by Jane Goodger
He halted her in midsentence with his flint-like stare, and Lilian could feel her face heat. “You misunderstand,” he said, his voice frigid. “If the child asked for a doll, I would not hesitate to buy her one. But she has a doll.”
Lilian was feeling either very brave or very foolish, because she went on, even though it was obvious she had angered Granton. “As you have pointed out, it is merely a stocking.”
“But to her it is a doll.”
Lilian thought that was the end of the conversation and decided not to argue the point. Before she left to go home, she intended to buy Mabel a doll and Granton be damned. She only prayed he would allow her to accept it. She could understand why Granton did not want to care for the child given the circumstances of her birth, but denying Mabel toys seemed almost cruel.
“You think me harsh when I am only thinking of the girl’s best interests.”
“Not at all,” Lilian said stiffly.
Granton let out a long breath, as if trying to control his temper. “When I was a lad, I wanted tin soldiers more than anything in the world, in the way only a child can want something. My father forbade it. And so I created my own little army with clay and sticks. In my mind, they were infantry, cavalry, officers. They had names and uniforms and would live or die depending upon whether they were French or English. To anyone else, they were simply sticks and clay. I don’t think I would have liked a real set of tin soldiers; it would have been a betrayal of sorts to my men.”
“You are sentimental,” Lilian said, smiling at him, her heart breaking a little bit for that boy who’d wanted tin soldiers but made do with sticks. Lilian must have attended functions with Granton’s father, the Earl of Chesterfield, but she could remember nothing of the man. Still, she was growing to dislike the earl immensely.
He frowned, obviously not liking the term “sentimental” to describe him. “I am not. I am and was practical. Having a vivid imagination does not mean I am sentimental.”
“I still say you are sentimental.”
“Call it what you will, but I will not have the child feel ashamed of her stocking by presenting her with a real doll.”
“Can I say you are kind without your biting my head off?”
A smile curved on his lips just before he scooped up the last bite of pie. “You cannot.”
Chapter 6
Lilian awoke feeling so rested the next day, she could hardly recall how very weak she’d been not two days prior. She spent the day exploring the upper floors of Merdunoir with Mabel, for there was no one else to watch over the child and Granton was nowhere to be found.
“Is this where the ghost lives?” Mabel asked as they trudged up the wooden stairs to the third story.
Since she didn’t sound at all frightened, simply curious, Lilian said, “I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t think there is a ghost at all. I think Lord Granton walks about at night and that’s what Sadie hears. But you never do know, do you?”
“I should like to see a ghost,” Mabel said thoughtfully. “I should like to say boo.” And then she giggled, tickled with herself.
“Perhaps we could rattle chains and moan and scare that ghost right back.”
The two reached the landing, and it was immediately apparent to Lilian that this floor was reserved for low-born guests, children, and, on the east wing, servants, for the floors were not carpeted and the stairs were worn smooth by decades of footsteps. “Which way shall we go? Left or right?” Lilian asked, pointing to help Mabel understand the difference.
“Left,” she said, peering down a sunlit, dusty hall. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and glowed almost prettily in the sun, some hanging down so low, Lilian was forced to swipe them out of the way. At the end of the hall was a tall, multi-paned window that hadn’t seen a cleaning in years.
“Let’s see if that window opens so we can take a look at the view. I think it faces the sea.” Lilian ran down the hall with Mabel shrieking happily behind her, her smaller legs pumping like mad to keep up. When they reached the end of the hall, Lilian was delighted to find a small, pink shell perched on the sill, and she pictured some child leaving it there, never realizing it would gather dust for years. Lilian picked it up and wiped it on her robe, noting the shell left behind a small, dust-free area on the sill. Turning the latch, Lilian pushed the window open, gasping at the sharply cold blast of air that immediately hit them. She laughed, liking the way their hair whipped about, as if suddenly come to life. “Goodness, what a breeze.”
Mabel sneezed, no doubt from all the dust the wind had just stirred up. Closing the window, Lilian said, “Let’s explore, shall we? Perhaps we’ll find more treasure.” She held up the small pink shell for Mabel to take.
