by Cheryl Bolen
Emma shook her head. "I wish I'd been there. Her mistakes are often humorous." Emma then directed her attention at Mr. Woodruff. "I ask you, Mr. Woodruff, would you look at my cousin's eyes. Are they not the same colour as that dress?"
Spencer's gaze met hers, then lowered to the dress. "They are."
Annabelle was horrified. Emma was obviously playing matchmaker, pointing out Annabelle's best feature. Even more horrifying, Mr. Woodruff failed to praise said best feature. Men always remarked on the beauty of her eyes.
The first hand was played in a stifling silence. Luckily, she had a strong trump, so she and Spencer won. That bit of good fortune calmed her. She was powerless to keep from smiling at her handsome partner.When he smiled back, her heartbeat roared again. "Well done, Miss Lippincott."
She felt as if she had sprouted wings.By the time the next hand was dealt, she was playing with her old confidence. The others at the table were less stiff now, too. "You know, Mr. Woodruff, I am being most charitable to allow you to partner with Annabelle when I truly wanted her for my own partner," Emma said.
He eyed Annabelle. "I am most fortunate, indeed."
Now Annabelle was finally able to summon her voice. "It is I who is the fortunate one." There. That should make Adam happy. His houseguest was no longer being rude to his favored employee.
Spencer was now the one to avert his gaze. When his head bent, a lock of his rich copper-coloured hair spilled onto his forehead like a comma. She fought the urge to press her fingers to it. More than that, she tried to suppress the memory of being drawn into his embrace and feeling his lips on hers. She had thought that moment she'd first found herself in his arms the single most happy moment of her existence. Being with Spencer had made her feel complete. She had thought he was her past and future all in one desirable man she'd been foolish enough to believe in love with her.
"Mr. Woodruff," Emma said, "it sounds as if you're terribly attached to your sister's children."
His face brightened. "I am very much. This is the first time I've not spent Christmas with Lizzie and Hugh."
"How old are they?" Annabelle asked.
"Lizzie's seven--exactly one year older than her brother."
It wounded Annabelle to realize that had he not betrayed her, he and she could have children of their own now, children older than his niece and nephew. "Are you an indulgent uncle?" she asked, all the while wondering what kind of father he would have been. Had he not jilted her.
His eyes met hers. "As I will never have children of my own, I give them a great deal: love, time, and many special treats."
She sighed. "They are most fortunate."
"You heard Lady Fiona saying she and Emmie are putting together baskets for the cottagers," Emma said. "Would it not be fun if we could assist?"
Spencer nodded. "Nothing's more satisfying than helping unfortunate children."
"I agree," Adam said. "Lady Fiona's making dolls for the little girls. What can we do that lads would favor?"
A privileged, wealthy lady such as Lady Fiona was making dolls? Emma had been right in her assessment of the kindliness of her titled sisters-in-law."My six-year-old nephew is exceedingly fond of the toy sword I made him out of scrap wood," Spencer said.
Adam tossed down his card. "A capital idea! We could make them in different sizes for lads of different sizes."
Emma was happily nodding. "And Annabelle and I could sand and polish them so the boys wouldn't hurt their hands on splinters."
"I should be happy to do so," Annabelle said, "though someone will have to show me how."
"My cousin has led a most idle life." Emma's eyes met hers, and she shrugged.
Annabelle eyed Emma good naturedly. "I cannot deny that I've always been pampered. I suppose it's normal when one's an only child."
Emma nodded. "An only child in a wealthy family."
"There is that." Annabelle could not meet Spencer's gaze. She was embarrassed over her wealth when Spencer had to work hard for everything he ever got. "All the more reason I want to assist in making swords for children less fortunate than I was." "Nick's planned sleigh rides for tomorrow, provided that the snow stays," Adam said. "We can get started on the swords afterward."
Emma nodded. "That's when Lady Fiona and Emmie will be working on their baskets. Won't this be fun!"
During the next hand, Emma chastised her husband. "I declare, dearest, you're not playing with your usual competitive zeal. I do hope you're not just trying to be charitable to Annabelle."
