Читать книгу Family In The Making - Jo Brown Ann - Страница 10

Chapter Two

“Look! Look! Look!”

Maris smiled at the children as she selected one of the storybooks on the shelf in the Cothaire day nursery. It was their favorite book. She wanted to read it to them before their tea was brought up, along with four of the child-size cups that had survived falling off the shelf. Eight were usable, and two more were being glued together. The rest had smashed into too many pieces to try to repair.

Putting the book under her arm, she went to where Gil and Bertie pointed out the window overlooking the harbor. She knelt on the padded bench there and shaded her eyes as she scanned the waves, which glittered like dozens of fabulous diamond necklaces.

“I see it,” she said, when she realized the little boys were gesturing toward the sails of a ship far out near the horizon. Bertie was, by her estimation, at least four years old, while Gil probably had his third birthday not too long ago.

“Cap’s?”

Before she could answer Bertie, the three-year-old twin girls who had been playing with dolls by a large dollhouse repeated, “Cap?” They jumped to their feet and ran to the window. “Cap’s boat?”

“No,” Maris said, shifting to give Lulu and Molly, the twins, room to get on the bench. She hated dashing the children’s hopes. They missed Captain Nesbitt, who had rescued them from Porthlowen Harbor, but he was not due back for at least another fortnight.

“No Cap’s boat. No Cap for Wuwu.” Lulu’s lisp mixed with her mournful tone.

“But it is a pretty ship.” Maris stood to give the girls more room.

The four youngsters plus baby Joy kept her busy. On occasion, Toby, the sixth child from the jolly boat that had drifted into Porthlowen Harbor, came to play with the others. He was close to Bertie’s age. Parson Trelawney and his wife had offered to take the little boy the first night, when Toby and Bertie would not stop annoying each other. That temporary solution had become permanent...or permanent until the truth about the children could be uncovered.

Maris watched the children, who chatted excitedly about the ship and what might be on it and where it might be bound.

“Ship go bye-bye.” Lulu’s voice was sad.

“Bye-bye, ship,” echoed her twin.

Maris sat beside them and held out her arms. The children nestled next to her, and she drew them closer. Talking to them about the day they had toured Captain Nesbitt’s ship while it was being repaired in the harbor, she was glad to see their sweet smiles return.

Who had abandoned these children in a jolly boat that was ready to sink? If Captain Nesbitt and his first mate had failed to see them and come to their rescue, the children could have been dashed upon the rocks in the cove. Whose heart was so unfeeling? As she stroked the silken hair on their tiny heads, Maris wondered why someone had put them in that boat. The children were too young to explain, and every clue had led to a dead end.

“Shall we sing a song about a ship?” she asked, grateful that, no matter how they had come to Cothaire, they were safe.

The two boys began singing. The tune did not resemble the one she had taught them and half the words were wrong, but their enthusiasm was undeniable.

They broke off as footsteps came toward the nursery. Strong, assertive footsteps. The servants were quiet when they walked through the house. Maybe the parson was bringing Toby to play with the children.

Hushing them, Maris disentangled herself and eased out from among them. She brushed her hair toward her unflattering bun as she stood. She opened her mouth, but then realized the silhouette in the doorway was taller than the parson or his wife.

“Miss Oliver?” asked the Earl of Launceston’s older son. He stood as stiff as a soldier on parade.

“Lord Trelawney,” she squeaked, sounding as young as her charges.

What was he doing here, so soon after the mishap in the stillroom? In the weeks since her arrival at Cothaire, the viscount had never come to the nursery. Not that she had expected him to, because his duties lay elsewhere. Still, it had seemed odd, when everyone else in the family, including the earl, had stopped in once or twice to ask how the children fared.

Uneasiness tightened Maris’s stomach. Had the viscount come to dismiss her? She could have misread his concern for her well-being. She had been wrong about men before, terribly wrong.

Could it be almost a year ago when she had made her final visit to her friend Belinda, the daughter of an earl? Because Maris’s father was a country squire whose tiny estate bordered Lord Bellemore’s vast one in Somerset, the two girls had spent many hours together as children. As they grew older, they had less in common, but after Maris’s parents died, Belinda had invited her to stay. Her widowed father often needed another female to even the numbers at the table. Dear Belinda was oblivious to the disapproving glances in Maris’s direction, but Maris had been aware of each one from the earl’s other guests.

If she had not offered to get a familiar title from the earl’s book room to read her friend to sleep that evening...

