Family In The Making (Matchmakeing Babies 2) (17 page)

“Yes. I promised I would, and I cannot break a promise.”

As if from a great distance, she heard herself say, “I would not ask you to.”

“I wanted you to know—”

“No more.” She backed toward the nursery stairs. “Please do not say anything more, Lord Trelawney.”

Shock and dismay warred on his face in the second before she spun away and ran up the steps. She sought the refuge of her own room. Collapsing on her bed, she pressed her face to the covers. She should have heeded her own warnings. Lord Litchfield had hurt with his cruelty, but Lord Trelawney had hurt her with his love. That was far worse.

* * *

The two days that followed were the most miserable of Arthur’s life. A void from not having Maris and the children as part of his daily routine left him on edge and uncertain. Now he was the one turning around and going a different direction if he saw Maris. No amount of apologies could atone for his toying with her affections. He was a cad, the exact type of man he had despised in London. Even sorrier than those fools, because Maris worked for his family. She must be concerned her position at Cothaire was in jeopardy. He wanted to reassure her, but to do that, he would have to talk to her.

And how could he talk to her when he wanted to tell her how much he loved her? She thought he was dallying with her, that his heart yearned to belong to Gwendolyn. If he told her the truth, his words might reach Gwendolyn and hurt her. Maris would not repeat them, but there was no place where they could be sure nobody was listening to their conversation.

His regret that he had wounded her, along with the knowledge that he was desperately in love with her, sent him to his knees. He laid out his emotions for God and, as before, sought guidance.

Arthur hoped God would send him an answer to his quandary before the hunting party at the justice of the peace’s house. He waited while arrangements were finalized for the journey. He waited as he again tried to talk Carrie out of taking the children and Maris, but relented when he brought his sister to tears.

He was still waiting for an answer to his prayers when the carriages and carts, laden with their trunks, pulled up to the front door. More than ever, he wished he had that answer when Maris walked past him without a glance in his direction. To anyone else, it would seem she was absorbed in the task of herding two small boys into the second carriage, but he knew better.

She was avoiding him, too. He had realized that yesterday when, unable to stay away any longer, he had gone to the nursery ostensibly to spend time with the children. Somehow, through the invisible lines of communication the servants used, she had known his intentions before he arrived, and was gone on some errand, leaving a maid to oversee the nursery in her absence.

As she stepped into the carriage, Maris looked serene, but he saw the truth in her eyes. She thought he considered her an easy conquest because she had let him kiss her when he was planning to marry another woman. If only she would give him a chance to tell her how wrong she was.

There was nothing easy about this.

He walked past the servants’ carriage to the one where he would ride with his sister. He opened the door to see Carrie had arrived before him and was already seated. The baby was asleep on her lap. The wet nurse must be in the carriage with Maris and the boys.

Gazing up the hill that rose steeply from the cove, he could not keep from thinking of how he had taken Maris and the children to the ancient settlement. That outing on the moor, they had laughed and flown the kite and gotten drenched, which made them laugh more. He had fallen in love with Maris that afternoon, wanting to spend the rest of his days and nights with her beside him.

He sighed. He would never return to the old foundations. Being there would break his heart all over again. If it ever healed. He would have to arrange another place to leave messages for the courier who transported them farther east.

“Are you going to stand there as if you are posing for a statue?” Carrie asked with a smile. When he did not respond, she grew more serious. “Are you having second thoughts, Arthur?”

Second and third and four and fifth thoughts, and all of them about Maris.

He shook his head as he climbed into the carriage and sat facing her. He pulled the door closed, then slapped the side of the carriage to direct the coachee to get them under way. “I gave Father my promise, and I will fulfill that vow.”

“You sound like an ancient warrior setting off to his doom. If you think you cannot be a good husband to Gwendolyn, put an end to this before you ruin her life and yours.”

“You were the one who said I am facing what generations of daughters have faced.”

“But you are not a daughter. You are Father’s heir. You can stop this, Arthur.”

“It is too late for second thoughts,” he said with finality.

For once, his older sister did not persist.

