The Bride's Secret (6 page)

Forcing a smile, she moved to Stevie, her arms outstretched. “My darling son, how good it is to see you! And how you've grown!” She stooped to gather him into her embrace.

He stood rigid, his arms at his sides, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his mother affectionately greeted him.

Holding him at arm's length, she directed a mock scowl at him. “No kiss for your mama?”

Now a full-fledged smile altered his small face as he moved to her and pecked her proffered cheek.

She took his hand and walked him down the hall of their townhouse. “You must come sit on my lap and tell me what you've been doing.”

They entered the gold drawing room, and she sat on a silken settee, beckoning for him sit on her lap.

He stopped three feet short of her. “Will I not muss your gown?”

“Oh, fiddle! You're much more important than any old dress.” A smile on her face, she patted her lap.

He sprang to the proffered seat.

Her arms encircled him. “My goodness, lad, you've grown so thin. I declare, I'm going to have to fatten you up.” Though she tried to make light of his thinness, it disturbed her. He had been nothing like this the last time she had seen him. Was something wrong with the lad? Instantly, she grew angry with her grandmother. Why had Gran failed to notify Carlotta of a condition which might affect
her
child's health? Had there not been enough food? she wondered with a stab of fear. At the first of every quarter, Carlotta religiously sent half her meager funds to Gran.

By the expression on his face, Carlotta realized her words had disappointed him. She gave him an affectionate squeeze. “I daresay your papa was also thin when he was your age. You're so very much like your father.”

“How am I like my papa?”

She hugged him to her. “Well, first of all, you're the very image of him. Your face is but a younger version of his face, and your hair is just a shade lighter than his was when I met him. He was somewhat on the slender side, too, but he became more muscular with age.”

Stevie's eyes brightened at that comment. “I should enjoy being like my papa when I grow up.”

“I'm certain he would have liked that.”

“Tell me again about his bravery.” He pronounced
bravery
like bwave-awee. His pronunciation made her smile and caused an unexpected stab of sadness. She had missed so much of his life. “Better than that,” she said. “There's here in Bath a former soldier who served with your papa. He wants to tell you all about your father. His name is Lord Rutledge, and he is very much looking forward to meeting you. He's also bought replica swords and toy soldiers and even a very special present for you.”

“It must be the pony!” he shrieked.

“You'll have to wait until this afternoon, love,” she said. Lord Rutledge had the ridiculous notion the reunion between mother and son should be private. Had she a say in the matter, Lord Rutledge would be sharing this very settee with them right now. She really was at a loss for what to say to a six-year-old lad.

“I know you were very sad last year when your nurse got married. What was her name?”

“Sah-wa.”

“Oh, yes, Sarah!”

“She's got a baby girl now,” he said. “I got to go visit them.”

“Did you now? And how do you like babies?”

“I like them very much.”

“It seems just yesterday you were a wee one,” Carlotta said wistfully. She swallowed. Her son had become a person, and she had missed everything. “And look at how big you are now!”

He grinned up at her.

“I believe it's time I introduce the master of the house to my maid and the other servants.”

* * *

That afternoon James, laden with packages for Stevie, came. Not only was the boy delighted with all that Lord Rutledge brought him, but he shed the reticence he bore with his mother and readily laughed with James, who had a talent for saying what pleased a child of Stevie's age.

As much as Carlotta wished to dislike his lordship for what he had done on The Peninsula, she seemed unable to do so. He was so very selfless—and quite charming.

As soon as he presented Stevie with the toy soldiers, the two of them spread out regiments on the Turkey carpet and completely forgot Carlotta's existence.

For the first half hour, she watched them play, though she was bored beyond bearing. Finally, she excused herself and went to her room and allowed herself the luxury of reading a new volume of poetry which Lord Rutledge had presented her the day before.

She smiled as she remembered how sweet he had been when he had offered it to her.

“I saw this at the booksellers and immediately thought of you—knowing how much you love poetry, that is,” he had said shyly.

Not only was it a volume she had been desirous of reading, it was also beautifully bound in fine green leather with an ornate gold-scrolled cover.

