The Convenient Arrangement (6 page)

“The boy.”

“He's vanished again?”

“Yes.”

“People seem to make a habit of that around here.” He wondered if a door lurked in the shadows beyond the hearth. Earl must have taken his leave in that direction.

“My lord, what did you say?”

“Nothing of import. So the boy has disappeared again?”

Kirby's lips twitched. “Apparently out the window and down the side of the house.”

“A brave lad.”

“Mayhap.”

“A foolish one, most definitely.” He glanced wistfully toward the bed. It was clear he would not be enjoying a full night's sleep tonight. “Very well. Alert the household and anyone who might be in the stables.”

“Done that, my lord. We found his trail, and it seems to have led back to the house, although we have seen neither ears nor tail of the lad.”

“Get Gil and do what you must to retrieve the boy from his hiding place. Lady Fanning is, no doubt, quite distressed.”

Kirby nodded and hurried back out of the room.

Touching the pages of his poetry lightly and with regret, Lorenzo grabbed his coat from the chair and shrugged it on. Every wrinkle was so sharply ingrained in the coat that it cut into his arms and shoulders. Striding across the outer chamber, he had almost reached the door when it came flying open. It crashed against the inner wall. He jumped back with a swallowed curse.

“Oh, I didn't realize this was your room, my lord.”

Lorenzo resisted the temptation to laugh at young David. He had worn that expression himself often as a child when he and his cousins' plans had been foiled by an adult. Then they had been cornered and caught in the act so completely that no inspired half-truths would keep them from punishment for the misdeed.

“Do come in, David,” he said, motioning to the inner chamber.

The boy hesitated, and Lorenzo knew he was weighing the decision of whether to obey or take flight. Lorenzo was glad to see the boy had had some training in heeding his elders, because David nodded and walked with the shuffling step of a convicted felon toward the chair where Lorenzo's coat had been hanging. Pausing only long enough to tell a passing maid to let Lady Fanning and Kirby know that the boy had been found, Lorenzo followed.

He smiled when he saw David staring at the mummy case. “What do you think?”

“It's Egyptian, isn't it?”

“Yes. Have you been taught about the ancient Egyptians?”

“My last tutor thought it was interesting. He spoke of the kings and pyramids often.” He grimaced. “When he wasn't talking about Aunt Valeria.”

Lorenzo quirked an eyebrow, but said only, “Please sit, David.”

“I would just as soon—”

“Please sit.”

Again Lorenzo could see that the boy was unsure whether to obey or not. And again, David took the wise course and did as he was told.

Folding his hands behind his back, Lorenzo searched his mind for the proper words. He had not guessed he would be taking on the responsibility of a recalcitrant child upon his arrival at Moorsea Manor. If David's aunt had tended to his discipline, this would be unnecessary. He tried to recall what his uncle, the late Lord Wulfric, would have said in these circumstances.

“David,” he began, “you must cease these escapades immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because they are upsetting the whole household.”

“I don't care a rap about that.”

Lorenzo frowned. The boy was quite insolent. “Your feelings in this are of less importance than the household's. They have enough to do without chasing you hither and yon while you explore the house.”

“But I wish to see what's here.”

“And you shall. On the morrow, when we both are rested, I shall arrange for you to begin a tour of each section of the house.” He bit back his inclination to offer to take the boy about himself while he investigated Moorsea Manor. The boy would be a constant intrusion on his own explorations.

“Arranged tour?” David set himself on his feet, crossed his slender arms across his chest, and glowered. “That's no fun!”

“It will be interesting, I am certain.” He glanced at the mummy case. “I have seen only a few rooms of this house so far, and all of them have contained surprises.”

“You haven't seen my room,” he grumbled.

“No, I haven't. Is something wrong with it?”

David crossed his arms in front of him again. “I'm not an infant! I don't need a room connected to Aunt Valeria's. In London, I had my own rooms.”

“Which allowed you to come and go as you pleased.”

“I'm eight years old!”

