by Wolf, Bree
The boy’s lips thinned further, but he did not object as the footman picked him up as though he weighed nothing—which by the looks of him he most certainly did —then placed him in an armchair in the drawing room next to Biscuit’s cage. He looked almost frighteningly thin, and once or twice as they waited, Christina thought to hear his little stomach rumble loudly.
The moment milk and biscuits arrived, Owen’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips, no longer able to maintain that look of furious indifference upon his face.
“Please, eat as many as you like. There is enough for everyone,” Christina told him, handing him a plate filled with biscuits. “Milk?”
With his mouth stuffed, the boy nodded. He seemed younger now that he was no longer on his guard, distracted by the needs of his body. He ate and ate, barely speaking a word, but listening intently as Christina and Samantha began to converse with the girl’s dolls.
“Biscuits! Biscuits!” squawked Biscuit, his feathers ruffed that he had been overlooked.
Grinning, Samantha hurried over and handed him one of his beloved almond biscuits. “There you are. Enjoy!”
“Enjoy! Enjoy!” Biscuit squawked, then bent his head to nibble on his treat.
Christina watched Owen carefully out of the corner of her eyes and promised him and herself in that moment that no matter the result of Thorne’s investigation, she would ensure he would always be well-fed. This was what her husband was fighting for, was it not? It was the memory of children like Owen which haunted him at night, was it not?
Indeed, it was wrong for some to have more than they could ever need while others did not even have enough food in their bellies. This was the world they lived in. The world they had been living in.
But no more.
Thorne was right.
Things needed to change.
Chapter Forty
Doubts
Thorne could not deny that it felt strange to have Mrs. Miller and her son in the house. Although the woman had instantly agreed not to reveal her identity to Samantha, Thorne could not help but think that something eluded him, and so he kept watching her most carefully.
As did everyone else.
As the Whickertons rarely kept secrets from one another, Thorne and Christina had not hesitated to share what had happened with the rest of their family. They too seemed torn between compassion and distrust. It was the way of the world, was it not? Of course, there were always those who deserved support and kindness while it was also true a deceiving mind often hid behind tearful eyes and a charming smile.
The only ones who seemed unaffected by the tension that lingered were the children. Thorne was relieved to see that Samantha delighted in their new visitors, particularly the boy. Although Owen was rather taciturn and somewhat hostile, Samantha did not seem to care. She was her usual exuberant self, sharing her toys freely and always ensuring that Owen could participate in her games despite his inability to walk.
“Look at him,” the dowager countess chuckled as she stood beside Thorne and Christina at one end of the terrace, watching the children play at the other end. “She’s wearing him down, is she not?”
Thorne looked down at her and smiled. “She has been known to do so.” He grinned at his wife.
Christina nodded, a warm glow in her eyes as she looked at Samantha. “Yes, she has a way about her.”
“Any news?” The dowager countess inquired, looking from her granddaughter to Thorne. “Is her story confirmed?” Her gaze moved to the bench on the side of the terrace where Mrs. Miller sat and watched her son, an equally warm smile upon her face as well. Thorne could not help but think, though, that something tense lingered in her eyes. Was it only the uncertainty of her situation? Or was it more than that?
“Not yet” Thorne replied when Reuben stepped out onto the terrace.
“Pardon me, Sir.” He hesitated for a moment before Thorne nodded to him to continue. “I’m afraid I have been unable to recover the silver letter opener from your study. Of course, I will instruct everyone to keep an eye out for it.”
Thorne nodded, and the man disappeared.
“A letter opener is missing?” the dowager inquired with narrowed eyes. She looked at him for a moment before turning her gaze to Mrs. Miller.
“I’m afraid so,” Christina answered for him. “We do not wish to point fingers, but, of course, the thought has crossed our minds as well. After all, she was alone in the study the day of her arrival at Pinewood Manor.”
