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Authors: Blackthorne

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Her eyes widened at the intimacy of his touch. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks and knew he could see it. Once again she was reminded of the kiss they had shared in the darkened hallway. A kiss that had caused her a very sleepless night.
“Miss St. John told me her parents are in heaven with my mama.” Liat looked very serious as he added, “Miss St. John said heaven is where the souls of the just go when they die.”
“Did she?” Quenton’s manner turned suddenly brusque. He made a slight bow of his head to Olivia and the boy. “I’ll say good-day now. You’ll remember to stay clear of the cliffs.”
Without another word he strode away, leaving the nursemaid and her young charge to stare after him.
What had caused his abrupt change of mood?
Was he thinking of Liat’s mother? Olivia thought of what the servant Edlyn had told her on her first night here.
Or was it guilt that put the frown between his brows?
She felt suddenly chilled. “Come, Liat. Let’s go inside and ask Cook for some tea.”
As they made their way back to Blackthorne, she berated herself for the confusing feelings she experienced whenever Lord Stamford was near. He was, by all accounts, a heartless man. Yet, when she looked in his eyes, it wasn’t coldness she saw, but pain. And deep-seated sorrow. A sorrow that touched something in her. Though she didn’t understand why, she was drawn to him. And that knowledge greatly disturbed her.
She shivered again and brushed aside all thought of him. Lord Quenton Stamford was unworthy of her pity or her concern. She would concentrate instead on Liat.
“Come on.” She lifted her skirts and quickened her pace. “Last one home is a—” her eyes danced as she thought of Mistress Thornton’s constant insults to the servants “—beslubbering, beef-witted bugbear.”
She and her young charge were giggling hysterically as they raced across the moor.
Chapter Six
 
 
“H
ello, Minerva.” Olivia paused on her way to the stairs.
“Miss St. John.” Minerva, red curls bouncing, bobbed and curtsied as she stepped into the hall. “I was just going off to fetch Master Bennett some tea. The days are long for him, confined to his room and all.”
“I’m just headed out to the gardens with Liat. Perhaps Bennett would like to join us.”
The young woman shook her head. “Master Bennett hasn’t been out of the house in years, miss.”
“Is his health so fragile that he can’t breathe the air?”
“I don’t believe so. It’s just...” She paused, biting her lip and glancing around before continuing, “He becomes highly agitated if anything disturbs his routine. I think he feels safe in his room.”
“Safe. I see.” Olivia glanced at the closed door, then came to a decision. “Papa used to say if we risk nothing, we gain nothing. I believe I shall invite Bennett along and leave the decision up to him.”
Before the young servant could bar her way, she knocked, then entered Bennett’s room. He was seated in front of the window, hunched in a chair, a shawl draped around his shoulders.
“Good day, Bennett. Isn’t it a lovely day?”
For a long moment he merely stared at her, as though unaccustomed to having anyone speak to him. Then he nodded.
She gave him a wide innocent smile. “Liat and I are going for a walk in the gardens. I wondered if you and Minerva might want to join us.”
The young servant dashed in behind her. “Master Bennett, I tried to explain....”
Olivia cut her off with a gentle smile. “I could have one of the stable lads carry you downstairs and settle you on a bench. The sun’s out this afternoon. A fine day to sit and admire the gardens.”
He showed no emotion as he continued studying her, and she was about to admit defeat when he shyly nodded his head.
“You’d like to join us?”
He nodded again.
“Splendid.” She turned to Minerva. “If you’ll fetch a stable lad, I’ll go on ahead with Liat and find a suitable bench in the sunlight.”
“Yes, miss.” The servant glanced uneasily from Bennett to the nursemaid, then hurried away, fearful of what the housekeeper would have to say about this.
 
“I intend to ride over every section of Stamford land and speak to the tenant farmers myself, Pembroke.” Quenton paced the floor of his grandfather’s study, hands behind his back. “As soon as I’ve had time to examine all the accounts.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“From what I’ve studied so far, it simply doesn’t make sense.” He stopped, frowned. “The land appears to be yielding rich crops. The herds appear to be thriving. Yet the Stamford accounts are actually dwindling.”
“Old Lord Stamford’s health was failing in the last years, my lord. Perhaps his figures are incorrect.”
