“You should have called a footman, Miss Mina. That’s why you have servants, to help. Perhaps you’ll remember that next time the goat gets in the house.” Lady Alice said this with such good cheer that even Mina smiled through her pain.
Trev wanted to hug the beautiful lady. He wanted to find Mack and drag him to the altar this very minute so she could not escape his Bedlam. But he stoically sat with his injured child and waited for the physician.
When the physician finally arrived, Lady Alice rose to give him her seat and step out of the way.
“Saw young Mack riding hell for leather in this direction,” the elderly doctor said, competently testing Mina’s arm. “I thought someone was dying.”
Lady Alice blanched beneath her yellowing bruise, Trev noted. If she feared Mack’s arrival, that did not bode well for their betrothal. But he could do nothing while his daughter was in pain.
“I’ll see to Georgie and Tina,” the lady whispered, fleeing the room before Trev could even form a question.
Oh, dear. Oh, my. What should she do now?
Panic rattled about inside Damaris’s addled brain. She could only do what came naturally—seek out the children to reassure them that all was well, as promised. And pray a plan of escape would occur. She could no longer doubt that Jonathan and Mack were one and the same. He’d had plenty of time to arrive by now. Surely he would come looking for her at any moment.
She should have known her luck wouldn’t last, that she could never linger in luxury under false pretenses. It had been foolish of her to believe anyone might want her.
She kneeled on Lady Violet’s luxurious bedroom carpet and opened her arms to the weeping children. They laid their heads on her shoulders and tried to explain about goats and doves and wanting to decorate for the holidays. Damaris took as much comfort from holding them as they seemed to take from her. Perhaps she really should ask to be their nanny.
Lord Trevelyan could not possibly trust a nanny who posed as someone she was not.
And she could not bear to work for a man who was everything she had ever dreamed of in a man. He’d single-handedly raised that monstrous chandelier as if he were a mighty blacksmith! Her heart bled for him and his children. No, she could not be their nanny. She must leave, immediately.
Lady Violet hovered anxiously, then decided hot chocolate was the answer for everything and called to have a tray brought up. With the children settled at a table with pastries and chocolate, Damaris decided she must pack her trunk and then look for a footman to help her find a way back to the inn.
First, she returned to the morning room to tell the servants that all would be well and to be certain they were returning the room to rights. Lord Trevelyan had his hands full as it was. She could do him this last little courtesy for his kindness in rescuing her.
Someone had removed the goat, but the doves were still fluttering about, out of reach. A footman had hauled the chandelier chain to return it to the ceiling, although it looked sadly bent and lopsided from the fall. Damaris suggested placing bread crumbs in a bushel basket, then throwing a tablecloth over the top when the birds landed inside.
While one maid swept debris from the plush carpet, another raced off to find a basket. Having done all she could, Damaris started up the stairs to pack her—Alice’s—trunk. She had her savings in her reticule. She could manage a night at the inn and a coach to . . . somewhere.
A dashing young man racing up the staircase nearly bowled her over. Looking grim, he apologized, righted her, then continued on as if she were nothing and nobody. And so she was.
Since she just barely recognized him, she supposed she had no right to expect Jonathan Trevelyan to recognize her, especially with a bruise on her face. Perhaps she could escape before there was a confrontation.
She packed the trunk herself rather than disturb Lady Violet and her maid. She offered the footman a coin to fetch a cart and driver and asked them to be brought around in an hour.
She could not leave without saying farewell, she discovered. She just could not. She might have learned meekness out of necessity, but apparently she did possess some backbone.
She stopped at Lady Violet’s suite first, and froze when she saw Jonathan pacing the length of the room with Georgie on his shoulders.
“Of course she’s not with child, Mother, what a dreadful thing to say. She’s a sweet chit with a large dowry. I’ll cease to be a drag on the estate once we’re wedded. I hadn’t thought to be leg-shackled immediately, though. I just won a great deal of blunt, but if you insist. . . .”
He reached the far end of the room and turned just as Lady Violet cried, “Lady Alice! Mack has arrived!”
A sweet chit with a large dowry, indeed! Damaris fixed the foolish young man with a frosty gaze. “Sorry to disappoint, sir,” she said without the least bit of regret, before he could recover from his startlement. “But Lady Alice prefers to be loved for herself and not her dowry. By now, she is quite safely wedded by special license to a fine young man who worships her.”
“Who the devil are you?” the Honorable Jonathan Trevelyan shouted.
“Lady Alice’s companion. I don’t expect you to have noticed me when you so obviously never noticed what a fine woman Alice is. Next time, choose someone who does not mind being married for her wealth. Better yet, take a position and earn your own.” She could scarcely believe the words had come out of her mouth, but she had years of pent-up opinions that finally spilled forth with this astonishing freedom to speak her mind.
Ignoring the wicked blasphemies emitted by the spoiled young lord, Damaris dipped a respectful curtsy to the dowager viscountess. “My sincerest apologies, my lady. I did not deliberately set out to deceive you, but I was somewhat scrambled in my thoughts for a time. All is very plain now, and I must clear up any confusion I unwittingly caused. I am Lady Alice’s cousin, Damaris Bedloe. I had come to give you and Jonathan her regrets. If you would be so good as to offer Lord Trevelyan my gratitude for his hospitality, I will leave now.”
