“I think I would like that,” she said.
Seventeen
Three boys burst through the hedges brandishing wooden swords and wearing an odd assortment of clothes, undoubtedly scavenged from the attic of Moreham Hall.
“Stand and fight foul knave,” the oldest boy, a tall sturdy child of nine, demanded. His younger brothers, waving their swords and hopping up and down in their excitement, urged him on as he engaged in battle with a slender young woman sporting an old-fashioned waistcoat over her peach-colored gown.
“I’ll fight you to the death Robin Hood and see your merry men hanged from the battlements of Sherwood Castle,” she said, parrying his thrusts, and the little boys giggled. The sounds of the wood swords smacking together echoed loudly through the garden. The boy lunged and the young woman caught his sword under her arm. Staggering back dramatically, and throwing her free aim across her chest, she gurgled, “You’ve won Robin Hood. Tell MaidMarian I love her.” Then she fell back into the grass and lay still.
The boy placed one foot on her stomach and raised his sword victoriously. “So dies the evil Sheriff of Nottingham.”
The young woman suddenly sat up, grabbed him by the ankle and rolled him into the grass tickling him wildly. As the younger boys joined the fray, a plump woman in a faded brown dress and a wide straw hat looked up from her planting. “Mind the beds, Elizabeth, I’ve just finished putting in bulbs for next spring.”
Elizabeth waved in understanding to her mother, then sprang up, and raced across the lawn with the boys in hot pursuit.
Phoebe Davenport, who’d been watching the mock battle from a bench across the garden, laughed. Her husband, who was seated next to her, shook his head. “It’s hard to believe she’ll be entering polite society in less than a month.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Just because Elizabeth enjoys a bit of fun with the boys doesn’t mean she’s lacking in common sense or the social graces. She’ll do fine, you’ll see.
Cole smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I know, it’s hard not to see her as the gangly girl in the rumpled gown following Rafe and me about the house.”
“Well, she’s a young woman now, with a mind of her own,” Phoebe said. “And you and Moreham would do well to remember that. Especially Rafe,” she added. “If he pulls the reins in any tighter, she’s sure to rebel, if only to spite him. You should see him inspect her gowns for the season; he’s more demanding than a general viewing his troops on dress parade.”
“He’s just concerned about her future. You know Rafe,he thinks he can plan everything ahead like a military campaign.”
“I understand, but lately he’s been different somehow, driven, as if he were trying to maintain control over his and everyone else’s life.” Phoebe put her hand on Cole’s arm. “You should speak to him. Find out what’s troubling him.”
He nodded, thinking that he agreed with her. Rafe was driving himself and everyone around him too hard. For the past two weeks, it had been on the tip of his tongue to confide in Phoebe the truth of what was bothering Rafe; Cole didn’t like keeping secrets from his wife, but he respected his friend’s desire for privacy as well. “I’ll speak to him about easing up on Elizabeth,” he said rising.
“And everyone else as well,” she called to his retreating back.
Cole foundRafe in his study, a massive room with an elaborately patterned red carpet spread on the floor and towering bookcases reaching from floor to gilt-trimmed ceiling. Rafe sat at heavy mahogany desk, books piled high around him, poring over columns of figures. Cole leaned against the heavily carved marble mantelpiece, studying first the portrait of the fifth earl, Rafe’s father, hanging behind the desk, then the face of his friend. At forty-seven the previous earl seemed younger than his son did now. Rafe looked drawn and tired, the habitual frown between his brows more deeply grooved.
“It’s a beautiful day outside, you know. You ought to be out riding, enjoying the clear air while you can, before you’re once again surrounded by the coal dust of London.”
Rafe shook his head. “I’ve got work to do. Someone has to see that these estates are administered properly.”
Cole dropped into an armchair in front of the massive mahogany desk. “You have some of the most well-runestates in England, not to mention a highly competent steward. Burying yourself in work and riding herd on the servants and Elizabeth is not the solution to getting to your problems.”
Rafe looked up, his frown deepening. “Elizabeth will be introduced to society in seventeen days. She does not seem to understand how important it is that she dress and comport herself in the proper manner. Indeed, the more I try and explain her responsibilities, the more frivolously she behaves.”
Cole stretched out his legs. “She’s young. Let her enjoy her first season before she’s married off and saddled with babes.”
Rafe continued as if he hadn’t heard. “You can’t just do as you please all the time, running off without knowing where you’re headed, thinking things will all fall together in the end. Life doesn’t work that way. You have to think things through, plan ahead.” His lips tightened in a thin line. “Impulse took my father over a hedge too high for his horse, and it drove my brother to the gaming tables thinking each time he’d win back what he’d lost.”
“Listen to me, Rafe. Your father loved to ride and your brother loved to gamble. Perhaps their passions were misplaced, but at least they had them. You, my friend, are trying to bury yours beneath a weight of responsibilities.”
He shook his head, “If I hadn’t acted on impulse, I’d never have met Alexandre de La Brou; I’d be arranging my marriage to Anne Dinsmore, and Elizabeth would have someone to guide her through the pitfalls of the ton.”
Cole leaned forward. “Did you ever consider that impulse might be the angel and not the devil on your shoulder? You don’t love Anne Dinsmore, and I’d wager that you never will. This Alix, well, I’ve never met her, but she’s disrupted your life more powerfully than anythingI’ve ever seen. You owe it to yourself and to her to find out what that means.”
He massaged his temples. “It seems to me I’ve heard this argument from you before, and it took us gallivanting off to the colonies as if a military campaign were some kind of holiday outing.”
“Yes,” Cole admitted, “but we came through it, and I’d say we’re better men for it.” He smiled. “And I would never have met Phoebe nor had my three fine sons.”
“I, however, came out of it with Jervis,” Rafe said wryly.
Cole laughed. “For once in your life roll the dice, take a chance.”
