How to Manage a Marquess (15 page)

Eleanor's shoulders drooped. “You are right, of course. The truth is, I am more than a little afraid of her. She's so strong-willed and independent, and I know she doesn't like me.” She touched his arm again. “Can you talk to her? I'm certain she'll listen to you.”

He most emphatically did not want to drop himself into the middle of this emotional morass, but he couldn't turn his back on Eleanor completely.

“I think you're wrong about that, but if I'm given the opportunity, I'll suggest she approach your marriage with an open mind. Since there is a child involved now, I'm sure she understands there's no chance of stopping your union.”

“That is all I ask.” But Eleanor's tone indicated she'd like to ask much more.

That notion made him angry. “That is all you
should
ask.”

She nodded, turning to go back inside. He offered her his arm. It was time he went inside as well.

She sighed as she laid her hand on his sleeve. “I do love Richard, you know.”

“Then let Miss Davenport see that. She loves him, too, and, at heart, wants him to be happy.” He held the door for her. “You've told the boys, I assume?”

She nodded. “Yes. We went up to the nursery shortly after you disappeared into the garden with Miss Davenport. We caught them right before their bedtime.”

“And how did they take the news?”

Eleanor had relit her candle from the wall sconce, so he had no trouble seeing her frown. “Edward seemed happy, but Stephen . . .” Her lips twisted. “Stephen might be of the same opinion as Miss Davenport.”

He nodded. Edward was just five and a sunny little fellow who barely remembered his father. Stephen, however . . . Stephen was seven and serious. He likely remembered too much.

He walked upstairs with Eleanor and left her at a bedroom door—the same one Anne had seen her coming out of with Davenport—before continuing down the corridor to his own chamber.

Thank God! He sighed with relief as he closed the door firmly behind him—and then he sighed again, though not with relief, as he looked over at the room's other door, the one that connected his chamber to Anne's.

No. He should
not
check on her. He should go to bed and try to forget this evening ever happened.

* * *

Had a woodpecker invaded her room?

Silly. Of course not. Anne turned over and fluffed her pillow. It was still early. She'd sleep for a while longer.

There it was again.

She sat up—and thanked God that the room didn't spin. Nate's—
Lord Haywood's
—nasty remedy must have worked. She had a dull ache behind her forehead, but it was nothing compared to how she'd felt last night.

Her heart leapt in excitement—and then seized with fear. Had he lost his mind? What if someone saw him?

The knocking was getting louder. She scrambled out of bed and dashed across the room, cracking the door open to peer out.

“Nate!” she hissed—and then realized she was addressing empty air.

“Miss Davenport?”

She dropped her gaze to find a boy with bed-tousled hair and a large covered basket looking anxiously up at her.

“Y-yes?” She'd definitely not expected this.

“I'm Stephen Eaton, Miss Davenport. I-I need to speak with you.” He swallowed and seemed to stiffen his spine. “Please.”

“Ah.” Stephen Eaton? This must be one of Mrs. Eaton's sons. The older one, who was seven. He was too tall and angular to be the five-year-old. Not that she had much experience with children, but he looked more like Cat's sister, Sybbie, who was six, than her four-year-old twin brothers.

Poor fellow. He was getting a new parent just as she was, but she was a grown woman and he was just a child.

He gestured to the basket. “I've brought breakfast.”

“Oh. Er, that's very nice, but I'm not dressed.”

“You can get dressed.” He frowned. “Though I hope you don't take as long as Mama does now that she's seeing your papa.”

“I . . .” She wanted to decline, but this boy was going to be her stepbrother. She should get to know him. “All right. I'll be quick.”

He smiled, which made him look almost angelic. “I'll wait outside, at the bottom of those stairs.” He'd picked up the basket with both hands, so he pointed with his chin toward the stairs she'd used last night. “And do hurry. I'm hungry.”

She nodded, but he'd already started down the corridor.

She closed the door and considered her clothing options. It was still very early—the grass would be covered with dew—but fortunately she'd thought to bring one of her old dresses in the hopes that she'd get some time to explore Lord Banningly's grounds. She pulled that on, shoved her feet into her walking shoes, and grabbed her bonnet.

Master Eaton should be happy with her speed.

She stepped out into the deserted corridor and hesitated. Should she knock on Lord Haywood's door and ask him to come with her? He must know the boy. Having him there might make things more comfortable....

No. Lord Haywood was likely still asleep. And Stephen had come to her, not Nate. That had been rather brave of him. She could be just as brave.

And he's going to be
my
brother.

She'd ached for a sibling when she was a girl, especially when she was around Cat's large family. Even Jane had a brother, as distasteful as Randolph could be at times.

She reached the bottom of the stairs, pushed open the door, and squinted, blinded briefly by the sun. It took her a moment to see him, waiting off to the side.

He grinned, though his smile was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “Oh, good. You
were
quick.”

In the sunlight, she could see his hair was light brown, and his eyes were brown, too. He was thin—skinny, really—all arms and legs.

And far too serious. “If you will come this way, Miss Davenport?” He struggled to pick up the basket.

“Call me Anne,” she said, reaching to take it from him. “Let me carry that.”

At first she thought he'd not give his burden up, but he finally surrendered it to her. “It's very heavy,” he warned.

It
was
heavy. “What do you have in here?”

“Breakfast.” He flashed his elusive smile again. “I
said
I was hungry.”

“You must be.” Though where he'd put all the food he must be planning to eat was a mystery. There wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on his frame.

She followed him toward the same green, overgrown bower she'd occupied last night with a much older male—and remembered the unpleasant manner in which she'd left it.

