Trouble With Harry (8 page)

“She would like to know if you are curious about the specifics concerning the two”—another crash, this one followed by a hoarse shout and peals of childish laughter, interrupted Temple—“three indicators of an accident from the hall.”

“Why would I be foolish enough to want to know that?” Harry asked, his gaze on the letter as he took a pen from the holder and flipped open the top to an inkwell.

Temple glanced apologetically at her. “I believe your lady feels that you might wish to make sure that one of the children hasn't injured himself or herself.”

Plum nodded, wondering greatly whether or not returning to bed and starting the day over would help. She reckoned it wouldn't.

“Don't be ridiculous, Temple,” Harry said absently, making a notation on the letter. “If one of them was hurt, there would be screaming and blood and such.”

Then again, it couldn't hurt.

“Harry.”

He looked up, the adorable lock of hair hanging over his equally adorable brow, his eyes dark and shadowed behind the glass lenses. “Plum! You're…er…up.”

Temple quietly left the room, closing the door behind him as Plum walked toward the desk, glancing at the variety of objects lining the tables and bookcases. “Yes, I've found that if I really put my mind to it, I often manage to arise before the sun has set for the day. Good morning, Harry.”

“Oh, er…” Harry stood up, more than a little bit flustered, Plum was delighted to see. He pushed back his spectacles, leaving a smear of blue ink on the bridge of his nose. Her fingers itched to push the lock of hair back from his brow as he tugged on his neckcloth (leaving blue smudges on it, too), greeting her with a hesitant (but needless to say, adorable) smile. “Good morning. How did you…er…sleep?”

Plum sighed to herself. There was no avoiding the fact, Harry was just all-around adorable. “Quite well, the bed is very comfortable. I did, however, have a complaint concerning my bedchamber.”

“Oh?” Harry came around the edge of the desk and pulled back a chair for her. Two apples, a number of crumpled neckcloths, and a small brown-and-black salamander tumbled from the mass of papers that sat on the chair. “What—just ignore the salamander, it's one of McTavish's pets, it's harmless, I'm quite sure. Temple's story about it biting off one of the footmen's fingertips is nothing but the grossest sort of fiction—what did you find lacking?”

Plum took a deep breath, and reminded herself that she was neither a shy virgin nor a woman inexperienced with men and the intimate acts they did with their wives. She knew thirteen different standing positions alone for said intimate acts, and women who knew such things did not blush when they were mentioned in casual conversation. She was a mature, rational woman. Harry was her husband. She very much looked forward to investigating his person in a thorough and lengthy manner. She might even take notes about things he particularly enjoyed. She would not, under any circumstances, act maidenish.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he peered into her face. “Are you well? You look flushed, as if you have a fever.”

“I'm quite fine,” she answered, ignoring the fact that her cheeks were so hot she could probably fry an egg or two on them. “What I found lacking in my bedchamber last night was your presence.”

Harry looked confused. “You threw me out of the room.”

Drat the man, he would have to remember that point. “Yes, I did, but I didn't mean it.”

One dark brown eyebrow rose over the top of the spectacles. “Ah. That would be why you said, and I believe I'm quoting you accurately, ‘You deceiving mongrel of a man! You have five children and you never told me? Five? F-I-V-E, five?'”

Plum's blush, to her everlasting mortification, deepened even more. She avoided looking into his lovely, changeable eyes and glared at the dirty window instead. “I might have said that, but I was a bit upset at the time—”

“Following which, you marched over to the door leading to my room, threw it open, and with a dramatic gesture that would have done Sarah Siddons proud, informed me that I might go to my own room, or to the devil, whichever I preferred so long as I removed myself from your presence.”

She made a face. “I have often found people with exceptionally good memories to be the worst sort of annoying—”

“I might have been left in some doubt as to what, exactly, your thoughts were on the subject of our marriage, but the fact that you almost brained me with your hairbrushes—”

“They were very small hairbrushes! They couldn't possibly have done any damage more than perhaps a slight bruise or two, although I do concede that if you were not wearing your spectacles, and if the handle was to have lodged in your eye, it might have put it out.”

