They entered through the kitchen door.
Chapter Four
In the kitchen, Cook rolled out pastry while the kitchen maids, boot boy, and scullery maids bustled about. “Nash is there, milady.” Up to the elbows in flour, Cook nodded toward the butler’s pantry.
Nash sat on the floor eating a bun with one of the kitchen cats curled up on his lap.
“Nash! You were told to remain in the schoolroom.” Eleanor gazed down at him. “Your rescuer, Lord Hayworth, has come to visit you.”
The gray-striped cat leapt off Nash’s lap with a meow of protest. The boy climbed to his feet, a guilty expression on his face. He popped the last of the bun into his mouth and licked crumbs from his lips. “Sorry, milady. Milord.”
“Come upstairs.” Eleanor took his hand. “I’m sure you can manage a little more afternoon tea. Shall we have it in the small salon?”
In the comfortable room, embers glowed in the fireplace. Nash wandered over to study the fire with what seemed to be professional interest. “Who cleaned the chimney?”
“I’ve no idea, but it was not one of Grimsby’s boys,” Eleanor said. “His Grace would make sure of that!”
Nash frowned. “Grimsby will be angry.”
“But that no longer concerns you. Come and sit.” She patted the sofa, and Nash sat down beside her.
When Hayworth took the armchair opposite, she turned to him. “A man like that should be dealt with severely by the law.”
“The laws need to be strengthened,” he agreed.
Mark leaned toward him, his hands resting on his knees. “Can you remember much of your life, before your mother died, Nash?”
Nash’s eyes took on a haunted expression. “We lived in an alms house for a while. Ma took in sewing. She was good at it. The nobs liked her work,” he said proudly.
“Did you always live in the city?” Eleanor asked.
He shook his head and hunched his thin shoulders. “Grandpa’s farm. We had a cow and chickens. Then he died, and we had to leave.”
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Annie Simkin.”
“Do you know the name of the village where his farm was?” Mark asked.
Nash squinted then shook his head.
“Can you remember anything about the village, Nash?” Eleanor asked.
“A river.”
“That doesn’t tell us much,” Mark said. “Anything else?”
“There was a mill.”
“What kind of mill, Nash?” Eleanor asked as the tea tray was brought in.
Nash followed the actions of the maid as she began to unload cups and teapot along with sandwiches and cakes on the occasional table in front of them.
“Nash?” Eleanor repeated as she met Mark’s smile.
“It was a corn mill. Grandpa worked there.”
“Ah, that narrows it down a bit,” Hayworth said. “Do you remember if there were any big houses?”
“Ma worked as a maid in one. Huge it was, the lands went right down to the river. She took me to see the ducks sometimes.”
Hayworth raised his eyebrows. “Can you tell us more?”
“You know it?” Eleanor asked with growing excitement.
“Perhaps,” Hayworth said. “Try to think, Nash.”
“We used to watch them flood the meadows.”
“Water meadows.” Mark gave a thoughtful nod.
Eleanor studied him. “What are they?”
“A means of irrigating the grass sward to feed the livestock in early spring.” He sought her gaze, his eyes alight with excitement. “Sounds like it could be Bexley in Kent.” He thought for a minute. “Yes, by Jove! There’s a mill on River Cray.”
His eyes on the food, Nash edged forward in his seat.
Eleanor smiled and turned back to the table. “Some sandwiches and cake for you, Nash?” She handed him a plate and a napkin.
With a nod of thanks, he tucked the linen into his collar.
“No, across your lap, please.” She smiled at Hayworth. “Tea, my lord?”
“Thank you. Might you and Nash consent to accompany me to Bexley, Lady Eleanor?”
She gasped. “You can take us?”
“I can.” He smiled as he reached for a ham sandwich. “You don’t expect me to walk away when this has become so interesting, surely?”
“Is it far to Bexley?” she asked as she seized the teapot.
“No. A mere fifteen miles or so. We can be there and back in time for dinner.” He took the cup and saucer from her hands. “Is tomorrow convenient?”