Maris wrapped her arms around herself, holding herself together. It would be easy to fall apart whenever she thought of Lord Litchfield and what he had done. No! She was safe at Cothaire.

Or was she? The nursery was on the upper floor where few adults came. Lord Trelawney would know that she was alone.

Stop it! If you offend him by accusing him falsely, he will dismiss you without a recommendation to help you get another position. Not that she had been unable to solve that problem in getting her current position, but she might not find another household with such a need for a nurse that they gave the fake recommendation she had penned herself such a cursory examination. Familiar guilt at her lie pinched her, but she had been desperate.

“Some help, please,” Lord Trelawney said in his rich, baritone voice.

Astounded, she realized he carried Joy— awkwardly, as if he feared he might drop the infant at any moment. “I will take her. Thank you.”

Little Gil raced after her, crying with excitement, “My baby! My baby!” No one knew if Gil and Joy were actually brother and sister, but the little boy had laid claim to the baby after being rescued.

Maris calmed him and the other children, who clustered around her and the viscount. She held out her arms and repeated, “I will take her, my lord.”

“May I...?” He glanced at the children and cleared his throat. “May I come in?”

Every instinct urged her to say no, but she really had no choice. She put space between them, herding the children away from the doorway. They wanted to greet Lord Trelawney with the same enthusiasm they showed everyone, but she doubted the cool, composed man would welcome their curious questions or their fingerprints on his pristine black coat. As he came into the room, she stepped around the small table where the children ate. It was not much of a shield, but it was all she had.

You are being silly, that soft voice whispered in her mind. Lord Trelawney is not Lord Litchfield. He has never been anything but polite when he passed you in an empty hallway. And he did save you from injury earlier.

Maybe so, but she would not take the chance of being hurt by another man and then abandoned by those she thought she could depend on.

“Will you...?” He motioned with his head toward the baby.

“Certainly.” She left her scanty sanctuary and scooped Joy into her arms, then wrinkled her nose. “She is rather pungent, isn’t she?”

He glanced down at his sleeve where a damp spot warned that the napkin had leaked. “Yes.”

“I shall see that she is changed and fed, my lord. Thank you.” The nursery seemed oddly cramped with him in it. Or maybe it was because the children gripped her skirt, making it impossible for her to edge away again. “I assumed Lady Caroline would bring Joy to the nursery.”

“Yes, my sister seldom is parted from this baby. I hope...” He did not finish.

He did not need to, because Maris understood. Lady Caroline would be bereft when the baby’s parents were found.

“You look well, Miss Oliver,” he added.

She was startled, then realized he must be referring to what had occurred in the stillroom. “Thanks to you.” She lowered her eyes. “I hope your injury was minor.”

“How did you know?”

“We were standing close, and I felt you flinch as the debris flew about.”

He smiled. “’Tis a scratch.” He paused for so long that she thought he was done; then he said, “I appreciate you asking.”

Laying the baby on the higher table, where a stack of fresh napkins waited, Maris began to change Joy. She was aware of Lord Trelawney behind her, even though he was silent. After sending the children to play, she looked at him.

“Is there something else you need me to do, my lord?” she asked.

“’Tis my sister. She thought it was time that I visited the nursery and learned more about the children living here.”

“She did?” What a peculiar suggestion! In an upper-class home such as Cothaire, the children’s lives seldom intersected with their elders’. “Of course, you are always welcome.”

“She suggested that... That is, she thought you might guide me in getting to know the children better.” He glanced at where the twins were chasing the boys. “Next month, I will be spending time with a widowed acquaintance who has two children of her own, and Carrie thought if I learned about these children, I would have an easier time with meeting Gwendolyn’s.”

Maris put a clean napkin on the baby and pinned it in place. It would seem that Lord Trelawney had made his choice of a bride. She had heard the household staff discussing whom he might choose and how his new wife might change Cothaire. No doubt the widow’s name was being discussed in whispers in the servants’ hall.

Lifting little Joy from the table, Maris cradled her close to her heart. The baby’s mouth tasted the air, a sign that she wanted to nurse. Maris watched Lord Trelawney gaze down at the child. He lightly touched her soft hair, his expression unguarded for a moment.

Biting her lower lip, Maris said nothing. If she expressed how endearing it was to see the oh-so-correct viscount reveal a tender vulnerability, she might embarrass him. She did not move as he looked from the baby to the other children, his thoughts bare on his face. He was perplexed by them, but fascinated, too. Few strong men would reveal that, nor would they be concerned about the well-being of a servant who had caused an accident in the stillroom.