“—as you swore to the Lord Almighty that you never, ever wanted to see me again.”

She closed her eyes for a second. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she flown off the hook at him like that? She of all people had no right to be angry at him for having concealed from her something about his past. “‘Never, ever' might have been a slight exaggeration—”

“Plum.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands clasped before her as she refused to look at him, too embarrassed to bear seeing the condemnation in his eyes. She truly was a coward. “I'm sorry, Harry. I thought I could do this, but I'm obviously too—”

“Plum, look at me.”

Slowly, with reluctance, her gaze rose to meet his. Her throat tightened and several odd, butterfly-like things set up fluttering in her stomach. He was smiling at her, smiling a wonderful smile, not with just his lips, but with his eyes too. He took her hands, then bent to kiss the backs of each. Her hands glowed warm under the touch.

“You had every right to be angry with me. I don't blame you at all for ejecting me from your room. I just hope that now that you know the worst, you'll consent to remain my wife. I admit that it's not a particularly good deal on your part, but I would like you to stay. Lord knows the servants could use a mistress—they never seem to know how to do their jobs, or even what their jobs are. And the children are wild—not bad-tempered, just wild. They need you as well.”

Plum smiled at the earnest, hopeful look in his eyes and tightened her fingers around his. “And you, my lord? What do you need?”

“A friend,” he said, his voice suddenly husky as he drew her closer to him. “A companion. A lover.” She was against his chest, her hands sliding up the fine green cloth of his jacket, his muscles bunching as he pulled her tight against him. His lips teased hers, nipping at her lower lip, tasting the corners of her mouth, pressing little butterfly kisses along the length of her lips until her head swam. Harry's voice was rough, thick with desire as he said, just before he accepted the invitation offered by her parted lips, “A wife.”

Plum, thinking wicked thoughts about using Harry's desk in a manner she did not doubt would surprise him, prepared to surrender to his worshipful mouth when another, closer crash shook the windows behind Harry.

“Damnation,” he snarled as he pulled his lips from hers. “Temple!”

Reminding herself that she was now the children's mother, and thus the likely person to investigate household accidents, she reluctantly pulled herself from Harry's arms. “I should probably see what's amiss.”

“No, you stay. Temple, what's going on out there? Why can't I have a single moment of solitude? Is it too much to ask for a man to read his letters in peace and quiet?”

“No, sir,” Temple replied, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. “It would appear that a bull, sadly lacking in the tail department, has made its way into the hall. I will see to it that it is removed immediately.”

“Don't bother, I'll do it,” Plum said, giving him a smile. “After all, I'm mistress here now. If anyone is responsible for removing livestock from the house, I suppose it is me.” She turned back to Harry, suddenly shy despite the fact that a few moments before she was entertaining his tongue in a most intimate manner. “Will I see you later?”

He gave her a heated look that left no confusion over just how much she'd see of him later, then kissed her hands again. “You're an angel, Plum, the answer to my prayers. I leave the children in your capable hands, confident that you will restore peace and sanity to my house. You are exactly what we need. I will see you at luncheon…no, blast, I won't either. I had a letter this morning that I must attend to…er…business. You will forgive me?”

He cupped her jaw, pulling her closer. Plum knew if she got within kissing distance of him, she would wrestle him to the floor and have her way with him, so she slipped backward and gave him what she hoped was a dazzling smile (but feared was more a lustful leer). “Yes, certainly. Dinner, then. I will see you for dinner…and after.”

His eyes blazed hot, hot enough to leave her whole body flushed and aching for him. He swallowed twice and nodded. She blew him a little kiss, then scampered from the room when he looked like he was going to lunge toward her. Temple, who had been politely gazing at a picture on the wall, held the door open for her. She whisked through his room, filled with hope and desire and happiness.

“Temple—you don't mind if I call you that? Thank you—Temple, I have a very good feeling.” Plum opened the door to the passage. A medium-sized bull thundered past the door, followed by two large dogs, a pheasant, and the twins. “Today marks the beginning of a new life for all of us.”

