Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  “London? All of them?” Red blurred Barnes’ vision, anger that boiled up from a deep well in the pit of his stomach. His skin prickled with the rage seeping out from every pore, years of resentment toward the Therns trying to find some way out, some release. Those Therns had stabbed him again! Would their perfidy never end? First his land, and then his daughter. Six whole years they had kept Edeline away from him, six years, and now their rutting son had killed her with his seed.

  And they had taken Verbena, too!

  Fear whispered through his brain, cold fear that beat against the hot rage boiling there. Verbena. Gone. He depended on her. She cooked and cleaned for him, and kept the other children out of his sight.

  It did not matter that the children were a constant nuisance, they were his. He had fathered them, and no one had the right to steal them away. No one! Especially the Therns, those scourges on the countryside, trotting around stealing land away from decent hard-working people and not caring if their victims lived or died.

  How was he going to survive without his children’s help, a little voice whispered from deep in his mind. He could not cook for himself, and he certainly could not come here every day. He did not know how long his wages from this latest trading journey would last.

  Who did those high-and-mighty Therns think they were? There had to be some way he could force them to pay for everything they did. Killing his daughter, kidnapping his children, running off with Verbena. Well, the Therns could just think again. He would get something out of them for all the misery they had caused him if it was the last thing he did.

  And now they had stolen his grandchild, his own heir that he had not even seen yet. A cold chill prickled down his spine as he remembered how quickly this last sea trip had come up. Had Thern planned this all along, hoping he would die at sea?

  Well, he was going to go to London and drag his children back, that he would. He just needed to come up with a good idea. “Give me an ale,” he snapped at Robbie, and pushed the shilling closer to him. Once he got some ale, he would be able to come up with a plan. He always had good plans with a drink or two in him.

  CHAPTER 25

  Verbena walked with Mrs. Smythe to the front door, where the two footmen waited to hand the new wet nurse into Damon’s carriage. They were to go back with her and help collect her belongings.

  She looked at this woman with whom she would be sharing Edeline’s son. “Don’t hesitate to ask the men for whatever help you need. They will load whatever you want to bring with you, and lock up your house.” Hurry back, she thought, the urgent wish springing from some unknown part of her brain. She could be feeling jealousy at Mrs. Smythe for intruding on what should be Verbena’s place alone, yet she liked this woman. “I look forward to having you here.” And it was true, strangely, happily true.

  Mrs. Smythe looked up at her and Verbena saw unease flicker in her eyes. “Mrs. Thern, I just wanted you to know that I will do my very best for your son. I don’t want you to worry that I will try to usurp your place.”

  It seemed neither of them was entirely comfortable with the sudden turn their life had taken. A smile slipped free. “I know you will. I admit, before you came I was worried about what kind of woman you would be, but I see how much you love your own son. I hope we can be friends.” She suddenly remembered her husband was at that very moment exposing Roderick to a danger not even this woman could help her with. Her smile threatened to waver. She held it in place with sheer will.

  Mrs. Smythe gave one last tug to make certain the gloves were secure, or maybe to expend some nerves. The anxiety in her eyes seemed to increase, as if she was afraid something would go wrong before she could come back and get settled in. “Mrs. Thern, I am not a nurse, I am just a mother. Your son will need me for a short while. I will have to make my own way then.”

  “Perhaps you will remarry,” Verbena said, and immediately wished she had not. Mrs. Smythe was not over her husband yet, how could she be so crass as to mention finding another?

  The other woman just smiled sadly. “Perhaps. It would be the best solution. I would like more children.” Then she turned and walked down the stairs and out into the winter chill. At least for a while, she would have some income and could gain a measure of independence.

  How strange. Mrs. Smythe was gaining independence, while she was losing it. Which one had made the better choice?

  Verbena caught herself scanning the street for Damon’s horse. How long could his meeting take? Would he come back alone, or would his parents’ carriage follow him?

  A chill colder than the air wafting through the door made her shiver. Verbena quickly shut the door, but the chill followed her inside.

  She turned and looked down the hall into the house in which she now lived. Damon had enough servants to handle all the chores that previously had been hers. The children were upstairs. He had given the boys some kind of school exercise to work on, a way, he said, of knowing what to look for in a tutor. Just one more evidence of his efforts for them.

  There was work waiting, but it was so different from her usual occupations of cooking and cleaning and mending. She could not start without someone else to show her how and where. Mrs. Thompson was to take her about the house after the noon meal. Counting sheets and towels instead of washing them, learning where the plates and silverware were instead of laying them out.

  She was not used to having so much time on her hands. There was one useful skill that she could use right now, this moment, though, something much more important than household accounts.

  Verbena went deliberately up the stairs to the next floor. For a while at least, she could dismiss the maid, hold Roderick and feel like she was keeping her promise to her sister.

  The house was so quiet. She had never been in a house this quiet. It made her uneasy and gave her too much time to think. Her thoughts were uneasy company, filled with pain. Memories of her sister, her own longing for a house where she felt needed.

