Once Upon A Dream (10 page)

"Of course you are right." He looked at her and laughed. "And wise."

"This is one of those pinnacle moments," she said—and flushed.

Of extreme joy? Yes, all caution aside, it was.

"Yes," he said.

"And the future always holds endless possibilities," she said. "As Wulfric just observed, we can always dream new dreams to replace the old."

Bewcastle
had said such a thing? It was hard to imagine. But Michael's preconceptions of the icy duke had been shaken a few times during the past week.

"And yet," he said, "I suppose most people dream of the same thing in essence—of love and happiness."

"Do we?" She turned her head, frowning slightly as though she were considering the truth of what he had said. "Are we—"

But he never heard what she was about to ask. They had walked almost completely about the lake by now.

"Papa, Papa-a-a, " a voice cried from ahead of them, and they both looked up to see Robert dashing and skipping toward them, exuberant excitement in every
line of his body. "Georgie said she saw you come this way. Papa, I hit the ball. I hit it a great whack and that man with lots of hair and a big
nose—
William's
papa—tried to catch it and almost did but dropped it. I scored a run."

He had wormed his way between them and was beaming up at Michael even as his hand found its way into Miss Thompson's.

"What a clever boy," Michael said, ruffling his son's fuzzy blond hair and blessing Lord Rannulf Bedwyn for deliberately fumbling the ball. "My son, the
star cricketer. And then you abandoned your team?"

"I came to tell you," Robert said, quite unrepentant, and he  beamed ecstatically from one to the other of them.

"I am glad you did," Michael said, smiling down into his face and feeling very close to tears.

"I came to tell you
both,
" Robert said.

"Well, thank you," Miss Thompson said. "I am honored, Robert."

She was smiling at his son. And yes, Michael thought, taking the child's other hand in his own, he was filled to the brim with joy. She had been quite
right about pinnacle moments. One must always be careful not to miss them.

Georgette and Robert shared a bedchamber with Mrs. Harris on the nursery floor. Although it was close to bedtime, however, they were both still in the main
nursery, Georgette talking with Becky and Lizzie and Becky's older brother Davy, and Robert sitting in a huddle of small children over by the window, all
of them listening intently while the red-haired Lady Rannulf Bedwyn read them a story. Michael seized the opportunity to send Georgette to the room while
his son was otherwise occupied. There was a screech of laughter from the little ones as Lady Rannulf acted the part of one of the nasty, evil
characters—she was, Michael had gathered, something of an actress.

Georgette was sitting cross-legged on her bed when he entered the room and nodded to Mrs. Harris to leave them for a few moments. He sat down on the edge
of the bed and patted one of his daughter's knees. She favored him with one of her dazzling guilty smiles.

"Just a one-word, question," he said. "Why?"

"Why
what,
Papa?"

The smile turned to a wide-eyed innocent look, which disappeared when he merely waited quietly for her answer. He was surprised and not a little alarmed
when tears welled into her eyes. This was not one of her usual tactics and was perhaps not a tactic at all. He waited nonetheless.

"They would send me away, Papa," she said. "I don't mind so much being sent to school. I might enjoy it though I think I would rather stay at home. But
they would not really be sending me
to
school, Papa, but
away
from you and Robbie. And then they would insist that he be a proper boy
like all others and that he stop sitting on your lap and cuddling up to you and lifting his face at night for you to kiss him. They told me how surprised
they were that you allowed such unmanly behavior in your son and heir. And before you know it, they will be sending him away too to a school that will
toughen him up, and we all know how boys get toughened up in the schools that are supposed to be for the education of gentlemen."

Good God!

"Georgie," he said, unconsciously using the shortened form of her name she had asked him two years ago to stop using, "do you really believe I would allow
any lady—or her mother—to dictate to me what I do for and with my children? Do you really believe I would send either you or Robert
away
from me, to use your own emphasis?"

