by Anne Gracie
Gabriel said something and stepped back. Nicky gave him a startled look, then grinned. He made a movement and the horse moved off.
Callie watched.
As the horses moved around the courtyard, Nicky’s stiffness faded. His face lost that frozen look, and he even began to call out remarks to Jim. Callie wished she could hear what they were saying, but she was glued to the octagonal window.
Gabriel said something else, and the boys kicked their horses into a trot. For a breathless moment, Nicky bounced unsteadily, clinging on, his face white with the expectation of falling, but Gabriel called out advice and suddenly Nicky was rising and falling with the rhythm of the horse.
She was biting on her knuckles, she realized. Even from here she could read the pride in his bearing. He was riding. Not bareback, not fast, but alone and unaided.
He glanced at the window and saw her watching. His eyes lit up. With great daring, he raised a hand and quickly waved to her, his small face incandescent with joy.
Callie waved back, hoping he could not see the tears in her eyes. Nicky returned to his lesson with renewed determination.
Callie’s gaze drifted to the tall man in the center of the courtyard. He was watching her, an enigmatic expression on his face.
She mouthed the words “thank you” and he gave her a slow smile, before turning back to the boys.
She stood watching with a lump in her throat and a hard knot in the middle of her chest. It was going to be harder to protect herself from him than she thought.
He had a way of sneaking under her defenses.
Suddenly there was a flurry of noise and movement as the curricle, driven by Ethan Delaney, came shooting under the arch and into the courtyard. The horses shied and the two boys clutched their manes, all instruction forgotten, but thankfully nobody fell.
Gabriel strode forward, lifted first Nicky, then Jim down, handed the boys their horses’ reins and ordered them to the stables. Callie could see why.
Ethan had a face like a thundercloud. Tibby sat on the seat beside him, stiff and bolt upright, her face pinched and colorless.
Something was horribly wrong. Callie ran from the room.
Her initial fear—that Mr. Delaney had done something dreadful to Tibby—faded as she saw the gentle way he lifted Tibby down from the high-slung curricle, as if she were a child, or an invalid.
Tibby’s face was ashen, but she showed no self-consciousness about the Irishman’s big hands spanning her waist. She murmured an automatic thanks to him and stood, looking blankly in front of her.
“Tibby, what’s wrong?” Callie asked as she hurried toward her friend.
Tibby tried to speak and failed. She swallowed, then tried again. “My cottage,” she croaked. “It’s all burned. Burned to the ground. There’s nothing left, just charcoal and ashes.” And then she burst into tears. Callie ushered her inside.
“Is there truly nothing left?” Gabe asked Ethan after the two women had gone into the house.
“Nothing at all.”
Which as they both knew, was most unlikely, even with a thatched cottage. “So, it was deliberate?”
“I’d say so,” Ethan said, his face grim. “I checked that house before we left. There was nothin’ left alight. Not so much as a spark in the fireplace—all swept out clean, it was.”
“Those bastards! Revenge, do you think? They wanted the princess and she’d eluded them, so they burned down her friend’s house.”
Ethan nodded. “Probably. And mebbe they were hopin’ to smoke her out as well. Hopin’ she’d lead them back to the princess. Nothin’ more natural if you hear your house is burned than to come and look. I had the devil’s own job stoppin’ Miss Tibby from jumpin’ out of the curricle as it was. Frettin’ about her poor little cat and her books, she was.” From Ethan’s tone he didn’t understand why anyone would worry about either.
“That ‘poor little cat’ is the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen,” Gabe told him. “A battle-scarred old ginger tom, with a broken tail and”—he glanced at Ethan—“ears a bit like yours.”
Ethan began to saddle a fresh horse.
“Where are you going?” Gabe asked.
“I’m goin’ back to check.”
“Check what?”
Ethan gave him an opaque look. “Something.” He mounted his horse and rode back the way he’d come.
