Without waiting for the steps to be lowered, he jumped down, taking Jewel with him. She let out a little squeal. ‘‘What are you doing, Uncle Ford?’’
‘‘We’re going to walk from here. ’Tis not far.’’
‘‘In the rain? Mama says not to get cold and wet.
You could fall ill.’’ Her little forehead furrowed. ‘‘We could get measles.’’
‘‘Staying with Nurse Lydia could give you measles.
Besides, ’tis not cold. ’Tis summer.’’ Never mind that Jewel’s teeth were chattering. Surprised to find himself feeling protective, he held her closer. ‘‘Can you tell me Nurse Lydia’s surname?’’
‘‘Her what?’’
‘‘The part of her name that comes after Lydia.’’
Huge drops splotched his brown surcoat and dripped from the brim of his hat. He shifted the girl on his hip. ‘‘Like in your name, Chase comes after Jewel.’’
She only cocked her small head, which was rapidly becoming soaked.
Breathing deep for patience, he tried again. ‘‘Your name is Jewel Chase. Nurse Lydia’s name is . . . ?’’
‘‘Nurse Lydia. Two names, just like mine.’’
He rolled his eyes heavenward before turning to his coachman. ‘‘Spalding, take this woman to Woodlands Green and find her mother.’’ Woodlands Green was tiny—even without a surname, ’twas not an onerous request. ‘‘Lady Jewel and I have decided to walk home in this fine weather.’’
Setting his niece on her feet—where she promptly slipped in the mud—he wondered if things could get any worse.
Generally, Ford didn’t mind sleeping with women.
But this one had wiggled the entire night. When not literally on top of him, she’d been smacking him with an outflung arm. Her little toenails had left scratches in the vicinity of his knees.
‘‘Hey!’’ he growled as she managed to elbow him in the ribs for the dozenth time. He wondered what tool she used to hone the bone to such a point. ‘‘Lie still.’’
He heard a whimper and suppressed another groan.
Not the tears again!
Tears were what had landed Jewel in his bed in the first place. He’d breathed a sigh of relief after tucking her in last night, only to find himself awakened by her heartfelt sobs.
No wonder he’d decided to swear off women.
Of course, he couldn’t blame the girl—he’d gathered, between her hiccups and gulps, that last night had been the first she’d ever spent away from her parents or nursemaid. But if he’d had any doubts he wasn’t ready for marriage and fatherhood, they were gone now.
She sniffled, and he turned his head to see her heart-shaped face snuggled on the pillow beside him, her rosy cheeks still damp with tears. More tears threatened to spill from her emerald eyes.
He pushed the shiny black hair off her face, feeling her forehead. No fever, thankfully. That was the last thing either of them needed.
‘‘Ah, Jewel, baby. Come on. ’Tis morning, can you see?’’ He waved a hand toward the window, where yellow light shone through spaces between the crooked shutters. One more thing on his repair list.
At least it was no longer raining. So much for St.
Swithin.
‘‘We’ll have a pleasant day, you’ll see.’’ He would have to send a message to Colin, letting him know Jewel’s nurse had come down with the measles. His brother would send a replacement. Someone who knew the girl. Someone who knew what to do.
Did you think I’d expect you to care for her on your
own? God forbid.
No. Damned if he’d give his brother the satisfaction of seeing he was right not to trust him with his precious daughter. He and Jewel would manage, somehow. And next time, his family wouldn’t underestimate his abilities.
He turned back to her sad little face. ‘‘Come on, baby.’’
‘‘I’m not a baby.’’
‘‘Of course you’re not.’’ He hadn’t consciously used the endearment; it had just slipped out of his mouth.
‘‘If you stop crying, I’ll give you a shilling.’’
That did the trick. The tears ended, and she struggled to sit in his rumpled bed, apparently smarter than he’d given her credit for.
Thank God. A girl bright enough to be reasoned with. Never mind that his estate was in sad shape and he could ill afford to throw around bribes—he’d give her his entire meager savings if only she’d cooperate for the days they’d be together.
He stared at the canopy above him, wondering when his blue bed-hangings had faded to gray. And if the old ropes that supported the mattress would hold, since his niece was jumping up and down on it now, giving him an instant headache.
‘‘A shilling,’’ she chanted in a sing-song voice, timing her words to her bounces. ‘‘A shilling. Will you take me shopping?’’ she asked breathlessly.
Not yet six years old and already eager to shop, he thought with an inward smile. Where did girls learn this behavior? Was it in the chemical composition of a female? ‘‘There are no shops nearby, but if you’re good, after breakfast I’ll show you my sundial.’’