“Oh yes! What do you say, Nash?”
Nash swallowed a mouthful, his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Can we visit grandpa’s farm? He had a donkey, used to let me ride him.”
“The donkey may no longer be there, Nash,” Eleanor cautioned.
“We shall go and see,” Hayworth said. “I believe I shall try the cake before Nash eats the lot.”
Nash grinned unabashed.
After tea, Eleanor saw him to the door. She smiled. “You can change your mind, you know.”
“I have no intention of it.” He looked back at the boy who was studying a book on butterflies. “How could anyone not want a son like Nash?”
“Indeed.” She heard the yearning in his voice, and her heart squeezed with compassion.
*
Mark entered his house and for once wasn’t struck by how quiet and empty the rooms were. Surprised at how much he looked forward to their trip to the outskirts of London, he prayed tomorrow would be one day when he wasn’t called to Carlton House to reassure a nervous king. He poured himself a brandy and settled in his library with a book, but his concentration seemed to fail him. He kept thinking of the pleasure of a whole day in Eleanor’s company. Her manner was without artifice and she never sought to flirt with him. He wished she would, it would give him some license to do the same, and he’d certainly enjoy it, while accepting that it may not lead to anything more.
He understood why she was taken with Nash. The boy was a brave little soul and most appealing.
Chapter Five
“So, you’re taking Nash to Bexley today.” Georgina raised her eyebrows. “With Lord Hayworth.”
“Yes, Georgie.” Eleanor gazed across the breakfast table and waited for her sister’s objections. Traveling into the countryside alone with an unmarried man who was not a relative was just not done. Despite her being a widow and no longer young.
Georgina buttered her toast. “I’m not sure that Hugh would approve.”
Eleanor poured herself more tea. “Then I shall not worry him about it.” But she rather suspected Hugh might be perfectly happy with the arrangement. He made no secret of his wish for her to remarry. She was aware that her single state worried him. Not that he minded her living with them, for they got on very well indeed, but rather, he hoped to see her happily married once more, as did her sister, her brother John, and his wife Sibella, and numerous other relatives.
“Hugh likes Hayworth. Not that it matters, I hasten to add. Hayworth has expressed no wish to marry me. He has merely offered to take us there. I suspect he’s as intrigued about Nash’s past as I am.”
Georgina warmed her fingers around her cup and peered at her over the rim. “Hayworth has the ear of the king. And with the coming coronation, he must be extremely busy.”
“I thought that, too.” Eleanor took a mouthful of toast and jam and chewed thoughtfully. “Perhaps he merely relishes a day away from London. I am sure his majesty can be very taxing.”
“Hugh certainly finds him so. Well, you seem confident that you will be perfectly safe and not compromised by such an action, so I suppose you should go,” Georgina said, surprising Eleanor. “Although I don’t see what you expect to find there. Nash’s family no longer live in Bexley, do they?”
“Not as far as we know.” Eleanor sighed. “We may not find anything at all, and I fear it will be upsetting for Nash. But we must at least try.” She scrunched her na
pkin and rose from the table. After an early frost, the sun shone from a clear blue sky beyond the breakfast-room window. “I’ll go up and get him ready.”
An hour later, Hayworth’s curricle crossed the River Thames and they drove through Greenwich. Soon, the bustling city was left behind, and they were on the road leading into Kent. The spring breeze was fresh on Eleanor’s face and toyed with her poke bonnet. Hayworth’s curricle was big enough for two plus the small boy sitting behind them. He was an excellent whip hand in Nash’s opinion, and had a prime set of bloods.
They passed the Dover mail coach lumbering up Shooter’s Hill.
“This used to be a haunt for highwaymen,” Hayworth said.
“Really?” Nash’s voice rose. “Do you have a pistol, Lord Hayworth?”
“I carry one as a matter of course. But we’re unlikely to come across any,” Hayworth said soothingly. “Not in broad daylight at any rate. In the past, Shooter’s Hill was infamous for its gibbets of executed felons.”
