Family In The Making (Matchmakeing Babies 2) Read online

  Again Arthur looked at Maris. She understood his silent message as surely as if he had shouted it. He worried about his sisters if—no, when he discovered where the children living in the nursery belonged. They would agree to return them to their grieving families. However, even knowing they were doing the right thing would not lessen the sorrow at being parted from the tiny castaways.

  Sitting, Arthur folded his hands between his knees. “I can promise, Warrick, we will spread word of the missing child through Porthlowen. We are gathering tomorrow night to discuss other matters, but we will make sure everyone who has not heard learns about the child then.”

  “We will pray,” added Lady Caroline. “We will ask God to guide our search and return the poor child to her grandmother.”

  Maris envied the lady her certainty that God would protect the missing girl. Once she had been as sure of God’s presence in her life. She hoped He would be there for the child. Please.

  She listened to the others discuss the best way to find out who was behind children disappearing and appearing where they did not belong. When Lord Warrick suggested they try to get further information from the children at Cothaire, Lady Caroline vetoed the idea.

  “I cannot imagine we will discover anything new,” she said, her voice as taut as her lips. “You must understand, my lord, that the children are little more than babies. What information they have given us is from a child’s point of view. Asking them to describe people in their lives gains us words like tall or laughing, but no clue where to look for their families.”

  Lord Warrick sighed again. “It is obvious that you are struggling to find answers for yourselves. To be honest, I felt as if I were invoking the Spanish Inquisition to obtain information about the missing child from her grandmother.”

  “But,” Maris said, shocked, “if she reported the child missing—”

  “She didn’t. A neighbor did. The child’s grandmother reluctantly admitted the little girl was gone. I don’t know if she was afraid of being labeled a poor guardian for the child or if there was another reason for her reticence. I find you Cornish baffling at times.”

  “The miners are a clannish lot,” Arthur said. “They squabble among themselves, but stand as a united front against outsiders.”

  “And I am an outsider to them. Perhaps if I had spent more time on the estate when I was younger, I might find them easier to puzzle out. I assumed my cousin would inherit, but he died a short time before my uncle did, and suddenly the estate became my responsibility, when I would have preferred to continue teaching.” He stood. “Pardon me for babbling.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We all are upset about the children,” Lady Caroline said.

  He looked at her and nodded. “Keep your children close to you. I must return to the mine and make sure the repairs on the beam engine are progressing. The fool machine seems determined to find as many new ways to fail as possible.”

  Arthur frowned. “But beam engines are simple. Why is it failing over and over?”

  “Another thing I wish to find out. Every day it is not working, the men cannot go into the mines because we cannot risk the tunnels flooding. When the men cannot go into the mines, they become frustrated.”

  “Can they work on the machinery?”

  “Few have the skills.” Lord Warrick pressed a smile on his lips. “However, that is my problem, and I will not punish your ears, ladies, with a recitation of such matters. Good day, Lady Caroline, Miss Oliver.” He bowed his head to them, then turned to Arthur. “Trelawney.”

  “I will see you out,” Arthur said, surprising Maris, because she had thought he would remain to offer solace to his sister.

  As the two men left, Lady Caroline sighed. She returned the damp handkerchief to Maris as she said, “If you don’t mind, Miss Oliver, I will go to the nursery with you. I feel a great need to be with the children.”

  “I understand.” And she did, because Lord Warrick’s news warned that the children could vanish from their lives as quickly and mysteriously as they had appeared.

  * * *

  As Arthur followed the baron out of the parlor, the soft voices of his sister and Maris wove together in a lovely melody he would have liked to listen to far longer. He pushed that from his mind as he walked with Warrick toward the entry hall.

  Abruptly the baron stopped and faced him. “Is there somewhere we can talk alone?”

  “Yes.” The question startled Arthur. He had thought Warrick could speak frankly in Maris’s and Carrie’s presence. “Third door on your right may provide what you are requesting.” He opened the door to his father’s smoking room.

  As Arthur expected, it was deserted. Motioning for Warrick to enter, he followed him in and closed the door. He twisted the lock on it and on the one opening onto the formal dining room. He did not offer Warrick a seat. He doubted the man could have sat still for even a moment. Stepping to one side, Arthur watched as the baron paced from one end of the smoking room to the other.

  As he himself had done in the day nursery two nights ago when he went to seek out the one person he wanted to listen to him. When he had seen Maris sitting there, the lamplight aglow on her golden hair flowing around her shoulders, he had almost changed his mind about staying. He was unsure if he could keep from pulling her into his arms. She was lovely, and her emerald eyes too often mirrored his own, filled with sadness and loneliness. He should have listened to his own good sense, because if Bertie had not interrupted as he did, Arthur would have discovered every inch of Maris’s lips. He should be grateful to the child, and he was, but he yearned for the kiss that had been denied them. The memory of the sweet flavor of her cheek lingered on his lips.

  Warrick stopped. “Trelawney, I did not want to say this in front of the women, but the child reported missing may not be the only one that has vanished.” He glanced toward the parlor. “Those children found in Porthlowen Harbor...”