Mabel placed it in her palm and studied it. “What’s it for?” she asked, rubbing her index finger over the smooth surface.
“It used to be the home of a little sea creature. We’ll go down to the beach later and we can find our own.” Mabel turned the shell over and peered into the shell’s opening, as if trying to picture some little creature living inside, then grinned up at her, and Lilian’s heart melted. Lilian opened the first door on the right and found nothing of note, just a room filled with a hodgepodge of furniture and old carpets. Lilian headed to the opposite door, pushing it open with a flourish.
“How wonderful,” Lilian breathed, stepping into the large sunlit room. It was clearly the home’s old nursery, for it was filled with tables and shelves and toys, long abandoned and carefully stored in wooden bins and on shelves. And there, to the side, sitting forlornly by the window, was a hobbyhorse. It was a lovely horse with real hair and a leather saddle sitting on bow rockers. Lilian looked at Mabel, who walked into the room the same way a priest would walk into the Vatican, slowly and struck with an awe that was a pure delight to see.
“It’s the nursery, Mabel. It’s where his lordship must have played when he was a little boy. Come see.” She brought the little girl over to the hobbyhorse and lifted her up onto it. “It’s been a while since he’s been ridden on, but I think he’ll remember how. Lean back and forward and he’ll take you for a ride.”
Mabel handed Lilian her dolly, then leaned forward, her eyes wide, a smile on her face as if she’d discovered the most marvelous thing. Within a few moments, she was going back and forth, her hands gripping the horse’s mane. “It’s lovely,” she said, coming to a stop, her hazel eyes dancing as she took in the other toys in the room. Lilian helped her down, and Mabel immediately went to a low shelf with blocks, an abacus, a tiny horse and cart, and a pile of picture books. On a higher shelf was a small collection of tin soldiers, and Lilian frowned as she walked over to the shelf and picked up one impressive-looking fellow. Had Granton been lying about his sticks and clay simply to make a point?
“They were my brothers’.”
Lilian whirled around to find Granton studying her from the door. “I don’t understand. Were you not allowed to play with them?”
“I am the heir. My father thought toys would distract me from learning my duties. He was correct; they did.” He walked over and picked up one of the soldiers, examining it before placing it back down on the shelf, standing close enough that Lilian could tell he’d just come in from the outdoors, for he carried with him the distinctive smell of the sea. He was still wearing his coat, and his dark hair was tousled and windswept, making him look almost boyish. Lilian reminded herself that he was a relatively young man, only six years her senior, though he seemed older. “My grandfather, Thomas Dunford, was a frivolous man, you see, with a penchant for ignoring his duties. He died when my father was young, leaving my father to flounder on his own. It was difficult for him, and he made certain that should the same befall him, his son would be prepared to take on his duties.”
“And are you?”
“I was ready when I was a lad, but am happy to wait another twenty-eight years to assume the responsibility.” Granton said this without self-pity, giving Lilian a greater insight into his childhood and i
nto the man he’d become. As he spoke, he examined a few of the soldiers, picking up an odd one before placing it back down. “I’d forgotten these were here,” he said absently, almost to himself, before plucking one from the shelf and placing it in his pocket. “When the new servants have the main rooms settled, I’ll have them come up and clean the place.” He turned to survey the room, his eyes resting on Mabel, who had discovered a wooden doll wearing a plaid dress. He did not smile, but Lilian was certain his eyes softened a bit. Mabel’s stocking lay forgotten by her side as she peeked up the doll’s dress to see what lay underneath.
“That was my sister Rose’s doll,” he said to Mabel, who looked up before she placed the doll carefully back on the shelf. “You may have it if you like. My sister is quite grown now and has little use for dolls, you see.”
Mabel stared at the doll a long moment before shaking her head. “I’ll let her live here,” she said. “She’d miss her friends.” Then she stood and ran back to the hobbyhorse, climbed up on it, and began to rock as if she’d grown up with such a lavish toy.
“Was this your sister’s too?” Mabel asked.
