The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part One

by Farmer, Merry

  Lawrence

  Lawrence watched his friend leave the pub, grinning and shaking his head at Marshall’s back. Why the man was so nervous about bedding the woman he’d loved since the moment he’d met her was a mystery to him. Alexandra Dyson seemed like the kind of woman who would enjoy a good tumble, unlike half the rest of the tight-laced, sour-faced women of her class. Marshall would be fine. As for him….

  “Are you ready to go home?” he asked Elsie.

  All at once, Elsie gasped and shrunk into a ball, hiding her face and trembling visibly.

  “No, poppet, I meant are you ready to go back to the forge?” he asked, rubbing her back.

  Slowly, Elsie unclenched. She looked at him with large, watery eyes and nodded, then flung herself against him, clinging like a barnacle.

  Lawrence tensed, sending an embarrassed look across the room to where Ted was watching behind the bar. “Sorry,” he said. “She’s a bit timid.”

  “Our Sarah went through a phase like that,” Ted told him. “She clung to my leg for weeks. But she grew out of it, and look at her now.”

  Lawrence smiled and stood, picking Elsie up with him out of necessity. Sarah Folley was one of the brightest and most outgoing young ladies in Brynthwaite’s school. Lawrence glanced to Elsie as she buried her head against his shoulder. He didn’t see that happening with Elsie any time soon. But the key difference between Ted’s Sarah and Elsie was that Elsie didn’t belong to Lawrence.

  Lawrence fished in his pocket for the coins to pay for his and Elsie’s lunches and plunked them on the counter at the bar. “Thanks, Ted.”

  Ted nodded as Lawrence left. “If you need advice about fathering, you know where to find me.”

  Lawrence nodded in return, then left. He needed all the help and advice he could get, but something in the core of his being resisted the idea of asking anyone for anything. He was a man who prided himself on his independence, who reveled in the way he had been able to set himself apart from society. He’d never cared much for the stiff-backed and sour-faced residents of Brynthwaite, most of whom thought they were better than him by miles. They stared at him now as he marched out of town, Elsie still clinging to him and hiding her face. Judging by the scandalized way they looked at him, they probably thought he was doing something untoward with Matty’s younger siblings. He’d already heard whispers that he had plans to sell them to his mythical gypsy friends. He’d heard much worse speculation about what he was doing with Connie. Though, he had to admit with a sigh, Connie wasn’t helping those perceptions.

  “Lawrence, you’re home.” Connie spotted him the instant he turned the corner approaching the forge and rushed away from the expanded back garden to greet him.

  It had only been a month, but the forge already looked vastly more domestic than it had when it was just him and Matty. Aside from the extra rows Matty had added to the garden—even though they wouldn’t be able to take full advantage of the increased growing space until next year—he’d begun work constructing a house a ways back from the road. Although, considering he was the only one working on it, with occasional help from Oliver, Connie, Willy, and Matty herself, it was little more than a scratched-out square of dirt and a feeble attempt at masonry for one wall. He’d have to hire professionals if they wanted to move in before the snow started in a few months. But the house was the least of his problems.

  “I missed you,” Connie said, bounding toward him, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink. “I always miss you when you go away.” She hurried to walk beside him as he headed toward the garden.

  “You had Matty and Willy here to keep you company,” Lawrence said, attempting to put distance between the two of them. Something about the way Connie held herself—the sway of her hips, the thrust of her chest, the willingness in her eyes—left Lawrence cold. Connie was twelve. Twelve years old, and she carried herself like a woman eager to catch a man’s eye. And from what Lawrence had learned in the past month, she’d been forced to use that look to earn money for Hoag in the not-so-distant past. The girl was terrifying.

  “I don’t care about them,” she went on, proving his sickening sense of wrongness was justified. “I only care about you.”

  She attempted to slide her arm through his, but Lawrence picked up speed, carrying Elsie to the garden, where Matty pulled weeds. He set Elsie down, and she dashed off into the forge and upstairs to the tiny, one-room flat that was home to all five of them now. Lawrence watched her go before glancing anxiously to Matty.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  Matty pushed herself to her feet and brushed her dirty hands on her apron. “Better,” she said. “The tea Mother Grace fixed for me has helped.”

