Family In The Making (Matchmakeing Babies 2) (16 page)

He continued, but she repeated the verses in her mind. Not fear what any man did to her? The words seemed simple. All she needed to do was turn to God and her fear would be taken from her. She longed to believe that was how it worked, but it had not when Lord Litchfield had put his face close to hers while he kept her from escaping. His breath, tainted with wine, had filled every breath she took as she cried out for help. None had come.

Should she ask for God’s help to face what was ahead? Would He hear her? His promise was clear.
I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.

But she did fear. Not about having her reputation ruined beyond redemption, as she had when she had fled from Bellemore Court. She feared she could not live in Cothaire along with Arthur and Lady Gwendolyn, but she had no idea where she might go. To another house where they needed a nurse? Lady Caroline would likely give her a good recommendation, but that would mean leaving the children and never seeing them again.

Could Maris live without knowing if they were ever reunited with their families?

She felt utterly and irrevocably lost.

* * *

Arthur strolled among the colorful festival booths, each one decorated with braided strands of wheat in unique designs. He had no idea why the braids were hooked to the stalls. It was the way they had always been adorned, and nobody wanted to break the tradition.

The weather was perfect. A breath of breeze wafted over the headland, and the sun shone almost as warmly as on a late summer afternoon. The field was crowded with excited families and flirting couples. Children raced between the booths, their faces covered with sugar and other treats.

He greeted people he passed and assured them that his father would be arriving later. If he had ever had any doubts how respected and loved his father was in Porthlowen, they would have been swept away by the many questions about the earl’s health.

Shouts came from the direction of a pole that had been raised overnight and lathered with lard. Arthur walked to where he could watch young men attempting to climb it and win the guinea in the box nailed to the top. He had won the contest when he was sixteen after he convinced a trio of friends in the village to work with him. He had one get down on all fours, and the next one clamber onto his back on his own hands and knees. Once the third one was in place, Arthur was able to climb atop them and pluck the guinea from the box. He wondered what ideas the young men would come up with this year to retrieve the coin.

When he saw a familiar gray bonnet, he walked faster. Maris might wear dreary colors, but she could not hide her beauty. Not from him, and not from several young men loitering near her. Was she unaware of them? She did not look once in their direction as she squatted to hear what Bertie and Gil were saying.

“Are you having fun?” Arthur asked when he stood beside her and the boys.

“Climb, climb, climb!” Bertie repeated over and over, until Maris put her finger to her lips and urged him to be quiet so she could answer Arthur.

How he envied that finger! Close to her sweet lips, which had been near his...in his dreams. He thought of her words about making sure Gwendolyn was not embarrassed even before she came to Cothaire, and he knew Maris was right. He did not love Gwendolyn, but she was his dear friend, and he would do nothing to hurt her.

“We are having a lovely time,” Maris said with a smile. “The others will be joining us later, but Lady Caroline wished for the baby to have a nap before they left Cothaire.”

“Climb, climb, climb!” shouted Bertie again.

Gil joined in as one of the lads who worked on a fishing boat made a running start to jump as high as he could on the pole. When he slid to the ground with a thump, the onlookers jeered and yelled for the next youth to try.

“Does anyone ever make it to the top?” Maris asked.

“Eventually, but first the young fools have fun showing off.” Arthur chuckled. “After they have slid down a few times, they will work together, as they decide to do every year.”

“Why don’t they work together right from the beginning?” she asked.

He laughed again. “And miss the chance to be the first in the history of the festival to make it to the top on his own? A lifetime of boasting rights are worth ruined clothes and rattled bones.”

They watched a little longer, then began to wander from booth to booth. They had not gone far before someone called Arthur’s name.

Warrick rushed up to them, his spectacles bouncing on his nose. “Ah, Trelawney, just the man I was looking for.” Without giving Arthur a chance to answer, he continued, “I wanted to let you know the little girl reported missing has been found.”

“Where?” Arthur asked as he saw a smile blossom on Maris’s face. “How is she?”

“Alive and well. As to where she was found, I cannot ascertain.” The baron grimaced. “To say these Cornish miners are closemouthed is an understatement. I have been assured in the most patronizing way that I need not worry about the matter further.”

“What are they hiding?” Maris asked.

Lord Warrick arched his brows. “Exactly my thought, Miss Oliver. I had hoped you, Trelawney, with your far vaster knowledge of these people, could offer me some insight.”

“In this case,” Arthur replied, “I have none. I have asked everywhere about missing children. People act sympathetic, but claim they have no information. Even though they might believe you, as a new arrival to Cornwall, would swallow such a clanker, they should know I would not. No tidbit of gossip gets overlooked here. A missing child—or six—should be a nine days’ wonder. That is what bothers me.”

“We should be thankful the mystery of one missing child has been solved,” Maris said quietly, “even if not to our satisfaction. One little girl is home and safe with her family.”

