André looked at the young man’s face and wondered if he had ever been that lighthearted. He couldn’t remember that he had. “You have been most kind.” He rose from his chair. “Merci. I will see you in the morrow.” It had gone well. He’d found out what he needed to know. There was no need to return.
Chapter Seven
The breakfast room at Bryony Hall was flooded with sunlight and the walnut breakfast table and sideboard had been polished with beeswax until they gleamed. The walls were papered with a faded blue and yellow print. It was a pleasant room, but somewhat dated and shabby and Rand had been insistent that Cecelia redecorate as much as she wanted when they returned from Devon. As she made inroads into a plate of ham and eggs she was debating over ivory lace curtains or a blue tulle when her husband broke into her thoughts.
“Cecelia.”
She looked up. He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I’ve something to discuss with you. I had planned to wait, but your brother seemed to think it would be best to tell you right away and as it happens, I have a need to make a detour on our journey to Devon.” He cleared his throat. “I have a house in Fritham.”
She wrinkled her brow as she tried to place the name. “Fritham? I’m not familiar with it.”
“It’s in Hampshire.”
“Oh.” She speared a small piece of ham with her fork. “Didn’t you mention you have business there?”
Rand hesitated a moment, then dismissed the footman and waited until he had left the room before answering. “Of a sort.” He paused as he spread strawberry jam on a scone. “No not business in the normal sense. Family. I have family there.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said as she cut into another piece of ham. “Are they cousins? Aunts and uncles?”
“No.”
She frowned. “Your grandparents are dead. What’s left?”
“I have younger brothers and sisters who are also my wards. I’d like you to meet them.”
Confused, she stopped with her fork in midair. “Not Julia?” Then she shook her head. “That was stupid. Of course, not Julia.”
He gazed at her a moment with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom. “I didn’t know the best way to tell you. Your brother seemed to think you would take it in stride. Not many ladies in your position would. I’m afraid it’s a bit much to take in.”
He looked at her hesitantly and she nodded her head. “Please, tell me. I’d like to know.”
He set the scone down on his plate. “I suppose you’ve heard that my father was not a particularly admirable man.”
She nodded again.
“He was a drunk and womanizer who took his pleasure whenever and wherever it took his fancy, and sowed his seed with no regard to the consequences. Not surprisingly, his indiscretions produced a number of bastard children. I learned of this when I was twenty, though at the time I didn’t know there were quite so many.” In answer to her questioning look he said, “Eleven to my knowledge, but I suspect there are more. It’s been four years since we’ve found anyone new.”
He grimaced. “My father wasn’t particularly generous, but he did provide for them financially. Our solicitor took care of it all while my father more or less pretended they didn’t exist. It was intolerable to me that I might have brothers and sisters, I would never meet. Shortly before my father died, I went to see the ones I knew of and began the process of attempting to track down more. I moved them out to the country where the stigma of being a bastard wasn’t quite as harsh, and made arrangements to give them an education. I bought a house. It’s fairly large. We call it Danfield House.”
She was touched by both his generosity and his commitment to family. “I think that’s wonderful.”
“Offering them a better life didn’t always make for a happy ending.” He sighed. “Matthew died when he was fifteen. Bryan died at age twelve. Both were sickly for much of their lives. Matthew was blind.” His expression darkened. “Talk about sins of the father being visited upon his sons, I’m fairly certain he suffered from the pox.” He paused a moment. “And there were several who could not make the adjustment. James took a few pieces of silver and ran off about six months after I brought him to Danfield House. Marcy, who was thirteen, also ran away. She had her head filled with grand notions of making her living trodding the boards. I tried to impress upon her she would likely end up on the streets, but she wouldn’t listen. I was determined to save her from herself and the first two times that she ran off, I found her and brought her back. After that...” He waved his hand in the air. “Her mind was made up and there didn’t seem to be much point in trying to change it.”
His lips curved in a slight smile. “Fortunately, it isn’t all bleak. Samuel, the oldest boy is very bright. He lives in East Sussex and is working for Danfield Shipping. He’s on the docks now but he’ll move up as he masters the trade. Alexander, Michael, and Richard, are away at school. The rest are at Danfield house. I visit five or six times a year.”
“Who takes care of them?”
“I have employed a large staff. Miss Peters, who is the mother of Alexander and Richard, is the housekeeper. There are also two nursemaids and three governesses who live on the premises, plus an assortment of tutors who come in several times a week. And of course, a cook and several maids. Though, I’ve tried to keep that to a minimum. Miss Peters seemed to think it would be best if the children learned to do chores rather than be catered to. I suppose she’s right.”
Cecelia worked out the math in her head. Puzzled, she asked, “All for three children?”
“There are actually nine living in the house at present ranging in age from five to fourteen. Elizabeth is the oldest. Her sister Rosie is the youngest.”
Cecelia frowned. “But your father died eleven years ago. How could he have a five year old daughter?”
He smiled at her confused expression. “Several had brothers or sisters who were not my father’s offspring. I couldn’t split them apart by taking one child and leaving another behind. Sometimes all they really had was each other. As a result, we’ve had a full house for quite some time. The most we’ve had at one time is twelve. Altogether there have been seventeen.”
