Willowswood Match

by Gayle Buck

  Stopping short beneath a tree, Lord Townsend swore. But he had known what he was doing. That was the damnable part. The challenging sparkle in Miranda’s dark blue eyes, her straightforward manners, the simple beauty of her glistening chestnut hair when it was struck by the sun…all had grown on him until he had thoughts of little else. When she had come to him, her eyes so full of feeling and compassion, he had sensed that she was vulnerable.

  “God, what a fool I am!” he exclaimed, his voice sounding harsh on the soft morning. But even as he cursed himself he knew that he had not touched on the real issue. There had grown to be something special shared between himself and Miranda that he had not known for a long, long time with a woman. It was a quality new and tender, and horribly subject to destruction if it was not protected and nurtured. It was this fragile thread that he feared was broken. Yet even as he acknowledged the emotion for what it was, he thrust aside the knowledge. The thought of loving a woman in that way seemed perilous to him.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Anne was informed of the contents of the viscount’s letter that morning. Miranda found that she was forced to put aside all thought of her own concerns for her cousin’s sake. Anne was at once grief-stricken and disbelieving of the validity of the news. “There must be some mistake,” she kept saying, before bursting into a fresh stream of tears. Her hands shook as if with palsy. By luncheon time she was white and listless and would not eat. She turned her face away when Miranda tried to talk with her. All the good progress she had made by resting and harboring her strength seemed to waste away with astonishing speed. By the end of the week, Anne was a shadow of her former self. She wanted nothing but to be allowed to stare out her bedroom window at the knot garden below.

  Alarmed, Miranda summoned the doctor. He was shocked by Anne’s condition. When they had left the bedroom, he asked sharply, “What has occurred, Miss Wainwright? It cannot be the boy, when he is recovering so nicely.”

  “Lord Townsend received a letter from a friend stating that Captain Townsend has been killed. His lordship thought it would be better to break the news to my cousin gently rather than wait, on the chance of her reading it in the Gazette with no warning,” said Miranda.

  The physician’s eyes blazed. “Could it not have waited a few weeks, Miss Wainwright? Mrs. Townsend is of a frail constitution just now. Her worry over her son had already exhausted her. Now you can see what the shock has done!”

  Miranda stood mute before the doctor’s tirade.

  Suddenly she was crying. Her nerves had withstood so much in the last several weeks—she could not endure any more. Blindly, she turned to flee back up the stairs. She was caught by strong arms and instinctively she turned into them. Over her head the viscount’s voice was furious. “Enough, sir! I will not have Miss Wainwright so abused. It was my decision to inform my sister-in-law of the probability of my brother’s death. The responsibility lies solely with me.”

  The doctor bowed stiffly. “Very well, my lord! My apologies to Miss Wainwright. I shall return in a few days to see to my patients. Good day.” He swung around and left the house. Crumpet closed the door after him and turned his appalled gaze back to Miss Wainwright, who was sobbing as though she were a baby. It shocked him that the cool imperturbability he had come to associate with Miss Wainwright had been broken.

  Lord Townsend held Miranda close and murmured incoherent words to her. His sharp features were unusually softened. He became aware of scrutiny on him and raised his eyes to see Constance standing on the stairs. He nodded to the maid, who came down at once. “Constance, pray see to your mistress. She has had a trying time,’ he said quietly.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Constance. She put her arm around Miranda and drew her up the stairs.

  Lord Townsend stood below, his expression brooding as he watched Miranda ascend. Then he turned on his heel, his riding boots rapping hard on the marble tiles as he left the hall.

  The only person Anne was interested in seeing was her son and Robert could hardly stand to be around his mother. Even though Anne tried to hide her grief when Robert was with her, he was intelligent enough to sense it and question her about why she was so sad. His solicitation nearly set Anne off again and it was all she could do to underplay her emotions. “I am a little anxious about Papa is all,” she said, trying to smile. “But I will get over it.”

