Edith Layton (3 page)

“So, Mr. Wycoff,” Mrs. Ames said, beaming at the two of them, “you’ll stay the night with us?”

“Wild horses couldn’t move me from here,” he said as he reluctantly let Lucy’s hand go, lamenting
the fact that he’d been wrong in his first estimation of the place. Even as he rejoiced in it.

Which was exactly how Lucy was feeling, though she bitterly regretted it, because he was a passing stranger, used to more and better. And she had nothing but her responsibilities and plans and couldn’t let anything get in their way. Not even fascinating strangers.
Especially
not fascinating strangers.

W
hat did he say?” Harmony insisted. “No, what did he do?” Bess demanded. “You two were alone talking together for so long!”

“She won’t tell us that!” Jenny giggled.

“Who is
he
?” Lucy’s ten-year-old son, Jamie, who’d been sleeping in the trundle bed beside Lucy’s, asked soberly.

Mrs. Ames’s daughters grew still, looking self-conscious. They were piled on Lucy’s bed, strewn around it like pastel pillows. It was late, but they refused to go to their own beds. They’d ducked a good night to their mama, but followed Lucy upstairs in a line like so many goslings and poured into her room when she opened the door.

Jamie sat up, groggy but suspicious. The girls had forgotten him. Or had been too eager to gossip
to care. Children were usually not seen or heard. But Jamie was different. Few people thought of him as a child. Jamie himself certainly didn’t.

“
He
,” Lucy told him, smoothing back his sleep-rumpled hair with a gentle hand, “is just a fellow these silly geese think is interesting. Go back to bed, my love.”

“Oh, a
man
. Of course they would. Good night, Mama,” he said on a sleepy sigh, and settled down again.

“And good night to you too, love,” she said. “Go to sleep. The girls were just leaving.”

“Leaving?” Bess squeaked.

“Jamie has to sleep,” Lucy said, “so you have to go.”

“Then you’d better come to our room with us, Lucy,” Bess hissed, “because you won’t get a wink of sleep until you tell us
all
.”

“Too true,” Jenny said, giggling again.

“It’s late,” Lucy said softly, pouring water into the bowl on her night stand. “All the guests are abed, the house is locked for the night, and I’m weary. Time enough in the morning for chat, I think.”

“Think again!” Bess laughed, getting to her knees on Lucy’s high bed. “We can’t wait till then,” she whispered. “He’s the most exciting thing that’s happened ’round here since—since Polly Feltcher broke her leg. No—since Georgie Natwick had to court her at home because of it, and she had to marry him two months later!”

“Yes!” Harmony chimed in, and then lowered
her voice. “Tell us. Is he truly moving here?”

“No!” Jenny said with a hastily muted laugh. “More important—does he have a younger brother?”

“He bought Carlisle’s place,” Lucy said, picking up her washcloth, “but as for the rest? I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Oh, what a fib!” Bess caroled. “You were listening to his every word like it was Scripture.”

“And looked into his eyes as though your future was there,” Harmony sighed, hugging one of Lucy’s pillows to her breast. “And maybe it is, Lucy! So don’t tell us you don’t care.”

Lucy paused, damp washcloth in her hand. “Well, of course, I care,” she said thoughtfully. “Having a new neighbor would be exciting. Oh, don’t groan. I agree he’d be more than just a new neighbor. We’ve never had one like him before. But I’m not being coy, I really don’t know if he plans to stay. He’s wealthy and is investing in lots of property. He’s buying horses, too. But he may just be investing. He really didn’t say. He asked more questions than he answered, and I dared not ask him more than he volunteered. He is a guest here, after all.”

“But did he really think you were—I mean…” Jenny lowered her voice even more as she glanced at Jamie under his coverlets. “I mean that we were all—you know…
harlots
?” She got the word out, turned beet red and started giggling, setting all the girls off.

Lucy’s smile was clear to see even in the stingy
glow of one lit lamp. “Yes, he did. But who can blame him? Geoff made a muddle of it, bringing him here after bragging about all the beauties he’d meet. Of course, the mere sight of you delicious creatures”—she ducked her face into the washcloth to hide her grin—“confirmed it for him.”

This sent the girls into whoops. Lucy’s expression grew stern. “Enough! Out with you now. Jamie has to sleep and so do I. You can stay up all night blathering, but I’m not young as you are, I need my rest.”

“Old Mother Lucy?” Bess snickered, “Do pull the other one! Is that why Mr. Wycoff couldn’t take his eyes off you? Ho!”

