by Jo Ann Brown
They broke off as footsteps came toward the nursery. Strong, assertive footsteps. The servants were quiet when they walked through the house. Maybe the parson was bringing Toby to play with the children.
Hushing them, Maris disentangled herself and eased out from among them. She brushed her hair toward her unflattering bun as she stood. She opened her mouth, but then realized the silhouette in the doorway was taller than the parson or his wife.
“Miss Oliver?” asked the Earl of Launceston’s older son. He stood as stiff as a soldier on parade.
“Lord Trelawney,” she squeaked, sounding as young as her charges.
What was he doing here, so soon after the mishap in the stillroom? In the weeks since her arrival at Cothaire, the viscount had never come to the nursery. Not that she had expected him to, because his duties lay elsewhere. Still, it had seemed odd, when everyone else in the family, including the earl, had stopped in once or twice to ask how the children fared.
Uneasiness tightened Maris’s stomach. Had the viscount come to dismiss her? She could have misread his concern for her well-being. She had been wrong about men before, terribly wrong.
Could it be almost a year ago when she had made her final visit to her friend Belinda, the daughter of an earl? Because Maris’s father was a country squire whose tiny estate bordered Lord Bellemore’s vast one in Somerset, the two girls had spent many hours together as children. As they grew older, they had less in common, but after Maris’s parents died, Belinda had invited her to stay. Her widowed father often needed another female to even the numbers at the table. Dear Belinda was oblivious to the disapproving glances in Maris’s direction, but Maris had been aware of each one from the earl’s other guests.
If she had not offered to get a familiar title from the earl’s book room to read her friend to sleep that evening...
Maris wrapped her arms around herself, holding herself together. It would be easy to fall apart whenever she thought of Lord Litchfield and what he had done. No! She was safe at Cothaire.
Or was she? The nursery was on the upper floor where few adults came. Lord Trelawney would know that she was alone.
Stop it! If you offend him by accusing him falsely, he will dismiss you without a recommendation to help you get another position. Not that she had been unable to solve that problem in getting her current position, but she might not find another household with such a need for a nurse that they gave the fake recommendation she had penned herself such a cursory examination. Familiar guilt at her lie pinched her, but she had been desperate.
“Some help, please,” Lord Trelawney said in his rich, baritone voice.
Astounded, she realized he carried Joy— awkwardly, as if he feared he might drop the infant at any moment. “I will take her. Thank you.”
Little Gil raced after her, crying with excitement, “My baby! My baby!” No one knew if Gil and Joy were actually brother and sister, but the little boy had laid claim to the baby after being rescued.
Maris calmed him and the other children, who clustered around her and the viscount. She held out her arms and repeated, “I will take her, my lord.”
“May I...?” He glanced at the children and cleared his throat. “May I come in?”
Every instinct urged her to say no, but she really had no choice. She put space between them, herding the children away from the doorway. They wanted to greet Lord Trelawney with the same enthusiasm they showed everyone, but she doubted the cool, composed man would welcome their curious questions or their fingerprints on his pristine black coat. As he came into the room, she stepped around the small table where the children ate. It was not much of a shield, but it was all she had.
You are being silly, that soft voice whispered in her mind. Lord Trelawney is not Lord Litchfield. He has never been anything but polite when he passed you in an empty hallway. And he did save you from injury earlier.
Maybe so, but she would not take the chance of being hurt by another man and then abandoned by those she thought she could depend on.
“Will you...?” He motioned with his head toward the baby.
“Certainly.” She left her scanty sanctuary and scooped Joy into her arms, then wrinkled her nose. “She is rather pungent, isn’t she?”
He glanced down at his sleeve where a damp spot warned that the napkin had leaked. “Yes.”
“I shall see that she is changed and fed, my lord. Thank you.” The nursery seemed oddly cramped with him in it. Or maybe it was because the children gripped her skirt, making it impossible for her to edge away again. “I assumed Lady Caroline would bring Joy to the nursery.”