Thorne sighed. “I do not wish to believe it, yet a part of me understands.” He wondered what he would do if he were unable to put food in Samantha’s belly. How far would he go to see her fed?
The answer was: to the end of the world if need be.
* * *
Over the next couple of days, Samantha continued to draw Owen out of his shell. The pinched expression upon his little face showed clearly that he was on his guard, that he did not wish to be included in her games or at least that he did not think it wise to allow himself to be included. Every now and then, though, he could not help but crack a smile, something almost lively dancing in his pale eyes. There was a yearning there for the life Samantha called her own, a life he had never known and was afraid to want.
“She never truly speaks to Samantha, does she?” Harriet observed as she and Christina strode through the tall grass beyond Pinewood Manor’s gardens. Her gaze remained upon the little girl as she chased ahead toward the forest line, Mrs. Huxley as well as Mrs. Miller and her son following upon her heel.
“Not that I have ever observed,” Christina replied as her gaze moved from Mrs. Miller to Samantha and back. Of course, the woman always tended most diligently to her son, presently pushing the bath chair they had fashioned so that Owen could leave the house without being carried. That pinched expression upon his young face seemed to lessen whenever they stepped out of doors, when the wind brushed over his head and the sun touched his skin.
In these moments, the serious, most earnest little boy almost looked like a true child again.
“Don’t you find that odd?” Harry asked, a slight frown drawing down her brows as she watched the frail, young woman carefully.
Christina shrugged. “I cannot say. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to give up your child, to spend years without her and then to see her again.” She heaved a deep sigh. “We haven’t told Samantha. I keep wondering if we should, but what if Mrs. Miller did not tell us the truth? What if there’s a lie in her story somewhere? A lie that could hurt Samantha?”
A wide smile came to Harriet’s face. “You truly do sound like a mother,” she commented, wrapping an arm around Christina’s shoulders and giving her a quick hug. “You’re trying to protect her. There is nothing wrong with that.” Her gaze once more moved to Mrs. Miller. “Your husband’s investigators have not yet discovered anything that would prove her story untrue?”
Christina shook her head. “Quite frankly, they have not yet found anything, nothing that would prove her story true or untrue.” She shook her hand. “I do not know what to make of this. But I suppose you’re right; I think I would feel better if Mrs. Miller tried to reacquaint herself with Samantha. I cannot help but think that she does not genuinely care about her. And if that is so, then why is she here?”
Harriet nodded in agreement. “It seems the only thing she cares about is her son. Did she not say she had come to ask for help?”
Heaving a deep sigh, Christina nodded. Indeed, regular meals had done both of them well. Although Mrs. Miller still looked frail, she seemed stronger these days. As did Owen. Was it truly the only reason why Mrs. Miller had come? Did it have nothing to do with Samantha?
Christina did not know what she was hoping for. Only it was not her decision to make. All she could do was wait and see what would happen.
Chapter Forty-One
Hidden in the Tall Grass
Thorne strode down the corridor, crossed the drawing room and stepped outside onto the terrace. His gaze mo
ved to his wife, who sat with her family outdoors, enjoying the warm summer’s sun. He paused before approaching her, ensuring that Mrs. Miller was not within earshot. In fact, he could not see her or the children anywhere, not even down in the gardens below.
“Is something wrong?” Christina asked as she stepped toward him. “You look concerned.” Behind her, the rest of her family stopped conversing and turned their attention to him as well.
Thorne met his wife’s gaze. “Where’s Mrs. Miller?”
Christina’s gaze turned down to the gardens and then to the meadow beyond. “She and Mrs. Huxley took them for a walk. Why?”
Thorne shook his head. “It is nothing. Truly.” His gaze rose and briefly settled upon his father-in-law’s before returning to his wife. “So far, my investigator was able to confirm that Mrs. Miller’s husband died a few years back in a mining accident. However, it appears that Mr. Miller died not five years ago, around Samantha’s birth, but rather a year before that.”
