April Kihlstrom (6 page)

Chapter 4

“What is all this?” Beatrix asked, coming into the front hallway a few mornings later to discover Lord Rothwood and her brothers and sisters all lined up and giggling in a most conspiratorial way.

This was a change. Up until this moment, Rothwood had been the consummate Viscount. Now he looked at her with as boyish a grin as any of her brothers.

“We’re going fishing!” her youngest brother, Richard, said with glee.

“We’re going to take a basket and eat al fresco,” her youngest sister, Melody, corrected.

“We’re going to do both. And pick berries. And wildflowers,” Callista added, with the careful dignity of a young woman who is all too often still treated as a child.

“We are going to have fun!” her middle brother, Harold, crowed.

Beatrix looked at her two other brothers, John and Adrian, but they merely grinned at her. Well, they always were the quiet ones. “I see,” she told the assembled crowd. “And were none of you going to invite me?”

Lord Rothwood frowned. “The whole point was to include you,” he said curtly.

Beatrix felt her heart sink a little. Did he not recognize teasing when he heard it? Still, her siblings could be a trifle daunting. Out loud she said lightly, “Where are we to have our adventure?”

“Lord Rothwood said you were to choose,” Callista answered, regarding him with adoring eyes.

They all looked at her expectantly. Beatrix smiled. “I know just the place. Do we have everything?” When they nodded, she said, “Follow me,” and led the way out of the house and down the path that ran behind it.

She did indeed know just the place. It was where she and the boy Rothwood had been spent so many hours all those years ago. Would he remember? If not, she would remind him. His reaction would tell her a great deal about the man he had become and whether she was foolish to hold onto those memories.

It was not a terribly long walk, but it was far enough from the house so as to afford a high degree of privacy. Once at the pond, Beatrix expected Rothwood to dance attendance upon and try to fix his interest with her. Instead, he took the time to help her brothers set up their fishing poles, all but Adrian, who considered himself grown up and not in need of anyone’s assistance. Then he helped her sisters find a cool spot for the basket with the food.

Only when her siblings were all laughing and engaged in what they were doing did he come over to Beatrix where she sat on the stone that had been their favorite nine years earlier. He settled himself beside her without a care for what damage the dirt and mud might do to his clothing. Did he remember or was she the only one who replayed those days, those conversations over and over again in her head?

Rothwood clasped his knees with his hands and drew in a deep breath. “I have missed this spot,” he said, “and thought you very fortunate to be able to be here all the time.”

Beatrix laughed. “Not all the time. Someone must see to things at the house and we all have our responsibilities. But yes, often enough I can come here and be at peace.”

“Are you at peace?” he asked.

She looked at Rothwood, tempted to make light of the question, but there was something in his eyes that invited the truth. Still, it was not for her to speak of their family troubles, so all she said was, “Not always. With a family as large as ours there are always challenges.”

“And they fall on your shoulders?”

She did not answer, but then she did not have to answer. It was evident from his expression that Lord Rothwood had not really been asking a question. In the short time he had been here, clearly he had grasped how things stood. There was sympathy, too, in that look and it almost undid her composure.

But Beatrix did not want pity and so she changed the direction of their conversation before he could say anything more about the matter. “How do you like London?” she asked.

A shutter seemed to close over his face. “It is noisy and dirty.”

“I see. Well, then, what is your favorite place, other than here?” she asked playfully.

A hint of longing seemed to come into his eyes. “There is a tree, on my home estate. I used to climb it as a boy and from near the top it seemed I could see for miles. These days, I do not climb it,” he said with a wry smile. “Instead I’ve had a bench set at its base and when I am at my country estate I like to go and sit there and think. I cannot see as far from the bench, but it is a far safer view.”

“Safer.” She echoed the word thinking how lovely it would be to feel safe, not to have to be afraid every morning that the day might bring disaster. How lovely it would be to know there was someone big and strong, like Lord Rothwood, to protect her.

