Be My Bride Page 2

  “Of course,” he bowed her out, telling himself he ought to be relieved. But if anything, he was more troubled than he had been in days and he wasn’t surprised to find, as he turned to the terrace, that clouds had moved in to spoil his perfect summer day.

  Chapter Two

  In the library doorway, Daniel’s butler cleared his throat with a phlegmmy rattle. “They’re here again, sir.”

  Daniel glanced up from his perusal of the plans for the new school he was building for the village. “’They,’ Evenson?”

  “The young Masters Jacobs, sir.” Daniel could see that his man was trying to keep the impassive demeanor his position required, but his graying hair looked wilder than usual and there seemed to be a tick working on his firm jaw. Nevertheless, the library seemed suddenly brighter. Daniel arose eagerly, shrugging into his old tweed coat. “Splendid. Where have you put them?”

  “I hesitated to put them in the withdrawing room without anyone there to watch them,” Evenson replied. “Especially after the incident with your great aunt’s vase.”

  Daniel made a face remembering their game the day before. While it was easier for him to have them visit here where he had no fear of disrupting Jonathan, the house was definitely taking a beating. “Were you able to find enough of the pieces to get it back together? The Countess dotes on it so . . .”.

  “Your great aunt will never know the difference,” Evenson assured him, “so long as she doesn’t pick it up.”

  “Very good, Evenson.” He paused in the doorway to listen, glancing up and down the darkly paneled hall, but his fortress of a mansion was as quiet and still as usual. He glanced back at his man with a frown. “So, where did you put them?”

  From down the corridor came a deafening crash of metal on hard wood. Daniel was dashing toward the sound with Evenson at his heels before the first echoes started reverberating to the arched ceiling.

  Three pairs of wide blue eyes met his in front of the door at the end of the hall. Daniel rolled his own eyes before turning to Evenson. “The Armory?”

  Evenson cleared his throat again. “Yes, well, I thought it would keep their interest, and it was my understanding that everything was nailed down.”

  “And so it was,” James said calmly, looking slightly less pale than the other two. “All except him.”

  Daniel looked to where he pointed. What had been an ornamental suit of armor just inside the doorway was now a haphazard jumble of dented metal. “Ho, what happened to Sir Cedric?”

  “Adam did it,” John declared.

  Adam gasped and immediately burst into tears. “I . . . did . . . not!” he wailed, setting the echoes jarring through the house once again.

  “Easy now,” Daniel said as calmly as he could, his glance taking in all three of them. James was biting his lower lip in exactly the same way Jonathan had used to do when he was about to get caught for some misdeed. Adam was sniffling pathetically, his baby face a-wash in self-pity. John was studying the wall of swords on his right with remarkable intensity. It was impossible to tell who had caused the disturbance, but then, Daniel reflected, it probably didn’t matter.

  “No harm done,” he assured them. “I’m sure we can put Sir Cedric back together again. In fact, wasn’t there some rhyme to that effect?”

  “’All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again,’” James quoted helpfully.

  “Nonsense,” Daniel declared in their skeptical faces. “Who needs a lot of soldiers anyway? What say we have a go at it, just the four of us?”

  Adam nodded, brightening over hiccupped sobs. James looked pleased at the idea. John narrowed his eyes. “Can’t we just leave it for the servants?”

  Daniel put an arm around his shoulder and guided him farther into the room. “Never leave your mistakes for another man to fix, John. Besides, I’d wager the three of you know far better what a proper knight should look like than our friend Mr. Evenson here.”

  “Assuredly, sir,” Evenson obligingly agreed.

  “There, you see? We’ll work here for a bit, and when we’re done Mr. Evenson will have tea and cakes waiting in the withdrawing room.”

  Luckily, Sir Cedric was far easier than the infamous Humpty Dumpty to put back together again. The wooden frame on which the various pieces of armor had been hung had merely been tipped over. Once righted, the boys were able to identify the pieces and hang them back into place, with much merriment as gauntlets were mixed with stockings and the breast plate with the helmet. By the time they retired to the withdrawing room, they were in a much happier mood.