“You’ve taken responsibility for seventeen children?”
“My father’s legacy,” he said with a touch of bitterness in his voice. “Was indifference. I had to make up for that.”
“I don’t remember ever meeting your father.”
“That’s not surprising. He’s been dead for close to twelve years and he had been banned from polite society three or four years before that. He spent his last years at Bryony Hall. Only your father, your brother and Mansfield, my solicitor, know the full story of my household. Your father helped me find the house I bought.
"There have been rumors, but most of them died down years ago. They may resurface with my title, as well as our marriage.” He looked chagrined. “I want you know that these children are my brothers and sisters, not my offspring. Even so, we should be prepared for gossip.”
She nodded. “Does your mother know?”
“My mother and I don’t discuss it, but she knows. I think she approves of what I’ve done. She knows the children aren’t at fault for the situation.”
“Your mother is a wonderful, generous person and she’s beautiful. If your father was so awful, why did she marry him? Was she forced?”
He smiled grimly. “Hardly. Her parents were most unhappy about it.” He paused. “In his youth, my father was handsome and charming and she fancied herself in love with him. It was all an illusion. By the time she found out he wasn’t who she thought he was, it was too late.”
Cecelia stared at him a long moment while the reasoning behind his jaded view of love and marriage fell into place. In his mind, love was an illusion that led to heartache. Friendship and sexual desire were much safer. She knew he was fond of her and after three days shut away in their chambers making love in ways she hadn’t dreamed possible, there was little doubt that he de
sired her. But he wouldn’t risk falling in love. Exactly how this moment of clarity was able to penetrate her mind at the tender age of eighteen, she didn’t know. But there it was, hitting her squarely in the face. He was afraid to let himself fall in love with her. He was afraid to let himself fall in love with anyone. At least, she understood the dragon she was fighting. And fight it she would, because she realized that she did love him. Not just as a friend but as a lover and husband. And she vowed that he would come to love her, too.
“Cecelia?”
She looked up. He was frowning.
“Did you go somewhere? I seem to have lost you.”`
“No. I was just thinking that I would very much like to go to Danfield House with you and meet the rest of your family.”
“Excellent.” He made no effort to conceal his relief. “We shouldn’t be there more than five or six days, but we’ve lost a nursemaid and I need to conduct interviews to take her place.”
“I don’t mind at all. I can’t imagine why you think I would object.”
He broke into a smile. “Sometimes, I forget that you’re different from most women. I’m thankful that you are.”
She decided that since he seemed to be in an appreciative mood, she would ask a favor. “Could we take Ashley in the carriage with us when we go?”
It appeared he wasn’t appreciative enough to grant her this favor. “No,” he said flatly as he set his coffee cup down. “It’s bad enough that the damn thing has been sleeping on my bed, but I refuse to travel with it, too.”
“As I’ve yet to even lie down on the bed in my chambers,” she retorted. “She believes she’s sleeping on my bed. She knows my scent and that’s where she’s the most comfortable.”
He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I know your scent and understand the attraction.”
There was no mistaking his meaning and her cheeks grew warm.
He chuckled. “I’ve actually made my little hoyden blush. I didn’t know it was possible.”
Impulsively, she picked up a roll and bounced it neatly off his head; then burst into laughter at the look of shock on his face. But when a slow smile stole across his face, she knew she was in trouble.
“Now you’ve done it, my dear.” He picked up the dish of jam and rose from his chair.
She desperately looked around for something else to throw. There was nothing within reach that wouldn’t either break or cause injury.
“With the exception of fishing, you can’t best me. I’m taller, I’m stronger and I’m quicker. Now take your punishment, like a good girl.”
Cecelia only had a few seconds to wonder at his intent before he hauled her to her feet and smeared strawberry jam from her cheek to her chin.
Her body was shaking with laughter as she cried out, “What did you do that for?”
“So, I can do this.” He swung her up on the table and proceeded to lick the jam off her cheek.
A sticky glop of jam fell onto the edge of her ivory embroidered bodice. She really wanted to be angry with him, but the feel of his lips and tongue on her face made her shiver with delight. It was too late to pretend she was vexed. She pointed to her chin. “I believe you missed a spot.”
He obliged her with another flick of his tongue.
“And here.” She tapped a finger against her lower lip.
He tilted her face up and scrutinized it carefully. “There isn’t any jam on your lip.” He took his forefinger, dipped it in the jam pot and spread it on her lower lip. “Oh, wait. There is a bit.”
She slowly licked it off and the tone of their play changed. “You spilled it on my gown.”
He looked down to where the jam stained the narrow muslin bodice. “So I did,” he murmured. “How fortunate.”
“It’s ruined. It’s one of my favorite gowns, too.”
“I’ll buy you another.” He placed his hands on her waist then lowered his head and licked the jam off the muslin. She closed her eyes and left out a soft sigh as he ran his tongue along the bare skin next to her bodice. “Oh, my,” he murmured against her breast. “I seem to have run out of jam.”
Grinning, his hands fell to his side, he straightened up and headed toward bell pull.