An hour later Callie came downstairs. “She’s resting now,” she told him. “Poor Tibby. She’s lost everything.” She hung her head. “I should never have written to her, never have come here.”
“It’s not your fault,” Gabe told her firmly.
“It is. I knew what Count Anton was like.” Guilt mixed with anger flickered across her face. “It’s not the first time he’s burned someone’s house. He has a terrible temper and cannot endure to be crossed. But I promise you I never imagined for one moment he’d do something like that here in England, where he isn’t even a member of the ruling family.” Her voice choked on a sob. “It’s my fault this happened to her.”
“It’s no such thing.”
She looked away. An errant tear slipped down her cheek. She dashed it angrily away.
Gabe gripped her by the chin. “Look at me. This is not your fault.”
“I am responsible. And Tibby is my friend. She is now destitute because she tried to help me. You cannot imagine I would simply leave and let her fend for herself.”
No, Gabe didn’t imagine that. Not for one minute. His Callie…his Callie was a woman in a million.
He pulled her into his arms and held her for a long moment. Then he gently tipped her tear-stained face up and kissed her. He kissed the tears from her cheeks and the distress from her lips. It wasn’t like their last kiss; this was comfort. And reassurance. Tender.
On Ethan’s return he entered the house by the kitchen. “Do you know where Miss Tibby might be?” he asked Mrs. Barrow.
She nodded. “Poor little soul, like a wrung-out rag she is. She’s in the conservatory, though why anyone should want to sit in that gloomy old place, I don’t know.”
“Right,” Ethan said and headed for the conservatory.
“But she said she wanted to be alone,” Mrs. Barrow called after him. He took no notice.
The conservatory was built on to the back of the house. The walls were mostly windows. It must have been put in by whoever had built the octagonal bay window, Ethan thought, for it had something of the same style, and looked the same age, but it had been left too long neglected. The windows were crusted with sea salt and the few plants inside were long dead.
He could understand why Miss Tibby had chosen to come here to sit. It was a good place to be miserable. He spotted her sitting quietly on a bench between a dead potted palm and a large brown fern. “Miss Tibby,” he said and sneezed.
She jumped and turned. “Oh, Mr. Delaney, you startled me.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“No, of course not,” she said miserably. “I’m afraid though that I’m not very good company.”
“That’s understandable,” he said as he threaded his way between the pots of dead plants. When he reached her seat he just stood there in front of her.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. She glanced up at him, then dropped her gaze. She knew what she must look like, he thought, and was beyond caring.
As her gaze dropped, her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Mr. Delaney, your hands! They’re all scratched and bloody.”
Ethan grimaced. “I know.” He sneezed again.
“But how—” Her eyes sharpened, riveted to his overcoat, which bulged oddly, and then moved.
“I’ve got something for you,” Ethan said and cautiously unbuttoned his overcoat. His waistcoat heaved and a yowl came from within. He gingerly unbuttoned his waistcoat, reached in, swore, and withdrew his hand on which were fresh scratches, reached in again and drew out a spitting, snarling cat.
“Kitty-cat!” she cried joyfully and lifted the animal out of h
is hands.
“Be careful it’s a vicious, savage wildca…” His voice trailed off. The vicious beast that had scratched his hands to bits was snuggled against Miss Tibby’s chest, purring like a coffee grinder and butting her chin with its big, ugly head. Its single yellow eye winked with evil smugness at Ethan as its mistress crooned over it like a baby.
“Oh, Mr. Delaney, thank you so much! I thought he was lost forever.” Tears sparkled on the ends of her lashes, but they were happy tears. Her cheeks were flushed and not the ghost pale they had been. She kissed the cat’s head repeatedly, nuzzling his fur, stroking and caressing the ugly beast as if she thought it the most beautiful creature in the world.
Women were strange, he thought, not for the first time. “I knew you were worried about him, so…”
“I was, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am. But how did you find him? He doesn’t usually come to men.”