She stared at him with her tear-filled eyes. "She is beautiful, Papa," she said, "and I know gentlemen admire beautiful ladies and sometimes lose their
wits over them."

Oh, Lord, where the devil had she heard that?

"I have a daughter and a son," he said. "I lost my wits to them when they were born, Georgette, and have not recovered them since. Nor do I wish to. Do you
not know that you and Robert are all in all to me? Yes, I admire beautiful ladies, especially those who also have beautiful characters and like my
children. I may even marry one such lady one of these days. But only if I believe I can make her happy and make my children happy as well. I would never
put my own happiness above yours and Robert's."

"I don't remember Mama very clearly," she said, "and Robbie does not remember her at all."

"I know," he said, patting her knee again. "She loved you both very, very much."

"I wish she hadn't had to die," she said.

"So do I, Georgie," he said.

"But since she had to," she said, "then I think you ought to have another wife, Papa, so that you will not be lonely any more. No, stop. I know you are
going to say you aren't lonely, that Robbie and I are enough for you, but we aren't really enough. And I know you try to be a father and a mother to us,
and you are the best papa
ever
. But you cannot be our mother too. We want a new one. And it is not because we don't love our real mama because we
do. Forever and ever, Papa. But she can't be here with us, and we want someone who can be. We want a new mama. We have both looked for one. We have looked
at home, and we looked in London, but we have never found the right one."

He would be bawling too if he was not careful, Michael thought, reaching across and scooping her up, all gangly arms and legs, to deposit on his lap. She
was sniffing and scowling.

"Until now," she added defiantly, as though she expected he would reprimand her any moment. "We have found her, Papa, and we both want her. It's not just
me, and it's not just Robbie. We both agree. But she cannot be our mama unless she is your wife and you have scarcely looked at her all week until you went
walking with her this afternoon, and those other two have been trying to take your attention and trying to convince everyone else that you are practically
betrothed
to Miss Everly and pretty soon you will be whether you like it or not. And then you will have to marry her, and she will be your wife
but she will never be our mama but we will have lost our chance to have one and in the meanwhile—"

"Georgie," he said firmly. "Stop, sweetheart. Take a breath."

She was fisting and unfisting her hands in her lap. She was gasping for breath.

"I am not going to marry Miss Everly," he told her. "I have made that clear to both her and Lady Connaught. And I will never marry anyone of whom you and
Robert do not approve. But as for Miss Thompson, you know, I can make no promises. You can want her as a mama all you wish and I can want her as a wife all
I wish, but if she does not want to have me as a husband and you and Robert as her children…well, there is nothing we can do about it, is there?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with incredulity. "Papa," she said, "you are the Earl of Staunton. You are rich. And you are handsome and nice and you
have a lovely smile and you are not so very old. You could have any lady you want. I have seen the way ladies look at you. Do you seriously think you
cannot make Miss Thompson love you and agree to marry you? The only thing that might make her
not
want you is me because I am Difficult and maybe
Precocious and I talk a lot and ask endless questions because I want to know things. But I think she likes me anyway, so I am not a complete liability.
Papa—"

He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. "I want you to promise me something, Georgette," he said. "I want you to promise that you will not say
a word to Miss Thompson about all this, about wanting her to be your mama. At best you may embarrass her. At worst you may distress her. She is an
independent lady with a life of her own. She has a rich life in Bath and many responsibilities there. She owes us nothing. You must promise me."

He heard her sigh. "I promise," she said. "But, Papa, you must promise not to be a slow-top. We have only one more week here, and after that we may never
see her again."

Fortunately Robert came into the room at that moment and jumped up onto the bed to snuggle close.

"Well?" Michael asked, setting an arm about him. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Mmm," Robert said and yawned hugely. "Tommy fell asleep in the middle of the last story and had to be carried to bed."

"Did he?" Michael said. "And you are going to be asleep pretty soon too. We had better get you undressed and tucked up in your bed before it happens."

