Man Most Worthy

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Macey set down her fork and knife and pondered. “The last time I saw Victor, he was at the Goodwins’ house party right before the Derby. He was showing off his new wife as if she’d been one of the fillies.”

  “Yes, he’s married now and has two children. He’s been my solicitor since Julian passed away. Geoffrey recommended him to me, though my insignificant affairs are hardly worth his trouble.”

  Alice stirred her tea then blinked at the sight of Nicholas and Austen entering the room together, her son actually smiling up at the man. It gave her a pang. Julian should have been walking into breakfast with his son. She strove to keep her tone cheerful for Austen’s sake. “Good morning, you two. Where have you been?”

  “Mr. Tennent is going to take me to the river to help me sail my boat after breakfast.” With those words, Austen walked over to the sideboard and began surveying the food, as if he’d said the most normal thing in the world.

  With a quick look at Nicholas, Alice rose and handed her son a plate. “Is that so?”

  Nicholas came over to them and picked up a plate of his own. “I met Austen at the pond this morning. Unfortunately, there was no breeze for him to sail his boat.”

  She drew her brows together. “Austen, dear, I’ve told you you mustn’t go to the pond by yourself.”

  Austen hung his head. “I forgot, Mama.”

  Not wanting to scold him in front of others, she spooned some eggs onto his plate. “Well, I’m glad Mr. Tennent found you.” She turned to Nicholas, grateful that he’d been there. “Thank you for taking care of my son. He doesn’t realize how dangerous a large body of water can be.”

  “Doesn’t he know how to swim?” he said in an offhand tone as he helped himself to the array of food.

  She felt a prickle of defensiveness at the question. “No, he’s only seven.” She lifted her chin a notch. “I never learned myself.”

  “I’m amazed. You were so accomplished at all sorts of sports.”

  “I spent all my time away at school and there was no appropriate place. The river’s current here is too swift.”

  “Of course. I didn’t learn until I was an adult.” Nicholas turned to Austen and winked. “Would you like to learn to swim? There’s nothing more fun than swimming, not even sailing.”

  Austen stared up at Nicholas and slowly nodded his head. Alice noted how similar their shade of deep brown hair was and she felt a catch in her throat. Neither Julian’s nor her hair color was as deep a brown. Austen had inherited his paternal grandmother’s dark, rich sable shade.

  “Good. This is the right time of year.” He continued serving himself. “I remember how sumptuous your breakfast fare seemed to me the last time I came out here.”

  The words distracted her from the notion of how Nicholas proposed to teach Austen to swim. “Did it really?”

  “Oh, yes, I’d never seen anything like it.”

  Macey offered Nicholas tea or coffee.

  “Coffee, thank you. A custom I got used to in America.”

  Alice listened to them chatting, still surprised at how well her friend and Nicholas were getting along. She encouraged Austen to eat. At the moment he seemed too interested in listening to Nicholas. It was the first time she’d seen him interested in anyone besides herself and his nanny. She wondered how this man had succeeded in enthralling both her son and friend in such a short time. Macey was very particular in her acquaintances, shunning most of Alice’s set, and Austen…Alice frowned, not liking to dwell on her son’s shyness, which seemed extreme at times.

  As they were finishing up their breakfast, Nicholas turned to her. “Do you think we could postpone our tennis match until after our sailing expedition?”

  She smiled with an effort, realizing it was good for Austen to have a male friend. “Of course. Where are you two planning to go?”

  “To the river. We can go to the boat landing.”

  Alice forced herself to relax. She knew she tended to be overly protective of Austen but he was all she had left. “There’s a strong current at the river. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on Austen.”

  She felt torn. “It’s just that I know how little boys are. You need to watch them all the time.”

  “Why don’t you come along with us, then?”

  She smiled gratefully. He seemed to understand. “Yes, I should like that.”

  “I promised Austen we’d go right after breakfast. Is that all right?”

  “Yes. Why don’t we meet at the front of the house in ten minutes?”

  Nick handed the line to Austen. “Hold on tight, if you let her go, she might end up all the way in London.”

  The little boy looked at him with alarm and Nick couldn’t stop from reaching out and ruffling his dark hair. With the exception of the darker shade, it was as straight and silky as his mother’s.

  “Don’t worry, if that should happen, we’d send out a search party.” He winked across Austen’s head to Alice, who stood beside her son. She was looking particularly fetching in her wide hat with a gauzy yellow ribbon fluttering in the light breeze. She wore a light muslin dress in a matching shade of yellow and held a frilly parasol in one hand. “I assume you have some sort of launch here we can use on the river.”

  She motioned to the pair of flat-bottom boats tied up at the side of the landing. “Yes, these punts are ours.”

  “You see there? No cause to worry.” He steadied Austen’s hand on the line. “All right, bring her in a little. See that boat coming downstream? We don’t want her to run into it.”

  A party of summer residents was rowing toward them, their laughter floating over the water.

  Alice’s hand came onto her son’s shoulder. “I see the steamer coming. You must move back.”

