by Anne Gracie
Besides, it could be days before he made another appearance, and she had a wedding to prepare for. A new life beckoned; she would put it behind her.
She regarded the various piles of clothes with a sinking stomach. She had nothing suitable to wear to visit someone called Lady Helen—presumably the daughter of an earl—and neither did the children. They were going to look like the veriest beggars.
It couldn’t be helped. She gritted her teeth and started packing again.
“Neat maneuver,” Marcus commented as they drove toward the vicarage. “Do Nell and Harry expect you, by the way?”
“No,” Nash said. “But there was no other way to shift her. She’s a stubborn little creature, my Maddy, and prideful.” And with too much courage for her own good.
He glanced up and found Marcus watching him with an odd expression. “What?”
“You’re sure you’re not in love with her?”
“No, of course not. Good God, Marcus, you grew up in the same house I did. Do you think I’d commit the folly of marrying for love?”
Marcus gave him a thoughtful look, then transferred his gaze to the scenery passing by. “I didn’t think it, no.”
Just over an hour later, Nash, Maddy, Lizzie, and the children set off for Firmin Court, leaving Marcus and his groom behind. It was rather a squash, three adults and five children in a chaise built for four, but it was also built for luxury, so was roomier than usual.
Nash would have ridden, but Marcus had put his foot down there, refusing to be marooned without transport. Nash could borrow one of Harry’s horses if he needed one, Marcus pointed out. Besides, Nash needed to watch out for Marcus’s new upholstery.
To Nash’s dismay, Mrs. Matheson had given the children a large midday meal and, with Marcus’s dire threats in his ears, Nash watched as Henry grew progressively quieter and paler with every bounce and jolt of the carriage. It was an extremely well-sprung carriage, but the road was rough and rutted.
Just as Nash was about to say something, Maddy said, “Are you feeling unwell, Henry?”
“I’m all right,” Henry mumbled. Nash wasn’t convinced.
“Henry always gets ill in carriages,” Jane told Nash.
“And on boats,” John added. “They’ll never let him in the navy if he gets seasick all the time.”
“I will too join the nav—” Henry turned almost green and clapped his hand over his mouth.
“Stop the carriage!” Nash roared and lifted the boy out of the carriage and onto the side of the road.
“Don’t worry,” he told Henry after the lad had rid himself of his meal. “Many quite distinguished naval officers suffer from mal de mer.” He gave Henry a handkerchief to wipe his mouth.
“Who?” Henry muttered skeptically. He was mortified.
“Admiral Lord Nelson, the late Hero of Trafalgar,” Nash told him. “Suffered from terrible seasickness his entire life.”
“Truly, sir?” Henry made to return the handkerchief. It was revolting.
“Throw it in the ditch,” Nash told him and, with an air of great daring, Henry did. “Admiral Nelson had a foolproof cure for seasickness, too.”
“What was it?”
Nash winked. “He used to tell people, ‘You’ll feel better if you sit under a tree.’ ”
It took Henry a moment to work it out, then he gave a wobbly grin. “It’s a very good joke, sir.”
“Good lad,” Nash said. “Now, I think you’ll find the movement easier if you’re up on the box with the driver. John, too,” he added, noticing John hanging out of the carriage window. “And perhaps, if you ask him nicely, Hawkins might show you how to hold the ribbons.” He glanced at the coachman who nodded.
“Happy to take the lads, sir,” Hawkins said. “Like old times with you and his lordship, it’ll be.”
“Hawkins taught me how to drive when I was a boy,” Nash explained to the boys as he helped them up.
“They’re in very reliable hands,” he told Maddy as he climbed into the carriage again. “It’s a fine day, and they’re well rugged up.”
“Thank you, it’s the perfect solution,” she agreed. “Henry is so ashamed of his weak stomach. Now he’ll be so excited about riding with the coachman, he won’t give it a thought.”
“What about the rest of the children? Do they suffer like Henry?” he asked. How many he could fit on the roof?
“No, only Henry. You’re very kind to be so concerned.”