“Rand!” she shrieked. “What are you doing? You can’t call a servant in here. Look at me!”
“I only thought to ring for more jam.” He creased his brow as if he were deep in thought. “But I can’t decide between blueberry jam and orange marmalade. Blueberry stains terribly, but as you say your frock is already ruined so I needn’t take that into consideration.”
“But the servants!” she protested. “If they see me like this, they’ll be gossiping for weeks.”
“My dear, considering the state we’ve left the bed chamber in, the gossiping has already begun. This will only add a drop of fuel to a raging inferno.”
“Please don’t.”
“You started it,” he murmured smoothly. “But I suppose I can live without orange marmalade.” Sighing, he crossed the room and turned the key in the lock. He leaned back against the door. “Now, what was I doing?”
Cecelia clicked her tongue. “Has your memory left you, my lord? Though, it isn’t terribly surprising. You are quite old.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Not too old to handle an eighteen year old chit who has yet to be taught how to show proper respect to her older, wiser, yet exceedingly virile husband.”
“How boastful of you.”
“’Tis only the truth.”
Cecelia bit down on her lower lip then she slowly smiled. “I challenge you to prove it.”
He closed the distance between them and with one sweep, shoved their breakfast dishes to the side.
Twenty minutes later, Cecelia propped herself up on her elbows and surveyed the damage. “Your virility is quite intact,” she murmured, “which is far more than I can say for the dishes.”
Grimacing, Cecelia dropped the leather curtain to keep the sudden cloud of dust from her face and nostrils. Traveling in an enclosed coach in the summer heat was not altogether pleasant. Had she been properly attired she would have demanded that she be allowed to ride. Not that demanding did much good where Rand was concerned. She still hadn’t quite decided the best way to deal with her husband. Cecelia fanned herself vigorously and looked over at him. He seemed none the worse for the heat. She felt the perspiration trickle between her breasts.
“Why is it,” she grumbled. “That I appear to be baking in this rolling oven and you do not?”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” he murmured. “I assure you that I am no more comfortable than you.”
It wasn’t as if the heat weren’t bad enough but Rand had spent most of the journey with his nose in his ledgers and other assorted business matters that he had ignored of late. He was using the time they spent journeying through Hampshire as an opportunity to catch up. Cecelia couldn’t fault his reasoning, but she also couldn’t remember the last time she was this bored.
Sighing loudly, she pulled back the leather curtains and shifted in her seat as she watched the country side roll by.
He looked up at her. “You should have brought a book.”
Irritated, she scowled. “You don’t want me reading anything in a moving carriage. I’m apt to cast up my accounts on your lovely boots.”
He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
That took her back a moment. “You’re fibbing. I would remember that.”
“I’m sure you don’t. You weren’t yet two. I was twirling you about too soon after you’d had your pudding. Stratton thought it was enormously funny. At the time I failed to see the humor.”
She dropped the curtain back into place. “I’d appreciate it if you would let that be our secret.” She smiled. “Otherwise I might have a long talk with your mama and she will probably be quite pleased to divulge a number of stories about your own childhood. Not the pranks you and Eugene pulled as I believe those are a source of pride, but I’m certain there must be thin
gs of an embarrassing nature that you would prefer I not bring up.”
“What a conniving bit of goods you are. If you can’t read, then try to sleep.”
“I’m not at all sleepy.”
“Mmm.” His gaze dropped down to the sheath of papers he was holding and he scowled.
“What are you scowling about? And don’t tell me it’s nothing to concern me. I won’t have it.”
“You won’t have it,” he murmured. “Very well. If you insist. I’ve been going over a letter and some reports from the steward I sent to Fenton Abbey. The properties have been largely uncared for and I may need to spend more time there than I originally thought.”
“We,” she corrected. “If you find it necessary to spend time at there, then I will too. I’ve grown quite used to bedding you.”
He pulled a long face. “Alas, we’ve been married only a week and it seems I’m little more than a plaything.” He patted the spot next to him. “Come here. My fascination with facts and figures has deserted me.”
She settled beside him. “I confess I’m a bit nervous about today.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Why?”
“Do you think they’ll like me?”
He snorted. “Of course, they’ll like you. You charmed the old bats at Almack’s until they were practically eating out of your hand. If you can charm them, you can charm anyone. Why would you be nervous about meeting a few tykes?”
“Nine,” she corrected. “And they aren’t all tykes. Some are only a few years younger than me.” She brushed a curl back from her cheek. “What are they like?”
“Quiet spoken, well-mannered, and brilliant. And of course, they all adore me.”
“Then it appears I have much in common with them. Except for possibly that last part.”
“You don’t adore me? I am disconsolate.”
She pursed her lips and tilted her head as if pondering the situation. “I haven’t decided.”
“In truth, they are a mixed brood. The one thing they have in common is that on any level of society, they don’t quite fit. Neither fish nor fowl you might say. It took me awhile to realize that no matter what I or anyone else does, it will always be the case. Society doesn’t take kindly to by blows. The best I can do is encourage them in their endeavors in hope that pride in their accomplishments will see them over the difficulties that life throws their way. It will be easier on the boys, I think. They will have careers.”
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 12