“Yes, my sister seldom is parted from this baby. I hope...” He did not finish.
He did not need to, because Maris understood. Lady Caroline would be bereft when the baby’s parents were found.
“You look well, Miss Oliver,” he added.
She was startled, then realized he must be referring to what had occurred in the stillroom. “Thanks to you.” She lowered her eyes. “I hope your injury was minor.”
“How did you know?”
“We were standing close, and I felt you flinch as the debris flew about.”
He smiled. “’Tis a scratch.” He paused for so long that she thought he was done; then he said, “I appreciate you asking.”
Laying the baby on the higher table, where a stack of fresh napkins waited, Maris began to change Joy. She was aware of Lord Trelawney behind her, even though he was silent. After sending the children to play, she looked at him.
“Is there something else you need me to do, my lord?” she asked.
“’Tis my sister. She thought it was time that I visited the nursery and learned more about the children living here.”
“She did?” What a peculiar suggestion! In an upper-class home such as Cothaire, the children’s lives seldom intersected with their elders’. “Of course, you are always welcome.”
“She suggested that... That is, she thought you might guide me in getting to know the children better.” He glanced at where the twins were chasing the boys. “Next month, I will be spending time with a widowed acquaintance who has two children of her own, and Carrie thought if I learned about these children, I would have an easier time with meeting Gwendolyn’s.”
Maris put a clean napkin on the baby and pinned it in place. It would seem that Lord Trelawney had made his choice of a bride. She had heard the household staff discussing whom he might choose and how his new wife might change Cothaire. No doubt the widow’s name was being discussed in whispers in the servants’ hall.
Lifting little Joy from the table, Maris cradled her close to her heart. The baby’s mouth tasted the air, a sign that she wanted to nurse. Maris watched Lord Trelawney gaze down at the child. He lightly touched her soft hair, his expression unguarded for a moment.
Biting her lower lip, Maris said nothing. If she expressed how endearing it was to see the oh-so-correct viscount reveal a tender vulnerability, she might embarrass him. She did not move as he looked from the baby to the other children, his thoughts bare on his face. He was perplexed by them, but fascinated, too. Few strong men would reveal that, nor would they be concerned about the well-being of a servant who had caused an accident in the stillroom.
As he gently brushed the baby’s head, he looked up. His gaze caught Maris’s, no longer cool, but filled with emotions she could not interpret. Standing with the baby between them, she noticed, as she had not before, that darker navy rings encircled the pale blue of his eyes. She never had seen any like them. Her fingers tingled, and she had to fight to keep them from rising to curve along his cheek as she told him how sweet she found him to be with the baby. Being so bold might suggest she was the easy type of woman Lord Litchfield considered her.
That thought compelled Maris back a half step. “Lord Trelawney, we can discuss how you can get to know the children better once I take Joy to the wet nurse. She is waiting in the kitchen.”
His hand hung in the air now that Joy’s head wa
s no longer beneath it. He lowered it. “I should go. I need to—”
The other children shrieked as they raced from one side of the room to the other, giggling.
“I will be but a moment.” Maris pointed to each child and spoke his or her name, before adding, “Children, this is Lord Trelawney. He is Lady Susanna’s older brother. Just like Parson Raymond.”
They smiled at him, but uneasily, then looked at her. Had they sensed, as she did, that he wished he were somewhere else? With a sigh, she suggested they go to the window to see what else they might spot outside. They clambered onto the window bench. She hoped they would remain distracted and well behaved until she returned.
She lowered her voice as she turned to the viscount. “Watch so they don’t get hurt. I shall be right back.” She hurried to the stairs leading down to the kitchen, before she laughed out loud at Lord Trelawney’s expression.
He had looked unnerved at her suggestion that he stay alone with the children. Could he truly have no experience with little ones? Lady Susanna was more than a decade younger than he was, so he must remember her as an infant and toddler. Then Maris remembered that Belinda’s brother had been sent away to school by the time he was ten. Most likely, Lord Trelawney had been attending boarding school when Lady Susanna was born.
