Lord Whitsnow and the Seven Orphans

by Em Taylor

  “Really boys. This is not a competition to see who can urinate over the wall.” They both turned raised eyebrows at Miss Butterworth. “What? I am raising six boys and a girl. You do not think I know the games they play; how competitive they are and that they compete to see who can urinate the highest when no one is looking? I am not a complete imbecile.”

  “And yet you have put yourself in a position where you may very well have to live with Whitsnow for the rest of your earthly life… and who knows, possibly for eternity. Would you like to revisit your last statement, ma’am?” drawled Beattie before lifting his teacup. But he spilled half of it and yelped when his wife stood, rounded the back of the chaise and tweaked his ear.

  “That is unkind, Gideon. I thought better of you.”

  “That hurt. I thought you loved me.”

  “I do. And it is my duty as your wife to make you a better and kinder person.”

  “I am kind, my darling. At least to you. Do you not remember this morning?”

  “Gideon!” Her voice was full of false censure and Robert was sure he was about to cast up his accounts on the beautiful Persian rug.

  “I apologise for my kin, Miss Butterworth. We did try to bring Emily up to be a lady, but she was inept and then she married Beattie, and all was lost.”

  Lucy chuckled, and it slightly alleviated the red tinge to her cheeks. Clearly Beattie’s words bothered her, and he felt a bit of an ass for the position in which he’d placed her. Though she could easily have refused to come and stay at the manor. And she still seemed very against the idea of marriage.

  He was brought out of his reverie by a knock on the door. It was Miss Davis holding Henry by the jacket at arm’s length.

  “Come in Miss Davis,” Robert said, keen to show that they did indeed have a chaperone.

  “No, no, um, I think Miss Butterworth should come and see this. We, uh, we have a situation.”

  “A situation?” asked Lucy getting to her feet. “What kind of situation?”

  “Henry may be unwell.”

  “Bring him in,” said Emily.

  “He may be infectious.”

  “What do you think he has?” asked Lucy, When Miss Davis moved the boy slightly into the light of the room and out of the shadows of the large hallway, it was obvious. The rash on his face and neck looked like measles to Robert. He and Emily had been ill one summer with it. A mild case which had lasted only three or four days.

  “Oh yes, that does look like the measles. I had it when… uh… about six years ago.”

  “You should stay away Lady Beattie. What if it is something you haven’t had. Ladies in your condition can never be too careful.”

  “Nonsense. This looks just like what I had when I was a child. I shall be fine.” She felt the child’s forehead.” He has a fever. He needs to be in bed with cool damp cloths on his head. We must check the other children.

  Lucy, Susan and Emily disappeared, and Beattie and Robert looked at each other.

  “Are you sure that is what you and Emily had as children? I don’t want Emily getting ill,” said Beattie, his brow furrowed.

  “It looks the same to me. My cousin caught it a few years later during the summer and I recall his symptoms too.”

  “Good. I shall hold you personally responsible if Emily becomes ill.”

  Beattie’s eyes were dark and threatening.

  “I should call you out for that. She’s my sister and I would never allow harm to come to her.”

  “You bullied her all her life.”

  “I teased her. I did not know she took it personally and she never mentioned it until you turned up here with her in tow, ready to marry her. She’s my only family. I would never willingly or knowingly hurt her. I love her.”

  “Not as much as I do.”

  He raised an eyebrow at Beattie.

  “I love her in a different way, but I’ve loved her since I looked over the edge of the crib at her little wrinkled red face. I may have teased her, but remember I was willing to kill you in defence of her honour. Never doubt that I love her as much as you do.”

  “I would not just kill for her. I would die for her.”

  “As would I.”

  Beattie narrowed his gaze on Robert, seemed to read the truth in this statement and nodded.

  “And Miss Butterworth?”

  Robert stilled.

  “What about her?”

  “Would you kill for her?”

  “I barely know her.”