As he gently brushed the baby’s head, he looked up. His gaze caught Maris’s, no longer cool, but filled with emotions she could not interpret. Standing with the baby between them, she noticed, as she had not before, that darker navy rings encircled the pale blue of his eyes. She never had seen any like them. Her fingers tingled, and she had to fight to keep them from rising to curve along his cheek as she told him how sweet she found him to be with the baby. Being so bold might suggest she was the easy type of woman Lord Litchfield considered her.

That thought compelled Maris back a half step. “Lord Trelawney, we can discuss how you can get to know the children better once I take Joy to the wet nurse. She is waiting in the kitchen.”

His hand hung in the air now that Joy’s head was no longer beneath it. He lowered it. “I should go. I need to—”

The other children shrieked as they raced from one side of the room to the other, giggling.

“I will be but a moment.” Maris pointed to each child and spoke his or her name, before adding, “Children, this is Lord Trelawney. He is Lady Susanna’s older brother. Just like Parson Raymond.”

They smiled at him, but uneasily, then looked at her. Had they sensed, as she did, that he wished he were somewhere else? With a sigh, she suggested they go to the window to see what else they might spot outside. They clambered onto the window bench. She hoped they would remain distracted and well behaved until she returned.

She lowered her voice as she turned to the viscount. “Watch so they don’t get hurt. I shall be right back.” She hurried to the stairs leading down to the kitchen, before she laughed out loud at Lord Trelawney’s expression.

He had looked unnerved at her suggestion that he stay alone with the children. Could he truly have no experience with little ones? Lady Susanna was more than a decade younger than he was, so he must remember her as an infant and toddler. Then Maris remembered that Belinda’s brother had been sent away to school by the time he was ten. Most likely, Lord Trelawney had been attending boarding school when Lady Susanna was born.

In the kitchen, Maris handed Joy to the young woman who came from the village several times each day to nurse the baby.

Mrs. Ford looked up from stirring a bowl. “Miss Oliver, I cannot believe you left those young ones on their own upstairs. That is not like you.”

“I didn’t leave them alone,” she said.

“Lady Caroline has more important—”

“I did not leave them with Lady Caroline.”

She had the attention of everyone in the kitchen, and one of the maids blurted, “Then who?”

“Lord Trelawney.”

Gasps rushed around the kitchen, quieting when Mrs. Ford gave her staff a frown. Putting down the bowl, the cook wiped her hands on her apron as she walked over to where Maris stood with her foot on the first step of the nursery stairs.

Too low for anyone else to hear, the cook asked, “Is this a jest?”

“No.” Maris could trust Mrs. Ford, who had begun her service at Cothaire before Maris was born. “Lady Caroline suggested he get to know these children better before he meets the children of a lady named Gwendolyn next month.”

“Ah.” The cook smiled. “Thank God! Lord Trelawney is going courting.”

Maris put her finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

“You don’t need to shush me. I know how to keep my mouth shut about the family’s business, but this is good news, it is.” Sudden tears bloomed in the cook’s eyes. “It is high time for Lord Trelawney to take a bride and spend less time riding around the estate. He needs to be here for his father. The earl is not well, and it is important for him to see his heir’s heir.”

Maris nodded. She deeply missed her own parents, who had died when she was sixteen. Her one comfort was that she had had many wonderful days with them. Lord Trelawney had his duties, but those should include treasuring every moment he could with the earl.

“Do your best to help him, Miss Oliver, and you will have done this household a great service.” The cook returned to her task without waiting for an answer.

Maris went up the stairs, then paused on the landing near the day nursery door. If his intentions were to marry the lady named Gwendolyn, why had he gazed intently at Maris with those incredible eyes? Or had she read more into the moment than he intended? She was a poor judge of men; that much was for sure. She should not accuse Lord Trelawney of a misdeed when he might not be guilty. His attention might have been on Joy rather than on her. After all, she was the nurse, and he saw her as a useful tool to help him learn more about children.

Perhaps he might even be grateful and let her stay on at Cothaire. Even after the children’s pasts were uncovered, a nurse would be needed for Lord Trelawney’s children. That would mean Maris would be assured of a roof over her head and plenty of food for years to come. She had learned about the fear of hunger after her parents died, and the debts they had amassed in order to live at the edges of the ton had consumed the money from the estate’s sale. Only the generosity of her friend had enabled Maris to survive.

Equally as important, she would be invisible in the nursery, so she could avoid lecherous men like Lord Litchfield. While she did her best to assist Lord Trelawney, she would wisely make sure they were never alone. So far, he had been kind to her, but she would not be duped again.

