Free Christian Regency Romantic Suspense
This post is part of my serialized novel, The Spinster’s Christmas.If you’re new, you can begin with the summary and complete chapter list on the Intro Page.
Chapter 3
For the better part of the last ten minutes, Gerard had been staring up Cecil’s hairy nostril. It was most unpleasant, but Cecil had kept his nose upturned during their entire discussion here in the library, which had taken place directly after dinner. Gerard wondered that Cecil didn’t get a crick in his neck from looking down at all the world. Or perhaps Cecil simply had extraordinarily large nostrils.
“I assure you it is no hardship for Eleanor to continue her stay here,” Sir Cecil said, playing with a pretentiously large silver paperweight upon his desk. “She is firmly fixed in our home. Indeed, the entire neighborhood is aware of it and approves.”
Ah, now Gerard understood. Cecil would never admit it, but he did not want it known that he had “cast out“ a little girl dependent upon him, especially because he obviously had the means to continue to keep her. It might reflect poorly upon his reputation, which was not otherwise known for its generosity.
“Surely you would not object to such a small sacrifice on your part for my mother’s health and happiness?” Gerard asked.
Cecil blinked rapidly, unable to think of a suitable response.
Gerard’s father turned to Mr. Belmoore, Ellie’s grandfather, who sat in an overstuffed chair. “Mary has always loved children, and they love her. She has always wanted a girl.”
“In addition to her most excellent son,” Gerard added with a grin. Mr. Belmoore returned it, but Cecil sniffed.
“We have the added advantage of more children Ellie’s age in our neighborhood than there are around Wintrell Hall,” Gerard’s father said.
Seeing Cecil’s brows draw low, Gerard added, “I assure you they are all of good family.”
Cecil said nothing, obviously thinking better of calling the statement into question because it would be insulting to Gerard’s father.
“Cecil, you recall I expressed some concern on that head a few months ago,” Mr. Belmoore said to his nephew. “John is perfectly right. Ellie would have more playmates if she were to go with him. She has been lonely and of low spirits since her mother died.” Mr. Belmoore reached over to clap Gerard on the shoulder. “My only real concern, dear boy, is your health.”
“I’m strong as an ox. Don’t let the cane fool you. Come, I’ll wrestle you, and you’ll see.”
Mr. Belmoore laughed. “I don’t doubt your enthusiasm, but I simply wish to be assured that you are recovered enough to have a lively young girl underfoot.”
“I have improved considerably, or I would not have put forward this scheme.”
“Are you … completely recovered?” Mr. Belmoore asked.
Gerard knew what he was asking. “The doctor tells me that I shall walk with this cane for many months yet, perhaps years. But a full recovery is entirely within my grasp.”
“Years?” Cecil said. “And what manner of accidents may befall a child? That cane is downright dangerous.”
“I hardly intend to bat at her like a cricket pitch,” Gerard protested.
“No one is accusing you of anything of the sort,” Mr. Belmoore said, “but Gerard, I speak from experience when I say that a young girl Ellie’s age can be dangerously unpredictable, especially for a man with difficulties getting about.” He took his walking stick from where it leaned against his chair and tapped his left foot. “My gout has its good and bad days, but after Edmund died in action and Beth and Ellie came to stay with me, I had any number of accidents. Ellie likes to run, and will often run into things like legs, even when she does not intend to do so.”
Yes, Gerard had seen Ellie running about earlier this evening before their dinner in the nursery, darting here and there. She and the other children had not sat down to behave themselves until Miranda had arrived in the room half an hour later, restoring order.
But he disliked the caution in Mr. Belmoore’s tone. Gerard was a sailor who had fought, and he’d had enough of being treated like a porcelain figurine or a gouty old man. “I assure you, sir, I will have no difficulties with Ellie. I quite look forward to playing with her.” The memory of the nursery also reminded him of his promise to Miranda, and he turned to his father. “Sir, I have not had opportunity to speak to you of this, but I thought we might take Miranda with us, if only for a few months, to assist Mother with Ellie.”
His father looked thoughtful. “That may be a good plan, although you will need to persuade your mother. And obtain Cecil’s permission, naturally.” He inclined his head toward Cecil.
Cecil frowned. “It matters not to me what happens to Miranda.”
His tone made Gerard’s teeth grind together.
Cecil continued, “However, Felicity had hoped to send the girl to her cousin’s home after Twelfth Night. They have lost yet another nursery-maid.”
Gerard had expected Cecil to object to losing his unpaid servant, but this unexpected need of his wife’s close relation would perhaps take precedence over Gerard’s family.
“Cecil, you must order your household as you think best,” Mr. Belmoore said. “As for Ellie, I have decided she will go to the Foremonts at the end of the Christmas celebrations.”
