Thea had never considered that a man would turn to vices to escape his disappointments. Had Boyd indulged because he’d been unhappy with his life? Unhappy with her?
She had to take a step away.
Margaret raised a hand to dab at the tears that had started falling down her cheeks. “I don’t like to cry. It’s weak.”
“It’s human,” Thea answered, thinking back to the way she had broken down with Neal the other night.
“Tears serve no purpose.”
“They cleanse the soul,” Thea said. “We all need a good soul cleansing from time to time.”
Margaret shrugged her response. “Not in this family.”
“Yes, in this family,” Thea declared. “Margaret, you and I can’t save Harry from the demons he faces. But you putting your life on hold is not going to help. You can’t protect him. I know this. Harry must help himself. He is the only one who can. That’s advice that was given to me years ago, and it is true.”
“It may be too late to do anything. You saw him in there. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies as long as he has laudanum and a bottle of something, anything, really. He is not choosy as long as it is spirits.”
“Oh, he cares,” Thea said with complete certainty. “He’s a Chattan. He is made of the same stuff as you and Neal. If he wants to become better, he must learn to forgive himself and to understand that war is made up of men’s sacrifices, honest lives given for a cause.”
“You make it sound simple,” Margaret said, anger lighting her eyes. “You talk as if you know us, and you don’t. You won’t, either. Because of your interference, Neal will die shortly, and I will have nothing to do with you.”
On those cruel words, she walked off.
Thea sat down in the chair, shaken. She had not anticipated a joyful reception into the Chattan family, but this was too much. She needed Neal. She had to find him and her sons. Then the world would make sense again.
Of course, she had no idea where they were located in this house, and she assumed it would not be safe to ask Margaret. She glanced around at the portraits on the walls, the shining glass and bronze sconces, the thick carpet beneath her feet.
A footstep sounded on the stair. Relieved to not be alone, she turned to see a tall gentleman of advanced years coming up the stairs. He had the dignified air of a butler.
Thea stood and met him at the top of the stairs. “Dawson?” He nodded. “Please, tell me where my husband and my sons are?”
“They are in his lordship’s room, my lady,” Dawson said. “Please, follow me.”
He took her to the end of the hall and knocked on the door. The valet answered. He recognized Thea immediately.
“Good evening, my lady. You are looking for Lord Lyon and your sons?”
“I am.”
“This way, please.” He opened the door, revealing a sitting room that took up almost half of the second floor. The furniture was designed with hard, masculine lines, and the colors were burgundy and brown.
It was a fitting lair for a Lyon.
“I’m Perrin, his lordship’s valet. Lord Lyon and your sons are in the bedroom. They have been waiting for you. His lordship is entertaining them by reading. I took the liberty of unpacking your bags,” Perrin continued. “We all know you were helping Lord Harry, so I also ordered a tray for your supper.” He pointed to the silver serving dish on a table by the window.
“Thank you,” Thea said. “But what of my sons and my husband?”
“Oh, they ate, and right well, I should say.” He had been leading her across the room to another door, but now he stopped, one hand on the handle. “It is good to hear the sound of children’s voices, my lady,” he said. “All of us have commented on it. You are raising two fine young gentlemen.”
“Thank you, Perrin,” Thea said, pleased.
“Of course, all did not go according to plan.”
“What do you mean, Perrin?” Thea’s mind immediately jumped to some unforeseen disaster.
He raised a finger to his lips, signaling for her to be quiet, and opened the door.
Thea peeked inside. An oil lamp burned on the bedside table of a massive carved wood bed. On the side of the bed closest to the light were Neal and her two sons, one snuggled up on either side of him, sleeping with a peacefulness that tugged at her heart.
Both boys were in their nightclothes. Their faces appeared freshly scrubbed. Neal wore his shirt, breeches and stockings. An open book rested facedown on his chest, as if he’d been reading and they’d all drifted off to sleep. He had an arm around each boy in a loose but protective hold.
