“True, sister.” Miss Hyacinth gave both her twin and Arthur a brilliant smile. “You, Miss Oliver, have a gentle heart. We have seen how protective you are of those dear children.”
“A gentle heart, but a lioness’s heart, as well.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly,” Miss Hyacinth said again.
Before Miss Ivy could repeat the word, Arthur said, “Thank you, ladies, for coming tonight. Forgive us for hurrying away.”
He placed his hand gently on Maris’s elbow and steered her toward the door. Behind them, the elderly twins continued the conversation as if she and Arthur had not moved. Maris wondered if Lulu and Molly would become like the Winwood twins as they grew older. Lulu prattled, and Molly spoke far less. However, Molly had dared to leave the night nursery on her own and go to Arthur’s room after dark.
People milled about the churchyard in the light of the quarter moon. Most were chatting. Maris wanted to stay beside Arthur and ask him what had kept him from arriving on time, but when he urged her to talk to as many villagers as she could before they left for home, she joined a conversation with the blacksmith and his neighbor’s family.
She found it easier than she expected to move from one discussion to the next and introduce the subject of the children, both the one lost and the ones found. The village youngsters and those from the tenant farms were delighted when she asked their opinions. Some were amusing; others were serious. None provided her with any new information.
When Lady Caroline walked toward her, talking with Mr. Hockbridge, Maris said with a smile, “Mr. Hockbridge, everyone in town must be doing well if you had time to sit through the whole meeting.”
“With most of the residents of Porthlowen in the church, it was the obvious place for me to be.”
Lady Caroline laughed lightly. “Forewarned is forearmed.”
“A clever way of putting it, my lady.” He bowed his head to her. “Well said.”
“I cannot take credit for the words, Mr. Hockbridge. My father uses them often. He said he read them in an old book.” As a tall form stepped out of the shadows, she turned. “Father has many adages he likes to use, doesn’t he, Arthur?”
“Most often when he is trying to teach us a lesson.” His voice was lighthearted, but Maris sensed tension beneath it. Did the others?
She realized Mr. Hockbridge did because the doctor asked, “How does your leg fare, Lord Trelawney? Is it giving you problems?”
“It seems fine except when I do something stupid. Then it does not hesitate to remind me of my foolishness.”
“It sounds as if it is healing as it should.” The doctor laughed before saying, “Be cautious for another month. After that, those painful reminders should fade away.” He tipped his hat toward them. “Good evening, my lord. My lady. Miss Oliver.”
Arthur waited until Mr. Hockbridge reached the lych-gate, then asked, “Was he able to tell you anything, Carrie?”
“Nothing. He was disturbed by the news from Lord Warrick and agreed to ask about our misplaced children while making calls.” Lady Caroline sighed. “Even though when he is tending the sick and hurt may not be the best time to be asking questions.”
“If he can uncover something new,” Maris said, “it may be the clue we need to lead us to the truth.”
Lady Caroline smiled. “You have spent too much time with Arthur. You sound just like him. Always on the trail of the truth.”
Grateful the darkness hid her face, which must be scarlet, Maris listened when Arthur admitted he had learned nothing more than his sister or she had. He added that he needed to let the parson know of their fruitless evening, so he would see his sister when he returned to Cothaire. When Lady Caroline offered Maris a ride in her carriage, Arthur said he would escort her to the house.
“I suspect Maris wants to see Toby,” he said.
“At this hour?” his sister asked, startled. “Won’t he be asleep?”
“Actually, I intended to speak with Elisabeth about him coming to play with the others later in the week,” Maris said.
Lady Caroline glanced from her brother to Maris. “Very well.” She went to where her carriage waited and soon drove toward Cothaire.
“Can your conversation with Elisabeth wait, Maris?” Arthur asked.
“Yes.” She was curious where he had been, and she could arrange at any time for the children to play together.
“Mine with Raymond can wait, as well.” He offered his arm. “Shall we walk while we talk?”
She nodded, knowing he wanted to be far from any eager ears. Putting her hand on his, she was surprised when he led her toward the church. He said nothing as he picked up a lantern someone had left on the steps. They walked through the lych-gate, and he held the lantern so it lit the way ahead. Moonlight spread a white path over the sea to the distant horizon.
He paused by a single tree twisted by the gales it had weathered. Hanging the lantern on a broken branch, he said, “This should be far enough. No one else will be out here now.”
Looking at the wooden fence edging an area as big as the orchard at Cothaire, she asked, “Is that used to keep animals from the cliffs?”
“Only human ones. After a tragedy nearly one hundred years ago, a fence was raised so nobody could tumble over during our fall festival.”
“I didn’t know there was a fall festival in Porthlowen.”
“In about ten days.”
She was startled. Why had nobody mentioned it to her? They must know she was unfamiliar with the cove’s traditions. Bits of conversations popped out of her memory, and she realized the other servants were discussing the festival, but had called it by another name. “Is it connected to the blessing of the boats?”