She had handed it back to him. “Please, my lord, could you personalize it on the flyleaf for me?”

He looked embarrassed, but nevertheless took up the quill and wrote:
For Mrs. Ennis, With deep affection, Rutledge, October 11, 1817.

After reading the verses for more than an hour, she went back downstairs, and from what she could tell there was no difference from when she had left. Only now Lord Rutledge and the lad were making mock artillery noises—which caused her to burst out laughing.

Lord Rutledge sat up ramrod straight and shot her a quizzing glance. “Pray tell, what do you find so humorous, Mrs. Ennis?”

“Why, it's the authenticity of your artillery noises, Lord Rutledge!”

“'Tis just one of my hidden talents,” he said with a wink and a smile.

Stevie looked up shyly at his mother. “I say, Mother, I love my sap-wize.”

“Oh, dear,” she answered, “I dare say Lord Rutledge's other surprise is even better than the toy soldiers.”

The boy's green eyes widened as he leaped to his feet. “The pony!”

James got up and gave the boy a hand. “I'd almost forgotten. Your surprise awaits outside.” Then James addressed Carlotta. “I beg that the servants not disturb the soldiers. Stevie and I will finish this battle after dinner—if that is agreeable to you?”

Carlotta shrugged. “Of course, it's acceptable to me.” Better Lord Rutledge than she. She would have absolutely no idea how to go about staging a battle with toy soldiers! A pity Stevie hadn't been a girl.

The three of them hurried outside where a groom stood holding the reins to a bay pony.

Stevie's eyes darted from the pony, back to James. “Uncle James?”

Uncle James
? Surely the boy was not going to address the man responsible for his father's death as his
uncle
! Lord Rutledge had some gall!

“She's yours, Stevie,” James said.

Carlotta's anger was short lived when she saw the broad smile light Stevie's thin face as he ran toward the animal and lovingly ran a hand over its flank.

Carlotta moved to Stevie and put a hand on his shoulder. She was thoroughly cognizant that Lord Rutledge—her benefactor—was scrutinizing her motherly behavior. “What shall you call her, my love?”

“I believe I shall call her Bwownie.”

“Because she's brown,” Carlotta finished.

“I hope your wife approves of the name,” James said, deadpan serious.

Stevie began to giggle. “Silly, I don't have a wife. I'm only six years old.”

“Only six?” James winked at Carlotta. “And I took you for a short man.” He scooped a still-giggling Stevie up and set him on the pony. “Have you ridden before?”

The boy's voice was shaky when he replied. “Not by myself.”

Carlotta realized her son was frightened and came to place a gentle hand at his waist.

Lord Rutledge took the reins. “I'll walk beside you and hold the lead line,” he said. “Until you feel safe enough.”

Carlotta watched the two until they turned at the end of Monmouth Street. She could just as well have been in Portugal for all the notice they took of her, but she truly did not care. Her only concern at the moment was her guilt over admiring Lord Rutledge so greatly when he was the one who had caused Stephen's death. What would Stephen think about his son calling the man
uncle
?

Moments later, at the opposite end of her block, Stevie and the pony trotted toward her, Lord Rutledge leading the pair. When they drew up to Carlotta, his lordship proposed that the three of them walk to Sydney Gardens. “I dare say it will be easier for Stevie to ride at the park, it being away from the busy traffic on the streets of Bath,” he said.

After Lord Rutledge instructed the groom to bring the pony along to the park on the opposite side of the River Avon, the threesome took off walking. His mother on one side of him, Lord Rutledge on the other, Stevie happily skipped along.

During the walk, Carlotta noted the look of utter contentment on Lord Rutledge's face. She was at a total loss to understand how one six-year-old boy could bring such obvious joy to a man of eight-and-twenty years. However, hers was not to question why but to relish the bond between man and boy, a bond that freed her.

Lord Rutledge, unlike her son, did not forget Carlotta's presence but continued to address her in respectful tones and to introduce her into his and Stevie's conversations. “Your mama won't wish for you to ride off where she cannot see you.” Or, “Your papa was very happy to have a son—and a beautiful wife.”

He would also direct comments to her. “I hope it didn't alarm you too much when I put your son on top the mount. You looked rather nervous.”

