Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  The words might as well have been shouted, they resonated so hard. Verbena took a breath to protest, but Damon gave her shoulder a warning squeeze. He said the words Verbena had feared all along. “Would you two like a few moments alone with him?”

  She gasped but Damon turned her around and started walking toward the door. Verbena dug in her heels. “I am not leaving,” she whispered in fury.

  “Yes, you are.” His hands came around her waist and he actually lifted her off her feet, walked to the door and out, then set her down. He winced and rubbed his leg but Verbena was not in a mood to be sympathetic.

  The door to the nursery shut behind her with a solid thump. Verbena whirled around, to see Samuels with his hand still on the handle.

  “Why did you do that? I am not going to leave them alone with him! Open that door back up.”

  Damon’s arm caught her in an unbreakable grip, pinning her back against him. Over her head, he said, “Thank you, Samuels. You may go now.”

  Verbena squirmed in his hold, and tried to pry his hand off her waist. “I need to be in there! Did you hear her call him Andrew? She is trying to claim him!”

  Damon’s arm just held tighter. “She is his grandmother. As such, she does have a claim on him. He is her grandson, and he is Andrew’s son. It is only natural to look for pieces of Andrew in him. You should be glad that she has verified your sister’s faithfulness.”

  Verbena stilled for a moment. He was right on that at least. “But what if she wants to take him with her? I promised Edeline I would keep him safe.” She managed to stop the last few words. From them.

  Damon seemed to hear them anyway. He turned her around to face himself. One hand came up to capture her chin. The other held her in place, strong around her back. “I realize you would rather none in my family even lay eyes on Roderick, but that was never going to happen. He needs both sides of his family, and I intend to see he has that. Now, leave my parents alone with him. Roderick will wake soon enough and need to eat, and I promise you, they will be only too happy to turn him back over.”

  “Mrs. Smythe!” Verbena grabbed at the reminder with relief. Anything to guarantee that Damon’s mother would be forced to relinquish Roderick. “She should be here by now. I wonder if anything went wrong.”

  “She is already here. The foyer is full of her possessions. I asked her to give us a few minutes. Her son is running about in the kitchen, keeping Mrs. Thompson and the staff so busy we will be lucky to have anything to eat tonight.” He seemed to want to smile, his mouth crooked on one side, but it did not reach his eyes. “I apologize for my mother’s words. Give her a chance, Verbena. Your grief is new and fresh, but hers is painful, too. Roderick has given both my parents new hope. You were not there when she found out about him. I promise you, she knows what she did to your sister. In her own way, I believe she regrets it.”

  Verbena remembered Mrs. Thern’s face as she came in. Letting go of the resentment was hard, but she had to admit that he might be right. The constant snapping could be so ingrained Damon’s mother did not know how to get rid of it.

  She stepped back and out of his reach anyway. She had given much, it was his turn to yield on a point. “Don’t you dare let her remove him from this house. Anyone who wants to see him can come here.”

  He raised his hands. “Understood. And agreed. I hope that with enough visits, my family can come to a whole new appreciation of your family. Perhaps with Roderick, someday the animosity will be put to rest. Now come with me and greet Mrs. Smythe.”

  “No.” His brows came down. “I am sorry, Damon. I know she is your mother, You tell me to wait outside, so I promise I will not go back into the room, but I will wait here.”

  They stared at each other. Neither said a word for a long, long breath.

  “Some day you will let go of your sister’s prejudices.” Damon turned around and walked away, leaving her there.

  But he did not make her come with him. Verbena gazed down the empty hallway where he had so recently been. He might be angry with her – very well, he was angry with her – but he had respected her fears.

  Edeline had not been defended by Andrew or she would not have been abused by his family and staff. Verbena realized she was still gazing at where her husband had been. Could it be that her own marriage, started so inauspiciously, had more than her sister had managed in six years?

  Somewhere nearby a clock ticked. It was her only company. That, and her thoughts, and a strange feeling, like a warm bubble, building behind the fichu in her neckline.