In the kitchen, Maris handed Joy to the young woman who came from the village several times each day to nurse the baby.
Mrs. Ford looked up from stirring a bowl. “Miss Oliver, I cannot believe you left those young ones on their own upstairs. That is not like you.”
“I didn’t leave them alone,” she said.
“Lady Caroline has more important—”
“I did not leave them with Lady Caroline.”
She had the attention of everyone in the kitchen, and one of the maids blurted, “Then who?”
“Lord Trelawney.”
Gasps rushed around the kitchen, quieting when Mrs. Ford gave her staff a frown. Putting down the bowl, the cook wiped her hands on her apron as she walked over to where Maris stood with her foot on the first step of the nursery stairs.
Too low for anyone else to hear, the cook asked, “Is this a jest?”
“No.” Maris could trust Mrs. Ford, who had begun her service at Cothaire before Maris was born. “Lady Caroline suggested he get to know these children better before he meets the children of a lady named Gwendolyn next month.”
“Ah.” The cook smiled. “Thank God! Lord Trelawney is going courting.”
Maris put her finger to her lips. “Shhh!”
“You don’t need to shush me. I know how to keep my mouth shut about the family’s business, but this is good news, it is.” Sudden tears bloomed in the cook’s eyes. “It is high time for Lord Trelawney to take a bride and spend less time riding around the estate. He needs to be here for his father. The earl is not well, and it is important for him to see his heir’s heir.”
Maris nodded. She deeply missed her own parents, who had died when she was sixteen. Her one comfort was that she had had many wonderful days with them. Lord Trelawney had his duties, but those should include treasuring every moment he could with the earl.
“Do your best to help him, Miss Oliver, and you will have done this household a great service.” The cook returned to her task without waiting for an answer.
Maris went up the stairs, then paused on the landing near the day nursery door. If his intentions were to marry the lady named Gwendolyn, why had he gazed intently at Maris with those incredible eyes? Or had she read more into the moment than he intended? She was a poor judge of men; that much was for sure. She should not accuse Lord Trelawney of a misdeed when he might not be guilty. His attention might have been on Joy rather than on her. After all, she was the nurse, and he saw her as a useful tool to help him learn more about children.
Perhaps he might even be grateful and let her stay on at Cothaire. Even after the children’s pasts were uncovered, a nurse would be needed for Lord Trelawney’s children. That would mean Maris would be assured of a roof over her head and plenty of food for years to come. She had learned about the fear of hunger after her parents died, and the debts they had amassed in order to live at the edges of the ton had consumed the money from the estate’s sale. Only the generosity of her friend had enabled Maris to survive.
Equally as important, she would be invisible in the nursery, so she could avoid lecherous men like Lord Litchfield. While she did her best to assist Lord Trelawney, she would wisely make sure they were never alone. So far, he had been kind to her, but she would not be duped again.
A cry came from the nursery. Maris threw the door open and rushed in.
Lord Trelawney had not moved, but heaps of toys surrounded him. The poor man looked as lost as an explorer on an untouched shore. The children danced around him, singing of ships.
He glanced toward her as she came into the nursery. With relief, she noted.
“I am back, Moses,” she said with a laugh she could not silence.
“Moses?”
“Your expression reminded me of when Moses said, ‘I have been a stranger in a strange land.’”
The viscount’s brows arched, and the corner of his lips curved.
She looked away, shocked by her own words. To speak brazenly to him was unthinkable. As unthinkable as her quoting a passage from the Bible. Even though she had attended church since her arrival in Porthlowen, she had not prayed since she fled from her friend’s house after the attack. God had not heard her in the midst of the attack and sent someone to save her. Afterward, when Lord Litchfield threatened her with ruin and her friend’s family turned her out because they believed his lies that she had tried to seduce him, she wondered if He had ever listened to her.