Adam looked at his wife. "Forgive me. Actually, I'm concerned about Verity. And Mama, too. They should have been here by now. I cannot help but to be worried. Since you'd never seen her before you wouldn't have noticed, but I thought Verity looked ill when we saw her during Nick's electioneering."
"I thought she was lovely," Emma said.Spencer nodded. "She's a beautiful version of Nick and Adam."
Annabelle was eager to see this Birmingham sister."And you must own, dearest," Emma said, "that Agar didn't seem to be worried about her, and it's massively obvious that he adores her."
"It's difficult to articulate, but she looked like only a shadow of her pre-breeding self," Adam said.
Emma patted his hand. "I'm so fortunate to have such a caring husband, but I beg that you not worry so much about Verity. If she'd been unwell, Lord Agar would never have allowed her to come see us when we went to Yorkshire."
Adam still looked gloomy. "I hope you're right."
"Chin up, old fellow," Spencer said. "I can take no satisfaction from beating one with diminished capabilities."
"Who said you're going to beat me?" Adam flashed him a crooked smile.
Adam did concentrate more the next hand and beat them, but Annabelle and Spencer came back to win the next round with strong hands.
Later, as she lay in her bed, snow softly falling outside her window and a wood fire crackling in her bedchamber's hearth, Spencer Woodruff dominated Annabelle's thoughts. How it had hurt her when he'd said he would never have children. That had been his decision. Had he not treated her so cruelly, had he followed through with his commitment to her, he and she could have had children of their own by now.
What a pity, especially since he so obviously loved children.
It was even a greater pity that no matter how much he had hurt her, she was still in love with him. One part of her wished she had never come, never put herself through this torture of being so near him, yet another part of her longed for every moment in his presence.
* * *
At breakfast, he tried not to look at her. He kept reminding himself that he hated this woman. Yet her uncommon feminism lured him like a siren. How fetching she looked this morning in emerald green velvet. The delicacy of her hands as she buttered her toast brought to mind the many times he had savored the feel of those hands within his.He had once savored every moment he spent with her. Since seeing her last night, long-buried memories surfaced like corks on water, impossible to suppress. When on that long-ago April afternoon she'd indicated that she preferred him over all her other suitors, he'd felt as if his chest had expanded out of his waistcoat. He had been the happiest young man in the kingdom.
How had a penniless man such as he won the heart of a lovely young women from a noble family? The well-dowered Miss Annabelle Lippincott could easily have promised herself to many a man more worthy than him, men of family as well as fortune.No doubt, as soon as she had left London and returned to her mansion, she must have realized what a colossal blunder she had made by thinking of uniting herself to a man without means. He should have expected it, but every second in her presence had told him that they were meant to be together. From the moment they met, they had been drawn to each other as if by the pull of the tides.At breakfast, she had brusquely greeted him. "Good morning, Mr. Woodruff." There had been a time when his Christian name had tumbled almost erotically from her lips, when they were close enough for him to call her his Anna. He still thought of her as Anna.Breakfast was followed by
sleigh rides over the newly fallen snow. The snow had stopped falling at dawn, and the day was crispy cool with blue skies overhead. To Spencer's consternation, Adam and his wife wished to share a sleigh for four with him and Miss Lippincott while Nick, his wife, and their young daughter shared a sleigh with William and Lady Sophia.Spencer would be forced to sit next to the woman who had ruined his chances for happiness. No matter how appealing she was, no matter how much he still desired her, he was determined to be as cruel to her as she'd been to him.He kept telling himself how much he loathed her. He had once been weakened by this woman. But no more.Out of respect for Adam, he would be polite to his wife's cousin while in his presence, but if he ever found himself alone with the she-devil he would wound her in any way he could.
As they stood beside the sleigh, he offered his hand to assist her in climbing in. She removed one gloved hand from her ermine muff, but before their hands touched she lost her footing while attempting to set a foot on the step. Her backside ended up in the snow.
He quickly scooped her up. She was a great deal heavier than she'd been when they'd known each other before. "Are you hurt?"
