Ashton Park (18 page)

She pinched his arm. “Don’t be cheeky. I’m serious.”

“Just tell me.”

“I will later. It’s quite a story.”

“It would have to be. Fine then. We’ll wait. When is Emma arriving with the boys?”

“This afternoon.”

Kipp’s green eyes lost their light quickly. “Caroline is due to show up after lunch as well.”

“Why—what’s wrong with that? She’s practically your fiancée. You’ve always worshipped her.”

“Worship is perhaps too strong a word, Vic. Let’s go for a walk in the woods like Mrs. Seabrooke. If you have something to share about Ben Whitecross…well, I have some things to tell you myself.”

“Here.” A laughing Emma handed one baby off to Kipp and took the other from Jeremiah and offered it to Victoria. “Don’t worry, Kipp, they’ve both been changed recently.”

Kipp smiled into the baby’s face. The child was calm and wide-eyed, not making any sounds or movements, gazing steadily at the person holding him.

“Which one do I have then?” he asked.

“Peter. They’re not identical twins. Peter has green eyes like you. James has brown eyes. Like chocolate, mum says.”

“I’ve seen plenty of babies and plenty of chocolate,” said Lady Elizabeth, watching Kipp and Victoria holding Peter and James with clear delight.

“He’ll fly,” announced Kipp. “Look at how bright that face is. How sharp his eyes are. He’ll fly, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah was wearing his collar. He laughed, happy with the welcome his sons were receiving at Ashton Park. “Not anytime soon, I hope, Kipp. You can do the honors until then.”

“Yes. Me and Ben Whitecross. I didn’t tell you I ran across him in France just before I came home on leave. He’s a new recruit in my squadron.”

Emma’s face opened up in surprise. She looked at Victoria then back at her brother. “Are you quite sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. He was our groom and driver for years.”

Emma seized Victoria’s arm as she held James. “That’s wonderful. Wonderful. Thank God, Vic!”

Victoria’s face was as bright as Emma’s. She kissed the baby’s head. “I know. I couldn’t believe it when Kipp told me.”

Lady Elizabeth glanced from one daughter to the other. “Young Ben must have made quite an impression on our household. I’m glad to hear he is well. Your father had everyone but Winston Churchill and King George scouring Europe for him.” She looked to Kipp, who was gently bouncing Peter in his hands. “I presume he’s a flying officer then?”

“That’s right, Mum. A leftenant just like me. Although I have seniority. He’s quite handy with a kite, I hear. I’ll get up with him when I return to Nancy next week.”

Jeremiah had his hands behind his back, one of flesh, the other of wood. “That’s exceptional news. Really splendid.”

“It appears to be earth-shattering,” responded Lady Elizabeth. She reached out for Peter. Kipp carefully placed the baby in her hands.

“There you are, my dear,” she said. “Grandmother shall keep you firmly on the ground for the present. Even if others here have their heads in the clouds.”

Tavy coughed as he approached the group by the fireplace with its logs burning yellow and orange. “Pardon me, ma’arm. But the Scarborough coach is just pulling up the drive.”

Lady Elizabeth held Peter to her shoulder and patted his back. “Thank you, Tavy. Please show Lady Caroline in. We’ll wait for her here.”

“Very good.”

“I expect you’ll want to greet her at the door,” Lady Elizabeth prompted Kipp.

Kipp inclined his head. “Yes. I was just thinking of doing that, Mother.”

“What do you mean? Slow down? Darling, if we go much slower we’ll both drop dead of old age before we’re married.”

Kipp had taken her to the library and its small turf fire, gently holding her hand. Lady Caroline was tall and blond like him, her hair swept up on her head and speckled with small jewels. A diamond necklace shone on the smooth white skin of her throat. Her blue eyes were large and seemed to take up her whole face. Matches seemed lit behind them. Kipp had often found himself gazing into their color and trying to think. Now he spoke quickly and quietly.

“Let the war end, Caroline. There will be plenty of time to discuss where you want the ceremony and where we ought to live once we have peace.”

“Darling. It can’t go on forever. I’d really like to work on something rather than stand around and wait. Or sit and roll bandages. I’m restless. So much time has gone by.” She kissed him on the cheek and ran her hand through his short blond hair. “We’re both changing. Look how bleached your hair has become.”

“That comes from flying. Not from old age.”

“But I’m so much older. Look at me.”

Kipp laughed. “As if a chap could do anything else when you’re in the room. Do you imagine you’re falling apart?”

“Well, what do you think?”

“To borrow a phrase from the Yanks, you look
in the pink.
”

“Well, it sounds lovely. I hope it means good things.” She placed her arms around his neck and her eyes smiled. Her perfume was sweet and made him think of lemons and sugar. “I’ve missed you. I know war can be a dreadful thing. No doubt you’ve experienced all sorts of things you’ll never talk to me about. But leave that behind for now. It’s just us here now. No bullets or bombs. Just us.” She kissed him on the mouth. “Relax. I haven’t learned to bite.” She kissed him a second time. “What’s wrong? Where are you, Kipp?”

“I’m right here with you, Caroline—”

“No, you’re not.” She examined his eyes, arms still around him. “I don’t know if it’s the war…or another woman. But you’re not quite with me, are you? Perhaps it’s that you’re worried about the men in your squadron—did someone close to you get killed? No. I think it’s another woman. Belgian? French? A British nurse? Well, you won’t get shed of me that easily, Leftenant Danforth.”