Nash inclined his head modestly. He was more worried about Marcus’s upholstery but she didn’t need to know that. “Excellent.” He rapped on the roof for the carriage to continue and relaxed back against the very comfortable squabs.
With the crowding of the carriage ameliorated, the girls and Lizzie spread out and snuggled into the luxurious fur rugs provided. Soon their excitement wore off and they slept, lulled by the rocking of the carriage and the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves. Lizzie slept, too. She’d been up before dawn, milking.
Maddy was tired, but she knew she’d never sleep. Not with Nash sitting opposite her, looking handsomer than any man had a right to be. His gaze passed over her from time to time like a featherlight caress.
Of course she couldn’t sleep. What if her mouth fell open? Or she snored? Besides, Lucy had fallen asleep in her lap and Maddy’s arm was aching. She shifted uncomfortably.
“What is it?” Nash leaned forward.
“Nothing. Just pins and needles.”
“I’ll take her.” Nash lifted the little girl out of her arms. Lucy stirred but didn’t wake.
“Thank you.” Maddy stretched and massaged her arm. She sat back and gazed out of the window, pretending to look at the scenery, but secretly watching his face in the reflection of the glass.
He was a constant surprise, this man she was going to marry. In the last few days she’d seen sides of him she hadn’t imagined. And today seeing him with his brother showed her yet another aspect of him.
What had Nash said about his family? That they’d been torn apart? She’d seen no sign of that with Marcus. The two men were obviously close, despite their different natures.
And soon she would meet his half brother, Harry, and his wife.
She nudged his leg with her foot. “Tell me about Harry. Is he like you?”
He gave a muffled snort of laughter. “Like me? In looks, perhaps, but not in other ways. I’ve probably talked more to you in the last week than Harry has talked to anyone in his whole lifetime. The strong, silent type, my half brother, Harry.”
“Half brother?”
He glanced at the sleeping children and shrugged. “It’s no secret, but it’s not a pretty story. Harry’s mother was a maidservant who fell pregnant to my father during a brief period when he and my mother were estranged. When the pregnancy started to show, Father had her married off to the local blacksmith, one Mr. Morant. She died and the smith mistreated Harry, so my great-aunt Gert, no respecter of convention, took him in, along with Gabe.”
Maddy hesitated, trying to tread delicately. “So Gabe is also a half brother?”
“No, he’s the true, legitimate son of both my mother and father. The resemblance to my father is unmistakable, though we both have our mother’s blue eyes.”
Maddy turned the information over in her mind. It didn’t make sense. Why had his great-aunt taken Gabe in? Why wasn’t he reared with Nash and Marcus? “I’m a little confused.”
Over Lucy’s tumbled curls he gave her a rueful sigh. “I’m not surprised. It was the result of my parents’ tumultuous marriage. I told you before that they were madly in love. Their life together consisted of a series of passionate quarrels and even more passionate reconciliations. To Mama, it was the breath of life.”
“And your father?” She was beginning to understand why Nash rejected the very notion of a love match. Or what he thought was one.
“Father adored my mother, loathed the fuss. Marcus takes after him rather a lot, only he’s more . . . contained. Quieter.”
Maddy wasn’t interested in Marcus. She wanted to hear about the little boy who was brought up away from his siblings . . . as she had been.
“But why did Gabe live with your great-aunt? Surely the children weren’t involved with the quarrels?”
Nash stared out of the carriage window for a long time, watching the scenery slip by. His eyes were bleak.
“I told you once how my parent’s passionate emotionalism tore the family apart. Gabe was the real victim.”
She waited.
“During one quarrel, Mama, who was enceinte at the time, told Father the baby was another man’s—it wasn’t, of course, but she wanted to provoke his jealousy.” He grimaced. “It did. He threw her out and took Harry’s mother as his mistress. Mama gave birth to Gabe in London, and though they made it up later, Father would never allow Gabe to be brought home to Alverleigh. Mama left him in the care of servants in London for the first seven years of his life, only seeing him when she came to London. He’d probably still be there had it not been for Great-aunt Gert.”