  Damon was growing in her heart.

  The thought kept her company as she stood, alone, too distracted to watch the door.

  CHAPTER 26

  Thomas Barnes stood on the street and stared up at the impressive house before him. Pillars marked the entrance, and the steps leading to the door were washed so clean they looked polished. On either side of the door, the windows were nearly as wide as one wall of his house.

  Four stories tall and big enough for several sizeable rooms per floor. Large windows lined the walls, rich curtains behind the glass only hinted at the wealth within.

  So this was where the Therns lived. They could certainly afford such a grand place, what with all the money they got now from their land, rents that were squeezing the life out of the villagers.

  He himself was a working man, he earned his own money, rather than living off the sweat and backs of others. No leech, him, no sir!

  Thomas strode up the walk and stomped across the portico, telling himself that the thumping of his heart was rage, not nerves. He was going to make a claim on his grandson, and they were going to finally pay!

  He raised the heavy knocker and slammed it down. The sound reverberated into the bowels of the house. It opened as though reluctant to let anything outside pollute the perfection. He caught a quick glimpse of a polished table just inside, probably for cards when the family could not be bothered to let the people in. Just leave the card and they will get back to you when they had the spare time, he thought sourly.

  He puffed out his chest. “I’m here to see the master of the house, an’ you can tell him I won’t be fobbed off with excuses.” He tried looking down his nose at the man behind the door, but it was hard to do from a step below.

  The man, clearly some kind of servant from the spit-and-polish uniform, did it much better than he had. In fact, the man’s lip curled. “Servants to the back,” he said with revulsion, and slammed the door shut.

  Slammed the door! In his face, him, the legal grandfather of their only grandchild? Thomas stepped forward and grabbed for the knocker, but the door opened so fast that he almost fell inside.

  He talked fast. “I know my children are in this house. Now let me in to see them or I will spread the word all over London that the Therns stole my children. See how that sits with all their high and mighty friends!”

  “A likely story! I said, servants in the back, and don’t think you will get any more attention. Now get away.”

  And he slammed the door again. Harder.

  They would not open it again, even if he kicked it. And it was so heavy and so thick he would only hurt his foot.

  Something moved at the side of the house. Thomas stopped staring at the door and watched the corner, one hand on the railing for a quick vault and escape, half afraid the Therns were about to send their staff after him. But it was nothing so threatening, he saw with relief. Instead, a scruffy young boy carrying some letters in one hand and a small box in the other fairly pranced along the graveled drive. Thomas walked back down the steps, keeping his eye on the child as a plan took shape.

  Was the youngster a member of the household staff who would feel obligated to report anything that happened? Or was he just one of the boys who roamed London, one who would do anything for a coin?

  He still had small pouches of his wages hidden on his person. Thomas reached the sidewalk and watched the boy walk along the street. The boy’s clothes certainly did not have the
stamp of a household servant, with ragged bottoms on the legs and a coat too thin and too small. His shoes looked a bit too big but sturdy, no doubt the one piece of his attire he dared spend any of his earned cash on.

  Up closer, Thomas noticed the boy was dirty, and his hair so greasy it was impossible to guess its color. If this boy was a street urchin with access to the house, nothing could be better. If a family with children had moved in, no doubt the servants would be nattering about it in the kitchen, and the kitchen was about the furthest into the house such a ragged little person would be allowed.

  Thomas caught up with the boy at the end of the block while a carriage rattled past and they had to stop anyway.

  “Boy! You looking to earn some coin, or you already work for someone?”

  “Me?” Bright blue eyes looked up at him. The kid did not even look surprised at being stopped by a stranger. That was a good sign. “Naw, I just carry letters an t’like around. Ain’t nobody better’n me at gettin round London. I jest try to know all the servants in the better ’ouses, an’ they allus send for me when they gots stuff to get delivered.” He looked Thomas up and down with mercenary intent. “Why, you got a package you wants delivered som’eres?”

  “How’d you like to make money just for finding out something?”

