What a Lady Craves Page 7

  “I was ever so scared,” said the older one, suddenly serious. A cap covered her hair, but it looked to be dark, as were her eyes. “The ship rocked something awful.”

  “But you came through all right, didn’t you?” he replied.

  “Why, Papa?” the younger one asked. “Why couldn’t we all go on the same ship?”

  He pushed a mop of blond ringlets beneath her cap. “Because I had two ships, and there were better cabins on yours.”

  “I wish I could have gone with you.”

  “No matter. You’re here now, and I’m very glad we’re together again.”

  Henrietta’s breath caught at what he’d left unsaid—surely he was thankful those girls had been on the stronger ship. They’d have been lost in the wreck.

  “Come and meet your aunt,” Alexander said.

  Both girls stepped back, their eyes round, as they looked over a scowling Lady Epperley. The smaller one’s lower lip began to tremble.

  “I am not their aunt,” Lady Epperley pronounced. “I am not even your aunt,” she added to Alexander.

  Alexander gave her a hard look. “I know that, but it’s simpler.”

  “I am their great-grandaunt, and they may call me such. Now, where are they staying?”

  “For the moment, they have little choice but to stay with me,” Alexander said, “but if you will not welcome them here, I shall be obliged to find other lodgings.”

  Behind her back, Henrietta crossed her fingers in hopes that Lady Epperley’s antipathy toward children would carry the day.

  “You are in no condition to find other lodgings.” Damn it if Lady Epperley didn’t nod in Henrietta’s direction with that pronouncement. “You will stay right where you are. Hirsch, send a maid or two to make up the beds in the nursery. That will keep them out of Albemarle’s way. Have you a nanny to take them in hand?”

  “I do not. Until recently enough, they had their mother.”

  “Good heavens. Who saw to their well-being on the voyage, since you did not go with them?”

  “A missionary family returning to England booked passage with us and agreed to see to their welfare. In fact, where are they?” He looked from one girl to the other. “Who brought you here? Where are the Turners?”

  “Mrs. Turner sent us on with a servant,” said the older daughter.

  “So they remained in Falmouth?” Alexander asked carefully.

  The child nodded in reply.

  The younger one tugged at Alexander’s sleeve, and pushed herself up on her toes to whisper something in his ear. “No, you don’t have to go back to the Turners, dear.”

  The girl gave him a fleeting smile before darting a glance at Lady Epperley and resuming her study of the patterned parquet, hands demurely folded.

  “Well, you cannot expect me to amuse them. I’m simply not equipped for such.” Lady Epperley peered about the room, as if entertainment for two young girls might magically present itself. Unfortunately, her gaze came to rest on Henrietta. “Ah, George. The very thing.”

  No. No, she couldn’t possibly …

  Henrietta returned her employer’s stare. “My lady, I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with young children.”

  Lord, the irony. Only yesterday, she’d stolen off and purchased a newspaper from Tilly. Among its pages, she’d discovered an advertisement. Viscount Lindenhurst was seeking a governess. She’d written the notion off until she became truly desperate.

  “You cannot expect Albemarle to take them on or me to do it at my age.” Lady Epperley grasped at her bodice for emphasis. “It’s very easy. You keep them quiet and out from underfoot. And you’re perfectly situated. Your bedchamber is right next to the nursery. No, my mind is made up. You will take these girls in hand. Make sure you keep them away from Albemarle. I will not have him disturbed.”

  Lady Epperley sailed off before Henrietta had a chance to object. Alexander stepped forward, one arm outstretched. Thank goodness, he pulled it back before he laid it on her.

  “Satya can look after them. You needn’t concern yourself—” He broke off as the younger girl tugged once more at his coat. “What is it?”

  “Is her name really George?”

  “Of course it isn’t. It’s Henrietta.”

  “Then why did that lady call her George?”

  Henrietta couldn’t resist a smile. She crouched until she was at the girl’s level. “Because she’s old and a little odd.”