Beatrix was lost in this reverie when Melody cried out. Immediately Rothwood was on his feet and running to where her sister lay on the ground crying. He knelt beside Melody and his voice was gentle as he asked, “Where have you hurt yourself?”

“My ankle. I must have stepped in a rabbit hole. It will not bear my weight.”

“I’ll carry you back up to the house,” Rothwood said and bent to put action to the words.

“No!” Melody held out a hand in protest. “Please? I do not want to miss the fun. If you will help me over to where I can sit in the shade, I am sure I will be better soon.”

Rothwood shook his head. “You will not be better soon,” he told her. “I can see your ankle already beginning to swell. Forgive me, but I must check to see if it is broken.”

He felt Melody’s ankle, then gave a sigh of relief. “Not broken,” he said. “I shall carry you over to the pond. You may sit on that rock and keep your ankle in the water. The cold will help it recover faster. I know,” he added with a rakish grin, “because as a boy I was forever running about, stepping in holes and turning my foot the wrong way. My tutor taught me early on about the benefits of cold water. He had to, for he had no wish to cater to an invalid.”

That made Melody laugh and Beatrix could have kissed Rothwood for his kindness to her sister. Not one word of scolding passed his lips, nor did he stop to think about propriety as he lifted her as though she were a featherweight and carried her to the spot where he and Beatrix had been sitting a short time before. Mind, he recovered himself once he had set her down and quickly backed away saying, “I shall leave it to you to remove your stocking and soak your ankle.”

He seemed so stiff and remote that he might have been another man entirely than the one who had sat with Beatrix by the pond or reassured her sister about her ankle. Would he be like this with her when they were married?

And then the other Rothwood was back, the kind and gentle one who stopped her brothers from teasing Melody. He didn’t scold them, either, but rather gave them tasks to carry out, such as finding various creatures that tended to live around the pond. Mama would not be happy if they brought back a toad, but the search would keep her youngest brothers, the twins, busy for some time. To Adrian, he spoke man to man, asking his help keeping up Melody’s spirits and to watch for signs that the damage to her ankle was worse than expected. Harold he set in charge of the twins, saying confidentially, “For you and I both know what kind of mischief boys their age are bound to stumble into.” Callista he enlisted to oversee everyone.

In just a few short moments, Rothwood had everything in hand and her brothers and sisters delighted with the roles allotted to each. He would, Beatrix thought, make an extraordinary father. That alone almost tempted her to accept his proposal here and now. If, that is, he had officially asked her.

He was always kind, it seemed. Look how he had arranged for food and wine and delicacies to be brought to the Trowley household, claiming it was for selfish reasons. But Beatrix had noticed how sparingly he ate and the smile with which he watched her family consume food far better than what they could usually afford. Yes, Lord Rothwood seemed the veriest paragon of virtues.

At the same time, Beatrix could not help feeling a little wary. Was this all too good? Would he truly be this way once they were married? She had seen friends marry men who seemed the most devoted of suitors turn into monsters once the marriage ceremony had taken place. How could she be certain that would not happen with Rothwood? Even the best of husbands had their faults. Look at Papa. Mama swore no man could please her more, but his gambling kept them at the brink of disaster. As dearly as she wished to believe in the Lord Rothwood she saw before her right now, fear still kept her wary.

* * *

Rothwood turned to Miss Trowley, satisfied the situation was well in hand. She was regarding him with a quizzical expression. Instinctively he glanced down to see if he had gotten mud on his clothes. There was, but nothing too significant. “Is something wrong, Miss Trowley?” he asked.

She shook her head, as though to shake off wayward thoughts, or perhaps that was only his own odd fancy. Certainly her voice was briskly sensible as she said, “No. I was just thinking what a complete hand you are, managing all of us so neatly.”

He quirked an eyebrow upward, not certain if she was making game of him.

As if she guessed his thoughts, she smiled. “I have been thinking you seem too good to be true,” she said. “And I have been remembering all the times we came here to talk, when you visited nine years ago.”

Edmund frowned. “It was most improper of us,” he said. “I would hope we have both grown wiser in the years since.”