  Lawrence was halfway through folding Matty into his arms—for his comfort as much as hers—when he heard, “And you should be drinking more of it.”

  He turned, his brow shooting up, as Mother Grace herself stepped out of the forge, carrying a small, black cauldron by its handle. Fragrant steam curled out of it.

  “Mother Grace, what are you doing here?” Lawrence asked, relieved to see her, but alarmed that she was there instead of tucked safely away in her secret home in the woods.

  “It’s an important day,” she said with a shrug, coming closer. “One of my boys is getting married.”

  Deep wariness swirled through Lawrence’s gut. “You’re not thinking of coming to the wedding, are you?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m coming to the wedding,” she answered with a scoffing shake of her head. “Marshall is marrying the right woman this time.”

  “He won’t be happy,” Lawrence said.

  Mother Grace shrugged as she carried her cauldron to a table that had been set up in the shade of a tree whose leaves were turning orange and gold. “Not at first, perhaps. He won’t truly be happy until he has his girls back. And there are challenging times ahead for him and Alexandra before happiness is finally theirs, but they will be happy.”

  “No, I mean that Marshall won’t be happy to see you at the wedding,” Lawrence said. He stole a brief look at Matty, who had inched closer and leaned heavily against him. She had dark circles under her eyes and absently rubbed the small mound of her belly.

  Again, Mother Grace shrugged. “Marshall will never be happy to see me until he’s come to terms with himself,” she said, cryptic as usual, and began to pour the contents of the cauldron into a clay jug using a funnel.

  “What are you making?” Lawrence asked. There was no point in arguing the point further. Mother Grace would do whatever she wanted to do.

  “It’s a love potion,” she said, a devilish glint in her eyes. “For Marshall and his bride.”

  Lawrence couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “That will go over well,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm. “You know he’ll probably—”

  He stopped as Mother Grace set her cauldron down with a thunk and smacked her side hard. A split-second later, Lawrence spotted a flash of movement under the table. Mother Grace closed her hand around a thin wrist and stepped back hard from the table, dragging Willy with her. Willy had his hand in her pocket and a guilty look on his face.

  “For the last time,” Mother Grace scolded Willy with far more patience than Lawrence ever would have been able to muster. “Little boys who pick my pockets generally end up with warts on their wee, little balls before those balls fall off entirely.”

  Willy gasped, his eyes wide and his face pale. “I didn’t do nothing,” he insisted in a guilty rush. “It weren’t me.”

  “You did do something,” Mother Grace corrected him. “And it was you.” She glanced to Lawrence. “The sooner you get this one into a proper school the better.”

  “We tried,” Matty said with a sigh, standing straight and walking over to frown at her brother. “He stole the teacher’s pocket watch and three pens belonging to other boys.”

  “They forbid him from going back,” Lawrence added in a grumble.

  “And I won’t go if Willy doesn’t have to go
,” Connie added with a pout.

  “Hmm….” Mother Grace studied the two children, stroking her chin as she did. Lawrence was struck once again by how handsome she was for a woman with a reputation for being an old crone and a witch. Dressed up in fine clothes, she would give even Elizabeth Dyson a run for her money in a beauty contest. “It will take a powerful spell indeed to banish the demons in these two.”

  “I don’t want no spells cast on me,” Willy yelped, trying to pull away from Mother Grace.

  “You don’t want any spells cast on you,” Matty corrected him.

  “She’s a witch, she is,” Willy went on, struggling.

  “I am,” Mother Grace said, staring down her nose at him with a mischievous grin. “And don’t you forget it.”

  She let him go, and Willy dashed off around the corner of the forge. Lawrence flinched as though he would go after them. “We need to get washed and dressed for the wedding,” he said, feeling as though everything was spinning out of control.

  “He won’t go far,” Mother Grace said, returning to her work. “Not if he thinks there’s a chance of him picking the pockets of wedding guests.”

