Destined for the Brooding Baron, page 8
“I am doing my best,” she said simply.
He took a deep breath and stepped back, gesturing to the tube. “I fetched it in town for you today,” he said gruffly, stepping back towards the door.
“Are you leaving so soon?” she asked.
“I would not want to disrupt your studies any more than I already have,” he said loud enough that the children could hear. “Good day, Margery, Ethan.”
“Good day, Father,” the children answered in unison—Ethan cheerful, Margery monotone.
He bowed and took his leave. It was not until the midday meal that Cassandra had a chance to unwrap the large brown tube he had brought from town. Inside was a tight coil of thin canvas cloth that she unrolled with difficulty.
She stepped back with a small gasp at the sight. It was a map of the world, detailed with deep crimson, forest green, weathered beige, and rich brown. The countries were labelled exactly, and trade routes were sketched into the seas.
She looked at the space behind the wall and knew exactly why he’d brought it. It was a shockingly thoughtful and attentive thing to do. He had seen the need, remembered her complaint about the wall, and acted on it.
She did not know what to make of this man who was at once critical of her methods and, at other times, so completely supportive. He seemed an enigma with his dark brow, mysterious past, and burn wounds. Where are the burnt stones? She wondered, not for the first time that day. And what happened to Lord Lincoln’s wife?
A chill ran down her spine.
Chapter 8
Edward awoke in the middle of the night to a cry in the dark. He sat up in bed, listening in the stillness. There was another wail, low and mournful. He knew at once who it was.
Ethan had been having nightmares for years now—they came only on occasion, but when they did, it took the nurse or servants some time to quiet him. Tonight, however, the second wail was the last. Edward waited, curious, then swung his legs out of bed and slipped into his slippers.
He snatched a robe from the chair to tie over his nightshirt and lit a candle, listening again in the stillness. Maybe he’s outgrowing the need for comfort, he thought, but his heart was still unsettled. He remembered another time, years ago, when he had woken in the night to screams and the smell of smoke. He could not go back to sleep, not with that image in his mind.
He carried the flickering candle into the hall outside, turning and making his way towards the children’s rooms. They were at the other end of the hall, near the staircase up to Miss Clairmont’s schoolroom, and when Edward at last arrived, he was surprised to find the door open.
He peered into the room, and his heart stopped. Ethan’s bed was empty. A shaft of moonlight filled the crumpled covers but nothing else. Edward heard a sound downstairs and whirled, his heart in his throat. Is he sleepwalking?
He started downstairs, kicking himself for all the times he had left the comfort of his children to servants and nurses instead of seeing to them himself. Ethan should have felt safe to come down the hall to his father’s room when he had a bad dream, but instead, he had wandered … Edward heard the soft thud of a door opening in the distance. And now he’s outside.
Edward walked faster, rounding the corner and walking through the parlour to the veranda beyond. He stopped a moment as the breeze blew out his candle, letting his eyes adjust. The moon filled the garden with a dim blue light, and the stars carpeted the sky above.
It took him a moment to find Ethan, and when he did, he stopped in surprise. The boy was not alone. The slim form of the governess sat beside him on the soft grass, both their backs to him. The woman was pointing up towards the sky and talking in a low, gentle voice.
Edward walked closer, listening as he did so. He knew in some recess of his mind that what he was doing was eavesdropping, but his curiosity got the better of him. The first thing he heard clearly was Ethan’s sniffles; then, as he drew nearer, he could make out what Miss Clairmont was saying to him.
“There,” she said, “just as I told you, the tail of the dragon is just there … see how pale the stars are?”
“I don’t see …” Ethan sniffed.
Miss Clairmont held up his arm, directing his little fingers to point to the correct place. “You don’t know what Ursa Minor is yet, but I’ll show you a drawing tomorrow. For now, just know that the Dragon, called Draco, winds around just so …” She gestured. “Do you see now?”
“I think I do,” Ethan said hopefully.
“Then I shall show you another, even more beautiful!” Miss Clairmont had excitement simmering in her voice, but her tone was still even and soothing. “There is a very complicated constellation known as Cygnus, but we shall call it the Swan. There is a bright star just there, and then the summer triangle forms the rest of it. See?”
“I wish …” Ethan’s voice trailed off. “I wish …”
“What do you wish?” she prompted gently.
“I wish I could live up there,” he breathed, so soft that Edward almost could not hear it. “Far away from here.”
Miss Clairmont was silent for a long moment, and Edward felt a stab of guilt at his son’s words. Far away from here. When the governess spoke again, it was thoughtfully.
