Aura of Magic, page 14
Bridey could tell from his frown that he didn’t like her taking charge, but she didn’t leave him time to argue. Most of the upper story bedchambers were unused. She swept through salons and sheet-covered rooms of no purpose. Not finding any sign of the children under covers or in empty rooms, Bridey reached her own chamber in the middle of the rambling castle. She knew the children hadn’t been there an hour ago when she’d left, but if Pascoe was right that they doubled back. . .
And there they were in the center of her rumpled bed, not even attempting to hide. They looked up at her with angelic expressions. She crossed her arms and scowled—as much at the pink hovering over them as at the twins.
“I have not had my breakfast because of you,” she told them.
“Do you have a doggie?” Edward asked. “We want a doggie.”
“Children who frighten their parents and maids by disappearing do not deserve doggies. Why are you here?”
She watched as the two seemed to exchange anxious glances, make some silent decision, and scrambled from the bed. They placed their hands behind their backs and gazed up at her with adoration. Bridey was not fooled. Their auras rippled. She shut down her inner eye and waited.
“Will you come home with us? We promise to be good,” Edward piped.
By this time, Pascoe had apparently noticed her stillness. She heard his heavy footsteps behind her. Not acknowledging the absurd question, Bridey gestured at their father. “Edward, I want you to apologize to your father for causing him to worry. He will decide your punishment. Emma, come with me, I will take you to the kitchen so you may apologize to all the servants whose day you have ruined. They will decide yours.” She held out her hand, brooking no refusal.
The twins finally looked worried.
Pascoe appeared startled at the notion of taking charge of his son, but at Bridey’s fierce glare, he took Edward’s hand. Bridey took his daughter’s.
The girl dragged her feet all the way down the stairs, but Bridey kept tugging. She sensed Emma was nearly in a panic by the time they reached the cellar. Even knowing she had no right to interfere, Bridey would not stop in her purpose. She’d been fretting for an entire hour. And she was hungry. That didn’t make her any more sympathetic.
The few servants left tending the fires looked up in relief at their entrance.
“If you can, send for the others Miss Emma has caused to leave their duties,” Bridey told them.
Wide-eyed and still panicky, the child stood where Bridey planted her, watching as servants trailed into the kitchen. When Bridey deemed there were sufficient for an apology, she pointed at the hearth. “Stand there, make a curtsey, and apologize as best as you can. If you do it well enough, your punishment might not be too stiff.”
Emma stood where ordered and performed a perfect obeisance, but she didn’t seem capable of speaking.
“Start with I am sorry,” Bridey suggested.
The servants shifted from foot to foot, unaccustomed to the family descending among them or to any apologies at all.
“I am very sorry,” Emma piped, actually sounding apologetic. “I wanted my new mama. I did not mean to hurt you.”
Maids wiped tears from their eyes. Bridey rolled hers, but she could not expect more from a four-year old, no matter how precocious.
“Ladies, is there anything you’d like to say to Miss Emma to make her see how wrong it is for her to leave the nursery without one of you with her?”
One of the Marys tried to look stern. “You worried us, Miss Emma. We thought we might lose our positions for losing you. I have a sick mother at home who depends on me. Do you understand that?”
Emma looked almost frightened. “Your mama is sick? Can I come visit her?”
Bridey swore under her breath. No wonder no one ever punished the brats. Well, if her intent was to keep them separated for a while, this would work as well as any. “Is your mother in Wystan, Mary? If so, would you take the day off, take Emma with you, and introduce her to your mother? Perhaps she can carry some bread and jam to her.”
Mary looked stunned but nodded and curtsied. Emma looked anxious. She probably hadn’t counted on being called to honor her request, if it was possible to believe a child her age could plot at all.
“Then that’s settled. Emma, you will stay here with Mary. Everyone else must return to all the duties you interrupted. I, for one, would like my breakfast.” Bridey turned to leave.
“But what about Edward?” the child cried plaintively.