“A year before her birth?” Leonora asked with a concentrated frown as she glanced from her husband to her mother. “Then he cannot possibly be Samantha’s father, can he?”
Grandma Edie shook her head. “No, dearest, he cannot.” She turned her eyes to Thorne. “Did she say that her husband was Samantha’s father?”
“Not specifically,” Thorne replied, trying his best to remember what precisely Mrs. Miller had told him. “As far as I can recall she merely said that he died before Samantha was born, indicating that life had become much harder for her, especially with a sickly child to take care of.”
“Still, she lied,” Harriet stated vehemently, looking from one family member to the next. “She may not have stated outright whether or not Mr. Miller was Samantha’s father; however, she did say that he died shortly before her birth. Therefore, she lied.” Her eyes moved to meet Thorne’s. “Why?”
“Perhaps,” Juliet, the eldest Whickerton sister, began tentatively, her gaze somewhat elusive as she spoke, “she was afraid he would think ill of her if he knew she had given birth to a child out of wedlock.” Her eyes moved to her mother and then to her grandmother. “It could be as simple as that, could it not?”
Louisa nodded. “Jules is not wrong. People can be very judgmental, and she had no way of knowing whether you,” she met Thorne’s gaze, “would grant her request for help if you had known.”
Louisa’s husband, Phineas, cleared his throat, a contemplative look upon his face. “To be clear, does it matter to anyone here whether Mr. Miller was Samantha’s father or not?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Then there is no need to discuss this further,” Phineas concluded. “What we do need to ascertain is Mrs. Miller’s reasons for coming here, and, of course, whether or not she truly is the girl’s mother.”
Thorne sighed. “I cannot yet answer that definitively.”
“Should we not confront her?” Leonora’s husband, Drake, suggested with raised brows. The man never said much, but when he did speak, it was worth listening. “She lives in your house,” he continued, his gaze meeting Thorne’s, “has access to your child, and yet you know near to nothing about her. All you do know is that she lied to you.”
Thorne nodded as did many of the others. “He’s right,” Troy, the Whickerton’s only son, agreed, a tense expression upon his face. “Far be it for me to judge her for anything she might have had to do in order to survive; however, we need to make certain that she is not a threat to this family.”
“Yes, we do,” Thorne concluded, glad that he had shared the bit of news he had received with his new family. It felt good to be able to discuss these matters and have others weigh in, offer their counsel as well as their support. “I shall speak to her this instant.” He stepped away and headed down the steps into the gardens.
“I’ll come with you!” Christina called and then rushed to catch up with him. A warm smile came to her features, and she slipped her hand into his. “She’s my daughter as well, is she not?”
Her skin felt warm and comforting against his own, and Thorne held her hand tighter. “She is, and she’s lucky to have you.” Quickly, he pulled his wife behind a tall growing bush and gave her a quick kiss. “As am I.”
Christina smiled in a way that made his knees go weak. “And don’t you forget it.” She tugged him onward. “Come. We’ll settle this here and now, and tonight we’ll sleep better for it.”
Rushing along, Thorne chuckled. “Sleep?”
Teasingly, his wife rolled her eyes at him. “Perhaps I truly ought to have heeded the many warnings that were whispered to me about all the unspeakable things to be found on a husband’s mind such as yourself.”
Thorne laughed, then picked her up and twirled her in a quick circle. “Oh, do not pretend they’re not on your mind as well. I know you better than that, Wife.”
Racing each other to the end of the gardens, Thorne once again experienced a moment of disbelief. The way his life had changed in such a short time sometimes still amazed him. Never had he been this happy, this carefree; and sometimes, he worried that it might all only be a dream.
Was he asleep? Did a woman like Christina not truly exist? Had he dreamed her up? If someone were to wake him and he were to open his eyes, would she still be here?
Then she flung herself into his arms, and he felt her heartbeat against his own. Her lips claimed his, and he returned her kiss with a desperate fierceness. If he was indeed dreaming, he never wanted to wake again.