She swung on her heel and marched off, her heart weeping at leaving this home—and the man—that she could never have. It was beyond foolish to believe one could fall in love in the matter of a few days. He had just awakened her dreams, that’s all.
But she was not to escape so easily. As the footman carried her trunk out the front door, heavy footsteps hit the stairs at a precarious pace behind her. She knew who it was without turning. She wished she could flee before she must see the disappointment, or worse yet the fury on his handsome visage.
But she had dug this hole and must face the consequences. Holding her chin up, she met Lord Trevelyan’s fierce gaze. Her heart almost shattered and died at the sight, but she soldiered on. “My lord,” she said grimly. “Again, I am sorry. I cannot say what came over me, and I cannot apologize enough. Let us leave it at that, please.”
Whatever had been behind the wild-eyed look he’d first given her quickly shuttered. He nodded stiffly to match her cool tones. “Will you be returning to Lady Alice?”
The hole in her heart tore a little wider. “I do not know, my lord. My duty was to raise my cousin as if she were my own, and I have done so. She’s a wife and on her own now.”
“I can offer you a position here,” he said gruffly. “I know we are not all that is proper, but the children . . .”
She held up her hand before he could finish offering her the position she wanted so much to accept and knew it would kill her to fill. “No, my lord. Your children are beyond adorable. I have told you what they need. Perhaps in time you will find a wife who can help you. Until then, I’ll send you the names of a few tutors and governesses who might suit. I am not qualified. I give you good day, and once again, my apologies.” She dipped a low curtsy and left before he could see her weep.
Trev sat with his brandy and his misery before a roaring fire that evening. Mina’s arm had been set, and she’d been dosed with laudanum to keep her quiet. Mack was sulking in his room after Trev had given him
a sharp set down. Would Mack have turned out better had he been sent to a strict school—away from their permissive mother—a little sooner? Should he send Georgie?
He had no way of knowing. He had built the estate into one that could support a dozen families. He could balance account books, choose what fields to plant with which crop, decide on the best horse or bull, and pick a fine wine, but he did not know how to be both a mother and father to his children. They were the most important part of his life, and he was failing them.
The blasted deceptive female he’d hoped would teach him what the children needed had said they should have rules and teachers and he ought to have a wife to help him, but there was another thing he was very bad at—choosing a woman. He’d thought this one perfect, and she’d been lying to him the whole time. So why should he believe anything she said? Like his late wife, she’d left all in chaos. The children were devastated to lose her. They were well rid of her, even if they didn’t understand.
And yet, he missed her. After the day’s events, his insides were hollow. She’d left a hollow where there had been hope and joy. She’d awakened a heart that he’d thought dormant, if not dead. The desire for a real family that he’d allowed to seep into him had been crushed, and he saw nothing to replace it on the horizon.
He was actually sitting here anticipating how long it would take for the deceptive chit to send him a letter with the names of tutors! As if that were likely to happen.
The study door creaked, and a small shadow crept into the room. Trev said nothing as Georgie sidled up and snuggled into the large seat beside him. The boy was supposed to be in bed. There was no one to keep him there. Trev couldn’t think of a punishment the boy would believe should he threaten him with it.
He loved his children, but Miss Bedloe had been right. They needed rules, and they needed to be enforced.
“Are we ever going to have a mama?” Georgie whispered.
Leave it to a child to go straight to the crux of the problem. “I’d have to go to London to find one,” Trev told him, putting the question aside. “I would be gone a very long time. You wouldn’t want that. Now go on up to bed.”
Miss Bedloe would probably have asked the boy why he wanted to know. But Trev knew and didn’t want to hear it.
“The twins and I talked,” Georgie said insistently. “We want the pretty lady to be our mama. She would be our Christmas present. You would never ever have to find us another present. You could give her our Christmas oranges, and we’d promise to be good forever.”
Trev kept his curses to himself. He ruffled Georgie’s hair and pried him out of the chair, pointing him to the door. “If it was as simple as that, I’d agree, but it’s not. To bed with you or you’ll never ever have another present.”
Georgie pouted and refused to leave. “She likes us. You made her leave. It’s all your fault!” he cried, before running off on stockinged feet.
Well, yes, it probably was his fault. If she was Lady Alice’s cousin, she was of good family—and he’d offered to make her his servant. He deserved to have his face smacked.
What else was he supposed to do? He barely knew the woman except to know she’d lied and deceived.
And hugged his children and made them love her. And ordered his servants about and made them obey. And behaved sensibly and intelligently in every way except the one—and if she was protecting her cousin from a thoughtless lout like Mack, Trev couldn’t really argue with that, either. Such a deception had taken courage.
Opportunity had knocked, and he’d closed the door because he’d been burned once. Stupid, Trev, really cork-brained stupid. He kneaded his forehead and fought back a wave of anguish.
