Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) (5 page)

“Arthur,” his mother murmured.

It seemed he had rescued Pennington’s grandson.

Lady Castleton knelt. Heedless of her cream-coloured poplin morning gown becoming dirty, she clasped Arthur in her arms and muttered endearments.

‘Lady Castleton, I assure you he will recover without any ill-effects,’ Dominic informed her, as he admired her flawless complexion, straight nose and pretty mouth which he wanted to kiss. He gave himself a mental shake. Damn it, he was thirty years-old not a callow youth to be stirred by a beauty. Not a classic beauty, but a lady with an exceptionally attractive appearance and manner.

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ Harriet murmured, most of her attention understandably devoted to her son.

“I presume you are Lady Castleton,” he repeated, for the want of anything better to say because, unexpectedly, he was almost tongue-tied.

“Yes, I am.” She glanced at Jane. “Dry your eyes and blow your nose, then go and lay out Arthur’s nightgown. Order a hot posset and prepare a bath.” She kissed the top of Arthur’s head. “My precious boy, thank God you are safe.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “But you have been very naughty. Your grandfather told you not to go swimming until he finds someone to teach you.”

Arthur lay limp in his mother’s arms, his head against her breast. “I am sorry, Mamma.”

“Yes, I daresay you are, but you must promise me to be obedient in future.”

“I promise, Mamma.”

With amusement, Dominic noticed Lord Castleton cross his fingers behind his back to negate the promise. He did not comment for, in childhood, he had employed the same deceit. Maybe, his conscience claimed, he should reprimand the child. As a gentleman guilty of many boyhood misdemeanours, he refrained.

“Can you stand, Arthur? Are you able to walk back to the house? Should I summon a footman to carry you?” his mother asked.

“I am not a baby. Course I can get up and walk.”

Arthur stood, a little unsteady until he found his balance.

In spite of the heat from the fierce sun, Dominic shivered. “With your permission, my lady.” He stood and pulled off his sopping wet riding coat, conscious of water dripping from his hair over his forehead and also down the back of his neck.

Lady Castleton rose to her feet. As though she saw him for the first time, wide-eyed she looked at him. seeming to pierce through his façade to his heart.

Although he was not in the habit of making whimsical conjectures, the notion she was fey entered Dominic’s mind, and heightened his impression of a fairy-like being

* * *

Overwhelmed by the stranger, who saved Arthur from certain death, Harriet scrutinised the black curls, which flopped over his forehead like a bull’s poll.  She admired his strong features in an oval face with dimples on either side of a well-shaped mouth, jade green eyes and a slightly sun-tinged complexion. To judge by the quality of his clothes, he was a gentleman. She blushed as she observed his water soaked waistcoat, shirt and pantaloons that clung to him, emphasising his tall, muscular figure.

Arthur clutched her hand. “Mamma, I am cold.”

Should she remove his jacket and trousers or wait until they returned to the nursery to undress him?

Her son swayed.

“Allow me.” The gentleman stooped to pick up Arthur.

Harriet smiled when Arthur snuggled against the stranger’s broad chest like a fledgling in a safe nest.

Where were her wits? With regard to the gentleman, she only knew he did not hesitate to brave the lake and rescue Arthur. Moreover, he brought her boy’s limp figure back to life by thumping him on the back. And he was handsome. Too handsome! His good looks spelt danger for unwary females. No gentleman had the right to possess such glorious eyes with the slightest hint of the devil in them.  Harriet’s cheeks burned. Her thoughts betrayed her beloved Edgar, whom she missed every day of her life. Whilst they neared the mansion, for the second time she asked herself where her wits were and gathered them. “Other than being my good angel, I don’t know who you are, sir?”

“My name is Dominic Markham. I am the rector of Saint Michael and All Saints in the nearby parish of Queen’s Langley,” the clergyman explained, at the moment when the earl emerged from the front door.

Followed by a flock of servants, the old man hurried down one of the double flights of marble stairs. He glared at her. “I knew you are not fit to be trusted with my grandson.”