“That was my first thought. But so far I’ve found no errors on my grandfather’s part.” He began pacing again. “No matter. I’ll get to the bottom of this. If I have to, I’ll ride to London myself and speak with the solicitors about...” He looked up at the knock on the door. The housekeeper stepped in, looking even more frazzled than usual.
“Yes, Mistress Thornton?”
“It’s about your brother, m’lord.”
Quenton visibly paled. “Is he ill?”
“Nay, m’lord. But he’s...he’s insisted on going outdoors.”
“You mean he spoke?”
“Nay, m’lord.”
“Then how could he insist upon anything?”
“That elf-skinned, tickle-brained servant Minerva told me. She said Miss St. John invited Master Bennett to join her and the lad in the garden, and Master Bennett has set his mind on doing just that. You see?” She looked beyond him and pointed.
Quenton walked to the window and stared down at the strange procession. A muscular lad was carrying Bennett in his arms. Behind them trailed the young servant, Minerva, carrying an array of quilts and pillows. Following them was another lad toting a heavy arm chair.
“I agree that it seems a great deal of work for the servants. But I don’t see the harm, Mistress Thornton.”
“Yer brother hasn’t been out of his room since...” She paused and glanced at Pembroke for support. “He must be looked after like a child, m’lord.”
Quenton turned to Pembroke. “Do you agree?”
The older man walked to the window, then sadly nodded. “Your grandfather feared Master Bennett might take a chill. In his condition, he would be hard-pressed to fight it. If you’d like, Mistress Thornton can order the servants inside at once, my lord.”
“Nay.” Quenton touched his arm, then hurried across the room. “You and I will see to it ourselves, Pembroke.”
The butler followed reluctantly as Quenton made his way downstairs and out to the garden. Quenton’s frown deepened. He had spotted the nursemaid on the far side of the garden making her way toward the others. So, this entire foolish scheme had been her idea. It would seem she was intent upon insinuating herself into affairs that were of no concern to her. It was time someone reminded her that her only duty lay in the care and education of the boy.
As he approached he could hear Minerva’s voice.
“I thought Master Bennett would be more comfortable in a chair than on one of these benches.” The young servant hastily arranged pillows to cushion Bennett’s seat and back, then settled one quilt over his lap and another around his shoulders as the stable boy set him down.
The two stable hands doffed their hats to Lord Stamford and hurriedly returned to their chores.
“I’m so glad you agreed to join us, Bennett.” Olivia paused beside his chair. “There’s something soothing about the sounds and scents of a garden. Don’t you agree, Minerva?”
“Yes, miss.” The servant seemed tense and edgy, not at all certain she had done the right thing. She hovered behind Bennett’s chair like a mother hen.
Both women looked up when a dark shadow fell over them.
“Well, well, Miss St. John.” Quenton was positively scowling by the time he made his way across the garden and confronted her. “You’ve given poor Mistress Thornton heart palpitations.”
“Whatever for?”
“For bringing my brother out here without her permission.”
“But I asked Bennett, and he said he wanted to join us.”
“And just how did he do that?”
“The same way anyone would.” She turned to the young man, who huddled inside his quilts as though it were the dead of winter. “Bennett, do you wish to be here?”
He looked from his brother to the young woman, then hesitantly nodded his head.
She turned to Quenton with a smile.
But instead of admitting his error, his scowl deepened. He glanced around. “Where is the lad who is supposed to be under your watchful care?”
“Liat will be here any minute now. I expect he’s skipping along the path. I encourage him to skip, hop, jump and run whenever he is outdoors.”
“You do? And why is that?”
“Because I found him much too pale and subdued when I first arrived. Children need to run and frolic in the fresh air. And they need to shout once in a while, to exercise their lungs. Don’t you agree, Bennett?”
The young man seemed surprised to be included again. Gathering his wits, he gave a half smile and nodded.
“You see?” Olivia’s smile widened. “It’s a shame our English summers are so short. But we just have to make the most of them. I’ve been trying to keep Liat outdoors from late morning until early evening. I find he’s sleeping better. And his appetite has certainly increased.” She turned to Bennett. “You might want to do the same. It’s amazing what a little fresh air can do.”
Quenton felt his temper rising. “It was my grandfather’s belief that fresh air can also bring chills, Miss St. John.”