McTavish raced by, dragging the carcass of a rat tied to a string.

“I will deal with everything life throws my way, and I will conquer it.”

“God help you, my lady,” Temple said. “I believe you're going to need all the help you can get.”

The salamander scampered over her foot and ran out the door.

Plum sighed. “I fear you're right.”

Harry fought a short battle with his body, which desperately wanted to scoop Plum up in his arms and carry her off to his bedroom, where he would apply himself to keeping her in a state of absolute pleasure for as long as his strength held out, but he reminded himself—particularly those errant parts of his body that were at that moment straining against his clothing—that he was not an animal, he was a gentleman, and gentlemen did not act as if they were stallions around a mare in heat.

It was touch-and-go there for a few minutes as to whether he would throw his honor to the wind and go straight to stallionhood, but in the end, his better nature won out. He willed his arousal to think of something unpleasant like stagnant cesspools and bloated corpses, then sat back down to consider the letter he'd received an hour before.

“Temple!”

His secretary came before the echoes had died down.

“You bellowed, sir?”

“Yes, I did. I want your advice.”

Temple allowed a surprised expression to dance across his face. “You want
my
advice?”

“Yes. Sit down, this is going to take some explaining. Some time just before I married Beatrice I was brought up on charges of treason. I believe I mentioned it to you?”

“Yes, sir, you did.” Temple's lips thinned. “The charges were false, and you were released.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk. “Of course they were false, I was working for the Home Office at the time, under direct command of the prime minister. I was the bait used to catch whoever was using the Home Office to stir up insurrection and anarchy.”

Temple said nothing, but his eyes glowed with the light of admiration and excitement. “I assume that you found the person?”

“Yes, I did. I was almost hung in the process, but all that got sorted out once I determined that the mastermind behind the plot to overthrow the government was none other than the head of the HO, Sir William Stanford.”

“But…he was your employer, was he not?” Temple asked.

Harry nodded. “He was. I worked for him for years, never guessing that he was using his own position to feed information to anarchists.”

“Good Lord!” Temple's face was a picture of captivation. “What happened to Sir William? Were the anarchists captured? And how did you end up in prison for treason?”

Harry opened a small cedar box situated at the far edge of his desk and extracted a thin brown cigar. He waved his hand toward the box in invitation as he lit the cheroot, settling back with the air of one who has a riveting tale to tell. “Sir William took his own life as soon as I discovered his perfidy. The anarchists were caught, and the leaders hung. I was jailed for treason because Sir William had set me up as a scapegoat, manufacturing a convincing case against me with the help of the anarchists. He knew I was getting too close to the truth, you see, and it had come to his ears that the PM was aware that there was someone high up in the Home Office who was betraying the government, so Stanford decided I would be offered up as a sacrifice.”

“Fascinating,” Temple said, carefully tapping his ash into the receptacle provided. “I take it the letter you received today has some bearing on that incident?”

“Exactly.” Harry dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward to frown at the letter. “This is from the Lord Briceland, the new head of the HO. He says some information has come to light recently to hint that Stanford might not have been working alone, and he'd like me to go over my documents and papers with an eye to finding proof of a second person's involvement.”

“That sounds as if it will involve quite a bit of work.”

“It will.” Harry sighed, then picked up his pen. “I'll want you to write to Crabtoes and have him dig out my records at Rosehill. Have him send them to me here, as fast as possible. Then I'll need you to help me sort through the papers I have here. I don't have much that is pertinent to that time, but I recall seeing a box of my notes somewhere when we moved. Oh, and don't forget to send in that announcement to the
Times
.”

Temple put out his cigar, carried it over to the fireplace, and disposed of both ashes and cigar, wiping out the glass bowl with his handkerchief before returning it to Harry's desk. “Your marriage announcement?”

“Yes. It will save me from having to write to all my friends, and Plum will probably want her friends and family to know about it. Blast! Just when I wanted to spend some time reveling in my wife's charms, I must spend my days pouring over fifteen-year-old notes…”

***

“I should very much like to know exactly how the bull found itself in the house. Would one of you like to tell me?”

