“Everything all right?” Emily asked.
Mary wasn't entirely sure. The haunted look in his eyes concerned her. “I hope so,” she said and rushed out into the garden. But Peter wasn't there, which meant he must still be inside. Except he wasn't. She searched every room along with the attic, even though the door to the stairs was locked.
Irrational dread began to set in after almost an hour went by and he still wasn't found. Cassandra helped Mary look while Emily distracted the rest of the children with stories.
“I don't understand,” Mary said. She’d gone back outside, hoping to spot him. He had to be here somewhere, surely.
“We should check beyond the garden,” Cassandra said.
“But he knows not to leave it. All the children do.” Mary spun around, unsure of which direction to turn. Her heart was racing too fast. She'd sensed something was wrong, and she'd just stood there while he'd walked away. If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself.
“He's here,” Emily's voice calling from the house released the pressure inside Mary's chest. “Mr. Crawford found him on his way back from the village.”
Mary laughed with relief as Cassandra embraced her. “Thank God!”
Together they walked back, entering through the kitchen where Peter was sitting with a biscuit in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.
Mary frowned. The worry and dread she'd experienced transformed into anger. She moved forward, intent on demanding an explanation, but Mr. Crawford stepped into her path, blocking the way.
“I would advise against that, Miss Clemens.” He acknowledged Cassandra with a nod. “My lady.”
Bristling, Mary raised her chin. How dare he interfere? “Please step aside, sir.” Her voice was strained with emotion, her body quivering with agitation.
Mr. Crawford remained precisely where he was. Removing his attention from Mary, he addressed Cassandra, which only irked Mary all the more. Did her request not matter? “Perhaps we ought to discuss this outside.” He gestured toward the door, and to Mary’s dismay, Cassandra urged her toward it. “The lad has had a trying couple of hours,” Mr. Crawford added once they were outside and Peter was well out of earshot.
Mary snorted. “He has had a trying couple of hours?” Good grief, she’d been beside herself imagining the worst and here he now was, drinking milk and eating biscuits after enjoying a pleasant little walk.
“I don’t think railing at him will help at the moment,” Mr. Crawford continued. He was still speaking to Cassandra and ignoring Mary completely. Perhaps if she stomped on his foot he’d take notice? “Indeed, I fear it will only push him away even more, which I believe is the opposite of what you hope to achieve.”
“Yes,” Cassandra said. She sounded pensive. “The most important thing is that he is safe. We can have a word with him later. In an unruffled fashion,” she directed a firm look at Mary. “He’s more likely to offer an explanation for his behavior if he doesn’t feel cornered.”
“Cassandra,” Mary tried. “Don’t you think we should—”
“I know he frightened you,” Cassandra said. “I feared for his safety too, but Mr. Crawford is right. Confronting Peter in anger will likely make matters worse. We need to calm ourselves and steady our minds before we speak with him.” She turned to Mr. Crawford. “Did you find the supplies you were seeking?”
Stunned by the sudden change in conversation, Mary retreated a step.
“Yes. I’m expecting a delivery of oak planking and slate tiles later today. In the meantime, I’ll start preparing the areas I plan to work on this afternoon and…”
His voice faded into the distance as Mary walked away. She needed to move if she wanted to regain her composure, so she walked across the lawn in the direction of the lake. Her heart had still not fully recovered, its beats vibrating fiercely against her breast.
“Miss Clemens!”
Sighing, Mary thought of quickening her step to prevent the man who called to her from catching up. She really didn’t feel like facing him right now, but at the same time, she was too emotionally exhausted to bother with trying to evade him. So she turned, momentarily startled by his piercing blue gaze and resolute stride. Of all the things she needed right now, turning to goo wasn’t one of them. She straightened her shoulders and braced herself, determined to keep her attraction to him under control.
“What is it?” she said, more forcefully and more curt than she’d intended.
He drew to a halt before her. The breeze tugged at his hair, disturbing it in a haphazard way that made him look even more charming.
Oh bother!
“I want to apologize for upsetting you.” His voice was soft and gentle and oh-so tempting.
“You did not upset me. Peter did.”
“But I stopped you from confronting him, and it is obvious you did not like it.”
She crossed her arms, protecting her body from the effect he had on her senses. But it was a futile effort. Her pulse was already picking up speed, her skin warming in spite of the chill in the air.
“You’re right,” she said, latching on to his words and forcing herself to focus. “You arrived here only yesterday, and already you’re interfering in matters that do not concern you.”
He frowned. “Would you have rather I left the boy on the road?”
“No. Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Miss Clemens, I do believe you just insulted me.”
“Yes, but you may take solace in knowing it’s not as bad as what Mr. Rivers had to endure.”
“Mr. Rivers?”
“The previous caretaker,” she explained. “I told him he was an ugly old man with a vicious character.”
Mr. Crawford stared at her a moment and then, to her utter stupefaction, he laughed. “Did you really?”
She nodded, and for some absurd reason she could not keep from smiling. “It was the truth,” she said, and Mr. Crawford laughed even harder. “I daresay I should not be chastised for being honest.”