  “She’s mean.”

  “She only wants you to think that.” Henrietta worked to keep the cheer in her voice. Her throat was still oddly tight, and she couldn’t chase a certain echo from her mind. These could have been your girls. “She likes putting people off their guard. What do you want to wager, the next time you see her, she’ll offer you jam tarts and tea?”

  The girl blinked at her, as if she couldn’t imagine anything more outlandish. “Is she your aunt, too?”

  “No, she’s my employer. She hired me to be her companion and keep her entertained. Perhaps she scared off all her friends,” Henrietta couldn’t resist adding. “Now, what do you suppose you tell me your name, since you know mine?”

  “It’s Francesca.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Francesca.” Henrietta turned to the sister. “And what’s your name?”

  The dark-haired girl regarded her soberly. “Helena.”

  “And how old are you?” Henrietta couldn’t resist asking. Best to confirm her suspicions now.

  “I’m six.”

  “You are not,” Francesca chimed in. “You’re still five.”

  Helena scowled at her sister. “I’m almost six.”

  Almost six. And hadn’t it been about six years ago that Henrietta began hearing the rumors of Alexander’s sudden marriage? Given the time required for the news to cross the ocean, her suspicion that the wedding had been hasty stood on a firmer base.

  With a grin, Francesca swung her arms. “Then I’m almost four.”

  “Wonderful.” Henrietta intervened before an outright quarrel could break out. “And now that we’ve been properly introduced, perhaps you can tell me what you like to do.”

  The rasp of a throat clearing caused her to look up. Alexander. She’d almost forgotten he was there. And she wasn’t quite sure she liked the way he was watching her. In his gaze mingled assessment, amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite identify but which warmed her through. For some reason, her mind fled back to the kiss they’d shared in the upstairs corridor—right outside the nursery. Right where she’d have to take these girls before too long and settle them in.

  She shook her head. His girls needed a mother. If she wasn’t careful—if she did her job too well—he might just become more persistent in his pursuit.

  “For someone who hasn’t the slightest idea what to do with young children, you’re swimming along rather nicely,” he said.

  “Good heavens.” She forced her smile a notch broader. “This kind of thing doesn’t take any effort.”

  “Keep on as you are, and you’ll be just fine.”

  God willing, this job would remain temporary. On the other hand, Mary Wollstonecraft had worked as a governess, and she’d even managed to inspire her charges. Right. Henrietta could take these girls in hand and start them on a proper education, one that involved improving their minds rather than stuffing their heads with embroidery and hair ribbons, dancing lessons and future husbands. And if their father disagreed with such instruction, so much the better. He could find someone else to look after his daughters.

  “Will you really let us drink tea?” Helena asked. Her eyes were wide and brown and serious. “Mama never let us.”

  Mama. Someone Henrietta ought to hate for taking Alexander away from her. But these poor dears had lost their mama not too long ago. “The way I see it, there’s tea for grown folks and tea that’s all right for little folks to taste—with lots of milk. Why don’t we go have a look at the nursery, and see what we can do about trying some? And p
erhaps later we might take a walk.”

  She glanced at Alexander to make sure she had his approval for such an activity, and he gave her a nod. “Why don’t I come with you? I might show you the most fascinating little shop in the village.”

  “The village? Are you up to going so far?”

  “I believe I’m well enough recovered. And I’ve got some business with Tilly.”

  An image of that mysterious box came to mind. She could have shown it to him before now, but he’d distracted her with his proposal, damn him. Drat him, rather. If she must take his children in hand for the foreseeable future, she’d have to be careful and mind her tongue.

  Chapter Seven

  Alexander trailed at the back of the group, his daughters in front of Henrietta, skipping down the path to the village. The sun peeked from behind a cloud, painting the pale cotton of their dresses in brighter hues. Thank the heavens, his daughters were safe.