She bounced once again to land on her bottom, then sat there in her twisted white nightgown, looking dubious.
‘‘And later this week, I’ll take you to the village.’’
‘‘To shop?’’
‘‘Yes, to shop.’’ The way things were going, she ought to have amassed a small fortune by then. He rolled over and swung his legs off the side of the bed, rubbing his face.
‘‘Gads, Uncle Ford! I can see your knees!’’
Blinking, he cast a glance over his shoulder. ‘‘Have you not seen your father’s knees? And your brothers’?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ She giggled. ‘‘But they’re my family.’’
‘‘I’m your uncle.’’ He stood, grateful the shirt he was wearing covered him to midthigh, wondering if he should have left his breeches on, too. It had been years since he’d worn anything to sleep, but he supposed, for her sake, he’d have to keep himself clothed while she was here. He held little hope that she’d stay in her own bed at night, so he’d best steel himself for more long hours of nocturnal pummeling.
What had he done to deserve this?
As the youngest of four, he’d never had to deal with children before, save as a loving uncle who bestowed the occasional coin or pat on the head. Whatever compelled people to desire these strange creatures—and the responsibility that went with them—was beyond him.
’Twas almost noon before he managed to coax some breakfast into her and get her dressed in a little pink confection of a gown whose fastenings he found confusing. He was itching to work on his watch design, but she hadn’t forgotten about the sundial.
Would that he had such a memory.
The day was warm and sunny when they finally stepped outdoors, although St. Swithin’s clouds and rain would have better matched his mood. A fluffy white rabbit blinked at Jewel, then took off toward the Thames. She bounded after it, but Ford followed more slowly, feeling the effects of the sleepless night.
He would have to hire some servants. Although he’d been granted Lakefield House twelve years ago, shortly after King Charles’s restoration, he’d never actually lived here. Naturally he’d visited on occasion, but the sheer work involved in renovating the manor house had always seemed overwhelming. So he’d lived with his older brother Jason, the Marquess of Cainewood, and poured what income the estate produced into his scientific pursuits. He’d known that someday he would fix up the place, most likely when he decided to marry. But ‘‘someday’’ always seemed far, far in the future.
He hadn’t left Lakefield unoccupied, of course, but the elderly couple who cared for the house—and cooked for him on the rare occasions he was in residence—were no match for a six-year-old’s energy. If he wanted help, he was going to have to hire it. Perhaps the ‘‘shopping’’ trip to the village would come sooner rather than later. He could shop for household help while Jewel shopped for whatever little girls spent their shillings on. Ribbons, he imagined, already dreading the daunting task of fixing her hair.
‘‘Uncle Ford! Where is it?’’
He looked up, noticing Jewel had wandered back while he wasn’t watching. He hadn’t been watching at all, as a matter of fact. She could have fallen into the river. He heaved an internal sigh. He would have to be more vigilant.
‘‘Have you lost the rabbit?’’ he asked.
‘‘No.’’ She giggled. ‘‘Well, yes, but I meant the sundial. I cannot find it.’’
Damnation, where had it gone to?
He paced the garden, shocked to find it totally overgrown, although by all appearances it must have been that way for years. Green and wild, plants and vines intertwined with weeds, all semblance of order gone.
Jewel ran after him, her short legs no match for his long strides. The sundial had been in the middle of a neat circle of hedges and wooden benches . . .
‘‘Here it is.’’ He pushed his way through a ring of bushes that seemed to have grown together. His niece followed. The benches he’d remembered were now covered with vines. In the center of the mess, he yanked off some greenery, brushing dirt off the carved stone surface of the sundial. ‘‘Under here.’’
She beamed up at him as though he were a genius, melting his heart. ‘‘How does it work, Uncle Ford?’’
He lifted her into his arms, remembering why he loved women. But from now on, he was sticking to ones under six. ‘‘Well, you see—’’
‘‘Good afternoon, my lord.’’
A warm, melodic voice. He turned and frowned at the owner, who had followed them into the hedge circle. Although he had a feeling the comely, middle-aged matron wasn’t quite a stranger, he couldn’t for the life of him place her.
She plucked two stray twigs off her bright yellow skirts, then raised a groomed brow. ‘‘So nice to have you in residence. Trentingham Manor can seem lonely when all our neighbors are away in the City.’’
Mystery solved. Trentingham. As in
Earl of
. The neighboring estate.
His niece still in his arms, he executed an awkward bow. ‘‘Pleased to be here, Lady Trentingham.’’