He hadn’t come to Ethan, either. Ethan had coaxed him into a shed with a trail of ham pieces he’d bought at a farmhouse, then he’d trapped him in the corner and flung his coat over him. The cat had put up a mighty struggle, but Ethan had prevailed, at the cost of his hands, a half-shredded shirt, a ruined waistcoat, and a stained coat.
“Oh, I have a way with animals,” Ethan said modestly. It wasn’t a lie, he thought. He did have a way with most animals—just not fiends from hell.
They sat there for a while, in silence, her crooning over the cat and him watching, bemused. She was such a lady, so small and neat and finicky-looking. He could understand her owning a cat, yes—a small, fluffy creature, with dainty ways and neat habits. But this overgrown, ugly, scarred old bruiser, now that was a mystery.
After a while he realized she’d gone quiet. Too quiet. He couldn’t see her face; it was hidden by the cat. He ducked his head forward and snatched a look. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
He wanted to say something comforting, but could think of nothing. A sniffle escaped her. Ethan pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She put the cat down and took the handkerchief with a muffled thanks. She mopped her cheeks with it then blew into it with a fierce feminine blast. The cat sat kneading her thighs with paws and claws.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “You saved Kitty-cat and he’s the most important thing in the world to me. I know I’m lucky and I’m trying to be stoic. That’s why I came out here. I don’t want Callie to see me like this. She blames herself, I know.”
“She didn’t set fire to the cottage.”
“I know. But she knows who it was and…She takes the weight of the world on her shoulders, that girl. She always did take everything to heart. It’s her strength, but also her weakness.”
“Seems to me you’re takin’ a deal on your shoulders, yourself. It’s not her you should be worryin’ about. You’re the one who’s lost everything.”
“I haven’t lost everything. I’m just back to where I started after Papa died. Except then I had—had my books.” Her words brought on a fresh battle with choked-back tears.
Her determination not to make a fuss touched him unexpectedly. Feeling out of his depth, Ethan patted her on the shoulder. He was more familiar with the sort of females who made their emotions very clear. Dolores, his last mistress, had thrown things and wept loudly and dramatically. Ethan understood that.
After a few minutes she regained control of herself and blew another fierce blast into the handkerchief. “I’m sorry. It’s the books I mind losing most.”
“Books?” Ethan asked cautiously. She’d lost her home, with all its pretty bits and pieces, so neat and shining and obviously loved, and she was grieving over books?
“Oh yes, my books are—were very precious to me. Some of them belonged to dear Papa. He was a fine scholar, you know, and his books were rare and irreplaceable. And others…some of my books were like friends, they gave me such comfort.”
“Ah,” Ethan made a sympathetic sound. He had no idea what she was talking about. Books like friends? Giving comfort?
The only book that had ever given comfort to Ethan was one he and a couple of others had burned one freezing night in the mountains of Spain. One of the others had found it in a looted house. It was a big book. It had kept them warm for an hour or two.
He didn’t understand, didn’t know what to say to comfort her. Apart from horses, he owned very little, just his clothes and a few bits and pieces. Nothing that couldn’t be tossed in a valise.
He looked out of the salt-covered windows. It was almost dark outside. “Cottages can always be rebuilt,” he said.
“I can’t afford it. I had a small sum of money put by, but only enough to eke out a frugal living, supplemented by my chickens and my garden. The cottage was my sole asset. It was what allowed me to be independent, that and the small amount of income I earn from giving music lessons.”
“So what will you do?”
She sighed. “I suppose I will have to go back to being a governess.”
“Did you not like that, ma’am?”
She didn’t answer. She picked up the cat again and buried her face in its fur.
Ethan knew what her silences meant now. He patted her on the shoulder again. She felt like a brittle little bird under his great clumsy paw.
The cat gave him a baleful look. Ethan sneezed.
After supper Callie kissed Nicky good night and came downstairs. What a day it had been. According to Nicky, it had been the best day of his life.
She had no doubt that for Tibby it was the worst.
