Circular foundations were scattered across the field, some on one side of a low ridge, the rest on the other. Each circle was approximately eight feet across, and a break in the wall marked a doorway. Grass had grown over most of the stones. Dried with the coming of winter, the blades crackled underfoot.
Bertie, Lulu and Molly ran to the first foundation. They raced in and out, chasing each other and laughing. They did not pause before they did the same in a second circle, then a third. As the girls moved to a fourth, Bertie climbed up the stone to stand on top. He raised his hands high as he jumped up and down.
Maris let them play with childish abandon. They might scrape a knee or a hand if they fell, but the walls were too low for them to hurt themselves more.
She entered the first circle and saw stones set into the earth in the center. Two bowls were cut into them, the right size for a pestle. She wondered if that was the purpose of the stone depressions.
“Can you feel it?” Lord Trelawney asked as he approached. He carried the kite and spindle of string.
“What?”
“The weight of time on this place. If the book I read is right, people were living here around the time of Jesus’s birth and maybe before. Wouldn’t it be amazing if the stones could tell us what they have witnessed through the millennia?”
Maris stepped out of the open-sided foundation. “I never imagined you to be a romantic about stones.”
He set his foot on top of a low wall and rested his elbow on his knee. Watching Bertie dance along a nearby circle while the girls clapped to the tune he sang, the viscount said, “Not stones, Miss Oliver, but the people who placed them there. I am curious how they lived here, where they came from and why they left.”
“We may never know.”
Lulu ran over to Lord Trelawney. “Up kite?”
“You should not interrupt,” Maris said, squatting so her eyes were level with the little girl’s, “when others are talking. You must wait and take your turn.”
She nodded. Barely a second passed before she asked, “Wuwu’s turn?”
Maris could not keep from smiling as she heard Lord Trelawney try to conceal his laughter, turning it into an inelegant snort.
“Yes, Lulu,” she said. “It is your turn.”
Lulu spun to look at the viscount. “Up kite?”
“Go to the top of the hill past the stones,” he said, gesturing beyond the foundations. “We shall fly it there.”
Cheering, Lulu ran to the others. They sped up the small hill.
As she walked with Lord Trelawney, Maris was surprised when he asked, “How do you make Lulu feel listened to when she does not want to listen?” He stopped, so Maris did, too. “How do you offer a child comfort with such ease?”
“Simply remember how your parents comforted you. Learn from what they did right and from what they did wrong. Try to do as well and try to do better.”
His brows shot up. “So simple?”
“Yes. If you would like my advice—”
“I do.”
She began to walk toward the children, not wanting him to see her face after he had said the words he would repeat when he took Lady Gwendolyn for his wife. “No two situations and no two children are alike. What do you know about Lady Gwendolyn’s children?”
“There are two. A girl and a boy, I believe.”
“You don’t know the games they play?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know their ages?”
“They are young like our children, but beyond that I don’t know.”
Maris’s heart danced foolishly at his words. Saying “our children” was no more than a turn of a phrase.
Calming her rapid heartbeat, she asked, “Do you know their names?”
“No.” His expression was half smile, half grimace. “It would seem I know nothing about them.”
“You know more than you think. You spent time with Lady Gwendolyn from an early age, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And her husband? Did I hear you met him when you both were at school?”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing.
“If you knew Lady Gwendolyn and Mr. Cranford as children, remember how they acted then. Chances are good the children have similar temperaments.”
“But what if they are different?”
“Listen to your heart. Go with your instincts. When Lulu looks unhappy, you can either give her a hug or do something to cheer her.”
“And there lies my problem. What do I do?”
“Speak bolstering words.”
“As I would to anyone?”
Maris laughed in spite of herself. “Yes. However, you must keep your response simple, so the child will understand you are offering solace. You must be sincere in what you say and do.”
“I have no intention of being false with the children.” He frowned at her. “I have no use for lies or liars.”
Somehow pushing thoughts of her own lies aside, she said, “I am glad to hear that. Children have an uncanny sense of knowing when we are not honest with them.” That was true, but these youngsters had not guessed she was not the nurse she portrayed. Or maybe they did not care, because they were happy to be loved.
“Maybe we should have the children help us discover where they came from then.”
She bent to pick a late-blooming flower. Twirling the stem between her fingers, she said, “Someone knows the truth.”
“I would like to know it, too. Not only for the children’s sakes but for my sister’s. Carrie is attached to the baby.”