Perrin quietly closed the door behind her, leaving Thea alone with her men and a feeling of such contentment that the ugliness of the preceding hours vanished.
This was what she wanted for her sons.
This was what Neal needed.
Moving quietly so that she didn’t disturb them, Thea prepared for bed. She picked the book up from his chest and read the title. Robinson Crusoe. Of course. She closed it. Neal’s eyes opened. He gave her a satisfied, sleepy smile.
Now it was her turn to place a finger to her lips, warning him not to wake the children. She needn’t worry. He wasn’t going to give them up. Still smiling, he closed his eyes.
Thea picked up a coverlet at the foot of the bed and pulled it up over her men. Then she came around to her side of the bed, where her nightdress had been laid out on a chair. It looked very forlorn and dingy amid such opulence. She turned down the lamp, changed her clothes and slipped beneath the covers, turning so that she faced her little family.
They were all so tired that not one of them moved.
She closed her eyes and joined them in sleep.
The room was on fire. Thea woke, startled to see flames rising from the handsome furnishings, the upholstered chairs, the drapes, the tables. She must not have turned down the lamp—
Her first thought was of her sons and Neal. She reached for them, but they weren’t there. The bed was empty save for her. She was completely alone—although she could hear a voice. A woman’s laughter.
She had to leave the room. The flames would engulf her. The heat was overwhelming. She put one bare foot on the floor and snatched it back. The floor was on fire. Her foot burned where she’d placed it down.
Flames started up the carved columns of the bed. Thea looked to the bedroom door. It was aflame as well. There would be no help coming from there.
The only thing she could do was sit in the middle of the bed and watch as the fire raced up the room’s walls and leaped across the ceiling.
She was sitting in an unholy inferno. And then, there was a cracking noise. The ceiling began raining fireballs down upon her—
Thea woke with a gasp, sitting straight up, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around wildly, expecting to see the room in flames—
All was fine.
The room was cool with the night air. The moonlight shone on intact chairs and tables . . . and Neal and her sons were right there beside her in the bed.
The dream had been so real. Thea had to climb out of the bed and walk around the room to convince herself that all was well.
“Thea, is something the matter?” Neal’s sleep-laden voice asked.
She faced him. She could tell him about the dream, but that would be silly. “Everything’s fine,” she murmured. “I was just hungry.”
“There is a tray for you in the other room,” Neal said, yawning and closing his eyes again.
It was a long time before Thea ventured back to sleep again.
Life became better than Neal could ever have imagined possible. Thea and her sons brought a new energy, a vitality to the stately manse that had been gloomy for too long.
His first act as stepfather was to arrange for ponies for each of his boys. The first afternoon they went riding in the park, Jonathan fell off his. Brave lad that he was, he didn’t cry, even though his pride was hurt. Christopher took to riding as if he’d been born to do it. Neal
couldn’t help but draw comparisons between Jonathan and himself, and Christopher and Harry.
Chris named his pony Victor, a bold name for such a pudgy beast. Jonathan named his horse Chattan, in honor of his new family. Neal was deeply touched.
He also discovered the true joy of married life. Thea was all he could want in a mate. She was open and inventive in bed and efficient and calm-headed during their daily life. Nothing soothed the challenges he faced more than lying beside his wife at night talking over the day’s cares. She made him laugh at the absurdities of people and the frustrations of both business and government.
The days turned to weeks, with Neal discovering a renewed sense of purpose and a serenity about life he’d not known before.
Harry recovered from that terrible night and seemed determined to keep his vices in check. However, both he and Margaret kept their distance from Thea. Margaret pouted, wearing her disapproval on her sleeve.
Because Neal was not going to let anyone belittle this woman who had become so important in his life, he kept his distance from them.
Thea was exactly what the lady of the house should have been. She didn’t take offense at Margaret and Harry’s silence and rudeness, but she didn’t hesitate to start placing her mark on the house and Neal’s life.