Erk, erk
, chirruped the pheasant. Plum gave it a look to let it know she didn't appreciate its opinion, and honed her look to a glare. She sent it down the line of servants and children who stood before her.

“Well? Doesn't someone have something to say?”

The ten pairs of eyes regarding her displayed nothing but innocence, innocence so great, it would make the cherubim themselves feel in need of a good purging.

Plum sighed. “Very well, if you wish to be difficult about this. Gertie?”

An older woman with brown hair flecked with gray nodded her head.

“You're in charge of the children, are you not?”

“Aye…well, I was until 'is lordship married ye, and now ye're in charge o' the little buggers.”

Plum fought down a feeling of panic at that thought. They were only children, and she had lots of experience with Cordelia's children over the years—experience playing with them, that is, in situations in which she knew full well Cordelia would never allow her to suggest romps that might prove to be unsuitable or dangerous. Now, however, she was in Cordelia's position, and she felt sadly at a loss as to what she should and shouldn't do with the children. After a morning's concerted and uncomfortable thought on the subject, she had decided that she would be their friend, helping them, guiding them, mentoring them, without being too strict or having to dole out punishment.

That was, after all, what a father was for.

“Just so. However, you have more experience with them than I do, therefore you must have some idea how a bull was let into the house.”

The woman named George—a misnomer if ever there was one, since a lovelier, more curvaceous woman Plum had never seen, not even her dull gray gown and stained apron could dim her charms—raised her hand. “Through the door?”

Digger snickered. India rolled her eyes and looked bored as only a thirteen-year-old girl can look bored. Plum narrowed her glare onto them both.

“You wouldn't have something to tell me, would you, Digger?”

“Sure I do, I have lots of things to tell you. Joshua is a friendly sort, kind of like Nash.”

Nash, she knew, was the pheasant. She had made its introduction earlier, when she and Juan rounded up the nursery staff, footmen, and children. “Joshua?”

“Joshua is the bull,” Digger said. “He's friendly, see? He likes McTavish, so when we came in from hunting for Joshua's tail—”

“I found a bull tail!” McTavish said happily, holding up a withered black object that looked more like a dehydrated snake than a tail. “Can I have a kitten now? You said I could.”

Plum raised an eyebrow at Digger and tipped her head slightly toward McTavish. Digger shook his head. She sent a silent prayer of gratitude that she would not be called upon to admire the replacement bull's tail, and continued with her morning guidance to the children. “That explains how Joshua might have come into the hall, but how is it that he broke three very expensive-looking urns, and put his horns through the door to the necessary?”

Anne and Andrew giggled, realized they were both laughing at the same thing, and changed their giggles to glares.

“The urns weren't expensive, ma'am,” George said. The other servants nodded. “His lordship wouldn't put anything expensive in the hall.”

Plum frowned. “He wouldn't?”

“No, ma'am. He knows, you see.”

“He does.”

“Yes'm. About the children.”

“Ah.” Plum added an extra point or two to her opinion of Harry's intelligence, and moved on. “About the door—”

“Tavvy was in the necessary,” Digger—evidently spokesman for the children—said. India sat at the end of the blue sofa across from Plum ignoring them all, obviously pretending she was a thousand miles away.

“Nash had to use the pot,” McTavish said, teasing the pheasant with his dried snake cum bull tail.

Plum successfully removed the image from her mind of a pheasant using a chamber pot, and bravely forged onward. “Since we are all friends here, we'll let this morning's incident go without further comment.”

Several members of the staff sighed with relief and slouched back against the wall. Plum eyed them all. “I realize that I am a new member of the family, but I really must put my foot down about the entertaining of livestock inside the house. Henceforth, all animals that are not pets will remain outside. Animals other than cats and dogs are not allowed to follow you inside. Do you all understand?”

“Yes,” Andrew said, nodding.

“No,” Anne said, shaking her head.

Digger shrugged.