Maris opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. She did not want to say anything disrespectful of Lady Caroline, who had let her loving heart welcome Joy into it. And Gil’s as well, because the little boy was spending more and more time with her and “his baby.”
“Go ahead,” the viscount said, as he paused out of earshot of the children, who were running around the top of the hill as they flew imaginary kites. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“What we both are thinking. I should be trying to find out who put the children in the boat and why.”
“I was not thinking that.”
“You should have been.” He handed her the kite and began to unreel a length of the string from the spindle. “Nobody is going to come to Cothaire, knock on the door and give us the information.”
She looked at him directly for the first time since they had started up the hill. “Captain Nesbitt and his men asked throughout the villages along the shore. They learned nothing.”
“Then I need to ask questions elsewhere.” Lord Trelawney reached up to pat his coat, then lowered his hand. Without saying another word, he took the kite and strode to where the children were bouncing about like drops of oil sizzling on a hot pan.
Maris followed and let herself be caught up in the children’s high spirits. Her smile grew as the children guided the kite through the sky with the viscount’s help. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in her.
Happiness.
When had she last been happy? No, she would not think of that. She wanted to wrap herself in the contentment of watching Bertie holding the string with Lord Trelawney, while the twins danced about in anticipation of their turn. Unbidden, her feet drew her closer to the quartet, who shouted instructions at each other and laughed and watched the kite flit toward the clouds.
“Maris fly kite!” shouted Bertie. “Maris fly kite. Maris fly kite.”
The other two took up the chant, running to grab her hands and pull her toward Lord Trelawney.
When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes asked the question she had avoided answering for the past week: Why had she panicked last time? She could not satisfy his curiosity without explaining the truth, but she could keep that dark time in her life from overshadowing the day’s joy.
“Step aside,” she ordered in mock gruffness. “It is time for the ladies to show you gentlemen how a kite should be flown.”
Bowing from the waist, the viscount held out the taut string. “As you wish.”
Bertie copied his motion before passing the string to Lulu and Molly. They grabbed it in front of where Maris held it.
Letting more string unroll, Maris sent the kite even higher. The girls squealed, too excited to keep holding on. They ran to follow as the kite dipped and rocked on the breezes above them. She drew it away from the darker clouds, and they chased it like eager kittens after a mouse.
The youngsters were beginning to flag as the first raindrop fell on Maris’s upturned face. She pulled the kite down, fighting to control it, while more drops struck her. She called to the children to come to her.
“Lord Trelawney, could you help?” she asked when the kite, caught on a gust, tried to tear itself from her hand. The string scorched her palm. She got no answer, so she raised her voice. “Lord Trelawney!”
“Arthur gone,” said Bertie.
Gone? Where was he?
She scanned the open field, but could not see him. Had he returned to the carriage when the sky darkened? He would not leave them in the storm.
Busily wrapping the string around the spindle, she thanked Molly, who brought the lifeless kite to her after it hit the ground. The raindrops seemed as big as coins, and the children complained when they were struck. She hurried them down the hill. The dry grass was growing slippery as more rain fell.
Where was Lord Trelawney?
A motion caught her eye. There he was! She smiled, realizing he must have been investigating a stone foundation. As fascinated as he was by them, he probably had not even noticed the clouds overhead had thickened. He bent close to the stones. As he straightened, she saw something small and white flutter to the ground.
He turned to wave to them, then glanced skyward. “Hurry! We are going to be soaked if we don’t get inside.”
Rushing with the children to where he stood, she thanked him when he took the kite and spindle. He urged the children to run to the carriage.
As they obeyed, he said, “You, too, Miss Oliver! Hurry!”
“You dropped this.” Maris bent and picked up the white item. A folded page sealed with green wax.
He whirled, looked at what she held out, and seized it. Her shock at how he had snatched it from her hand must have been visible because he said, “I will say my thanks, Miss Oliver, when we are in the carriage. Hurry!”
This time she did. By the time she had the children seated, Lord Trelawney was behind her. He tossed the kite to Bertie and picked her up by the waist. He set her in the vehicle, swung in himself and called to the coachee to get them to Cothaire with all possible speed.
The horses were whipped up so fast that Maris fell onto the seat. A sharp snap and the rip of fabric along with the children’s horrified howls warned her that she had sat on the kite. She shifted enough so she could pull the pieces from beneath her.
Lulu burst into tears, followed by the other two. Maris spent the ride consoling them and promising to build another kite soon. Their sobs eased as the carriage halted by Cothaire’s front door.
