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ALMOST A WEEK later Silence frowned over her knitting. It was always hard to make the heel of a stocking, but this one seemed particularly misshapen. Michael’s carriage gave a bump and began slowing. She glanced out the window and saw that they were turning into a narrow, tree-lined country lane. Lad the dog raised his head at the change in speed. He lay on the floor of the carriage, taking up far too much room.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked. “This isn’t a London inn.”
The last week had been a blur of tedious travel over bumpy roads, interrupted now and again by stops at little inns where the food could vary quite drastically from good to inedible. Each night she’d fallen into a strange bed, exhausted, with Mary Darling snuggled close to her side. She’d woken in the mornings to find Michael already up from whatever bed he’d spent the night in and usually bringing her a pot of tea. He’d been kind and attentive and rather distant, now that she thought of it.
“We’re in Greenwich,” Michael said. “We’re home.”
She looked at him, sitting across the carriage with the baby on his lap, and as always the sight of him made her heart beat faster. “Home?”
He smiled crookedly, but didn’t answer. He wore the same clothes he’d had on when he’d first come for her at Lord Caire’s residence: worn and simple. She was almost used to this more sedate Michael. This Michael who might have been a traveling merchant or prosperous farmer.
What an odd thought. Silence peered out the window to try and find out what “home” was to Michael. The tree-lined lane opened up to a small circular drive in front of a mansion made of warm red brick. Ivy covered one corner, its branches still bare, and a half dozen chimneys rambled over the gabled roofs. Tender green shoots had begun to poke through the soil around the foundation of the house.
Silence looked at Michael in surprise. The mansion was quite lovely, it did indeed look like someone’s “home”—but certainly not a pirate’s.
He gave her a wry glance as if he knew her thoughts. “Come inside.”
He lifted Mary Darling in his arms, practiced now after a week of keeping her entertained in a cramped carriage. He descended the steps and held out a hand to help Silence step down. Lad bounded down from the carriage last, ran to water a tree, and then began running in wide circles.
Silence shook out her skirts and looked up. A short, stout butler had appeared on the front steps to the house, flanked by two young maids and an older woman.
“Good evening, Bittner,” Michael called as they approached the steps.
“Good evening, Mr. Rivers,” the butler replied. His round red face beamed under a snowy white wig. “I trust you had a pleasant journey, sir?”
Silence blinked and glanced at Michael, but instead of correcting the elderly man, he merely nodded. “Pleasant enough. Have you made the arrangements I asked for?”
“Oh, indeed, sir,” Bittner replied. “Mrs. Bittner made sure to procure the very best nursemaids from the village. This is Rose and her younger sister Annie.”
The girls curtsied shyly. The elder one was probably in her early twenties, while the younger was still a teenager. Both were fresh-faced and pretty with striking blue eyes.
“Rose has worked five years in the Johnson family nursery,” Mrs. Bittner cut in eagerly. She was a couple of inches taller than her husband, but just as rosy.
“Indeed?” Michael said.
Mrs. Bittner nodded vigorously. “The Johnsons have seven children, would you believe?”
“Then she should be quite capable of handling one small child,” Michael said. He glanced down at Mary who hid her face shyly in the lapels of his coat. He looked up again and drew Silence closer. “This is my friend Mrs. Hollingbrook. I trust you all will extend every courtesy to her while she is a guest in my home.”
Silence felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Only one kind of woman resided unaccompanied at a bachelor’s house. But she saw no trace of disapproval on the servants’ faces. Indeed, they were quite respectful as they curtsied and bowed.
“Naturally so, Mr. Rivers,” Mrs. Bittner said. “Shall I show Mrs. Hollingbrook to her rooms?”
“Please,” Michael said.
“Come with me, ma’am.”
Mrs. Bittner led her inside. The entry hall was neatly appointed, with wood floors and paneling gleaming with beeswax. Windows to either side of the front door as well as above it let in the late afternoon light, making the space warm and welcoming. A heavy wood staircase to one side of the hall led to the upper floors.
“This way, ma’am,” Mrs. Bittner said as she mounted the stairs.
Silence followed after her, glancing about curiously. Oil paintings decorated the stairs, but they weren’t in what Silence thought of as Michael’s usual style. There were a few landscapes, but the majority depicted sailing ships of all things.
“Ma’am?” Mrs. Bittner called.