He looked out the window, but the only thing he saw as the procession of carriages and carts drove through the gate was Maris’s lovely face in the moment before his lips found hers. A sight he must forget, though he had no idea how.

Chapter Fourteen

A
rthur stood in the hallway outside the rooms Gwendolyn had been given for her stay at Miller’s house. When the carriages arrived from Cothaire, a message had been waiting from her. She had asked him to call in the hour before the evening meal, which barely gave him enough time to clean off the dirt from the road and dress appropriately for the grand meal Miller was planning for his guests.

He would have preferred to spend his time making sure Maris and the children were settled into the nursery set up for any youngsters accompanying the guests. Perhaps having to turn his attention to Gwendolyn was for the best. Maris had not looked in his direction once as she had helped the wet nurse and the boys out of the carriage. However, he had watched her until she was out of sight in the house. Her posture suggested she was a creature beaten one time too many.

How he wanted to run after her and take her hands and beg her to look at him as he apologized for hurting her. Would he have gone after her if Gwendolyn’s message had not been waiting for him the moment he stepped into the house? He liked to think he would have, but he also knew he did not want to do anything more to cause Maris pain.

When a maid walked past and gave him a curious glance, Arthur knew he could not remain in the corridor. He knocked on the door. A muffled voice called for him to come in.

Gwendolyn did not rise from the white tufted settee when Arthur entered the well-appointed sitting room decorated in shades of gold and white. Compared to the last time he had seen her, standing by her husband’s grave, her face had a much rosier color. Her gown was no longer black, but a warm purple that flattered her dark hair and brown eyes. The lines he had seen drawn around her mouth were gone.

She smiled as he came toward her.

“Good afternoon, Gwendolyn,” he said. “You look well.” Hardly a profession of undying love, but she had known him for too long to let him hide his heavy heart behind a facade of gleeful anticipation of her accepting his offer of marriage.

“I am well, Arthur.” She held up her cheek for him to kiss it, as she always had when they met. Her smile was warm, but no warmer than when they were younger and they, along with Raymond, had explored every inch of Porthlowen cove and the moor beyond her home. “And you? How do you fare?”

“I am fine.” It was not a lie unless he counted his broken heart. He must never speak of that to her, because she had suffered enough hurt when Cranny died. Nor would Arthur ever reveal what he had discovered about her late husband and his apparent habit of dueling, for it made no difference.

On the ride from Cothaire, he had considered delaying this conversation, but postponing the inevitable would gain him nothing. When he received Gwendolyn’s message, he had hoped it would say she wanted no part of their fathers’ scheme. It seemed odd that, after more than a year, her words were not in the code she had developed. Her note had suggested an urgency he could not feel when he considered marrying her.

Was her father pressuring her more than his had, to make the match? Gwendolyn would be dutiful, as Arthur was, but could he make her happy when he longed to be with Maris?

“Do sit, Arthur.” Gwendolyn motioned to a chair facing her.

He was surprised. He had thought she might ask him to sit beside her as a proper suitor should, but he complied with a smile he hoped did not appear as strained as it felt.

“How are the children?” he asked before silence could fall between them.

“A joy.” She smiled. “I understand you have a houseful yourself. It is not easy to imagine the bachelor viscount who once was every matchmaking mama’s dream with a boatload of children and still unwed.”

Was she giving him an opening to present his suit? Even as he asked himself that question, Gwendolyn continued talking about her children and encouraging him to tell her about the ones at Cothaire. He tried to without mentioning Maris’s name in every other sentence, but it was impossible. She had become too much a part of the children’s lives.

And his.

Gwendolyn’s eyes narrowed after he mentioned Maris for the fifth time, but she made no comment as she told humorous stories about her toddler and baby.

“Caroline tells me one of the boys calls you Bear.” Her voice gave no hint to her true thoughts, but he could read them in her eyes. She wondered how close he had become with Maris.

He resisted blurting out he would be true to his wedding vows, because he was an honorable man. Instead, he said, “Yes, Bertie decided I was a bear because I growled when I twisted my ankle.”