The servants admired her. That pleased Neal. They’d been afraid of his mother. Thea managed to walk a careful line between not usurping Margaret’s practices and authority and making changes to those issues that mattered to her.
As for the goodwill of society and the Montvales and the Pomfreys and their ilk, Neal could not care less about their opinions. With Thea and her sons, he had everything he’d ever wanted. Of course, Lady Palmer was a frequent and welcome guest. She helped soothe the way for Thea’s reintroduction to society in her new role as his countess. The weeks flew by in a blaze of joy and contentment.
Yes, the Carpsleys attempted to keep Jonathan out of Westminster. A letter was sent to the house from the school expressing regret that they would not be able to interview Master Jonathan Martin.
Neal responded by contacting a few of his close friends, including the Prince Regent, and in short order, Jonathan was accepted. On the day they received the notice, Neal took the boy on a walk, just the two of them. He wanted to be certain Jonathan understood school life. Christopher was most annoyed to be left behind.
“It won’t be easy at the school,” he warned Jonathan after they had walked a good distance. “Schoolboys are harsh on each other. They play cruel pranks.”
“What sort of pranks, sir?” Jonathan asked.
“They will push and shove you without cause. They may even hit you or play very mean jests that won’t be funny to you. Don’t complain and don’t tattle. They are doing those things to see what sort of character you have.”
“I believe their character is very rude if they behave that way.”
Neal had to smile. At Jonathan’s age, those had been his thoughts exactly. “Sometimes the older boys will do something the tutors or headmaster don’t like and blame the younger boys.”
“That is not fair.”
“No, it isn’t, but it is often the case in life. You must be brave and learn when to speak up and when to be quiet.”
“I won’t treat younger boys that way when I’m older.”
“Very good, Jonathan. I would not want you to be so mean-spirited.” They had come to a small park, and Neal let them inside. It was private here. He came down on one knee to be on Jonathan’s level. “There is something I want to warn you of. The headmaster might not be kind to you.”
“Why not?”
“He is not pleased with your mother and myself. However, Westminster is a very good school, and I expect him to treat you fairly. If he doesn’t, you need to tell me. Not your mother—me.”
“But if they play pranks and blame others, how shall I know if he is being fair or not?”
“You’ll know,” Neal said. “And I am sorry for the trouble our marriage will cause you. But I’d wager your personality and your willingness to study hard will win the day. They will respect you, Master Jonathan.”
Jonathan digested Neal’s advice for a moment, and then he said, “I’m glad you and my mother married. I won’t let them make me feel sorry for that.”
Neal felt his heart warm and expand at the boy’s words. And then Jonathan placed his hand in Neal’s. So much trust in one small gesture.
The talk he’d given Jonathan had been necessary, considering how petty the Carpsleys were, but it was also a conversation he wished his father had had with him. In fact, there were many things he wanted to do differently than his father had, and he prayed he had the time left to him in life to see these matters through. Together they walked home.
Christopher was not waiting for them. Instead, they found him in the library with Harry. They were playing marbles on the floor, and Christopher was beating Harry. Their shouts and challenges could be heard all the way down the hall to the front door.
Harry looked up as they entered the library. “You shouldn’t have left Christopher behind,” he said. He was truly angry.
Christopher’s response was to pat Harry on the shoulder. “I don’t care. I like playing with you. Your turn. Your marble is on the other side of the room.”
Harry groaned his ill fortune and then showed his hand at marbles by bouncing one of Christopher’s to the other side of the library. Soon they had teams. Jonathan and Christopher against Harry and Neal. The competition was fierce. Neal knew he should have been going over Lord Leeds’s proposal for the building of docks on the North Thames, but playing marbles was far more fun.
