The Fifth Kiss (20 page)

Picking herself up from the snow, brushing off her skirts and scooping up a handful of snow to prepare to chase her nephew with a retributive counterattack, she smiled to herself with satisfaction. She had come to a bit of understanding which would help her to find a way to approach her difficult brother-in-law. All she had to do was to convince him that
she could become an ally instead of an adversary
.

But how? Their past encounters had widened the already wide barrier which had existed between them from the first. If only she could make him see that the past must be forgotten, that their mutual dislike must be ignored, and that their differences must be put aside for the sake of the children. Her eyes misted over as she watched the two innocents cavorting through the drifts, pelting each other with handfuls of snow and chortling in the happy, carefree manner that should have been their
usual
spirit but was all too rare for them. If only she could convince Strickland that they must both strive for the same goal—the happiness of these two motherless tots.

“Aunt Livie, let's build a snow fort,” Perry called out, his breath visible in the frosty air.

“That's a wonderful idea,” she said with enthusiasm. “How do we do it?”

“I don't know. We must shape the snow into blocks—like stones, you know—and set them one on the other.”

“Yes, that sounds like an excellent plan,” his aunt agreed. “Do you think we should clear a space first?”

Perry considered the matter. “Would that be a very huge task?”

“Quite huge, I think.” Suddenly her heart gave a little leap as she was struck with an inspiration. “What we need is somebody really strong and clever to help us. A strong, grown man.”

“Do you think so? Shall I call Mr. Clapham?”

“No,” his aunt said, looking toward the house speculatively. “You start to shape the blocks, Perry … and get Amy to help you. And I shall go into the house and call for some
real
assistance.”

“What do you mean, Aunt Livie? Whom will you call?”

“I think, love,” she said with a broad smile, “that I shall call the very
best
person for the task. Your father.”

Perry seemed to freeze. “Oh, I don't …! Never mind, Aunt Livie. We don't w-want to disturb Papa.”

“We won't disturb him, love. I'm certain he'd
like
to help you with the fort.”

Perry eyed her dubiously. “Would he? I don't … think so. Besides, he'd get angry if I did something wrong …”

Olivia knelt beside him and tightened his scarf about his neck. “Are you
afraid
of him, Perry? There's not the least need to be, you know. He's not a monster. He may
seem
angry sometimes, when he has a great deal on his mind, but he doesn't
mean
to be cross with you. If you remember that you're his first-and-only son, and that he loves you very much, you won't need to feel alarmed if he scowls a bit.”

Perry thought over what she'd said. “Do you really think he would
like
to build a snow fort with me?”

Olivia smiled and got to her feet. “I shouldn't be at all surprised. But let me go in and ask him, and then we shall see what we shall see.”

She walked briskly into the library without knocking, carrying his greatcoat over her arm and his beaver in her hand. He looked up from his newspaper, startled.

“Will you put on your coat and come out with me, sir? Perry has need of you.”

He looked alarmed. “Has something happened to the boy?” he asked, starting from his chair.

“No, of course not. We just need your help. We're playing in the snow, you know. I've brought your—”

“You wish me to come and play in the snow?” He stared at her in revulsion. “
Play
in the
snow?
I think, Olivia, that something has addled your wits.”

“I refuse to let you goad me into quarreling with you, my lord. Here—I've brought your hat and greatcoat. Please put them on. Perry wants to build a snow fort, and he needs some help. No one but his father will do for it.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Perry asked for
me
?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes, in fact it does. I don't remember his ever seeking my companionship before.”

“Perhaps he was afraid you'd refuse him—as you are doing now.”

“Hmmm.” He frowned at her sullenly. “You are not suggesting, are you, that I'm so forbidding that my own son—?”

She bit her lip. Didn't he
know
how forbidding he was? But following such avenues of thought would result in another quarrel, and she had another intention entirely. “No, my lord, of course not,” she said, looking down at the floor to keep from meeting his eyes, “although you
have
been known to be short-tempered …”

He snorted. “With
you
, perhaps. You'd set the temper of a
saint
to boil! But I've not been especially short-tempered with Perry. At least, not that I can remember.”

“But you've been short with people in his presence, and that, you know, can be enough to frighten a child.”

“Rubbish. Nothing about me to frighten anyone. Perry has always been too timorous—I'd noticed that from his earliest days. Spends too much time with women. Why, even little
Amy
runs up to me with less trepidation than her brother.”

“All the more reason for you to spend more time with the boy. How will your son know how to be a man without a proper example?”

He fixed his eye on her again, as if wary of her motives. “Are you trying one of your interfering tricks, ma'am? I hope you are not going to force me to repeat what I said to you earlier.”

“In what way can my asking you to join us outdoors be interfering? Come, sir, let me help you on with your coat.”

He peered at her cautiously, but she smiled up at him with ingenuous innocence. After a moment, he shrugged. “I'll help myself, thank you,” he muttered and pulled the coat from her grasp.

She wanted to jump in the air and clap her hands in triumph. He was going to do as she asked! “Thank you, my lord,” she said, barely able to contain her urge to grin.

“You needn't look like the cat with the canary,” he added grumpily. “I had intended to go outdoors for a walk in any case. I need some air to clear my head.”

She didn't answer but stood meekly watching as he threw on his greatcoat and clapped his beaver on his head. She handed him his long scarf, which he wound round his neck, and they walked down the hall to the drawing room and out the tall doors leading to the terrace. As the brilliant sunlight struck his eyes, Strickland winced. “Good God, it's
blinding
! I shall have to stand here a moment and become accustomed to the light.”

“That's because you've been sitting about in darkened rooms for much too long,” Olivia taunted unsympathetically.

He glowered at her and determinedly walked on.

She caught up to him and touched his arm. “May I say something before we join the children, my lord?”