“I’m not joking,” Lucy said. “Shoo! I have work to do tomorrow. If you don’t clear out you’ll wake your mother, and then where will you be?”

“We’ll be quieter, we promise, we won’t wake her,” Bess pleaded.

“But I will—if you don’t leave instantly,” Lucy said, her hands on her hips. “Now, out!”

“We just want to talk,” Harmony wailed, straggling after the others as they moped to the door. “He was so handsome! Well, too old to be that, I suppose. Past thirty and something at least. But fascinating. And rich! And you’re the only one who knows anything about him.”

“Then no one does, because what I know could be put in a thimble and it would still leave room for a thumb. Out!” Lucy commanded. “I mean it.” She stood at the door like a sentinel until the last one of
them reluctantly left. “
But a very interesting thimble it would be
,” she whispered to herself after she shut the door behind them.

“So tell me!” Jamie said eagerly as soon as the girls had left, popping up from his covers, eyes shining. “His name’s Wycoff, and he’s English, like you, and rich as can be. But what else?”

“Like me—and your father, God rest him,” Lucy said absently. “And how do you know his name?” she asked with mock surprise, because she knew.

He’d knelt on the stairs behind the banister, just as she’d done as a girl whenever there was glittering company downstairs. He was so like her, this wonderful son of hers, she thought tenderly. He even looked like her, poor lad, with those freckles on that straight nose of hers, and her father’s, and his father’s before. At least he had his own father’s inky black hair and brown eyes. But they were set in his mother’s face. She found that regrettable, except the brain behind that face was very like hers, too, and so perhaps there was hope for him.
If he could grow up, as she’d had to
, she corrected herself. Because once upon a time she’d been a dreamer like his father, too.

She’d dreamed that her handsome, laughing, feckless young husband could make a fortune in the new world, as he’d vowed to do. She’d dreamed he loved her as much he said he did, and would take care of her forever, seeing to her and their son. Dreamer that she’d been, still she’d never dreamed he wouldn’t do that, or that he’d die too young, leav
ing her to fend for herself and their child, alone. She was cured of dreams now.

Jamie was ten, and though his head and his hands hinted he’d follow his father in his size, he hadn’t started growing yet. Except in that amazing mind of his, which had never been a proper child’s. But he still was one, and she would again resist the impulse to speak to him from her heart as though he were fully grown. Most people would; most thought children were only small adults. Who better than she to know how untrue that was? Hadn’t she thought she was old enough to choose her own way all those years ago? And she’d been much older, and see how that had turned out. She sighed for the past as well as the present when she saw Jamie’s vivid face turned expectantly to hers.

“I know some things,” Jamie said with an air of mystery, and none of sleepiness, so she knew he’d heard every word spoken in the room just now, too. And most said downstairs. “Tell me more! He looked clever. That’s why I can’t believe he really thought you and the girls were like Mrs. Christie’s chickens.”

“
Jamie!
” Lucy gasped in shock. He knew what Mrs. Christie’s house outside of town was really used for? And that the men who went there weren’t looking for poultry, but flesh for an entirely different appetite?

“Ah—hmm,” Jamie said nervously, his eyes wide.

“
Ahem
, indeed!” Mrs. Ames said from behind
Lucy, adding a “tsk” for good measure as she glared down at him. “I’ll wager you can taste the laundry soap already, you little rogue.”

Lucy was used to having no privacy. But tonight the amount of traffic through her room seemed almost laughable.

“Everyone knows,” Jamie said, undaunted. He might worry about his mother’s opinion, but he had Mrs. Ames’s measure. “In fact, everyone says they’re so glad you run a good, respectable place,” he added innocently, “because they say our village would look worse than no account if we only had Mrs. Christie’s, and not your fine hotel to brag about.”

“It’s a good thing they appreciate it,” Mrs. Ames said, forgetting her wrath as she preened. “The gentleman’s settled in his room,” she said, turning to Lucy, “and very pleased with the accommodations, too. Well, but the blue room, don’t you know. I brought in extra comforters, though he doesn’t need any. Not with the way we stoked up the fire for him. Nothing but the best for such a man, for he must have friends of equal rank to recommend us to…. Do you think he has any? Ranking, I mean.”

“Well, he looks like a fine gentleman and acts like a lord,” Jamie said, “but he said he’s a plain ‘Mister’, didn’t he?”