  Still weakened from his ordeal, Robert emerged on his crutches from his mother’s chambers both troubled and frightened. He knew that something was terribly wrong but no one had told him what it was. Strangely enough, no one considered Robert’s fine perceptions. Anne had been thought to be strong enough to handle the news of her husband’s probable death, but she and the viscount had agreed that until confirmation came it would be best to shelter Robert from the interim suspense.

  But Robert noticed the long faces of Constance and his mother’s maid. He knew that the Crumpets and the housekeeper abruptly stopped whispering whenever he came upon them unexpectedly. He tried to pump his stable friends, but the grooms would only shake their heads. When even the hardened gardener vouchsafed him a gruff word of friendliness, Robert’s sense of dread was complete. His nightmares worsened and the persistent sense of aloneness overwhelmed him in its intensity.

  Robert fled his loneliness the only way he knew how. He insisted upon spending considerable time with Miranda as she went about the house and garden. He seemed to appreciate that she spoke to him calmly and as though he was an adult. When he was not with Miranda, Robert shadowed his uncle, who had begun to set in motion the refurbishment of the estate and was in the process of hiring a new bailiff. Robert spent hours sitting quietly in the study while Lord Townsend interviewed various applicants or explained to him the intricacies of keeping up an estate like Willowswood.

  Over the long days Lord Townsend thoughtfully studied his nephew. The boy was hollow-eyed and obviously bored to death by his forced inactivity. He would not otherwise dog a dull uncle’s heels so attentively, thought Lord Townsend. It was certainly an appropriate time to begin Robert’s formal education. The viscount posted a reminder to his London solicitor that he had requested screenings of possible tutors. He hoped that a youngish scholar would be found who could understand a seven-year-old boy’s exuberance and restlessness and yet could curb his wilder tendencies.

  As for Lord Townsend’s own grief over his brother’s probable death, he never again revealed his feelings in quite so naked a fashion as he had with Miranda. With Anne he felt obligated to place himself in the position of the proverbial shoulder to lean on. The stress was evident in his drawn mouth, however. His expression was grimmer, his eyes bleaker.

  Miranda was unhappy that her lively exchanges with Lord Townsend seemed to be at a permanent end. The friendly intimacy that had grown up between them seemed to have died with the passion they had shared. It was partly her own fault. After the disastrous encounter in the breakfast room she had been at pains to erect a barrier between herself and Lord Townsend, but as time passed she discovered that the distance was painful. The viscount’s obvious withdrawal into himself over his brother only added to the situation. Miranda was glad, however, to see that Lord Townsend did not show the same coldness of spirit toward Robert. The boy reminded her so much of a forlorn waif, drifting hither and thither with a perpetual anxiety deep in the depths of his blue eyes. Robert obviously needed attention and though she and Constance did their best with him, and his mother gave him as much as she seemed able to, Robert still needed something more. He apparently had that need satisfied through the viscount.

  The only time that the viscount relaxed into a warmer attitude was when he was with his nephew. He recognized that the boy needed attention and he was conscientious in giving of himself and his time. He made a point of going up every evening to visit with Robert at bedtime. The boy appeared unnaturally grateful to him for the treat and was always reluctant to let him go.

  One evening the viscount discovered Robert curled tens
ely on the window seat, staring out at the darkened sky. Robert did not look around at his uncle’s greeting. Abruptly he said, “Papa is dead, isn’t he?”

  For several seconds Lord Townsend stood silent. He said slowly, quietly, “Yes, Robert, I believe that he is.”

  The boy’s shoulders slumped and his body visibly relaxed. He sighed deeply. When he turned his head there were tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Uncle Andrew,” he said simply.

  With a flash Lord Townsend understood his nephew’s sudden bewildering dependence. Anne and he had done the boy a gross disservice. Robert had sensed his father’s death all along and he had suffered from their misguided attempt to protect him. “Oh my God,” murmured Lord Townsend. He gathered his nephew up against him. The boy’s thin arms wound tight around his neck.