“I’m sure your father won’t heave him out a window,” Bridey said callously. “You need only worry about yourself for now.”
Feeling like an executioner, Bridey hurried up the stairs. It wasn’t her duty to fix anyone’s problems, and that’s how she wanted it. But she couldn’t let those adorable children be turned into monsters because no one understood their uniqueness—except their mother. And maybe other Malcolms, had they the time or incentive to bother, which they didn’t.
Their mother. . . Bridey turned for one last glimpse of Emma and opened her inner eye.
The pink aura hovered frantically near the ceiling, torn between her three charges.
Chapter 15
How did one punish a four-year old? Pascoe had happily shot villains, provided savage justice for wrongdoers, and thrown malefactors into prison to rot. He’d robbed thieves, had bad barons banished to the colonies, and just recently threatened an earl with hanging.
He’d never punished a curly-haired imp with huge blue eyes that reminded him too forcefully of his late wife. That’s why he’d spent an inordinate amount of his income on servants, confound it.
Edward obediently took his hand and stamped his tiny feet up all the stairs and back to the nursery. Below, the infant had begun to wail its hunger. Once upon a time, Edward had been that tiny infant, and Pascoe had been prouder of him than anything he’d ever done. But apparently just producing a son wasn’t sufficient. One had to raise him.
“I believe Lady Carstairs says you must apologize to me,” Pascoe said stiffly as he released him in the nursery. “And it is probably wise to apologize to Mary, whom you frightened half to death.”
“I apologize, sir,” the boy said, bowing a bit clumsily. “We wished to see our new mother and ask for a doggie. We’ve never had one.” His little darling’s glare was almost accusing.
Their new mother. . . They’d been in Lady Carstairs’ room—Bridey’s room. After what they’d done last night, Pascoe couldn’t think of her as another man’s widow, but he certainly didn’t think of her as mother to the twins. She was still so very young. . . But now was not the time to reflect on alabaster skin and luscious curves. . . and intransigent, rebellious temperaments. And he wasn’t about to debate fairy tales with the infant set.
“I cannot ask servants to take care of a dog when they cannot take care of you,” Pascoe pointed out with indisputable logic. He’d argued with kings. Surely, he could put a child in his place.
“Our new mother will take care of us. Emma and I will take care of a doggie.” Edward didn’t flinch in the least in facing him.
Pascoe wanted to mutter about unnatural children, but he couldn’t hide his pride in how his son stood up to him at the tender age of four. He couldn’t remember being so self-confident at that age, although he’d just lost his mother and been thrown into the zoo that was Iveston about that time.
“Lady Carstairs has not consented to be your mother.” How the devil did the children know about her anyway? “And she is not likely to if she knows it involves chasing you up and down stairs before breakfast.”
Pascoe reeled as he recognized what he’d just intimated. Aside from the difference in their ages and dispositions, he wasn’t prepared for another marriage. His late wife had hated his traveling, and he wouldn’t be giving it up any time soon. Bridey was accustomed to managing an entire estate and acting as physician for a village. A modest town house in London would not suit her abilities. Besides, he needed propriety to earn a title, and Bridey was headed in a dangerously different direction.
A Frost Queen for his children?
No, the thought was impossible. So why did the children insist on it—even before they knew her? Uneasiness ate at him.
Edward pouted, finally showing his age. “We promise to be good. She has to be our mother. Our mama says so.”
Oh, that way madness lies. . . He’d spent too much time around Shakespeare-quoting Ashford. Running his hand over his hair, Pascoe sought a way around illogic. “Your mama cannot speak, Edward. I wish you would stop this nonsense of pretending she does.”
“She does so, too,” his son said, pouting out his lower lip. “She talks to Emma all the time. Emma gets scared,” he admitted. “And mama sings to her.”
One of the Marys hurried into the nursery. At sight of Pascoe, she bobbed a hasty curtsy.