She joined the others in the drawing room. Tibby was sitting by the fire, her cat in her lap, talking to Gabriel. Mr. Delaney was seated at a nearby table playing a solo card game.
“I’ve been explaining to Mr. Renfrew and Mr. Delaney that I have decided to return to my former profession as a governess,” Tibby said. “If you don’t mind, Callie, I have asked Mr. Renfrew if I could come with you to London. I will need to purchase some new clothes and London would be the best place to secure myself a post.”
“There is no need to look for a post,” Callie said instantly. “I will employ you as Nicky’s governess.”
Tibby shook her head. “No, my dear. It’s very kind of you, but I am not nearly well educated enough for Nicky’s needs. I am well enough schooled in female accomplishments, and I have a little mathematics but as for Greek, Latin, and the rest, no.”
“Then I shall employ you as my companion.”
Tibby gave her a straight look and said in a firm voice, “Princess Caroline, you are not responsible for the destruction of my cottage, and I will not be your pensioner.”
Callie gave her an unhappy look. She was responsible for the burning of the cottage. If she hadn’t fled to Tibby, it wouldn’t have happened. But Tibby had her pride.
Gabriel leaned forward. “Would you consent to employment with me, Miss Tibthorpe?”
Tibby frowned. “In what capacity?”
“As a governess. I need someone to teach young Jim to read and write.”
“What?” Ethan Delaney exclaimed. Gabriel gave him a cool look, and he returned to his card playing.
“It seems most unlikely that Jim’s father will return, and as Mrs. Barrow is hell-bent on importing the imp to my house, I have no choice but to educate him.”
Callie was delighted with the solution, but also puzzled, and more than a little wary. To take in an orphaned fisher boy and pay someone to educate him was highly irregular.
Tibby frowned, no doubt having the sort of doubts Callie was. But she was homeless and in need of an income. And while she would not take charity from her old pupil, it would be foolish to turn down a legitimate offer of employment.
“If you are sure, Mr. Renfrew, then of course I accept your offer, gratefully. I will instruct Jim until he reaches a standard sufficient to take his place in the village school along with boys of his own age. After that, I could not possibly trespass on your generosity any further.”
“I thought this might be an appropr
iate remuneration.” He handed her a slip of paper on which a figure was written.
Tibby glanced at it and flushed. “It’s far too generous,” she said lamely.
“Nonsense, that boy will be a handful, I’m sure. Sharp as a knife, but rough around the edges. He’s run wild all his life, I’d say.”
Tibby smiled. “Oh, I don’t mind that. I like Jim and his rough edges. He has a bold and curious spirit. For the time being, I’ll instruct the two boys together. Coming from such very different backgrounds, there is much they can learn from each other.”
Ethan looked up from his cards. “What would a crown prince have to learn from a lad like Jim, a lad who can’t even write his own name?”
Tibby turned to him and said composedly, “Just because Jim’s never had the opportunity to learn does not mean that he isn’t an intelligent and valuable human being, Mr. Delaney. With a little education, who knows what Jim could make of his life? People may be born into poverty and ignorance, but they do not have to remain so.” She folded the sewing she was doing and put it aside. “Perhaps I picked up a few radical notions from my father, but I believe people can learn much from walking in another’s shoes.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Besides,” Tibby went on. “I expect most of Nicky’s learning will have come from books. Jim, on the other hand, though wholly untutored, has a vast store of knowledge of the natural world. And excels in the practical application of it.”
“Miss Tibthorpe, it’s a shame you never met my great-aunt Gert,” Gabriel said. “I believe you would have had a great deal in common.” He nodded toward the painting of the severe-looking woman.
Tibby suddenly frowned as if she’d just thought of something. “How can I teach Nicky with Jim when you are taking him up to London tomorrow?”
Gabriel looked surprised. “You will come with us, of course. You said you needed to do some shopping.”
“Yes, I suppose so…but what about Jim?”
“He will come, too. I expect he would love a trip to London. And Nicky will have a companion for the long journey.”