“Trust you to get to the crux of the issue,” Arthur said, before looking at Warrick. “Still, the lack of answers is dashingly bothersome.”

“Agreed. I...” He stared past Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur turned and saw Carrie strolling toward them. She pulled the baby wagon. In it, Joy was chewing on a toy.

“Such serious faces during the fair.” Carrie stopped beside them, drawing the wagon close to her. “I hope there is not more bad news.”

“Quite the opposite, my lady,” Warrick said as he bowed his head toward her. “I bring good tidings. The missing child has been found safe.”

“Wonderful!” Her smile wobbled, and Maris guessed it took the lady every bit of her strength to steady it. “Has anything been found out about the children from the harbor?”

“I am sorry, my lady, but it seems the two incidents are not related.” He glanced at the wagon. “Is that one of the children from the boat?”

He bent closer to Joy. Sun glinted off his lenses, and the baby reached for them, excited. He stood to keep her from pulling them off his face.

“She knows what she wants,” Carrie said.

“I see.” The baron’s gaze swept over them before he said, “I am glad I was able to share the good news before I take my leave.”

“You are not staying for the blessing of the boats?”

He shook his head. “Though I would like to, I will have to wait until next year. I actually came to Porthlowen today to talk to your blacksmith about making some replacement parts for a beam engine.”

“The one that was not working before?” asked Arthur, hearing the sudden undertone of tension on Warrick’s voice.

“No, that one seems to be working. Thank God. However, one of the others has a broken cylinder, and I need to get it repaired so the mine can reopen.”

“I don’t recall your late uncle having such trouble with beam engines.”

“Apparently neither does anyone else, but when I arrived, they were in poor repair, and I have done my best to keep them working since then. A thankless job, I must say, when a week’s work can be destroyed in seconds.” He tipped his hat to Carrie and then to Maris. “Good day, ladies.”

“Thank you for bringing us welcome news,” Arthur said.

“Let’s hope I don’t have to bring you any more bad news.” He sighed, then walked away.

“He was grim, wasn’t he?” Carrie shook her head. “It seems as if he goes from disaster to disaster. Poor man.”

Arthur offered one arm to her and the other to Maris. “Enough of Warrick’s gloom. Today is our festival. Shall we enjoy it?”

He was glad when both women laughed, though his happiness tempered when only Carrie took his arm. Maris held the boys’ hands and followed the baby wagon as they went in search of the fun the day could offer.

Chapter Thirteen

M
aris was having a wonderful time, and the children grew more excited with every booth they passed. Arthur bought Bertie and Gil some cakes, which soon had the boys’ faces covered from top to bottom in frosting. Cool cups of cider quenched their thirst as they met the Nesbitts and the twins, who were eager to see some animals perform. Lady Caroline excused herself to take the baby to a shady spot, but the rest of them hurried to keep up with the youngsters.

They found a man was playing wooden pipes while a black-and-white terrier twirled about on its hind legs. When a monkey wearing a jeweled collar like the dog’s climbed onto the terrier’s back, the children applauded. They cheered when the dog finished its dance, and the monkey climbed onto the man’s shoulder. Arthur dropped coins into the hat the monkey held out.

As they turned to go and see what other entertainment they could find, Gil said, “Want a monkey.”

“We will see the monkey dance again,” Maris said, taking his hand.

He jerked away and stamped his foot. “Want a monkey!”

Astonished because the youngest boy was usually the calmest, least demanding one, Maris knelt in front of him. She folded Gil’s tiny fingers between her palms.

“So do I,” she said.

“You do?”

“Of course. A monkey is fun, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Want a monkey!”

She sighed. “But that is the only monkey here, and if we took it home with us, none of the other children would have a chance to see it dance with the dog. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

On the little boy’s face, she read the thoughts rushing through his head, much as the monkey had scurried from person to person while collecting farthings and pennies. It was a risky question because Gil might well answer he did not care about the other children.

“No, but want a monkey.” Gil’s voice was sad instead of petulant.

“What if we make a stuffed monkey for you?” she asked. “Then you can make him dance. Or maybe we will make two. One for you and one for me.”

The little boy grinned. “Yes. Want a monkey for Gil. Want a monkey for Maris. Make now?”

“Let’s enjoy the fun here. We’ll make monkeys later.”

Gil ran to where children were watching a puppet show.

“That was brave of you,” Arthur said.

“I had to take the chance so he would stop fussing. I have seen Gil cares much about the other children, especially little Joy. I was sure he would choose correctly.”

“And if he did not?”

She laughed. “I figured I would cross that bridge when I came to it, and fortunately, it looks as if I will not have to.”

As the time grew closer for the ceremony that had given rise to the festival, people began to gather by the cliff overlooking the harbor. Arthur led the way through the crowd to where his brother was waiting.