  “You did not answer the question.”

  “I do not intend to either.”

  Beattie’s smile was smug, and Robert wanted to wipe it off his face, with a fist. Instead he straightened his own cuff and found some lint on his coat that had to be removed, urgently.

  “You are enamoured of the lady.”

  “I wish to marry her. That is all. I do not believe in all this love-match nonsense. She is well-bred, pretty, sturdy for child-rearing and has good manners. It is all I require.”

  “Pretty. She is that.”

  “You are already married. To my sister.”

  “My dear fellow, one does not have to purchase the boots in the shop window to admire the workmanship.”

  Robert was beginning to feel a red haze descending in front of his vision

  “The lady is not a pair of damned boots.”

  “I see your feelings for her have addled your ability to understand metaphors.”

  “That was an insult, not a metaphor.”

  “Good God, it was a metaphor, man. I have no sexual interest in Miss Butterworth. I love your sister to distraction. I am addle-pated over Emily.”

  “Well, thank heavens for that. I should hate to have to slap a glove in Miss Butterworth’s face and challenge her to pistols at dawn,” came a voice from the doorway. They both looked up to see a grinning Emily. “Are we discussing Robert’s tendre for Lucy? She is lovely and definitely the right kind of woman for him. She shall not be brow-beaten by the brute.”

  “I am not a brute,” protested Robert, frowning and looking for more lint on his coat and sadly finding none.

  Emily made a face that suggested she was less convinced by his statement than he. “You can be. You can be moody and dour and just a little… oh how to put it.”

  “Charming?” he suggested.

  Emily burst out laughing. “I was thinking boorish.”

  “I shall have you know I am much sought-after at balls and festivities when I visit London.”

  “Because you’re titled, rich as Croesus and you have all your teeth. Not to mention you are less than ninety years old. That makes you quite a catch for the mamas of the ton.”

  He sighed. “Thank you, sister dear. You do know how to wound a fellow.”

  “I am not saying you do not have your good qualities, Robert.”

  “Name them.”

  She blinked a few times then bit her lip.

  “You are faithful and loyal to a fault.”

  “Never mind.”

  “You are handsome. At least I would presume. Obviously, I would never but…”

  “Please, Emily, stop. We have established I lack good graces and good looks and anything a woman would desire except money and title.”

  “You are handsome.”

  All three turned to the door to see Miss Butterworth, her cheeks aflame standing in the doorway with Miss Davis at her shoulder.

  “There. I can hardly judge my brother now, can I?” said Emily. “Miss Butterworth is a better judge. How is Henry?”

  “He has a slight fever, but he is asking to go out and see the horses, so he must not be too ill. David and Stephen also have symptoms and Eleanor seems a little lethargic. They have all been put to bed.”

  “Let us hope they get well soon.”

  “Perhaps we should go home, love,” said Beattie.

  “No. I am fine. And so is the baby.”

  “Do not molly-coddle her. Emily knows her own abilities. She always has,” growled Robert
. He may sound like a miserable old man around his sister, but he was secretly pleased she was here. She had always been such a cheerful person and her mischief had brought him out of himself. Besides, it gave Miss Butterworth better support against wagging tongues in case he was unable to convince her to marry him. After all, they had only been able to agree he was handsome. That did not bode well. “I care for her.”

  “As do I.”

  “I am in the room, you know,” protested Emily. “Honestly. you are like a pair of magpies.”

  “One for sorrow, two for joy,” intoned Robert.

  “You two bring me no joy at present.”

  “Why were you discussing if Lord Whitsnow was handsome or not?” asked Lucy suddenly.

  “We were trying to decide his good qualities,” explained Emily. “I must say, as his sister, I was rather stuck.”

  “Well, honest, respectful, handsome, funny, interesting, kind, caring…” she blushed then and bit her lip as if whatever she was thinking was really quite inappropriate.

  “We are discussing Robert, are we not? Kind and caring?”