  As Verbena reached the top of the stairs, her steps lagged. No one was nearby, no one to watch. She leaned against the rough brick wall and pressed her arms against her chest, holding back the pain. She and Damon had come together for so many wrong reasons that had seemed right at the time.

  The only right reason, she now knew, was love.

  Would they, could they, ever have that? If they could not, how would she survive? Because, fool that she was, she thought she might be falling in love with him, if love meant being transfixed by his beautiful eyes, longing for the nighttime with him, enjoying his touch, feeling pride at his courage in walking and even riding a horse with his injuries, marveling at his keeping his word with her brothers and sisters.

  Was that love?

  What kind of revenge would that be, to have Damon force her into marriage and then to fall in love with the only man who could never accept her?

  She shuddered against the clench of her heart, holding it in with her inadequate arms until she could breathe, then straightened and stood there until she thought her face might be calm again.

  Only then did she continue down the hallway, push open the door and walk into the nursery.

  *

  Damon stood outside the front door and handed over the reins to the groom. He needed these few minutes to gather his thoughts before he went in and broke his news to Verbena.

  His mother was coming whether the answer was yea or nay. His father was coming to make certain his wife did not get swept away by emotion and wishes.

  It was reassuring to have been right when he told Verbena that his mother would love Andrew’s child. He had hopes for his father as well, once Edward saw his lost son in the babe.

  Damon had asked for time to get Roderick fed, but highly doubted he would get it. What he had meant was that he needed time calm Verbena and coach the children. They would want the confidence of knowing proprieties, and he wanted them to have that first sense of pride at fitting in to this new world.

  His parents, Damon was certain, had
heard what he had not said, hence he expected them to arrive at any minute.

  His mother had accused Edeline of running off to the stable to have an affair with a stableboy! On the very day of Andrew’s death! If his mother could do that while Edeline was numb with grief, he wondered very much what else had gone on. Verbena had tried to tell him, but he had squelched her every argument.

  Where had Andrew been all that time? If he knew his brother, Andrew had undoubtedly been hiding in his books or off at the club where he could read without anyone thrusting his responsibilities in his face.

  Damon winced when he remembered how he had bullied and threatened Verbena to get her to marry him. She had tried to warn him what to expect, but he had run roughshod over everything she said, had even thrown her father’s own drunkenness into her face.

  And now his mother was going to descend on them. The only one she was really interested in seeing was Roderick.

  He hoped his mother truly had learned from her mistake because, unlike Andrew, he intended to be in the room every minute they were together and he would not tolerate insults.

  He nodded at Samuels as he went past.

  “Your wife is in the nursery with the babe, Sir.”

  “Thank you.” Damon stopped and turned around. “My parents are expected shortly.”

  “Very good, sir. I will see that refreshments are ready.”

  Damon headed up the stairs. He did not hear the four children, which was surprising. How could four children manage to be completely unnoticed?

  The nursery door was ajar, a sliver of sunlight reflecting into the hall. He stood by the doorway and listened. Soft singing drifted out, a mother crooning to her child. Verbena’s voice.

  Damon knocked, then pushed the door completely open. Verbena sat alone in the rocking chair, cradling a sleeping Roderick. He wondered if she had put him down for a single moment. “Where is Mrs. Smythe?”

  She looked up at him. “She is at her old home, packing. Her son is with the girls in their schoolroom, and one of the maids is there as well, watching over them. So far no one has screamed, and nothing has been broken, so I believe everyone is fine.” She stroked her hand over Roderick’s little head, possessiveness in every touch. “Are your parents not with you? What did they say?”

  “Well, therein lies a tale.” Damon pulled over a chair and sank down into it with a groan of relief. “It seemed I underestimated my father’s . . . dislike, shall we say, of your sister.” He leaned forward and touched her knee, claiming her as she just had Roderick. “I owe you an apology, my dear.” This was not something that could be said at a distance. He rested his hand on her cheek, and hoped it was not still too cool from his ride. “You were absolutely right about Edeline and her stories. I believe her life with my family must have been miserable.”

  Verbena opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She did not have to say anything, the I told you so hung on the air.

  “I fear that my father might be well-nigh intolerable.” He made himself lift his hand, and leaned back. “But now that my mother is convinced that Roderick is Andrew’s, she at least seems ready to make amends.”

  “It is a little – “

  “Late for Edeline,” Damon interrupted her. “Yes, I know. And again, I can only apologize. And do my best to make atonement.”

  A strange look crossed Verbena’s face. Damon could not begin to decipher it, and was not certain he wanted to.

  He leaned forward to stare straight into her eyes. “I am not Andrew. I will not leave you to my family’s less than tender mercies. I have already warned my father that if he says anything against you, I will call him out.”

  Verbena’s eyes grew round as saucers. “You would never!”

  He felt his mouth lift. “Probably not. Almost certainly not. But it does not hurt to leave him wondering.”

  Someone cleared their throat at the door.

  “Sir? Er, my lord?” Samuels stood in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “Sir Edward and Mrs. Thern have arrived.”

  They had not wasted any time. He did not dare turn and look at Verbena. At least he had given her a bit of warning. “How close behind you?”