  “Disappeared from somewhere. I have been thinking much the same myself. Since my younger sister married, the search for their families has languished. I have begun to ask questions, though I have not learned much other than I should concentrate those questions on Porthlowen.” Without saying where he had obtained the information, he shared what Higbie had told him. “At the meeting tomorrow night, the main topic is not the children. I had wondered how to introduce the subject without looking as if it truly is the real reason for the gathering. I suspect people will be talking about the child missing from your village. Miss Oliver and my brother and I are going to see what we might learn by talking with those who attend.”

  Warrick’s cool smile matched his voice as he said, “Ingenious, Trelawney.

  “If I learn anything, I will let you know.”

  “And if I can help, do not hesitate to call upon me.”

  “Thank you. I plan to send footmen into the village to tell those who are already sharing the news of the meeting to let everyone know about the missing child.” He told himself to be certain one footman’s first stop would be the Winwood twins’ cottage.

  Shaking the baron’s hand, he rang for the butler while Warrick took his leave. Arthur was not surprised when Baricoat arrived even before the last clang of the bell had faded. He asked the butler to send footmen into the village as soon as possible with the news.

  “I will arrange it,” Baricoat said, but did not move.

  “Did you wish to speak to me about something, Baricoat?”

  “Rumors reach my ears, my lord.”

  “Such as?” Had someone seen him alone with Maris in the nursery? When he had gone to seek a sympathetic ear, he had not paused to think how he could ruin her reputation.

  Arthur realized his worries were misplaced when Baricoat said, “Low places such as The Spider’s Web are never without those who will reveal what they know for a price. Especially when they can spread stories about those of a class far higher than their own.”

  “I was there on business.”

  Baricoat looked him straight
in the eye, something he had not done since Arthur was a mischievous child and needed to be reprimanded for sneaking into the silver room and leaving his fingerprints on every recently polished item. The butler had reprimanded him, but agreed to say nothing to Arthur’s parents if he repolished every piece before a grand dinner the following night. It had taken Arthur more than twelve hours to finish the task by working that day and the next. When he was done, he received no more than a nod from the butler.

  Now the butler wore the same disappointment, but Arthur was a grown man and capable of making good decisions. Baricoat knew that, too, because deference remained in his voice as he said, “I have no idea what would compel you to go to such a place, my lord, but may I remind you there are many within these walls who would gladly go in your stead?”

  “I appreciate that, Baricoat. However, there are some things I must do myself. I will not risk someone else when the obligation is mine.”

  “Very well, but keep what I said in mind.”

  Arthur put his hand on the butler’s shoulder, momentarily shocked at how bent it was, because Baricoat showed no outward signs of growing old. “Thank you. I will remember what you have told me. In return, I ask that you remember me in your prayers until I finish what I must.”

  “This family and this household are always foremost when I ask God for blessings,” he said with the dignity that was his hallmark. “If you will excuse me...”

  As the butler walked away, his steps were a bit slower, but not much, Arthur noted. He respected the butler and the vital role he filled at Cothaire. Like Arthur, Baricoat had assumed duties the earl once had done.

  Arthur looked across the room to where his father usually sat. While he could not talk to him about the search for Cranny’s killer, he could discuss trying to unravel the mystery around the children’s arrival and get his father’s insight. It was long past time.

  Chapter Ten

  “This arrived for you, my lord.” Goodwin walked across Arthur’s sitting room. He held out a folded page as he had many times before.

  Arthur put down the book he was trying to read. The words would not stick in his brain. His thoughts were whirling in too many other directions: the missing child; the six children found in the harbor; Cranny’s death and the duties Arthur had assumed in its aftermath; how he must ask Gwendolyn to be his wife. And most often, thoughts of Maris and how much he longed to hold her...just once, even though he knew once would not be enough.

  He saw the black wax sealing the page closed. After Gwendolyn took so long between messages last time, he should have guessed the next note would come soon. That often was the case, because information was carried to Cornwall by smugglers. They could sail only when the sea and wind allowed it.

  Thanking Goodwin, he added, “That will be all for tonight.”

  The valet retired to where he slept in a room beyond Arthur’s bedroom and dressing room. Arthur suspected Goodwin stayed awake as long as he did, feeling it was a valet’s duty. Telling him to sleep had done no good, so Arthur did not bother.

  Carrying the folded sheet to his desk, he broke the wax. He brushed the shards into his hand, opened the window beyond the desk and threw them out into the chill night.

  He started to close the window, then saw a light flash higher in the other wing of the house. It must come from the nursery. He had not realized its windows would be visible from his.

  Someone moved in front of the light. Even from the distance, he recognized Maris’s silhouette. Not with his eyes, but with his heart, which began hammering against his chest as if it could batter its way out and go to her. His mind sought any excuse for him to go up to the nursery. He halted those thoughts. Or he tried to, because his hands ached to sweep up through her lush, golden curls in the moment before he pressed his face to it, breathing in her jasmine scent.

  The draperies closed on the nursery window, and the light blinked out like a star consumed by clouds. He leaned forward, and his shoulders sagged. He felt as if he were in a great tug-of-war, his yearning pulling him toward Maris and the promise he had made to his father holding him back.

