Maris was settling the children at their small table, each drinking out his or her favorite nursery rhyme cup, when she heard someone approaching. She looked up, expecting a maid or footman. Instead, Cothaire’s cook came into the nursery.
“Mrs. Ford! What are you doing here?” She pressed her hand over the bib of her apron. “Oh, dear, that came out completely wrong.”
“No need to apologize, my dear girl. I wanted to bring these treats to the children, both here and in Lady Caroline’s rooms, myself.” The cook smiled before setting a tray with small cakes on the table. “A visit to the nursery is long overdue. I have never spent any time with the children here.”
“You have a good excuse with your many duties in the kitchen.”
“We all have our tasks to complete. May I?” Mrs. Ford gestured toward the window bench.
“Please sit. I should have suggested that immediately.”
“My dear Miss Oliver, calm yourself.” The cook sat on the cushioned bench and sighed. “Ah, it is always a pleasure to be off my feet.”
Maris let the tension slide from her shoulders and sat beside Mrs. Ford. “I understand.”
“I am sure these youngsters keep you busy, but it is a good thing you are doing, Miss Oliver. Helping Lord Trelawney become acquainted with them. He has spent his whole life taking care of Cothaire. For him to have an opportunity to enjoy the children’s company is a wondrous gift, and I hope it will help him win Lady Gwendolyn’s hand.”
“You seem to approve of the match.”
“If the earl thinks it is for the best, then so do I.” The cook smiled. “When the earl was a young boy here, I was a girl working in the scullery. I have watched him grow and have a family. Never once have I seen him make a hasty decision. He cares deeply about his children and for his estate.” She dabbed her finger at a spot of icing on her apron. “As for Lady Gwendolyn, I have not seen her in five years. The last time she called at Cothaire was shortly before she married Mr. Cranford. I made my seed cake for her. From the time she was no older than these youngsters, she was fond of it, especially if I mixed ginger into the batter. Even then, there was talk of a match between her and Lord Trelawney.”
“The family must be fond of Lady Gwendolyn,” Maris said, unsure how else to answer.
“Yes. The families visited each other often before Lady Launceston died. After her death, our family withdrew from Society.” Mrs. Ford looked down at her folded hands. “It was during that time that Lady Gwendolyn was courted by Mr. Cranford. Before then, Lord Trelawney was her escort to gatherings here in the West Country. A young woman can grow impatient, especially when she wants to attend a ball or a different sort of assembly.” She looked up, worried lines threading her brow. “I am not saying her affections were inconstant, but a young woman must consider her future and her family’s future.” She was about to add more when Gil walked over to them.
He carefully cradled one of the cakes in both hands. Crumbs trailed after him as he crossed the rug. With a big grin, he held it out to Mrs. Ford.
“How kind of you, Master Gil,” she said as she took the cake.
He grinned as he licked frosting from his fingertips. “Yummy!”
“I shall let Irene know. She made that icing.”
“Make more. Yummy.”
The cook looked at Maris and raised her brows. “He speaks clearly for such a young child. Is he two?”
“Somewhere between two and three is my estimation.” She kept her smile in place so she would not upset the little boy. As soon as he went to the table, she sighed. “If one of their families could be found, we might learn more. As it is…” She shrugged.
“The poor dears! Set adrift in a sea of strangers. Oh, I should go before I get more maudlin. It makes me angry to know their futures are uncertain.” Mrs. Ford stood and lifted the cake in her hands. With a chuckle, she said, “Thank you for your time, Miss Oliver. If I might, I would like to return occasionally to visit the children.”
“You are always welcome.”
The youngsters called their farewells as the cook went down the back stairs. In her wake, Maris was left with plenty to think about, but she kept coming back to the same question that had echoed through her mind during the past few days.
If Lord Trelawney cared so deeply for Lady Gwendolyn, why did he gaze at Maris with such warmth in his eyes?
*
Reaching for his hat, Arthur asked himself why he was bothering to bring it. If Miss Oliver did, indeed, intend to take the children up onto the hill overlooking the cove, the wind was sure to send it flying. He could hardly give chase when his knee and ankle were so stiff.
When he arose this morning, he had been relieved to discover most of his pain was gone. As Mr. Hockbridge had assured him, a short rest and then exercising his leg gently had helped. Arthur doubted, however, the doctor would consider letting Miss Oliver perch on his leg to get Gil out of the tree as gentle usage.
He paused, his hand hovering above his hat, as the memory of her slender waist between his hands and that luscious scent of jasmine filled his senses again. The simple ruffle on her gown’s hem had brushed his cheek while her lyrical voice bade Gil to slide into her arms. Oh, how Arthur wished he could have been the one she asked that of!
He shook his head. Had he lost the good sense God had given him? He should not be thinking about her. He had promised to offer marriage to Gwendolyn, and his thoughts should be on her. And he needed to focus on the pressing matter of the odd letter she had sent. He would send another note in the morning, asking for her help in deciphering the strange code he could not break. Too many questions plagued him.
Was something wrong with her?
Had someone discovered her activities and intercepted the original message, sending another filled with gibberish to him?
