The Bride's Secret (23 page)

“Oh, my lady, Stevie can hardly contain his happiness this morning!”

Carlotta watched her maid's reflection in the mirror. “Why, pray tell?”

“That sparrow he's been tending is flying all about his bed chamber.”

Carlotta broke into a smile. “Hurry with my hair, if you please. I must go see the bird.”

“It's quite a sight. Miss Kenworth, as ye know, ain't much bigger than Master Stevie, and she's been a tryin' to reach the bird, who goes straight up to the tall ceiling. Then Miss Kenworth takes to hoppin' on the beds, and still she's not nearly tall enough. Master Stevie begged her to go fetch Mr. Fordyce, seeing as how the gentleman had expressed a desire to see the bird.”

“Then I take it my husband is not here to be of assistance?” Carlotta swallowed the lump in her throat.

“He's gone for the day, me lady.”

Soon Carlotta's hair was put up, and Peggy assisted her into a lavender morning dress before Carlotta fled down the hall to her son's chamber.

Her entry coincided with Mr. Fordyce's, who swept open Stevie's door for her.

“Oh, please close the door,” a most agitated Miss Kenworth screamed.

Carlotta broke into laughter when she spied Miss Kenworth's round body leaping into the air, her dark hair swirling high over her shoulders, her skirts lifting to show her very short, very stocky legs, and all the while she cursed the winsome bird which flitted above her. “Come down from that ceiling, you aggravating, ungrateful, feathery fiend!” To make matters even more comical, Miss Kenworth's leaps brought her only inches closer to the bird than she had been with her feet flat on the bed.

Ever the gentleman, Mr. Fordyce refused to join Carlotta in laughter. He strode straight to the bed and offered Miss Kenworth his hand. “Allow me,” the secretary said with a commanding air.

Miss Kenworth took his hand and came down from the bed, gathering her dignity about her.

Instead of taking Miss Kenworth's place, Mr. Fordyce turned to Stevie and spoke calmly. “I see, Master Stephen, that your ministrations on behalf of the ailing sparrow have been successful.”

“Does ministrations mean doctoring?” Stevie asked, shooting a glance at his mother.

She nodded.

“Then my ministrations have worked,” Stevie answered.

Mr. Fordyce came to stand by Stevie, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. “Tell me, when you brought the bird to your chamber, what was it you hoped to accomplish?”

“I wanted him to get well so he would be able to fly again.”

Mr. Fordyce nodded. “And you have been successful. Birds were made to fly.” He paused. “Do you think God gave birds wings so they could fly around your chamber and bump their heads on your ceiling?”

Stevie's face fell as he shook his head.

Mr. Fordyce spoke with gentleness. “I'm certain that when the bird was sick, he was happy to be in your chamber, but now that he can fly again . . . Where do
you
think the sparrow wants to be?”

Stevie spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “He wants to go back to his friends and his trees and the sky.”

Mr. Fordyce nodded. “And what do you think you can do to assist him?”

Stevie's eyes widened. “I can open the window!” His glance darted to Miss Kenworth, who nodded her approval before bestowing an adoring glance at Mr. Fordyce.

Stevie ran to the window and first drew open the draperies, then opened the casement.

The bird did not leave immediately. Its first concern appeared to be keeping distance between himself—or herself—and the overpoweringly large humans. As fresh air filled the chamber, though, the bird must have recognized the smell and feel of the outdoor air and soon followed it out of Stevie's room.

Stevie's lower lip stuck out. “I'm going to miss Wobert.”

“Robert, as you must perceive,” Miss Kenworth said to Mr. Fordyce, “is what Master Stephen calls the little
girl
sparrow.”

“It's not a girl!” Stevie argued.

Miss Kenworth put hands to her ample hips. “I ask you, Mr. Fordyce, did that sparrow not fly like a graceful female?”

Carlotta smiled as she watched Fordyce, who did not desire to side with Stevie or his nurse, even though the nurse was acting in jest, a fact that seemed to escape the stuffy Mr. Fordyce.

Mr. Fordyce cleared his throat. “I daresay a bird's gender is not determined by its grace of flight.”

