“It’s much larger and grander than I expected. Calling it a ‘cottage’ is rather like referring to a ship as a rowboat.”
“Perhaps. But the surroundings, the friendly atmosphere, and less formal ways here lend the house a coziness that belies it size. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.”
He turned, and his gaze drifted over her lovely profile. The soft curve of her pale cheek, the gentle line of her jaw. The slight upward tilt of her nose. The lush fullness of her mouth. Falling in love the moment you see something… yes, I know exactly how that feels.
“Buying this property, where Spencer has easy and private access to the healing warm water springs on the grounds was the one generous gesture Bickley extended to his son.” She spoke softly, her voice utterly devoid of expression. She turned to face him, and he was struck by how her eyes had gone flat. Damn it all, he wanted to erase all the shadows the years of her unhappy marriage had cast upon her.
“Of course, as everyone knows, Bickley’s true reason for the purchase was simply to install Spencer-and me-far away, where he wouldn’t have to see, or be seen with, his imperfect son. Or the woman who had, in his words, foisted that son upon him.”
Because of his close friendship with Philip, Andrew was well aware of what a selfish, unfeeling, indifferent bastard Lady Catherine’s husband had turned out to be to his warm, vibrant wife, and what a poor excuse of a father for a boy who desperately needed one. He barely refrained from saying I would have liked nothing more than five minutes alone with that bastard you married. Instead, he said, “I’m very sorry your marriage was not a happy one.
“As am I. It began with great promise, but after Spencer’s birth…” Her voice trailed off, and for several seconds her eyes filled with the shadows that clearly haunted her still. His fingers itched with the need to reach out and touch her. To smooth away her hurts. To soothe and comfort her as the mere thought of her comforted him.
Before he could move, however, she gathered herself and smiled. “But that’s all in the past,” she said. “Spencer and I love Little Longstone. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”
“I’m certain I shall.”
“And you must make use of the warm springs while you’re here. They are very therapeutic. I’m looking forward to taking the waters myself to ease the stiffness in my upper arm.”
Andrew swallowed the apprehension that rose in his throat. He didn’t relish the prospect of spending time near the water. In the water was out of the question.
He was saved from replying as the carriage jerked to a halt, signaling they’d arrived.
“Before we alight,” she said, her voice low and her words coming fast, “I have a request. I would appreciate it if you did not mention last night’s incident to Spencer. I don’t wish to alarm him.”
Andrew could not hide his surprise. “Surely he will see that you are injured.”
“My sleeve hides the bandage.”
“What about your lip?”
“ ‘Tis hardly swollen at all. I’m certain he won’t notice.”
“But if he does?”
“I shall tell him I bit it, which is the truth.”
“Perhaps, but it is misleading nonetheless.”
“I would rather gently mislead him than worry him.”
The door opened, revealing a formally garbed footman who extended his hand to help Lady Catherine alight, thus ending the conversation. It was just as well since Andrew suspected any further comment on his part might have led to another argument. “Arguments are not conducive to successful courting,” he muttered.
“What did you say, Mr. Stanton?” Poised in the carriage door, her hand resting upon the footman’s, Lady Catherine looked at Andrew over her shoulder with a questioning gaze.
“Er, that I’m, ah, effusive at the prospect of, um, cavorting.” Good God, he sounded like an ass. Also not conducive to successful courting.
“Cavorting?”
“Yes. In the therapeutic warm waters.” He prayed his skin didn’t go pale just saying the words.
“Ah.” Her expression cleared, but still bore remnants that hinted she hadn’t entirely abandoned the notion that he might be a bit of a dolt.
Also not conducive to successful courting.
After exiting the carriage, Andrew took a moment to look about while Lady Catherine directed the footman regarding their luggage. The drive was shaded by massive elms, sunlight spotting the gravel as it broke through the canopy of leaves. He pulled in a deep breath. The scents of late summer filled his head with a pleasing mixture redolent of grass and sun-warmed earth, and a pungent hint of hay that indicated stables nearby. Closing his eyes, he allowed an image to flicker to life, a glimmer of long ago when he’d enjoyed life in a place similar to this. Yet, as always when he permitted himself a glimpse into the past, the darkness quickly shrouded those fleeting happy memories, blanketing them with the shadow of guilt and shame. Of loss, regret, and self-condemnation. He opened his eyes and blinked away his previous life. It was dead and gone. Literally.
He turned and stilled when he noted Lady Catherine watching him with a questioning look. “Are you all right?” she asked.
As he had countless times before, he settled his painful memories and guilt deep in his heart, where they could not be seen, and showed an outward smile. “I’m fine. Just enjoying being outdoors after that long journey. And looking forward to seeing your son.”
“I’m certain you won’t have long to wait.” As if on cue, the double oak doors leading into the house swung open, revealing a young man casually dressed in fawn breeches and a plain white shirt. He smiled and waved, calling out, “Welcome home, Mum!”
Spencer awkwardly made his way forward and Andrew’s gaze was drawn to the boy’s club foot. His heart pinched in sympathy for what the lad must suffer on a daily basis, not only from the physical discomfort, but the inner pain of being viewed as different. Flawed. His jaw tightened, knowing that a big part of the reason Lady Catherine and Spencer lived in Little Longstone was because of the cruelty and rejection the boy had experienced in London. Andrew well recalled the awkwardness of that age, nearly twelve years old, teetering on the brink of manhood. It had been difficult enough without the added burden of an infirmity.
Spencer was met midway down the path by his mother, who enveloped him in a hug which the boy returned with unabashed enthusiasm. A wave of something that felt like envy rippled through Andrew at the warm display of affection. He had no memory of what it was to be wrapped in a mother’s embrace, as his own mother had died bringing him into the world. Spencer was nearly as tall as his mother, Andrew noted, and the lad appeared surprisingly broad-shouldered, while his gangly arms indicated he still had a lot of growing to do. He bore a striking resemblance to Lady Catherine, having inherited her chestnut hair and golden brown eyes.
Mother and son drew apart, and with a laugh Lady Catherine reached up-with her uninjured arm, Andrew noted-and ruffled Spencer’s thick hair. “You’re still damp,” she said. “How was your visit to the springs?”
“Excellent.” He frowned and leaned closer. “What happened to your lip?”
“I accidentally bit it. Nothing to worry about.”
The frown cleared. “How was Grandfather’s birthday party?”
“It was… eventful. And I’ve brought the most wonderful surprise.” She nodded toward the rear of the carriage, where Andrew stood.
Spencer’s gaze shifted, and when he caught sight of Andrew, his eyes widened. “I say, is that you, Mr. Stanton?”
“Yes.” Andrew joined the duo and held out his hand to the young man. “Very nice to see you again, Spencer.”
“Likewise.”
“Mr. Stanton kindly consented to escort me home, and has agreed to remain on for a visit. He’s promised to regale us with stories of his adventures with your uncle Philip.”