Lord Trelawney jumped down and lifted the children out. The door opened, offering them sanctuary from lightning striking the cove. Thunder threatened her ears as Maris climbed out.
“Leave the kite,” the viscount ordered when she reached for it.
“The children will want—”
“Leave it!”
Rain burst from the sky as if a dam had collapsed. Instantly she was soaked.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house as the driver shouted to the horses to go, so they could get out of the storm, as well.
“Maris wet.” Bertie laughed, pointing at them as the footman closed the door. “Arthur wet.”
She glanced at the viscount, who was dripping on the floor. Knowing he could have gotten inside before the rain came down if she had not insisted on retrieving the kite, she started to say how sorry she was.
He waved aside her words. “I should apologize. If I had gotten us out of the carriage faster, neither of us would be drenched.”
“I should take the children to the nursery and get them out of these dirty and damp clothes.”
When he nodded, she grasped the girls’ hands in one of hers and Bertie’s in the other. She climbed slowly up the stairs, listening as they discussed every detail of their afternoon.
At the top, she looked down to where Lord Trelawney stood in a widening pool of water. His gaze collided with hers so strongly she almost reeled. Again she saw an emotion missing from his eyes a week ago. The same emotion she had lost in her life.
Happiness.
With her? With the children? With something else entirely? Those questions she could not answer, and she would be wise not to try.
* * *
A broad smile felt comfortable on Arthur’s face the next morning when he awoke shortly after sunrise. He had passed along the communiqué, albeit with the complication of Miss Oliver discovering it had fallen out of the crevice where he had placed it. He was grateful, though he could not tell her. If she had not seen it on the ground, it could have been blown heaven knows where. Mending the bridge between him and Miss Oliver seemed like his reward for a job well done. He could not imagine anything he wanted more than spending a few hours with her every afternoon, listening to her sweet voice and seeing her smile.
Walking into the breakfast parlor with its dark furniture and pale blue walls, he saw his father at the table, a newspaper opened by his plate, which held the remains of his meal. Another reason to smile, because he must feel well if he had had his breakfast here rather than in his rooms.
Looking up, Father said, “Good morning, Arthur.”
“Good morning. How are you feeling today?”
“Well, thank you. With the good Lord’s blessing, I may be able to join you and Caroline at Miller’s house for the hunt.”
Did his father intend to be there to make sure Arthur did as he promised? He scolded himself. Father was not devious, and he trusted his children. Arthur wished he could trust himself, but as the time of the hunt approached, he found it more and more impossible to imagine Gwendolyn as his wife. Perhaps because his thoughts centered on Miss Oliver and a collection of small children.
“I am pleased to hear that.”
“As I can see. You look pleased this morning.”
“It is a sunny morning.” He walked to the sideboard where food steamed after its arrival from the kitchen. In the past when he was bothered by a problem, he had found his father to be a good sounding board. But he could not speak to him about how his mind was filled with thoughts of their nurse rather than Gwendolyn.
“Try the eggs,” Father said. “Mrs. Ford has outdone herself this morning.”
“I shall.” He spooned food onto his plate, not taking note of what he selected. Carrying his plate to the table, he nodded his thanks when a cup of coffee was set in front of him. He bowed his head and gave quick thanks for the food as well as the ones who had prepared it. He picked up his fork. Taking a bite, he glanced at his father.
“You are right,” Arthur said. “This is good.”
“Caroline tells me you have been spending time with the children.”
He explained his sister’s suggestion to ease any concerns Gwendolyn might have about his suitability as a father to her two little ones. “Yesterday, we flew a kite on the moor until we were chased home by the storm.”
“I heard you looked like a drowned dog.” His father laughed. “Many a time I ended a journey across the estate soaked to the skin. Your mother would chide me, reminding me that I would scold you children for being careless. Each time, I said I would be more careful. But too many times, I failed because I thought I had time for one more stop along the way.”
“I have done the same myself. Too often.”
Father leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. “With you spending time with the little ones, it would appear you are not opposed to the idea of marriage and children.”
“I never have been.” Arthur chose his words with care, wanting to hold on to the light feelings that banished the darkness. It had surrounded him since his mother and Carrie’s husband had died. For more than five years, he had lived in shadow, going through the motions of life. “I have been busy.”
“I know well how obligations can consume one, but you have done well. I trust you will do as well when you meet with Lady Gwendolyn. Have you made a plan of attack?”