“Let's go to Papa's library and find that book you were talking about, Mr. Fordyce,” Stevie said. “That book that explains how to tell boy birds from girl birds.”

Mr. Fordyce looked perplexed. “That's not precisely what I said. What I said was that his lordship
may
have a book that deals with . . . that particular aspect of animal anatomy.”

Stevie advanced toward the secretary. “Come and help Miss Kenworth look.”

Mr. Fordyce looked from Stevie to Carlotta. “I-I-I-I don't know . . .”

“Oh, do, Mr. Fordyce,” Miss Kenworth said. “I should not wish to be accused of coloring the evidence to support my own claim.”

“Well, if you think I could be of assistance . . .”

“I insist,” Carlotta said. “Lord Rutledge shan't object.” Carlotta's motives had nothing to do with evening the playing field for Stevie and his nurse and everything to do with foisting the timid Mr. Fordyce on the gregarious Miss Kenworth. For Carlotta had decided their differences, when combined, would be their strengths. They should complement each other well. A smug smile settled on her face as the three of them went downstairs to the library.

Carlotta especially glowed at the way Stevie had referred to the library as
Papa's
. The name had fallen quite naturally from his lips.

* * *

An hour later, Stevie came barreling into Carlotta's study. “Mama! Mama! Papa's come to take me fishing!”

She looked up from her desk, where she was penning a letter to her grandmother, and her heart melted. Her son had come to love fishing with his Papa above all things. Even more than riding Brownie. James's devotion to Stevie—and Stevie's to James—caused her heart to overflow with happiness.

Stevie came up to her desk. “But I'm worried about Miss Kenworth. She'll be lonely without me. I invited her to come with us—for, you know, she is a tomboy and enjoys fishing like fellows do.”

“I am persuaded Miss Kenworth will manage quite nicely without you, darling. She most likely has letters to write to her family.”

He shook his head. “She wrote them this morning when I was practicing my penmanship.”

“Then perhaps she can sew,” Carlotta suggested.

He wrinkled his nose. “Miss Kenworth said she doesn't like sewing. She doesn't like things that you do, Mama, because she's a tomboy.”

Carlotta smiled.

“Can you not demand that Mr. Fordyce spend the afternoon with Miss Kenworth so she won't get lonely for me?” Stevie implored. “She told me she's very fond of Mr. Fordyce.”

Miss Kenworth did not have to tell Carlotta. Carlotta could see that Miss Kenworth held Mr. Fordyce in great affection. “I suppose I could,” Carlotta conceded.

Carlotta put her quill down and followed her son from the room. She found Mr. Fordyce and Miss Kenworth still in the library. “Miss Kenworth, you may have the afternoon off since Stevie and his father will spend the remainder of the day fishing.”

Then Carlotta turned to Fordyce. “I beg that you, too, Mr. Fordyce, take the afternoon off to provide amusement for Miss Kenworth. I fear my son frets that Miss Kenworth will be bereft without him.”

Miss Kenworth whipped around to face Carlotta. “Pray, I can find a great many things to do without forcing Mr. Fordyce from his many important duties in order to entertain me,” Miss Kenworth said.

“That's what I told my son, but he won't be happy until he knows Mr. Fordyce will assure that you have a pleasant afternoon,” Carlotta said. “Besides, Mr. Fordyce also deserves an afternoon off. He works much too hard, and so I shall tell my husband.” Carlotta glanced at the secretary. “I pray that you will now go off and find something amusing to do with Miss Kenworth.” Being so despotic did not come naturally to Carlotta and made her feel wretchedly uncomfortable.

In what Carlotta thought a rather gallant gesture, Mr. Fordyce offered Miss Kenworth his arm, and the two of them strolled from the library.

“By the way,” Carlotta said after them, “Did you learn how to tell a male bird from a female bird?”

Miss Kenworth whirled around to face Carlotta. “Not yet.” Then she spun back around, a look of joy on her face.

* * *

Just knowing that James was at Yarmouth sent waves of deep contentment—and excitement—over Carlotta. Of course, he would be leaving any moment to go angling with Stevie. A pity she could not fish.