“Indeed it was. She adored horses. She still does.” He frowned, his dark brows coming together, almost as if he were angry.
“And this upsets you, your sister’s love of horses?” Lilian asked lightly, almost teasingly.
“Certainly you’ve heard the scandal, my lady. My sister married our former head groom. My mother nearly died of the horror.” He chuckled, as if the thought of his mother dying of such a thing were somehow amusing. He must have noticed Lilian’s confusion, for he added, “You have to know my mother. There has never been a more ambitious woman on this planet. Rose, as you know, was engaged to Weston. And now she is married to a former servant. You can imagine my mother’s disappointment.”
“Indeed, I can. I did know your sister was once engaged to Weston, but I thought she married an American politician.”
“She did. But the fellow died not two years ago and she married the man she’d loved all along, our groom.”
“I suppose that must have been quite a shock for your mother. I cannot say I blame her,” Lilian said. “If I were to have married one of our servants, I think it would have most certainly killed my mother.”
“Charlie is a good man and wealthy beyond measure now. And he loves her.”
“And she loves him?”
He frowned again, making his words seem incongruous. “With all her heart.”
Lilian watched, troubled by the subtle shift in his expression, for he clenched his jaw, as if saying such a thing physically hurt.
“I didn’t come here to reminisce or discuss the appropriateness of my sister’s marriage. The seamstress is here, as are several servants. Sadie is busy directing the maids and Palmer is helping prepare Mabel’s room and a guest room for you, so she asked me to fetch you for the seamstress.” He gave a small bow and waved a hand, indicating that she should precede him out of the room.
“Come, Mabel. Don’t forget your dolly.” Mabel whirled around and grabbed her sock, holding it against her tightly as if in apology for nearly forgetting her. “Perhaps we can have the seamstress make something for Mabel, as well. Would that be all right?” Lilian asked, fearing she’d stepped out of bounds.
“Of course,” he said, sounding slightly testy. “I’ve already instructed the woman to do so.”
Lilian smiled at his surly response, which only caused his frown to deepen. She didn’t care what the man said: he was nice, whether he liked it or not.
Chapter 7
That evening, when Marcus arrived for dinner, he fully expected Lady Lilian to again be in her robe. In fact, he’d been looking forward to it. Instead, he found her in a severely cut dove-gray dress with long sleeves and a high collar that would have looked quite fine on an old maid or stern governess. Marcus hated it on sight and wished he could command her to remove it and put the robe back on. She looked exactly like what she was: an unmarried, untouchable young woman. He didn’t know why that bothered him, because that was what Lady Lilian was, but it did bother him. Tonight, she would sleep in her own room and he would sleep in his, and within a day, she would be gone forever. He should have felt like celebrating, but instead fought a wave of depression such as he hadn’t felt since first discovering his wife’s infidelity.
“How is it that the seamstress managed to dress you so quickly and in something so ugly?” Marcus asked as he sat, knowing he sounded surly.
“You think this dress ugly?” Lilian asked, as she looked down at the dress, but not before he saw a distinctive twinkle in her eye.
“Not quite the height of fashion, no.”
“It suits me well, my lord, I assure you.”
“How on earth did she sew it so quickly?” Marcus asked. Why he should care was beyond him. He should be celebrating, for the lady was dressed and could now leave.
“She happened to have this dress on hand and, fortunately, it required very few alterations. I’m quite grateful, actually.”
“Hmm. And what about shoes?”
She thrust one foot up and showed him a pair of shoes that appeared to be just slightly overlarge.
“I suppose you’ll want to go to the train station tomorrow and be on your way.”
“Of course,” she said readily, and something in his chest gave an odd pull. “Except I promised Mabel the adventure of the tunnels. I do hope you don’t mind if my departure is delayed one day. Mabel would be so disappointed.”
“I can show the child the tunnels,” Marcus said, forcing himself to sound dismissive while at the same time he found himself hoping she would stay. At least another day. The truth was, he liked her. He’d found himself looking forward to dinner far too much, and the thought of eating alone again, even though he’d only had company two nights, seemed untenable. A ridiculous thought and one he didn’t like, not one bit. Best to have her go on her way and get on with his solitude. It wouldn’t do to become too used to company.