  “You should see him with the children. He was playing cricket with them. And he’s been teaching them to ride.”

  “Robert has? My brother, Robert?” asked Emily, turning big eyes on him.

  “I am not an ogre. I taught you to ride, Em.”

  She considered that. “You did. And you were very patient as I recall.”

  “There is another,” put in Lucy.

  “He can be patient when he wants to be.”

  “I am here, you know.” He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Emily snickered, and Robert glowered at her.

  “You were mostly a nice big brother. You were only mildly beastly, and you will make an excellent father to Miss Butterworth’s children, whether her orphans or her real children,” said Emily getting up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Now, I am going for a rest. This child is making me terribly sleepy.” She stood up from the short hug. “Gideon darling, will you see me to our room.”

  Beattie suddenly looked extremely keen to accompany Emily to their room. Robert did not want to know why. He had a vague notion of the reason why and he really wished to avoid pondering on it too long.

  “I shall check the other children,” said Miss Davis. I left them reading. I shall check in on Henry and the others on my way.”

  “Thank you, Susan,” said Lucy and then she sat next to the tea tray.

  “Would you like some more?”

  He looked down at the untouched beverage in his hand.

  “I despise tea. I prefer coffee.”

  She studied him. “A member of the much-vaunted ton who does not like tea. Does the Prince Regent know about this?”

  “I doubt Prinny would give a damn. He prefers champagne and brandy.”

  “Really? Have you met him?”

  “Of course.”

  “You speak of meeting our future king as if it were nothing, My Lord.”

  “He is just a man. One with much wealth and privilege and a lot of responsibility but he is very much a flawed human being. Do not elevate him to god-like status. The Roman tried that with their emperors.”

  “I do not. I just… We come from such different worlds.”

  “We both hail from Cumberland. We both bend down against the wind and rain and breathe a sigh of relief when we see the first snowdrops of spring. We both know it is a very long way to London.”

  “We both know society shall think me presumptuous to try and land an earl, even if I were willing to marry you—which I am not.”

  “We both know you want to, but something is holding you back. Just as we both know that you want me to kiss you.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Now you are being very presumptuous, My Lord.”

  “Tell me that I lie. Tell me it is a falsehood.” He licked his lips and her gaze followed his tongue. Robert smiled, pleased that he had piqued her interest. He would kiss her soon and she would kiss him back, very willingly. But for now, he stood and bowed, placing his cup back on the tea tray.

  “Please keep me abreast of the situation with regards to the children and their illness. I have estate work that must be done.”

  He adjusted the tails of his jacket and left aware of her gaze burning a hole in his back. She was definitely affected by him. He would wager she was every bit as affected by him as he was by her. As he tugged at the waist of his breeches, they did not show just how much she affected him, he reckoned that Lucy was the lucky one, in this scenario at least. If she was aroused, at least it did not show.

  For all women got a very raw deal in life, in this one aspect, they were lucky indeed, he thought, considering his hard, unsatisfied prick, knowing whatever happened, it would be quite sometime before he found real relief.

  Chapter 11

  The boys were sleeping, their skins white with lotion to help with the itching having convinced themselves they had scurvy from being pirates on the high seas. A wooden sword lay at Henry’s side and the boy lay with the neck of his nightshirt open and his hair swept back off his face. Eleanor was on her lap, her eyes drooping as Lucy sang yet another song from her repertoire. She had just got to the bit of the song where the heroine and hero fell in love and decide to marry when she became aware of a large presence in the doorway. She looked up into dark-brown, amused eyes.

  “Why do you laugh?” she asked, fear of waking her crotchety, ill charge preventing her from reacting the way she wished.

  “I do not understand why you would sing to a deaf child. That is all.”

  “She is still soothed by it. I know not why. Only when she is in contact with my body. She must feel the vibrations in my body. She has not become upset with me speaking instead of singing so perhaps I could just speak but I like singing. And I like to think singing works better than speaking.