Harry lost the challenge for them. Jonathan and Christopher crowed like the victors they were. They even went so far as to do a jig. Harry started laughing and couldn’t stop. Neal was stunned by the sound. He couldn’t remember when he’d last heard his brother laugh. He had to laugh as well, just because the sound gave him so much pleasure . . . and that was when he noticed Margaret standing by the door. She appeared thunderstruck.
Seeing him notice, she started to back away, but Neal didn’t want to let her escape. “Come join us, Margaret,” he invited.
She hesitated. He expected her to run to her room, but then she asked, “What is going on here?”
Christopher immediately answered, “Marbles. Jonny and I beat them. We played three games and we beat them all three.” He held up three fingers in case she didn’t understand how victorious they were.
“Would you like to play?” Neal asked his sister.
“Girls can’t play,” Harry countered. Christopher nodded his head in agreement, but Neal knew what Harry was doing. Perhaps he was as worried about Margaret as Neal was.
It was Jonathan who came to Margaret’s defense. “Why not?”
“Yes, why not?” Margaret echoed with a hint of her old spirit.
Neal sat up, amazed at this exchange. For too long his sister had been like a ghost around the house, a ghost of a mother hen. She clucked and worried and took care of them, never asking for anything for herself.
“They don’t have the right thumbs,” Harry said. “Your thumbs can’t shoot marbles very far.”
Both Jonathan and Christopher swerved their attention to Margaret’s thumbs.
She held them up. “Oh, I don’t know. I have rather strong thumbs,” Margaret argued.
“No, you don’t,” Christopher assured her, siding with Harry.
“I think she does,” Jonathan said, and Neal was charmed.
These boys had wrought a miracle in his family. They were bringing them together. Children were safer than adults. His siblings might not have approached him, but Jonathan, Christopher and a bag of marbles provided a bridge. Neal said, “I want to make a challenge.”
Jonathan’s and Christopher’s eyes lit with anticipation. So did Harry’s. “Margaret and I against the three of you.”
Oh, there was a game they couldn’t pass up.
To Neal’s surpr
ise, his stylish, staid sister plopped herself down on the floor beside him with the demand “Show me how to shoot.”
Neal obeyed, and within minutes they had a vigorous game going. Margaret proved to be quite adept at sending a marble after Harry’s, and she and Neal almost won the challenge.
They were preparing to start another game when Thea entered the room, her manner one of concern. “Lyon, we have a visitor.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Neal said. He didn’t want to interrupt the play.
“I think you should see this person,” Thea said. “Certainly I can’t send her away.”
“Who is she?” Margaret asked. Her hair had come undone with all the rigors of crawling on the floor and she looked years younger. Her eyes sparkled in a way they hadn’t in a long time.
“It’s Lady Lyon, the dowager countess,” Thea said.
Immediately the atmosphere in the library changed. The boys were still happy as larks, anxious to play some more, but Margaret, Harry and Neal all went tense.
“I am not receiving visitors,” Neal said. How dare she call and ruin an important afternoon for his family—
“I thought you’d say that,” a woman’s silky voice behind Thea said, interrupting his indignation.
Thea jumped, as if surprised she’d been followed. She stepped aside, and Cass Sweetling sauntered into the library. She was a petite redhead dressed in the height of fashion in a mustard-colored dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat à la shepherdess, with saucy lace gloves, gold bracelets and jeweled ear bobs.
Neal rose to his feet.
Heedless of the game of marbles, Cass walked right up to him. “It’s been a long time, children,” she said, chiding them with her position in their lives. In truth, she was the same age as Harry.
“You have lacked for nothing,” Neal responded. Margaret had come to her feet, self-consciously pushing a stray strand of hair back into place. Harry didn’t move from the floor, his manner defiant as he snubbed Cass.
Their stepmother did not seem to take offense. “No, I have all I need, and this isn’t a social call.” She looked over at the boys. Jonathan listened to the conversation with concern, while Christopher picked up marbles and put them in a bag for safekeeping. Disinterested in them, Cass swung her gaze back to Neal.
Cathy Maxwell Page 19