by Jo Ann Brown
“My words were not intended as an explanation, but a recital of the facts. Repetition can wring any truth out of gossip.”
He flinched, even though she had answered him in her gentlest voice. In many ways, this intelligent man was naïve. Living in his academic world had meant him failing to learn about how other people acted.
As if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, Lord Warrick said, “Thank you for reminding me of what I have learned too well. A small town has nothing on a university where young men can spread gossip more swiftly than they do an ague.”
“That is fast.” She laughed.
When he chuckled, too, he changed the subject to the work underway at Warrick Hall. He planned to hire artisans to do the final work, but some of the miners and their families were glad to do the necessary demolition in exchange for a fair wage.
At last, he pushed aside his empty plate. “Shall we start?”
“On what?”
“My lessons.” He gave her a teasing smile. “I have not given up on the idea of bettering myself.”
Caroline nodded. “If you have time after our lesson, I know the children would be pleased to see you. Gil has drawn a picture he wants to give you. He tells me it is a kitten, so, please, act as if you can see exactly that.”
“I appreciate knowing ahead of time. I would not want to hurt his feelings.”
“So, which aspect of etiquette do you wish to start with?”
“Paying calls. I made a muddle of it, I could see, when I came here the day of the explosion.”
She stood, and he came to his feet, too.
“Don’t look startled, my lady,” he said. “I do have basic manners.”
“I know that, of course. If I appeared surprised, it is because my thoughts were already moving ahead.”
When he nodded and motioned for her to continue, she was relieved he had failed to see that she was not being completely honest. Her thoughts were moving forward, but not to the lesson. As she had seen him standing across from her on the other side of the breakfast table, she had—for the length of a single heartbeat—imagined how it would be to have a handsome, intelligent, witty man like him sitting across from her each morning. No, not like him. Him.
Not that it ever could come to pass, but for a brief moment, she had savored the idea.
Caroline pushed the foolish fantasies aside and instructed Lord Warrick to pretend the breakfast-parlor door was the entrance to a London townhouse. As he stood in the corridor, she drew a chair away from the table and sat. She was, she explained, sitting in her front parlor and ready to receive guests.
He grinned uncomfortably as he knocked on the molding. “Like this?”
“Yes. The door opens. When you come into a house, a servant should greet you.”
“A footman?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “If we were in London, the footman would expect you to present a calling card.”
Lord Warrick’s gaze rose toward the ceiling as if seeking heavenly help, and, grinning, he shook his head. “A calling card? Why can’t I tell the footman my name, the name of the person I am visiting, and find out if he or she is in?”
She laughed, but halted when he frowned. Did he think she was laughing at him? In a way, she was, she realized. She swallowed the rest of her laughter. “I am sorry, my lord, but you shall find the logic of a mathematician you hold dear has little bearing on the rules governing behavior among the ton.”
“Then I am doomed.”
“Do you always give up easily?”
His eyes narrowed. “I do not give up, Lady Caroline. Neither easily or any other way. Don’t my efforts to keep the beam engine running prove that?”
Holding her hands up in a pose of surrender, Caroline said, “I retract the question.” She began to outline how he should present his card. “We will discuss more complex aspects of calling card etiquette later.”
“More complex?”
“You have no idea.”
With a terse chuckle, he said, “That is what I want you to teach me. It seems as if there is more to learn than I imagined.”
Caroline continued to walk him through what he should do. She explained how a person could be in the house when one called, but was said not to be at home if not receiving guests. She told him the days someone was at home were general knowledge during the Season. Some peers intentionally chose a time that overlapped a rival’s.
“I had no idea people were so competitive in Town,” he said, shaking his head in puzzlement.
“The Season is a race, and prizes go to those who compete the hardest. The best matches, the largest marriage settlements, the greatest prestige, the most political clout at Whitehall and beyond.” Her smile returned. “Which is the reason why I chose not to return after my first Season there.”
“And you had found a match here.”
“Yes.”
“It must have been a shock to the ton when an earl’s daughter married a sailor.”
She knew he did not mean to be cruel as some had when her banns were announced. There had been whispers she had anticipated her vows and was pregnant with John’s child. Others suggested the child belonged to someone else, and her father had bribed John to marry her to give her baby a name. Knowing those were the people who always sought the worst in any situation in order to make themselves look better, she had tried to pay the comments no mind. Still, they had hurt.
“It was.” She added nothing more.
He came into the breakfast-parlor and over to where she sat. Dismay lengthened his face. “Forgive me. I should not have reminded you of your greatest grief. I know how painful it is to lose someone you love.”
The urge swept through her to throw her arms around him and hug him as another stone fell from the wall she had built around her heart. What a kind man he was! He thought her silence was because of sorrow at John’s death.
“Thank you.” She flicked her fingers toward the door before she could no longer fight the yearning to have his arms around her. “Let us continue.”
“As you wish.”