She squared her shoulders. “You, sir, do not deserve to have one. Arthur nearly drowned. Due to your habit of granting his every wish, he could not accept your refusal to allow him to swim in the lake. Your pride in what you term his “pluck” has resulted in an ill-mannered child, who has tantrums when he is thwarted.” She paused to take a deep breath before she continued. “To make matters even worse, your insistence that you don’t wish him to be punished because you do not want his spirit to be broken nearly caused his death.”

“Later, you will regret your thoughtless words.” Pennington patted her on the shoulder. “My child, as an upstanding Christian gentleman I forgive your foolishness. I understand you are overwrought due to Arthur’s escape from the Grim Reaper. You need a restorative to calm your natural sensibilities. I suggest you seek repose in your apartment.” He turned his head to face the rector. “You are, if I am not mistaken, Mister Markham, the Earl of Faucon’s younger son.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Judging by your wet hair, you saved my grandson, so I shall always be in your debt. You are welcome. Come indoors. You must change out of those drenched clothes and-”

Arthur squirmed. “I want Bessie.”

Mister Markham set the child on his feet.

Pennington beckoned to a footman. “Take Lord Castleton to the nursery and-”

Harriet shook her head. “No, I shall take him.”

Arthur burst into tears. “I want Bessie.”

“Don’t blubber like a baby,” Pennington ordered. “Bessie is in jail because she stole your silver mug.”

Arthur pressed his face against the damp, soiled skirt of her gown. “Mamma, please tell Grandpapa to bring Bessie back. She did not steal the mug. I hid it after she told me I could not drink my milk from it because I threw the mug at her.”

Pennington knelt with the agility of a much younger man. “Come here, sir. You are too old to clutch your mother’s gown. It was wrong of Bessie not to allow you to drink from your mug, but since she did not steal it, Bessie may return to look after you.”

Once more the earl’s deceptively gentle smile appeared. Not a word of reproof from him to Arthur for the consequences of his lie. Furious, Harriet turned her attention to Mister Markham, whose frown expressed his silent disapproval of Pennington. Too angry to speak to her father-in-law, she clasped her boy’s hand. “Come, Arthur, you must change into dry clothes.”

“Yes, yes,” Pennington agreed, as though God gave him the right to decide what was best for her son. “And you, Mister Markham,” he continued, “must strip off.” He frowned. “I am sadly lacking in hospitality. Some brandy to warm you, a hot bath and a change of clothes; though I doubt I have any which will fit you. Even if it will be a little short, I suggest you wear one of my banyans. I shall instruct my valet to attend to you. In the meantime, I will send a servant goes to the rectory to collect a change of clothes for you.”

“Thank you, my lord, and perhaps you would be good enough to send an order for a groom to stable my mare, if she has not made her way back to her own stable at the rectory.” He looked down at his stockinged feet. “Maybe one of your footmen could collect my boots, coat and my riding crop from the riverbank.”

* * *

The earl sat at his desk in the library writing a letter, in which he withdrew the charge against Bessie and gave instructions for her release.

His letter finished, he sprinkled sand on it to dry the ink. After he shook off the particles, he folded the message and sealed it.

To please Arthur, he would send a carriage to return the nurse to the abbey. His heart softened somewhat, while he thought of his handsome, mettlesome grandson. In his opinion, Arthur was too young to be punished for the mischief that resulted in Bessie’s arrest.

Curse Lady Castleton! He only tolerated her because she was his heir’s mother. If Edgar had not married her she would have been an insignificant young woman, unworthy of his notice. How dare the upstart speak to him with a total lack of moderation? It was unpardonable of her to accuse him of responsibility for a small child’s natural indignation and understandable tantrums. Well, he would not put up with her interference in how he chose to bring up Arthur. What right did the under bred-granddaughter of a mere baronet and a squire have to criticise him? He must be done with her. It should not be difficult to rid himself of a friendless widow.

Chapter Five

Dominic held out his card to Pennington’s dignified butler. “If Lady Castleton is at home, please give this to her, and inform her I have come to enquire after her son. I hope Lord Castleton has suffered no ill effects after his misadventure.”