“So I understand. What you must understand is that the arrangements for you and your aunt are only temporary. One of the reasons I had hoped to arrange a tour is for you to select other, more convenient arrangements.”
Far from my private space
.

“Isn't that kind of Lorenzo, David?” asked a strained voice from behind him.

Seeing Valeria walking toward him, Lorenzo almost choked when he tried to keep a groan from reaching his lips. Was there no end to the disruptions tonight?

“David?” prompted his aunt again as she emerged from the shadows into the dim light of the single candle.

That light was enough, for even its dim glow danced in her lustrous hair as if each strand were on fire. Although she was frowning at her nephew, relief was easing the lines on her brow. A tingle cut through his fingers as he imagined smoothing away the last of her worry. Then that wondrous hair would brush him with its flame that might burn right to the quick.

Why was he acting like a complete chucklehead? He stepped back as Valeria walked past him to where David stood with his head hanging. Instead of admiring her glorious hair, he should be chiding her for not keeping her nephew in his bed where he belonged.

“I would appreciate,” Lorenzo said, “if you would, in the future, maintain some control over this child.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she replied, “I'm sorry that you've been disturbed, Lorenzo. Apologize please, David.”

“For what?”

“For disturbing Lord Moorsea.” She scowled not at the boy, Lorenzo noted, but at him.

“I was just looking about.”

“You shouldn't look about in here without permission.”

David gave a longing look at the mummy case, then squared his narrow shoulders. “You don't have to fret about that, Aunt Valeria. I shan't again.”

Lorenzo was astonished when Valeria took the boy at his word. He suspected David intended to return to pry open the mummy case and peek inside at the first opportunity. Dash it! That would mean the lad might snoop into Lorenzo's private writings as well. Carrying the whole of them about with him all the time was not a pleasing prospect.

“Will you accept his apology, Lorenzo?” Valeria asked.

“I believe I have not heard one as yet.”

“He has said he will not bother you again.”

Lorenzo met the boy's eyes and was surprised when David did not look away. Then he noted how the boy's chin jutted out like a bruiser looking to be knocked down in the boxing ring.

“I believe, Valeria, he said he would not enter my rooms again without permission. Quite the different matter.”

She lowered her voice. “This is not the time to discuss this. He needs his sleep.”

“As we all do. As we all could be doing, if he had stayed in his bed where he belonged.”

“Lorenzo, please. Let you and I discuss this on the morrow.” She glanced over her shoulder at David who was wearing his defiance openly. “Please.”

His answer slipped out of his head as her hand slipped onto his arm. The motion was meant to be no more than companionable. Of that, he was certain, but the glorious fire sweeping through her hair flowed within him. His fingers covered hers before he realized what he was doing. At that instant, the flames converged in her wide eyes. Her lips parted with a soft breath of astonishment, and it was as if they were alone again in the library. Alone in the world, for even the sound of the crackling fire was diminished by the throb of his heartbeat that matched her pulse beneath his touch.

The lush color of her eyes was unquestionably violet, for the shade was too rich to be called an ordinary blue. Hotter than the center of a fire, they possessed the ethereal purple at the very edge of a perfect rainbow. And what treasure would be waiting for him if he dared to follow that arc to its very end?

“Can I leave now?” asked David in a vexed tone.

Lorenzo hastily released Valeria's hand. This woman infected his mind with hey-go-mad humors in an effort to bend him to her will. As she hurried to stand next to her nephew, he took a deep breath and let it go more slowly than he had her hand.

“I believe,” she said, “we are all of one mind.”

“Do you?” Lorenzo asked, wondering if her mind were as betwattled as his.

“We shall meet at breakfast, and you can share with David and me your plans to take a tour of the house with us.”

“Us?” David asked, wide-eyed.

“Us,” she replied in a tone that brooked no argument, and Lorenzo was amazed when she received none from the boy who looked at his feet.

“I said nothing of the sort.” Lorenzo would not be bullied in his own house by either an eight-year-old boy's misbehavior or by his aunt's beguiling touch. He wanted to find a haven for doing his work, not to entertain them. This was
his
house, not Valeria Fanning's, and most certainly not young David Blair's.

