Amanda Scott (7 page)

“Don’t waste your pity upon the scamp,” advised her ladyship, correctly interpreting Margaret’s tone. “Young Timothy wants discipline.”

“Well, I shan’t allow Jordan to beat him,” Margaret said hotly.

“Nor shall I,” agreed the other. “Not that he don’t want beating, for he does. He’s been let to have his own way far too long, and it isn’t a bit good for him. But although Jordan Caldecourt is scarcely the man to teach him manners, the boy oughtn’t to be allowed to get away with such pranks as that boot business.”

“No, of course not, and I mean to speak very severely to him,” Margaret said, “but I cannot help feeling pity all the same.”

“Pity won’t help him. He wants his world turned right side up again. Do you think Michael would have tolerated such an attitude as the one he displays toward Annis and Jordan?”

“Michael didn’t like either of them very much,” Margaret said slowly.

“Nonetheless …”

“Of course, you’re perfectly right. Michael would have torn a good strip off him the first time he saw that little chin tilted up and heard that arrogant tone in Timothy’s voice. But Michael is gone, and Timothy must be feeling very lost and lonely without him. Why, I can remember—”

“Which did you more good,” Lady Celeste interrupted ruthlessly, “people feeling sorry for you and trying to comfort you or people treating you normally and expecting you to behave yourself?”

The memory of Abberley scolding her for overwatering the elder flowers with her tears and promising that if she “dried up” he might, just
might
allow her to ride his horse flashed through her mind. When he had apologized only the other day for being a lout and failing to comfort her properly, she had called the sort of comfort he’d had in mind “mollycoddling.” Had people been mollycoddling Timothy? Had even his father perhaps been guilty of that after Marjory had died? Suddenly, she was seeing the boy from another viewpoint. If he was an object for pity, it was because he had been allowed to run wild, not because he had lost his parents. He was like an unbroken colt and could scarcely be held accountable for his actions until someone took him in hand. And that someone, she decided then and there, would not be Jordan Caldecourt.

Consequently, as soon as she had word from the cook that Sir Timothy’s supper had been sent up to the nursery, she excused herself to the others without explanation and hurried upstairs to the second floor.

The nursery was a cheerful room overlooking the back gardens of the manor and the low, greening chalk hills beyond. A healthy fire blazed behind the barred grate, and the room was comfortably warm. Timothy, neatly dressed in fresh nankeens, a well-starched white shirt, and a short blue jacket with large brass buttons, sat in solitary splendor at a small table before the fire, nibbling disinterestedly at the simple food upon his plate. He was a wiry child, small for his age, with straight chestnut hair that was as undisciplined as he was himself. Though it had been ruthlessly brushed back from his forehead only minutes before, several strands had fallen forward over bright blue eyes very reminiscent of Lady Celeste’s.

When Margaret entered, he pushed the hair back again as he looked up at her warily. He said nothing at all.

Margaret smiled at the rosy-cheeked maidservant, who was pouring out a mug of milk from an earthenware pitcher. “You may leave us, Melanie. I’ll bear Sir Timothy company while he eats his meal.”

“Very good, miss.” Melanie returned the smile with a broad grin, placed the mug beside Timothy’s plate, dropped a brief curtsy, and left the room with a faint rustle of her blue camlet skirts.

Margaret pulled a small straight-backed chair up to the table and sat down opposite the boy, regarding him seriously. He pretended to ignore her and continued eating, showing more interest in his food now than when she had first entered the room.

“Timothy, I wish to speak to you,” she said quietly, “but you may continue to eat your dinner. I only want you to listen.”

He shot a glance at her from under his straight brows, but the glance was a brief one. His attention went immediately back to his plate.

Margaret thought for a moment, then thanked him as though he had answered her properly. “You will be pleased to know,” she added, “that I have arranged for you to take lessons from the vicar, beginning tomorrow morning. You are quite a big boy now and must no longer be treated like a baby.”

The boy straightened in his chair and shot her another of those under-the-brow glances, this time a measuring one.

She nodded, again as though he had spoken. “I see you realize you have been let to behave badly because everyone believed you were too young to know better. I do not believe that myself. You are quite old enough to know the difference between right and wrong.”