  “You seem to care a lot about her.”

  “Of course I do.” She bristled. What was he implying? “I care about all the children under my care.”

  “Yes, well, I know. Please, I am not suggesting anything, Lucy. It was merely an observation. Many people do not have such care for children who are not their own kith and kin.”

  Lucy held back a grimace. Guilt ate at her whenever anyone said such a thing. She should care for every child under her charge equally but of course, because of circumstances and because of her deafness, she loved Eleanor in a very special way that she could never reveal to anyone.

  “I do my best for all the children.”

  “I can see,” he said, surveying the sleeping children. “Where are the rest?”

  “We split them up between those who are ill and those who are well. It was your sister’s idea.”

  “That seems sensible. I do hope she has made a sensible decision with regards to her own health.”

  “I am sure she has. Lord Beattie would not allow her to take a foolish chance either.”

  “I hope not but one never knows.”

  “She had already been subjected to it by the time we discovered the problem.”

  “That is true.”

  “I think this little darling is asleep.” She started to struggle off the bed but Lord Whitsnow moved forward and plucked Eleanor from her arms. Cradling the child in one arm, he offered her his hand to help her up. He must be very strong. Eleanor was getting very heavy. The girl was no longer her baby.

  Lucy shook the thought away. She should not get so attached to the children, especially Eleanor. It was dangerous. Once she was on her feet, Lord Whitsnow laid Eleanor on the bed and Lucy covered her, swiping hair away from her eyes before pressing a kiss to her warm red cheek.

  “There is something special about her though, is there not?” he persisted, taking her upper arms in his large strong hands. It was as if his strength poured from him straight into her. For too long she had carried all her burdens alone. Her aunt’s flagging health had left her to raise the children in the last two years and she had so of
ten wanted another adult to confide in.

  Too many nights she had sat watching the last of the embers of the fire burn and wondered how life would have been if Eddie had come back from the war hale and hearty. But ifs and maybes were fruitless. And she’d made her bed and as a result, she now could not marry this kind, handsome, if sometimes brutish man, who was slipping his arms around her waist.

  She glided out of the embrace, out of the door of the nursery and down the steps. There was now a nursemaid installed in the manor house who would listen out for the children. But Lucy had insisted on getting the children to sleep.

  Dinner was a noisy and fun affair and the ladies chatted non-stop once they withdrew to the drawing room. Emily described all the gossip from town, especially the amazing story of the then Earl of Cindermaine being found to be his father’s servant, pretending to be his half-brother at said half-brother’s betrothal ball and falling in love with the lady in question. The earl had then married the American heiress days before his father found out. They escaped, his father ran in front of a carriage and horses and died and Cindermaine became a Duke. Lucy’s head was reeling with the story.

  “It beggars belief,” said Lucy.

  “You are not trying to explain the Duke of Hartsmere’s romance, are you, love,” said Beattie walking into the room.”

  “I should like to see you explain it better.”

  Beattie frowned. “Do you know the story of Cinderella?”

  “Yes,” said Lucy.

  “Think of it like that. Except Hartsmere was Cinderella, his brother Cedric was the ugly step sister and Kathleen was the Prince.”

  “Who was the fairy God mother?” asked Emily.

  Beattie sighed. “Well there was no magic, but I suppose, we were all the fairy godmothers. All his friends helped to bring them together.”

  “Oh!” Emily blinked, her eyes shining with tears. “Oh Gideon, that is so wonderful.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “You really are so romantic.”

  “Good God,” muttered Lord Whitsnow, curling his upper lip. Lucy glared at him. It was a lovely sentiment. Did the man have no soul? Was he completely bereft of any romance? “Had the former Duke not been run over by a coach and six, the damned man should have been horse-whipped for how he treated his son. I never liked him anyway. Pompous ass and always flaunting his mistress around town. No manners at all.”