Family In The Making (Matchmakeing Babies 2) Page 19

  Maris wondered if she had ever been happier than she was at this moment with Arthur. The weight of his friend’s death seemed gone from his shoulders, and he appeared almost carefree. She was not going to think beyond this minute when she could leave the past in the past and not worry about the future.

  “Are you enjoying the day?” he asked as they lifted the boys off the wall.

  “Yes.” She did not add that was because he was with her. When he smiled at her with his amazing light blue eyes, she knew he understood what she did not say.

  And that seemed the most wondrous part of the whole day.

  * * *

  “Climb?” asked Bertie as Maris tucked him into bed a third time. In the bed beside him, Gil was listening eagerly.

  “No one is climbing the pole again.” She patted his covers. “Not until next year.”

  “Long time?”

  She smiled. “The time will pass faster if you go to sleep.”

  The two boys squeezed their eyes shut.

  “Good night,” she whispered, kissing one, then the other on the forehead.

  As she blew out the lamp, leaving the room awash in moonlight, she could not keep from looking at the spot where the twins’ beds had stood. The room seemed too empty after the girls’ beds were moved to the house on the other side of the cove.

  She stepped out of the room and paused by the door, listening for sounds from within. In the central room of the nursery, the baby slept in her mahogany hanging cradle. She checked that Joy was covered with a light blanket, then, hearing nothing from the boys’ room, crept down the stairs.

  Tonight, the day nursery would be easy to clean. The children had spent most of the day at the festival. It had been fun for all of them, and she guessed the boys would be talking about it nonstop for the next week.

  Maris halted in the doorway when she saw Arthur in the day nursery. He wore an expression she had never seen on his face—a haunted hollowness mixed with a desperate yearning. Hurrying in, she asked, “Has something happened? Did you learn something about your friend? Or about the children? Arthur, what is it?”

  “Maris, I am sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Shock pierced her. “What is wrong?”

  He shook his head. “No, that is not what I wanted to say. I am not sorry. No, that is not what I mean, either. By all that’s blue, why are words failing me now?”

  Not caring that she was being too forward, she stepped closer to him. She put her hand over his heart. It leaped at her touch, and hers fluttered to echo it as if they were connected.

  “Don’t worry about words, Arthur,” she whispered, gazing up into his hooded eyes.

  “You are right. I should not worry about words.”

  His arm curved around her, and he tugged her to him. She held her breath. Not that she could have released it if she tried. Every bit of her was focused on how his face was lowering toward hers. Knowing she should tell him to stop before they both did something foolish, she let her thoughts fade into a luscious warmth when his lips brushed hers. Gently but urgently, as if she were as fragile as dew upon a rose petal.

  His gaze searched her face, but she had no time to think as he captured her mouth again. This time, his kiss was deeper, more tender. His fingers caressing her back invited her to be as bold. She lifted unsteady hands to his broad shoulders. Lightning seared her. When he cradled her against his strong arms, she let the tempest sweep her even closer. The thunder of her pulse careened through her, banishing every sensation but joy.

  His lips left hers and sprinkled kisses across her face. In between each one, he whispered her name as if it were the answer to his most heartfelt prayer. Her hands framed his face, and she guided his mouth to hers. His kiss was everything she had ever wanted, even though she had not known until this perfect moment.

  With a groan, he cupped her elbows and drew her arms away from him. Not looking at her, he said, “Maris, I am sorry. I should not have kissed you.” His eyes locked with hers as he growled, “No, I am not sorry I kissed you. I wish I could again and again and again for the rest of my life.”

  “Arthur, don’t say that. Please.”

  “I told you I would never lie to you. It is the truth, sweetheart.”

  The endearment undid her. She wrapped her arms around herself as tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away as someone came into the nursery.

  Lady Caroline! What if she had arrived a moment earlier and found Maris in her brother’s arms? Suddenly Maris understood why Arthur had pushed her away abruptly. He must have heard his sister approaching. Maris had heard nothing but the exultant beat of her heart.

  “Arthur, did you tell her?” the lady asked with a frown.

  “No,” he replied.

  The siblings exchanged a look that told her they were not in agreement about whatever had brought the lady to the nursery at such a late hour. Strain underscored Lady Caroline’s voice when she said, “Miss Oliver, I would like to know if you can be ready the day after tomorrow to travel with us to Mr. Miller’s house.”

  “Me?” She pressed her hand to her chest where her heart suddenly felt as dead as a lump of coal. “You want me to go to the hunt?”

  Again Lady Caroline glanced at her brother, and again he said nothing.

  The lady stepped forward and smiled. “Arthur does not agree with my plans, but I don’t want to be separated from Joy for the length of time we will be calling on the Millers. Neither would I separate Gil from his baby, and if I bring Gil, I cannot in good conscience leave Bertie behind in the nursery.”

  “Elisabeth could bring Toby to play with the boy.” Arthur clipped off each word in a staccato tempo.

  “But I cannot ask Elisabeth to watch Bertie, as well.”

  Maris looked from one to the other. “Why would she need to watch Bertie? I will be able to, as I always do.”