She looked mortified. "Only my pride. I am so embarrassed."
Emma rushed to her cousin. "Are you sure you weren't injured?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I don't know why I've become so clumsy. The wine last night, and now this."
"What about your dress?" Spencer asked. "Will you need to go back to the house?"
"Mr. Woodruff's speedy response to my awkwardness kept me from getting very wet."
"The rug will help to keep her warm," Adam said.
Once assured that she was unhurt, they all climbed into the carriage. He sat beside her, and Adam handed them a fur rug.It was far too intimate, but he couldn't offend Adam. He spread it over their laps. That intimacy along with her lavender scent affected him like an aphrodisiac. Their driver spurred on a pair of matched bays to bring them abreast of Nick's sleigh. A pretty little girl with ringlets of rich, dark brown hair sat beside Nick on her mother's lap.
"It's difficult to believe Lady Fiona is that lovely child's mother," Miss Lippincott commented. "I know the little girl looks a great deal like her father, but she seems not to have inherited anything from her mother."
Adam's eyes rounded. So did his wife's. They looked at one another--one of those conspiratorial gazes few others can decipher. Spencer knew. He'd known the Birminghams half of his two-and-thirty years.Adam cleared his throat and addressed Miss Lippincott. "It's not something we normally discuss, but since you're family . . . " He faltered.
"What my husband is trying to say is that Lady Fiona is not the child's mother," Emma said, "though the lady adores the child whom she refers to as my daughter."
"I didn't realize Nicholas Birmingham was married before," Miss Lippincott said.
Adam's face was inscrutable. "He wasn't."
Miss Lippincott was silent for a moment. "I see. The lovely little girl is his natural child."
Adam nodded stiffly.
Spencer eyed Adam. "I've always held vast admiration for Nick. He would risk scorn in order to do what's right." It had always rankled Spencer that illegitimate children must pay for their parents' indiscretions."I'm proud of him, too," Adam said. "Fortunately, Society seems to have accepted him, though the only reason he cared to be accepted was for his wife's sake."
Miss Lippincott nodded. "How wonderful that the little girl has a loving family. Sadly, that is rarely the case. What a kindly woman Lady Fiona is."
Spencer had heard others disparage Lady Fiona's acceptance of the child. "What would the lady do when she had children of her own?" they had asked. "Surely the children wouldn't have to be raised with their father's by-blow!" Spencer almost praised Annabelle Lippincott's thinking, but he was resolved not to initiate any kindnesses with her. Not after what she had done to him.
What a dichotomy the woman was! How could one with such compassion have treated him so shabbily?
"Dear little Emmie may be the only child Lady Fiona ever has. It's not my business to speak of it, but she has made no secret of her disappointment that she has failed to conceive." Emma now addressed her husband's most-valued employee. "I only speak of it in front of you, Mr. Woodruff, because you have been so close to the Birminghams for so long, we think of you as one of the family."
"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Birmingham," Spencer said. Even though he was as close to Adam as one to a brother, saying so would indicate an arrogant presumptuousness on his part, and Spencer was averse to adopting such a manner.
As they drove up and down along the slopes of the hilly landscape, Spencer watched Adam and his fairly new bride. Adam's arm around her, she snuggled against him. How good they were for each other. He'd never seen Adam so happy.The former Miss Hastings was nothing like what he'd pictured for Adam's wife. Spencer had always supposed that since Adam was possessed of such handsomeness and wealth, he would do as his brothers had done and marry a beautiful daughter of an earl. Miss Hastings was not as lovely as either Lady Fiona or Lady Sophia, but to Adam, she was the loveliest creature on earth.For quite some time Spencer had believed Adam's wife bereft of family and fortune. Little had he known that Sir Arthur Lippincott was her kinsman. Little had he realized all these months that she was a cousin to the woman who had trampled his heart.It had actually turned out that Miss Hastings--now Mrs. Adam Birmingham--had inherited a not insubstantial fortune from her deceased uncle, but having no need of it, she and Adam were using the money to take care of London orphans.All of the Birminghams were good men. They deserved to be happy, and no one seemed happier than Adam.
