Darius smiled. “Well done. You may.”
“Thanks for the bacon!” John dashed off, leaving the door to the breakfast parlor banging in his wake.
“What a delightful little boy,” Vivian said in the ensuing silence. “You must be very proud of him.”
“I am, and I’ll be just as proud of you if you finish your toast.”
“I told you I couldn’t possibly…”
He passed her a half slice, slathered with butter and jam. “It’s cold out, and you’ll need your sustenance.” He held it to her mouth, and her hand came up to cover his. She took a bite and sat back.
“Raspberry.” She munched away. “My favorite.”
“Let me guess.” Darius put the rest of the slice on her plate. “William prefers some bitter old marmalade, and you haven’t had raspberry jam since you married him.”
“Of course I’ve had it.” She picked up her toast. “At my sister’s I have it all the time. My brother-in-law knows I like it, so he keeps it on hand.”
“Your brother-in-law knows your favorite type of jam, but your husband does not,” Darius observed, pouring her another cup of tea. “Why aren’t I surprised?”
“What’s your favorite kind of jam?” Lady that she was, Vivian wasn’t going to argue with him, but Darius found it heartening she didn’t try to defend dear Lord Longstreet.
Darius added cream and sugar to her tea. “As of this moment, it’s raspberry.”
He switched their plates, finishing the last of her eggs without her permission as she enjoyed her toast and tea. When they’d made their way to the kitchen, Darius insisted on tying the fastenings of her cloak and winding a scarf around her neck.
“Bonnets might be fetching, but they aren’t warm, and they obscure a lady’s lovely face.”
“But this is your scarf,” Vivian protested as he led her across the back gardens.
“How can you tell?”
“It has your scent,” she said, then apparently realized what she’d admitted. “And what is your scent, by the way?”
“It’s Eastern and mixed to my order and used to scent my soaps, lotions, and linens, and that is one of the first things we’re going to address, Lady Vivian.”
She slipped her arm free of his. “Address?”
“You have been languishing in your husband’s care.” Darius opened the barn door for her. “It’s time you took yourself in hand.”
“I do not follow your meaning, Mr. Lindsey.”
“Take your dress.” Darius paused to remind John, gamboling ahead of them, not to run in the barn. “Who in his right mind made a dress out of that fabric?”
“It’s very practical.” Vivian glanced down at her skirts, expression puzzled. “I got a superior bargain on the entire bolt.”
“Because it’s the exact color of the results of a young bovine having intestinal distress,” Darius countered. “You should not be allowed in public in such a color, Vivian. Trust me on this.”
Her perfectly arched brows knitted. “Why should I trust you? You’re a man.”
“Who appreciates women with particular intensity. That dress is going to the maids, and you are going into the village with me, where we have a passable seamstress who no doubt is lacking for work this time of year.”
“You’re dressing me?” Vivian stopped, clearly bewildered at such a notion.
“And we’re going to find you a scent, play with your hair, experiment with cosmetics,” he went on. “And for God’s sake, why don’t you have a personal mount?”
“What are you going on about? I have as many horses to ride as I wish.”
Darius crossed the barn aisle to a loose box. “This is my personal mount. His name is Skunk, and he’s a good fellow.”
“Peculiar coloring.” Vivian held out a gloved hand to the horse whose black and white coat was reminiscent of a milch cow. The gelding left off eating his hay long enough to sniff delicately at her fingers.
“His plebeian coat pattern is why his steady disposition, perfect conformation, and good bone were overlooked,” Darius said. “He suits me and we get along and he’s my horse. Nobody else rides him, and he’s always available for me. You need a personal mount, a fetching steed who takes your welfare seriously and isn’t just anybody’s hack.”
He wasn’t merely talking about horses, and Vivian was astute enough to know it.
She held out her hand to John. “Introduce me to Hammond. And is that a cat I see?”
Darius watched as John explained in painful detail how he groomed his pony. Vivian asked the right questions, and was graciously granted a turn with the soft brush, while Darius wondered what it was he was feeling.
She was good with John, and that solved a looming problem in itself. A month was too long to send the child off with the servants, and yet, Vivian might have resented sharing the household with a bastard child, particularly given the point of her stay at Averett Hill. She didn’t resent John, just the opposite.
She’d be a good mother, which was part of what had Darius’s insides unsettled.
“Let me introduce you to Bernice,” Darius said, interrupting John’s chatter.
“She’s a mare,” John provided helpfully. “So you can ride her.”
Vivian gave the pony’s shaggy neck a final pat. “She’s to be my mount?”
“If you’d like,” Darius said. “She’s very gentle, but she’ll take care of you. She’s not… passive, like some horses are. She’ll think of your welfare.”
“You’ve ridden her?” Bernice was a good-sized dapple gray with big eyes and an inelegant pink nose.
“I have,” Darius said. “I wouldn’t put a guest, much less a lady, on a horse I couldn’t speak for personally.”
Vivian frowned at him then turned to the mare, stepping into the horse’s stall for a closer introduction. “She’s larger than the horses I usually ride.”
“You’re taller than many women,” Darius replied, fishing a piece of carrot out of his pocket and passing it to Vivian. “You need a horse in proportion to your seat and leg. I thought Bernice would fit you.”
“She has a kind eye.” Vivian fed the horse the carrot. “Wonderful manners.”
“Consider her your personal mount for the duration,” Darius said. “John will offer to walk her out for you, and if you don’t mind, I’d allow it.”
“She’s that docile?”
“He’s that comfortable with horses, and Bernice is a lady, or I wouldn’t have paired her up with you.”
“You’re flirting somehow.”
“Stating a fact,” he said, leading Vivian from the stall. “John, if you groom that pony any longer, he’s going to fall asleep. Get you back up to the house, and I’ll expect to hear at least three perfect Latin verbs at teatime.”
“Will Lady Vivian hear my Latin?”
“I will,” Vivian said, “and I will be on my extra good manners at tea if I know there are to be two gentlemen present.” She shot an arch look at Darius. “We can all be on probation together.”
“Capital!”
Vivian missed her husband. Missed the steady, dependable, boring routine of their life together. Missed knowing the answers before the questions were asked. She’d fallen asleep the night before, secure in the conviction that the next day she could explain to Mr. Lindsey that she’d choose Option B. William had said she could limit her dealings with the man to fifteen minutes at the end of the day, and Mr. Lindsey himself had acknowledged as much.
That way would be safer for everybody. Simpler.
But then… that child had joined them at breakfast, and Vivian’s heart had started beating harder in her chest.
Darius Lindsey loved that boy. He’d die for a child who had clearly been cast off by his parents as an embarrassment. And Vivian wanted to see more of the man who’d taken in the boy and raised him to be such a charming little gentleman. The difficulty was, the man who noticed that a child’s manners needed praising was also a man who’d noticed Vivian’s husband didn’t know her favorite jam.