“You had a bad dream tonight, Ethan.” A statement, not a question. The boy nodded. Miss Clairmont went on. “I have a story about dreams that might help you.”
Ethan laid his head over on her shoulder, and she put her arm around him. Edward watched, frozen.
“Did you know, Ethan, that there is a place far over the mountains, beyond the channel, where the faeries dance? It is said, in that magical place, that there is a bird as white as milk and gentle as a mother’s hands that flies down to carry away bad dreams.” Her voice was soft and lulling, weaving the tale in a drowsy and endearing way. “The bird flies all over the world and looks for little children, just like you, to give their dreams up.”
“My dream …” Ethan mumbled, clearly sleepy again, “… is about burning.”
Edward winced. Miss Clairmont paused a moment, but as her back was to Edward, he could not read her thoughts on her face.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “Now I shall tell the bird when it flies down to take your bad dreams.”
“What does the bird do with the dreams?” Ethan asked, yawning.
“What a beautiful question,” Miss Clairmont answered.
“That’s the best part of all. The bird carries the dreams up to the heavens and hangs them in the stars beside Draco and the Swan. There, the dreams have no power to hurt, but they sparkle through the night.”
She looked down at Ethan, and for a moment, Edward saw a profile of her face. She was in a thick robe that hid her figure and had her hair in a loose braid down her back. She must have seen something sleepy in Ethan, for she began to speak even slower and softer—almost singing.
“And there, in the stars, the dreams live forever and ever. Sometimes the bird goes back to visit dreams that are lonely and takes beautiful dreams down to children in place of the bad ones—dreams about flowers and sand castles by the sea and the smell of fresh toast in the morning …”
She let her words trail off. Edward remained as one bewitched. His heart was in his throat. Then he broke the spell in a moment, shifting to one side and stepping on a twig in the process.
Miss Clairmont whirled, fear on her face, Ethan heavy against her side. She sucked in her breath and, to her credit, did not scream and wake the boy. Instead, she stared at him with wide eyes for a moment and then, as recognition crossed her face, let out her air in a long rush.
“My Lord,” she said in a low voice. “You must stop appearing when I least expect it. You frightened me.”
He nodded at Ethan. “I heard him cry and followed you here.”
Her face was partially in shadow, but he saw her nod. “I thought it would calm him to look at the stars.” She nodded towards the grass at her side, a silent invitation. “Does he have nightmares often?”
He was ashamed and looked away. “I don’t … know. I occasionally heard him when he was younger, but there was always a nurse there to help.”
She was silent and looked down at Ethan. He had slipped from her shoulder to her lap, curled up against her side and breathing peacefully. They were speaking softly still so as not to wake him, but Edward could see how tired his little boy was, and his heart went out to him.
“I heard some of your story,” he said quietly, “when I walked up. About the stars.”
She looked suddenly uncomfortable, the moonlight shining sharply on her cheekbones. “I have a passing interest in astronomy and rarely find a reason to put it to good use.”
It had not seemed like a ‘passing interest’ to Edward. “If you find the time,” he said, “you might consider taking the children stargazing one night.”
She turned and looked at him, and even in the dim light, he could see the delight in her. “That would be … I would enjoy that very much.” Her tone had raised slightly in excitement, and Ethan stirred in her lap. She looked down and hushed him. “We ought to take him back to bed,” she said softly.
“I’ll carry him.” Edward shifted in front of her and put his arms around Ethan, easily picking up the boy’s limp, sleeping body before standing.
Miss Clairmont scrambled up as well, pulling her thick robe even tighter around her body. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
The two retraced their steps back into the house and up the stairs to Ethan’s room, laying him gently in bed. He mumbled something intelligible and turned towards the wall. Edward tugged the sheets up to his son’s chin, watching how the moonlight played on his face. He looked so like Anne when he was sleeping, with the same pert nose and long eyelashes, his skin smooth and relaxed.
Edward stepped out of the room, choked up. Miss Clairmont had halted in the doorway while Edward laid Ethan down and now stepped back to allow him to exit.
“Good night, My Lord,” she said, turning to go back up to her own chambers.
He caught her elbow in the darkness and felt her freeze at his touch. “I know—” he stopped, searching for words that were agony to confess. “I know I ought to be able to tell you how often he has nightmares. You shouldn’t have been the one comforting him tonight.”
Her face was almost entirely shrouded in blackness, but she did not pull away from his touch on her arm. When she spoke, at last, her words were low and careful. “My Lord, you came in search of him tonight. It shows genuine care for your boy.”
“But you think I should do more.”