  “Like what?” The boy’s eyes went wary, but Thomas saw the gleam of greed was still there.

  “Is there a family of children staying there, in that house you just left?”

  “Why you want to know?” The carriage was gone, and Thomas figured the boy wanted to get this errand done so he would be able to take on another.

  Thomas spoke fast. “Those children are mine. They were taken away while I was off on a ship and I’m back to collect them.”

  Sure enough, the boy started across the street, taking for granted that Thomas would follow. He did. “’Ow am I s’posed to know they be yours? Iffen they are there, that is.”

  “I can tell you their names.” Thomas hoped the boy would not be cagey enough to ask for their ages, because he could not remember.

  “Don’t matter,” the boy said. “There ain’t no kids there ’cept them two girls.”

  Two girls? But if it was his family, there should be three girls. And where were the boys?

  “I hear they aim to marry one of them off soon. That worth anythin to you?” The boy gave him a sideways look but did not slow.

  The pain that was making Thomas’s life miserable lately flared up, one sharp push that presaged more. “No, but if you stop for just a moment, I will tell you what help you can be.”

  The boy stopped with obvious reluctance. “Talk fast, then, mister, because I earn more iffen I’m fast. So what you wanna know and how much you willin to pay?”

  “I want to find my children, and I know that family knows where they are. I want to know if a man with a limp ever comes and if anyone mentions a baby. And if you can tell me that, I will pay you,” Thomas did some quick calculations, “a pound.”

  The boy’s eyes widened, but his wary nature surfaced. “An’ what if I can’t find out where ’e lives? You gonna back out?”

  Thomas knew then they had a deal. “You are a bright lad. I’m sure you can find out something. Here.” Thomas fished a shilling out of his pocked and flipped it into the air. The boy caught it with a skill that indicated he had to get most of his wages that way. “You find out about the man who limps and I will give you a whole pound in addition to that. But you need to find out where that man lives. That is the bargain, a pound for the address.”

  “You got a deal! How’m I s’posed to find you?”

  “You know The Ram’s Ear? In Cheapside? Send a message there. The name’s Barnes. Repeat it.”

  “Barns. I got it. Now, Barns, I gotta go. I hear anythin, I send word.” He lifted a hand and took off running.

  Thomas rubbed his hands together. Just you see, he thought to Thern, just you see. I will get my grandson and if you want him back, you will fork over every penny you have.

  He rubbed his side. He needed something to eat, and some ale to wash it down.

  CHAPTER 27

  Concealed by darkness and horses, Thomas stared across the span at the house, trying to see. His stomach churned. He had spotted servants moving about the back, probably the kitchen, while he had sat here waiting.

  Thomas rubbed the painful spot on his right side, and frowned. The children were probably asleep now, which was all to the good. They did not like him much, he knew that, they were not going to help him.

  The house at last went dark, the servants all seemed to be off to bed. The fewer awake, the better. Thomas eased out from the nest he had made in the stable and bent and stretched until his aching bones began to move. He had kept his eye on one tree that brushed against a window on the second floor. That room had been dark since his disloyal daughter and her husband had left in the big carriage. They even had a coachman to drive the thing.

  Now was the time. He slung the duffle with everything he could possibly need over his shoulder, and slipped across the courtyard to the tree. He had spent most of his life climbing masts and hanging onto sails, he was as at home shimmying up anything tall and straight as he was walking across the road. And a tree, with all its branches? It was made for him.

  The window was latched, a mere inconvenience. He had planned for that. He took the thin pick out of his bag and eased it into the seam. It squeaked as it slid against the metal latch, but with a little more pressure – ah ha! The latch popped out of the holder and the window sighed open a crack.

  Not a sound came from the other side of the heavy drapes. Thomas pushed himself off the branch and landed in the room with a soft thud. He had hoped to make less noise than that, but his body had not moved so easily lately.

  He was in. The room was big, a massive bed and matching armoire, a chair, even a little prissy table with a mirror that his daughter probably used, and empty of any people, not even a maid sleeping in a chair waiting for his daughter to come back. Better and better.

