There were problems. The boat listed so heavily to starboard when Zachary first tried to sail it that it was in danger of capsizing altogether. And when the sail was adjusted, it was not willing to pick up any wind at all, so that it seemed as if the boat was going to scrape ignominiously against the shore for safety.
Lord Brandon first knelt on the bank beside the boy and then sat cross-legged on the ground, heedless of the cold or possible damp of the ground. He worked patiently at the boat, making several minor adjustments while Zachary watched with anxious disappointment and his mother stood quietly behind.
“There,” the viscount said at last. “Try it now.”
The boat bobbed and spun on the water, took a few seconds to decide whether or not it would do what it was supposed to do, and then caught the breeze in its canvas and sailed bravely out across the few yards to the opposite bank.
“Hoorah!” Zachary leapt to his feet and jumped up and down in his excitement. “It does work. I knew it would. Just look at it, Mama. Look at it!”
The viscount stood up and brushed grass from his coat and breeches. “We forgot one thing, Zach,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair with one hand. “We forgot the champagne to break over the hull before she sailed. But no matter. TheLady Barbarascorns the consumption of alcohol.”
He laughed as the boy darted around the bank to meet the boat at the other side and start it on its return journey.
“Be careful,” his mother called. “Don’t go too near the edge, Zachary.”
But the child was too excited to listen to any adult. He started his boat out on its way and raced back around the bank again to the point at which the craft would come to land. He would be fortunate if he did not end up having a ducking, the viscount thought, striding toward him. And a ducking in February with a stiff and fresh breeze blowing would not be an enjoyable experience. He knew. It had happened to him once. Though he had been pushed, of course, by a younger brother—though none of the brothers who had been close enough to have done it had ever owned up to the dastardly deed.
He was not a moment too soon. The boy was reaching out too early for his boat and one foot was already slipping from the bank when Lord Brandon shouted at him and reached out a steadying hand. Zachary also screeched, feeling his balance going.
The viscount opened his mouth to deliver a caution on carelessness and its probable consequences, when he heard a muffled scream from behind and turned to see Lady Barbara, rigid with terror, both hands pressed to her mouth. His body must have screened her view of what had been happening. But she must have heard the two shouts. He strode toward her as her son, behind him, hauled in his boat and stepped back from the bank.
“All is well,” he said. “I had a strong hold on him, ma’am. He did not fall in. He is quite safe.”
But she had lost control of herself for the moment. Her face was drained of all color and she stared at him with wide and dazed eyes. Her hands were shaking over her mouth.
“It is all right,” he said, reaching out and taking her reassuringly by the shoulders. “He is quite safe, Barbara. And I would not have let him drown, you know. The worst that could have happened was that he would have been soaked. Boys invariably survive such discomforts.”
“He is . . . He is . . .” But her teeth were chattering. “He is all I have,” she said as he drew her against him and held her there, his arms firmly about her. “I have nothing else in the world. Only him.”
“I know.” He spoke quietly against her ear and rocked her in his arms. “But you must know that I would not have allowed him to come to harm, Barbara.”
“I am sorry,” she said, relaxing in his arms, the rigidity going from her body. “I am making such a cake of myself. I'm sorry.”
“No,” he said. “He is your only son. I understand.”
He pictured himself with a son or daughter if only Anna-Marie could have lived so long. And he knew that that child would have been precious both for its own sake and for the reminder of the love he had known with its mother. And once again he felt the stabbing of a certain envy of Lady Barbara Hanover.
“Mama,” Zachary’s voice said, “did I frighten you? But the boat is super, is it not? Wait until I tell Ben. And Uncle Will.”
“Zachary.” She pushed herself from the viscount’s arms and stooped down to draw her son into a fierce hug. “You foolish boy. Oh, I should spank you hard. What did I tell you when we were coming here? What did I tell you?”
“Not to get too close to the edge,” he said sheepishly. “I would not have fallen in. Mama. I was being careful.” He looked up to the viscount, who widened his eyes and winked at him.
“Oh,” she said crossly, straightening up, “you think to convince me, do you? Did you at least rescue my namesake?”
“Here it is,” he said, holding up the dripping boat.
“Good,” she said. “It is time to go home. I am sure that Lord Brandon must be eager to get back to his tea at the house. Thank him for coming.”
“I shall escort you home,” the viscount said. “Would you care to ride on my shoulders, Zach?” His shoulders were always a coveted perch among his nephews and nieces. Young Robert had actually bloodied Andrew’s nose over the privilege at Christmastime and been forced to walk every step of the way home from the mill as a result, while Andrew rode triumphant and red-nosed.
Zachary was no exception to the general rule. Within a few seconds he was astride the viscount’s shoulders, his boat clutched in one hand, and Lord Brandon was left with the suspicion that he had maneuvered Lady Barbara into a shared walk that she had not planned and maybe did not wish for. And he was giving himself a two-mile walk that he had not expected.
Why? he asked himself, when tea and company and Lady Eve awaited him at the house. But the answer was not difficult to find. He had found something of a kindred spirit in this woman who had loved and lost and who clung to her memories, more tangible than his own. And he had held a woman in his arms for the first time in two years and she had felt good there. He felt a curiosity to know her better, to know more than the mother whose love was focused so totally on her child.
“Talavera,” he said. “That was early in the wars. And he had just arrived there?”
“Yes,” she said. “He was so eager to go. He could hardly believe his good fortune when the orders came through. He tried to hide some of his elation from me, of course, because we were to have been married in the summer and he knew I would be disappointed at the postponement. But he was happy to be going and I would not show him my unhappiness or anxiety. I am glad now that I did not.”