“'Twasn't me so much as it was the look on poor Stevie's face which set my heart racing,” she replied.

When they got to Sydney Gardens, James hoisted the boy once again on the pony's back and explained how to handle the reins. When he finished, he asked, “Do you think you'll be able to handle Brownie all by yourself now?”

Stevie nodded confidently.

“Your mama and I will still stroll beside you.” Lord Rutledge gripped the line to ensure the lad's safety as he and Carlotta began to walk next to the boy.

“Be assured,” the earl told Carlotta, “the mount was selected for his gentleness. He'll not run off with your son.”

For the first time in her boy's life, Carlotta felt completely responsible for him and found that she was unable to remove her gaze from him.

“How did you find the volume of Coleridge?” Lord Rutledge asked her.

She looked up at him with shining eyes. “Masterful. A sheer delight to read. I cannot wait to be able to reread it.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps you'll be able to do so tonight. When Stevie and I continue our battle.”

“You're much too kind. Surely, Lord Rutledge, you cannot possibly enjoy playing war with a mere slip of a child.”

He patted her hand. “Oh, but I do.”

“I must say Stevie does seem to have taken to you,
Uncle
. Would that he were as enamored of me as he is of you!”

“It's as you've said before. I have much more in common with him than you. That's not to say the lad isn't completely devoted to his mother.”

She smiled. “I'm completely indebted to you, my lord, for being the means by which I have my Stevie restored to me and for making my son so completely happy.”

“It's I who am indebted to you.” A croak splintered his low voice when he spoke. “Thank you for allowing me to repay my enormous debt to Captain Ennis in the only way I know.”

His words threatened to destroy her composure. Instead of graciously accepting what he said, she bristled over his reference to his debt, to his culpability in poor Stephen's death. Most of all, shame washed over her. Shame that she could gratefully accept this man's money as well as his constant presence when this man was responsible for Stephen's death. Poor Stephen, whom she'd never loved as recklessly as she had loved Gregory Blankenship. Poor Stephen, who had worshipped her and who deserved better.

Chapter 6

It was only with a great deal of difficulty that Carlotta could keep from bursting into laughter when James, spread out on the Turkey carpet with Stevie and his soldiers, said to the boy, “Captain Ennis, there's a letter from your mother.”

Stevie refrained from looking at Carlotta when he replied, “What? From my beautiful mother? It is to be hoped no ink from her plume messed her lovely gown.”

The little scamp would think of messes! Carlotta's dancing eyes traveled to the spilled gravy on her son's linen shirt, a remnant of the dinner he had so recently shared with Lord Rutledge and her. The idea of allowing a youngster at their table for the evening meal was rather novel to her, but the earl had insisted that Stevie not be foisted upon servants until he was more comfortable in his new surroundings.

She continued with her embroidery as she sat near the fire some ten feet away from the battle being raged by her son and Lord Rutledge. For the past several months she had been endeavoring to train herself in discipline, a virtue she had never possessed. Tonight, she would not allow herself the luxury of re-reading Coleridge until she finished the piecework she had begun two weeks previously.

The monotony of the sewing allowed her to reflect on the Earl of Rutledge. Her thoughts flitted to the previous day when she had thanked him for taking so active an interest in her son. “A lad needs a father—or a father figure,” she had said.

“He also needs a mother,” Lord Rutledge had said, his flashing gaze alighting on her.

The earl knew her entirely too thoroughly. How he had learned, she could not even guess. He alone knew what a wretched mother she had been all these years; yet, until this moment, he had refrained from lecturing her on her many shortcomings. Especially her shortcomings as a mother.

So content was she in her own domestic setting this night, she soon forgot all about Coleridge. Warmed by the fire in the hearth and happy to emerge from her recent solitude, Carlotta relished every minute she spent in the cozy drawing room with her offspring and the Earl of Rutledge.

As she ran her needle in and out of the linen, she pondered Stevie's words.
Beautiful mother
. Throughout her life, she had basked in her blatant beauty, but now such a description seemed oddly cold. Was her beauty all she had to recommend herself to her son?