“Let's sit over here,” she said, turning toward a tidy patch of grass and putting the hamper down there.

Stephen opened it and pulled out a large blue and white cloth. “Mrs. Limpert—that's the cook—said I had to have this if I was going to eat outside with a lady.” He frowned worriedly up at her. “I had to tell her about you so she'd put enough food in, you see.”

“Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

He nodded as he finished spreading out the cloth—with Anne's help. “She didn't think you'd eat much, you being a proper lady and all, but I told her you would be hungry since Mama said you hadn't eaten your dinner.”

What was this? She tried to keep her annoyance out of her voice. “I'm surprised your mother noticed what I did or didn't eat, and I'm even more surprised she mentioned it to you.”

The boy flinched ever so slightly. Perhaps she'd not hidden her feelings as well as she'd thought.

“She didn't tell me. She told your father. I just heard.”

She smiled at him. “I
am
a little hungry.” She'd likely be hungrier if she hadn't drunk so much last night. Just as Lord Haywood predicted, her stomach was a bit fragile this morning. “What did Mrs. Limpert pack?”

They emptied the basket and then sat down together. There was quite a feast—cheese, bread, a couple meat pies, and several slices of seedcake.

“I couldn't bring any tea, but I did bring a jug of water.”

Ah, that had likely added substantially to the basket's weight. “Lovely. Do let me pour.”

Stephen nodded. “I'm not very good at that,” he confided. “I'd probably spill water everywhere.”

Anne managed the task with no difficulty. “Can I serve you, Stephen? What would you like?”

“A bit of everything.” He gave her his ephemeral smile. “Mrs. Limpert's seedcake is very good.”

“Then it is very fortunate she gave us a lot.” Anne's eyebrows rose. “It looks like she put the entire cake in here.”

“She was going to give me only two slices, but I asked for more.” His smile flashed again. “She likes me.”

“I'm sure she does.” Mrs. Limpert had also packed two plates. Anne put some cheese, bread, a meat pie, and a slice of seedcake on Stephen's plate before handing it to him. Then she took some seedcake for herself.

Stephen started in on his breakfast as if he hadn't eaten in days while Anne watched him and nibbled on her cake.

Odd. She'd never been terribly interested in children, but she felt surprisingly maternal at the moment.

“You said you needed to speak to me, Stephen?”

He nodded, his mouth still full. He took a drink of water to clear it. “Yes. I—” Anxiety shadowed his eyes again. “You know my mama is going to marry your papa and have a baby with him?”

“Yes.” Lud! To be having this conversation with a seven-year-old boy.

Stephen swallowed. “I need to know what your papa is like. My papa . . .” He turned very pale. “Mama left him because he beat me. Does your papa beat children?” He sat up a little straighter. “I ask not just for myself, you understand, but for my little brother, Edward. He's only five. He doesn't remember our papa very well.”

Oh, God. She'd just met this boy, yet her heart was breaking for him. “No, Stephen. My father does not beat children.”

“And does he beat women? Or shout or say mean things?” Stephen looked down at his plate. There was a half slice of seedcake there, but he ignored it. “Mine did. Mama thought I didn't know, but I heard him. And I knew she didn't get her bruises from walking into a door or falling down the steps.” He sniffed rather desperately and then swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I'm glad he's d-dead.”

“Stephen.” Anne moved to sit next to him. She had the surprising urge to wrap her arms around him; instead, she touched his hand. “My father won't hurt you or your brother or your mother. I promise.”

His eyes met hers, his expression serious. He looked more like a grown man than a little boy. “He's never beaten you?”

“Never. And he never hit my mother, either.”

She thought a little stiffness went out of his body.

“That's good, then,” he said, but he didn't pick up the last bit of seedcake.

“What else is troubling you, Stephen?”

At first she thought he wasn't going to answer, he stayed quiet so long. She held her tongue and waited.

Finally, he said, “Hedlow—that's our governess.” He frowned. “Well, she's more of a nurse, really, which is fine for Edward, but I'm old enough to have a tutor except Mama doesn't want to impose on Uncle William more than she already is by living here and eating his food.”

“I'm sure the viscount can well afford to have you, Stephen!” Good heavens, was Banningly making Mrs. Eaton feel beholden to him? “Your mama is his sister.”

“Half sister.”

“I don't see where that has anything to say to the matter. You're family.”

Stephen did not look convinced, but he chose not to pursue that argument. “Hedlow said that Lord Davenport was only taking us because he wants Mama.”

“Stephen! Your governess said that to you? That's terrible.” How
dare
the woman speak so cruelly, and to children who'd already suffered a violent father? She'd like to find this Miss or Mrs. Hedlow and tell the woman exactly what she thought of her behavior.

“Oh, she didn't say it to
me
. I heard her tell Arthur, the footman she likes.” He looked anxiously up at her. “And I wasn't eavesdropping. They were standing right there in the schoolroom. Grown-ups think children don't listen to them, but I always listen.” A shadow flitted through his eyes. “It helps to know things.”

“Stephen, I—” How could she reassure the boy?

“And now that he and Mama are having a baby together, I expect we'll be even more in the way.” He squared his shoulders. “But we
won't
be in the way. Edward can get into trouble sometimes, but I'll watch out for him. Your papa can ask Uncle William. We aren't underfoot. We stay in the nursery.” He looked hopefully at her. “If your house is rather large, he need never see us if he doesn't want to. And I am almost old enough to be sent away to school. I know my numbers and letters. I'm quite good at them.”