“Oho!” Mrs. Ames said wisely. “I wish I had a penny piece for every lord and lady who pass themselves off as such here. Prices go up when a title goes on, and don’t they know it. Not to mention we fought two wars with them, and there aren’t many
folk hereabouts who appreciate hobnobbing with those that style themselves as nobs. Too many thought they were better than other men in the old days. Too many still do. No, a fellow would be wiser to leave his title home on his door knocker.”

“They say Mr. Winthrop over in Heightstown was a real lord in England,” Jamie mused.

“They say it ’cause he does!” Mrs. Ames chuckled. “I’ll bet my best Sunday boots he isn’t even a Winthrop.”

“But you said it was best they forget their titles.”

“That’s only if they’re visiting,” Mrs. Ames said. “Those that stay can give themselves airs over what might have been. What
is
, is always a different matter.”

Lucy sighed. Jamie was as wakeful as a tree full of owls now. Mrs. Ames settled herself in a chair, ready for a nice long chat. But Mrs. Ames was her employer as well as her husband’s cousin. Lucy couldn’t just turn her out, as she had her daughters.

“Did Mr. Wycoff say when he was getting up?” Lucy asked. “As I recall from when I was a girl, gentlemen like to rise at dawn so they can go riding at first light. At least, they did at home. They like a nice big breakfast before they go, as well…”

“Oh!” Mrs. Ames surged to her feet. “I’d best have a word with the girls. We’ll need more eggs for certain—I’ll send Harmony to gather them before first light. Best send Jenny over to Mrs. Pratt’s for bread early, too,” she muttered to herself as she went to the door. “I’ll have a look at my stores. Good
night, Lucy. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, too, I’m sure.”

It was as close to an order as Lucy ever got, but she was glad of it as she closed the door behind Mrs. Ames.

“I’d think a gentleman would like a nice big breakfast
after
he got back from riding,” Jamie said blandly, “but maybe Englishmen are different. Or at least maybe their stomachs are.” The idea of anyone walking, much less riding, after one of Mrs. Ames’s enormous breakfasts was too much for him. He giggled.

“Oh, yes,” Lucy said lightly, “they eat seven courses and then go riding, which is why they have to come here to keep buying new horses. You’re too clever by half. Now stop laughing and start dreaming. I cleared the room twice for you, the least you can do is go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning. Good night.”

He chuckled as he sank back under the coverlets. “Good night, Mama,” he yawned. “You’re too clever by half too, you know.”

She was, she thought as she went behind the screen in the cover of her room and drew off her gown. She shivered as she dropped her nightgown over her head, and braided her hair quickly, with numbed fingers. The fire in the hearth had gone to embers; the room was striking chill. Mrs. Ames wasn’t cheap with her, but she wasn’t a valued guest whose possible rank merited a blazing fire at this hour. No one knew that better than Lucy. She was
the one who did the bookkeeping. A blazing hearth at this hour was a waste if a bed had coverlets. Body warmth kept a body warm after midnight.

Lucy glanced at Jamie’s trundle and knew from the stillness there that he’d already fallen asleep. She doubted it would be so easy for her. She climbed into her high bed and snuggled down into the feather tick, ignoring how cold the sheets were. Her body heat would warm them soon enough, and her thoughts were warm enough to raise her temperature tonight.

Now that she was alone, she could think about their elegant visitor. Oh, but he’d been attractive! It had been a long time since she’d seen such a man. The intelligence in those long eyes. Tall and well made, wide shoulders and a neat leg. She did like to see a man with a fine pair of shoulders without a matching stomach or beam to balance them. She didn’t do more than look, but she tried not to stare. Not only because she was too well bred. Because she was sure he’d notice. He didn’t miss much.

He was every inch the visitor, a traveler, a man not of this place and time, although from a world she’d once known. He’d been exciting precisely because he was so obviously transient, so impossible to ever really know. A dream man, in fact, here for an hour that had changed her whole day.

He’d looked at her with pleasure, too. When he’d thought she’d been offered for sale to him he’d gazed at her with possessive delight, appraisal, and bold, appreciative lust. His eyes weighed her, found her
desirable, and promised wicked moments of shared carnal pleasures. He looked as though he could deliver every unspeakable thing he was thinking of. It had been shocking. It was delicious.

Other men looked at her with lust, of course. There weren’t many eligible women here; she was a widow and only two and thirty, after all. But she seldom looked back at any of them with anything but regret, because they didn’t attract her. Or if they did, then she had to ignore them, because they didn’t attract her as prospective fathers for Jamie. She had learned good sense, and practiced rigid self-control.