Arthur arched a brow. “An odd way to describe courting a woman.”
“It is a battle, my boy. In the case of Lady Gwendolyn, I daresay it will be a battle of wits. She has been known to have a sharp tongue.”
“So I have heard.” He recalled Cranny mentioning more than once how his wife did not hesitate to scold him when she was in a pelter. When his friend had mentioned her threatening to strike him over the head with a teapot, Arthur had been dumbfounded. As a child, she always was even-tempered, more likely to laugh than to cry.
You have changed. Why wouldn’t she?
His father folded the paper and set it by his plate. “If you are averse to this match, son, the time to say so is now.”
Arthur hid his surprise. He had not guessed his father would offer him a chance to rethink his promise.
Or maybe he did not hide his astonishment, because Father went on, “I know my request shocked you, but it is vital for the future of Cothaire that you marry someone who knows how to handle a household like ours. She must be able to oversee the servants, leaving you free to concern yourself with the estate issues.”
“I understand, Father.”
“I know you do, but you have seen your siblings follow their hearts to someone beyond the ton. I am happy to see them happy, but you are the heir.” He rubbed his hands together, and Arthur realized for the first time how ill at ease his father was with the topic. “Lady Gwendolyn fits the criteria well, and if I am not mistaken, you were considering asking for her hand before Cranford did.”
“I was too young then to take any important matters seriously.” It was too late to tell his father he had thought of Gwendolyn as a sister, as annoying at times as his own.
“Now you must be serious.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, though every word tasted bitter as his short-lived joy drained away, “now I must.”
* * *
Arthur surveyed the new stable. The work was going even faster than he had hoped. The building should be ready for use by the end of next month, and the horses would be protected through winter in comfort instead of crowded into cramped spaces in the other outbuildings.
The tack must be replaced, along with several carriages. He had arranged with the tenant farmers to purchase hay to replace what burned in the stable fire. He made sure he spread the offers to buy evenly among them, so nobody felt left out or too obligated. Before she left on her honeymoon, his sister Susanna had worked out fair payment. She handled Cothaire’s accounts with the skill of an estate manager.
Sanders, the head groom, was talking with one of the carpenters, but halted when he realized Arthur was behind him. “My lord, you should have let me know you were here.”
“You are busy.”
“What can I do for you today?”
“I wanted to let you know how pleased my father and I are at how swiftly the stable is being rebuilt. And at no cost to quality, if my eyes judge accurately.”
Sanders smiled. “The boys have worked hard and with skill.”
“Under your supervision.” He put his hand on the head groom’s shoulder. “Well done.”
“Thank you, my lord.” A flush rose from the man’s open collar.
Arthur could not keep from thinking of how a blush looked much prettier on Miss Oliver. His own face grew hot at the discovery of how easily she came to mind, especially in the wake of the conversation with his father a few hours ago. Hoping he was not turning red, too, he mumbled another hasty thanks to the head groom before walking away.
Somewhere between now and the hunt, he must learn to control his thoughts. If Gwendolyn discovered he was thinking of another woman while he asked her to be his wife, she would be hurt. That he must avoid.
Somehow.
Snuffing out thoughts of Miss Oliver was not as easy as pinching out the light of a candle.
As he edged between two weatherworn barrels, Arthur heard a childish shout. Miss Oliver was in a nearby field. She held the hands of the two older boys. He grinned. Was she trying to keep Bertie and Toby separated? The two were fine when apart. Together they were flint and steel, sparking off each other with every word and action.
The gentle sway of her skirt was like the melody of a song he could not quite hear. When the children laughed, he knew her beautiful eyes would crinkle as her full lips framed her smile.
He wished she was looking at him. Seeing her gentle smile lifted his spirits. He wanted to be with her, to hear her laugh, to see her eyes sparkle, to take her hand in his and hold it as long as propriety allowed. Like the two boys, there was an undeniable spark between Miss Oliver and him. It grew stronger each time they were together. Yet staying away condemned him to the shadows of unhappiness.
Lord, I need Your guidance more than ever. Please help me, I pray.
Arthur forced himself to look at the stable. He had put aside his estate duties for too long. He no longer had the excuse of an injured leg. He had delivered the latest coded messages as instructed. Putting distance between him and the temptation of spending even more time with Miss Oliver would be best.
Wouldn’t it?
“Good afternoon, brother.” Raymond clapped him companionably on the shoulder.