“Yes. Like many manors, we have customs that reach back into the Middle Ages, including the blessing of the fishing fleet each year. No one remembers why or how those customs came into being, but everyone enjoys the feasting and games and silliness. It is our biggest celebration each year, in addition to New Year’s Eve, when Cothaire holds an open house. Everyone in Porthlowen and beyond comes for the games and races and plays.”
“Like on Twelfth Night?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Both the New Year’s Eve party and the festival sound like great fun.”
“Most of the festival is.”
“Most?” She laughed. “What is not fun at a festival?”
He grimaced. “Certain absurd duties the Earl of Launceston or his representative must undertake.”
“And you have that role this year?”
“Yes.”
Maris laughed at the annoyance in his voice as she scanned the area, imagining how excited the children would be to attend a festival. “It cannot be horrible.”
“Wait and see. Then you will understand.”
“I cannot wait.”
He leaned against the tree, and she gazed up through its branches to the stars. She did not want to look at his pose, which brought to mind how he had stood in the nursery last night before he kissed her hand.
Her skin tingled anew. She had not guessed her teasing would lead him to take such an outrageous—and wonderful—action. From memory, she could hear Belinda giggling while sharing every detail of having her hand kissed for the first time. Belinda’s words had failed to describe the explosion of sensation from the simple touch.
“Why are you looking in every direction?” Arthur asked. “What do you expect to see in the darkness?”
“The children.”
“But they are in the nursery at Cothaire.”
“I know, but it seems odd not to be constantly watching that they are not wandering off or getting into mischief. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. When he answered, she wondered what he had planned to say originally, but his words pushed other thoughts from her head.
“Maris, you could help me sort out what I learned tonight.”
“I would be happy to try.”
“Thank you.”
She waited for him to add more, but he became so silent she could hear the hushed waves against the sand in the cove. Knowing she might be courting trouble, she took his hand between hers. He glanced at their fingers pressed together, then raised his eyes to meet hers. His gaze burned through the dim light from the lantern as his other hand touched her cheek as lightly as the faint breeze coming off the sea.
“Tell me,” she whispered. “A burden shared is a burden you no longer have to carry alone.”
“You sound like Father.”
“Tell me, Arthur,” she said, refusing to let him change the subject.
He did not look away. “I was late to the meeting because I had another. With someone I thought might be able to help me learn the truth of what happened to Cranny. I did not learn anything new other than Cranny, a man I have long considered a good friend, may not be the man I believed him to be.” He pushed himself away from the tree, but did not slide his hand out of hers. His fingers tightened around her palm. “The duel he fought the night he died was not his first. It may have been closer to his tenth. In every case, he was challenged because he wronged someone else.”
“I am sorry. I know how painful it is when someone you admire has feet of clay. I have learned their faults are not mine.” She smiled sadly. “I have enough weaknesses of my own. I don’t need to assume theirs, too.”
When his arms came up to draw her close to him, she leaned her face against his chest and drew in his wonderful scent, a mixture of wool and linen and his horse and the night air. She should not be in his arms; that place belonged to another woman. Even so, she lingered for one precious minute, then another, listening to his heart’s steady beat and his deep breaths as he fought the hurt in him.
He released her, and she stepped back. “I am truly sorry, Arthur.”
“I know. I am sorry, too.” He took down the lantern and held out his arm as he had before.
Again she put her hand on it. As they walked toward Cothaire, she wondered if when he spoke of being sorry he was referring to his disappointment with his friend’s shortcomings. Or if he meant his words to mean he was sorry he had to release her because of his vow to his father.
Chapter Eleven
“They are here!” Bertie rushed into Arthur’s room, the door slamming into the wall behind him.
Goodwin popped out of the dressing room. He moved to intercept the little boy before he could reach the desk where Arthur was working on another coded message to Gwendolyn about the missing pages in her last letter. Four days had passed since he had last written to her, and he had received no answer so he was writing again. He would see her next week at the hunt hosted by Miller. That might delay the missing message too long, because he would not be able to leave it for the next courier until he returned to Cothaire.
Arthur waved Goodwin aside and gestured to Bertie. “Who is here?”
The little boy’s eyes were as wide as platters. “Cap is here! Susu, too!”
He smiled. His sister had married Captain Drake Nesbitt as soon as the banns could be read, and they had sailed on his ship for their honeymoon. The Kestrel must be moored again in Porthlowen Harbor.
Opening a drawer, Arthur swept the pages into it. He closed the drawer and locked it. Once he had thought doing so was an unnecessary precaution, but that was before Molly slipped into his rooms. If an innocent toddler could do that, someone far less virtuous might, too.
He stood and reached for his coat. Shrugging it on, he said, “Goodwin, I will need my evening clothes laid out for tonight’s dinner. Mrs. Ford is certain to be preparing a feast already to welcome the newlyweds home.”
“Of course, my lord.” Goodwin’s smile was almost as broad as Bertie’s.
The household staff was especially fond of Susanna, who had been born many years after the other children. She, like the six foundlings, was cherished by the servants.
“Come along, friend of the bear,” Arthur said as he held out his hand to Bertie, who was bouncing from one foot to the other.
