Alice turned around when she heard footsteps, but it was only a servant coming to light the lamps in the drawing room. Where could Nick and Austen be?
“I’m sure they’ll be along soon.”
She turned on the sofa to Macey’s soft tone beside her. “I know.” She had thought Nick would be gone an hour, two at most, and then come marching triumphantly back with Austen holding a treasure in his hands.
But it had been—she glanced at the glass-domed clock on mantelpiece—five hours. What kind of treasure hunt had Nicholas devised for a seven-year-old that lasted this long? What could he have been thinking? Of course, he didn’t have children of his own and might well forget that Austen would need to come home and have his supper on time. She tapped her foot and tried to contain her worry.
She pictured Austen exhausted, hungry, wanting his mother…
“They’ve no doubt forgotten the time.”
She tried to smile at Macey but instead felt resentment grow within her. What kind of responsible adult forgot about the time when he was with a child—someone else’s child at that?
“I say, Alice, how did you pick up with Father’s secretary after all these years?” Geoff came over to sit beside her on the other side of the sofa, a champagne glass in hand. “I can scarcely remember the chap, but I hear he’s making some noise in the city these days.”
She turned her attention to him, glad for anything to distract her. “I met him at the gala I hosted last week. You were there.”
“Yes, Wilma and I stopped in for a few minutes but I don’t recall seeing Tennent. What was he doing there? Is he also taking the London social scene by storm the way he is the financial world?”
She glanced at her brother in surprise. “What do you mean?”
At that moment Victor and his wife came in, dressed for dinner.
Her brother swirled the bubbly golden liquid around in his wide, shallow glass. “I hear he’s buying up companies right and left. What brought him to the gala?”
“He was interested in the charity work the Society is doing.”
Geoff nodded and took a sip of his drink. “That would figure.”
Before she could ask what he meant with the remark, Victor, helping himself to a glass of champagne from a tray, wandered over. “Discussing the prodigal returned?” He shook his head then regarded his glass as if pondering. “No, that wouldn’t be quite accurate. The penniless made good?” Snide laughter followed. “Careful, Alice, I would watch my step with that one.”
She started at the sound of footsteps at the door, but it was only the servant again, this time to wind the clock. As he turned to leave the room, she signaled to him. “Excuse me, William, but has Mr. Tennent returned with Austen?”
“No, madam, not to my knowledge.”
“Please let me know as soon as they do.”
Victor glanced down at her, a knowing smile on his lips. “Getting worried, are you?”
She looked down and arranged the folds of her skirt to avoid his interrogation. “Not at all. It’s just, well, it is almost dinner time.”
Geoff grunted at her side. “I know that look of yours. You fuss overmuch over Austen. The best thing for the little chap is to be sent off to school. It’ll make a man of him.”
She sighed. “Please, Geoff, I’ve told you before—”
“And I’ve told you before that if you don’t send him off to school soon, he’ll become a milk-sop holding on to your skirts until he’s twenty-one. The little fellow hardly lets you out of his sight when you’re in the room and he’s scared of his own shadow. I’ve never heard him speak above a whisper.”
Victor flopped down on a nearby armchair. “If you haven’t persuaded her yet to let go of the apron strings, you’re not going to do it this evening.” He stretched his legs out before him and took a sip of his glass.
She pressed her lips together, still annoyed with him for delaying her on a silly matter that could have easily waited until they had returned to London. By the time she’d left the library, Nick and Austen had been long gone.
Mirroring her thoughts, Victor said, “I do think they should have been back by now. I wonder where Tennent has absconded with your son…” He glanced sidelong at her. “What do you know of this fellow, anyway? Appeared out of the blue from America and seems to have made himself cozy with you almost immediately.”
Alice sat up. “Victor! How dare you say such a thing!”
He tilted his glass toward her. “For someone who worries about her only son so much, you were awfully willing to allow him to go off all afternoon with a stranger.”
She felt her cheeks burn. “And whose fault is it that I was unable to accompany them?”
Geoff patted her hand. “Come now. It’s too late now, though I do think Vic has a point.” He shook his head. “One hears things in the city, don’t we, Vic?”
Alice looked from Victor to her brother. Geoff didn’t tend to blow things out of proportion. “Tell me what you heard.”