She was saved from her own thoughts when the children ran to her, greeting her as if she had been gone for five days rather than five minutes. She hugged each one, but spoke to Lord Trelawney. “I assure you, my lord, that they do not bite, except each other occasionally, but we are working on that.”
“No bite,” Bertie said, as serious as a judge pronouncing a sentence.
She fluffed his hair, which was fairer than her own. “That is right.”
The viscount glanced toward the door, clearly eager to make his escape.
“My lord,” she continued, when he did not answer, “may I suggest you join the children and me on our walk tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Where?”
She hesitated. The obvious place was a section of the cove’s sandy shore. Many of the buildings in the village, including the parsonage, overlooked it. The nearby harbor always bustled with activity. There, she would never be alone with Lord Trelawney.
“Down to the water,” she said. “With their short legs, that journey is enough to tire them out long enough to sit still. While we are there, you can talk to them.”
“About what?” His full attention was on her.
“Whatever you or they have on their minds.”
“That should be interesting.” He bid her a good day and strode toward the hallway door.
Beside her, Lulu asked, “Is the big man coming back?”
“Yes.” And she must be prepared. She could not make another horrible mistake as she had with Lord Litchfield.
* * *
Arthur had half hoped that Miss Oliver would send him a note that neither she nor the children were going to visit the harbor. He could have used the time instead to encode a message to Gwendolyn and ask what was in the message she had sent to Cothaire. Either she had changed the code without alerting him, or she had made mistakes in writing the note. It made no sense other than a few random words.
Or had he made the mistakes? He had checked the message a second time and still it made no sense, but he admittedly was distracted. Miss Oliver kept popping into his mind. The shapeless apron she wore over her gray dress failed to hide her pleasing curves, and her smile lit her pretty face. He wondered why she made such an effort to appear drab.
As he walked across C
othaire’s entry hall, he warned himself to keep his mind on the task of getting to know the children, not their nurse. He had agreed to Carrie’s request, and he must do as he promised. And, he reminded himself, the outing would keep him from wondering about Gwendolyn’s odd message.
The breeze was brisk when Arthur emerged from the house. Lighthearted voices came from the left where the children surrounded Miss Oliver. They bounced in every direction like a handful of dropped coins, but Miss Oliver radiated calm. She answered their questions with an unwavering smile while she kept them from wandering away.
She wore a simple gray spencer and a bonnet of the same color that did not flatter her complexion. Her cheeks were brushed with a charming pink, and he could not keep from thinking of how his fingertips vibrated when they had curved around her slender waist as he pulled her out of the way of toppling boxes. The exotic jasmine scent from her hair clung to his senses, and he was curious if she wore it again today. Her deep green eyes twinkled as she reached behind her and pulled out a bag. The four children clamored to see what was in it.
When Arthur walked toward them, the younger boy noticed and raced toward him. The child stopped right in front of him. “Look! Ship!” He held up a tiny wooden ship for Arthur to see.
“Very nice,” he said.
“Go now!”
Miss Oliver took the little boy’s hand and drew him closer. “Forgive Gil, my lord. He is excited to sail his ship in the harbor.”
Arthur noticed that she did not meet his eyes, even when she spoke to him. Was she having second thoughts about helping him?
Bertie let out a shriek. The older boy’s tiny ship lay broken on the ground. It must have fallen out of his hand.
Arthur bent to collect the pieces and bumped into Miss Oliver when she did the same. A quiver, as if the earth beneath his feet trembled, rushed outward from where their hands touched. He jerked his back at the same time she did. Beneath her bonnet, her face flushed nearly to the shade of a soldier’s scarlet coat.
He was relieved when she turned away, because he did not want her to discover he was unsettled by the peculiar, fascinating sensation when his fingers grazed hers. Picking up the broken toy, he examined it. The children quieted while they waited to see what he would do or say. Balancing the tiny ship on his broad palm, he realigned the two cracked masts, then held it out to Bertie.