“Thank you, sir.” As Gerard shook Mr. Belmoore’s hand, he determined to spend every moment that he could playing with Ellie within sight of her grandfather, to show him that his injury was not affected in the slightest by having a child about. Regardless, he would need Ellie to become accustomed to him. She had been shy when he’d introduced himself in the nursery earlier.
He desperately hoped that having Ellie’s company would improve his mother’s temperament, which was wearing on both himself and his father. He had brought such difficulties to them because of his injury, and he only wanted to make his mother happy again.
They all returned to the drawing room. One of the cousins was pounding away at the pianoforte while some of the furniture at the far end of the room had been rearranged to clear space for a few couples to dance.
Gerard sank into a chair near his mother, while his father sat beside her on the sofa.
“All went as expected, my dear,” his father said to her. “Ellie shall come home with us when we leave.”
His mother gasped with delight and clasped her husband’s hands in her own. “How wonderful it will be to have Ellie with us. The house has been so gloomy lately.”
Gerard looked away, but found he was staring down at his injured leg. At the very least, Ellie would distract his mother from the task of nursing him, which she had come to resent more in the past few weeks.
“The village seamstress is not as skilled as Madame Fanchon in London, but Ellie must have a new wardrobe,” his mother said. “And perhaps we might refurbish the nursery. Yes, a trip to Bath would be of utmost importance. Frilled curtains at the windows, a new table and set of chairs, a new canopy for her bed. Oh, there is so much to do.” She looked elated at the prospect.
“Mother, I wondered if we might bring Miranda with us, as well, to help with Ellie,” Gerard said.
Some of the annoyance crept back into her face. “Whyever would we do that?”
“Ellie has become very attached to Miranda, and she could serve as Ellie’s nursery-maid.”
“Ellie will soon become attached to me,” his mother said. “And we could hire a nursery-maid from the village.”
He should not have mentioned Ellie’s attachment, for it was making his mother defensive and possessive. “It is only for a few weeks, or a few months at most.”
“All the more reason for her not to stay with us,” she said. “Ellie will only miss Miranda the more when she leaves.”
“My dear, we only are thinking of your own comfort,” his father said.
“You needn’t be concerned about me,” his mother replied. “And I must say, John, that I am rather surprised that you would agree with Gerard in this. A penniless young woman, not related by blood, under our roof? It would be most improper.”
Heat crawled up Gerard’s neck and jaw. “I am in no danger from Miranda. We know each other too well.”
“You are not alleviating my concern,” she said.
“I don’t think Miranda has a heart to be captured by any man,” Gerard said. “She is still as quiet and self-controlled as ever she was as a child.”
“Your mother is correct, Gerard,” his father said. “A young woman under our roof …”
“If you are ill at ease, I will move to Foremont Lacy.” He had not seen his property, inherited from his grandmother, since he had come ashore. “I will soon be well enough that I can do with only a manservant.”
“But that is only …” His mother checked herself. “I am still unconvinced that it is necessary to bring Miranda with us.”
Gerard had not considered his marital prospects since becoming injured, but he now realized that nothing had prevented his mother from thinking of such things, especially now that he was living in his father’s house. And apparently, in his mother’s opinion, his residence at the neighboring farm of Foremont Lacy would still be too uncomfortably close to Foremont Court, should Miranda take up residence there.
His father’s look convinced Gerard to abandon the subject. “I would not distress you, madam.”
“Yes, your convalescence has been quite distressing enough,” she said peevishly.
He was rescued by the appearance of their evening tea, which also included an ornate silver punch bowl of wassail. However, on his way to get a cup of the Christmas drink, he was waylaid by Miss Church-Pratton, one of Felicity’s cousins.
“Now why were you men sequestered together for so long?” She gave a trilling laugh. “I had begun to fear you had abandoned us.”
“Business, I fear,” Gerard said politely.
“Oh, you mustn’t work during Christmastide.” She smiled, and dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Is not the company amusing enough?”
“Indeed.” She had been seated next to him at the dinner table, and while she spent a few scant minutes talking to her partner on her other side, she spent the rest of the time talking to him. About herself.
Even aside from that, Gerard was mistrustful of her smiles. He’d heard from Lady Wynwood, who obviously disliked Miss Church-Pratton, that she had broken her engagement earlier this year to an officer who had been wounded at Corunna. However, the season in London had not resulted in a second engagement, and Gerard could see that her charm had an edge of bitterness and desperation.
He had no intention of being her next matrimonial target. With his injury, he was in no condition to even consider a more distant future with any woman. He must concentrate on the most immediate needs, namely being able to discard his cane and to relieve the burden upon his parents.
It was a cowardly thing to do, but he simply grasped at the first idea that came to mind. He took a small glass of wassail from the maid serving the punch at a side table and then wobbled on his cane, spilling the drink on his waistcoat. The scent of wine, nutmeg, and apples grew stronger, and he felt the warmth as the hot beverage soaked through his shirt.