Geoff pursed his lips as if deciding how much to say. It annoyed her that he still treated her like a baby sister when she was a full-grown woman of thirty-one. “He’s said to be a Yankee shark.” At her look of confusion, he added, “Swallows up companies right and left.” He nodded at Victor. “He’ll confirm it.”
Victor set his glass down on the table in front of them and folded his hands in his solicitor’s manner, all mockery wiped off his face. “In the few months he’s been in the city, he’s begun to wield a lot of clout. I represent companies. As soon as any show a sign of weakness, it’s as if these investment companies are on the lookout. They come in and make an offer. They buy up shares and before he knows it, the owner has no more control.” He gave a contemptuous laugh. “Next he’ll be marrying a duchess or countess like any Yankee tuft hunter.”
Geoff sniffed. “He may have been born a Brit but he’s as crass as any American. And far more cunning. I wouldn’t have anything to do with him if I were you.”
Alice folded her hands in her lap, revealing nothing of the disquiet the words caused her. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
He shrugged. “Ask anyone. They’ll tell you Tennent & Company gets wealthy on the misfortune of others.”
Geoff snorted into his glass. “The worst part is how he throws his money around to charities, like a typical Yankee, putting on that front of humanity when all along he is nothing but a greedy capitalist.”
Her hands tightened. It couldn’t be. Nicholas seemed too fine a man to stoop to such things.
A childish voice came wafting through the opened doors to the terrace. “Do you think it had been there very long?”
Forgetting all else, she jumped to her feet, hearing Austen’s childish voice, followed by Nicholas’s lower reply. Hurrying to the door, she saw them stepping onto the terrace.
Her son carried a wooden treasure chest against his chest. Alice rushed outside and knelt in front of him, her arms reaching out. “My darling, wherever have you been?” With an effort she kept her voice calm.
Austen held up the chest, a large grin splitting his face. Nicholas’s hand rested lightly on his head. “Look what I found, Mama!” He looked up at Nicholas. “Didn’t I find it all by myself, Mr. Tennent?”
Nicholas winked at Austen before turning to Alice with a smile, which she found she couldn’t return at that moment. “You certainly did,” he replied to Austen, his eyes still on Alice. Didn’t he know the anguish he’d put her through?
“Look what’s inside, Mama.” Austen stepped away from her and knelt on the floor before the wooden chest. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a large key. “We had to find the key first. It was buried under a tree.” He stuck the key in the lock and lifted the lid. Inside lay a pile of jewels—glass and paste that Nick had procured at a shop in the village the day before. “Aren’t they beautiful?” He smiled proudly at her.
She touched a strand of pearls. “Yes, dear, they are beautiful. But, dear, you were gone so long.” She smoothed back the hair from this forehead and picked a dried leaf from his hair. “Goodness, look at you. Your face is smudged with dirt and—” Her glance traveled down the length of him.
His short pants were streaked with dried mud, his stockings had fallen, showing red scratches on his thin legs. “Where on earth have you been?”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “We ran into some rough country, eh, Austen?”
She frowned up at him. “Indeed? Wherever did you two go?”
“Mama, we went up to Richmond Park, we had to go through a forest, and we had to ford a stream, and then we had to climb a tree. There was another clue there—”
Nicholas had taken him off the property! Alice stood and took Austen by a hand, keeping her voice steady with an effort. “You can tell me all about it, but let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up. Nanny Grove will be frightened when she gets a look at you.”
For the first time, Austen hung back from her outstretched hand. “But, Mama, I want to stay with Mr. Tennent.”
Nick touched him on the shoulder. “Run along with your mama. I’ll come up and say good night to you if you’d like.” He lifted an inquiring brow toward Alice. “Perhaps read you a story?”
She turned away from him without answering. Austen beamed up at him. “Yes, I should like that very much. May he, Mama?”
“We’ll see.” She tugged on his hand once more. “But we’ll have no story tonight if you don’t wash up and have supper first.”
She walked back into the house, not sparing Nick a parting glance. Her brother’s words came back to her. How much did she really know about Nicholas? How could she be so gullible to think he’d be the same man she’d met fifteen years ago? She’d scarcely known him then, and yet she’d built her dreams on him.
She was no longer that lovesick girl. Her fingers tightened on Austen’s hand. Her son was too precious to her to trust to anyone but herself.