  “No,” Lady Caroline said firmly, “you will not be able to, because I will need you to come with me to take care of Joy and Gil when I am otherwise occupied.”

  “You really want me to go to the hunt?” she asked, as she had before.

  No! No! She wanted to shout those two words over and over until Lady Caroline listened. To go to the hunt where Arthur would be asking another woman to marry him was the cruelest torment she could imagine. Far worse than when Lord Litchfield had tried to force her to submit to him.

  “I trust you can have the children and yourself ready to travel first thing in the morning the day after tomorrow,” Lady Caroline said.

  “Yes.” No! No! No! Maris glanced toward Arthur, comprehending why he had told her he was sorry.

  “Good.” She patted her brother’s arm. “See? I told you the matter would be resolved easily. Thank you, Miss Oliver.” She walked toward the door. “Coming, Arthur?”

  “In a moment. I want to find out how much luggage must be added to the mountain you are bringing. I doubt children travel any lighter than you do.”

  Lady Caroline laughed. “I suspect you are right.”

  As the lady’s footsteps faded away down the stairs, Maris did not move.

  Arthur closed the distance between them. Or he tried to, but she backed away. “Maris, I could not persuade her to change her mind. I am sorry. For that. I am not sorry I kissed you.”

  “You are going to ask Lady Gwendolyn to marry you at the hunt.” Her voice was flat even in her own ears.

  “Yes. I promised I would, and I cannot break a promise.”

  As if from a great distance, she heard herself say, “I would not ask you to.”

  “I wanted you to know—”

  “No more.” She backed toward the nursery stairs. “Please do not say anything more, Lord Trelawney.”

  Shock and dismay warred on his face in the second before she spun away and ran up the steps. She sought the refuge of her own room. Collapsing on her bed, she pressed her face to the covers. She should have heeded her own warnings. Lord Litchfield had hurt with his cruelty, but Lord Trelawney had hurt her wit
h his love. That was far worse.

  * * *

  The two days that followed were the most miserable of Arthur’s life. A void from not having Maris and the children as part of his daily routine left him on edge and uncertain. Now he was the one turning around and going a different direction if he saw Maris. No amount of apologies could atone for his toying with her affections. He was a cad, the exact type of man he had despised in London. Even sorrier than those fools, because Maris worked for his family. She must be concerned her position at Cothaire was in jeopardy. He wanted to reassure her, but to do that, he would have to talk to her.

  And how could he talk to her when he wanted to tell her how much he loved her? She thought he was dallying with her, that his heart yearned to belong to Gwendolyn. If he told her the truth, his words might reach Gwendolyn and hurt her. Maris would not repeat them, but there was no place where they could be sure nobody was listening to their conversation.

  His regret that he had wounded her, along with the knowledge that he was desperately in love with her, sent him to his knees. He laid out his emotions for God and, as before, sought guidance.

  Arthur hoped God would send him an answer to his quandary before the hunting party at the justice of the peace’s house. He waited while arrangements were finalized for the journey. He waited as he again tried to talk Carrie out of taking the children and Maris, but relented when he brought his sister to tears.

  He was still waiting for an answer to his prayers when the carriages and carts, laden with their trunks, pulled up to the front door. More than ever, he wished he had that answer when Maris walked past him without a glance in his direction. To anyone else, it would seem she was absorbed in the task of herding two small boys into the second carriage, but he knew better.

  She was avoiding him, too. He had realized that yesterday when, unable to stay away any longer, he had gone to the nursery ostensibly to spend time with the children. Somehow, through the invisible lines of communication the servants used, she had known his intentions before he arrived, and was gone on some errand, leaving a maid to oversee the nursery in her absence.

  As she stepped into the carriage, Maris looked serene, but he saw the truth in her eyes. She thought he considered her an easy conquest because she had let him kiss her when he was planning to marry another woman. If only she would give him a chance to tell her how wrong she was.

  There was nothing easy about this.

  He walked past the servants’ carriage to the one where he would ride with his sister. He opened the door to see Carrie had arrived before him and was already seated. The baby was asleep on her lap. The wet nurse must be in the carriage with Maris and the boys.

  Gazing up the hill that rose steeply from the cove, he could not keep from thinking of how he had taken Maris and the children to the ancient settlement. That outing on the moor, they had laughed and flown the kite and gotten drenched, which made them laugh more. He had fallen in love with Maris that afternoon, wanting to spend the rest of his days and nights with her beside him.

  He sighed. He would never return to the old foundations. Being there would break his heart all over again. If it ever healed. He would have to arrange another place to leave messages for the courier who transported them farther east.

  “Are you going to stand there as if you are posing for a statue?” Carrie asked with a smile. When he did not respond, she grew more serious. “Are you having second thoughts, Arthur?”

  Second and third and four and fifth thoughts, and all of them about Maris.

  He shook his head as he climbed into the carriage and sat facing her. He pulled the door closed, then slapped the side of the carriage to direct the coachee to get them under way. “I gave Father my promise, and I will fulfill that vow.”