Gertie and George exchanged glances.

Juan threw himself to his knees before Plum, one hand on his chest, the other outstretched toward her. “The Holy Mother pours blessings on your head, Lady Plump. The bull, he causes much mess in the hall that the boys and I must clean. Last week it was peacocks. Before that, pigeons.” He shuddered and sent her a look of sultry invitation from under half-closed eyes, a look so blatant it would have shocked a harem girl.

Plum ignored him. “Thom, dear, do you have my memorandum pad? Thank you. Oh, have you all met my niece, Miss Fraser?”

Several heads nodded.

“Excellent. Gertie, you and George may return to the nursery. Juan—yes, thank you, I appreciate your gratitude, but I really don't think that kissing my boots is presenting quite the appearance of dignity that the butler of a marquis should strive for—you and the footman may return to cleaning up the damage from the bull.” Plum waited until the servants filed from the room, Juan bringing up the rear, his handsome face arranged in a seductive little pout that would have melted the heart of a lesser woman.

“Now, children, as I've always felt it's best to begin as you mean to go, I have made some notes this morning about what constitutes acceptable behavior, and how I expect each of you to—”

There was a mad rush for the door, the children fleeing from the room in a flurry of pheasant feathers, petticoats, and flashing black boots.

“—behave… Well, drat it all!” Plum stared in mingled dismay and annoyance as the door slammed shut behind McTavish. Before she had a chance to say anything else, the door opened again and the youngest of her new brood stuck his head back into the room.

“Kitten,” he reminded her.

Plum sighed, then felt her lips twitch as Thom's giggle turned to full-fledged whoops of laughter.

“Come along, Aunt. I'll walk with you and McTavish to the stables. One of the stable cats has a litter that she's about ready to part with.”

Plum thought about sighing again, but decided that too much sighing was the sign of a weak intellect, and she was only now coming to realize that she couldn't afford to show even the slightest sign of weakness before the children. Harry had left them in her hands, so she would just have to find the proper way to deal with them and make them behave. “I am their friend, I am their friend,” she repeated to herself as she set her memorandum book on the table at the end of the couch and shook out her skirts.

McTavish stood watching her with hope, one pudgy little lip prepared to commence pouting if his objective of a kitten was thwarted. She smiled at him and held out her hand. “Shall we go find you a kitten, then?”

McTavish suffered her holding his hand, and led the way out of the house and down to the stables. On the way Plum made a mental note to send a letter to Cordelia asking her for tips and tricks for dealing successfully with the younger generation, and began to plan the ways she would win over the children's hearts.

***

Harry entered the dining room and looked in surprise at the table set for nine. He was used to dining by himself or with Temple. The room was empty of all but Juan and Ben the first footman, both of whom were laying out a dining service Harry hadn't seen since Beatrice passed away. “Are we having a dinner party?”

Juan sent him a look filled with sympathy and adjusted a lead crystal goblet infinitesimally to the left. Say what you will about Juan—and Harry had heard many things from every female he employed—the man knew how to set a table. “The Lady Plump, she says you are to have the
diablitos
to dinner.”

“Little…oh, the little devils.” Harry gave a wry smile of acknowledgment, glancing quickly at the dark red, water-stained wallpaper of the dining room. “Well, it might be for the best, Plum will want to redecorate anyway. The children dining in here will no doubt hasten her along that task.”

Juan snorted something that Harry interpreted as disagreement. He pushed his spectacles up and tried to look like a supportive, confident husband. “We just have to trust that she knows best about these things. Where is she, do you know?”

Juan shrugged. “That is what I do not know. She was here an hour ago, telling us that we must set places for the
diablitos
, and then she left.”

Harry tugged at his lower lip as he thought, then left the dining room. Perhaps Plum was having a rest before dinner. Perhaps she was spending a quiet hour in the room he had given over as her sitting room. Perhaps she was with Thom or India and Anne. Perhaps she was lying naked in his bed, waves of ebony hair surrounding her, waiting to entrap him in their silken strands… He shook that last image out of his head and went to search for his wife.