“I ain’t been let off so much,” the boy muttered.

“Haven’t, dear,” Margaret corrected automatically. “You haven’t been let off.”

“That’s what I said.”

“A gentleman doesn’t say
ain’t
, Timothy. I daresay you mean that Jordan has often scolded you.”

“Aye, and more besides.” He set down his fork, watching her now more openly. “I don’t like Jordan.”

“You must call him Cousin Jordan,” she said gently, “and I’ll tell you a secret, Timothy,” she added before he could protest. “I don’t like Cousin Jordan either.” She smiled at him, and the boy smiled back, a quick grin that showed his relief and was likewise full of mischief. It lit his narrow face, erasing the arrogant look as though it had never been and making him look more like a child than a little old man.

“Did you hear how I fixed his boots?” he asked conspiratorially, clearly thinking he had discovered an ally.

“I did,” Margaret said, letting her smile fade. “That was not well-done of you, Timothy, though I can understand some of the feelings that prompted you to do it.”

“Jordan is a wicked man,” Timothy said hotly.

“Nevertheless, you cannot play such tricks, my dear. You must apologize to him. I will go downstairs with you once you have finished your supper.”

“I won’t.” The black look descended again, and he glowered at his plate.

“Yes, you will. A proper gentleman always apologizes when he has behaved badly. Only babies are too cowardly to do so.”

“I ain’t a coward,” he muttered.

“Well …” she said doubtfully, ignoring the lapse of grammar this time, “if you say so, I must believe you, of course, but I have not yet seen you behave bravely, you know.”

The blue eyes glared from under beetled brows, but when Margaret said nothing more, the boy relaxed slightly. “Like as not, he’ll thrash me,” he said, still muttering.

“No, that he shan’t,” she promised. “I won’t allow him to do anything of the sort. That is precisely why I mean to accompany you this time.”

Again the measuring look, followed by a period of silence. Though she wanted very much to press harder, Margaret held her tongue. She was rewarded several moments later when Timothy straightened again and pushed his plate away.

“I expect the sooner it’s done, the better,” he said, scraping his chair back and standing. The napkin, one corner of which had been carelessly tucked into his shirt beneath his pointed chin, fell to the floor, and he moved as though he meant to leave it there. But then, with an oblique look at Margaret, who was also getting to her feet, he bent and picked it up, dropping it onto the table. As he stepped beside her toward the door, Timothy shot another of his quick looks upward at her, then said carefully, “It isn’t only grown gentlemen who apologize, you know. Papa made me do so even when I was quite small.”

Releasing a small breath of relief, Margaret said lightly, “I thought that was very likely the fact of the matter, for I knew your papa very well.”

Timothy nodded. “He was your brother. I know, for he told me so himself.” He paused thoughtfully. “I don’t have a sister.”

“I know, Timothy.” They had passed into the corridor and now reached the head of the stairs. Margaret stopped and turned, bending to a half-kneeling position, to face the boy eye to eye, her hands gentle upon his thin shoulders. “You must have been very lonely, all these long weeks since your papa died. But you aren’t alone any longer, my dear. Aunt Celeste and I are here, and we shan’t leave you.”

His lower lip trembled and his eyes were suspiciously damp, but he did not turn his gaze from hers. Instead, he stared at her unblinkingly, as if he would know the truth of her words from something he might see in her eyes. Margaret said nothing at all and made no attempt to rise, though her knees and thighs began to ache before he finally blinked the tears away and gave himself a little shake as though he were returning from some distant place. Then his eyes narrowed, and he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “Aunt Celeste is rather old.”

Not misunderstanding for a moment, Margaret said in exactly the same tone, “But I am not, Timothy, and the ladies in the Fortescue family, as you can tell by Aunt Celeste, tend to live long lives.”

“Your mother did not,” he said flatly.

“Ah, but she died in a carriage accident,” Margaret pointed out, “and if I have not met a similar fate already with all the traveling I have done, I expect it is because I am not meant to die in that fashion.”