“What is it now?”

“I … er … think it extremely kind in you to agree to come out to play with them, but …”

“But?” he asked, steeling himself.

“But—and I hope you will not interpret this as interfering—I would like to suggest that, during this afternoon with them, you refrain from … er …
lecturing
Perry about anything. Let's just have a bit of pure
playtime
for a change.”

“
Lecture
? Why would I lecture him?”

“Well, you do have a tendency … that is, I
had
noticed that—”

“Are you suggesting, ma'am, that I
lecture
him—and by ‘lecture' I am certain you mean ‘scold'—every time I come in contact with him?”

“Not
every
time, perhaps.”

“
Thank
you!” He stomped across the terrace and down the steps, Olivia hurrying to keep apace. “You are having a
delightful
time, aren't you, ma'am? Meddling and interfering and criticizing to your heart's content. Very well, you may have your way. I shall not lecture the boy. Is there anything
else
about which you would like to caution me?”

“Yes, there
is
something …”

He stood stock still and faced her. “I might have known,” he muttered. “Well, go on!”

“You might try to … er …
smile
just a bit, you know, my lord. You have a tendency to glower.”

“
Glower
?”

“Yes.”

He glowered at her. “It's no wonder.
Anyone
would glower if he had to hear someone
my lording
him with every sentence she spoke. I
do
have a name, you know.”

Olivia blinked at him in surprise. “You wish me to … call you
Miles
?”

“Why not? You're my sister-in-law, after all, not some toadying governess.”

“Very well, my l … Miles. But you
will
be pleasant to Perry, won't you? Even if he doesn't do things quite as you'd like him to?”

Strickland sighed. “Yes, my dear, I shall smile. I don't know why you think it necessary to instruct me in how to play with my own children—I have sometimes done so in the past, you know.” He gave her a sardonic look. “I suppose you can't help thinking of me as some sort of monster, but I assure you, Olivia, that I have managed a smile on one or two occasions.”

“Have you really?” she retorted, breaking into a grin. “
That
is almost impossible for me to believe.” Laughing, she ran off ahead of him, anticipating quite accurately that his response would be to pelt her with a barrage of snowballs.

chapter fourteen

Olivia would not have permitted herself to dream that a day which had begun so badly could end so well. She went to bed that night happier than she'd been in months. She knew that something very important had occurred that afternoon—that, during the time the family had played together in the snow, a turning point had been reached. Olivia was convinced that family life at Langley Park would now begin to improve.

It had been a remarkable afternoon. When Strickland had joined the children in the snow-covered field at the back of the house, his manner had at first seemed stiff. But Amy had welcomed him with her eager warmth, and soon he was tossing his daughter in the air and letting her fall into the snowdrifts gurgling with glee. Perry had hung back warily, eyeing his father with cautious interest and accepting his offer to assist in the fort-building with hesitation. They'd worked together rather silently at first, Perry tense for an expected scolding. But Strickland had been almost pleasant, patiently stacking the snow blocks which Perry had fashioned and giving his son an occasional, awkward smile. At last, encouraged by a lack of friction, Perry had been emboldened to make a suggestion as to the architecture of the entrance to the fort. His father had looked at him with surprise and said the idea was “absolutely inspired.” It was probably the first compliment the boy had ever received from his critical sire, and his eyes had glowed with pride.

At that point, Olivia had taken Amy inside, for the child was almost frozen. She'd not gone out again for more than an hour, deciding to permit father and son to spend time alone in each other's company. She'd come out to find them happily and busily working on the almost completed fortress. Strickland had helped his son to build an elaborate, curved structure with little open spaces in the walls from which a boy could shoot cannonballs of snow at any approaching “enemy,” and containing half-hidden little alcoves in which a boy might take shelter from the wind or hide himself from “spies.” The two of them had barely noticed that it was already dusk, and only the promise of steaming cups of chocolate could persuade them to come into the house and leave the finishing touches for the following day.

Until he had fallen into an exhausted sleep, Perry hadn't stopped chattering about his fort or his eagerness to continue his work on it the next day. “Do you really think Papa will help me tomorrow?” he'd asked repeatedly, too insecure from past unhappiness to accept this new and pleasant feeling as a sign of good things to come. Olivia had tried hard to reassure him, but she was almost afraid, herself, to hope for too much.

Nevertheless, she had gone down to dinner in a glow of optimism. Determined to do nothing to spoil what had been achieved that afternoon, she'd decided to be scrupulously careful to avoid topics of conversation on which she knew they differed. Since these included politics, the pastimes and manners of the
haut ton
, most poets, all novelists, and almost all their common acquaintance, she was hard pressed to find anything to talk about. Most of the meal was passed in silence, but the success of the afternoon had had such a beneficial effect on her spirit that even the silence seemed to have been congenial.

As she snuggled into the pillows that night, she sighed in relief and self-satisfaction. “Clara,” she whispered just before sleep overtook her, “I think we shall pull through after all. Rest easy, love. Rest easy.”

But sleep did not come as easily to Lord Strickland, nor were his thoughts nearly as sanguine. Though the afternoon in the outdoors had done much to ease his sickened spirit, he had a great deal on his mind to trouble him. First was his relationship with his son. Olivia had, by hints and innuendo, made him aware that the boy was not comfortable with him. While Clara had been alive, it had not seemed necessary for him to develop a closeness with his son; his own father had always been a shadowy and distant figure in
his
childhood, and he had continued that pattern with
his
son. But he had had an affectionate mother and an independent nature, and he had not
needed
his father's attention. With Clara gone, however, his son's situation was different from his own. Perhaps the boy needed a father's affection to make up for the loss of his mother's. But Strickland was not at all certain he knew how to go about showing that affection.