  “This surely is a fine, big, house,” John commented as they sat munching on the cakes Evenson had brought them, their voices echoing in the large, drafty room. “Of course, it isn’t quite as fine as Colonel Hathaway’s, is it, James?”

  James frowned. “Colonel Hathaway?” He jumped suddenly, and Daniel had the distinct impression that John had pinched him under cover of the tea tray. “I . . . I’m not sure who you mean, John.”

  Daniel smiled at the boy’s attempt to tell the truth and still support his brother.

  “You remember Colonel Hathaway,” John insisted. “Mother’s beau?”

  Daniel found he had little interest in hearing about Cynthia’s latest conquest, and he cleared his throat in a warning to change the subject.

  “Mother has a bunch of bows,” Adam piped up.

  “That’s right, Adam,” John encouraged, casting a sidelong look at Daniel but ignoring the obvious hint. “And her favorite is the Colonel.”

  Adam frowned, but John pushed another cake onto his plate, and he turned his attention to attacking it eagerly.

  Probably another charming military man, Daniel thought, but the bitterness of the thought surprised him.

  “In fact,” John declared boldly, “Colonel Hathaway is probably going to be our new father.”

  The last bite of cake was suddenly hard for Daniel to chew. James choked on his own piece. Adam’s blue eyes widened.

  “He is,” John insisted, somewhat belligerently, Daniel thought. “I heard Uncle Jonathan say Mother had to marry. He doesn’t have the blunt to keep us all, isn’t that so, Mr. Daniel?”

  “I’m sure your uncle can care for you as long as needed,” Daniel assured him, although he knew how strapped Jonathan must be with four extra mouths to feed. The smaller Kinsle estate had never been prosperous, and what little had been left Jonathan had poured into his library on inheriting. He had hardly expected that his sister, who hadn’t been home in nearly ten years, to suddenly appear with three nephews he hadn’t known he possessed.

  “I don’t recall whether I like Colonel Hathaway,” James remarked thoughtfully.

  “Oh, he’s all right,” John said with a shrug. “I daresay he’ll be gone as much as Father was. And even when he is in the country, he’ll be out at his club. We won’t see him much.”

  “Mother won’t like that,” Adam said with a pout.

  “Mother doesn’t have a choice,” John informed him. “She has to marry whoever asks her. Uncle Jonathan said so.”

  The conversation was definitely unsuitable for young gentleman, and Daniel wasn’t entirely sure it was suitable for his own hearing. But he wasn’t their father, and the best he could do was rattle the dishes on the tea tray to focus their attentions elsewhere.

  “Poor Mother,” James said with a sigh, ignoring him.

  “Poor us,” John amended. “Father may not have been home much, but at least he loved us. We won’t be so lucky this time.”

  Adam’s bottom lip trembled, but he sucked it in manfully as he slid down from the leather chair to the Aubusson carpet. “Colonel Hathaway might love us.” When John scowled at him, he stuck out his chin. “He might! We’re lovable, aren’t we, Mr. Daniel?”

  Something constricted in the vicinity of Daniel’s heart. “You are indeed, my lad, all three of you.”

  “If you were our father I daresay you wouldn’t leave us for some s
illy club,” James asserted with a sniff.

  “All fathers need time to themselves,” Daniel tried to explain to them. “But I’m sure whoever is lucky enough to be your new father will want to spend time with you.”

  Adam had wandered closer to him and now climbed happily into his lap. “Why can’t you be our father, Mr. Daniel?”

  He should have seen it coming. The spark in John’s eyes told him the conversation had been manipulated in just this direction. James and Adam were waiting eagerly for his answer. He’d have to pick his words carefully if he were to keep from depressing them further.

  “Any man would be proud to be the father of three such fine, smart, boys,” he assured them.