“Oh, dear!” Miss Church-Pratton fished out her handkerchief, a thin lawn square the size of a playing card, and swabbed at his chest.
Her hand seemed to be touching a larger area of his chest than the spill, and he hastily stepped away from her suspicious ministrations. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Church-Pratton. I must change my waistcoat before it stains.” He turned and left.
He thumped his way down the hallway. His bedroom was smaller than the bedrooms in the other wings, but it was close to the drawing room, just past the library and the ballroom. The carpet runner narrowed here, and he stumbled when the tip of his cane slid a few inches because it had touched down on the polished wooden floor rather than the rug.
He and his father were sharing a valet during the visit so that Cecil would not need to house an extra servant in his bursting household, but Gerard did not bother to call Maddox to assist him. His evening wear hung loosely on his frame since his returned home, and he had become used to dressing himself while on board ship. He easily shrugged out of his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, although the clean shirt he pulled on was not quite as creaseless as Maddox would have wanted. Gerard pulled out the first waistcoat he saw, which was striped in grey and blue and perhaps more suited to morning wear, but the cravat he tied was unexceptionable, if not overly elaborate.
He made his way out of his room, but he could faintly hear a woman’s voice, shrill with displeasure. At first it sounded like Miss Church-Pratton, but then he realized it was Felicity. A low man’s voice answered her—Cecil. The voices came from the library door, open a crack, and it was obvious they were arguing.
“Things take her twice as long as anyone else,” Felicity said. “Or she does something completely ridiculous. Last week, the governess was ill so she was supposed to take over Ellie’s instruction. Instead, she took her skating on the pond. She said it was to teach her mathematics!”
He couldn’t be certain, but he thought they might be speaking of Miranda. She had always had an unconventional way of thinking of the world, which had made her a delightful playmate when they were children. She was also the type of person who was patient no matter what the task.
The library was far enough from the drawing room that no one there would hear them, but Gerard’s room was closer. He began thumping along as quickly as possible, hoping neither of the angry couple would suddenly storm out of the library and see him skulking like a thief. The distance to the drawing room seemed like a mile.
“She’s impossible,” Felicity hissed. “She does it on purpose to upset me.”
“I hardly think she does it on purpose,” Cecil said. “She’s always been like that, a bit touched in the head.”
“Well then, I don’t want a madwoman in my home. I shall be heartily glad when she goes to my cousin Polly’s house.”
Gerard moved to the far side of the hallway as he passed the library door. Calling Miranda a madwoman was a bit much, even for Felicity’s spiteful nature. Miranda had always been unique, uncaring of what others thought of her, comfortable in who she was and unapologetic about it. But perhaps in Felicity’s mind, the fact that Miranda wouldn’t scurry to obey her every command would seem like the actions of a madwoman.
Suddenly his cane again landed on the wooden floor, a good foot of which lay between the edge of the carpet runner and the wall. This time, the tip slid quickly. His knee twisted at the sudden loss of support. A sharp pain sliced up his leg. He didn’t feel the impact as he hit the floor, just saw the carpet runner rise up to meet him. As he lay there, he panted heavily and screwed his eyes shut, focusing on pushing past the pain in his knee so he wouldn’t faint. He could smell dust, mold, and the faintest hint of lemon polish.
He didn’t realize he had blocked out all sound until Cecil’s voice broke into the haze of pain.
“As to that, Mr. Foremont wanted her to go with Ellie, to help out for a few months.”
Gerard had to get out of this hallway. He couldn’t bear it if someone came along and saw him on the floor, or worse, if Cecil and Felicity left the library and realized he had fallen nearly across the threshold. He pushed at the floor, rising on his good knee. His entire leg was shaking.
“Absolutely not,” Felicity said. “Polly didn’t come this year because her youngest broke his leg and they lost yet another nursery-maid. She needs Miranda.”
“What your cousin needs is to learn how to keep her maids from quitting her service.”
“It is the best solution for us to loan Miranda to Polly. Miranda cannot quit service.”
Gerard got to his feet and leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath. His heart pounded as if he’d run up ten flights of stairs. He continued toward the drawing room at a slower pace, his knee aching with each step.
But even more than the pain in his leg, he felt the burning of injustice and frustration in his gut. Miranda was little better than a slave in this household. He could not bear to see her so abused.
His only goal had been to become well in body, but oughtn’t he to exercise his conscience, as well? How could he stand to allow Cecil and Felicity to treat her so? Surely he could do more to convince his mother to change her mind.
There had been so many men, so many friends he had not been able to save during the war. Now that he was ashore, at the very least he could save one childhood friend.
Chapter 4
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