Austen walked alongside Alice, carrying his treasure chest under his arm. At the door of the drawing room, she couldn’t help one last look back. She regretted the impulse when she saw Cordelia sauntering up to Nicholas, two glasses in her hand.
Cordelia was known for her flirtations. Was Nicholas a womanizer as well? Was that why he hadn’t ever married? Alice turned away from the sight, feeling sick inside.
“Mama, you should have seen where the treasure was buried. It was under some tall reeds. We had to dig with our hands and bits of sticks and stones.”
She lifted the hand tucked into hers. “Goodness, your nails are filthy.” She frowned. “Didn’t you get hungry all day? You missed teatime.”
“Oh, Mr. Tennent brought along some biscuits. He had them tied up in a handkerchief—the way real explorers carried their food, he told me—and a flask of water. Did you know in the desert they look for ‘oases’? Those are places where’s there’s a little lake and usually date palms. He said that’s what we’d snack on if we’d been in the desert—”
In the moments that followed, she heard “Mr. Tennent said this” and “Mr. Tennent did that” countless times as Austen continued telling her about their afternoon together. Alice listened, injecting the appropriate sounds of wonder at intervals as she helped him strip off his clothes and sponge the dirt from his body. Moments passed before she realized the anguish in her heart. She never remembered her little boy showing such enthusiasm for life. And she hadn’t been there for his most exciting day.
Why did it have to be a near-stranger who’d enjoyed it and not his own father? Why hadn’t she ever thought to plan such an outing for her son herself?
Austen stuck his head through the neck of his nightshirt and poked his hands through the sleeves. “Mr. Tennent told me ever so many stories of when he was a boy. Did you know he had a little brother and they did everything together?”
“Yes, I knew…” She remembered the day she’d asked him all about his family. The day she’d demanded a kiss from him. Shame filled her now at her brazen behavior.
She combed back her son’s damp hair, disquiet filling her at how in only one afternoon, this man had succeeded in winning over her son so completely. Would Nicholas Tennent succeed in displacing Austen’s father from her son’s tenuous memory?
Austen crouched down and retrieved his treasure chest. “I wish I had a little brother like that.”
“Darling, it’s a bit dirty. I don’t think you should take it with you to bed.”
He brought it to his table instead. Alice had dismissed Nanny Grove after she’d brought up his supper tray, preferring to do things herself this evening. “Now, come eat up your porridge and drink your milk.”
He bent his head and said grace then picked up his spoon. “Mr. Tennent’s mama used to give him a cold potato she’d baked for him the night before, and he’d put it in his pocket the next morning to take with him to the mill.” Austen’s dark brown eyes stared up into hers. “When he was seven, he had to go out to work.” His tone was solemn.
“Did he indeed?” How much had he resembled her little boy at that age? She realized with a pang that in coloring—even in slimness—Nicholas could have looked a lot like Austen at his age. She searched for similarities in her son to his father. But his face resembled her own more from his little pointed chin to his slim nose.
“He’d eat his potato on the way to the mill. That’s where he worked. There were big machines there that made loud noises. He said at first they scared him. They were always moving the way he imagined the octopuses in the ocean would move about in the stories his mother read to him. Only on Sundays were they still.”
Touched by the stories, she had to resist the urge to soften toward Nicholas. “Now, eat your supper.”
He took a sip of milk. “His mama used to read him bedtime stories at night just like you do, Mama, and he heard all about jungle explorers. She didn’t have many books, though, but he said she remembered ever so many stories and would tell them out of her head. He says he thinks she made lots of them up. Did you ever make up stories?”
She glanced at the row of beautiful books that ranged her son’s bookshelf. “No, I guess I don’t need to.”
“We caught a frog at the pond today.”
“Goodness, you seem to have done a lot of things today.” She looked back down at the trousers. “I shall have to mend these.”
His gaze followed hers. “That happened when I slid down the tree. Mr. Tennent said we had to go and have a lookout, to make sure none of the pirates were following us.
“He showed me how to catch the frog. We had to sit ever so quietly for the longest time at the edge of the pond. I got tired sitting there, but then a frog came hopping to sit on a rock near us, and Mr. Tennent swung his hands out like this—”
“Careful with your glass—”
She caught his glass before it went over. Austen resumed demonstrating, cupping his hands around a make-believe frog. “He held him like so and showed him to me. I wanted to bring him home.”
