Tabby’s heart warmed at the tender moment, but the scene brought memories to mind that made her chest tighten. Joshua had not greeted her in such a fashion when she had awoken after losing their first child. Or the others. Joshua had sought his refuge in a bottle.
No. This would not do. She was getting too maudlin. After all her lectures on hope, Tabby would not allow herself to get sucked into such melancholia. Two stillborn children and countless false starts, but it had given her Phillip in the end, and he was most certainly worth all that hardship. And all that Joshua continued to put her through.
Turning away, Tabby found a footman waiting to lead her to the main entrance. Following him, she allowed her mind to wander over the good in her life. A son she loved. A position, which was becoming more and more pleasant with each passing week. An employer whom Tabby could count as a friend; the first true friend she’d had in years, for Tabby knew Mina would not abandon their friendship so quickly as others had when her fortunes had failed her.
Thinking through the list, Tabby’s heart lightened, chasing away the darkness that had been creeping in.
At the door, the butler handed over her bonnet and helped her with her spencer, giving her a rare smile that most haughty butlers would be ashamed to have displayed. Tabby thought it a perfect representation of the Kingsley household. Proper while yet flouting convention in small ways.
“Thank you, Mrs. Russell,” he said. “Mrs. Kingsley is resting much easier because of you.”
“It was nothing…”
“Jennings,” he supplied.
“It was nothing, Jennings. I am happy to help,” she said, adding this moment to her list of blessings. She had done some good today, and that was no small thing.
Chapter 12
Graham wanted to pace. Needed to. It was a desperate itch he could not scratch. He had spent hours prowling the deck of his ship when his mind was filled with thoughts and questions that needed working out. It cleared his head and focused the chaos until he saw clearly once more. But now, he was stuck sitting on a sofa that was more decorative than durable, his eyes affixed to the windows facing the front of the house.
A clock in the room ticked the hours away, and the sun slowly sunk behind the horizon, yet there was no word. That long stretch of silence was not a good sign. If all were well, a messenger would have sent word, or Mrs. Russell would have returned.
Mina could not lose her child; Graham could not stand the thought of it. His sister had spent most of her adult life accepting that marriage and motherhood would not happen for her, embracing her broken dream with a courage and strength that Graham envied. Yet, here it was finally within her grasp, which would make the loss that much greater.
It was in those long hours of waiting that Graham realized how greatly he underestimated his sister. Not that he had overtly, but thinking about her hopes and dreams, Graham realized how much stronger she was than he. Spending years of her life, wishing for a husband and family, yet never allowing herself to wallow in it or lash out at others. Graham had no doubt that there were times when her heart cried out in sorrow over it, yet she never allowed it to control her.
Unlike him.
For the first time since he had awoken as this broken creature, Graham prayed for something other than the return of his health. Though he doubted deals with the Almighty ever worked, Graham would gladly accept his crippled body and transfer his long-awaited miracle to Mina. Heal her and save her babe.
Mina.
His dear sister.
And that was when Graham caught sight of Mrs. Russell walking the path towards him. In the dimming light, it was difficult to see her expression, so he had no clue whether her spirits were high or low. Gripping his cane, he hefted himself off the couch. His right leg moved easier than it had this morning, but it was still a monumental effort to get across the room in time to meet Mrs. Russell at the door.
“Captain Ashbrook,” she said in surprise, pulling off her bonnet. “What—”
“What news?” he asked, snatching it from her hand and tossing it onto a peg beside the door. “Mina and the child?”
“They are fine,” she said, her brows pinching together. “Mr. Kingsley was supposed to send word. I asked him to send a footman.”
“Are you certain?” he insisted.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Russell, taking off her spencer and hanging it next to the bonnet. “Quite certain. The physician insisted it was only a scare. I would have returned sooner, but she desperately needed the company.”
Turning her attention to him, her eyes grew worried. “You poor man! To be so worried while we have known the truth for hours. I could thrash Mr. Kingsley,” she said, herding Graham into the sitting room.
“Simon can be a bit focused when it comes to Mina,” said Graham, taking his previous seat on the sofa. “I should have known that he would forget to send word while his attentions were on his wife. I would be angry over his thoughtlessness if it weren’t a byproduct of his devotion to my sister.”
Calling to the maid, Mrs. Russell ordered some tea and dinner be brought. Graham wanted to say it was unnecessary, but at that moment, his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since that morning. Any time Mrs. Bunting or Jillian had tried to tempt him, he had shrugged them away, but now his hunger was returning in force.
“Luckily, it was nothing serious,” said Mrs. Russell, sitting in an armchair beside him. “Anything out of the ordinary can be terrifying for expectant parents, and I was glad to ease her fears a bit.”
“Yes, Simon mentioned you were a mother,” said Graham, and he was quite impressed with the nonchalance in his tone. The only thing that had taken his mind off of Mina was thoughts of Mrs. Russell and the mysterious children Simon mentioned. And he had spent a fair amount of time pondering over them. In their time together, Mrs. Russell had never mentioned them, though Graham supposed that was likely due to the fact that he rarely asked her any personal questions. They had chatted and talked about shared interests and such, but he could not think of anything—outside of their discussion that morning—that had been particularly personal.
