“What?” Her sister stood beside her and looked outside.
“That!” Eloisa gestured toward her neighbor’s town house to the left of theirs “It sounds like,” she pursed her lips, “like a child crying.” The discordant noise came again, only louder and in the most disheartening manner, as if the poor little’s heart was breaking. “Sobbing, actually. Grief-stricken, possibly. Or perhaps confused. Scared, definitely.”
“I wasn’t aware our neighbors had a child,” Helen mused. “I was told by the baker’s son this morning the owner had only returned today.”
Eloisa abandoned her contemplation of the house next door to gape at her sister. “The baker’s son? That’s who you’ve set your cap for?”
Rosy color crept into Helen’s face. “He’s a sweet man and I enjoy his company, such as it is every morning when I buy pastries for us all. It doesn’t mean I’ll marry him.”
“I should hope not. A baker’s son with no prospects won’t be able to support you in the life you deserve.” She returned her attention to her neighbor’s house. A messenger entered through the gate and ran lightly up the walkway. Moments later, a knock sounded and the low buzz of male voices drifted to Eloisa’s position.
“The life I deserve is to be loved and to give that emotion in return, no matter where it’s found,” Helen murmured from beside her. “That’s what anyone should want for their lives. There really is nothing else.”
Oh, she’d been that young and idealistic before, which was why she needed to save her sister, especially since this would be no love match. Life simply didn’t work like that, but Eloisa kept her own council. It wasn’t her place to crush her sister’s dreams. Instead, she glanced down. The messenger exited the garden at the same time as a drab woman in a gray suit. Seconds later, a little girl with masses of black, curly hair raced over the cobblestones while sobs emanated from her.
“There is a child!” She leaned out the window again. “Who lives there now? I vaguely remember Charles saying something about it belonging to the Darrington family, but they haven’t been down to Brighton in years.” Their neighbor on the other side, the Marquess of Ravenhurst, hadn’t been in residence in years either, so to have activity in such close proximity was rather odd.
“The Darringtons still own it. I think it’s the younger son who’s returned.”
The younger son. What the devil was his name? She wracked her brain. Oliver perhaps? “Well, someone has a child, and she’s upset and quite loud.” Letter writing wouldn’t commence with that racket. “I’m going over there.”
Helen chuckled. “And do what? Scold the child for making noise? Lecture the adults for letting a child loose?”
“I’m not sure, but I will know when I arrive.” She scooted away from the window.
“I’m sure the Darringtons won’t be bossed like you’ve done me,” her sister called in a sing-song voice as Eloisa dashed out then down the stairs.
“I don’t boss,” she muttered as she let herself outside. “I don’t even manage. I just see an easy way of fixing a problem,” she said aloud while she quickly stepped through her own gate. Seconds later, she’d traversed the walkway leading to the Darrington house. In a twinkling she manipulated the gate’s latch and entered their garden.
The little girl she’d seen before was no longer in sight, but the front door to the town house gaped open, and from the sound of things, chaos reigned inside.
Eloisa shook her head, as if that action would suddenly quiet the storm. The closer she came up the cobblestones, the louder the discord grew as well as the anxiety crawling over her skin. She’d never met any of the Darrington clan, had never encountered them while in London and her knowledge of them only consisted of repeated stories and innuendo. Perhaps it was the height of gauche to arrive uninvited, but the noisy situation must be dealt with.
When she reached the doorway, she stepped over the threshold and assessed the situation. “Oh, dear heavens.” Two older people stood in the entry, looking at sixes and sevens, with the woman holding the crying child in her arms. Another man, younger than the first, stood off to one side, spectacles balanced at the end of his nose while he read a letter. He seemed oblivious to the discomfort of the others in his party. Obviously, the situation wouldn’t be resolved until order was restored. “I beg your pardon, but can someone tell me what’s happening here?”
The older man shook himself from his stupor. “We’ve had a bit of a surprise this morning, miss.”
“No matter, but we must placate the child if anyone on this street will know peace.” Eloisa stepped up to the woman. “Please, let me try my hand at soothing her.” She took the pretty child into her arms and held her, balancing the girl on her hip. Her cousins in Italy were forever reproducing. Attending to a child now seemed natural. “Hush now, darling. Nothing can be as bad as all that.” She petted the mass of curls. The child quieted. “There. Isn’t it better not to spend needless energy crying?”