“My goodness,” Eleanor said, as Nash gave a gusty sigh in her ear. She suspected he might like to see one, and was thankful they no longer existed in this part of the country, at least.
“We shall arrive in time for luncheon,” Hayworth said, smiling at her. He had the most attractive smile, his green eyes fringed with dark lashes.
“Are we stopping soon to eat?” asked the hopeful voice behind them.
“Yes.” Eleanor smiled at Hayworth who winked.
“Don’t expect too much from today, Nash,” Eleanor said. “It might be the wrong place, or we may not find any evidence of your family ever having lived here.”
“The air smells nicer here,” Nash said in a small voice.
“Yes, it’s because there are lots of trees and wild flowers,” Eleanor said, her heart squeezing in her chest. Was it foolish of her to believe she could move to the country and take Nash with her? The speculation which would arise wouldn’t worry her, but she would hate any gossip directed at Hugh and Georgina. She could imagine it already. Was he her child or Gordon’s? Had he been born out of wedlock seven years ago? It would be hard to prove otherwise as they had visited Gordon’s uncle in Scotland around that time, when Gordon was in better health.
She pushed away her thoughts. How lightly the reins rested in Hayworth’s long fingers, the grays obeyed even his smallest gesture. “Your horses are well trained,” she said.
“I don’t get to do this often enough, these days,” he said with a surprisingly boyish grin.
“It’s a straight road right up to that big oak,” Nash pointed. “You might let ’em go, milord.”
“I might indeed.” Hayworth slapped the reins. The horses gathered speed in perfect unison.
The wind tugged at Eleanor’s hat as she turned to view Nash. His little face was vivid with joy.
She would die rather than let him down.
*
Mark glanced at the lady beside him. Eleanor’s first thought was for the boy. How terribly sad that she had no child of her own. There was no telling whether this escapade would end well, and he wanted it for Nash as much as she did. But mere wishes didn’t always equate with success.
He had slowed the horses and after negotiating the bend, they arrived in Old Bexley village, a cluster of houses and farms. Toward the southern fringe of the village, near the parish church, a large weatherboard mill was built across River Cray, framed by two weeping willow trees growing on either bank. Ducks swam about through the long graceful green fronds. It was a pretty place.
“Do you remember this, Nash?” Mark asked.
“Yes!” Nash’s voice rose in excitement as he leaned out of the curricle. “That’s the mill where grandpa worked.”
“We must thank Lord Hayworth for discovering it was Bexley and bringing us here, Nash,” Eleanor said.
“No need. I am enjoying this, too,” Mark said, “Especially the company.” He was rewarded with a becoming blush. “There’s an inn. Shall we partake of some luncheon and decide what next to do?”
When seated in the dining room, they ordered a hearty meal for Nash whose stomach seemed to be forever empty. Probably because he’d been desperately hungry in the past. While he and Eleanor ate lightly, Mark watched Nash eat a pile of bread and butter and a plate of onion soup, as if it was his last meal on earth. He then tackled a rice pudding.
“Where to first, Nash?” he asked the boy.
Nash swallowed and took a sip of milk. “Grandpa’s house.”
“Any idea where it is?”
He nodded. “It’s along that road we just passed. I remember Grandpa taking me in his cart.”
“That’s helpful,” Eleanor said. “Perhaps the current owners can tell us more.”
After luncheon, they rode out along the road with Nash directing them. With a couple of false starts, he ordered Mark to pull up the curricle beside a modest cottage. The old stone house was surrounded by a few acres of farmland, kept in neat order.
Mark helped them down. “I’ll stay with the horses, Eleanor, you take the boy in.”
“Very well.” She was forced to pick up her skirts and almost run to catch up with Nash who was halfway to the door.
Mark admired her slender form in her lilac pelisse, as she reached Nash, said something to him, and tidied his hair. A woman in a white cap and apron answered her knock. After a brief conversation, Eleanor and Nash disappeared inside.