  “You sound like an ancient warrior setting off to his doom. If you think you cannot be a good husband to Gwendolyn, put an end to this before you ruin her life and yours.”

  “You were the one who said I am facing what generations of daughters have faced.”

  “But you are not a daughter. You are Father’s heir. You can stop this, Arthur.”

  “It is too late for second thoughts,” he said with finality.

  For once, his older sister did not persist.

  He looked out the window, but the only thing he saw as the procession of carriages and carts drove through the gate was Maris’s lovely face in the moment before his lips found hers. A sight he must forget, though he had no idea how.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Arthur stood in the hallway outside the rooms Gwendolyn had been given for her stay at Miller’s house. When the carriages arrived from Cothaire, a message had been waiting from her. She had asked him to call in the hour before the evening meal, which barely gave him enough time to clean off the dirt from the road and dress appropriately for the grand meal Miller was planning for his guests.

  He would have preferred to spend his time making sure Maris and the children were settled into the nursery set up for any youngsters accompanying the guests. Perhaps having to turn his attention to Gwendolyn was for the best. Maris had not looked in his direction once as she had helped the wet nurse and the boys out of the carriage. However, he had watched her until she was out of sight in the house. Her posture suggested she was a creature beaten one time too many.

  How he wanted to run after her and take her hands and beg her to look at him as he apologized for hurting her. Would he have gone after her if Gwendolyn’s message had not been waiting for him the moment he stepped into the house? He liked to think he would have, but he also knew he did not want to do anything more to cause Maris pain.

  When a maid walked past and gave him a curious glance, Arthur knew he could not remain in the corridor. He knocked on the door. A muffled voice called for him to come in.

  Gwendolyn did not rise from the white tufted settee when Arthur entered the well-appointed sitting room decorated in shades of gold and white. Compared to the last time he had seen her, standing by her husband’s grave, her face had a much rosier color. Her gown was no longer black, but a warm purple that flattered her dark hair and brown eyes. The lines he had seen drawn around her mouth were gone.

  She smiled as he came toward her.

  “Good afternoon, Gwendolyn,” he said. “You look well.” Hardly a profession of undying love, but she had known him for too long to let him hide his heavy heart behind a facade of gleeful anticipation of her accepting his offer of marriage.

  “I am well, Arthur.” She held up her cheek for him to kiss it, as she always had when they met. Her smile was warm, but no warmer than when they were younger and they, along with Raymond, had explored every inch of Porthlowen cove and the moor beyond her home. “And you? How do you fare?”

  “I am fine.” It was not a lie unless he counted his broken heart. He must never speak of that to her, because she had suffered enough hurt when Cranny died. Nor would Arthur ever reveal what he had discovered about her late husband and his apparent habit of dueling, for it made no difference.

  On the ride from Cothaire, he had considered delaying this conversation, but postponing the inevitable would gain him nothing. When he received Gwendolyn’s message, he had hoped it would say she wanted no part of their fathers’ scheme. It seemed odd that, after more than a year, her words were not in the code she had developed. Her note had suggested an urgency he could not feel when he considered marrying her.

  Was her father pressuring her more than his had, to make the match? Gwendolyn would be dutiful, as Arthur was, but could he make her happy when he longed to be with Maris?

  “Do sit, Arthur.” Gwendolyn motioned to a chair facing her.

  He was surprised. He had thought she might ask him to sit beside her as a proper suitor should, but he complied with a smile he hoped did not appear as strained as it felt.

  “How are the children?” he asked before silence could fall between them.

  “A joy.” She smiled. “I understand you have a houseful yourself. It is no
t easy to imagine the bachelor viscount who once was every matchmaking mama’s dream with a boatload of children and still unwed.”

  Was she giving him an opening to present his suit? Even as he asked himself that question, Gwendolyn continued talking about her children and encouraging him to tell her about the ones at Cothaire. He tried to without mentioning Maris’s name in every other sentence, but it was impossible. She had become too much a part of the children’s lives.

  And his.

  Gwendolyn’s eyes narrowed after he mentioned Maris for the fifth time, but she made no comment as she told humorous stories about her toddler and baby.

  “Caroline tells me one of the boys calls you Bear.” Her voice gave no hint to her true thoughts, but he could read them in her eyes. She wondered how close he had become with Maris.

  He resisted blurting out he would be true to his wedding vows, because he was an honorable man. Instead, he said, “Yes, Bertie decided I was a bear because I growled when I twisted my ankle.”

  “I remember when you banged your chin painfully on your knee in a jump from the stable’s second floor.” She chuckled, banishing any hint of darkness in her words. “You were determined your parents would never discover you had hurt yourself, but you could hardly chew for several days. You grumbled and growled out every word. I am sure it hurt even to talk. Raymond asked me why you had become grouchy.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “You asked me not to tell anyone, and I did not. I learned from you that staying silent is better than telling a lie.” She put her hand to her forehead as if she had a sudden headache. “I have not thought of that in a long time. I should have remembered that lesson once I was a woman. Maybe I did, because I saw how you suffered nobly in silence because you did not want your parents to think less of you for your escapade. Maybe I learned that lesson far too well.”