Watching him return to the door, she wondered if he had spoken of the loss of his parents or someone else. She could not ask. Having him tell her might dismantle the protective walls they both kept around their hearts.
Caroline forced such thoughts aside as she began the lesson anew. She spoke of what he could expect upon being invited into a house. When she mentioned a footman would take his hat, gloves and coat, he grinned.
“Now I understand,” Lord Warrick said, “why your footman sounded as if he were trying to loosen a clog from his throat when he followed me that day. He had expected me to surrender my outerwear upon my arrival.”
“Yes. Now...” She gestured for him to step into the room. “Let’s assume you have been brought to a lady who lives in the house. You might be calling on her, or she is receiving you if the person to whom you wish to speak is delayed. What do you do?”
He walked to her. When she laced her fingers together, making it impossible for him to take her hand, he asked, “What am I doing wrong now? I thought I was supposed to bow over the lady’s hand upon greeting her.”
“You are, but only after she offers her hand to you.”
“Oh.” His face lengthened and paled, making the healing cut on his cheek more obvious.
She patted his arm. “Don’t look crestfallen. Surely you have had students who make errors, and you helped them learn not to do so again.”
“Yes, but on paper.” He gave her a wry smile. “I dare say I cannot recall the last time a piece of paper was offended.”
“True.” Holding out her hand, she said, “Once a lady has extended her hand, you may take it and bow over it, raising it slightly if you wish. Do not lift it too high, because you don’t want to pull her up off her c
hair or her feet.”
He did not take her hand. “What of kissing a woman’s hand? When is it appropriate or expected?”
“You would if you were very familiar with the lady and knew that was her preference. Otherwise, you are wiser simply to bow over her hand.” She nodded toward her hand. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
He reached out, and she noticed the many scars on his knuckles and his hands. They were hands belonging to a man who used them for hard labor. For the first time, she wondered how he managed to keep fixing the steam engine at the same time he must oversee the rest of his estate. No wonder he had not turned his attention to Warrick Hall until he learned of his family’s upcoming visit.
When he took her hand in his, thoughts of his family, the beam engine or anything else vanished from her mind. She seemed surrounded by him, even though he stood an arm’s length from her. His eyes caught hers as he bent toward her, and everything else in the room faded into oblivion while sweet sizzles spread outward from his hand. He touched only her fingers, but she was as aware of every breath he took as her own.
Lowering her eyes, she drew her hand out of his. That broke the connection between them. She came to her feet and laced her fingers together in front of her.
“How did I do?” he asked, pushing up his spectacles.
“Do?” Her voice was unsteady, and she wondered if he had even felt the sensations she had.
“Did I bow over your hand properly?”
“Yes. Yes, you did fine.” She forced a smile, but it refused to stay on her lips. Glancing in his direction, she added, “I must ask you to excuse me. The children expect me.”
“I thought you wanted me to go with you to see them.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” She was babbling, but she could not halt herself. “I forgot which day it is. We are supposed to go to Susanna’s house, so Gil and Joy can play with the twins. Forgive me for not seeing you out.”
“When should I return?”
“What?” Her brain seemed incapable of a single thought. How had an ordinary touch unnerved her so deeply?
“For my next lesson. When do you wish me to return?”
Knowing she should not answer when she had her back to him, she faced him. He wore an easy smile. He saw her as his teacher, someone to explain the intricacies of etiquette. Nothing more. She was the one whose mind had sent her spiraling out of control when he bowed over her fingers.
“It probably would be best if I talk to my brothers about what you should learn. I don’t want to make any mistakes.” As I did when I let you take my hand.
“As you wish.” Disappointment filled his voice.
She felt awful. She could not blame him for her silly reaction to his touch. “Why don’t you give me a day or two to talk to my brothers? Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” he said, though with reluctance.
Thanking him for coming to Cothaire and asking him to have any questions on etiquette ready for the next time they met, she hurried from the breakfast-parlor. A day or two? Would that be enough time to get her emotions under control? She wondered it was even possible, even if she had a lifetime.
Chapter Seven
Caroline took a steadying breath as she stepped into the entry hall of Warrick Hall. This time, she was prepared for the deterioration she would see. She had prayed on the trip from Cothaire that she could keep her reactions to the baron under control. The best ways, she knew, were to avoid letting him touch her or looking too deeply into his eyes.
Wherry, the butler who looked as ancient as the house, greeted her warmly. If he was surprised to see she had brought Gil and Joy with her, as well as two footmen from Cothaire, he gave no sign.
“I will tell Lord Warrick of your arrival, my lady,” he said with a bow of his head.
“No need.” The baron walked into the entry hall.
Caroline’s good intentions came to naught as she stared at him again. Unlike the last time she had seen him, he did not wear a coat. The cut of his waistcoat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, which gainsaid his former academic life. His hair was tousled, and a streak of dirt underlined his left cheekbone.
Giving her a beguiling smile, he said, “I can see from the astonishment on your face that our next lesson needs to be about properly receiving guests. I have been working alongside the men I hired in an effort to get the project finished on time. I think it has gone from impossible to improbable that we will be done before my family arrives.”