“I remember when you banged your chin painfully on your knee in a jump from the stable’s second floor.” She chuckled, banishing any hint of darkness in her words. “You were determined your parents would never discover you had hurt yourself, but you could hardly chew for several days. You grumbled and growled out every word. I am sure it hurt even to talk. Raymond asked me why you had become grouchy.”

“Did you tell him?”

“You asked me not to tell anyone, and I did not. I learned from you that staying silent is better than telling a lie.” She put her hand to her forehead as if she had a sudden headache. “I have not thought of that in a long time. I should have remembered that lesson once I was a woman. Maybe I did, because I saw how you suffered nobly in silence because you did not want your parents to think less of you for your escapade. Maybe I learned that lesson far too well.”

“Gwendolyn, what—?”

“Forgive me, Arthur.” She did not let him ask the question. Instead, she affixed a smile on her face, a smile that struggled to escape and let her expression reflect the tension in her brown eyes. “I am babbling because I have something to tell you that I am not sure how you will respond to.”

Sympathy filled him. This was as difficult for her as it was for him. He reached out and took her hand. “We have known each other too long for you to be hesitant about anything.”

“I am glad you feel that way, because I want you to know I am deeply in love.”

He gasped. He had not expected her to broach the topic with such forthrightness. Had she tired of waiting for him to propose? She had given him enough openings, but then closed them as if she did not want him to ask her to be his wife.

His face must have betrayed the astonishment because Gwendolyn asked, “Why don’t you stop regarding me like a gaping fool and say something?”

“I am not sure what to say.” How could he tell her that he yearned to give his heart to another woman? Taking a deep breath, he said, “I am pleased, because it will make a marriage between us much more pleasant.”

“Marriage? Between
us
? Did you think I was talking about being in love with you, silly boy?” She laughed as she used the name she had called him when she wanted to tease him. She pretended to scowl. “You need not look relieved to hear that.”

“I am not relieved,” he said; then needing to be honest, he added, “Perhaps a bit, but even more I am happy for you.”

“And admit it. You are happy for yourself. How could you consider marrying me when it is obvious you are in love with your Miss Oliver?”

“Gwendolyn, I never said—”

She wagged a finger at him as if he were no older than Bertie. “Don’t try to dissemble with me, Arthur. I have known you most of my life, and I have never seen your eyes twinkle and you smile as broadly as you do each time you speak her name. She has turned on the light in you that dimmed in recent years. Have you told her that you are in love with her?”

With Gwendolyn, he had always been honest, so he found it easy to say, “No.”

“Because of a silly scheme our fathers concocted?” She shook her head as she reached across the space between them and squeezed his hand. “You silly, silly boy. If I had known, I would have included a message to you in one of our communications, to let you know I had accepted Otis’s offer to become his wife.”

“Otis?”

“Otis Miller.” Her face grew dreamy as she spoke her beloved’s name.

Gwendolyn was going to marry their host’s son? Arthur had met the young man a few times and would never have considered him a match for her. Otis Miller’s quiet ways paled before her vivacity. With such a garrulous father, he probably seldom had a chance to air his vocabulary. However, Miller was an educated man, which would appeal to Gwendolyn. She was well-read, and if she had been a man, her intelligence would have made her a favored student at Oxford or Cambridge.

“Does he know?” Arthur lowered his voice as he leaned closer to her. “About your activities?”

“Yes. I would not be dishonest with him about such an important matter. He was, I must say, shocked. Yet, when he had a chance to consider the situation, his consternation became interest in helping me.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am happy to have his assistance. He collects the information when it comes ashore, and I don’t have to worry about being out on lonely coastal roads after dark.”

“You should have asked me to take that task.”

“I was about to when I realized I needed to be honest with Otis.” A soft laugh burst from her lips. “And your household suddenly increased in size.”

Arthur chuckled, unable to restrain his happiness for her and for himself. He could not be certain Maris would welcome him courting her, but her kiss had been fervent and eager. That must mean something.

“How long have you been in love with him, Gwendolyn?”