With nowhere better to go, Damaris caught a coach heading south, out of the rapidly melting snow. Remembering the blizzard that had led her to Trevelyan Hall, she blinked back tears, desperately attempting not to think of the viscount. Discovering she could actually harbor a lovely dream was one thing, but losing her heart to a handsome, caring gentleman with too many burdens on his mind, whom she’d met only days before, no less.... Well, she’d been raised to be more practical than that. If only her heart would mend and the tears would go away.
At a lovely inn near Cheltenham, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and decided to stay awhile. The cost was cheaper than the city, and the food was good. She wrote Alice to ask if any of her friends might need a companion, and for the names of good governesses for the poor, deceived Trevelyans. She deserved a broken heart for what she’d done to them.
During the days, Damaris explored and made discreet inquiries about the wealthy families in the area, hoping she could find employment here.
She’d met many of the earl’s acquaintances over the years, but she could not immediately think of one who would need her services, such as they were. And it would be best to wait until the bruise had completely faded before applying for any positions.
She had just received a reply from Alice and was scrubbing another tear from her eye when the innkeeper announced she had a gentleman caller. Alice had said she would send Theodore to fetch her to London, but Damaris had not thought he would arrive with the mail!
Not wishing to look as if she’d been crying, she tidied herself as best as she could and arranged her hair so the last of the bruise did not appear too grievous. Then she hastened downstairs to the private parlor to which the innkeeper directed her.
She froze at the sight of the tall gentleman pacing the room in travel-worn riding attire, slapping his boots anxiously with his crop. His hat looked as if it had wallowed in mud before he’d discarded it on the table. His tall boots were all filth as well. And when he turned around . . . she saw the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines of weariness where his dimple should have been.
“Mina!” she said in dread. “Has something happened to Mina?”
His smile lit all the way to his eyes. “That is your very first thought when you see me?”
Flustered, she didn’t know what to say. She clasped her hands and sought frantically for another reason for Lord Trevelyan to track her down. She could not even imagine how he had done so. “Unless you have come to arrest me for fraud, I cannot think why else you would be here.”
His smile died, and he began smacking his boot again with his crop. “You must think me a bumblewit. Mina is doing well. The physician says he believes she only cracked a bone, and that children are very resilient.”
Recovering from her shock, heart still pounding, Damaris nodded cautiously. “I am glad to hear it. Would you care for some tea? The innkeeper should have asked.”
“Let me have my speech first. Then you may throw me out on my thick head.” He hit said head with the heel of his hand and reached for a package on the mantel. “I brought you these.”
In wonder, Damaris took the box, then smiled at the childish drawings adorning it. “The children painted this,” she exclaimed. “How exquisite!”
He nervously shrugged broad shoulders. “I am crass enough to use all the persuasion I can muster. Open it. I had ordered them for the children, but they have assured me that you are more important than gifts.”
She blinked in amazement, but he was staring fixedly at the box. With trembling fingers and no thought in her empty head, she opened the pretty box to find half a dozen fragrant oranges inside. “Oh, my, how wonderful! I used to have an orange every Christmas.”
“It was all I had to say you’re special to us. I do not have a hothouse full of flowers to provide a bouquet. I believe that is how London gentlemen woo their ladies. I thought you might be a trifle more practical and prefer the oranges.”
“W-w-woo?” Damaris stuttered in disbelief. She feared her newly discovered dreams were filling her head and that she was reading more into his words than was there.
He nodded decisively, disturbing a handsome curl in the process, and Damaris almost lost her heart then. Except she knew it to be already lost.
“Woo,” he said, his face set in determi
nation. “I envied Mack when I thought you were his. But I’ve been so mired in despising marriage that I did not even consider it when you disclaimed him. First, let me apologize for offering a lady such as yourself a position as governess.”
Clinging to the wonderful box with one hand, Damaris covered her mouth with the other. Surely she was not misunderstanding him. “Marriage?” she asked. “To me? I am not qualified to be so much as a governess.” And even her uncle had never recognized her as a lady.
The viscount waved an impatient hand. “I don’t want you to be a governess. I want to woo you so you will be assured that we suit and that I’m not a total empty-headed ninnyhammer. My mother has agreed to remove herself to the dower house and take you as a guest so all will be proper. I may go mad with waiting, but marriage is worth doing this properly.”
“Me?” she asked again, unaccustomed to seeing silver linings in the dark cloud of her life. “Why me when you are free to court all the wealthy ladies in London?”
He looked slightly embarrassed as he ran his hand over his bristly cheek. “Do you really think I am interested in silly misses who flirt fans and titter? Mack needs to marry wealth and pay his own debts. I need to marry a sensible woman who can come to love me and my children. I want to marry someone who can hold her end of the conversation, someone I can love as I love my children. I never hoped I could find all of that in the same woman.”
A tear streaked down her cheek, and Damaris thought this might be one of joy. “Could you come to love a woman who deceived you so badly?”
“You deceived me and everyone else quite well, actually,” he said cheerfully. “I would never have believed you to be the meek, mild companion your cousin claims you are. Or the ungrateful termagant your uncle is currently shouting about. It seems you have hidden your true self for years. I want the intelligent, forthright woman I saw in my house, the one who knows what to do and does it. And the children have promised to never ask for another gift if I bring you home with me.”
Mischief and Mistletoe Page 17