A cry came from the nursery. Maris threw the door open and rushed in.

Lord Trelawney had not moved, but heaps of toys surrounded him. The poor man looked as lost as an explorer on an untouched shore. The children danced around him, singing of ships.

He glanced toward her as she came into the nursery. With relief, she noted.

“I am back, Moses,” she said with a laugh she could not silence.

“Moses?”

“Your expression reminded me of when Moses said, ‘I have been a stranger in a strange land.’”

The viscount’s brows arched, and the corner of his lips curved.

She looked away, shocked by her own words. To speak brazenly to him was unthinkable. As unthinkable as her quoting a passage from the Bible. Even though she had attended church since her arrival in Porthlowen, she had not prayed since she fled from her friend’s house after the attack. God had not heard her in the midst of the attack and sent someone to save her. Afterward, when Lord Litchfield threatened her with ruin and her friend’s family turned her out because they believed his lies that she had tried to seduce him, she wondered if He had ever listened to her.

She was saved from her own thoughts when the children ran to her, greeting her as if she had been gone for five days rather than five minutes. She hugged each one, but spoke to Lord Trelawney. “I assure you, my lord, that they do not bite, except each other occasionally, but we are working on that.”

“No bite,” Bertie said, as serious as a judge pronouncing a sentence.

She fluffed his hair, which was fairer than her own. “That is right.”

The viscount glanced toward the door, clearly eager to make his escape.

“My lord,” she continued, when he did not answer, “may I suggest you join the children and me on our walk tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Where?”

She hesitated. The obvious place was a section of the cove’s sandy shore. Many of the buildings in the village, including the parsonage, overlooked it. The nearby harbor always bustled with activity. There, she would never be alone with Lord Trelawney.

“Down to the water,” she said. “With their short legs, that journey is enough to tire them out long enough to sit still. While we are there, you can talk to them.”

“About what?” His full attention was on her.

“Whatever you or they have on their minds.”

“That should be interesting.” He bid her a good day and strode toward the hallway door.

Beside her, Lulu asked, “Is the big man coming back?”

“Yes.” And she must be prepared. She could not make another horrible mistake as she had with Lord Litchfield.

* * *

Arthur had half hoped that Miss Oliver would send him a note that neither she nor the children were going to visit the harbor. He could have used the time instead to encode a message to Gwendolyn and ask what was in the message she had sent to Cothaire. Either she had changed the code without alerting him, or she had made mistakes in writing the note. It made no sense other than a few random words.

Or had he made the mistakes? He had checked the message a second time and still it made no sense, but he admittedly was distracted. Miss Oliver kept popping into his mind. The shapeless apron she wore over her gray dress failed to hide her pleasing curves, and her smile lit her pretty face. He wondered why she made such an effort to appear drab.

As he walked across Cothaire’s entry hall, he warned himself to keep his mind on the task of getting to know the children, not their nurse. He had agreed to Carrie’s request, and he must do as he promised. And, he reminded himself, the outing would keep him from wondering about Gwendolyn’s odd message.

The breeze was brisk when Arthur emerged from the house. Lighthearted voices came from the left where the children surrounded Miss Oliver. They bounced in every direction like a handful of dropped coins, but Miss Oliver radiated calm. She answered their questions with an unwavering smile while she kept them from wandering away.

She wore a simple gray spencer and a bonnet of the same color that did not flatter her complexion. Her cheeks were brushed with a charming pink, and he could not keep from thinking of how his fingertips vibrated when they had curved around her slender waist as he pulled her out of the way of toppling boxes. The exotic jasmine scent from her hair clung to his senses, and he was curious if she wore it again today. Her deep green eyes twinkled as she reached behind her and pulled out a bag. The four children clamored to see what was in it.

When Arthur walked toward them, the younger boy noticed and raced toward him. The child stopped right in front of him. “Look! Ship!” He held up a tiny wooden ship for Arthur to see.

“Very nice,” he said.

“Go now!”

Miss Oliver took the little boy’s hand and drew him closer. “Forgive Gil, my lord. He is excited to sail his ship in the harbor.”

Arthur noticed that she did not meet his eyes, even when she spoke to him. Was she having second thoughts about helping him?

Bertie let out a shriek. The older boy’s tiny ship lay broken on the ground. It must have fallen out of his hand.

Arthur bent to collect the pieces and bumped into Miss Oliver when she did the same. A quiver, as if the earth beneath his feet trembled, rushed outward from where their hands touched. He jerked his back at the same time she did. Beneath her bonnet, her face flushed nearly to the shade of a soldier’s scarlet coat.

