The Bride's Secret (21 page)

Mr. Fordyce nodded. “Say! If you're going to the mines, I beg that you get his lordship's signature on a document for me. I'll just run back and fetch it.”

At the heavily laden carriage, Carlotta had to laugh when she saw Stevie lifting a basket that was nearly as tall as he. “See how strong I am, Mama.”

She and Miss Kenworth exchanged amused glances.

“Here's the document,” said Fordyce, who had just come from the house.

Carlotta took it, glanced at Stevie's nurse, then back at Fordyce. “You are acquainted with Miss Kenworth, are you not, Mr. Fordyce?” she asked.

He nodded shyly to Miss Kenworth. “She was kind enough to invite me to dine with her last week.”

“If you have spent an hour in Miss Kenworth's company, then I daresay she knows enough of you to name your childhood friends. Miss Kenworth has a facility for making fast friends.”

“I must protest, my lady,” Miss Kenworth said. “You give me attributes I do not possess. I know no more of Mr. Fordyce than I did when I was at Middlesex. Methinks he finds dinner conversation obtrusive.”

“I beg your forgiveness, Miss Kenworth, if I gave that impression,” Fordyce said.

Eying the remorseful Mr. Fordyce and the suddenly bashful Miss Kenworth, Carlotta soon realized that the secretary's timidness lay beneath the misunderstanding. And even if Miss Kenworth was no beauty, she was a female, and Carlotta had reason to believe Mr. Fordyce was extremely reticent with members of the opposite sex.

“Miss Kenworth, if you desire conversation with Mr. Fordyce, you have only to speak of the new philosophers—like Mr. Bentham—or government, and his tongue will loosen.”

“Our curate back in Middlesex was a keen proponent of Jeremy Bentham,” Miss Kenworth said, looking up at Fordyce, then clamping her mouth closed.

Carlotta could not remember Miss Kenworth ever stopping at just one sentence. She glanced from her to the young secretary and came to the conclusion the both of them were exceedingly shy in each other's company. And that just would not do!

Carlotta slipped her arm through Fordyce's. “Mr. Fordyce, I beg that you accompany us to the mines today. It's a lovely day to be out of doors.”

“His lordship doesn't pay me to trek through the countryside, my lady,” he replied.

She patted his arm. “Don't worry. I shall take full blame. I promise you, my husband will not object to your coming.”

She could see that the man was torn. “Besides,” she added, “I have need of you this afternoon, and James said I was to have access to you whenever I wanted. So there you have it!”

“Very well,” he said.

They watched as the last of the baskets were tied on top the carriage, then Stevie bounded into the coach. Fordyce assisted Carlotta in, and she sat beside her son. Next in was Miss Kenworth, then Fordyce last.

“When shall we be there, Mama?” Stevie asked.

“In about an hour, love. The drive by way of coach is nearly twice as long as it is by horseback because the coach is restricted to the more out-of-the-way roads.”

“In preparation for his first visit to the mines, Master Stephen has learned to spell some new words. Spell the words for your mother, dear,” Miss Kenworth said.

“Coal. C-o-a-l,” Stevie said. “I thought it was spelled c-o-l-e, but Miss Kenworth taught me the proper way to spell it.”

Fordyce looked at Miss Kenworth with admiration. “But I thought you were the boy's nurse. I did not know you were a governess.”

“Fortunate for me, I can be both,” she answered.

“I perceive that Miss Kenworth enjoys the outdoors,” Carlotta said, “therefore after the lessons, she and Stevie indulge in the pursuits that make a lad happy.”

“We found an injured baby sparrow last week,”Stevie said excitedly, “and Miss Kenworth and I are nursing it back to good health.”

“Where do you keep it?” Fordyce asked.

“Presently, in Master Stephen's room.”

“Should you like to come and see him, Mr. Fordyce?” Stevie asked.

“I believe I would.”

“I've been unable to impart to Master Stephen that birds may not wish to be covered with blankets,” Miss Kenworth said with a laugh.

“I know he likes it,” Stevie said stubbornly. “I got a little piece of wool from Mrs. MacGinnis that is the perfect size for a sparrow blanket.”