  Nick turned in the direction she was indicating. The large steamship bringing passengers from London was churning the water far downstream. “It’s coming on the other side. I think we’ll be all right here.”

  “I don’t know, it creates quite a wake as it passes,” Alice murmured, worry in her tone.

  “We’ll move back then.” Nick squatted down and helped Austen bring in his boat.

  The noise of the paddlewheel grew. When the steamship passed by them, Nick waved and Austen followed suit. The young boy laughed when the passengers crowded along the deck waved back. Nick turned to him in surprise. It was the first time the boy had behaved so spontaneously.

  “They don’t know us! Why are they waving?”

  “People like to wave at strangers when they pass them from a train or ship. Haven’t you ever waved at people from a train window?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, then next time you can do it.”

  When the steamer had passed and the water became quiet again, Austen let his sailboat back down into the water.

  “Watch it, Austen,” his mother cautioned as he bent far over the landing. “Don’t lean so far out.”

  “It’s all right, I’ve got him.” Nick was crouched beside the boy.

  Alice smiled at him ruefully. “I’m sorry. I just worry.”

  “It’s natural, I suppose,” Nick said.

  “Do you think Moppet will be dry when we get back?”

  Nick squeezed Austen’s shoulder gently. “I don’t know. He may need all afternoon after the dunking he took.”

  “Do you think we could put him on the boat next time?”

  “I think we could tie him on. That way he’ll be sure to stay on. He might get a little damp from the spray, but he can always dry off again in the sun.”

  Austen nodded and continued his focus on his sailboat.

  Nick found himself enjoying the time as much as the boy. It had been eons since he’d played. He remembered sailing a boat fashioned out of old newspapers. Austen’s was an expensive wooden boat, detailed down to the view inside the cabin of the pilot’s seat. But the experience was the same, he realized. Pretending to be commanding a sailboat
over the seas.

  He glanced up at Alice, who was watching them. As their eyes met, he smiled. She returned the smile but then quickly glanced back at her son.

  Nick reminded himself to go slowly with her. Like a butterfly ready to take flight, she seemed as unreachable as she had fifteen years ago.

  Chapter Nine

  Nick cut quite a dashing figure on the court. No longer the shabbily-garbed secretary, now he looked equally at home on the court in his light-colored flannels and white shirt as on the dance floor in his evening clothes.

  Alice gripped her tennis racket in two hands, ready to sprint to either side of the lawn. The ball flew over the net, and she ran backward to the end of the court and reached it just in time to send it back. It forced Nicholas to sprint toward the net in time to volley it back.

  The game had begun gently but soon heated up. Alice marveled at what a competent—and competitive—player Nicholas had become since his first lesson so many years ago. She was hard pressed to keep up with his powerful serve and was already panting with the effort of running back and forth across the grassy court in her long skirt.

  Again the ball sped across the net, in a low, powerful thrust. She returned it with a backhand swing and watched in satisfaction at the nice low arc she’d achieved. Nick’s racket connected with it and it bounced back. Alice rushed across the court.

  She swung her racket, but wasn’t in time to hit the ball. Nick’s friendly voice came across the court. “Good try.”

  She shrugged and smiled. “I’m not defeated yet.” She picked up the rubber ball and returned to the far end of the court. Swinging her arm overhand, she called out, “Thirty-forty,” and sent the ball across the court.

  It was a good serve. She watched as the ball skimmed just over the net to the other side of the court. Nicholas slammed it back across and once again Alice dashed to the net to volley it back.

  Back and forth it went until she missed it again.

  “Game,” he called out.

  She wiped her forehead with a hanky from her skirt pocket and approached the net. The two shook hands. “You’ve come a long way since that first game.”

  His grip was firm and warm and he returned her smile. “That first teacher of mine was very patient. I never forgot her words of advice.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “What words were those?”

  “That exercising my body would aid my mind.”

  She laughed, surprised and gratified that he should remember the words of a schoolgirl. “Well, I am glad I told you something useful at any rate.”

  His smile faded. “You told me a lot of things I remember.”

  She felt her face flush and patted her handkerchief over her cheeks. “Would you like something cool to drink?”

  “Yes, I could use something refreshing.”

  They walked off the court and took seats on the wrought-iron chairs under the shade of a tree. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing his tanned throat, and his sleeves rolled up. He looked more at ease than she’d ever seen him, like a man comfortable with himself. She poured them each a glass of cold lemonade which had been brought out to them.

  He patted his own forehead with a handkerchief. His dark hair was damp against the edges of his skin. “Thank you,” he said taking the glass she gave him.

  She took a sip from her glass and gave a nervous sounding laugh. “I must say that you gentlemen have the advantage over us ladies in playing the game. You can run all you want over the court and not fear stumbling. We, on the other hand, have the encumbrance of our skirts.”

  “It’s amazing you can run across the court at all. At least you are not so heavily clad as many women.”

  “Yes, I wear my skirt above the ankle.” She found herself wondering how many women he had played tennis with. “Do you play tennis often in America?”