Watching Adam and Emma made him melancholy. Were it not for the treachery of the woman beside him, he might have enjoyed such domestic felicity with the woman he loved. All he had now was a huge, gaping void in his life."I talked with Adam's steward, and he's got a workshop set up for us to construct the toy swords--or he will have by one this afternoon," William said.
"I thought perhaps that after Emma and I sand them smooth we might paint them," Annabelle said. "If we set them before a fire, they should dry by Christmas.""That would be jolly good," Adam said.
It was a bloody good idea, but Spencer wasn't about to commend Miss Lippincott."The steward said the workshop has some old containers of paint, but he wouldn't vouch for their usability."
"I expect Verity might have left some of her old oil paints here," Adam offered. "She used to always keep one set at Great Acres, one here, and one in London. She was mad for painting. Now I expect she's got another set at Windmere Abbey."
Emma giggled, but it was without her usual boisterousness. "I doubt she has much time to spend on painting now that she's so consumed with that babe of hers. Do you know, Annabelle, she has even chosen to nurse the babe herself?"
Miss Lippincott's cheeks grew scarlet. Discussing, even roundabout, a woman's breasts was not something normally done with a maiden in front of gentlemen. Even though Spencer thought she had to be seven-and-twenty, she was embarrassed to speak of nursing in front of him and Adam. "How singular," Miss Lippincott finally said.
Emma pressed her gloved hand on her husband's thigh and looked up into his face, smiling spectacularly. "If Adam and I are blessed with a child, I shall nurse it."
Miss Lippincott's cheeks turned even more red.
He found himself wondering if this lady beside him would ever marry. Would she ever have a babe? Would she hold her babe to a bare breast to suckle? The very contemplation of seeing her bare breast aroused him.
Chapter 4
Nick's steward had thoughtfully provided aprons for the four of them--not that it was remotely possible Spencer could persuaded to wear one. A vise was secured to the long work bench facing a window. On the work table were two saws and two men's knives, all freshly sharpened and placed atop a stack of sandpaper. There were also two hammers and several jars of nails in varying sizes.
"Where's the wood?" Spencer asked.
"Remington said they k
eep pieces of scrap wood in old barrels." Adam went to a nearby barrel and nodded. "Here." He began rummaging through it, picking out the most suitable candidates for their project. Some were barely better than kindling wood, but many of the pieces were three or four feet in length. He put those on the table.Spencer joined him. "The smaller pieces at the bottom may be good for the hilts. Here, I'll get some." He set aside a dozen pieces shorter than a foot. "Does Lady Fiona have any idea of how many lads there are and what ages they might be?"
"I forgot to share that with you." Adam turned back to his wife. "Love, have you got that list?"Emma extracted a neatly folded list from her reticule. "There are eighteen lads, and she's written down their approximate ages." Emma placed the list on the work table. "You'll be able to gauge how long each needs to be by the lad's age. Lady Fiona says she doesn't want any boy under four to have one because they're too young. So she's listed the four-year-olds and up to twelve."
Annabelle came closer. "Sad to say the lads of their class are considered men after the age of twelve while those of our class are still being educated at their parents' considerable expense."
Spencer glared at her. She must have known very well his parents had not the money to send him to Westminster, then to Cambridge. "I believe toiling in the field far easier than gaining mastery at Greek."
"Very true," Adam concurred with a chuckle. He then addressed his wife's cousin. "There are lads of our class who are sent to sea at twelve."
"I think it's shameful," Annabelle said. "And I abhor the practice of press gangs."
"You've hit on a topic upon which I agree." Spencer's gaze met hers and held for a few seconds. He looked away first, mad at himself for his physical reaction to her. She had the power to accelerate his heartbeat and deprive him of breath. "While the men get their first sword made," Emma said, "let's see if we can investigate the paint's availability."
"I suppose we'll each make nine," Adam said. "Do you want the ones . . ." He squinted at the list. "The ones ages four, five, six, and seven?"