  I know my request shocked you, but it is vital for the future of Cothaire that you marry someone who knows how to handle a household like ours. She must be able to oversee the servants, leaving you free to concern yourself with estate issues.

  Father’s words resounded through his head day after day. Even if Arthur broke the vow he had made to him, he was unsure if the earl would give his blessing to Arthur courting Cothaire’s nurse. He knew what Cranny would have said. Marry as Father wished and set up Maris as a mistress, and then Cranny would have laughed when Arthur told him that was not the way to live a Christian life. Arthur’s attempts to persuade his friend to open himself to the faith Gwendolyn treasured as well had been futile.

  But he should not judge Cranny when he had faults of his own. He glanced at the letter on his desk. Hypocrisy. There was no other name for it. He had proudly proclaimed he had contempt for liars and had quoted Proverbs to Maris, but he had told more half-truths than he could count since assuming Cranny’s duties. If she knew of his dishonesty, would she turn away from him? He would never know because his secrets had to remain hidden.

  Arthur latched the window before lighting the lamp. Sitting, he opened the letter from Gwendolyn. He frowned when he saw there was no page folded inside it, the page he passed along to the next courier. Had it fallen out? Or was the message in the words on the hastily scribbled page?

  He had his answer after an hour of struggling to decode the words, not even looking up when he heard doors open and close. His valet knew not to disturb him. Gwendolyn’s handwriting had never been illegible before. Blots of ink concealed some letters completely. He hoped his guesses were correct as he filled in the words he could not read. The last two sentences caught his eyes and held them:

  Place this message in your primary hiding place in the next three days. If you cannot, alert me immediately.

  So there should have been another message inside the folded page, but it was gone. Bending over his desk, he took another piece of paper and coded the words: No message included. Lost. Resend. He sealed it by pressing his forefinger into the soft green wax.

  He leaned away from the pool of light on his desk. Rain splattered on the window. Sending the message tonight would be foolish. Higbie and his men were not the sole highwaymen who loitered beneath the trees, waiting like spiders for a victim to be snared by their web.

  Blowing out the lamp, Arthur crossed the room to the slit of light visible beneath his bedroom door. He opened the door and walked past the grand tester bed with its dark red curtains. A single lamp shone on the small table beside the bed, where a glass of water waited beside his well-thumbed Bible.

  Another glowing light shone beneath Goodwin’s door. Arthur knocked on it.

  Goodwin opened it immediately, and Arthur wondered if the valet listened for his footsteps. The valet was fully dressed, but fatigue weighted his eyes.

  “What may I do for you, my lord?” he asked.

  Arthur held out the sealed letter. “Would you see that this is taken to Lady Gwendolyn Cranford as soon as the sun rises? Remind the messenger it is to be delivered into her hands only.” He had given the same instructions with every note he sent to Gwendolyn.

  “I shall.” Goodwin took the note. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No. Go to bed.” He grinned. “Really to bed this time. Dawn is not too many hours off, even at this time of year.”

  “Good night,” Goodwin said, then shut the door.

  Arthur returned to his own bed. He hooked a finger in his cravat and loosened it. Pulling it off, he tossed it and his collar onto a chair in front of the window. His coat followed as he sat on the chest at the foot of his bed. He yanked off his boots and set them beside the chair. Stretching when he stood, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and folded it carefully before laying it atop the other clothing.

  He stifled a yawn as he went to
the head of his bed to draw back the covers. Goodwin had readied the bed every night until Arthur told him he would prefer to do the task himself. He wanted time alone to read the Bible and say prayers without his valet bustling about the room.

  As he reached to toss the covers aside, Arthur saw an unusual lump at the foot of the bed. It moved. Who was there?

  He shifted the lamp so its light spread across the covers, which matched the bed curtains. There, curled up on the dressing robe Goodwin had left for his use, was Molly. The little girl, the quieter of the twins, was asleep and sucking her thumb.

  How had she gotten into his room without being noticed?

  He smiled as he recalled how he had not paid any attention to the sound of doors opening. He had been too focused on decoding Gwendolyn’s message. His inattention to anything else had allowed the child to sneak in.

  Arthur stood, his smile vanishing. Maris must be looking for Molly, and he doubted she would consider looking in his rooms, because until now, Bertie was the only child to come here. More than an hour had passed since he had first heard a door opening. Maris must be frantic.

  Leaning forward, he slipped his arms under Molly and his dressing robe. Lifting both, he tucked the robe around the little girl. The corridors would be chilly and damp. She nestled against him with the trust of a young pup curled up with its littermates, and his heart filled to overflowing.

  The corridors were silent. Most of the servants were abed and so was his family. No wonder Molly was able to slip through the house unseen.

  He turned the corner toward the stairs to the nursery. A light, like a lost star, was coming down them at a rapid pace.

  “Arthur!” Maris ran toward him. “Have you seen—?”

  “Shhh,” he warned, then looked down at the little girl.

  Relief swept over Maris’s face. “Where did you find her?”

  “At the foot of my bed.”