  Samuels stiffened as if he had been insulted. “I asked them to wait in the front parlor.”

  Damon rose and turned to Verbena. “Brace yourself, Verbena. You are about to meet my parents.”

  Then he strode out the door behind Samuels.

  *

  Verbena watched Damon leave, and listened to his footsteps as he hurried down the hallway.

  His mother was willing to make amends. Verbena looked down at Roderick, sleeping in her arms. Did that mean she had to allow Mrs. Thern to hold him?

  Because she feared the woman might snatch him and run away. Foolish thought. The house was full of servants ready to block any escape.

  Mrs. Smythe would be here soon. Verbena did not want the poor woman to be caught in anything uncomfortable. What was she thinking? She did not want to be caught in anything uncomfortable, either!

  A soft knock came at the door. Verbena swiveled to look. Did she stand? Could she remain seated?

  It was too late to decide. Mrs. Thern and her husband stood at the door. Verbena recognized them from about the village. She stood and clutched Roderick closer. The rocking chair creaked behind her, bumping the back of her legs through her skirt.

  “Hello –”

  “Is that – ”

  They looked at each other from across the room. Mrs. Thern’s face was stark with grief. Her dark hair was striped with grey, and the corners of her eyes drooped with new lines. More lines pleated the space between her eyebrows. She wore a black dress, not so much a sign to the outside of mourning as a mirror of her sorrow.

  Her mouth pursed in instantaneous reaction, and Verbena stiffened her spine. Then, even as she drew herself up for a battle, Mrs. Thern’s face, her whole bearing, slowly lit with hope. Her eyes met Verbena’s. “Is that Andrew’s son?”

  She had expected those words, expected that Edeline would be left out of Roderick’s existence. Looking at the sadness that had etched those new lines on the other woman’s face, though, Verbena could not summon even a sliver of offense. “Yes. Yes, it is. Please, come in,” she said.

  The other woman stepped inside. Verbena stepped away from the rocker, and motioned toward it. “Please, sit.”

  Mrs. Thern met Verbena’s gaze again. “I know you would much rather I not be here. I realize we do not meet under ideal circumstances, but Andrew was my son and I never thought I would see a child of his.” The lines on her face deepened, hope overlaid with suspicion. “You are certain this is his child?”

  Behind her, still in the doorway, Damon shook his head at the same time the thought slipped through, I will not take offense. “Absolutely certain. Come look for yourself.” But she did not hold Roderick out. If Damon’s mother wanted to see her grandson, she had to make some move.

  And Mrs. Thern did. With slow steps, she crossed the big room, empty except for the rocker and a couple of chairs. Her head swiveled to take in the barrenness. Verbena knew what she thought, it was obvious in the curl of her lip. “I see you have not made much effort to settle him.”

  Verbena felt her jaw tighten. “We’ve only just arrived. We do have a wet nurse coming, however, and want her to furnish it to her own taste. She has her own child, so Roderick will have an instant playmate.”

  “Hmph. I hope you have checked her over carefully.” Mrs. Thern reached her at last, and Verbena could see, beneath the defensive exterior, the aching hope beneath. While her face showed disapproval, her true feelings were in her eyes.

  “Please, sit in the rocker if you will.” Verbena invited a second time, and took another backward step to give the woman room.

  Looking between Verbena and the chair, Mrs. Thern must have decided the chair would yield first, so she eased past, trying hard not to get too close, and seated herself with much rustling of petticoats and skir
ts.

  Taking a breath, trying to hide the trembling inside, Verbena leaned over and placed Roderick in his grandmother’s arms.

  “It is hardly the first child I have ever held,” Mrs. Thern grumbled, but her eyes never left that little, sleeping face. And then, “Oh! Oh. Oh, my baby.”

  Verbena wanted to snatch Roderick back. He was not Mrs. Thern’s baby, he was her own. Damon must have slipped inside the room because his hand came down on her shoulder and held her in place.

  “Does he look like Andrew?” Damon asked quietly.

  “His hair is a bit darker.” Mrs. Thern’s voice broke. “But so much. So very much.” Her hand came down over Roderick’s tiny head, stroking it with a feather touch. “So much.”

  She gazed across the room to where her husband still stood rigid and disapproving in the doorway. “Edward.” A single drop slid down her cheek. Her voice quavered. “Edward, come see. Come see our grandson. He is the virtual image of our Andrew.”

  Verbena held her breath as she watched the man in the doorway. It seemed like an eternity before he moved, each step slow, but finally he was at the rocker. No one spoke, not even Mrs. Thern, as he looked down at Roderick. Finally his hand came up and one finger traced the dark hair on the tiny head. Edeline’s hair, Verbena knew.

  “Remember . . .” it was Sir Edward’s turn to quaver. He cleared his voice and started again. “Remember how dark Andrew’s hair – ” He stopped again, and this time it seemed it was for good.

  Mrs. Thern was openly crying now. “I thought that very thing.” She lifted him up and pressed her lips to his forehead. “My little Andrew.”