  “Not as often as I’d like.”

  “Is there a club where you play?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are there many members?”

  “Yes, it’s a popular club.”

  “Do many women play tennis in America?” There, she’d asked as directly as she could. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

  “Oh, yes, women are very sporty in America. They’ve taken up tennis with a will even though the game is much newer there than here.”

  “Do they play well?”

  He regarded her over the rim of his glass before setting it back down, and she wondered how transparent she was being. “As I said, their progress is hampered in large part by the heavy clothing they wear. I don’t know how more don’t expire of heat prostration. I rarely play mixed doubles, preferring to play with a few of my male acquaintances who are very competitive at the game.” He glanced away. “It helps keep me on my toes.”

  She smiled, feeling more comfortable. “I noticed your—ahem—competitive streak.”

  His gaze flickered back to hers. “I admit, when I play I play to win. I don’t see much point in it otherwise.”

  Her smile deepened. “There is the benefit of exercise.”

  “I know, yet what makes the game exciting for me is to win.” He shrugged, looking away again, as if uncomfortable. “It may be a failing of mine to want to win. I don’t play with those I consider inferior to me. It would give me no pleasure to beat someone who wasn’t a worthy opponent. That’s why there are only a few I bother to play with.”

  She laughed nervously. “If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have been so bold to play against you.”

  His brown eyes met hers immediately. “That was different.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “How so?”

  “You are a woman, for one thing, and well…you first introduced me to the game.” His lips curled up at one end. “Besides, you are a formidable player, despite your long skirts.”

  “I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.” She removed her straw hat with the narrow round brim and fanned herself. “I must confess, I have made some concessions in my attire. Besides, my shorter skirt I—” she lowered her voice “—I refuse to wear a corset to play. But it’s a deep, dark secret, for if anyone should know, I would be excluded from any respectable tennis club, including Wimbledon.”

  She could feel her skin coloring under his scrutiny but his tone was light when he replied. “Well, you may rest assured I shan’t let it be known.”

  His steady gaze hadn’t left her face and she wondered why she’d told him such a thing. Just like fifteen years before when she’d dared him to kiss her, he brought out something uninhibited in her. “Sometimes, I feel as if we had seen each other only yesterday.”

  “You at least haven’t changed outwardly.”

  She found herself blushing again. “Thank you, sir. I know it is mere flattery, but a lady of my age appreciates such remarks all the same.”

  His dark eyes remained serious. “I only spoke the truth. You appear as young as you did at—what was it you told me so emphatically? ‘Almost seventeen’?”

  She laughed. “I was desperate to grow up back then.”

  They sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks. She felt at more peace than she usually did in London. “I want to thank you for taking time with Austen.”

  “You needn’t thank me for something that gives me pleasure.”

  “Not everyone—especially a man busy with his affairs—would take the time with a young boy, especially one as shy as Austen.”

  “Perhaps he just hasn’t had the opportunity to be brought out of his shell.”

  She rubbed the sweat beads on her glass, feeling on guard once again. “His childhood must seem very different from yours.”

  He emptied his glass in one long swallow, during which Alice found her gaze riveted to the strong contours of his neck. He set his glass down. “It is, yet those differences are more superficial than anything.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “Boys will be boys.”

  “Do you—” it was hard for her to formulate the t
hought “—think he is too…timid?”

  He seemed to be evaluating her question and she was grateful for that, unlike her brother and other well-meaning gentlemen, who were quick to point out all they thought was wrong with Austen.

  Just as Nick had years earlier, he seemed to take her concerns seriously. “He is timid, but then lots of boys are at that age. He just needs to gain confidence in himself and his abilities. In the right atmosphere, surrounded by the right people, he’ll do that, in his own time and way.”

  She poured him another glass of lemonade, as she pondered his words. “Do you think he’s surrounded by the right people? I’m afraid sometimes I want to shield him too much.” She set the pitcher down, afraid to meet his gaze as she said the last.

  “You’re his mother, that’s your prerogative. I think any boy would be privileged to have you as a mother.”

  Her eyes locked with his. There was something unmistakably tender in both his look and tone.

  He cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask your permission, actually, about something concerning Austen.”

  “Yes?” Wariness tinged her voice and she had to force herself to relax.

  “I was thinking of taking him on a treasure hunt. You know, since you were reading him the book about pirates.”

  She smiled in relief. “Oh, yes! What precisely would you do?”

  “Well, I could draw up a map, using the property around here and its landmarks. We could make a morning or afternoon of it. I’d bury a little chest somewhere.”

  “Oh, it sounds delightful. Perhaps we can walk into town after lunch and look for a chest and some treasure.”

  “Yes, I thought about that.” He grinned ruefully. “I’ll probably have to go by myself, however, since you need to stay and distract Austen.”

  She smiled. “Of course. I’d been meaning to ask you if you’d like to accompany me to church tomorrow morning.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

  “Would you like to go the chapel you attended before?”

  His glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “Have you ever been there?”