He was relieved when she turned away, because he did not want her to discover he was unsettled by the peculiar, fascinating sensation when his fingers grazed hers. Picking up the broken toy, he examined it. The children quieted while they waited to see what he would do or say. Balancing the tiny ship on his broad palm, he realigned the two cracked masts, then held it out to Bertie.

The little boy looked from him to the ship and back.

“I am no shipwright,” Miss Oliver said, “but I suspect it will float well, Bertie. Thank Lord Trelawney.”

Bertie mumbled something as he wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, then reached to take the boat.

Miss Oliver put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and asked, “Shall we go, my lord?”

He nodded. The sooner they went, the sooner he could return to write out his coded note.

As they walked down the hill toward the village, the children prattled with excitement. Miss Oliver seemed to understand everything they said, but to Arthur much of it sounded like the chatter of Indian monkeys as they all talked at once.

Miss Oliver glanced at him several times and arched her brows. He comprehended her silent question, but he had no idea how to jump into the babble. Perhaps he would do better if he spoke with one child at a time. There surely would be an opportunity when they reached the beach.

He glanced at the village as they passed its single street. It was quiet in the morning sunshine. One woman was hanging clothes near a stone cottage, and another was dumping out a bucket. Water ran between the cobbles on the steeper section that led down toward the harbor. A single word of caution from Miss Oliver kept the children from sticking fingers in the water as it rushed by.

At low tide, Porthlowen’s sandy beach was a few yards wide. It offered enough space for fishermen to pull their boats up onto the sand to work on them. Flat stretches of stone were visible where the water had pulled back. They would be invisible again once the tide came surging around the curved edges of the cove, where two sets of cliffs challenged even skilled navigators.

Arthur helped Miss Oliver take off the children’s shoes and socks. She piled them on the grass beyond the sand. Next, she tied a string connected to each tiny ship around a child’s wrist, so the toys would not be lost. As they ran to put their ships in the water, he was impressed how easily Miss Oliver managed to keep an eye on all her charges seemingly at the same time.

He walked to where the glistening blue water lapped against the shore. He should have been so cautious the year he turned sixteen. He had brought Susanna to the cove. She had been no older than the twins, and he old enough to know better than to turn his back even for a second. Yet he had, and his baby sister had almost drowned. When he realized she was gone, he had found her floating facedown in the water, and he thought she was dead. Desperate to get her breathing, he had put her over his shoulder like a baby being burped. A couple quick slaps to the back had made her vomit water, but she had begun breathing again and, in a few minutes, was fine.

But he had not been. His parents had trusted him to watch over Susanna. That was the last promise he had ever broken. He had learned his lesson that day about responsibility and God’s grace on young men who thought they knew everything.

A small hand tugged on his coat. In astonishment, he saw one of the twins had come over to him. He was not sure which one it was, because he could not tell them apart. She raised her dripping ship toward him.

“You boat?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, his throat tight as he forced the words out. “Yours.”

“Wuwu.”

“What?”

“She said her name is Lulu.” Miss Oliver joined them. “Her real name is Lucie, but we call her Lulu. She wants to know if you want to sail her ship.”

“Me?” He glanced from the child to the nurse, realizing that their eyes were almost the same color. Lulu’s were bright with innocence. Shadows clung to Miss Oliver’s, even when she smiled.

Sadness or some other emotion? He wanted to ask, but that was too personal a question.

“If you wish, my lord...” Miss Oliver’s gaze led his to the little girl, who patiently held up the boat.

He reached down. When the child grasped his hand as he took the wooden ship from hers, he was startled how small her fingers were. The last tiny hand he had held was Susanna’s...right on this shore that horrible day.

“In water,” Lulu said when he hesitated.

He motioned for her to lead the way, then asked Miss Oliver, “Are they always so bossy?”

“Always.” She smiled.

His lungs compressed, but he could not release his breath when her face shone as if she had swallowed sunlight. Her curls emphasized her high cheekbones, which were burnished by the breeze to a deeper pink. He was tempted to tell her to stop attempting to make herself look plain, because those efforts were futile and a waste of time.

“I had no idea that you were at the mercy of miniature despots,” he said, knowing he must not keep staring at her in silence.

“Fortunately, they are benevolent despots.” She laughed. “As long as they are fed on time, have plenty of toys to play with and can negotiate a few extra minutes before bed.” She stepped aside as he went with Lulu to the water’s edge. “Hold on to the string before you place the ship in the water. As you know, the currents are tricky here.”