  He listened at the hallway door, but not a sound came from outside. Placing every foot with care, he crept down the hallway, peeking in one door after another. In the faint light from the banked fires he recognized Julius in one room, Matthew in another, their breathing slow and regular.

  The child was not on this floor. Thomas knew he was in the right house, the other children were here, the babe had to be here as well. He had seen another floor above this this one, and staring at the door at the hallway’s end, knew another set of stairs had to be hidden there. The servants’ stairs, no doubt, and better than retracing his steps.

  Thomas eased it open and listened, just in case a servant was wandering around in the dark. It was silent. He slipped through it and edged it shut, then silent as a cat climbed to the next floor.

  Another door, and another silent entry. Another hallway, but this one had fewer rooms. Only one door on this side, and two on the other.

  He started with the single door, opening it as carefully as he had done on the floor below.

  Aha. At last. He had found his quarry. The rocking chair and the cradle barely visible gave it away.

  Thomas slipped inside and eased the door closed except for a crack. Soft breathing, the sound of deep sleep, whispered through the stillness. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the play of shadow. This room, too, boasted a fireplace, faint red glowing along its base and softening the shadows, the scent of smoke drifting past as he breathed. A big room, a table and chairs for meals away from the Mighty Therns, two tall armoires, several padded chairs, a bookshelf, small side tables – what had they done, emptied a whole house into this one room? – and most important, a bed. Solid but not overly impressive, covers in a fluffy mound, it sat pushed against the wall where it would stay warm but not too hot. A nightcap poked out one side of the bundle.

  Ranged in a small “L” by that head sat not one, but two small child-sized beds, one the cradle he had seen on first glance, the
other a low miniature bed nearly hidden in the shadows.

  “Who are you?” A woman’s voice, breathless but shrill, cut the air like a whistle. Beneath the nightcap wide alarmed eyes stared at him, the fire’s glow leaving pinpricks of light on their surface. The woman flung off the covers, and vaulted from the bed. Arms outstretched as if that would stop him, she moved in front of the two small baby beds, trying to block them with her body, and opened her mouth to scream.

  His hand shot out and caught her on the chin without conscious thought. The woman did not make a sound, she just crumpled like an empty gown. Thomas grabbed her before she landed on the cradle.

  The woman was a tidy armful, but he managed to get her back onto the bed. The pain in his side lanced through him again, and he bent double, fighting for breath. His knees trembled, and for a muddled moment he feared he would faint.

  Finally his legs stopped shaking, and he was able to breathe again. The woman was still out. What he could see of her body showed a woman ripe and curvy, with heavy breasts. Milk leaked through her nightgown.

  So that was who she was. The wet nurse.

  He turned to the cradle and looked at the infant. Lord, it was a little one! On the rare occasions he was home from the sea when the children were this size, he had left most of the work to his wife. All they seemed to do was eat, puke and foul themselves.

  He stared at the tiny mite, at the pushed-up nose starting to find a shape, and the brows that framed new-moon lashes, the miniature bow of a mouth. He saw pieces of each of his children in the little face. Time slipped back. His wife smiled across a bundle at him. “Don’t you see your eyes in her face, darling? She’s going to be a beautiful girl.” Her own eyes twinkled. “I’ve always loved your eyes.”

  Another time, another smile. “You’re back! Oh, Thomas, see.” His wife’s belly had been the sweetest bump when the ship had sailed, but Rosaline still smiled at him across the table covered with dough and flour, no blame in her eyes. Her hands were sticky from kneading. “Go look, my love. You missed this one’s birth. I called for you.” From the basket on the floor, big eyes stared up at him, the color of spring leaves, identical to the eyes alight with joy on the other side of the table. “It is a girl. Such a pretty baby, see the white curls all over her head?” She came around, wiping the flour onto her apron, and wrapped him with love. Lips as sweet as ripe fruit touched his, and his heart swelled. “We make the most beautiful children, don’t we, dear?”