“Oh dear God,” Mr. Crawford choked. “You really are a rare creature, Miss Clemens. Do you know that?”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
He drew a deep breath and brought his mirth under some measure of control. “Oh, it is definitely a compliment.”
“Then I thank you, Mr. Crawford, even though I’m still very cross with you.” It wasn’t really true, but she didn’t want him to think she could be disarmed with a bit of humor. “Peter gave me a terrible scare. He knows he’s not supposed to leave the house or the garden without at least informing someone, but he did so anyway only to act as if he’d done nothing wrong.”
His expression sobered. “I understand why this upset you, but can you not take a moment to think back to when you were a child? Were there not times when all you wanted was to be left alone? When you were angry or upset at the world and nothing seemed fair?” He moved a bit closer, and Mary’s breath hitched in response to the scent of leather and spice that clung to his person. “Peter lost both his parents a few short weeks ago. Life as he knew it was turned upside down from one moment to the next. He needs time, Miss Clemens, though I do agree that he must learn to show some consideration for you and your friends.”
“But he will be more likely to listen if we speak to him calmly,” Mary said.
Mr. Crawford nodded. “Connecting with him might help as well.”
“I’ve thought of that too, but I don’t know how. He doesn’t show any interest in the books I’ve suggested he read or in the games we play with the other children.” She sagged a little beneath the concern she felt for the boy. “Ensuring the comfort and happiness of all the children we’ve taken in is our primary goal. Knowing how miserable Peter is distresses me to no end, especially since I have no idea what to do in order to help him.”
“Would you be willing to let me try?”
Mary stared up at the man she’d only just met the day before and shook her head
in wonder. “Do you wish to?”
He held her gaze until her stomach dipped in the middle. “Of course.” The smile that followed swept past any lingering defenses and filled her heart with warmth. “I’m ready to assist in any way I can.”
“You…” Words failed her and for a second she was tempted to turn away and avoid his gaze. It was intense and searching and it pierced her skin with smoldering heat. “Thank you,” she managed.
“You are welcome.” He hesitated briefly before stepping back, his eyes sharpening as if with renewed focus. “I should probably get started on the roof.”
And then he turned and walked away.
Watching him go, it occurred to Mary that she was a fool. Choosing to wear a high-collared gown made no difference at all. Indeed, she could wrap herself up in heavy wool blankets, and it still wouldn’t make her feel fully clothed in Mr. Crawford’s company.
Caleb applied himself to his work in the hope that removing broken tiles and cutting away rotted sheathing would rid his mind of Miss Clemens. It did not, though it did offer his body a welcome release in the form of physical exertion.
Christ, she’d been lovely in the midst of her fury, her eyes sparking with indignation when he’d stopped her from talking to Peter. And the prim gown she’d worn, buttoned up all the way to her chin like a piece of armor to protect her in battle. It had stirred his blood until all he could think of was how he might peel the garment away from her body to uncover the skin beneath. He’d do it slowly, taking his time to torture her a little and to heighten the anticipation for them both.
Bloody hell.
He pried additional shingles from the roof and tossed them onto the ground below. He’d been here only one day and already Miss Clemens had put him in a state of need unlike any he’d ever experienced before. It was not only troubling but also invigorating. Especially since he’d discovered her to be a lot more than just another attractive woman.
She was fiercely protective of the children under her care, and she was ready to fight for what she believed in. But she was also willing to listen to reason, and this was something he truly admired. Most people he’d known were too stubborn to do so but not Miss Clemens.
And the fire in her eyes whenever he approached her, stood near her, or looked at her, revealed her to be a passionate woman, even though he was sure she’d deny this if asked. Cutting away another large piece of sheathing, Caleb chastised himself for thinking in such unruly terms. A gentleman did not ask a respectable woman if he stirred a desire within her. But the prospect of doing so and where it might lead was yet another fantasy for him to enjoy later in the privacy of his cottage.
“Mr. Caleb!”
He looked down at the ground to where Miss Emily Howard was standing. “Yes?”
“Luncheon is ready. Would you care to take a break?”
Caleb glanced at the widening hole in the roof and then back at Miss Howard. “Thank you, but I would like to finish this first so I’m ready when the supplies arrive. I’ll grab something later if that is all right.”
She nodded and disappeared back inside, leaving Caleb to continue with his work. He would also have to add flashing around one of the chimneys since it looked like the wind must have ripped part of it off. Clambering sideways, he set to work on the next group of broken tiles, pulling them off one at a time until the sheathing beneath was revealed. He tested the wood with his knife and sighed when the tip of the blade sank into the spongy surface. This would have to be cut away and replaced as well. He proceeded to do so while taking care to preserve the good wood.
“Mr. Crawford?”
Caleb stilled in response to Miss Clemens’s voice. It was closer than he would have expected, considering his current location. Placing his palm further up on the roof for support, he shifted his weight and turned his head. The top of her face peered over the gutter, and for a second his instinct was to leap toward her and pull her to safety. But he was on a slanted roof and would likely send both of them tumbling to their deaths if he did that.