He moved, adjusting Lucy’s position, and shook his head when Maddy made a gesture to take the little girl. “She was a character, Great-aunt Gert. Extraordinary old woman. We boys were in tremendous awe of her because of the way she ordered Father around—and as far as we knew, only God could tell Father what to do.” He chuckled. “Even my aunt Gosforth claims she was terrified of her, and once you meet Aunt Gosforth you’ll know she’s not lightly intimidated.”
“What did your great-aunt do?”
“As the story goes, she marched into the London house and confiscated Gabe from my mother, tucked him under her arm like a brown paper parcel, and whisked him off to Dorset, where she brought him and Harry up as gentlemen and brothers, Renfrew blood counting for more, with Great-aunt Gert, than any nonsense about legitimacy. Legitimacy, she used to say, was nothing but man’s vanity, but children came from God.”
“Oh, I like Great-aunt Gert.”
He chuckled. “She’d have terrified even you.”
“I wouldn’t mind, as long as she rescued children. So when did you and Marcus meet Gabe? Did you come together for Christmas?”
“No, he never saw us, nor we him, until we all met at school when I was about fifteen. And we called Gabe ‘the bastard,’ as Father always did, and Harry ‘the other bastard.’ And we made trouble for him and Harry until they were both expelled.”
“You? You did that to your own brothers?” Maddy could barely believe it. “But why?”
He sighed and made a rueful grimace. “It’s the kind of thing that comes easily to boys of that age. Father egged us on, of course. He was furious that Great-aunt Gert had dared to send his bastard spawn—his words not mine—to his old, very exclusive school.”
He touched the tiny scar on his mouth. “Harry gave me this, in one of our fights.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “We’ve made it up since, of course. Marcus and I have long regretted our behavior. Once you become a man, your father becomes less godlike, more fallible, and we understood more about the world. Besides, it was as plain as the nose on my face that Gabe was our father’s son, just as much as we were. And that it was all the result of our parents’ grand passion.” He stared out of the window with a grim expression, lost in the past.
Maddy leaned back against the cushions and watched his face in the glass. It was a very enlightening tale . . .
At Donhead St. Andrew, the chaise pulled up at an inn to spell and water the horses before the last leg of the journey. Everyone got out to stretch their legs, make use of the inn’s facilities, and take some refreshment.
John and Henry came flying down from the driver’s box, not the least bit chilled, and bursting with tales about how Mr. Hawkins, the coachman, had shown them how to hold the ribbons and even let them drive for a bit—didn’t they notice?—and he’d explained to them how to point their leaders, and had promised to show them how to use the whip when they got to Firmin Court and—and—and—Interrupting and talking over the top of each other, they told Maddy and Lizzie and their sisters all about it, while they wolfed down Eccles cakes and sandwiches and mugs of milk.
Nash nudged Maddy. “I think we’ve found the cure for Henry’s delicate stomach.”
She laughed. “It seems so, indeed.”
She watched the children and wondered at a mother and father who could let a lovers’ quarrel destroy their own child’s life. If it hadn’t been for Great-aunt Gert . . .
Refreshed, they returned to the carriage and continued on their way. Maddy watched Nash’s reflection in the glass and ruminated on the story he’d told.
She understood now why he didn’t trust love.
She sat rocking with the movement of the carriage. Grand-mère used to say people were endlessly greedy, that no matter what you gave them, they would always want more. It was true, Maddy realized. Nash Renfrew had given her his body and promised her his fortune and his name.
Maddy was greedy. She wanted more. She wanted his heart.
Nineteen
The entrance to Firmin Court was through impressive, old wrought iron gates set into a high stone wall. Each gate featured a central design of a horse’s head.
“The estate has been in Nell’s family for generations. Horse breeding is in her blood as well as Harry’s,” Nash commented, nodding at the gates. “They’re carrying on the tradition.”
The driver blew a horn, and a man from the gatehouse ran out. After a brief exchange, he opened the gates and they drove down the curving driveway in the hazy lilac twilight. The sound of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed drive echoed in the stillness. Shreds of mist drifted low to the ground.