  The wind off the water carried the joyous sound of girlish chatter on the salty air, and his heart lightened to see them so carefree, and once again childlike. Months and miles may have accumulated since Marianne’s death, but at times, he’d wondered if the girls would ever smile again, let alone giggle. Neither had ever known English soil, but the change would be good. This place held no memories for them.

  Henrietta glanced over her shoulder, her face shaded by a straw hat attached with long, pink ribbons that floated on the breeze. Making sure he was still following, rather than stumbling into insensibility, if he didn’t miss his guess. He wasn’t about to brighten her day by blacking out again. Not a hint of dizziness this time. Only the aches and twinges in his ribs when he tried to inhale too deeply.

  He nodded to her, allowing his lips to stretch into a smile. Her hat hid her expression, but the stiffness about her shoulders told him all he needed to know. Under that broad straw brim, she was glaring at him.

  Still prickly, still cold. Not that he could blame her; not that he could make up for what he’d done to her heart. The botched proposal certainly hadn’t helped. Heat crept up the back of his neck. Yes, and he ought to feel ashamed of kissing her, as well. He was an idiot for giving in to the temptation she still posed in spite of the intervening years—in spite of the woman he’d married instead.

  Henrietta enticed him, as much as she did at eighteen. Her vivid intelligence brightened the pale blue of her eyes and enhanced even features. Hidden beneath an unadorned gown fit for a paid companion, her trim body intrigued. He’d dreamed of a chance to drink in her lithe figure unhampered by clothes. He wanted her naked to his gaze and touch. He wanted to know every last one of her secrets. No other woman he’d ever known could compare.

  A clever man would recover his cargo, settle accounts with the captain of his second ship, take his girls, and be gone from her life. He’d be doubly careful about paying visits to his aunt. Given his aunt’s reaction to his daughters, he didn’t imagine she’d want to see him too often—at least not until his girls had turned into proper young ladies who would take tea with an old woman and tell her the latest gossip.

  He’d search out a wife, or at least a governess to give them a proper education.

  Christ almighty. The last thing he wanted was another entanglement with a woman. Alexander’s first two experiences were more than enough to make him think and think again when it came to courting a third. Especially when his ideal wife strode down the path ahead of him, chattering with his daughters. He could already imagine them as a family, the one he should have had from the beginning.

  A clever man would no doubt accept Henrietta’s rejection. A clever man would leave well enough alone. A clever man would chance the hopeful young misses in London next season.

  Clearly, Alexander was not that man. Not when his heart strained toward the scene in front of him. He’d have to try again and not be such an idiot about it next time. He’d won Henrietta’s heart once. The kiss they’d shared had been a powerful reminder of how they’d nearly made it to the altar the first time. If he could stir those memories along with her feelings, he might have a chance.

  If not, perhaps he could enlist his mother and sisters for a job he’d no idea how to take on properly. After all, in a very real sense, Mama, Cecelia, and Jane owed him. He’d sacrificed Henrietta for them. Not that he could ever express that thought aloud, but he had denied his tender feelings and gone to India to make his fortune and save them from poverty.

  No, that was disingenuous of him. He’d have lacked the funds to keep Henrietta properly if he had laid duty aside and married her in spite of everything. His father had ruined him along with the rest of them. Henrietta would only have come to resent him in the long run.

  Much as she does now.

  And there it was. He was damned either way where she was concerned. Might as well accept that their marriage was never meant to be.

  You don’t really believe that.

  No, a man made his own luck by holding tight to his honor. Things would work out in the end. They would. They already were. He was back home, and his daughters were happier already. If only he could bring Henrietta around, his life would be back to where it belonged.

  Henrietta shepherded the girls past the first few houses and into Tilly’s shop. Alexander followed them inside to find Helena stretching a curious finger toward the ship in the bottle. Francesca stared at Tilly with round eyes.

  “Papa.” She tugged at Alexander’s sleeve. “Do you think he’s a pirate?”

  She’d whispered, but her voice still carried. Normally such a pronouncement was sufficient for Tilly to begin crowing about the exploits of his younger days in an exaggerated accent. As a child, Alexander had heard enough chilling tales of boardings and keel-haulings and plank-walkings. At Francesca’s age, he might even have believed them.