The little girl watched her with the darkest brown eyes Eloisa had ever seen, but she didn’t smile, only put a finger in her mouth. With her other hand, she gripped onto Eloisa’s arm tight. Every so often she’d take a hiccupping, shuddering breath. Though the crying had stopped, the tears still fell, albeit more slowly now.
“Well, this is better than before.” Eloisa glanced at the older couple then finally rested her gaze on the other gentleman, who didn’t appear that much older than herself. “Good morning. I’m Miss Eloisa Hawthorne. I live next door with my brother and desperately need to write a very important letter, but the noise issuing from this house completely broke my concentration. Can I offer my assistance?”
Heavy silence hung in the entryway, growing ever thicker by the second. The younger gentleman did nothing except stare at Eloisa over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. A letter lay crushed in his hand. Expressions shifted over his face, first of shock, then of astonishment, followed by confusion and finally annoyance. Well, if he thought to give her a dressing down for interrupting such a bizarre scene, he could think again. He really should learn to control his household better.
“Pardon my forward attitude, but are you Viscount Tralsburg?” When he gave a barely perceptible nod, she smiled. “I thought so. You have the sort of bearing that bespeaks of a title.” Unabashed and more curious than common sense allowed, she studied him.
She’d heard rumors, of course, for what was life in London without rumors and stories? Whereas the older Darrington son had inherited the earldom then shortly found himself in a scandalous sort of match, the second son’s name had been bandied about with tales of daring on the battlefield and courage on the sea. Eloisa clucked her tongue. Well, he did look like a dashing sea captain, with the wild hair and chin whiskers and a figure that was strong and skin that was sun-kissed. He was fit, no denying that, and he possessed a jaw strong enough to make a girl swoon—if a girl wished to think of him in romantic terms. A queer sort of thrill pinged through her lower belly. She, however, did not. Hadn’t she just told Helen she had no wish to conduct another courtship? After all, she was still loyal to Peter’s memory.
Yet, there was that odd sensation. She hadn’t felt anything like that since she’d met Peter. With a gasp, she raised her gaze to the viscount’s. His startling blue eyes—so that was what people meant by the Darrington-blue—held a spark of interest before he folded his letter and tucked it away into a pocket of his jacket.
“Miss Hawthorne.” The older gentleman nodded. “I’m Carruthers, the viscount’s butler. Please let me show you into the parlor. My wife has just set out tea.”
“Follow me,” the woman said as if she’d just come out of a daze. “I apologize for the interruption of your day.”
When Eloisa attempted to set the girl on the floor, the child clung to her like a monkey. “All right then, poppet. No need to panic,” she murmured and carried her down the hall in the direction the woman indicated. Once they arrived, and the child spied the tea tray on a low table, she wri
ggled on Eloisa’s hip. “Food will always soothe the most savage appetite.” She set the girl free and smiled when the beauty ran across the floor to pillage the teacakes.
“Uh, forgive my lacks of manners,” the viscount said, breaking the horrible tension. “I am Viscount Tralsburg, but I vastly prefer Captain Darrington, or Oliver, for even that is too formal and we are not at sea.” He swept a hand toward one of the settees. “Please. Let’s talk. I’m afraid my world has experienced rather one shock after the other this morning.”
“So I gathered.” Eloisa sat near to the tea service and smoothed her skirts. “As I said, I’m Miss Hawthorne, but you may call me Eloisa. No since standing on ceremony here in Brighton. I find it rather a waste of time.” She glanced at the viscount as he settled himself across from her. “Shall I pour?”
“Please.” Unease filtered into his expression. He removed his eyeglasses then tucked them away into a pocket. Both Carruthers and the woman left the room on quiet feet. “I’m at a loss as to how to proceed—in everything it would seem.”
Dear heavens, was he uncomfortable around people or was it just her presence that discomfited him? She handed him a cup of tea then poured one for herself. “The best way to begin is to start at the beginning. I assume the child is a new addition to your household?” Perhaps the girl knew the conversation would focus on her, but she came close to Eloisa, close enough to touch her skirt then leave a honey stain behind, no doubt from the pilfered cakes.