So he drew a deep breath and steadied his voice. “Why are you standing on the ladder, Miss Clemens?”
“So I could bring you this,” she said. Her hand came into view, sending a jolt through Caleb as he realized she wasn’t holding on to the ladder as well as she should be. And then she reached out and placed a small parcel close to his feet. “You must eat something, so I thought I would bring you a ham and cheese sandwich.”
Caleb glanced at the offering and slid his way slowly toward it. “Thank you, Miss Clemens.” He was actually quite hungry.
“How are the repairs coming along?” she asked while he picked up the sandwich and peeled back the cloth she’d used to wrap it.
He took a bite to hide his smile because really, the fact of her standing there with most of her face hidden from view, conversing with him while he sat on the roof above her, was simply too absurd.
“It’s a rough bit of work,” he admitted. “I won’t manage more than a couple of patches today, and that’s still assuming the supplies I purchased arrive within the next couple of hours.”
“Hmm…” Her eyes, the only part of her face he could see, grew pensive. “You enjoy it though, I think.”
“The work?”
“Well, yes. You were humming before I alerted you to my presence. It was a cheerful tune.” He chewed his food while he watched her. “Have you always wanted to be a laborer?”
“I do enjoy doing practical jobs that allow me to work with my hands,” he told her carefully.
“Did it require a lot of training?”
He took another bite of sandwich, allowing himself to mull that question over for a bit. “I picked up most of my skills as I went along. Sometimes all that’s required is a willingness to learn. I applied myself, asked questions. And paid attention.”
“Hmm…” She was silent a moment, during which he continued eating. It was strange, her standing like that high off the ground, but stranger still was how much he liked having her there. “You must have some good credentials for Viscount Aldridge to have engaged you.”
Caleb finished his food and considered how best to reply to that question. Perhaps a bit of honesty would not be remiss. “He and I have actually known each other since we were children.”
Miss Clemens’s eyes widened. “How on earth is that possible? I mean, you are…well…” She raised her gaze to the sky as if in contemplation.
He grinned. “Our fathers were acquainted with each other.”
“Oh. I see.”
And in that second, he saw in her eyes the truth she imagined, of his father in the Earl of Vernon’s employ and of him being granted the opportunity to play with Aldridge. The urge to correct her was there, but if he did so, he’d lose his anonymity and the normalcy with which Miss Clemens and her friends treated him. He’d be a duke, one of the most powerful men in England, and not at all the sort of man who ought to be climbing about on roofs.
In fact, they’d probably send him packing with the declaration that he was too good for their modest home. And they’d be appalled and embarrassed by the thought of having put him up in a cottage that was barely more than a shed.
“It pleases me to know you and your father were treated well. The aristocracy can be so horribly snobbish,” she told him emphatically.
Caleb swallowed any remaining wish to tell her the truth. “You speak with a keen dislike for their set.”
“Yes. Well. I have had my share of bad experiences.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he said, “But you are gentry, are you not?”
“No. My father acquired his fortune in the textile trade, so my family was never really good enough for the gentry or the aristocracy. Honest work is frowned upon by them, you see, which only makes me loathe them all the more. Both are a class determined to instill their will on everyone, to make demands and rule people’s lives. Well, it ruined mine and…I’m sorry. I did not mean to become so incensed, but when I think of Cassandra,
Emily, and myself and the heartache we all endured, it angers me, knowing we could be socially accepted if not for all the ridiculous rules.”
“I take it you have no intention of ever returning to that way of life?”
“Most assuredly not.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it. “I would rather live on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean than have to endure the company of an aristocrat.”
Try as he might, Caleb couldn’t quite stop her words from slicing away at his chest. It shouldn’t matter if she detested his kind, yet it did, whether he wanted it to or not.
Disappointed by the idea of how much she would hate him if she knew him to be a duke, he turned his shoulder toward her and pulled at a loose piece of tile. “I should get back to work,” he said, infusing his voice with as much lightness as he could muster.
“Yes, of course. Good luck with that.”
She clambered down, leaving Caleb alone. For long moments after, he just sat there, his excitement with his progress and the work ahead completely forgotten. All he could think of was George and the burdens he’d had to live with because of the title.
4
When they withdrew to the parlor after dinner that evening, Mr. Crawford took a seat in the corner by the door, allowing Mary, Cassandra, Emily, and the children to make use of the sofa and armchairs. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, thanks to Mr. Crawford’s willingness to chop wood for them. Even though Mary had told him it wasn’t necessary yet, he’d insisted, and when the temperature had started to drop in the evening, she’d appreciated his doing so.
“Do you prefer Gulliver’s Travels or Robinson Crusoe tonight?” Cassandra asked everyone.
“Robinson Crusoe,” Eliot said, and both Bridget and Penelope agreed.
Picking up the red leather-bound volume, Cassandra flipped it open and started to read. Mary leaned back in the armchair with Bridget in her lap. There was something wonderfully comforting about the little girl’s cheek pressed against her shoulder as she snuggled closer for warmth. Daphne sat on Emily’s lap while Penelope and Eliot crowded next to Cassandra.
No Ordinary Duke Page 4