  Robert’s voice came muffled from against Lord Townsend’s shoulder. “I knew Papa wasn’t coming back. I knew it when I fell out of the tree. But no one would tell me! Everyone acted as though everything was all right.” There was grief and rage in the boy’s voice. He started to cry in great gulping sobs.

  Lord Townsend tightened his arms about him and smoothed his unruly hair. “Forgive me, Robert,” he said, his voice roughened.

  It was a long time before the viscount emerged from the nursery.

  * * * *

  Though he felt in his heart that his friend’s information was correct, the viscount did not accept the letter without making inquiries of his own with friends in positions who might be expected to be able to verify the harsh truth. A few weeks later the official notice of Captain Richard Townsend’s death was printed in the London Gazette.

  When the lists came out, Miranda thought that the viscount showed exquisite consideration for Robert’s feelings and her own sense of love and loss swelled with this fresh evidence of his lordship’s true inner character. She shed tears in the privacy of her bedroom and began to appear a bit thinner and paler than before, but no one except Constance had the wit or inclination to notice.

  Though Constance would never dream of betraying her mistress’s confidence, she frowned and now and again tried to influence Miranda not to exert herself so much in the running of Willowswood. But someone had to respond to the condolence calls and the cards that began to be received and Anne was totally unequal to the task. She rarely left her bedroom and on the few occasions that she did so, it was only at Robert’s pleading. At times the duties seemed overwhelming and Miranda felt incredible anger toward her cousin. But she had only to look at Anne’s wan, saddened face to feel ashamed of her uncharitable thoughts. Anne had lost her husband. It would take time to heal the wound.

  Miranda received the morning’s letter from Jeremy and her low spirits immediately lightened. She was delighted to learn that the fight to regain possession of the Larabelle and its cargo was all but won. Edward Billingsley was pushing forward the inquiry into the fate of the missing American sailors, and he seemed confident that the men would shortly be reunited with their countrymen. Jeremy, obviously satisfied with how events were transpiring, promised to join her at Willowswood very soon. Staring at the words, Miranda had mixed feelings. She wanted so much to be reunited with her brother, but Jeremy knew her too well. She would not be able to disguise her unhappiness from him. She doubted that he would accept that Richard’s death and the responsibilities of Willowswood were solely to blame for her emotional state. Jeremy’s inevitable questions would eventually unearth her feelings for Viscount Wythe.

  Miranda was not given much time for reflection on this new dilemma. At Lord Townsend’s insistence, she began interviewing possible household servants. “I can screen these individuals but as for discerning their true worth, I must give that over to someone who is familiar with the running of a household,” said Lord Townsend.

  “And Anne is far too preoccupied to turn her mind to it,” said Miranda with a tired nod.

  Lord Townsend gave her a sharp glance. Not for the first time he saw that the fragile skin under her eyes appeared bruised and she had grown thin. It did not surprise him when he recalled how she had been the tower of strength for all of them for several weeks. His voice softening, he said, “It is not proper that the burden of Willowswood should fall to you, Miss Wainwright. But I would count it a true service to the family if you would take on the hiring of the household staff.”

  Tears pricked at Miranda’s eyes. She bent her head, ostensibly to better arrange the violets that she had brought into the study. He had spoken so gently and with such consideration. Though he had never been other than courteous and polite to her, there had been a distantness in his manner since the morning that she had rejected his attempt to talk about what had passed between them. She had prayed that he would never again refer to the shattering encounter. He had not, and she had been at once relieved and distressed. She was unable to rid herself of the notion that Lord Townsend, if he thought about that night at all, considered it but a mistake easily dismissed and forgotten. Somehow she would have preferred that he had been as shaken by the experience as she was herself.

  “Of course, my lord. I would be happy to take on the task. I hope the candidates we have shall have better sense and a stronger loyalty than those first hired by Richard and Anne,” said Miranda.

  “We shall have little trouble there, I think. Already as I have talked with those who aspire to the outer posts of the estate, I have gathered the impression that the villagers are more than eager to make amends for deserting Willowswood,” said Lord Townsend. He turned back to the papers on the desk with a sigh and Miranda thought that she was once more forgotten.