  But not today. Today, Tilly gave no indication of having heard Francesca’s question. He was too busy muttering under his breath. “Don’t got not’ing. Not’ing more than what’s here. No reason to hide t’ings. Not from some foreigner and not from anyone else.”

  Alexander smiled at his daughter. “No, dear. Just a merchant.” A small enough lie. Smuggler and scavenger were more accurate, but no need to tell an impressionable child as much.

  He studied the older man. Years at sea had tanned his skin to the consistency of an elephant’s hide, but the color seemed to have drained away, tingeing his cheeks a pale ocher. A prickle of alarm raised the hairs on the back of Alexander’s neck. It took a great deal to rattle old Tilly.

  “What’s this about foreigners?” Alexander asked. “Did someone query after the lady of the house and expect there to be one?”

  Depending on his mood, Tilly regularly scowled or laughed in reply to that kind of question. Strangers tended to expect Tilly to be short for Matilda and became confused when they discovered the shop housed no one besides an old man. Why anyone would expect a woman amid such disorder was another matter entirely.

  “What?” Tilly shook his head. “No. Not’ing amiss here. Not a t’ing.”

  “No, not at all,” Alexander said under his breath.

  “What’s that, son? Speak up. My hearing ain’t what it used to be.”

  True enough. The man had suffered from constant ringing in his ears ever since he stood too close to a cannon blast, but he didn’t usually like to call attention to the problem.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the item I was asking after?” Alexander ventured.

  At the question, a movement caught his eye. Henrietta looked up sharply. Tilly, on the other hand, waved him off. “Haven’t seen a t’ing. No sir. And I ain’t got no newspapers, either,” he added with a nod at Henrietta. “I’m getting too old for this sort of t’ing, ye know.”

  “Too old for newspapers?” Alexander probed.

  “Too old. Period. People ain’t got no call coming in here, asking after stuff I haven’t got and have no way of getting.”

  Henrietta looked from Tilly to Alexander and back. “It’s all
right. You sold me a newspaper when I came back down here yesterday. Don’t you remember?” She reached out to lay a hand on the old man’s arm, but he snatched it away.

  “What is it you haven’t got?” Alexander asked slowly.

  “None of your affair. It ain’t not’ing of no one’s affair.”

  “If this is about my missing cargo, I’d say that makes it my affair. Did someone else pay you a visit?”

  “Dark-skinned foreigners askin’ after treasures.” He cast a wild-eyed glance about his shop. “Does it look like I gots treasures?”

  “Dark-skinned?” Alexander was liking the implications less and less. “Like the man I sent down yesterday?”

  “It weren’t no one I ever saw before.”

  Someone of such dark coloring was a rarity in this part of England, but it might have been someone who’d signed on to sail with the Marianne. Except the other ship was in Falmouth—his daughters’ return confirmed as much. So why would this man find his way to a smaller village of little account? A place where he wouldn’t be welcome, no less, given Satya’s experience.

  Tilly came out from behind the counter, making shooing motions with his hands. “Now if ye don’t mind, I’m closed for th’ day. Might be closed for th’ month. Might even be closed for good.”

  Francesca shrank back to clutch at Alexander’s trouser leg. He rested a palm on his daughter’s shoulder.

  Henrietta took Helena by the hand and brushed past him. “We won’t be disturbing you any further.”

  With a glance back at Tilly, Alexander followed them out of the shop.

  “I don’t like that man,” Francesca pronounced once they were outside.

  “He isn’t usually like that,” Henrietta said, but she raised her eyebrows at Alexander.

  “Why don’t you go back up to the manor?” he suggested, keeping his tone mild. No need to alarm the others, whether or not Tilly’s behavior was strange. A prickle of warning slipped up his spine. Damn it all. He’d hoped to leave the suspicion and constant vigilance half a world away.