  Lawrence let out a tight breath and rubbed a hand over his face. He had no idea how he was supposed to stop Willy from stealing from Marshall and Alexandra’s guests, or how he could prevent Connie from propositioning them. He didn’t know how to do any of the things he was supposed to do.

  “Willy wouldn’t dare steal anything from Mr. Throckmorton,” Matty said, stretching her back and moving to put her gardening tools away. “Not after that last time.”

  Lawrence arched a brow. Willy had attempted to steal Jason’s wallet straight out of his pocket a week before. The boy hadn’t counted on the fact that Jason had spent more time than he cared to admit to in London’s underworld, or that he had such swift reflexes. Jason had Willy’s hand twisted behind his back and had nearly snapped the boy’s wrist within three seconds. Both had apologized profusely to the other—Jason for hurting a child and Willy for attempting to rob him—and Willy had left the encounter in complete awe. The whole incident had proven to Lawrence that Jason would be an excellent father, whereas he, Lawrence, was completely inadequate.

  “Mr. Throckmorton is very handsome,” Connie said, interrupting Lawrence’s thoughts.

  Lawrence turned to face her, bristling with nerves. “No. He’s a grown man with more than enough on his plate. You’re a girl. You need to act like a girl.”

  Connie’s face fell, and she seemed to wilt in front of him. “I was just trying to be nice,” she murmured.

  “You have to learn a different way to be nice,” Lawrence said, caught in the agony of having no idea how to speak to her.

  “Lawrence,” Mother Grace’s warning came as a relief, allowing him to back away. “Leave her to me and Matty.” She exchanged a look with Matty, who nodded.

  “I just want you to like me,” Connie said, still downcast.

  “I do like you,” Lawrence said, wincing. “As a girl. A little girl.”

  That wasn’t the right thing to say either. Connie burst into tears and ran into the forge, following the path Elsie had taken earlier. Lawrence watched her go, every nerve in his body screaming at the futility of it all.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said, staring at the forge for a few more seconds before turning back to Matty and Mother Grace. “Everything I say is wrong. I don’t know how to be a father any more than I know how to bring cheese back from the moon.”

  “My siblings have only been with us for a month,” Matty said, crossing back through the garden to hug him. “And they’ve lived troubled lives, like I did. But you made me whole again.”

  Lawrence slid his arms around her and hugged her close. He’d been comfortable in the thought that he was Matty’s protector and guardian, that he had the upper hand in their relationship. Now, though, he was surprised at how soothing it was to be comforted by her silent strength.

  “You’ll find your way,” Mother Grace said, her attention back on her work. “Or you’ll find another way.”

  A chill went down Lawrence’s back and he let Matty go. Unlike Marshall or Jason, he took Mother Grace’s prophecies seriously. That one did nothing to reassure him.

  Matty didn’t seem perturbed, though. “Come on,” she said with a tired smile. “Let’s gather everyone up, scrub them down, and get ready for this wedding.”

  Alexandra

  Work at the hospital could only distract Alexandra for so long from the momentous choice she was making. She did her best to focus exclusively on treating patients as the day wore on. But by the time the afternoon light grew golden as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, she knew she couldn’t avoid the inevitable anymore.

  Especially when Marshall hung his white coat on its hook in their office and announced, “I’m off. I’ll see you at the church in one hour.”

  He sent her an awkward, red-faced smile, then dashed out of the room.

  Alex smiled until she was sure he was gone and that he wasn’t coming back. Then her face fell into a mask of shock as she sat heavily against the corner of the desk, pressing a hand to her roiling stomach.

  “What am I doing?” she whispered to herself, panic welling within her. Marriage wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t a game. It should be something entered into out of love and devotion.

  She didn’t love Marshall. He was her friend, true. She liked him quite a lot. She respected him on many levels. It broke her heart that his first wife’s family had taken his girls from him. And yes, by marrying him, it was possible she was increasing his chances of winning his girls back. It was true that, as Marshall’s wife, her mother wouldn’t be able to demand she stop practicing medicine or move back to Hampshire. Marshall had promised her repeatedly that he wouldn’t turn on her and insist she live as most other wives of middle-class doctors did. There were so many reasons for her to push forward with the plan.