  It was obviously not enough. Adam frowned. “Then why don’t you ask Mother?”

  Daniel kept a determined smile on his face. “Well, your mother and I have known each other since we were children, Adam, but we’ve never been particularly attached to each other.”

  “But she’s awfully pretty,” Adam argued.

  “And she has a pleasant disposition,” James asserted.

  “And she can bake better cakes than this,” John muttered, setting the confection firmly on his gold-rimmed plate.

  Daniel glanced around at their earnest faces. The idea was too far-fetched to go any farther. “Well, gentlemen, I’m quite flattered by this regard, but I assure you your mother wouldn’t have me.”

  “Don’t see why not,” James replied. “You’re a much better choice than this Colonel Hathaway fellow. And you like us.”

  Daniel ran his hand back through his hair. Why couldn’t he seem to get them off this subject? Was some part of him actually entertaining the notion that he could court and win a beauty like Cynthia Kinsle? She’d laugh him out of the house. “Truly my lads,” he insisted. “Your mother and I would never suit.”

  John’s frown was more of a pout. “Why do you both keep saying that? Mother’s the mother and you’d be the father. You just need to explain that to her.”

  “It’s hardly that simple, John. Surely your mother would expect a gentleman to court her properly.” He realized he wasn’t convincing anyone in the room, including himself, and hurriedly added, “I wouldn’t even know what to say to her.”

  John was quick to reply, reinforcing Daniel’s opinion that the boy was masterminding this affair. “You need to visit her at Uncle Jonathan’s. Talk about things ladies find interesting, like clothes.”

  Daniel kept a straight face although the thought of discussing the merits of silk over kerseymere with Cynthia was laughable in the extreme. “Clothes, eh? Somehow I don’t think . . .”.

  “Or gardening,” John insisted as if sensing reluctance. “You can talk about your gardens.” He nudged his brother. “Couldn’t he, James?”

  James, always solemn, nodded. “Yes, that should suffice.”

  The grin broke free as he tried to imagine Cynthia rhapsodizing over rosebuds. “Your mother likes gardens, does she?”

  “And you should bring her presents,” John encouraged him. “Everyone likes presents. A package of pins, perhaps, or a tea strainer.”

  “Really?” He tried to look appreciative of the well-meant advice, but his mouth hurt from holding back the laughter.

  “And candy,” chimed in Adam. “There’s nothing sweeter than candy.” He sighed longingly, and Daniel, seeing the obvious hint, reached obligingly for the nearby crystal candy dish, allowing a chuckle to escape. As they helped themselves all around, he was relieved to hear them return to their usual conversation of whose turn it was to pick the game and how they might elude their uncle the next day.

  As he listened to them, a part of him kept toying with the idea of courting Cynthia, but he shook his head. He had courted a number of young ladies over the years, but none had stirred his heart enough to offer. He had decided the love spoken of by the poets was obviously beyond him. Yet, a companion would be pleasant, and certainly he was beginning to realize what a hole would be left in his life when Cynthia eventually remarried and the boys moved away. But did he care for them enough to risk a life with the redoubtable Cynthia as his wife?

  He kept the boys busy the rest of the afternoon with a “tiger” hunt through the grounds. It wasn’t until he had called for his carriage to take them home that John broached the subject again.

  “So, Mr. Daniel, when shall we tell Mother that you’re going to call?”

  There they were again, three faces raised entreatingly to his. He wondered how any parent ever found the strength to say no. But say no he must before this madness went any further. He was about to do so, with as much force as necessary, when he noticed the tension in John’s face. His blue eyes were over bright, and there was a decided tremor in his lower lip, not unlike the way Adam looked before he cried. He’d never seen the boy want anything so much, and he found he couldn’t be the one to deny him.

  “Perhaps I can find time in the next few days,” he heard himself say. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for your mother and I to get reacquainted.”