“My parents never subscribed to that theory, Lord Stamford. In fact, they saw to it that I was raised in fresh air. Mum said I often took my naps under the shade of a tree while she and Papa sketched and studied the nearby plants. They allowed me to accompany them on climbing expeditions as soon as I was old enough to toddle after them. I don’t recall ever having a chill.”
“Then you are fortunate indeed, to have been blessed with robust health, Miss St. John.” Quenton’s frown remained. “But my concern is with a brother whose health is...fragile.”
“My point exactly.” She shot him that dazzling smile that always seemed to do strange things to his heart. “What possible harm could there be in enjoying a pleasant afternoon in the garden?”
“The harm is...”
“Ma‘am! Ma’am!” Liat’s excited cries had Olivia racing headlong across the garden, with Quenton and Pembroke in hot pursuit.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Olivia cried when she spotted the lad on his knees on a grassy walkway.
“Look, ma’am. A butterfly.” He pointed to a cluster of crimson roses. Amid the petals could be seen a gentle flutter of pale wings in exquisite shades of iridescent pink and lavender.
“Well, Liat. You are fortunate indeed.” Olivia caught her breath and knelt beside him. “That’s a
Lycaena helle,
considered one of the loveliest of all butterflies. ”
“Truly, ma’am?”
“Yes.” When the butterfly moved on to another flower she got to her feet, smoothing down her skirts as she did. “Why, I’m told the king himself considers them good fortune.”
“He does?”
She nodded.
Beside her, Quenton shot her a look of amazement. “The king, Miss St. John? I suppose you have that on good authority?”
“The best. My father told me that King Charles has an extensive butterfly collection. And he sent out a request for a
Lycaena helle
because he was missing one, and his collection wouldn’t be complete without it.”
“Should we send him this one, ma’am?” the boy asked.
Liat looked so serious, Olivia had to laugh. “In order to do that, we would have to kill the butterfly. Is that what you’d like to do, Liat?”
The lad’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. I could never do that.”
“I’m glad. Neither could I.” She thought a moment, then said, “Perhaps you would like to do what my father and mother did, when they were studying the various species. They drew pictures of them, identifying their colors, and where they were sighted. Would you like to try drawing the
Lycaena helle?”
The boy nodded eagerly. “I’d like that, ma’am.”
“Then come along and we’ll fetch some drawing materials.”
As they started back along the path, Liat skipped ahead, the hound bounding after him, leaving Olivia and Quenton to follow, with Pembroke trailing discreetly behind. With each step Olivia became more aware of Quenton’s ominous silence. It would seem that he was holding his anger on a short leash.
As soon as he approached Bennett’s chair Liat began chattering away, describing the butterfly in detail.
“It was pink and lavender and Miss St. John said it is called a...
Lycae
...
Lycaena helle,
one of the king’s favorites. But I didn’t want to kill it and send it to the king, so we’re going to fetch some drawing materials so I can sketch it.” He turned to his nursemaid. “Do you think I could send the sketch to the royal palace? King Charles could put it in his collection instead of the real butterfly.”
Olivia gave him a gentle smile. “That’s certainly something to think about. Though I imagine by now the king has probably spotted a few
Lycaenae
of his own.”
She offered her hand. “Come along, Liat. We’ll get those supplies.”
“There’s no need, Miss St. John.” Quenton had been amazed, not only by the words spilling out of this once silent little boy’s mouth, but also by the reaction of his brother to Liat’s animated conversation. Bennett’s eyes had widened at the vivid description of the butterfly. He had followed every movement of the lad’s hands, had even nodded his approval at the suggestion of a sketch. Perhaps there was something more going on here than a simple visit in the garden.
He turned to Pembroke. “Have a servant fetch Miss St. John’s sketching supplies.”
“Very good, my lord.” Stone-faced, Pembroke turned away.
“Perhaps I should take Master Bennett in for his tea now.” Minerva cast a worried glance toward the house.
“There’s no need. Pembroke,” Quenton called to his butler’s retreating back, “tell Mistress Thornton to bring us some tea and biscuits as well.”
The butler stopped, turned. “Tea and biscuits? In the garden, my lord?”
“Aye.” Quenton ignored the little note of disapproval in the older man’s voice and waved a hand in dismissal.
A short time later a parade of servants arrived carting a table, linens, a tea service and a variety of biscuits and pastries as well as meats, cheeses, jams and jellies.

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