“Of course you did, Lorenzo. I heard it quite clearly.”

“I believe you are mistaken.”

“Am I?” She smiled. “I heard you tell David you would arrange a tour for him. What difference does it make for one more?”

“No difference, of course, but—”

She smiled. “Then it's settled. We shall meet for breakfast, and then we shall spend the day exploring the manor house.” Putting her arm around David's shoulders, she added, “You must not think of this as a chance to find more places to scurry off to, giving us another fright.”

“I just wanted to see the house.” His shoulders sagged, and he yawned. All resistance faded from the boy as he leaned his head against her arm, abruptly looking younger than his few years.

“Of course you did, and now you shall thanks to Lord Moorsea.” She steered him to the door. “Good night, Lorenzo. See you at breakfast.”

Lorenzo muttered something under his breath which he would have been embarrassed to have her hear. It had not been a good night, and he suspected the morrow would be even worse.

Four

Valeria hummed to herself as she came down the broad staircase. The sun shone through the stained glass windows, banishing the tribulations of last night. She could do this. Somehow, she could make living in this dreary old house less dreary. Her late husband had often told her that no one could make the best of a sorry situation better than she did. After all, she had been able to introduce the Marquis de la Cour to the
ton
and then hold a party to celebrate the man's utter disappearance only a short while later when he left Town to continue his work.

She smiled. The latest of the marquis's books of poetry had been published only a fortnight ago, and her dear bosom-bow Emily had made sure Valeria had one of the first copies available. Emily had been curious why Valeria had sold her London town house and was leaving for the wilds of Exmoor, but she never probed. Emily was like that, good at knowing when one needed to talk and when one needed to keep one's counsel.

Her smile dimmed. It might be a long time before she saw Emily and her sister again. This house was in no condition to host even the most rustic country weekend. However, Mrs. Ditwiller seemed to be a most capable housekeeper. Mayhap she would be able to train the staff in short order to have the house ready for a gathering.

The very thought brought a smile back to her so she could continue humming as she entered the room that was serving as the breakfast-parlor. She doubted if its beginnings had been that grand, for the floor was stone and so uneven that narrow strips of wood had been set beneath three legs of the table. It could have been a stillroom or a dairy that had been connected to the house years ago. A single window let morning sunshine surge into the room, but that only made the cobwebs clinging to the corners and the simple lamp overhead even more obvious. She hoped nothing with lots of legs would fall into her breakfast.

One of the first tasks should be to have the walls of all the rooms they intended to use regularly repainted or decorated with wall coverings. She would speak with Mrs. Ditwiller about it this very day. Then she would … Again her smile wavered. This was not her house. She was welcome here only as a petitioner, dependent on a stranger's goodwill for her food and the roof over her head. If she had had any idea that her erstwhile guardian had been put to bed with a shovel, she would have remained in London. Emily or one of her other friends would have helped her find a way to make a new life.

No! She would not beg for a home among her bosom-bows. Yet, she reminded herself, would that have been worse than living in this musty, dirty stack of stone with a man as odd as Lorenzo Wolfe? She had made her decision. Now she must live with it.

“Good morning,” she called, trying to sound cheerful. She need not have bothered, for the room was overflowing with an obvious silence. Lorenzo and David were sitting as far apart as possible at the round oak table.

Lorenzo looked over the top of his newspaper and nodded. “Good morning,” he replied before ducking back to read.

She gave David a kiss on the cheek and was pleased that he no longer shied away as he had when he first came to live with her. Now he just wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. Her grin widened as she took a seat exactly between David and Lorenzo.

“David, I'm glad to see you have chosen old clothes to wear. I'm sure the seldom used rooms of this house will be very dusty.” She spooned eggs from a bowl in the middle of the table onto the plate in front of her. Dear me, she was going to have to inform Mrs. Ditwiller that this was something else to change. Breakfast should be served from a sideboard, not the table.