Eloisa stifled a sigh. Well, it was only honey. It would wash out.
“She is.” Oliver’s hand shook as he raised his tea to his lips. His brown hair looked wild and unkempt, standing up straight at intervals while a thick shock of it swept over a high brow. “Her name is Daniela. She’s four, and she, uh…” He licked his lips, swallowed heavily then said in a rush, “she’s allegedly my daughter from the mistress I kept while in Spain years ago, and no matter that it’s quite improbable, here she is.”
“I see.” It took every bit of willpower she possessed to remain outwardly calm even as her heartbeat fluttered in a mad rush. How scandalous a mess, and for him to have brought the girl here to Brighton and their family property. Did he have no presence of mind or a sense of propriety? Her cheeks warmed. Of course, such could be said of her, though there’d been no child from her own impropriety. She peered into his face and received a second shock. Even a nodcock could see the poor man had no idea what to do. “Then I can also assume you didn’t bring the child home with you?”
“Good heavens, no.” Oliver shook her head. “She was delivered here, not long before your arrival, as if she were little more than an unwanted parcel.” He eyed the little girl who stared back at him with nothing except distrust. “What shall I do with her?”
“Oh, don’t ask me that.” She had no time to iron the wrinkles from his life when she had so many in her own. “I simply cannot get involved in your Drury Lane debacle, for I have a rather large and piggish dragon to vanquish at the moment.” She placed her teacup on the table, being sure she fit the base into its saucer just so. With another glance at Daniela, she stood. “I am sorry, but I did only come here to encourage you to practice at being quiet. I need to return. I have a letter to write.”
Really, this man and his problems were no concern of hers. Neither was that troublesome niggle of a reaction to him. She was quite done with men.
“All right. Thank you for managing Daniela. I’ll have to learn that trick,” he replied and stood as well.
The girl darted a panicked glance between them both, opened her mouth, and wailed.
Eloisa closed her eyes. God grant me patience. When she looked about her once more, she caught the hopelessness in Oliver’s gaze and her heart squeezed. He was such a lost soul. Perhaps staying a few moments longer to direct his next decision wouldn’t be too bad. “On the other hand, I suppose the letter can wait until after refreshment.”
As soon as she regained her seat, the child’s crying faded.
Chapter Three
Oliver had never felt so out of place in all his life. He’d seen the shock and flash of disapproval in his pretty neighbor’s eyes when he’d revealed Daniela’s origin. For whatever reason, he wanted her to harbor no ill will toward him, wished she’d think highly of him, so he cleared his throat while attempting to formulate appropriate words. “I highly doubt the child is mine.” Dash it all, how did managing the girl come so easily to her?
“Well, I am hardly the person to debate the subject with you.” Yet, she did glance at the girl then back at him. Was she trying to find his features in the child’s countenance or mannerisms? He followed her example even knowing the timing wasn’t right for him to have fathered the girl. Nothing about the child was like him. “The only way to know for certain is if you and your mistress hadn’t… um…” She came to a stumbling halt while a wash of pink color infused her cheeks.
“Ah.” He cleared his throat again. Why couldn’t he draw upon the strength of the ages and appear unruffled under pressure? Hadn’t he learned patience and fortitude on the battlefield? So why did it flee him now? “That isn’t possible.” Damnation but he wished he could come right out and tell her why.
“I see.” She fussed with the tea tray, even went so far as to offer a cake to Daniela even though she’d already stolen some. “Then that is a cloudy matter indeed. You cannot be sure she’s not yours, yet you are very much saddled with her for the foreseeable future. A conundrum really.”
“Oh, I can be certain. You see, I left my mistress three years ago, so the time lapse is large enough that the child cannot be mine.” Devil take it, why did this need to be so embarrassing? Men had needs. It was common knowledge.
“Ah,” she said again. When Eloisa held his gaze once more, he reeled under the force of those sparkling, green eyes. “What do you plan to do with her?”