Silence had paused by a huge painting of a ship in harbor. “Coming.”
She hurried after and found the housekeeper standing in the doorway of a bright little room. Silence entered, looking around. It was a beautiful room, done in several shades of blue. In fact, it rather reminded her of her rooms at Michael’s palace. She turned to look at the walls and saw the connecting door almost immediately.
No need to ask whose rooms lay beyond.
“I’ll have the girls bring up some hot water,” Mrs. Bittner was saying. “We’ll have supper at seven. That’ll give you several hours to refresh yourself and rest.”
“Thank you,” Silence replied. She hesitated, then blurted out. “How long have you known Mr. Rivers?”
Mrs. Bittner had been drawing the curtains. She paused and looked over her shoulder. “Bless you, dearie, it’s been five or more years since Mr. Rivers hired me and Bittner to look after Windward House.”
“Windward House?” Silence asked, utterly charmed. “Is that what it’s called?”
Mrs. Bittner smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “As long as anyone in the area can remember. We thought Mr. Rivers might want to change the name to Rivers House, but he said Windward House suited him fine.”
“And he’s lived here ever since?” Silence asked, just to see what the housekeeper would say.
“Well, when he has a chance he does,” Mrs. Bittner replied. “His business takes him away most of the time, poor gentleman.”
“What is Mr. Rivers’s business?”
“Don’t you know, ma’am?” Mrs. Bittner’s brows crinkled. “He’s a shipbuilder, is our Mr. Rivers. Makes the finest ships to sail out of London.”
“Oh,” Silence said because she couldn’t think of what else to reply. A shipbuilder? How fanciful! And yet dressed the way he’d been for the last week, with his hair hidden sedately under the ubiquitous men’s white wig, Michael might indeed be a prosperous shipbuilder.
“Will that be all, ma’am?” Mrs. Bittner asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Silence smiled absently.
The door closed behind the housekeeper and Silence went to part the curtain and peer out the windows.
What other secrets had Michael hidden so well from her?
Silence only had time to notice that her room had a lovely view of a garden in back before the water arrived. It was pleasingly warm and Silence washed her hands and face before lying down on the soft bed.
But within minutes she was up again. She was simply too curious to lie abed when she could be exploring Michael’s secret house.
Outside her door was a hallway. She knew whose room was beside her own, and after opening a few doors she saw that the rest of the rooms in the hall were empty bedrooms.
Well, that was rather boring.
The stairs led both up and down. Up would almost certainly hold the nursery. She mounted the stairs and found the upper floor lined with windows facing south, the late afternoon sunlight pouring in. At the end of the bright hallway was a door.
She opened it and peeked inside.
Mary Darling sat in the middle of a large, beautiful nursery. The room was situated on a corner of the house and had windows on two sides with new bars to keep Mary safely in. There was a small bed and tiny dresser, and though there were only a few playthings, Mary’s new dolly had already been installed on top of the pillows on the bed. Anne was showing Mary a little wooden wagon with flocked horses to draw it, but on her entrance Mary looked up.
“Mamoo!” The baby got to her feet and toddled to Silence.
“And how are you, Miss Mary?” Silence smiled. The baby was freshly washed and wearing a new rose-colored dress that contrasted nicely with her glossy black hair. Silence looked at the nurse who had sprung to her feet. “Do you mind if I take Mary for a walk, Anne?”
“Oh, no ma’am.”
Silence picked up Mary and bore her away. “Shall we see what we can find downstairs?”
She descended the stairs, holding Mary. Below, they startled a little maid, dusting the pictures in the hall. They paused for a moment to examine the portrait of a funny spaniel dog before continuing. Further along the hall was an open door on the right. Silence tiptoed in and guessed from the masculine furnishings and the huge desk that this must be Michael’s study. She spent a few minutes peering at the sketches of ships and sails on the walls, and then Mary Darling indicated that she was bored.
“Very well,” Silence murmured. “Let’s see what else we can discover.”
Across from the study was a closed door. Silence gently pushed it open, expecting a little sitting room perhaps.
The room took up the entire south side of the house and was lined with French doors that let in the sun’s rays. A vast carpet covered the floor in muted shades of cream, apricot, and grass green, and scattered here and there were comfortable groupings of plush chairs and polished tables. The walls were lined with honey-colored wood, and everywhere there were books. Big books, small books, books on tables, books laying open as if abandoned by a recent reader. Some were old with crumbling spines, some looked so new they might never have been read, and all were illustrated.