“Six months.”

“But the request from your father came a month ago.”

Shaking her head, she said ruefully, “Father thinks Otis is too much like his father.”

“Eager to get ahead and make a place for himself amongst the Polite World?”

“Yes, but Otis would not care if I were a queen or a scullery maid. He loves
me
, and he loves my children. As important, they adore him. Winnie does not remember her own father, of course, because she was young when he died. Tim is Otis’s shadow when he calls, which delights both of them.”

“I know.” He thought of how Bertie wanted to be with him and copy what he did. To have the little boy become his son, and know Bertie would be in his life for good was a heady thought, so Arthur could guess how much Gwendolyn’s son’s adoration meant to Miller. “And I am glad you are not going down to the coast on your own to collect the information coming ashore.”

“Otis has been wonderful to take over that task, and I have been trying to teach him how to handle the correspondence with the couriers. He is learning more slowly than you did, but he is trying. In fact, you saw the results of an early attempt he made.”

“The note that made no sense? Miller wrote it?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. “Oh, Arthur, I never meant for that message to leave the house. Imagine my dismay when I realized I had sent you the wrong page. You must have thought I had taken leave of my senses.”

“It did cross my mind.”

“Arthur,” she said, smiling, “I
have
missed talking with you. No one I have ever met is as droll as you are.”

“Did he send the most recent note, as well?”

“The one without the message to transfer on to your next courier? No, that was my fault.” Her cheeks reddened. “I was distracted by knowing Otis was about to call, and I thought of nothing but finishing my task so I could enjoy our time together. I am sorry, Arthur, to cause you extra work by my lapse.”

“There is no need to apologize.” Coming to his feet, he bent and kissed her cheek again. “I wish you every happiness.”
And I hope I soon can tell you good tidings of my own.

“Thank you.” She took his hand and brought him to sit beside her on settee. “From you, that means everything. You are my first and dearest friend, Arthur. When Papa asked me to accept your proposal, I was distraught.”

“I understand. You were distraught because you love Miller.”

“Yes, but also because I love you. I love you as my friend, as the brother I never had, as the person I have always been able to trust. I want you to know the love God created between a man and a woman. I want you, Arthur, to have the love of the woman who makes you glow.” She gave him a sly smile. “Like Miss Oliver.”

“That may be, but I am not sure the affection is returned.”
Or at least not now
, he amended.

“You will never know unless you try.”

He chuckled. “I have heard you say those words before. Just before I jumped from the stable’s loft, I believe.”

“That is likely.” Gwendolyn relaxed, and he realized how stiffly she had been sitting. “You are not a man to give up, Arthur. Don’t give up on your Miss Oliver.”

“You are right. I don’t give up.”

Her happy expression fell from her face so fast he was startled. “But you must give up what you are doing, Arthur. Please stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Searching for the man who caused Mr. Cranford’s death.”

“
Mr.
Cranford?” He stared at her in shock. Some husbands and wife were formal, even after years of marriage, but Gwendolyn and Cranny had never been.

She grasped his hand. Her fingers trembled against his. “I know how you idolized him. You believed him to be a good and honorable man.”

“I did.”

Her brows rose in a silent request for him to continue.

“I have learned I may not have known Cranny as well as I once believed.”

“Nor did I when I wed him. I thought he was a wonderful man, and he was wonderful. Then. Everything changed after we exchanged our vows. The first time he raised his hand to me was during our honeymoon.”

“He struck you?” His stomach rolled in disgust.

“His temper was frightful, Arthur. It could flare at any moment, and anyone could be its focus. A stranger, a servant, the children. Most often, its target was me.”

“I had no idea.” His mouth tightened so he had to spit out each word. How could he have been blind to the truth? He recalled seeing her with bruises she had tried to hide with lace and heavy powder. The one time he asked her, she had assured him that dealing with an active baby had caused the bruise on her arm.

Why, God, did I accept her lie? Was it because I did not want to believe a man I once respected could be evil? Or was I so intent on doing my duty for Cothaire that I put that ahead of everything and everyone in my life?