  But marriage was a serious business. Marriage was for life, in spite of what some of the more modern and free-thinking voices said. If she married Marshall, that was it. She would be his and only his for the rest of her life.

  Thoughts of George Fretwell rushed in on her, in spite of the fact that she hated it, hated him. She stood, hand still pressed to her stomach, pacing. She’d loved George, loved him foolishly and wildly. She’d let him into her bed. She’d given herself to him, body and heart. And George had crushed her. He’d engaged himself to Lady Arabella Richmond. They were to be married as soon as George’s father and her mother returned from their honeymoon.

  “Good Lord,” she gasped aloud. George was her brother-in-law now. Her brother-in-law was her former lover. “Good Lord,” she said in an entirely different voice, lower and more filled with panic. If things progressed the way they naturally did, Marshall would be her lover. Possibly as soon as that evening. They would be spending the night at a hotel, after all, a wedding gift from Jason Throckmorton.

  She picked up her pacing, dashing from one end of the room to the other as her breath came in shorter gasps. Marshall as her lover. The thought had whispered at the corners of her mind for weeks now, but she’d pushed the idea away each time it arose. Marshall was her friend, her colleague. Marshall was…Marshall. They saw each other every day, worked side-by-side. How could she possibly look him in the eye after doing the sort of things with him that she’d done with George? George had seen her naked, and vice versa. She’d handled parts of him, had him in her mouth, even, unpleasant as that had been. How was she supposed to analyze patient care with Marshall after she’d done the same with him?

  “No,” she muttered to herself, changing direction and heading to the door. “No, I can’t.”

  She threw open the door to the hallway and nearly stumbled over Flossie Stowe, who had her hand raised as though she’d been about to knock. Both of them gasped in shock, and Flossie burst into laughter.

  “That was a close call,” she said, her smile as bright as ever. When Alexa
ndra said nothing, she went on with, “I just saw Dr. Pycroft at the church, and he said you’d no one to help you dress for the wedding. So I came to offer my services.”

  Alex’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t back out. It would be hellishly unfair to Marshall. She couldn’t jilt him at the altar, with all of his friends standing by. “I do need help,” she said, her mouth and her words dry.

  “Then I’m glad I thought to come by.” Flossie stepped into the room with her uncanny ability to take charge and make those around her feel secure. No wonder Jason Throckmorton adored her. Why he was marrying Elizabeth was an utter mystery to Alex.

  “I brought a nice dress to change into,” she said, crossing to the hooks at the side of the room. She’d draped one of her ball gowns with muslin to hide it from Marshall. Theirs might not have been a normal marriage, but following the tradition of the groom not seeing the bride in her gown on the day of the wedding seemed like the least she could do.

  “Just tell me how I can help,” Flossie said.

  Alex couldn’t think of anything to say as Flossie helped her strip out of her work clothes and climb into the ball gown. Alex should have been flattered by the way Flossie oohed and aahed over the gown as she helped do up the buttons on the back, but all she could think about was how Marshall would be the one to undo those buttons later. Flossie helped her to brush and style her hair, but it would be Marshall who pulled the pins out.

  She didn’t realize how tense she’d become until Flossie said, “You’ll be all right,” and rubbed her shoulders like a sister.

  “Will I?” Alex asked, twisting to look up at her. She must have looked like a ninny, particularly since she was, in theory so far above Flossie. At the moment, they felt like complete equals. No, Flossie felt far superior to her.

  Flossie smiled back at her and shifted to sit in a chair opposite Alex’s. “What are you most anxious about?” she asked. “Disobeying your mother and incurring her wrath? What people in town will say? Whether it’s fair to marry Dr. Pycroft when you aren’t in love with him? Going to bed with him?” She looked as though she would go on, but Alex’s face heated so much on her last two questions that Flossie stopped. “Ah. I see. Bed it is, then.” When Alex did nothing but sit there, looking guilty and embarrassed, Flossie asked, “Have you been with a man before?”