“Where is the frog now?” She glanced at the treasure box nervously.
“Mr. Tennent made me let it go after a bit. But I got to hold it.” He sighed and took another sip. “I wanted to show it to you, but Mr. Tennent said the frog probably had his own family to go home to.”
“Yes, indeed.” Grateful at least for that, Alice sat back. “All finished?”
“Almost.” He was quiet, and she was glad to see he ate with relish. Most nights he picked at his food. She wondered what he was thinking—reliving his adventures with Nicholas? She felt more disappointed than ever that she had not been along—even a little jealous, she had to admit. But she couldn’t ignore the fun her son had had in a man’s company.
How could she reconcile the two images of Nicholas Tennent she’d received this evening?
Her experience with her father had seared her for life against men whose sole ambition was to gain wealth. She sighed, focusing on her young son once again. “Would you like to go away to school, like your cousins?”
He stared at her, his bowl tilted toward him, before shaking his head. “Mr. Tennent never went away to school. But he did go to Sunday school every Sunday.”
She stood. “All right, let’s brush your teeth and you can pick out a storybook.”
“I thought you said Mr. Tennent could tell me a story tonight?”
She bit her lip. “Very well. But he needs to eat his dinner, too.”
“Can he come up afterward and say good night to me?”
“Very well.” She tucked her son into bed and bent down to kiss his forehead. “And perhaps he can tell you a short story out of his head, the way his mama used to tell him.”
He smiled up at her. “I should like that.”
She pulled over a stool and picked up his book. “If you don’t mind your mama’s storytelling, I shall read a little bit from the book Mr. Tennent gave you and then go down to my guests.”
Satisfied with the arrangement, he settled back against the pillows and waited for her to begin.
Nick was aware the moment Alice reentered the drawing room. After changing for dinner he’d rejoined the company on the porch and waited for her, wondering if he had imagined the displeasure in her expression and tone when he’d returned so late with Austen. He needed to explain how time had gotten away from them.
“Well, here is our hostess at last,” murmured Cordelia, who hadn’t moved from his side since he’d reentered. “Playing at nanny again, Alice, darling?”
Alice glanced her way, her eyes skimming past Nick’s.
As usual, Alice looked beautiful in a pale green gown of shimmering satin. She shook her head at the servant’s tray and ignored Mrs. Carlisle’s remark. “I’m sorry I’m late. Shall we go into dinner?”
Miss Endicott rose from the settee. “Yes, dear, we were just waiting for you.” She turned to Nick. “Come, Mr. Tennent, would you like to escort an old lady to the table?”
Disappointed not to be able to escort Alice, he offered Miss Endicott his arm with good grace. “I shall be honored to do so, although I must take exception to your calling yourself an old woman. You are nowhere near that.”
She chuckled as they walked toward the dining room. “Thank you. My, I haven’t seen Austen looking so happy since I’ve known him.”
Noticing Alice’s sharp glance, he shrugged off the remark. “I just took him to do the kinds of things little boys like to do.”
She smiled. “You both looked a little the worse for wear when you came in. I hope you had as enjoyable a day as Austen seems to.”
His lips crooked upward. “Indeed I did. I haven’t had the chance to be a little boy myself in many years.”
He watched Alice lead the way into the dining room and then stand in the background as the guests seated themselves. Assuming she would sit at the foot of the table, he made his way there, but instead, Mrs. Shepard took the hostess’s chair, her husband at the head.
Having no idea where Alice would sit, he was forced to seat Miss Endicott first, where she indicated, and then take the place beside her. Mrs. Carlisle promptly took the seat on his other side. Alice took a seat too far removed for comfortable conversation and he wondered if it had been deliberate. Why was she acting so reserved? His jaw tightened with annoyance when Victor sat down beside her.
Dinner proved long and tedious with Shepard dominating the conversation and Mrs. Carlisle addressing almost all her remarks in low asides to Nick. The only one genuinely friendly to him was Miss Endicott. To her credit, Alice did not seem on the same friendly terms with Victor as he with her. She spoke little and ate little. Only once or twice did he catch her looking at him, but instead of smiling, she quickly averted her gaze.