Arthur had not noticed him approaching. “Good to see you, Raymond.”
“The progress on the stable is marvelous.”
Arthur let the conversation focus on the rebuilding for a few minutes before he said, “I doubt you came here to ask me my opinion how many stalls we should have in the new stable.”
“No, I came to collect Toby for tea.”
“I would like your opinion on that subject.”
“Tea?”
Shaking his head, Arthur said, “No, on the children.” He glanced at where Miss Oliver was skipping across the field with them. “I have been thinking we need to ask more questions about how they came to be in that little boat in the harbor.”
Raymond sighed deeply. “I must admit I had hoped this would not come up soon, even though it is the right thing to do. Elisabeth says she will readily give Toby to his rightful family, but I see the pain in her eyes when she mentions it. Does Caroline know you plan to start inquiring about this?”
“I have not told her yet, but in spite of her love for the children, she wants to know the truth. I don’t want to go over the same ground covered previously. Do you have any idea where I should look?”
“None. Every village along the shore was visited and everyone asked about the children. Susanna even took them to one of the mining villages on Lord Warrick’s estate, hoping they might have come from there, because of the message in the note pinned to Joy’s shirt.”
“Message? What message?”
“I thought Susanna had showed it to everyone.”
Arthur grimaced. “If she showed it to me, and she probably did, I have forgotten. What did it say?”
His brother reached under his coat and pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded and opened dozens of times. “I copied this from the original note, which Susanna has.”
Taking it, Arthur opened it and read the few words:
Find loving homes for our children.
Don’t let them work and die in the mines.
“That is pretty specific.” He gave the page to his brother. He glanced toward where Miss Oliver danced in a circle with the children. Their light voices lilted through the air, but the distance obscured the words. “But Susanna found nothing at the mines.”
Raymond slipped the note under his coat. “No one has discovered any clues to what happened before the children were rescued.” He paused, then asked, “Are you listening to me?”
“Of course! Why would you think otherwise?”
“I don’t have your complete attention.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am here.” He tapped his chest. “You seem to be more interested in who is over there.” With a chuckle, Raymond leaned his hand on a nearly empty barrel of nails. “Miss Oliver is extraordinary with the children, isn’t she? Elisabeth never frets when she hands Toby over to her.”
Arthur knew it would be silly to act as if he did not understand. Even as he debated how to put her out of his mind, he stared at the nurse like a child looking at freshly baked treats.
“Carrie is pleased she was hired also.”
“And you?”
Arthur frowned. “If you and Carrie and Susanna are pleased with Miss Oliver, why would I have any reason not to be?”
“I did not intend to suggest you were not pleased with her.” His brother rubbed his fingers against his chin as the two of them watched Miss Oliver lift the boys, one at a time, to look at cows at the far end of the field. “I am curious if you are more than pleased with her.”
“You are being absurd,” he replied automatically, unsettled by his brother’s insight.
Raymond shrugged. “I don’t believe so. Speaking as your parson, I would caution you to be careful, Arthur, for, though God forgives us as a loving father should, it is not as easy for us earthly creatures to be forgiving when our hearts are involved.”
“You are wasting your breath. There is nothing to be forgiven for.”
“Yet.” Any hint of humor vanished from Raymond’s voice. “Speaking as your brother, I wonder if getting to know these children for the sake of Gwendolyn’s is the real reason you continue to spend time with them and their nurse.”
“I confirmed to Father this morning I plan to ask Gwendolyn to become my wife.”
“Then let me give you one more piece of advice. This is man to man. Make sure you and everyone else knows that.” He pushed himself away from the barrel. “Give my words some thought, Arthur. If you want to talk, you know where to find me. I need to collect Toby and return him to the parsonage before Elisabeth wonders where we both have gone.” With a wave, he strode toward where Miss Oliver squatted in the grass, holding up her hand while the children peered into it.
Arthur went to a side door into the house. He thought about what Raymond had said.
All he had to do was ask Gwendolyn to marry him as soon as they both reached Miller’s house. That gave him the fortnight before the gathering to clear his mind of Miss Oliver. A short time, but he must put it to the best use.
In the meantime, he needed to continue to search for answers. Who had murdered Cranny? Who had put the children in the boat and pushed it into the sea? Arthur had depleted almost all his venues for information about the first question.
He planned to check one more tonight when he spoke with a man of the lowest repute, a meeting he had spent a long time arranging.
As for the questions surrounding the children, he knew where to start.
With the same man.