She moved her hands up to either side of his face and kissed him with as much strength as she had, locking his mouth onto hers. His reserve finally broke down under the onslaught of her fire and heat and he began to respond with more and more passion. Finally she pulled her head back and ran a finger slowly over his lips.

“At least you remembered how to kiss with that one. So there’s hope.” She linked her arm through his. “Come, dear. I want to see the children. We’ll have a marvelous afternoon despite your personal demons, won’t we? If I can call her that. Where are the others?”

They began to walk down the hall. “In the great hall. They’re looking forward to seeing you.”

“Are they, darling? How pleasant that someone in the Danforth family still thinks well of me.”

“Libby?”

A nurse was leaning in a doorway and letting the June sun play over skin she felt was far too white. The letter she had been reading hung loosely from her hand. Her eyes were closed.

They are six months now but mom says they look eight or nine. Both are growing so fast. Kipp says Peter is “made in his image” but the truth is his hair has the same ginger quality yours does—he’s not a straight blond. He’s lovely. They’re both lovely. But James has more of Edward’s and Robbie’s dark looks. And Catherine’s and Aunt Holly’s, I suppose.

“Libby! Are you there, love?”

When she heard her name the second time, the young woman adjusted her uniform and cap and smoothed the sides of her blond hair—it was cut short just below the ears. She folded the letter away in a pocket in her apron. A tall lady, in the same type of uniform, approached her from inside the building. When she saw Libby, she smiled.

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over creation. Though heaven knows you deserve a rest. Did you read those letters that came for you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Turnbull. One from my sister who had the twin boys last December and another from my mum. Good letters. Better than coffee for perking me up.”

Mrs. Turnbull had her hands on her hips. “Most of the girls have gone home on leave once a year if not twice. You’ve never gone.”

“Neither have you, ma’am.”

“Well. I don’t have any family left alive. It’s a different matter for you.”

Libby shrugged with one shoulder. “I love them all well enough. But there are so many of them, I’m scarcely missed. Here I’m needed.”

“I doubt your siblings and your mother would put it in those words. You’re a rare bird, Libby. I’m sure they notice that you’re not there at the family gatherings. But suit yourself. I expect you’ll find your way home whenever this horrid conflict is settled. Until then, I can’t say as I’m displeased to have you all to myself. Follow me. We have a difficult patient.”

They entered the hospital that had once been a convent and began to walk down a corridor. It smelled of soap and blood. Each room they passed was full of beds and the beds were full of the severely wounded.

“Do you mean difficult as in hard to manage or—”

“Difficult as in hard to keep him alive. That’s why they sent him up to us here in Paris. They think we can work miracles.”

“The doctors—”

“Have done all they can. He’s a pilot. Made a crash landing. Broke both arms and both legs. His neck is not doing very well either but at least he’s not been paralyzed. We’re giving him plenty of morphine for the pain. What’s needed not even the chaplain has been able to provide. A will to live.”

Libby, though a foot shorter, matched Mrs. Turnbull’s rapid pace. “Why shouldn’t he want to live? Broken bones will heal in time.”

“But not broken spirits.” Mrs. Turnbull stopped outside a closed door. She lowered her voice. “His brother was killed in the same air fight. Since they told him that last week he’s scarcely eaten or had more than the briefest sips of water.”

“And you want me to do exactly what?”

“Talk to him. Reason with him. Coax some food and drink into him. He’s American. A captain. Squadron leader. I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”

“And why do you think that, Mrs. Turnbull?”

“You’re both bluebloods. You’ll understand one another. His family made their fortune in banking. His name is Michael. Michael Woodhaven. The Fourth. He’s a millionaire, Libby. The Yanks want him to live. Our uppity-ups in the military want him to live. You’ve had success with other patients who thought just like him and wanted to cut their wrists.”

“I don’t think of myself as a blueblood. I don’t like being called that.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s what you are.” Mrs. Turnbull opened the door. “He’s got his own room. The American army insisted on that. And on his having a private nurse.”

Libby felt her face grow warm. “All the other wounded deserve the same nursing care. Why should Captain Woodhaven be treated any differently?”

“Because he
is
different, my dear. His father owns half of New York.”

“I’d rather not take on this assignment, Mrs. Turnbull. I’m sure you can get another nurse to fuss over him.”

“He’s your patient, Miss Danforth. That’s orders. If you don’t like them you might consider returning to England.”

Libby narrowed her blue eyes. “If the Yanks are so worried, why don’t they put him up at one of their own hospitals?”

“The American Red Cross told them this was the best one in Paris. I’ll check in on you in an hour or two. Remember your vow to serve the sick and wounded, Libby.”

“I don’t need to be reminded of that, thank you very much.”

Libby entered the room, shutting the door behind her. She saw the tall man in the bed, all four limbs in heavy white casts and up in traction. His neck had a cast as well. But he was able to turn his head when she crossed the floor toward him. His eyes were the deepest and darkest brown she had ever seen.

“Hullo,” she greeted him, standing beside the bed. “I’m Libby Danforth. Your nurse. They tell me your name is Michael Woodhaven. The Fourth.”

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not at all. Should it?” She knew her eyes had taken on their ice color. “It means something that you’re a pilot, however. My brother’s a pilot too. His aerodrome is near Amiens.”

The man grunted. “What’s his name?”

“Kipp. Kipp Danforth. He’s just made captain.”

“Probably because the other captain’s dead. What’s your brother fly?”