“Down!” Mary said, and Silence absently set her on the floor.
This room was so elegant, and at the same time so comfortable. It was as if Michael had taken his library at the palace and made it something a person might actually want to spend time in.
Days in.
Silence looked around in wonder. By the window was a simple wooden stand with an enormous book opened on it. Silence went to it and looked down. An azure butterfly lay on the page, trembling and delicate, and almost alive. Carefully she turned the page and found an exotic black and white striped butterfly.
This was his butterfly book, she realized. The first book he’d kept. The one that had taught him that there was beauty in the world. She’d found Michael’s treasure, the heart he’d kept hidden.
She looked up and saw that at the top of the walls, where it met the ceiling, the wood had been carved. Butterflies cleverly flew all around the room.
“D’ye like it?”
She spun and was unsurprised to see Michael standing in the doorway, Lad by his side. “I do. It’s… wonderful.”
He smiled and nodded at the windows where Mary stood. “Mary wants to see the garden.”
“There’s a garden?” Somehow the information made her want to smile, as well.
“There is in summer. It’s not much more than bare earth at the moment.”
“Oh, can we see?”
In answer he crossed the room and opened one of the French doors. Outside a paved terrace separated the house from a garden. Low evergreen hedges demarcated earthen beds, most of them barren.
“Look.” Silence crouched over the nearest bed. Someone had planted crocuses and they had spread on their own, like a living carpet, spilling into the lawn. Their delicate purple petals fluttered in the spring breeze.
T A WEEK later Silence frowned over her knitting. It was always hard to make the heel of a stocking, but this one seemed particularly misshapen. Michael’s carriage gave a bump and began slowing. She glanced out the window and saw that they were turning into a narrow, tree-lined country lane. Lad the dog raised his head at the change in speed. He lay on the floor of the carriage, taking up far too much room.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked. “This isn’t a London inn.”
The last week had been a blur of tedious travel over bumpy roads, interrupted now and again by stops at little inns where the food could vary quite drastically from good to inedible. Each night she’d fallen into a strange bed, exhausted, with Mary Darling snuggled close to her side. She’d woken in the mornings to find Michael already up from whatever bed he’d spent the night in and usually bringing her a pot of tea. He’d been kind and attentive and rather distant, now that she thought of it.
“We’re in Greenwich,” Michael said. “We’re home.”
She looked at him, sitting across the carriage with the baby on his lap, and as always the sight of him made her heart beat faster. “Home?”
He smiled crookedly, but didn’t answer. He wore the same clothes he’d had on when he’d first come for her at Lord Caire’s residence: worn and simple. She was almost used to this more sedate Michael. This Michael who might have been a traveling merchant or prosperous farmer.
What an odd thought. Silence peered out the window to try and find out what “home” was to Michael. The tree-lined lane opened up to a small circular drive in front of a mansion made of warm red brick. Ivy covered one corner, its branches still bare, and a half dozen chimneys rambled over the gabled roofs. Tender green shoots had begun to poke through the soil around the foundation of the house.
Silence looked at Michael in surprise. The mansion was quite lovely, it did indeed look like someone’s “home”—but certainly not a pirate’s.
He gave her a wry glance as if he knew her thoughts. “Come inside.”
He lifted Mary Darling in his arms, practiced now after a week of keeping her entertained in a cramped carriage. He descended the steps and held out a hand to help Silence step down. Lad bounded down from the carriage last, ran to water a tree, and then began running in wide circles.
Silence shook out her skirts and looked up. A short, stout butler had appeared on the front steps to the house, flanked by two young maids and an older woman.
“Good evening, Bittner,” Michael called as they approached the steps.
“Good evening, Mr. Rivers,” the butler replied. His round red face beamed under a snowy white wig. “I trust you had a pleasant journey, sir?”
Silence blinked and glanced at Michael, but instead of correcting the elderly man, he merely nodded. “Pleasant enough. Have you made the arrangements I asked for?”
“Oh, indeed, sir,” Bittner replied. “Mrs. Bittner made sure to procure the very best nursemaids from the village. This is Rose and her younger sister Annie.”
The girls curtsied shyly. The elder one was probably in her early twenties, while the younger was still a teenager. Both were fresh-faced and pretty with striking blue eyes.