Miss Kenworth shrugged. “The sparrow's gender is another matter over which Master Stephen and I are not in accord,” Miss Kenworth said with a dramatic flair. “I say the bird is a she, and he insists it's a he.” She looked up at Fordyce with no hint of a blush. “Pray, Mr. Fordyce, can you tell if a bird is a male or female?”

He sputtered out a cough, shaking his head. “Perhaps there's a book in his lordship's library which might enlighten you . . . on the subject.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Miss Kenworth said.

As the carriage trudged up a hill, Carlotta had the opportunity to observe her son's nurse. A pity the first thing one noticed about her was her plumpness. It wasn't that she was fat. She really wasn't. It was just that she had no waist whatsoever and was not blessed with height; therefore, she seemed the same circumference from top to bottom as she was from side to side.

More the pity was the fact that her coloring was quite lovely with a peaches-and-cream complexion and hair and eyes that were quite dark. She would have been considered quite pretty, if it weren't for her cursed frame.

Carlotta thought Miss Kenworth contrasted well with Mr. Fordyce's fairness and slimness. She also thought there could be no more than five years between their ages.

“Mr. Fordyce?” Stevie asked.

“Yes?”

“Did you know that Miss Kenworth can play cricket?”

The secretary ran an appreciative glance over the nurse, who began to blush. “I did not.”

“You must come play with us one day,” Stevie said. “You
do
know how to play cricket, do you not?”

A smile crossed his face. “Aye, I do. When I was a lad not much older than you, I played cricket at grammar school. Then again at Cambridge.” He directed a glance at Miss Kenworth. “Pray, how is it you know how to play?”

“My mother was housekeeper to Sir Eldridge, who sired four sons. They were always begging that I join them.”

“Because she's good,” Stevie said. “There's nothing of the girl about her,” the boy added.

Carlotta saw that deeper scarlet hiked up the nurse's cheeks. “That's not really the case, lamb,” Carlotta said. “Miss Kenworth just happens to indulge you with things a lad enjoys.”

“No,” Stevie protested, “she told me she was a tomboy. Always.”

Carlotta shrugged. “She's also a very fine lady.”

“Tell me,” Fordyce said to Miss Kenworth, “were you well acquainted with the curate at Middlesex?”

“I was. Before he brought his bride to our village.”

“Then you and he had discussed Benthamism?”

She nodded, then the two began to discuss utilitarianism until they arrived at the mines.

* * *

James was in the pits when Willy scurried down. “Lord Rutledge! Lady Rutledge is here, and she's brought victuals for everyone.”

But Carlotta hated the mines!
Brushing off his hands and muttering under his breath, James hunkered down and moved through the blackness toward the direction of Willy's voice. Turning at an elbow in the shaft, he then followed the light—and Willie—from the pit.

Above ground, he squinted against the sun's brightness and looked around until he saw his wife. Carlotta was directing the unloading from the carriage of a dozen baskets and two folding tables. She and Miss Kenworth supervised the unpacking of the baskets and spread out the feast. There was smoked venison, giblet pie, apples, puddings, ham and a basketful of pastries. Another basket held plates and utensils.

Clearing his throat of the coal dust, James walked up to his wife, then immediately broke into a fit of coughing.

A look of concern swept over her face. “Fresh air is what you need, not that wretched air down in the pits,” she chastised.

He ignored her comment. “What, pray tell, is the special occasion?” he asked his wife, his gaze shifting to the tables heaped with food.

“When I came to Yarmouth, I vowed I would learn all your employees by name. This, I think, will be a good start.” She walked up to him and set her hand on his. “And please don't be angry with Mr. Fordyce. I forced him to join us. He and Miss Kenworth had a most pleasant journey. They have, I think, much in common.”

James would have been jealous of Carlotta spending time with any man, and since Fordyce was the only other gentleman available, the unfortunate secretary bore the brunt of James's vehement jealousy. James wished to believe Carlotta had brought the secretary today merely to advance his friendship with Miss Kenworth, but James's illogical jealousy gripped him too tightly. In the middle of James's scowl, Carlotta raised up on her toes and kissed his black cheek. His thoughts leapt back to the night before and how receptive she had been to his lovemaking. It was all he could do not to drag her to the carriage and have his way with her right there.

Instead, he stiffened, then removed a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed the coal soot from her lips. “I thought you detested the black,” he whispered.