“Thank you, sir, Lord Castleton has almost recovered.” The butler accepted Dominic’s pasteboard card. “I shall ask if she is able to receive you.”

“Thank you, er-”

The butler inclined his head. “Jarvis, sir.” He gestured to one of the arched doors in the circular hall, which contained many gothic features. “This way, sir.”

Dominic crossed the floor admiring the lancet windows fitted with stained glass, which spilled rainbow colours onto the pale grey flagstones. He paused to observe the realistic portrayal of St George, one of his childhood heroes, slaying a fearsome, grass-green dragon that belched flames.

“Through here sir.” Jarvis opened one of the doors.

Dominic did not have long to wait before the butler returned. “Her ladyship will receive you.”

Since his first encounter with Lady Castleton, Dominic could not dismiss her from his mind. The vibrant blue of her large, expressive eyes fascinated him. Her rosebud mouth still tempted him to kiss it. In self-reproof he shook his head. Unworthy thoughts for a rector with an unsullied reputation. Yet, holy orders were thrust upon him. Without a calling to the church, he was as vulnerable as any other bachelor appreciative of a lady’s neat figure.

He was tempted to laugh because he had escaped the machinations of so many young ladies, who would not refuse an offer of marriage from him, only to fall victim to a lady whose beauty seemed otherworldly. Curse his romantic streak, which still attached him to fairy tales and legends – stories of Tristan and Isolde, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, amongst others, which Morwenna, his romantic Cornish mother, had told him when he was a child.

A footman opened another door before Dominic could complete his thoughts. He stepped into a spacious drawing room with a large stone fireplace and a high ceiling, from which four chandeliers hung at regular intervals. Bathed in sunlight streaming in through the windows, Lady Castleton stood, attractive in a high-necked, pale blue morning gown, and a fetching lace trimmed, beribboned cornette, which only allowed a glimpse of her abundant hair. Hands outstretched she walked gracefully towards him.

Dominic ignored another impulse to sweep her into his arms and kiss her delectable mouth.

“Mister Markham, I am pleased to see you. Had you not called on me, I would have waited on you after Arthur has recovered to thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Dominic bowed, aware that he must not reveal even a hint of desire for the lady. He straightened his back. “Lord Castleton is ill?” he asked, concerned for the child.

“He is a little feverish, and has worn himself out with tears because he wants his former nurse.”

“I am sorry to hear he is unwell. I presume it is the result of his unfortunate escapade.”

“Yes.” Lady Castleton frowned. “More than an escapade! Arthur deserves to be punished for his disobedience after his grandfather forbade him to swim in the lake, and for his lie regarding poor Bessie, which resulted in her imprisonment.” She fingered the end of one of the white satin ribbons that fastened the cornette in a coquettish bow under her chin. “However, my son is only four and a half years-old. He does not understand the serious consequences of his lie.” 

She pressed a hand over her heart. “Perhaps you will consider me incredibly foolish to reprimand my son instead of beating him.” Her blue eyes gazed mistily at him. “Even when Arthur misbehaves I cannot force myself to hurt him.”

Recalled to his duty towards Bessie Cooper, Dominic opened his mouth to speak, but Lady Castleton spoke first.

“Forgive me, sir.” When she squared her shoulders and composed her face in severe lines, it appeared she tried to suppress her maternal sensibilities. “How I bring up my son cannot be of interest to you. If my father-in-law were present, he might tell you I lack social graces. I should have invited you to take a seat and offered you a glass of wine.” She beckoned to one of the footmen, who stood on either side of the door. “A glass of madeira, Mister Markham?”

“Yes please.

“Madeira for the rector, ratafia for me, and some caraway seed biscuits.” Lady Castleton ordered a footman.

“Mister Markham, shall we sit by the window? It affords a splendid view of the knot garden.” Lady Castleton shivered. “Never again will I be able to look out at the lake in which my son might have drowned. No words could ever be sufficient to thank you.” Her lips quivered. “Not every gentleman would have plunged in at the risk of his own life.”