What had gone so wrong?
When at last they all retired to the drawing room, he didn’t know how to speak with Alice alone. If he singled her out, all eyes would be on them. He didn’t care what any of them thought, but how would Alice feel? This was her world, and once before he’d made the mistake of underestimating it.
The two couples lit cigarettes and the room was soon filled with smoke. Miss Endicott sat down to the piano and began to play softly.
Nick turned with relief when Alice came up to him but his joy was quickly tempered by her serious look. “If you wouldn’t mind going up to see Austen, I told him you would tell him a bedtime story. One of those you know out of your head.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. Was there a tinge of sarcasm in the last words? Her tone sounded too polite. “Of course not. I’ll go now.”
“He might have already fallen asleep. He was quite exhausted. If he is, please don’t wake him.”
Although she seemed to be avoiding his gaze, he waited until she was forced to look up. “You can trust me. I won’t disturb him.” He made his tone deliberately gentle. She gave him a quick look before nodding her thanks and moving away from him.
With a sense of relief at leaving the tense atmosphere of the drawing room, he walked up to the little boy’s room. He truly had enjoyed himself this afternoon, and only wished Alice had been a part of it. He’d wanted to tell her that if she’d given him the chance.
Austen was already half-asleep and he remembered his promise to Alice, but at the sight of him, the little boy sat up. “I thought you’d never be done with dinner.”
He took the stool beside the bed. “It was a rather long meal. Now, lie down. You need to get your sleep if you want to have more adventures.”
Austen settled back down under his covers. “Will you tell me another story about when you were a boy?” he said through a yawn.
“All right. Let me think.” He rested his chin on his fist, pretending to ponder. “Ah, here’s one. When I was—”
“Did you know my father?” Austen’s brown eyes looked at him solemnly.
Nick’s thoughts stilled. “No, I didn’t, but I have heard that he was a very fine gentleman.”
Austen sighed. “I don’t remember Papa. I have a little picture of him. I’ll show you tomorrow if you like.”
“Yes, I should like that. I’m sure he was a father you could be proud of. I don’t remember my father too well, either, but I know he was a fine man, too.”
The little boy folded his hands atop the bedcovers, his thin wrists jutting out from his striped nightshirt. “What do you remember best about him?”
Nick thought back. Ever since receiving news of his mother’s passing, he had thought a lot about his youth and childhood. “I remember someone dark-haired, like myself, and smelling kind of funny, like the coal that always covered his clothes. He worked down in the coal mine, you see. And then I remember the smell of soap, once he’d washed up and came to kiss me good night, just like your Mama does with you every night.”
Austen picked at his bedcovers. “I don’t remember my papa at all.”
The forlorn tone touched him. He reached over and covered the little hands with one of his own. “You were very young when he passed away. It’s all right. He remembers you. That’s what’s important.”
Austen turned one of his hands around and took hold of Nick’s. Nick enfolded it in his own, feeling an odd spurt of emotion at the trusting gesture. The boy’s large brown eyes met his. “Do you think so?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. And you have your mama to tell you all about him, so you won’t forget the kind of man he was, even though you don’t remember the details yourself.”
Austen nodded and smiled. “What story are you going to tell me?”
Nick sat back although he didn’t let the boy’s hand go. “Let me see…where was I…” He pursed his lips, as if searching his memory, before beginning again. “This one is about a man who rode the rails. That means he’d hop on a freight car and go wherever he wished…”
He hadn’t even gotten halfway through the story when Austen’s breathing slowed and his hold on Nick’s hand loosened. Nick fell silent and waited another minute to see if the boy would awaken.
Assured that he slept peacefully, Nick slowly pulled his hand away. He got up from the stool and yawned, wishing for a moment he didn’t have to go back downstairs.
But he wanted to see Alice. That thought alone propelled him back to the drawing room.
The murmur of voices reached him before he entered the room. Miss Endicott had stopped playing and sat in an armchair reading. The others lounged on the sofas and chairs. After a pause when he stepped in, the low talk resumed. Cigarette smoke hung in the lamplight like thin cotton strands, its acrid smell reminding Nick of the gin mills in the lower quarters of San Francisco. His gaze roamed over the room, narrowing when he saw Alice on the couch with Victor sitting too close beside her. She looked up as soon as he entered. He half-expected her to avert her gaze, but instead she straightened and rose, excusing herself from Victor.