“You’re an awful distraction,” Thorne mumbled against her lips before kissing her again. “At this pace, we’ll never reach them before nightfall.”
Christina chuckled. “Perhaps we’ll meet them halfway.” She pushed out of his embrace, then grasped his hand and tugged him along as she strode out of the gardens and into the meadow.
Thorne’s gaze swept over the small slope that led down to the forest’s edge. The sun still stood high in the sky, yet the dark red glow whispered of the day’s end. A mild breeze blew, and the tall green stalks swayed gently as though they were dancing. He could hear the sound of crickets and birds and…
His feet pulled to a halt as his ears strained to listen. “I cannot hear them,” he mumbled as his eyes flew over the forest’s edge.
“What is it?” Christina’s concerned face appeared in front of him. “Is something wrong?”
“I cannot hear them,” Thorne said yet again, his voice stronger now, louder, needing her to hear him. His eyes met hers. “Where are they?”
Christina spun around as she, too, searched the wide expanse of land around them. “Perhaps they headed into the forest.”
“All of them? Even Owen with his bath chair?” He grabbed her hand, and together, they raced down the small slope, their eyes continuing to sweep over the land.
Something cold, almost icy began to snake its way down Thorne’s spine. He could not explain it. Although he did not know what it was, it had the power to raise the hairs in the back of his neck. Something was wrong. Something had happened. Somehow, he knew.
Somehow.
“Samantha!” Christina called, her hand holding his with a tightness that spoke of her growing concern. “Mrs. Huxley!”
Silence met them.
Nothing, but silence.
“Where could they be?” Christina exclaimed as her eyes turned to him, and then moved to search their surroundings once more. They slowed their steps, still wading through the tall grass when Christina suddenly stopped. “There!” Her hand shot out, and her finger pointed westward to a spot near the forest.
Thorne squinted his eyes, and in the moment the tall grass stalks swayed to one side, he thought to glimpse one of the back wheels of Owen’s bath chair.
His upended bath chair.
Together, the two of them raced forward, their hearts beating almost out of their chests. “Owen!” He heard his wife call as they pushed forward.
Indeed, as they drew closer, Thorne could see the bath chair lying on it
s side, the back wheel slowly turning in the wind.
Christina dropped to her knees as she reached the chair, and Thorne saw Owen lying on the ground, his eyes closed and a bruise growing on his forehead. His wife’s hands ran over the boy’s face, then reached to check his pulse. “He’s alive,” she whispered, her breath coming fast, and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked up at him and then craned her neck. “Where are the others? What happened here?”
Thorne stood up tall, and using his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun, he allowed his gaze to sweep over their surroundings. At first, he could not see anything beyond the endless sea of swaying grass. Then, however, his gaze touched upon something else.
He surged forward, large strides carrying him closer to the forest’s edge where he found Mrs. Huxley, lying on her back, a bleeding wound upon her head. He tried to rouse the woman, but she was out cold. Yet her pulse beat strong.
Shaking his head, Thorne rose to his feet once more. He could not imagine what had happened here. Had someone attacked them? Where were Samantha and Mrs. Miller? Were they somewhere nearby? Hidden in the grass?
“One of us should go get help,” Christina stated as she came walking over. “We will need help to take them back to the house.” Her hand settled upon his arm. “Where could she be?” Her blue eyes were wide and full of fear.
Thorne shook his head. “I don’t know. But we will find her.” His gaze lowered to meet his wife’s. “Head back and alert your family.”
Christina nodded, then paused. “Perhaps you should go. I suppose you would be faster than me.” She looked down at her skirts, knowing that they would hinder her movement.
Thorne shook his head. “Whoever did this might still be nearby. I’m not leaving you alone here. Go.” He squeezed her hand, and she nodded.
Then Christina raced back toward the house as fast as she could.