He had a mine and furnace to put back into operation if he wished to keep his position and continue supporting his children. Arguing with a child was not rational. But the idea of his tiny daughter being frightened. . .
Pascoe gestured at the nursemaid to stay back. “Why is Emma scared?”
Edward shrugged. “She sees things.”
That wasn’t a bit of help—unless one believed in witchy Malcolm behavior. Again, his gut knotted.
Did he really want to know what kinds of things children imagined? No.
Ordering himself to stop being irrational, Pascoe returned to the practical. Back to punishment. The only kind he could remember receiving was a stick to the backs of his legs. He wasn’t beating his child with a stick!
“You are to stay in the nursery with Mary all day, or you shall go to bed hungry tonight, understood?”
“Where is Emma?” the boy asked, almost pitifully.
Ah, there was the punishment Bridey was inflicting—separating the naughty pair. He had to admire her methods, if not her attitude. “She will not be allowed up here until Lady Carstairs says so. The two of you find too much mischief together.”
Edward looked truly troubled. Pascoe didn’t think the boy could explain why. He’d find Bridey and see if she had any more good ideas about dealing with the pair.
And then he needed to ride to Northbridge.
Bridey was finishing her eggs and toast as Pascoe strode into the downstairs dining salon, dressed for riding. She set down her fork to admire him, and suffered a thrill of excitement when he stopped in the doorway to do the same to her. His mouth turned up in a suggestive smile that shot straight to her middle. He’d shaved, and she realized he’d arrived without a valet. Even though he was the son of a marquess, he was a man accustomed to taking care of himself and adapting to his surroundings—more reason to admire him.
“I have sent Emma to the village with bread and jam for her nursemaid’s mother. It’s not much of a punishment, but it’s never too early for them to learn how their actions affect others.” She picked up her cup again and tried to act casual as Pascoe filled a plate and took the seat beside her.
She could smell his spicy shaving soap, but most of all, she knew the scent of him. It clung to her skin even though she’d washed thoroughly, and knew he had as well. She was simply aware, and excited by, his masculinity. She had never understood how intoxicating flesh against flesh could be.
“Separating them may be punishment enough.” He sat down and tore a huge bite out of his toast, as if he were angry enough to chew nails. “Edward says Emma is often scared, but he cannot tell me why.”
Bridey frowned. “If she is a sensitive, there could be many reasons. I’ve been reading the journals, but she’s so young, it would be difficult to have her explain. But obviously, one or the other of them is hearing your wife’s voice.”
“I don’t want to believe that,” he said stubbornly. “Besides, that shouldn’t scare her. If I’m to believe in the impossible, Edward says Lily sings Emma to sleep when she’s scared.” He sounded confused and a bit weary as he said this. “I cannot possibly understand.”
She dared to pat his hand. “No, but you have the Malcolm ladies to help you. Let them.”
He viciously tore off more toast and chewed silently. When he was finished, he sent her a skeptical look. “The twins think you will be their new mother. And that you will provide them with a dog. Is Lily telling them that?” His voice reeked of skepticism.
His lack of belief built the barrier she needed. Henceforth, she refused to lie about what she knew.
“I doubt that spirits can tell the future.” The possibility rattled her, but she preferred to believe that spirits were irrational and fates weren’t sealed. “But even Aster’s astrological predictions aren’t precise,” she said, to bridge the raging river of doubt. “We cannot expect the twins to understand. Just try to keep an open mind.”
She didn’t want to be a mother if it meant giving up the larger scope of teaching other women how to take care of themselves, their children, and each other. Pascoe risked his future just by speaking to her.
He squeezed her hand, cast a look to see if anyone was watching, then kissed her cheek. “My mind is only on you at the moment. I cannot think of aught else, and that is not good. I need to leave for Northbridge and keep the king’s godsons from being murdered. If you will not go with me, will you look after the twins?”