“Yes, but confess, there are moments you miss those days or you would not be here, would you?” she teased.

For the briefest of moments, Edmund allowed himself to remember how it felt to be that boy, here with that girl. The ache of longing for that time almost undid him and so he did what he must, he ruthlessly suppressed those feelings. He did, however, allow himself a small smile. “You are quite right,” he said. “Those memories are a big part of why I am here.” He paused, then added, “I do not regret who we were, but we have both grown up, have we not? We both have grown wiser and learned our places in the world?”

There was the oddest look on her face as she now hesitated before answering. “Yes, I suppose we have,” she said slowly, “but I confess I hope we shall never forget who we were or the bond we felt back then, for it is that bond that inclines me so strongly toward you now.”

He lifted her hand then and kissed it. His own voice was husky as he replied, “I can promise you that I shall never forget it and I shall always do my best to make certain you remember it as well.”

Edmund might have said more, but then he heard her brothers shouting. He let it go and straightened. He was Rothwood again and perhaps that was just as well. His father always said that women wished for a strong man, one not swayed by emotions. His were once again under control as he said, “It would seem, Miss Trowley, that your brothers have found their toad. Shall we go and see?”

She grinned and said, “I’ll race you!”

Before he could object, she put action to the words and he ran after her, taking her hand in his so that they raced through the field together. Her brothers had indeed found a toad and once it was roundly approved of, he had them set it free and suggested they go back to fishing. “For I want a chance to catch something,” he said. “If, that is, there really are fish to be caught.”

The Trowley boys indignantly assured him there were, and he found himself, somewhat to his surprise, spending the next few hours happily fishing and even shouting with glee when he pulled one in himself.

* * *

The next morning, Edmund went to the village to see whether his carriage had yet been repaired, and was met with most disturbing news.

“This is William, wot fixed our carriage,” his coachman Daniel said.

“Is it ready?”

“Aye, my lord, but there’s something you be needing to know. Someone cut partway through the wood on your carriage wheel. That’s why it broke and landed you in the ditch. ’Tweren’t no accident.”

Stunned, Edmund looked to his coachman for confirmation. He nodded. “It’s true. We’d best be watching our backs,” the coachman said. “It’s as nasty a piece of work as I’ve ever seen. I’m thinking it’s just as well you had me stay here, in the village, alongside of the carriage. I’ll not want to be leaving it unguarded without we learn who did it.”

Startled, Edmund asked, “But the damage must have happened in London, surely?”

The villager shook his head. “No, my lord. Your carriage wouldn’t have gone near the distance twixt Lunnon and here afore breaking. Not with the damage I found.”

Edmund regarded the two grim faces before him and this time he was the one who nodded. “Very well. Guard my carriage well and let me know if anyone comes sniffing about trying to look at it.”

“Oh, there’s many here that have done that,” the villager replied, “but I know them all and it’s just curiosity. It’s strangers we’ll be watching for and we won’t let anything happen.”

“Thank you. And here, for your kindness and your trouble.” Edmund gave both men a generous handful of coins.

On his way back to the Trowley household, he tried to figure out who might have arranged to have this done to his carriage. Not one of his friends, for it was far too serious to be a mere prank and none of them would truly wish him ill. Someone else, then. Someone, perhaps, who thought to gain from his death. Well, there was no shortage to choose from, thanks to the provisions of his father’s will. Unfortunately, he could not begin to guess which of them might have had the wherewithal and determination to act. For the moment, he would have to count on the vigilance of his coachman and the villager as well as his own wits to prevent further danger.

And he needed to persuade Miss Trowley to marry him as soon as possible.

* * *

Edmund managed to make himself wait until he had been there a full, and fortunately uneventful, week before putting his luck to the touch with Miss Trowley.

He again took her into the garden, to the same bench they had sat on that first awkward afternoon. Nothing he had seen had changed his mind about wishing to marry her. Now he must put his luck to the touch to see if she would agree to marry him. How difficult could it be? He had, after all, spoken in the House of Lords more than once and been told he was most persuasive. What was one mere marriage proposal compared to that?