She was silent for a long moment, twisting her napkin on her lap as she looked down at her bowl of mushroom soup. Suddenly, Marcus noted with some irritation, Sadie had decided it was time to serve multicourse meals when not a few days ago she’d been more than happy to place a large, steaming bowl of stew in front of him and be done with it. “I was looking forward to seeing the tunnels, but if you think it’s best for me to go—”
“I suppose you could stay.” Marcus took a spoonful, hating that his cheeks were slightly ruddy, as if he’d asked to court her. It had been a long time since he’d been alone with any woman other than Eleanor, and it felt strange, almost as if he were doing something immoral, like being unfaithful to his wife. “The girl is a bit shy around me, and she might not want to go without you at any rate.”
“I was thinking the same thing, my lord. I do hope she is not becoming too attached. I fear I am a lost cause where she is concerned. I adore her.”
“The thought had occurred to me that if a woman had to faint in front of my carriage, it would have been much more convenient if she were a woman of lower birth, who could have been a nursemaid,” Marcus said blandly, then looked up in surprise when Lady Lilian laughed.
“I have to admit, the thought of being Mabel’s nursemaid isn’t altogether unpleasant, but I fear my mother would be so vexed at me that she’d find a way to complain even from the grave. I’m very much afraid I’m going to have to seek out Her Grace and resume my life as the unwanted sister.”
When Sadie arrived carrying a tray with a course of trout, Marcus raised his brow in question. He hadn’t been fishing and he knew for certain Palmer hadn’t had a chance, not with helping to move furniture and open rooms for unexpected guests.
“I sent one of the new boys to the lake to fish,” Sadie said as she dished out the trout. “Your menu should expand considerably now that we have more staff on hand, my lord, and it’s a pleasure to cook for company.” She beamed a smile at Lady Lilian, and Marcus could almos
t see the wheels whirring in her head, no doubt imagining what it would be like to serve an entire dinner party. Even before Eleanor’s death he hadn’t been one for balls and dinners, much to his young bride’s dismay. A quiet evening at home reading before the fire or atop the roof gazing at the stars and planets suited him just fine.
Marcus was tempted to say these changes were temporary, in place just long enough to set the house a bit more in order, but he found he couldn’t dash the older woman’s hopes just yet. He’d no intention of hiring on a permanent staff. It was bad enough that his home had been invaded with half a dozen people, talking, disrupting his day, asking questions. When his temporary servants climbed aboard the wagon at six o’clock to return to the village, he’d watched from his room, relieved that he would finally get some peace and quiet.
“How many courses this evening, Sadie?”
“Just three more. One of the maids is quite handy in the kitchen, my lord. A blessing, she was.”
“I wonder if his lordship could convince any of them to live in?” Lilian said. “I can’t imagine having your brother go to the village every day is ideal.”
“He doesn’t mind, my lady. He’s got a sweetheart in Whitby and jumps at every chance to see her. Going to town twice a day is like winning the Scorton Silver Arrow, he’s just that pleased.”
Sadie hurried off to fetch yet another course, leaving Marcus feeling slightly off-kilter. Palmer had a sweetheart? Did that mean he’d want to marry her soon? And bring her here? Or would his new wife want to start a life together somewhere else? And why the hell did Palmer have a sweetheart?
In the back of his mind, Marcus knew he could not stay at Merdunoir forever. His siblings would make certain of that. He was half surprised more of them hadn’t shown up to drag him back to London. Just the thought of going back to London, visiting his clubs, hearing the whispers and seeing the smirks, was enough to keep him at Merdunoir forever. He hated the idea of being the object of ridicule. His father had said he had too much pride, and he supposed it was true. He’d married Eleanor because of his damned pride, because she’d come from a family with a fine pedigree and everyone had told him she’d be the perfect wife. Eleanor had been the perfect fiancée, the perfect bride, and he’d fooled himself into thinking he actually might be happy with her.