make the lady fall into the chair.”
“But how do I know when she’s going start sitting down?” Julius was definitely frustrated.
“It’s an art, Mister Julius, it is indeed an art.” The footman motioned him toward the chair. “Come now, Miss Annabelle, it is your turn. We will work on the smoothness. It should look like one movement.”
Annabelle giggled and bowed to the footman instead of a curtsey. She had obviously been paying attention to the boys’ instructions, with not so much concentration on her own role. Damon waited for the footman to laugh. Even though he was clearly biting the inside of his cheek, the man did not release so much as a snicker, just bowed politely at Annabelle as if he had received the most graceful curtsey.
The other footmen looked away for a moment while they got their faces in order. Trying to hide his smile, one of them found himself looking directly at Damon. After a shocked second, he suddenly snapped to attention. “Sir Damon! Excuse me, sir, I did not see you there. We did not – we were just – May I help you?”
Damon shook his head. “No. I did not mean to interrupt. Things look fine in here. I will go get my wife. Carry on.” Whatever possessed him he did not know, but he winked at the footman by Annabelle before he left.
Now all he had to do was find his wife. After their slow, leisurely morning of loving once Roderick had been turned over to Alice, it was no wonder the children had beaten them down to the dining room. He thought again about the scene he had interrupted, and a chuckle slipped free.
Verbena had thought they would not fit in! If they charmed London as easily as they had charmed his household, their success was assured.
He climbed the stairs to the floor above their bedrooms, and started down the hallway. He heard Roderick crying before he reached halfway and picked up his pace.
Two strained female faces turned to him, eyes a
larmed.
“Oh, thank goodness you are here!” Verbena was doing the jiggling move that mothers did, jouncing Roderick gently and swaying from side to side, but it did not seem to help. Her hair looked as if no one had styled it yet that morning, sun-yellow strands poking out at odd angles from the ribbon that was coming untied. Roderick’s tiny head drooped over her shoulder, and his tiny legs were pulled up into a tight curl. His little fists flailed around her ears. Behind her, Alice looked ready to cry herself. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, and her young skin had an ashen hue. “Here, you take him. I have tried everything I know.”
Verbena startled him by settling Roderick in his arms, the first time she had relinquished him willingly. Damon looked down at a tiny gaping mouth, shocked at the volume coming out of it. He had heard his nephew cry before, but nothing like this. No point in making the rest of the household suffer. He eased the door shut with his foot.
Over the din, Verbena went on, “We can’t find the last jug of goat’s milk. I was so sure there was another jug, but we can’t find it. He is so hungry again he won’t stop crying. Have we found a wet nurse yet?”
He stared down at the squalling bundle. In addition to the sound that was making his own ears ring, he felt a distinct wetness against his hand. “I sent out one of the maids to bring someone she knew back in the carriage. Apparently there is a widow nearby who was about to wean her own child.”
Not knowing what else to do, he rested a knuckle against Roderick’s mouth. He had seen one of the mothers in the army followers do that. Her child was older and teething at the time, but the ploy had worked wonders.
Roderick tasted his knuckle with soft brushes of his tongue, like butterfly kisses, then tried to suck it inside. It was too big, but the challenge distracted him into silence.
The room went so quiet the lack of sound almost hurt. He beamed at Verbena, who rewarded him with a lift of skeptical eyebrows. “He is diverted now, but mark my words, it won’t last long.”
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