While her woman’s heart beat faster at his sentiment, she had wasted a lifetime on oblivious, selfish men. She reminded him of her own purpose. “I must stay here and watch over Aster and the new infant. These first few days are critical to their health. I will keep an eye on the twins, if I can. If you cannot persuade Fin to talk to you, then talk to the upper servants. I’ll send a message with you. I’m not sure whose side they are on anymore, but I think Barker can be trusted.”
She should object that he took advantage of her already, but she would have looked after the twins even if he had not asked. That he thought of his children at all merely made her approve of him more.
She was in deep trouble if she started excusing a man who admitted he used her. Still, if he could right what was wrong without arresting Fin. . .
“You are not thinking of keeping Darrow in charge?” she asked warily.
“I am thinking of shoving him down a mine shaft and closing it up with his silly brother as door, but that is probably not a practical solution.” He threw his tea back as if it were whiskey.
Bridey laughed. Sharing her frustration somehow made it less insurmountable.
He took her hand again and kissed it. “You are probably very bad for me, but your laughter makes my day brighter. Don’t let my brats turn off that smile. Stuff them down a mine shaft if they do.”
She laughed again. She hadn’t felt quite so light-hearted in. . . Since childhood, most likely. “I shall do no such thing. I shall experiment with them to see if they know where you are and what you are doing.”
He snorted and stood up, his breakfast having miraculously been inhaled. “At this point, I would not doubt that they read minds and foresee the future. I’ll send a pigeon if anything interesting happens.”
“Like being shot?” she asked, just to scare off that ghost in her head. “Better let Mrs. Mac know you’re there, if so.” She rose. “Let me write that note before you leave. I’ll be in the library.” She escaped before he could touch her more and turn her into melted butter.
When Pascoe appeared in the library, dressed for riding, with his hat under his arm, she hastily handed him the note she’d prepared. Using the cry of the infant above as excuse, she all but fled his presence.
Oil and water, cat and mouse, she reminded herself as she examined the newborn later. Perhaps she had unfairly judged men by her limited exposure. That didn’t mean she must fall for the first real gentleman she’d met. Mr. Pascoe-Ives had made it clear that his importance as the king’s envoy was paramount, and that home and family counted for little in his life.
She would not be treated as furniture ever again, and he would inevitably do so.
Hours after Pascoe had ridden away, Bridey gave herself permission to check on his son. She prayed Emma was still with the nursemaid in the village. In the nursery, she found Edward restlessly pacing from window to window—which required climbing up on dressers and chairs and tables since the windows were high and small.
Mary sent her a nervous look. “He will not settle. I have tried to read a book and showed him the soldiers and the rocking horse, but he will not sit.”
“Why don’t you run down and have a bite to eat and leave him with me for a while?” Curiosity more than sympathy drove her, Bridey knew. Was the boy searching for his sister? His mother?
Mary bobbed a curtsey and hastened away before Bridey could change her mind.
“You will not be able to see Emma from there,” Bridey told him. “You cannot even see the village.”
“I can almost hear her.” Edward hopped down from the chair. “If I promise not to be naughty, may I go outside?”
It did seem a shame to be cooped up when the day was so bright. Did he really believe he could hear his sister from a distance? How might she understand what went on inside a child’s head? “Do your nursemaids usually take you to the park on nice days?”
He thought about it. “Sometimes. But they think we need leashes like horses. I would like a horse someday, but I would not like to be leashed.”
“Horses have reins so their riders can tell them where they wish to go. Leashes are for restraining animals likely to run away. I would not like a leash either. Shall we go down and see if there are any horses in the stable today?”
She didn’t know what made her say it, but the boy lit the room with the power of a thousand candles.
“May we, please?”
Those big dark-lashed eyes were impossible to refuse. She might worry that he knew mind tricks, except she’d been the one to suggest the stable first. “You cannot leave my sight, you understand? It’s your vanishing act that makes the nursemaids reluctant to take you out without leashes.”
He nodded and took her hand.