“What happens now?” Maris asked, as she tried to wipe stickiness from the boys’ faces with a cloth she had dampened in one of the buckets of water scattered around the grounds.

“The fishermen must pay the Earl of Launceston or his representative one pure white oyster shell for the rights to fish from Porthlowen. The shell cannot have any colors in it other than white. It is their quit rent.”

“Quit rent?” She looked up at him. “I should know what that means, but I don’t.”

“A quit rent is something ‘paid’ in lieu of money or service to one’s feudal lord.”

“Why a pure white oyster shell?”

“I have no idea.” He chuckled, and she drew the sound into her memory so she could recall it later and savor it. “I cannot imagine why any earl would want a heap of whitewashed shells, but someone thought it was an inspired idea. So the payment for each boat is one white oyster shell.”

“What do you do with them?”

“Usually they are handed out the next day at dawn to the village children. They vie to see who can throw a shell the farthest. The one who does wins a prize.”

“Is that done so the same shells cannot be used again the following year?”

He shrugged. “I never thought about the reason, but you may be right. The fishermen say the opened shells must provide good feeding for fish, so it makes for a better haul on their next time out to sea. Everything has become connected through the centuries. To omit a single step would make the whole fall apart.”

“You like this!” She laughed and pointed a finger at him. “No matter how much you pretend otherwise, you like being part of the tradition.”

“Guilty as charged.” He winked at her before he moved forward to stand in front of the crews of fishermen who called Porthlowen their home harbor.

Nothing was announced, but nobody spoke while, as solemn as criminals walking to the gallows, the crew of the first boat stepped forward. One fisherman held out a white oyster shell, and Arthur nodded in acknowledgment. The man set it on the ground, then stepped back to allow the next crew to repeat the process. At last, after about ten minutes, the final crew’s representative set their white shell atop the others. The man abruptly grinned, and cheers erupted along the strand.

Maris applauded along with everyone else, while the children bounced up and down with excitement. They had no idea of the significance of the tradition, but they could not fail to sense the excitement.

His part done, Arthur picked up the shells so they would not be crushed beneath the crowd’s feet. He then moved aside so his brother could offer the blessing that was as much a centerpiece of the festival as the quit rent ceremony. After Parson Trelawney called out for everyone to bow their heads so he might bless the boats pulled up on the sand, he began the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, we ask You to look down this day upon the boats in Porthlowen Harbor and on the men who take them to sea day after day. We ask You to keep these men safe upon Your vast sea and to guide them to the harbor. Let them feel Your comforting presence when the waves are at their worst. We ask this in the name of Your son, Jesus Christ.”

A chorus of “Amen” was followed by more cheers as the crews climbed over the fence and raced down the hill. Arthur must have seen Maris’s bafflement, because he explained tradition held that whichever boat was the first to reach the sea beyond the cliffs would have the largest and most profitable catch during the next year.

As the crowd surged forward to watch, Maris held tightly to the boys’ hands so they did not get separated. She smiled when Arthur swung Bertie up to sit on the fence, then did the same to Gil. Soon the twins were beside them. As she kept her arm around Gil, while Arthur made sure Bertie did not fall, they yelled and hooted for the crews. The noise became deafening, resonating off the hills edging the cove as the boats were pushed out into the water. Shouts announced when the first boat made its way out of the cove, and the crews turned toward shore so they could join the rest of the day’s festivities.

Maris wondered if she had ever been happier than she was at this moment with Arthur. The weight of his friend’s death seemed gone from his shoulders, and he appeared almost carefree. She was not going to think beyond this minute when she could leave the past in the past and not worry about the future.

“Are you enjoying the day?” he asked as they lifted the boys off the wall.

“Yes.” She did not add that was because he was with her. When he smiled at her with his amazing light blue eyes, she knew he understood what she did not say.

And that seemed the most wondrous part of the whole day.

* * *

“Climb?” asked Bertie as Maris tucked him into bed a third time. In the bed beside him, Gil was listening eagerly.

“No one is climbing the pole again.” She patted his covers. “Not until next year.”

“Long time?”

She smiled. “The time will pass faster if you go to sleep.”

The two boys squeezed their eyes shut.

“Good night,” she whispered, kissing one, then the other on the forehead.

As she blew out the lamp, leaving the room awash in moonlight, she could not keep from looking at the spot where the twins’ beds had stood. The room seemed too empty after the girls’ beds were moved to the house on the other side of the cove.

She stepped out of the room and paused by the door, listening for sounds from within. In the central room of the nursery, the baby slept in her mahogany hanging cradle. She checked that Joy was covered with a light blanket, then, hearing nothing from the boys’ room, crept down the stairs.

Tonight, the day nursery would be easy to clean. The children had spent most of the day at the festival. It had been fun for all of them, and she guessed the boys would be talking about it nonstop for the next week.