Mrs. Russell nodded, staring at her lap while she smoothed her skirts.
“How many children do you have?” he asked. And where were they? How were they coping with their mother leaving after having lost their father? From what Graham surmised, Mr. Russell had not been much of a husband, but it was still devastating to lose a parent. There were a lot of questions he wished to ask, though he was conscious that most of them were highly inappropriate and thus could not be voiced aloud.
“One boy. Phillip,” she said, her gaze turning upwards with a smile. “He is four, and the sweetest little man in all creation. He’s staying in a cottage near town where I can visit him in my free time. Are you musical?”
The question was unexpected, to say the least, and Graham found himself frantically grasping to understand where it had come from.
“Am I musical?” he asked as though restating her question would somehow illuminate his confused mind.
“Yes. Either playing or singing or even attending musicales,” said Mrs. Russell, leaning forward as if his answer was something she eagerly awaited.
“No,” he said. “Most instruments do not fit neatly in the tight confines of a ship.”
Mrs. Russell nodded. “So your musicales were rather forlorn events, I suppose.”
“We did not…” but Graham caught himself before he went any further. “You are teasing me.”
Mrs. Russell’s lips hinted at the smile lurking beneath the calm facade. “Just a little, sir. Outside of your naval life, have you shown any interest in music?”
Graham shook his head. “Mina is the musical one in the family. I like listening to it as much as any person but have no desire to create it myself. But I’m at a loss as to why you would ask it.”
“Hobbies,” said Mrs. Russell, giving him a smile that Graham knew many a man would willingly risk life and limb to receive. It would n
ot be nearly so enticing if the lady had any awareness of its power, but it was artless and genuine. “From our earlier conversation.”
Graham’s brow furrowed, as he scoured his mind for any memory that might clarify her enigmatic words.
“New things to occupy your time,” she said. “Training your left hand to write shall be our first project, but you need others.”
Graham had enough to occupy his time. Healing and getting stronger. Salvaging his life took enough of his time and focus.
“Do not turn your nose up at it,” said Mrs. Russell, her eyes narrowing, and Graham raised his eyebrows. “I can see what is going on in your head. You think me a fool, but you need to find new passions. You need something else to love.”
“Now that the sea is beyond my reach?” Graham fought to keep the growl from his voice.
Mrs. Russell straightened, and Graham relaxed the tension in his shoulders. His dashed temper was going to cause more problems if he wasn’t careful.
“Now that your life has changed,” she clarified.
Graham wanted to glower and grumble at that, but Mrs. Russell did not deserve to be on the receiving end of his ill-humor. More than that, Graham knew that he was not being the type of man he wished to be. He had never been a bully or cruel and did not wish to develop such characteristics. Unclenching his jaw, Graham took a moment to compose himself before speaking.
“And you believe picking up an instrument will fix everything?” he asked.
Mrs. Russell watched him for a moment before speaking carefully. “I think carrying on as you have is guaranteed to make things worse. Finding new things to enjoy will brighten your world.”
Graham drummed his fingers along the arm of the sofa, staring out the front window. Brighten his world. No matter what Mrs. Russell thought, simply taking on a few new hobbies would not be enough to replace the sea. However, there was sense in what she said. If nothing else, it would help stave off boredom until he was healed enough to return to his ship and his men.
“Fine,” he said. “But please, no instruments. There must be something a bit more gentlemanly for me to do.”
Mrs. Russell chuckled. “Unless you wish to spend your days chasing debutants, drinking, and gambling, I’m afraid you might have to stray from ‘gentlemanly’ pursuits. By their very definition, gentlemen are not known for their industry. Besides,” she added, her face remaining angelic with the exception of the devilish glint in her gaze, “since when does a naval man care about what’s gentlemanly? I thought you live by your own code—the code of the sea.”
The touch of melodrama in her tone combined with the acidic and apt description of his dull peers set Graham laughing, and he knew that whatever else may happen, spending time with Mrs. Russell would be diverting.
Chapter 13
This was her lot in life. Tabby forced herself to remember that and not allow herself to be overwrought by such things. It was only an entrance. The servants’ entrance of Avebury Park was far humbler than the main entrance, naturally, and it was fitting for her to use it. Doing so was no cause for distress, but her position with Captain Ashbrook felt more like a companion and friend than servant, and it was getting difficult to remember her fallen place in the world.
Knocking on the door, Tabby waited a moment before a young maid opened it and ushered her inside.
Each time she came to visit Avebury Park, Tabby found herself enchanted with it. Being far more modern than Kelland Hall, it had great windows and open spaces to give a lightness that was quite different from the heavy dreariness of the Russell estate. And there was an understated yet elegant feel to the decorations. A mixture of simplicity and grandeur that seemed a perfect representation of its master and mistress. Yes, Tabby greatly admired Avebury Park.