She gave her letter to a footman to post, then an idea struck her. A wonderful idea, it seemed to her. Why could she not go angling, too? Never mind that angling had never appealed to her before. Today it held a most alluring attractiveness. Being with James—and her precious son, too—now seemed of paramount importance. And she wouldn't actually have to fish. Watching them and enjoying this spring day would be enough amusement for her.

She must find her husband before he took off. She went first to his library and was rewarded with a glimpse of him sitting behind his desk. As she peered at him, her stomach did an odd flip. In recent days the sight of James had provoked a number of unusual, physical responses in her, none of which were unpleasant.

He looked up at her. “Hello, my dear.”

She covered the distance between them and came up to kiss his forehead as he sat looking over a stack of papers.

“I have decided I shall accompany you and Stevie on the angling expedition.”

He gave her a quizzing glance. “You want to fish?”

“I didn't say that,” she protested with mock offense. “I merely wish to accompany you. I find it a pretty day to be outdoors.”

“We shall be delighted, and if you should like instruction on fishing, I would be happy to oblige.”

She shook her head. “I shall be quite content, I assure you, with my volume of poetry I plan to read while you fish.”

“Of course,” he said, amusement in his voice.

The three of them were soon off. The River Barle was their destination. The terrain between Yarmouth and the point of the Barle where the fish were said to be plentiful was difficult to traverse. There were only the skimpiest of paths through the lush brush of the rugged hills. It seemed to Carlotta they kept going upward and never down.

“Are we in a forest?” she asked.

He nodded. “This is known as the Bagworthy Wood.”

Finally they came to the summit of the hill, and caught a glimpse of the twisting Barle shimmering below, then they zig-zagged down the forested hill through a maze of ash trees and pines.

Now that spring had arrived, the verdant hills were full of birds and red deer and even a wild Exmoor pony here and there. Wherever they went they heard gurgling water and the chirping and cackling of curlews and snipe and woodland birds.

'Twas such unspoiled land, except for the site of the mine, she thought grimly. How she detested the place! Yet she would not voice her hatred for the mines to anyone because she was James's wife, and she would never work at cross purposes against him.

Carlotta and James rode side by side behind Stevie.

“I should think a man of action such as yourself would be bored fishing,” Carlotta said. “I understand that most of the time spent angling involves patient waiting.”

He chuckled. “You are correct. I've never been able to understand the lure angling has for men. I only know its pull is strong. I've always felt it. So does our son.”

Her heart fluttered. This was the first time he had dared to call Stephen's son his own. Though she should be affronted, she was not. Instead, she was filled with pleasure. And pride. It made her happy to feel so united with James. To feel the three of them were a real family.

Her thoughts flitted to the likelihood that she would someday bear James's children, and she was suddenly consumed with a hunger—a ravishing need—to do so. Nothing could bring her greater pleasure. Well, actually, there was one other thing . . . Her heart accelerated when she thought of it. Above everything she would wish to receive James's love. It was now very important to her that this man who knew her too intimately should be able to overlook her many faults and find room in his heart for her.

Her breath grew ragged as she thought of what a tender, passionate lover her husband was. She knew she pleased him on a physical level. Now, if only he could be pleased with her on another—even more important—level.

Soon they were at the banks of the swiftly flowing Barle, and they dismounted. She watched as they unpacked their gear and headed to a rocky clearing on the riverbank to claim a spot. Once they had baited and cast and were settled in, she went in search of the perfect place to sit and watch them. She wished to be in the sun because the shade was too cool. Only a pair of beeches had rooted far enough away from the evergreen canopy to bask in a puddle of sun. She went to the closest one, but the soil around it was soggy. The beech just above it was dry. She sat down and used the tree as a backrest while she watched her husband and son.

Without being didactic, James imparted pointers to Stevie with calm and patience while managing to praise the boy for his skill in casting and his ability not to grow impatient when the fish did not immediately bite.

She listened as they chatted to one another about past excursions and swapped fish stories. When they fell into a lull, she opened the pages of her book and began to read. She had selected this particular volume for its tales of spring, but it was the verses about love that captured her attention.

A stanza from young Shelley spoke to her:

When I arose and saw the dawn

I sigh'd for thee;

when light rode high and the dew was gone,

And noon laid heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turned to his rest,

Lingering like an unloved guest,