Maris halted in the doorway when she saw Arthur in the day nursery. He wore an expression she had never seen on his face—a haunted hollowness mixed with a desperate yearning. Hurrying in, she asked, “Has something happened? Did you learn something about your friend? Or about the children? Arthur, what is it?”

“Maris, I am sorry.”

“Sorry?” Shock pierced her. “What is wrong?”

He shook his head. “No, that is not what I wanted to say. I am not sorry. No, that is not what I mean, either. By all that’s blue, why are words failing me
now
?”

Not caring that she was being too forward, she stepped closer to him. She put her hand over his heart. It leaped at her touch, and hers fluttered to echo it as if they were connected.

“Don’t worry about words, Arthur,” she whispered, gazing up into his hooded eyes.

“You are right. I should not worry about words.”

His arm curved around her, and he tugged her to him. She held her breath. Not that she could have released it if she tried. Every bit of her was focused on how his face was lowering toward hers. Knowing she should tell him to stop before they both did something foolish, she let her thoughts fade into a luscious warmth when his lips brushed hers. Gently but urgently, as if she were as fragile as dew upon a rose petal.

His gaze searched her face, but she had no time to think as he captured her mouth again. This time, his kiss was deeper, more tender. His fingers caressing her back invited her to be as bold. She lifted unsteady hands to his broad shoulders. Lightning seared her. When he cradled her against his strong arms, she let the tempest sweep her even closer. The thunder of her pulse careened through her, banishing every sensation but joy.

His lips left hers and sprinkled kisses across her face. In between each one, he whispered her name as if it were the answer to his most heartfelt prayer. Her hands framed his face, and she guided his mouth to hers. His kiss was everything she had ever wanted, even though she had not known until this perfect moment.

With a groan, he cupped her elbows and drew her arms away from him. Not looking at her, he said, “Maris, I am sorry. I should not have kissed you.” His eyes locked with hers as he growled, “No, I am not sorry I kissed you. I wish I could again and again and again for the rest of my life.”

“Arthur, don’t say that. Please.”

“I told you I would never lie to you. It is the truth, sweetheart.”

The endearment undid her. She wrapped her arms around herself as tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away as someone came into the nursery.

Lady Caroline! What if she had arrived a moment earlier and found Maris in her brother’s arms? Suddenly Maris understood why Arthur had pushed her away abruptly. He must have heard his sister approaching. Maris had heard nothing but the exultant beat of her heart.

“Arthur, did you tell her?” the lady asked with a frown.

“No,” he replied.

The siblings exchanged a look that told her they were not in agreement about whatever had brought the lady to the nursery at such a late hour. Strain underscored Lady Caroline’s voice when she said, “Miss Oliver, I would like to know if you can be ready the day after tomorrow to travel with us to Mr. Miller’s house.”

“Me?” She pressed her hand to her chest where her heart suddenly felt as dead as a lump of coal. “You want me to go to the hunt?”

Again Lady Caroline glanced at her brother, and again he said nothing.

The lady stepped forward and smiled. “Arthur does not agree with my plans, but I don’t want to be separated from Joy for the length of time we will be calling on the Millers. Neither would I separate Gil from his baby, and if I bring Gil, I cannot in good conscience leave Bertie behind in the nursery.”

“Elisabeth could bring Toby to play with the boy.” Arthur clipped off each word in a staccato tempo.

“But I cannot ask Elisabeth to watch Bertie, as well.”

Maris looked from one to the other. “Why would she need to watch Bertie? I will be able to, as I always do.”

“No,” Lady Caroline said firmly, “you will not be able to, because I will need you to come with me to take care of Joy and Gil when I am otherwise occupied.”

“You really want me to go to the hunt?” she asked, as she had before.

No! No!
She wanted to shout those two words over and over until Lady Caroline listened. To go to the hunt where Arthur would be asking another woman to marry him was the cruelest torment she could imagine. Far worse than when Lord Litchfield had tried to force her to submit to him.

“I trust you can have the children and yourself ready to travel first thing in the morning the day after tomorrow,” Lady Caroline said.

“Yes.”
No! No! No!
Maris glanced toward Arthur, comprehending why he had told her he was sorry.

“Good.” She patted her brother’s arm. “See? I told you the matter would be resolved easily. Thank you, Miss Oliver.” She walked toward the door. “Coming, Arthur?”

“In a moment. I want to find out how much luggage must be added to the mountain you are bringing. I doubt children travel any lighter than you do.”

Lady Caroline laughed. “I suspect you are right.”

As the lady’s footsteps faded away down the stairs, Maris did not move.

Arthur closed the distance between them. Or he tried to, but she backed away. “Maris, I could not persuade her to change her mind. I am sorry. For that. I am not sorry I kissed you.”

“You are going to ask Lady Gwendolyn to marry you at the hunt.” Her voice was flat even in her own ears.