However, there was one aspect in which the Park could never hope to outshine the Hall. This newer building had not seen enough centuries to have accumulated the stories that filled every cranny of Kelland. When speaking of its past, it was impossible to distinguish myth from fact, but that only made Tabby love its history all the more. There was the armchair that was said to have been Queen Bess’s favored seat when she had passed the night there. And the ghost of the poor maid who had died in the fire of 1638 who haunted the restored portion of the eastern wing. And every piece of armament decorating the walls laid claim to some prestigious war, leading all the way back to the Battle of Hastings. There was so much life that had happened there.
“Please wait here, ma’am,” said the maid just outside a room.
Tabby did so, and the girl knocked on and let herself in, leaving Tabby alone in the hall, though she could hear everything going on inside.
“Mrs. Russell is here to see you, ma’am,” said the girl.
“Wonderful,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “Send her in.”
The maid returned to the hallway and ushered Tabby inside the large sitting room. To one side, Mrs. Kingsley stood by a table with a mountain of flowers scattered around a vase. With a snip of her shears, Mrs. Kingsley cut off a stem and placed the blossom in the container, shifting it between a few lone stalks already inside it.
The maid disappeared, leaving the two of them alone.
“Do come in, Tabby,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “I hope you don’t mind if I keep working on my arrangement. I need to get these in water or they shall wilt.”
“Certainly, madam,” said Tabby with a curtsey.
Mrs. Kingsley paused and leveled a look at Tabby. “Madam? I thought we agreed to use Christian names when it was only the two of us. Or did you hope I had forgotten that in a fit of emotion?”
Tabby hesitated for a moment before answering truthfully. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I don’t think it wise for me to be so informal with my employer.”
Mrs. Kingsley turned her attention to the budding arrangement, placing in a few more flowers before she spoke again. “It must be difficult to find yourself in such an altered position.”
“I make due.”
Mrs. Kingsley glanced at Tabby before working another stem into the vase. “I am certain you do. We may be fairly new acquaintances, but I have a feeling you are not one to shrink under such a burden.”
Tabby had no words to respond to that and decided to forge ahead with the business at hand. “I came to see how you are faring. I wanted to come sooner, but Captain Ashbrook has kept me busy the last few days.”
Mrs. Kingsley smiled while shifting the blossoms around the vase. “I am certain he does. My brother may be a grown man, but I am certain you would agree that he can be as demanding as any child when he wishes to be.”
Tabby laughed. “It would be unkind of me to admit it.”
“But it could be construed as unkind if you disagree with me.” Mrs. Kingsley’s eyes held a hint of mischief in them.
“Then I must beg to be excused from making any statement about my charge’s behavior.”
The pair of them laughed, and Tabby watched the lady add flowers here and there to the arrangement. Having tried her hand at that skill, Tabby appreciated seeing someone who had a talent for it. Moving efficiently and with little hesitation, Mrs. Kingsley’s vase filled with a rainbow hue of blossoms, and Tabby knew she could never match the lady’s skill.
“I’m doing much better,” she said. “I can never thank you enough for your kindness.”
“It was nothing—” began Tabby, but Mrs. Kingsley interrupted.
“It was not nothing,” she insisted, giving Tabby an uncompromising look. “It meant the world to us. Both Simon and I are faring much better after your help and words. He even suggested I return to my usual duties, which has helped enormously, though I would not have agreed to do so if you had not set my heart at ease.”
Tabby nibbled on her lip, pleased to hear such things. Her soul warmed at the thought of Mr. Kingsley heeding her advice, and she could see with her own eyes that Mrs. Kingsley had improved because of it.
“It is better to be active than sit around fretting about that which you
cannot change,” said Tabby. “It is harder to give in to despair when you are occupied.”
Mrs. Kingsley glanced from the flowers and studied Tabby. “I think I have discovered the source of Simon’s change of heart. He went from wishing to bundle me in blankets until the baby was born to insisting that I need to do something with myself. Of course, I was as eager as he to languish in bed for the next few months. Thank you for talking sense into us.”
“It is easy to allow fears and heartache to dictate our emotions,” said Tabby. “I am pleased I could help.”
“You did. Enormously,” she said, placing one last stem in the vase and turning. Glancing at it from every angle, Mrs. Kingsley scrutinized her work. “Is it right, you think?”
“Gorgeous,” said Tabby without even a modicum of embellishment.
Mrs. Kingsley glanced at Tabby. “Truly?”
“Of course,” she replied, confused that the lady had no idea how lovely the arrangement was. “I have no talent for flowers, but the hours I spent attempting it gave me an appreciation for what should be admired and what needs to be tossed in the trash bin.”
Mrs. Kingsley’s cheeks flushed, and Tabby smiled at the artlessness of it. Leaving the flowers on the table, she ushered Tabby over to the sofa and sat with a sigh. “I may have more energy than when I was lying around all day, but I still find myself quite exhausted at times. But what news of my brother?”
“Captain Ashbrook is doing much better,” said Tabby. “He spends less time abed and goes outside every day.”
“You are a miracle worker,” said Mrs. Kingsley.
“I came to see if I might borrow some art implements,” said Tabby, choosing to ignore the praise and dive right into the heart of things. “He needs something to do other than sit around and think about what he has lost, but he is not fit to do anything strenuous. I thought we might try his hand at painting or drawing.”
A True Gentleman (Regency Love Book 2) Page 10