Oliver shook his head. “I haven’t a clue.” He glanced at Daniela. She was a taking little thing when she wasn’t creating a ruckus. “It’s clear she doesn’t trust me, but I certainly can’t turn her out, now can I?” He couldn’t, right? Oliver looked back at Eloisa. Why did he want her approval so badly?
His guest reared back. “I should hope not. You wouldn’t be that cruel.”
“I promise not to turn her out onto the street to beg, but you must know, once my ship is repaired, I cannot very well have her accompany me on voyages.”
“Well, you could. I suppose a healthy dose of stubborn runs through those Darrington veins. Imagine what she could learn.”
What had she heard about his family? Sure, he couldn’t deny his relations were rather opinionated and stubborn, but was that a trait she looked for in acquaintances? Never had he regretted being out of pocket more. He responded to her last statement instead. “Yes, a fat lot of bad habits no woman should,” Oliver rejoined without thinking.
“Arrogant man.” Then she muttered something in a language that sounded familiar to his ear, yet he didn’t understand it. Italian perhaps? And not just any words. They rang of vulgarity.
“Are you cursing in Italian?” He couldn’t help his grin.
“I am.” Eloisa returned the grin. “I apologize. In times of stress or high annoyance, I tend to slip into that habit.” She uttered a self-deprecating laugh. “I learned from my cousins in Italy the last time I was there.” A hint of a blush stained her cheeks. “It relieves the occasional bout of tension.”
“You’re part Italian then?” How refreshing to find an English woman who’d let emotion get the better of her.
“Yes, on my mother’s side. She married an English diplomat then came here upon their marriage.” Eloisa held out a hand to Daniela. An eternity seemed to go by while they waited, but the girl didn’t take her hand, merely stared at it. “A couple times a year, my sister and I visit those relatives.”
“A rather expensive and dangerous undertaking during these times.” He frowned. Did she and her family not care about spending coin or guarding their safety?
She shrugged. “I understand that, but Charles—my brother—is a bit snooty since he married and hasn’t returned to his old self. Truth be told, I’d wager his wife doesn’t like him to do anything that pulls attention from her. In recent years, he’s become rather reckless where it comes to his wife’s fortune.”
“I see.” Typical story, that. “Do you enjoy that country?” Try as he might, he couldn’t picture her tripping through the lush countryside or dusty roads. No doubt she’d spent all her time indoors, fearing what the sun would do to her complexion, which was fair and creamy like any pampered miss.
“It’s nice, very picturesque if you’re in the proper frame of mind.” She looked at him, her expression guarded. “You should go.”
What did the woman hide? “I’ve been. Some of their coastal cities are among the best in the world.” He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps his return to England had left him a trifle jaded, but he wanted to know what she didn’t say and why it colored her conversation and judgment. “I didn’t think Italian women were pale, petite, or blonde. I expected them all to be tall, dark-haired, and passionate.” Once the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to smack himself for the insult. Perhaps he’d been away from polite society for too long if he couldn’t manage to conduct himself with charm.
She arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think ship captains were so soft-spoken or lacking in common sense. Aren’t viscounts supposed to appear cultured and polite?” In the last second, when she lowered her hand, Daniela crept closer until she touched Eloisa’s knee. The girl lingered there with sticky hands, her dark eyes fixed on him, but she wasn’t crying. That was something. “It’s quite scandalous for an Englishman to swagger about with sun-kissed skin and chin whiskers, don’t you think?”
“Point taken.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw where the stubble clung since he hadn’t bothered to shave upon rising. He simply hadn’t expected guests, hadn’t expected anything that had occurred. “Now that the assumptions are over, perhaps we can get on with the business at hand.” He swallowed, still uneasy in the petite dervish’s presence. Given enough time, Eloisa would undoubtedly be a first-rate meddler. He allowed his gaze to roam over her. From the top of her blonde head with its soft, golden ringlets framing her round face, to the tantalizing curves hidden by the simple day gown of soft lavender, and down to the matching slippers on her tiny feet, she was everything he disliked in the female of the species, even disliked the typical fair, blonde coloring. Women should be vibrant and full of spunk.
The Bridal Contract (Darrington family Book 3) Page 3