She reached him before he’d taken more than a few steps into the room. “How is Austen?”
He blinked at her lack of greeting. “I expect off somewhere dreaming of pirates and freight cars and—”
“Frogs,” she finished for him.
Was that the beginnings of a smile at the corner of her lips?
“Yes, likely frogs figure in there somewhere.”
“I wanted to thank you for spending the afternoon with him.” She knotted her hands, looking down, her tone low. “I just worried when you weren’t back after a couple of hours. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”
His hurt at her earlier coldness dissipated at her halting words. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but didn’t dare with the company around them. “I’m sorry we were gone so long. The time flew by and he didn’t seem tired. If I’d seen his energy flagging, I would have brought him back immediately, I hope you believe that.” He smiled. “Even if it’d meant carrying him.”
She seemed to search his face but didn’t return his smile. “I appreciate that.”
“What are you two up to with your private murmurings in the corner?” Victor sauntered over to them and draped an arm around Alice’s shoulders.
A look of annoyance skimmed her features, and in a deft movement, she sidestepped his embrace. “I’m just asking about Austen.”
“You’ll never let the boy grow to a man the way you coddle him.”
Her face flushed.
Nick eyed Victor. “I found him like any boy of his age.”
Victor’s insolent gaze swept over him. He sported one of the thin mustaches beginning to be seen on young men both in England and America who fancied themselves swells. “How many seven-year-old boys are you acquainted with?”
Nick’s ire rose. “I have nephews.” Whom he’d only just seen at his mother’s funeral.
“As the father of two boys, I think I speak with more expertise than a bachelor.”
Alice put a restraining hand on his arm. “Please, Victor. I think I know my son better than anyone.” She then took a step away from them. “I believe I shall retire for the evening. Good night, everyone.” She gave him a fleeting look. “Good night, Nick. Thank you for taking care of Austen.”
“Good night, Alice.” He’d hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when she was gone, almost as if she were running away from him.
He hesitated a moment in the room, but not liking the stifling smell of cigarette smoke, and seeing Mrs. Carlisle eye him, he bowed to Victor. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He wandered back out to the porch and from there onto the lawn. Tomorrow they’d be leaving this country house, and he didn’t know what precisely had gone wrong. He hoped he’d have a chance to talk to Alice, but knew from the trip coming down that the train compartment would afford little privacy with Austen, Miss Endicott and the nursemaid along.
Well, he consoled himself, he still had the endowment to her charity. Perhaps in London he could make another appointment with her at the Society to discuss the gift.
“It was stuffy in there, wasn’t it?”
He swirled around at the husky female voice. Mrs. Carlisle stood at the edge of the verandah, silhouetted against the light from the drawing room. Unlike Alice’s more modest gown, Mrs. Carlisle’s silk sheath had a low v-neck, leaving most of her shoulders and upper arms bare.
He knew her type well. Bored and needing attention. As he debated how to decline her advances, she sauntered down the steps onto the yard where he stood.
“A lot of hot air.”
She chuckled, a low-throated sound and looked up at him, knowing undoubtedly how it showed her creamy neck to advantage.
“I was on the point of retiring,” he said.
“What a pity. The evening is young.” She eyed him. “You don’t like my husband, do you?”
“Let’s just say I had a brief acquaintance with him in his youth.”
“How droll. Sometimes he seems to be still in his adolescence.”
Nick took a step away from her. “Well, if you will excuse me, Mrs. Carlisle—”
“I shouldn’t hold out much hope for Alice, if I were you.”
Her words stopped him. “No?”
“I pity the man who fancies himself in love with her. She is the kind of woman who appears weak and will always have some poor gentleman in tow, but her heart will never be his.”
He stood silent, unwilling to hear the words, but powerless to move away.
“She’ll always hold up Julian as a standard, and the poor man will never live up to the dead paragon.” She gave a bitter laugh. “The living can never compete with an ideal.”
The words, so like his own thoughts, chilled him. He merely inclined his head. “Good night, Mrs. Carlisle.”
Her throaty laugh followed him. “Good night, Mr. Tennent, and sweet dreams.”