The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler
Thirty-Five
I
t had been a week since Melinda had joined the household, and Penny had not had a single nightmare. It was quite remarkable. Maeve had her bed back. Disappointingly, her husband had not joined her. Well, he had, but he usually left before morning. It baffled her. And hurt. But she had too much pride to complain. She kept her days full by assisting Miss Bristol in the schoolroom and visiting the shops with Lorelei and Ginny. She spent time in the nursery with Nathan to give Molly breaks. The girl worked diligently and was much deserving of them.
Ginny was generous with Irene’s and Celia’s castoff clothing. Mary, at ten and Melinda, at nine were near the same in size.
Dressed for the day, Maeve left her bedchamber ready to break her fast. Voices and hammering sounded from the floor above. She glanced up at the ceiling. She had energetic plans for the day.
The children were not the only ones who needed a reprieve from the construction of turning the open salon into a studio for Brandon. After their studies, of course. To her surprise, or perhaps not, Penny and Mary had taken to their letters with great enthusiasm and aplomb. Stephen at the dignified age of four and ten took exception to being forced in the schoolroom, as did a much sophisticated Melinda. But Maeve insisted. As she told them, “Knowing how to read and calculate sums can only help you in life, not hurt.”
She would not force Stephen to accompany the group to the park. He preferred the stables. Which she allowed as long as he kept up his studies. The system seemed to work.
Famished, Maeve passed the maid, holding a bucket of coal. “Good morning—” She stopped and turned around. “Who are you?”
“Mornin’ ma’am.” She dipped a quick curtsey. “Me name’s Bitsy.”
“Sister to—”
“Abby, m’lady. I’m lightin’ the fires.”
“Carry on,” Maeve said on a sigh. Shaking her head, she made her way down the stairs to the morning room, wondering how many more servants she employed of which she was unaware.
She entered an empty morning room and her appetite dimmed. Brandon was nowhere to be seen.
“Mornin’, m’lady, tea?”
“Thank you, Niall.” Steam rose from the chaffing dishes on the sideboard, and Maeve took a plate and filled it. “I have need of your services today. I’d like to take the children to the park. I thought Hyde Park would be a nice change from Cavendish. Have Cook prepare a luncheon. We’ll go early enough to be back before the fashionable hour starts. Say two?”
“Aye, m’lady.”
“Ah, there you are, Lady Harlowe.” Brandon strolled in, and her heart kicked like a flailing Mellie. He took her plate from her and set it on the table then held out her chair.
Once Maeve was seated, he leaned down and kissed her, full on the mouth. Heat rushed her face. “What was that for?”
“Can’t a man kiss his lady wife when the urge takes him?”
Maeve’s glance snapped to Niall, but thankfully the young man was retrieving a cup and coffee for Brandon. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence this morning? I’ve scarcely seen you in a week.”
He sent a pointed look at Niall. “Construction is going well,” he told her.
“It’s certainly noisy,” she retorted, fully aware that the idea of turning the salon into his studio was all her idea. She sounded completely unlike herself. “Leave us, Niall.”
After the door shut softly behind him, Maeve picked up her serviette and fiddled with it. “Apologies. I don’t seem to be myself these days.”
Concern filled the brown-green-gold of his eyes. “What is it, my dear?”
Pride flew for the window. The closed window. “It’s stuffy in here.”
“Ah.” He rose and let in some air. “Better?”
Her serviette twisted within her fingers. “I-I don’t understand why you never wish to wake up with me in the morning.” Her humiliation was complete. Her pride had just escaped out the now open window.
Brandon had picked up his coffee, was poised to sip, but his hand stilled.
“Am I that abhorrent?” To her utter dismay, her voice cracked.
His cup clattered to its matching saucer. He was out of his chair and had her in his arms. “How can you believe such a thing?” His mouth crashed over hers. His kiss, possessive and deep. Desperate and reassuring. He broke away and smoothed loosened tendrils from her face.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Brandon. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I fear every second for those girls upstairs. I know there are many others we can’t save and it sickens me.” Tears blurred her vision. “Every morning I’m casting up my accounts, worrying someone will attempt to steal them away. But they are children. They can’t be kept holed up here forever without fresh air and exercise.”
“Darling, the reason I haven’t stayed the night is because I’ve been reading Rowena’s journal. Things are coming back to me, just as Dr. Holks’ assured me they would. The memories cannot come fast enough. But wishing it so has not helped. He said they would come in time. Not to force them. And, by God, it seems to be working.”
“I’m so glad,” she whispered. “So very glad.”
He turned her body and pressed her into her chair. “Eat something and tell me what you have planned for the day.”