The little boy grasped his hand, and Arthur swung him up into his arms. Bertie crowed out a laugh. “Go, bear! Go! Go! Go!”
“We are go-go-going.” He strode to the door.
By the time they reached the entry hall, the house was in an uproar. Arthur followed the sound of voices into the small parlor filled to overflowing as his family and the staff welcomed the newlyweds back to Cothaire. Drake and Susanna smiled at everyone, but their first hugs were for the children, especially the twins, who had won a special place in his younger sister’s heart.
Arthur held on to Bertie and waited patiently while others greeted his sister and her husband. Captain Nesbitt had proved both his courage and his love for Susanna before asking her to become his wife. Arthur at first had worried when his younger sister fell in love with a sailor. Carrie had lost her beloved John to the sea, and Arthur did not want Susanna to suffer the same grief. But as he came to know Drake and saw the love they shared, he had heartily approved of the match.
People shifted, giving him a clear path to reach his sister. Setting Bertie by his feet, Arthur reached over his little head to give her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Welcome home.” He offered his hand to Drake. “Are you going to be able to stay for a while?”
“Long enough to set up housekeeping on the other side of the cove,” Susanna said, smiling.
Arthur remembered how their father had built what he called a dower house across the cove. The idea at one time was his parents would retire there when Arthur married. Instead, it would be Susanna’s first home as a married woman.
“How are you, Bertie?” his sister asked.
The little boy tapped his chest. “I friend of bear.”
“Are you?” Susanna tried to hide her confusion, but looked toward Maris.
Arthur smiled as Maris explained, before she gently moved the children away so he could speak to his sister without interruption.
“So you are the bear, Arthur?” Susanna asked, tilting her head. “I have to say you have had more than your fair share of grouchy days when you growled like a bear.”
“Very funny.” He tapped her nose as he had when she was younger. When her husband turned to talk to Raymond, he went on, “Marriage seems to agree with you, baby sister.”
She kissed his cheek as she gave him another hug. “You might consider giving it a chance one of these days.”
“Not you, too!”
Susanna regarded him with a frown. “What have I missed?”
Arthur told her about their father’s request. As he had expected, his younger sister bristled at both the request and the deadline Father had given him to propose to Gwendolyn.
“Not that she would make a poor wife for you, Arthur, but Father should not ask that of you.”
“As Carrie has said, daughters have faced such requests since time immemorial.”
“Even so,” Susanna murmured, deflating as she recognized the truth in their sister’s words, “Father should not ask such a thing of you. I want you to be as happy as Drake and I are.”
“I am not sure that is possible.” He kept his eyes from cutting to where Maris talked to Drake and the twins. He pasted a smile on his face and hoped it did not look as hideous as it felt. “You and Drake have found something rare.”
“I disagree. Do you think Raymond is any less happy with Elisabeth than I am with Drake? Do you think Caroline and John loved each other less than Drake and me? What about our parents?”
Arthur held up his hands. “I surrender, Susanna. Our family has been given many blessings. Don’t you think it is greedy to ask for another?” His heart contracted at his own question. Was he trying to convince himself or Susanna it was not necessary for him to have a marriage filled with love?
“God has never limited the number or breadth of his blessings. You know that.”
“Yes, but I am saying
we should be thankful for what we have.”
His sister’s silver-gray eyes became slits as she frowned. “You are hiding something. Or trying to. What is it?”
“A topic for another day. Let’s enjoy your homecoming.”
“As you wish, but don’t forget, big brother, you have only a few days left to convince yourself that you are worthy of such a blessing.” She gave him one more penetrating appraisal before being drawn into another conversation.
Arthur glanced at where Susanna looped her arm around her new husband’s. Anyone looking at them could not doubt the depth of their love.
Lord, am I wrong to want that for myself? I know I have given my word, and I will not break that vow, but is it wrong to want real love? A love like I could have with Maris?
He must be patient. God responded to every prayer, but God’s answer might not be the one Arthur wanted. He must accept that, though it would be hard for his heart.
Abruptly he felt like an island of melancholy in a sea of joy. Not wanting to dampen everyone’s high spirits, he edged toward the door. He stepped into the corridor and released a deep sigh.
“That sounds profound.”
Maris stood framed by the doorway. He craved the warmth of her in his arms. He had enjoyed that briefly by the sea cliffs, and his arms had felt desperately empty since.
When he continued to stare at her without speaking, she said, “This should be a happy day.”
“It is.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“I have too many not happy matters on my mind.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then moved closer. “Have you learned more about your friend?”
“No, but I did not expect to quickly.”
“Then why do you look a portrait of gloom? What are you not telling me?”
I fear I am falling in love with you. No, he could not say that. How many times had someone come up to him in recent days and mentioned it would be nice to have a celebration at Cothaire at Christmastime? No one used the word wedding, but he knew exactly what the comments meant. How so many people knew of his father’s request for a marriage ceremony for his heir by year’s end could be explained by the fact most secrets swiftly became un-secrets in Porthlowen.
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