“It looks as if I'm going to have to get used to it if I'm married to you. Come, dearest, allow me to prepare a plate for you.”

She piled his plate high with food, and he had to admit it was most welcome. A man could work up a hearty appetite down in the mines. He sat on a large stone to eat—and to watch his wife personally greet each miner with extended hand. When they would balk at getting her dirty, she scoffed. “Please,” she would say time after time, “It will wash off.”

James thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did, standing there in a simple cotton lavender dress, her gloves black and her eyes warm. As she brushed a stray lock of raven hair from her brow, a streak of black left its mark on her milky skin.

And she was without a doubt the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

When he finished, he came to stand beside her. “How is it you're better understanding the collier's speech?”

“Peggy and I are learning the dialect from Jeremy.”

“Ah . . . Tell me, are Peggy and Jeremy . . .?”

She shrugged. “Not yet. I learned from the upper groom that a local girl snared Jeremy's affections before he met Peggy. I suppose we'll just have to wait to see which one Jeremy will finally choose.”

“The poor local girl doesn't have a prayer if my wife has anything to say about it.”

“Would that I could cast spells,” she lamented, her eyes narrowed in jest.

He broke out laughing.

Carlotta turned to address the nurse. “Please, Miss Kenworth, prepare a plate for Mr. Fordyce and yourself now. All the miners have been served.”

James saw that Carlotta watched Miss Kenworth and Fordyce walk some little distance away and sit down to eat with each other.

He also noticed that no matter what Carlotta was doing, she never had Stevie far from her vision. No doubt, she feared he would wander into the pits she had so strong an aversion to.

He was proud that even though the lad's nurse was present, Carlotta refused to be complacent about her child's safety. She had become a fine mother, at last.

A tightness clamped his chest as he thought of her mothering a child of their own. A child that quite possibly could already have been conceived. He could shout his happiness from the top of the hills.

He listened as an affable collier—Douglas Covington—told Carlotta about his wife and children.

Enjoy these days while ye can,” Douglas told Carlotta, “for once those babes begin to come, ye'll have no time for anything. I should know. Me blessed wife just presented me with our ninth child, and me poor wife never has an idle moment.”

“It sounds to me your wife
is
blessed,” Carlotta said. “Is the new babe a boy or girl?”

Douglas's teeth looked exceptionally white against his black skin when he smiled. “Ah! Another fine lad.”

“I shall have to go see the babe,” Carlotta said.

James had never been more proud in his life.

Chapter 22

The following day Carlotta and Stevie rode over the moors to the cottage of Douglas Covington's family. The white house sat some little distance up on the heath above a brook. Next to the house lay a small vegetable garden, and a cow grazed just off in the distance.

Carlotta grew unaccountably nervous as she dismounted, took her son's hand and walked up a muddy lane to the house. 'Twas a good thing the door was painted a dark brown to better hide the sooty handprints, she thought as she knocked on it.

A woman near Carlotta's own age who had rosy cheeks and dull, unkept brown hair answered the door.

“Mrs. Covington?” Carlotta asked.

“Ah, my lady, please to come in.”

So Carlotta's visit was not unannounced. Still clutching Stevie's hand, Carlotta stepped into the parlor that had obviously been tidied in preparation for her visit.

A newborn babe lay in a handmade wooden cradle near the hearth.

“May I see the babe?” Carlotta asked.

A smile came over the woman's face. “Me Dooglas said as ye were keen to see the babe, but I'll tell ye, he's a runt. Smallest babe I've ever had. Me and Dooglas have been a tad worried about him.”

Carlotta moved to the cradle and bent over it, cooing to the sleeping babe. She glanced up at Mrs. Covington. “May I pick him up?”

“Please do. He never cries when he's being coddled. Ye can sit in that chair near the fire, if ye like.”

Carlotta lifted the little bundle who seemed to weigh no more than her pillow. In fact, she remembered wistfully, the babe was the same size Stevie was when they had sailed from Portugal back to England. Stevie had been small, too. She wistfully remembered that Stephen had been worried over the small size of their infant son.

Carlotta held the infant to her breast, and a warmth rushed over her. A pity she had been so afraid of her own son on that long-ago sailing. But in her heavy bereavement and weak physical state so close on the heels of her confinement, she understood now how difficult her nineteenth year had been. Pray that all her miseries were behind her.