  All in all, Miranda saw far less of Lord Townsend in those hard weeks than she had at any other time since their separate arrivals at Willowswood. The viscount spent his time with estate business and with his nephew. He also seemed to relish more the game hunting that was to be had at the squire’s place and Stonehollow. Once he politely asked Miranda if she would like to participate in the fox hunts, but she declined the treat. It was not a sport that she particularly enjoyed at any time, let alone when her spirits seemed to have sunk to a permanent low. That same week in church she overheard Miss Burton wax enthusiastic over the hunting that season and the viscount’s prowess on the field. With a twinge of jealousy, Miranda rather thought that Lord Townsend was not missing feminine company in the least if the beauty’s possessive glances and frothy laughter were anything to judge by.

  On an evening when Anne felt well enough to stay downstairs after dinner, Lord Townsend mentioned that his brother’s death had given him much sober thought. “I now realize how frivolous my life has been up to this point. Richard had an adequate independence which was enhanced by his inheriting of Willowswood, but still he chose to enter the army because he believed in what England is fighting for. I myself have done nothing but pursue my own pleasures and establish a tenuous friendship with the Prince Regent. I suddenly find that inadequate for myself,” said Lord Townsend. He stood at the fireplace, one boot resting on the grate and his arm on the mantel as he stared into the fire. He looked up at his sister-in-law and Miranda who were seated on a settee nearby. “I have been thinking of joining the army myself.”

  Miranda pulled in her breath sharply. Her heart suddenly constricted and her expression reflected disbelief. But it was her cousin’s reaction that drew Lord Townsend’s eyes. “Andrew! But you cannot!” exclaimed Anne, exhibiting more spirit than she had in some time.

  “I do not have a purpose in my life, Anne. The months that I have spent bringing Willowswood around, I have had opportunity to reflect on it more than ever before in my life. I find that I can no longer live as I have done these past several years,” said Lord Townsend.

  Anne’s face flushed. It was forcibly borne in on her that she could not rely on Lord Townsend, or Miranda, to remain at Willowswood forever. There would inevitably come a time when their lives must diverge from hers, and she must have the strength to carry on without them. But she did not want that time to come so soon.
She still needed their support. “Then think of this, Andrew. My son is fatherless. He desperately needs someone who can in some ways replace his father, to guide him and act as his trusted confidante. The new tutor can hardly be expected to fill that role. I know of no one else who can so well accomplish that than his beloved uncle. Is that not purpose enough? Or is it more important for you to follow some quixotic notion of avenging Richard’s death and possibly withholding from my son the support he needs by being killed yourself?”

  There was a moment of silence while Lord Townsend studied his sister-in-law’s face. Miranda held her breath, her eyes never straying from his stern expression. Finally the viscount shook his head. “You have asked me a difficult question, Anne. My first instinct is to deny that I seek to avenge Richard’s death. But I am compelled to admit that it is unpleasantly close to the truth. As for my nephew, you know my affection for him. I would do nothing to deliberately harm him, but—”

  “Then you will not enter the army, Andrew,” said Anne with finality. “Robert knows that his papa went away to the army and he is not coming back. It would devastate him to wonder if you also would not be returning to him.”

  “You are dramatizing, Anne,” said Lord Townsend shortly.

  “Am I, Andrew? You know Robert’s sensitivity and his intelligence. He is a child with a child’s perception of the world. Can you honestly say that the fear of such would not touch him?” asked Anne.

  Lord Townsend straightened with a sigh. He ran one hand over his face. “No, Anne. You are right about Robert. It is precisely what he would conclude.”

  “Then you will not join the army?” asked Anne. There was a pleading note in her voice. “For I, too, need you, Andrew. I am still quite lost without Richard. I do not think I could bear it if you went away also.”

  “I will make no promises, Anne. I will say only that I will give it more consideration,” said Lord Townsend. He became aware of Miranda’s fixed gaze and there was something in her eyes that gave him pause. “Have you thoughts on the matter as well, Miss Wainwright?” he asked quietly.