Like an obedient child, she did as he asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “I’ve ordered a basket for lunch and have decided to take the children to Hyde Park. It will make a nice, much needed, outing.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”
The children were not the only ones who needed fresh air and if she didn’t put her foot down now, she’d never win her way. She put her hand up to stay his argument. “The sun is shining, if a bit cold. The baby will stay home. Niall will drive us—”
“And Baird.”
“Who is Baird—oh, the gardener. Really, Brandon.” Her irritation spilled over her. “These unknown servants that keep appearing—”
He leaned over and kissed her to quash her rampage. It was an effective tactic he was using with regularity, she noted. Yet when the fragrance of soap and masculinity and fresh coffee hit her, her defenses melted away like finely spun sugar.
Harlowe conferred with Baird and Niall, then took himself off to Kimpton’s to speak with his sister and her husband. There was the little matter of transporting his current studio from Kimpton House to his new one at Cavendish Square.
He understood exactly how Maeve felt about being confined indoors. Winter, itself, was difficult enough to deal with, what with having the windows closed most of the time. He’d thought about trailing the troupes to the park as well, but his hovering would only make things worse. He had every confidence in Baird. And sending Rory as added precaution to trail along went far in soothing Harlowe’s apprehension.
The urges for opium had lessened over the weeks, and Harlowe was only occasionally struck with his unnatural need, which he ruthlessly shoved away, with his own bouts of exercise and drinking of freshly boiled water. Considerable amounts of water. His wife had been on to something there.
“Brandon! How lovely to see you.” Lorelei peered around him. “Maeve isn’t with you?”
“She had a date with several young women. They took to the park. I was not invited.”
“Things are going well with the children? They are all adjusting?”
“Indeed they are. Penny has not had a single nightmare since her sister was installed. Maeve insists on assisting the governess with their lessons, though Stephen grumbles, saying he is too old for such juvenile pursuits. I do believe he used the word “pursuits.””
Lorelei laughed. “So whether he realizes it or not, he is learning. Here, here.”
Harlowe hugged her. “You’re glowing. I daresay with you at my side in the dusk, I would have no need for a lantern.”
“My wife will not be walking with you at dusk,” Kimpton groused, walking into the foyer. “I don’t care if you are her brother.” He took Lorelei’s arm and tucked it into his elbow. “I thought you moved out.”
“Really, Thorne.” Her annoyance was clearly feigned.
“As a matter of fact, that is the exact purpose of my visit.”
Both his sister and her husband turned, in unison, to stare at him.
“We are creating a studio. I’m here to discuss the logistics of transporting my art supplies and such.”
Lorelei’s relief was palpable. “Oh. That’s all right then.”
Harlowe frowned. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“No. No, of course not. I’m glad you stopped by. I have some things for you to take back with you. I’ll arrange for the servants to place them in your carriage.”
“I don’t have the carriage. Maeve took the children to the park in it. Just have them delivered.”
“Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself. Excuse me while I ring for tea,” she said, making a quick exit.
Harlowe narrowed his eyes on Kimpton. “All right, what’s going on?”
“I’m not certain. My wife’s been acting strangely of late. Nothing I’ve been able to put my finger on,” Kimpton said, his brows furrowed.
“So she hasn’t told—”
“Told me what?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” Thinking quickly, Harlowe shifted the topic. “Rowena Hollerfield left a journal behind.”
“Did she impart anything of interest?”
“She mentioned wanting to kill me outright, and you, regarding a backup stratagem.”
“Ah, her plan in accusing me of fathering the child she wasn’t pregnant with.”
Harlowe laughed. “Something along those lines, though she didn’t put her plan down in actual words.”
Kimpton handed him a tumbler of brandy. “Rowena was resourceful, I’ll hand her that. When you disappeared, she was terrified for Corinne.”
“I can’t understand why she selected me.”
Kimpton shrugged. “You were young. Perhaps she thought you were more malleable than more seasoned blokes. Ha! I could have told her different. I knew you as a stubborn cuss from your much younger days.”
Silence stretched between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“Is there something else on your mind?” Kimpton asked.
“Just something Maeve relayed this morning. She’s been fretting over the children, said she’s been casting up her accounts over it. Every day… dear God—”
“She’s breeding?”
Lorelei came through the arch at that moment.
“She’s breeding,” Harlowe said in breathless wonder.
“Damn you, Brandon. You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”
Her fury penetrated his stunned revelation. “What?”
“What?” Kimpton parroted. Kimpton was staring at Lorelei with an expression that must have mirrored Harlowe’s own.
Harlowe would have laughed at the shock in Kimpton’s face, if his own hadn’t paralyzed him.
“You’re with child?” Kimpton said.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I wanted to make sure everything was…”
Kimpton was out of his chair and sweeping her up in his arms, kissing her. Something Harlowe certainly didn’t need to witness.
Besides, Harlowe had the same sudden urge, rushed out of Kimpton House, and straight to the stables for his horse.