As he walked the horses up and down, Mark tried to come to grips with what he wanted for his future. He was drawn to Eleanor in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. Besides finding her extremely beguiling, he had tremendous respect for her. But he could not ignore his desire for children. He wanted a family, this trip today made him even more aware of it. He’d felt a little like a husband with his wife and child on a Sunday outing.
The more he saw of Nash, the surer he was that the boy had come from good stock. Even if his father had wiped his hands of Nash, there might be other relations in the area who’d lost contact with him.
He studied Eleanor’s beautiful, sensitive face as she walked down the path toward him. She did not look optimistic.
As she reached him, Nash disappeared around the corner of the cottage.
“He has permission to visit the donkey,” she explained.
He grinned. “So this wasn’t a wild goose chase?”
“It was once his grandfather’s farm. As he said, his mother left the area after her father died.”
“And the boy’s father?”
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “They couldn’t say if she was married. Annie used to work at Hall Place. It’s a school for young gentlemen a few miles downriver from here.”
“Then we shall go there next.”
She nodded but cast him a doubtful look.
“You’re not giving up?”
She frowned at him. “Of course not. But this seems doomed to failure, don’t you think? I’m worried about how Nash will handle the disappointment.” She bit her lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “He has been through so much.” Her voice trembled, revealing how deeply she felt.
“Don’t be such a doubting Thomas,” Mark said with a smile, hating to see her so upset.
“But I’m not. That’s unfair,” she murmured. Her cheeks had gone quite pink.
“You look very pretty when your dander is up.” It was a poor attempt at making her feel better, and he almost apologized. But it was true, she was lovely, and he couldn’t look away.
She glared at him and spun away so quickly, she almost lost her footing.
Mark put out a hand to help her, his fingers curling around her upper arm. The briefest of moments passed as he fought the overwhelming urge to draw her to him and failed. She came silently, without protest. He raised her chin with a finger, then dipped his head to kiss her.
Eleanor made a strangled protest against his mouth and then gave in to the kiss, a hand clutching his shoulder. Through the fog filling his mind, he’d consented to a mere
touch of her lips, but was unprepared for the fire licking along his nerve endings warming every part of him. His hands came around her narrow back to hold her more firmly against him. “Eleanor!” he whispered into her hair.
A cry made them start. They separated quickly, both breathing fast as Nash ran across to them.
“We must talk, Eleanor,” Mark murmured.
Nash’s vivid blue eyes were laughing, his mouth curling up in delight. “Sampson remembered me!”
Eleanor attempted to rearrange her hat which had fallen onto her back held by its yellow ribbons. “That’s wonderful, Nash.”
“Shall we go on?” Mark was pleased to sound calm as he assisted them into the curricle. He suddenly wanted so much he’d hadn’t been aware of until now, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest.
He wanted this lady, and unless he was completely unpracticed in the art of seduction, he thought she wanted him, too.
Chapter Six
Eleanor resolutely refused to look at Hayworth as he drove them along the road toward Hall Place. Her heart had yet to settle into its normal rhythm. He remained thoughtful, answering Nash’s questions about phaetons and racehorses while making no attempt to draw her into the conversation.
Why had he kissed her? It was not as if he wished to marry her. It was obvious how much he wanted children. And he didn’t seem the sort of man to approach a widow for a casual liaison. Two men had put such unwelcome suggestions to her, but they were married.
She sighed. What must Hayworth think of her? She’d made no attempt to push him away. In fact, she’d kissed him back. While she couldn’t blame him when she’d obviously encouraged him, she would be disappointed if that was his intention. She’d been enjoying his company, and drawn to him, she’d lost her usual sense of caution. She’d began to want, to hope, for something she’d considered buried. A husband, and the possibility, however slight, of a child.
They drove beside a high-stone wall beyond which smoke belched from chimneys of a rambling Tudor brick manor house. Hayworth guided his horses through the gates where neatly clipped yew hedges bordered the drive.
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