  Chapter Three

  Cynthia watched her sons working at their copy books, the sunlight from the high windows in the schoolroom making halos on their golden heads. The creak of her rocker kept up a steady rhythm. She blinked to keep herself from falling asleep.

  “Done,” her middle son declared, and she rose, putting aside the sock she had been mending, to look over his work. The neat letters marched across the page in orderly rows.

  “Very nice work, James,” she said with a smile, giving his narrow shoulder a gentle squeeze. Of all her sons, he least reminded her of Nathan. James’ temperament more closely resembled her brother’s -- meticulous, thoughtful, and self-contained. She did not have to worry when she set James some task; she knew it would be completed to her own and his satisfaction.

  Next to him, John hunched over his own work and quickened his pace, but not before she caught sight of the ungainly scrawl. She shook her head. If James was the cautious one, John was more likely to throw caution to the wind in some scheme he wanted to enact. He was entirely too much like his father, a fact that endeared him to her as well as worried her.

  “This isn’t a race, John,” she cautioned. “Take your time, and do it properly. James, you may read while we wait for John and Adam to finish.”

  Adam sighed gustily and bent back over the copy book, pudgy fingers straining on the pencil. He was still young for this work, she felt, but if there was anything Adam hated, it was being treated like a baby. He wanted to study everything his brothers studied, do everything his brothers did, be everywhere his brothers were. The current bane of his existence was that he still wore short pants. She had been saving for material to make him long pants, but so far it had been much easier to cut off the tattered legs of pants his brothers had outgrown and refit them to his chubby body.

  Someone coughed politely in the schoolroom door. Turning, she saw her brother standing there, narrow face closed as usual.

  “Good afternoon, Jonathan,” she said, straightening. “What brings you up to see us?”

  “You have a gentleman caller,” he replied, moving into the room with his manservant behind him. “If you would be so good as to come with me? Tims can watch the boys.”

  Surprised, she nodded and smiled encouragement to the boys. As she followed him back into the corridor, she wondered who could possibly be calling on her. It couldn’t be news about Nathan. How many times had she tensed to a sudden knock at the door thinking this was the day they would tell her he had been killed? When it had finally happened it had almost been a relief. But surely the only other reason a man would call on her would be regarding Nathan’s effects. Had the Admiralty learned something new?

  She hastened her steps, but she hadn’t made it to the stairs when a hiss pulled her up short. Jonathan didn’t seem to notice, continuing on. Looking back, Cynthia saw John hurrying after them, her hair brush in one hand.

  “Here.” He shoved it at her. “You’ll want to
look your best.”

  Frowning, she accepted the implement. “Thank you, John. You followed me just to give me this?”

  He looked away, shuffling his feet. “Well, I thought you needed it.”

  Cynthia had a sudden vision of him putting some creature in her bun as she was bent over James’ work. She reached up to touch her hair. Nothing seemed to be moving. “John,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing, “is there something I should know?”

  He backed out of reach. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason, I suppose,” she replied, attempting to hand him the brush. “But if I am hideously embarrassed at this meeting, young man, you will answer for it this evening.”

  He swallowed. “Just be nice, Mother. Please?”

  She frowned again, but he was already turning to hurry back toward the schoolroom. She slipped the brush into the pocket of her gown for retrieval later (and use on the seat of a certain young man’s britches if her suspicions proved true) and continued downstairs.

  She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the sight that met her eyes. Daniel Lewiston was pacing her brother’s austere sitting room. His clothes, a dark blue superfine coat and matching trousers with a lighter blue waistcoat, were immaculate. What was more out of character, however, was that his meaty hands clutched an obscenely large box with lettering identifying it as coming from a famous Wells confectioner. It was obviously sweets and could only be a present for the boys, one he wasn’t sure she’d let them accept. She decided to put him at his ease.

  “Mr. Lewiston, how nice of you to call,” she greet him with a smile.

  He started, then managed a smile as well. “Mrs. Jacobs. Very good of you to receive me.”