Maddy knotted her hands tightly under the rug. She would not be nervous, she would not, she told herself.
The carriage stopped at a shallow flight of stone steps leading up to the front door and they all alighted. Maddy busied herself tidying herself and the children.
“Lordy, Miss Maddy, I dunno if I’m ready for this,” Lizzie whispered nervously. “This place is a lot grander than I expected.”
Maddy squeezed her hand. Somehow Lizzie’s anxiety calmed her own. “Head up, Lizzie. My grandmother used to tell me, never display your nerves to strangers.”
Nash mounted the stairs and tugged on the bellpull. Somewhere deep inside the house the bell jangled.
The door was opened by a tough-looking butler with a twisted scar that ran from one ear down to his chin. Nash nodded to him. “Bronson. I’ve brought guests. Miss Woodford, this is Bronson.”
Bronson bowed. “How do you do, miss? Mr. Renfrew, sir, come in, come in. I’ll let Lady Helen know.” Bronson snapped his fingers and a footman came forward to collect their coats and hats, while Bronson headed briskly down the corridor.
Maddy hadn’t had a lot of experience with butlers, but those she’d met seemed to glide. Bronson marched with a crisp tread, his back ramrod straight.
“Many of Harry’s employees fought with him and Gabe in the war,” Nash explained, noticing her expression. “Bronson was a sergeant, assistant to the regimental quartermaster, and somewhat of a legend, I’m told. Can organize or obtain anything. In peacetime, however, that disfiguring scar of his made people uncomfortable, and he wasn’t able to get work. Ethan Delaney, Harry’s partner, ran into him, half-starved on the water-front, and brought him home.”
“How nice,” she murmured, not really paying attention.
He glanced at her and grinned. “Don’t look so nervous; Nell won’t eat you.”
“I’m not nervous,” she lied.
A door opened and a gust of masculine laughter escaped. It seemed Lady Helen was entertaining guests. More strangers, and no doubt all in their best clothes. Maddy swallowed and lifted her chin.
A small woman came hurrying toward them. “Nash, what a delightful surprise. We weren’t expecting you until next week at least.”
Next week? Maddy shot Nash a look, but he was already embracing Lady Helen and kissing he
r cheek. “Nell, my dear, you look lovelier than ever. Come, let me introduce you to everyone.”
Lady Helen was a small, thin-faced woman with light brown hair, simply dressed, and with beautiful eyes. At first glance, Maddy thought her plain, but when she smiled, there was such warmth in her expression you forgot about her looks.
“What a lovely surprise—I do like unexpected guests.”
“Unexpected?” Maddy repeated. She gave Nash a hard look.
Nash made a helpless gesture. “Letters so oft go astray . . .” His eyes twinkled.
Astray, my foot, Maddy thought. He’d dragged her from her cottage at a moment’s notice, and dumped six unexpected guests on his sister-in-law—seven if you counted Lizzie. Men! They were so inconsiderate.
“Lady Helen, I’m so sorry to arrive on you without warning. I—”
“Nonsense. I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Woodford. Any friend of Nash’s is welcome here. You’re just in time for dinner—”
“Thank you, but if you have guests, I’d rather not intrude.” Especially not travel worn and in a shabby gown.
“Not guests, just my husband, his partner, Ethan Delaney, and our friend, Luke, Lord Ripton, who’s visiting. They were all in the army together and are more like brothers than guests—and now here is Nash—so if you don’t take pity on me, I’ll be the only lady at the dinner table.” She smiled mischievously at Maddy. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. What woman wouldn’t want to dine with four of the handsomest men in England.”
“Four?” Nash interjected with a grin. “Not if Ethan is one of the four.”
“Ethan may not be conventionally handsome, but to many women, his kind of rugged, rough-hewn looks are very attractive,” Lady Helen informed him loftily. “Being a male, you do not see it.”
“I certainly don’t. Big ugly brute, that’s what Ethan is. Has Tibby abandoned him, then, if you’ve been left on your own with all of us handsome fellows?”