He nodded, moving once more toward the stairs, and Margaret hoped he was satisfied for the moment, though from her own experience, she knew the doubts would return again and again until the terrifying fear that he would be left entirely alone had faded into memory. Even then, of course, the fear would return from time to time, but if she could help ease it now, she believed it would never be so strong again.

The boy faltered once, outside the drawing-room door. Knowing that Jordan was inside with Lady Annis and Lady Celeste, waiting for their dinner to be announced, he glanced doubtfully at Margaret.

“You’ve nothing to fear, Timothy. He has no right to lay a hand on you, so I shall be able to stop him easily. But you must make your very best apology, and you must never do such a thing again. Do you understand me?”

He nodded, his lower lip gripped firmly between his teeth.

“Then, come along, my dear. It will soon be over.”

Dealing with Jordan, even in the face of a properly repentant Timothy, took longer than Margaret had anticipated, but with Lady Celeste’s staunch support and the added assistance of Moffatt’s timely announcement that dinner was served, she carried the business off with a high hand and sent Timothy back to the nursery a quarter-hour later, unscathed.

At the dinner table Jordan waxed bitter. “I see that you mean to coddle the brat,” he said, helping himself liberally from the platter of well-done roast beef Moffatt held for him. Margaret, noting the color of the meat, made a mental notation to speak to Mrs. Moffatt. Though she had said nothing before now, it was clear to her that the cook had forgotten over the years that she and Lady Celeste preferred their beef rare. When Moffatt had served the other two women and moved toward her, Margaret shook her head, serving herself from a bowl of broccoli in cheese sauce that Archer held at her right hand instead. As she replaced the spoon in the bowl, she realized that Jordan was repeating her name in an impatient tone.

She looked across the table at him. “Are you still annoyed, Jordan? You will achieve little by berating me, you know. Until Parliament grants your petition—if indeed the Lords see fit to do so—you have no right to maul Timothy about. And whether the petition is granted or not, you will still have no authority over me. This is my home. You can scarcely order me to leave it.”

“To be sure,” he returned hastily, his cheeks flushing, “I have no intention of doing such a thing. That is …Will you not be returning to Vienna?”

She favored him with a thin smile. “No, Jordan, I will not. Grandpapa very kindly invited me to visit him when it suited me to do so, and I have taken full advantage of his hospitality for nearly three years, but I have no wish to return.”

Lady Annis sniffed. “I don’t say you are not welcome in your own home, Margaret, for I am sure that is a thought far from my mind; however, I hope you do not expect me to play the part of companion or”—she shuddered dramatically—“chaperone. I should think you might have recognized by now that my health must prevent my playing such a role. And it would not be at all suitable for you to remain under this roof with just Timothy and Jordan if I were forced to repair to one of the watering spots for the benefit of my health, you know.”

“I am not yet underground, Annis,” Lady Celeste said tartly. “Margaret knows that she can depend upon me to remain with her.”

Margaret laughed at the look of dismay on Lady Annis’s face, but she spoke as if to Lady Celeste. “Yes, of course, I know I can depend upon you, ma’am. That was all settled before ever we left Vienna. For you must know, Annis, that Aunt Celeste agrees with you that I must not be left to my own devices, though despite what both of you believe to the contrary, I am quite capable of looking after myself, and Timothy, too, if that were necessary.”

“But, surely, Sir Harold has need of your services in Vienna, Celeste,” Lady Annis said, her voice rising into a whine. “Whatever will he do without you? He must be feeling quite bereft.”

“Fustian,” retorted the old lady. “Harold put off his short pants long ago and is perfectly well able to take care of himself. He has an excellent housekeeper, and if he finds himself in dire need of a hostess, he’s certainly young enough to take a second wife. We rub along together tolerably well, but he won’t demand my return when he knows Margaret has need of me.”

“I had forgotten that he is several years younger than you are,” Lady Annis said with what Margaret felt was pure maliciousness. “No doubt he believes it would not be good for you to make that long journey again at your advanced age.”

Lady Celeste’s bright-blue eyes snapped, but she smiled sweetly. “One must show gratitude where gratitude is due, and that was kind of you, Annis. I am persuaded that that is quite the first time you have put yourself to the effort of considering someone else’s health. I must be flattered indeed that you have selected mine for the exercise.”