Pinnacle moments of great joy were all very well while one was living them but not so wonderful when they were over, Eleanor thought over the next few
days. Everything had come together to form perfection—the lovely setting by the lake, the warm summer weather, the easy conversation, the kiss. Ah,
the kiss. It was her first for years and years. Indeed, she had only ever been kissed before by Gregory and that was so long ago that it seemed rather like
something from another lifetime.

She would not refine too much upon this kiss, she decided as soon as she was alone again. It had flowed naturally from the occasion and was no indicator of
undying love and an impending proposal of marriage. The very idea was ludicrous. She was a confirmed spinster of almost forty. She would not feel guilty
about the kiss either. It was true that he must be considering marriage with Miss Everly. Christine had remarked in her hearing one day that she had
invited the ladies because it appeared to be general knowledge that Miss Everly and the Earl of Staunton were a couple headed inevitably to the altar. But
they were not officially betrothed yet, and Eleanor fervently hoped they never would be—entirely for the children's sake, of course. Oh, and for his
sake too as she could not like Miss Everly and could not quite believe he would be happy with her.

Oh, and for your own sake too, Eleanor,
she admitted to herself rather crossly. She could not bear the thought of him with someone as shallow as Miss Everly. Or with any other woman for that
matter.

Eleanor avoided him as much as she could. She did not wish him to feel obligated in any way to her. She certainly did not want to give anyone the
impression that she was pursuing him. Those cool silver eyes of Wulfric's rested speculatively upon her quite enough as it was, and Christine and Hazel did
not miss much either.

The Earl of Staunton appeared to be avoiding her too. Certainly he made no further effort to single her out for walks or conversation. He played cricket
and rowed on the lake. He played billiards and blind man's buff. He read the morning papers and stories to his children. He wrote letters and sat
conversing with various groupings of adults. He went riding and fishing with a party of gentlemen and a few children. He turned pages of music at the
pianoforte for one young lady and sang a duet with Hazel and laughed with her afterward over one ear-jarringly wrong note for which each assumed the blame.
He went swimming and helped plan and direct a treasure hunt.

He was enjoying himself, Eleanor believed, and that indeed was the whole purpose of a country house party. He did not totally ignore her. He sat beside her
a few times in the dining room and in groups that included her in the drawing room and out on the terrace. He fetched a book from the library that he had
heard her say she wished to read. He chose to join her team for a spirited game of charades one evening and strolled over the wilderness walk with a group
that included her one afternoon. He smiled whenever their eyes met and often had a word for her when they were close.

She felt slightly depressed and berated herself for being a fool.

To protect herself from further hurt yet without even realizing she was doing it, she adopted a manner of almost severe reserve whenever she was in his
presence. She set her mind to other things. She wrote to Hortense Renney, the teacher who was interested in purchasing the school from her. Hortense was
intelligent, well educated and well read, cheerful and energetic, and well liked by all. In her letter Eleanor did not mention staying on as a teacher. She
would wait and see if Hortense suggested it and then decide if she would accept or not. They were friends, but Hortense might find the switch in their
roles uncomfortable. So might she.

She did not know what she would do if the offer was not made or if she decided she could not stay. She tried to look upon her future as an exciting
challenge. Provided she sold the school for a decent price, she would have a tidy nest egg left even after paying back Wulfric's loan.

She broke the news to her mother and sisters, none of whom was upset with her, only perhaps a little
for
her. All three assured her they would
support her in whatever she decided to do. She told Claudia, the Marchioness of Attingsborough, from whom she had purchased the school not so very long
ago. Claudia was surprised and sympathetic and supportive—and hugged Eleanor warmly.

Wulfric's birthday was to be a day of busy celebration, though he had been heard to comment that only his wife would consider a fortieth birthday a cause
for jollification. There was to be a children's outdoor party during the afternoon, weather permitting, a banquet early in the evening in the rarely used
great medieval hall, and a grand dance in the ballroom to follow it.