Her wide mouth curved up, her brown eyes smiling to match. Plainly curious, her gaze flicked to Jewel before focusing on him again. ‘‘Will you be staying long?’’
‘‘Just while I finish a project.’’ And until he felt up to facing his family and friends. He set Jewel on her feet and leaned a hand against the sundial, grimacing at the crusted dirt.
The countess shot a glance down the side of the house—he noticed the paint was peeling—to where her carriage waited, a coachman sitting up top. The door was open, and someone waited inside as well, enjoying the sunny day. A lady’s maid, if he could judge from her starched white cap.
‘‘Pretty lady,’’ Jewel said, staring up at his neighbor.
‘‘Why, thank you, Miss . . .’’
‘‘Jewel,’’ the girl supplied.
‘‘Lady
Jewel,’’
Ford
clarified.
‘‘My
brother’s
daughter.’’
‘‘Ah,’’ Lady Trentingham murmured. Some of the confusion cleared from her face. ‘‘I’m glad of your acquaintance,’’ she said with a graceful curtsy, for all the world like they were meeting in Whitehall Palace.
Jewel mimicked the motion. ‘‘I’m glad of your ac-ac—’’
‘‘Acquaintance,’’ Ford said helpfully.
But apparently Jewel didn’t take it that way. She fixed him with a malevolent green glare. ‘‘I can say it.’’
‘‘Of course you can.’’ Palms forward, he took a small step back. ‘‘Forgive me, will you?’’
‘‘All right.’’ She turned to the woman. ‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘Don’t point, baby,’’ Ford said. His twin sister might routinely accuse him of being oblivious, but he did know his manners.
Lady Trentingham knelt by Jewel’s side. ‘‘ ’Tis a bottle of perfume. I brought it for the lady of the house. And I suppose’’—she looked to Ford for confirmation—‘‘that’s you?’’
He nodded his agreement as Jewel squealed. ‘‘For me?’’
‘‘For you, young lady. Would you like to smell it?’’
‘‘Oh, yes,’’ his niece breathed. She waited, dancing from foot to foot while the woman removed the stopper and handed her the bottle.
Jewel waved it under her nose. ‘‘ ’Tis lovely, my lady!’’ Tipping the bottle, she wet her fingers and dabbed the potion on her neck, wetting some of the overgrown greenery in the process.
‘‘You must only use a little,’’ Lady Trentingham warned her, ‘‘or you’ll smell like a field of flowers.’’
‘‘I like flowers.’’
‘‘Then you must come and visit Trentingham Manor.’’ She rose to her feet, smiling at Ford. ‘‘My husband likes to garden.’’
‘‘I’ve heard that of the earl.’’ Everyone had heard that of the earl. And standing in his own shambles of a garden, knowing what Lady Trentingham and her husband must think every time they saw it, made Ford want to squirm.
‘‘Who is caring for Lady Jewel?’’ the countess asked.
‘‘I am, now. Her nursemaid fell ill, so I sent her home.’’
‘‘Alone?’’
‘‘No, with my coachman and two outriders.’’
Amusement flickered on her face. ‘‘I meant, are you caring for Lady Jewel on your own?’’
‘‘Oh.’’ Feeling thickheaded, he cleared his throat.
‘‘I suppose I am.’’
‘‘And how are you getting along?’’
His neighbor had a straightforward way about her that Ford found refreshing. Lord knew Tabitha hadn’t been so.
‘‘Well, I’ve had Jewel for . . .’’ He twisted around to see the sundial. ‘‘. . . ’tis going on eighteen hours.
And no disaster has befallen her yet, so although I haven’t managed to find time for anything else, I reckon I’m doing all right.’’
Lady Trentingham’s laughter tinkled through the riotous vegetation. Her gaze turned contemplative. ‘‘I have a son.’’
‘‘Yes?’’ he prompted, feeling more thickheaded still.
‘‘Rowan. He’s seven years of age. A bit older than Lady Jewel, but his favorite playmate is away from home for the month—perhaps I will bring him over to play.’’
‘‘A
boy
?’’ Jewel interjected.
‘‘A kind one,’’ the woman assured her. ‘‘He doesn’t have maggots.’’
Jewel looked dubious. But she also looked lonely.
And as far as Ford was concerned, Lady Trentingham could be his savior. An angel sent from heaven. A fairy come to wave her wand and sprinkle magic dust.
Her miraculous solution to his problem was almost enough to make him believe in such things.
‘‘I shall bring Rowan tomorrow,’’ she decided. ‘‘He has lessons in the morning, but perhaps after dinner.’’