Had someone discovered his activities, so she had written a worthless note to confuse the interloper?
And those questions were just the beginning of the long list he had.
No doubt his valet thought Arthur was losing his mind. After asking Goodwin at least a half dozen times if anything had been delivered for him, Arthur realized he was drawing unnecessary attention to his eagerness. The household knew of his correspondence with Gwendolyn. He could pretend he was eager for her next profession of love, but to do so meant lying. He would not do that.
For the past year, he had walked a fine line between his secret life as a courier and being the dutiful son of the Earl of Launceston. He had learned to answer questions in a way that did not require him to lie, though he seldom could reveal what he did while away from the house.
Lord, I trust You will help me find the right words to fulfill my vow to take over Cranny’s obligations and protect my family from what could be dire consequences if the truth emerged. You have guided me on this journey for the past year. I pray You bring the war with Napoleon to a satisfactory ending that will allow me to set aside my duties as a courier.
Picking up his hat, Arthur tapped it into place and left his rooms. Sunshine flowed through the windows, making the corridor unexpectedly warm for an autumn afternoon. Glancing outside, he saw small whitecaps on the waves beyond the sheltered cove. That, as much as the tree branches swaying, told him there was a breeze. A windy day might be too dangerous to take little children along the hills edging the harbor, but the day looked perfect for a stroll through the remnants of the summer grass with Miss Oliver.
A door opened almost in Arthur’s face, and he jumped aside. Carrie looked out and hastily apologized.
“No need,” he said with a smile, as he glanced down at the baby she held. By her side, Gil clutched tightly onto her skirt. “After a lifetime in this house, I should know better than to walk close to the doors on this corridor.” He did not want to admit he had been lost in a sweet fantasy of Miss Oliver. Without the distraction of the children.
Carrie asked, “Going out again with our young friends?”
“Yes.” He was glad his sister had
no inkling what he was thinking. “Miss Oliver thought taking them for a walk along the headland would be a good outing.”
“You should heed her. She knows a lot about children.” Carrie’s smile wobbled as her gaze grew distant. “And on many other topics, as well.”
“Such as?”
His sister blinked before asking, “Such as what?”
“You mentioned Miss Oliver is an expert on subjects other than children.”
“She may be, but I cannot tell you a specific one.” Carrie shifted the baby, who had begun to whimper. “But she is a patient listener when I ask her the same questions time and again.”
“Most likely she is accustomed to doing so for the children.”
Laughing, she said, “I never thought of that.” The baby began crying. “Excuse us, Arthur. We were on the way to the kitchen for a feeding, and I have learned if I delay getting Joy to the wet nurse, my ears will suffer.”
“Then by all means, do not let me keep you.” He swept his arm in a courtly bow as he stepped out of her way. “Gil, would you like to come with me and Miss Oliver and the other children?”
“Who?”
“Maris, sweetheart,” Carrie said. Over his head, she added, “He doesn’t recognize her surname.”
Arthur nodded, realizing he had never heard the children address her as anything but Maris. How different from the stern woman who had presided over the nursery when they were young! She was Nurse Broderick, a mouthful for a child to pronounce, so they had usually avoided using her name.
“Would you like to come with me and Maris?” Arthur smiled as he spoke her name casually.
“My baby,” Gil replied, grabbing Carrie’s skirt with his other hand.
“He wants to stay with Joy,” she said.
“I understood.” Anything else he might have added went unsaid when the baby let out a piercing cry, echoed by Gil.
Carrie calmed the little boy and tried to do the same with Joy. She hurried away at the best pace Gil’s legs could manage.
Arthur followed, but went in the opposite direction when the hallway branched. He paused when he saw a footman going about his duties.
“Venton,” he called.
“Yes, my lord?”
He asked the footman to explore the attics and search for the baby wagon. If Venton found it, he should send it to one of the carpenters working on the stable. Once it was checked for stability and repaired, it should be painted before Carrie was informed it was available for her use.
After Venton assured him he would make his best effort, Arthur went downstairs. He heard the children’s eager voices before he saw them gathered at one side of the great staircase. The twins wore bright red coats he remembered Susanna wearing. Bertie’s navy one might have belonged to Arthur or his brother.
Miss Oliver wore her unflattering gray bonnet and coat. He imagined her in clothing as bright as the little girls’, tones that would complement her coloring, then halted himself. Thinking in that direction was wrong for a man about to ask another woman to be his wife.
“Are you ready to leave, my lord?” Miss Oliver asked.
He should tell her no. Tell her he had changed his mind. If he did, her lovely emerald eyes would fill with dozens of questions he was not sure he could answer and still protect the secrets he must hide.
“Whenever you are, Miss Oliver.”
She picked up a large basket he had not noticed. Hooking her arm through the handle, she offered her hands to the children. The twins each grabbed one, but Bertie ran to Arthur.
“I friend of the bear,” he announced.
With a laugh, Arthur took the boy’s small hand. “That you are, Bertie.”
The little boy chattered nonstop as they went out to where a small pony cart waited along with his horse. After helping the children into the cart, Arthur held out his hand to Miss Oliver. She accepted his help up onto the seat, then set the basket on her lap.