Again, silence. Edward wondered if this slight little governess knew that her silence was more damning than a scolding would ever be. He released her elbow, almost harshly, and heard her arm brush to her side in the dark hall.
“Good evening, Miss Clairmont.”
He turned to go, but her words halted him in his steps. “My Lord.” She waited until he was facing her again and then said quietly, “You are the children’s father. You know what they truly need more than anyone. If your conscience demands more of you, for heaven’s sake, do not pin it on me.”
And she slipped away, like mist dissipating in those faerie isles she liked to talk about.
***
That night, he dreamed of Anne. His wife was sitting in profile in a rocking chair, just as she had so often when Margery was born, rocking slowly back and forth and humming. He could see the smooth pale skin and curling blonde hair he missed so much.
He could almost smell wisteria in the air. He stepped into the room and laid a hand on her arm, softly speaking her name. She turned in surprise, as Miss Clairmont had in the garden, and he pulled away in alarm. The other side of her face was burned and crumbling, as their home now was, and her eyes were wide and frantic. Edward, she breathed, her voice licking at him like flames.
Why did you do this to me?
He awoke in a cold sweat, the first fingers of dawn creeping into his bedroom, and gave up sleep for the night.
He was surprised to find Miss Clairmont already in the breakfast room when he had completed his morning walk, with the children in attendance as well. She was a good hour earlier than she had been the day before, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was attempting to line up with his schedule if only to give him more time with the children.
“Good morning, Papa,” Margery and Ethan chorused when he entered. Ethan looked more well-rested, and Margery seemed to have laid aside her hostility to better enjoy a soft-boiled egg.
“Good morning.”
He took his seat, feeling awkward. He glanced briefly at Miss Clairmont and then away again. It felt strange to look at her after the events of the night before—there had been an honesty between them in those brief moments that he felt went against propriety.
That brief glance was enough, though, to show him that she was wearing that plain brown shift over a muslin shirt again, the sleeves translucent so he could make out glimpses of her slim arms beneath it and the slip of her wrist beneath pearl buttons. Her hair was plain as always, and she wore no adornment, yet he thought she could not have been more distracting if she were draped in diamonds. She took up a troubling lot of his mind.
“We are going on a nature walk this morning, Papa,” Margery said, surprising everyone at the table by making conversation of her own accord. “Miss Clairmont read to us yesterday from the writings of Wordsworth, and we are off in search of ‘dewy grass’ and ‘vale and mountain.’”
Edward smiled despite himself at her poetry. He never would have imagined Margery to confess to sentiment by memorizing another poet’s writings. He quoted back, looking at Margery but keenly aware of the woman seated to his left, “And I suppose you’ll be looking for stars that are ‘mansions built by Nature’s hand?’”
Margery frowned, and Miss Clairmont chimed in, “He’s quoting another of Wordsworth’s poems, dear, although I am sad to say we will not see any stars today … we will have to wait until nighttime for that.” She looked almost shy as she met Edward’s gaze for a brief moment. “And when we do stargaze, your father is welcome to join us and quote all the Wordsworth he likes.”
Edward was warmed by the kindness in her words. He looked up to see Mr Green duck into the room on the heels of the butler, bearing with him a fresh pot of tea. The footman’s eyes landed immediately on Miss Clairmont, and Edward saw a sparkle of appreciation in the young man’s gaze.
He went to her first and offered to fill her cup, and she looked up at him with surprise. “Why, Mr Green—do you usually serve breakfast?”
Edward tightened his jaw. Mr Green certainly did not branch out into this role—he could be expected to help in footman duties only when there was a large gathering present, and even then, the valet would usually protest the indignity of the role. Not now, though. Mr Green’s reason for suddenly stooping to pour tea was evident on his face.
“It was on my way, Miss Clairmont.” He looked at the children and Edward with a bright, cheerful smile. “May I ask what you are all planning today? I saw Mrs Smith sweeping up after your conservatory expansion yesterday.”
“Oh dear.” Miss Clairmont laughed, the sound bringing life into the room. Ethan grinned along with her. “I don’t imagine that will improve me in Mrs Smith’s estimation. I will have to find some way to make it up to her.”
“We’re going on a nature hike,” Margery said, a little more coolly now. She had already presented this information and seemed offended that Mr Green was requiring it of her anew.
“Bring me back a toad or two,” the valet said with a wide, engaging grin.
Edward found himself feeling strangely rankled by the man’s presence. In truth, he was doing nothing out of the ordinary—one of the reasons Edward liked the man in the first place was the easy way he had with the children—but in this one instance, Edward would have liked the handsome, lively fellow a little further away from the breakfast room. He did not deign to ask himself why he felt this way.