Lulu confidently squatted and looked up, gesturing toward the sea. She could not understand why he was hesitating. The sight of a little girl at the water’s edge, unaware of the danger awaiting her if she went in too deeply, sliced into him like a fiery sword.

Maybe the whole of this outing was a mistake. He should excuse himself and return to Cothaire. Yet he had given Carrie his word that he would make an effort to get to know the children. These experiences would prove worthwhile if Gwendolyn really wanted him to marry her. He wished he could ask her, but doing so in a coded note was not the way.

Miss Oliver came to his rescue when she took the ship and placed it in the water. The toy bobbed on the waves. Rising, she glanced at him, then nodded toward Lulu before she went to check on the other three. She gently herded the children closer so they were within arm’s reach.

He looked down at the little girl in front of him. What should he say to her?

“Ask her the name of her ship,” Miss Oliver whispered.

He nodded, then paused so long that she repeated her instructions. He was tempted to fire back that he had heard her the first time. Instead, he asked, “What do you call your ship, Lulu?”

“Pony.”

“Why?”

“Pony pwances.” She smiled.

He took a moment to figure out the word her lisp distorted. “Ah, I see. A pony prances like your ship does.”

She did not answer as she drew the toy closer to her before letting it drift on the current again.

Miss Oliver edged closer, but kept watching her charges. “See? It isn’t hard to talk with children.” Suddenly she gasped and sped past him.

He turned to see Bertie chasing his boat’s string, which had come loose from his wrist. The child tried to grab the end, but the waves pulled it across the flat rocks toward deep water.

Arthur did not hesitate. He ran across the slick stones. His boots slid, but he kept going. Passing Miss Oliver, whose dreary bonnet bounced on her back, he heard her shout the child’s name.

So did the little boy. He turned and teetered on the edge of a rock.

She screamed.

Arthur threw himself toward the child, grabbing his arm. His right foot skidded as he pulled Bertie to him. A hot spear pierced his knee as he fell with the boy on top of him. Arthur’s breath burst out painfully.

Miss Oliver scooped the little boy off him and hugged him. “Bertie, you must not leave the shore.”

“Boat go.”

“We have others. Let it go. Maybe it will reach Cap’s ship.” She carried him to shore where the other children were watching, wide-eyed.

Arthur winced as he pushed himself up to sit. Every bone had jarred when he had twisted to keep from falling on the boy.

Miss Oliver rushed back to him. “Are you hurt, Lord Trelawney?” She ran her hands along one of his arms, then the other. When she started to do the same to his right leg, he grasped her arms and edged her away.

“I am fine.” He was struggling to think and did not need the distraction of her jasmine-scented curls caressing his cheek when she bent toward him.

His words must have been too sharp, because she rose and wiped her hands as if wanting to clean them of any contact with him. “I am pleased to hear that, my lord. Thank you for saving Bertie.”

By all that’s blue! He was making a muddle of everything, and he could not blame his rudeness on the pain blistering his leg. As she walked away, he pushed himself to his feet.

Or tried to.

Agony clamped around his right ankle and sent a new streak of fiery pain up to his knee. He collapsed with a choked gasp as he prayed, Lord, don’t let anything be broken. I need to continue the work I promised I would do in Cranny’s stead.

Miss Oliver whirled and ran to him. “You are hurt, my lord! Shall I go for help?”

“No. If I can...” He groaned as he tried to move his right leg.

“At least let me help you up.”

“You are too slight.”

She squatted beside him. “I am going to help you, whether you wish it or not. I do hope you will cooperate.”

She put her shoulder beneath his arm and levered him to his feet. He kept his right foot off the ground and balanced on his left. As he drew in a deep breath, it was flavored with the fragrance of jasmine, the perfect scent for her.

“Thank you, Miss Oliver. If you will release me—”

“Do you intend to hop to Cothaire?”

“No, the parsonage.” Once he reached there, his brother would help him return to the great house.

“You cannot hop that far, either.”

Pain honed his voice. “Miss Oliver, has anyone ever told you that you can be vexing?”

“Many times.” She motioned with her free arm toward the shore where the children waited. “Shall we go?”

He nodded, but groaned as he took a single step.

On the beach, Bertie cried, “Is—is—is he a bear?”

The children stared at him, scared. He must persuade the youngsters that he was no danger to them. What a mull he had made of the outing! He tried another step, then halted, realizing he had an even bigger problem. How would he be able to do his work as a courier if he could not walk?