As he took the reins from the stable boy and handed them to her, he asked, “What do you have in that basket?”
“A surprise for the children.”
“And for me?”
She smiled, and he wished he could persuade her to keep wearing the expression. It lit her face and glowed in her eyes. “If you would like, I can keep it a surprise for you, too.”
“I am not fond of surprises.”
“Neither am I.” The light went out of her eyes as if someone had blown out a candle. She looked away.
What was she trying to hide from him? She reacted like this at the oddest times. Perhaps if he took note of when she did, he might see a pattern. For now, he was baffled. He prayed God would ease her pain and send her someone to help, even if it was not him. That thought sent a sharp pain into his gut, though he knew he should concentrate on his duties to the estate and as a courier.
He swung into the saddle. A tightness in his ankle reminded him to be careful. He walked his horse alongside the pony cart and toward the gate.
As she did each time she drew away, Miss Oliver remained silent for several minutes, then began talking as if nothing had occurred. She steered the cart to the base of the headland. There, she lifted the children out of the cart and settled the basket once again on her arm. She told the little ones to climb the hill and calmed their excitement so they did not rush and hurt themselves.
And she never once looked in Arthur’s direction, not even when he offered her his arm.
With a sigh, he lashed his horse’s reins to the cart and followed the others up the hill. The twisting path was steep, but the children clambered up with ease. He watched where he stepped and did not realize how far he had fallen behind until, from higher on the hill, Miss Oliver called for the children to pause.
She hurried down to him. “This is too much, my lord.”
“For you?”
“No, for you. Perhaps you should not be climbing like this when you are still limping.”
“Allow me to decide what my own limits are, Miss Oliver.”
Again she looked away, and he knew his tone had been too sharp. Her shoulders hunched as if she feared a beating. Who had treated her appallingly? Everything about her spoke of a gentle birth and rearing, but too often she acted like a kitten that had been kicked aside too many times. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“Anything,” he replied.
His quiet answer brought her eyes up, and he saw shock in them. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. When he offered his arm again, she put her fingers lightly on his sleeve. She said nothing as they followed the children up the slope.
As Arthur had expected, the wind at the top of the hill tried to pry his hat from his head. The children ran about, their arms outstretched like tiny birds ready to take flight for the first time.
Miss Oliver stepped away from him to get a better hold on the basket, which rocked in the wind. “I can see why it was suggested I bring the children here.”
“Who suggested that?” he asked, eager to keep her talking.
She counted off on her fingers. “Lady Caroline. Baricoat. Three of the footmen.”
“That is quite a consensus.”
“And an accurate one. It is beautiful here.” Her eyes glittered like twin gems as she turned to take in the expanse of sea and land. “In one direction, it is as wild as the first day God created the world. When I look in the other, the village, the church and Cothaire show how the land has been tamed.”
Arthur followed her gaze, trying to see the view as she did. Below to the left, the inner crag curved in to protect the harbor from storms. Yet the dual cliffs, facing each other like folded arms, created dangerous currents with every tide. Water shot with a thud out of a tunnel in the outer cliff. The sound and the eddies had fascinated him when he was a boy. In truth, they intrigued him still.
“Is that a beam engine I hear?” Miss Oliver asked.
He strained his ears. There! Beneath the pulse of the waves, he heard the deep, rhythmic sound of a beam engine. He shade
d his eyes and looked inland toward the mines scattered across Lord Warrick’s estate. Arthur could see smoke coming from the chimney of a beam house. Coal powered the steam turbines moving the great beam that pumped water from the earth so miners could dig more deeply into the seams of tin.
“You have keen hearing,” he said.
“A handy trait when I need to keep track of active children. Catching a whispered scheme can allow me to put a halt to the mischief before it starts.”
“We often said Mother had the ears of a bat and the eyes of an owl. She seemed to hear us no matter how quiet we were, and I would have sworn she could see in every direction at once.”
Miss Oliver faced him. “You miss her very much, don’t you?”
“There are some wounds no amount of time can heal.”
“Was she more like Lady Caroline or Lady Susanna?”
“Carrie. Susanna inherited many of Father’s characteristics, such as his excellent financial sense. Carrie is more maternal.” Arthur laughed shortly. “Though after seeing Susanna with the twins, I may have to rethink my appraisal. I sometimes wonder how different our lives would have unfolded if Mother had not died close to the same time Carrie’s husband did. Mother was both a force to be reckoned with and a gentle spirit who brightened every room she entered. A light went out of our lives, but I know it is waiting for us when we rejoin her in heaven.”
He told Miss Oliver a story he had not related in many years, of how his mother had chided him for eating all the jam one day, and how he had struggled to keep his stomach from erupting before the scold was done. When the nurse laughed, he realized how correct Carrie was. Miss Oliver had a true gift for listening to others.
“Thank you,” he said when their laughter faded away.
“For what?”
“For listening while I prattled like a chatterbox. I don’t do it often.”
Her smile warmed him to his toes. “You should. You are a good storyteller.”
Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set Page 30