She held the baby close like a shield between her and Lord Warrick’s ineffable charm. “I hope you don’t mind I brought the children. Gil pleaded with me to let him come.” She looked at the little boy who was staring wide-eyed around them.
Lord Warrick bent so his face was even with the child’s and held out his hand. When Gil put his on it, the baron solemnly shook the little boy’s hand.
“Master Gil, you are always welcome at Warrick Hall,” he said.
“Really?” Gil’s eyes crinkled in a grin.
“A man says what he means. That requires him to tell the truth and not make up any stories.”
Gil nodded, as serious as Lord Warrick acted. “Tell truth.” He paused, then asked with sudden dismay, “No stories?” He gave Caroline a horrified glance.
“We will have stories before bed,” she said quickly. “That is not what Lord Warrick means. He means we should always be honest. The stories in books are just that. Stories.”
“Stories go in books. Gil tell the truth.” He repeated the sentences a couple of times, then asked, “Kitties?”
“We may see them in the house,” she said to the little boy. “If not, you may ask Lord Warrick if you can go into the stable to see the cats there.”
“Go?” he asked the baron.
“First,” Caroline said, “we have to see the kitties here.”
“Cuddle kitties here.” Gil’s eyes widened again as he pointed at a strip of torn wallpaper and said, “Kite.”
Lord Warrick ripped it from the wall. “I don’t think it will make a very good kite, but you can try.”
Gil ran around the entry hall, letting the paper flutter behind him.
“As you can see, my lord,” she said, “his attention jumps from one subject to another with the speed of a shooting star crossing the sky. It is a challenge to keep up with him.” She smiled at Joy, who was kicking at the blanket wrapped around her. Loosening it, she went on, “Soon she will be talking, too.” She glanced over her shoulder at the footman. “Haines and Repper have offered to help move larger pieces of furniture.”
Both men bowed toward Lord Warrick. They were trying to hide their dismay and shock at the state of the house, but failed.
“Thank you, my lady,” Lord Warrick said. “There are a few pieces I want to shift to see what is behind them.”
“Where do you want to start?”
“I thought we would begin in the attic, because you have seen the rooms on this floor that need the least work.” He grimaced. “Least being only a comparable term, because I am coming to believe ripping the whole place down and beginning anew might be easier.”
She glanced at the children. “I had not realized you would want to work up in the attic. I don’t think it is suitable for Gil and Joy.”
The butler cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mrs. Trannock asked me to tell you she would be glad to watch over the little ones while you are helping my lord.”
“What a wonderful solution!” She caught Gil’s hand as he ran past. “If you will show me the way to the kitchen, Wherry...”
Like a row of ducklings, they followed the butler past the dining room where, she was happy to see, the crumbling plaster had been cleaned off the table and broken chairs removed. The kitchen stairs were too steep for Gil’s shor
t legs. Lord Warrick squatted to allow the little boy to climb up to wrap his arms around the baron’s neck. Gil shrieked with excitement as they bounced down the steps.
A short woman, Mrs. Trannock wiped her hands on a pristine apron as she looked up from kneading bread. Not a wisp of gray littered her black hair beneath a floppy cap, though she must be as elderly as Wherry. Her round face brightened with a smile when she greeted them.
“Ah, look at the adorable babanas,” she said.
“Bananas?” asked Lord Warrick as he knelt to let Gil slide off.
“Babanas,” Caroline replied, emphasizing the second b. “It’s Cornish for babies.” She looked at the cook. “I see you are busy, Mrs. Trannock. Will you be able to watch Gil and Joy while we work in the attic?”
“The bread is ready to rise, and I know one lad who will be glad to help me punch it.” Mrs. Trannock winked at Gil, who giggled. “Don’t worry, my lady. If we need any help, we will send for you straightaway. Between us, Wherry and I have more than a dozen nieces and nephews who have children of their own. We have bounced each of them on our knees.” Her smile widened as she took Joy, who tugged at the cook’s cap. “Aren’t you a sweet one?”
“Kitties?” asked Gil.
The cook chuckled. “Let me put out some milk. They usually come as soon as the bowl touches the floor.”
As Gil walked away with the cook, fingers settled on Caroline’s sleeve. Lord Warrick’s fingers. She knew instantly, as fiery ripples spread outward from his touch.
“They will be fine,” he murmured, close to her ear.
She nodded, all power of speech gone beneath the dual assault of his splendid touch and his breath slipping along her skin. Only the cook returning with a cloth bag gave her time to regain control of her senses and herself.
“You will need these,” Mrs. Trannock said as she held out the bag to Lord Warrick.
He took it. “What is in this?”
“Rags. Everything in the attic has years of dust on it. You can use these to wipe some of it away.”
“I hope there are a lot of rags in here.”
The cook grinned. “There is a good breeze today. Open the windows, and it may do the work for you.”