“Rose has worked five years in the Johnson family nursery,” Mrs. Bittner cut in eagerly. She was a couple of inches taller than her husband, but just as rosy.
“Indeed?” Michael said.
Mrs. Bittner nodded vigorously. “The Johnsons have seven children, would you believe?”
“Then she should be quite capable of handling one small child,” Michael said. He glanced down at Mary who hid her face shyly in the lapels of his coat. He looked up again and drew Silence closer. “This is my friend Mrs. Hollingbrook. I trust you all will extend every courtesy to her while she is a guest in my home.”
Silence felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Only one kind of woman resided unaccompanied at a bachelor’s house. But she saw no trace of disapproval on the servants’ faces. Indeed, they were quite respectful as they curtsied and bowed.
“Naturally so, Mr. Rivers,” Mrs. Bittner said. “Shall I show Mrs. Hollingbrook to her rooms?”
“Please,” Michael said.
“Come with me, ma’am.”
Mrs. Bittner led her inside. The entry hall was neatly appointed, with wood floors and paneling gleaming with beeswax. Windows to either side of the front door as well as above it let in the late afternoon light, making the space warm and welcoming. A heavy wood staircase to one side of the hall led to the upper floors.
“This way, ma’am,” Mrs. Bittner said as she mounted the stairs.
Silence followed after her, glancing about curiously. Oil paintings decorated the stairs, but they weren’t in what Silence thought of as Michael’s usual style. There were a few landscapes, but the majority depicted sailing ships of all things.
“Ma’am?” Mrs. Bittner called.
Silence had paused by a huge painting of a ship in harbor. “Coming.”
She hurried after and found the housekeeper standing in the doorway of a bright little room. Silence entered, looking around. It was a beautiful room, done in several shades of blue. In fact, it rather reminded her of her rooms at Michael’s palace. She turned to look at the walls and saw the connecting door almost immediately.
No need to ask whose rooms lay beyond.
“I’ll have the girls bring up some hot water,” Mrs. Bittner was saying. “We’ll have supper at seven. That’ll give you several hours to refresh yourself and rest.”
“Thank you,” Silence replied. She hesitated, then blurted out. “How long have you known Mr. Rivers?”
Mrs. Bittner had been drawing the curtains. She paused and looked over her shoulder. “Bless you, dearie, it’s been five or more years since Mr. Rivers hired me and Bittner to look after Windward House.”
“Windward House?” Silence asked, utterly charmed. “Is that what it’s called?”
Mrs. Bittner smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “As long as anyone in the area can remember. We thought Mr. Rivers might want to change the name to Rivers House, but he said Windward House suited him fine.”
“And he’s lived here ever since?” Silence asked, just to see what the housekeeper would say.
“Well, when he has a chance he does,” Mrs. Bittner replied. “His business takes him away most of the time, poor gentleman.”
“What is Mr. Rivers’s business?”
“Don’t you know, ma’am?” Mrs. Bittner’s brows crinkled. “He’s a shipbuilder, is our Mr. Rivers. Makes the finest ships to sail out of London.”
“Oh,” Silence said because she couldn’t think of what else to reply. A shipbuilder? How fanciful! And yet dressed the way he’d been for the last week, with his hair hidden sedately under the ubiquitous men’s white wig, Michael might indeed be a prosperous shipbuilder.
“Will that be all, ma’am?” Mrs. Bittner asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Silence smiled absently.
The door closed behind the housekeeper and Silence went to part the curtain and peer out the windows.
What other secrets had Michael hidden so well from her?
Silence only had time to notice that her room had a lovely view of a garden in back before the water arrived. It was pleasingly warm and Silence washed her hands and face before lying down on the soft bed.
But within minutes she was up again. She was simply too curious to lie abed when she could be exploring Michael’s secret house.
Outside her door was a hallway. She knew whose room was beside her own, and after opening a few doors she saw that the rest of the rooms in the hall were empty bedrooms.
Well, that was rather boring.
The stairs led both up and down. Up would almost certainly hold the nursery. She mounted the stairs and found the upper floor lined with windows facing south, the late afternoon sunlight pouring in. At the end of the bright hallway was a door.
She opened it and peeked inside.
Mary Darling sat in the middle of a large, beautiful nursery. The room was situated on a corner of the house and had windows on two sides with new bars to keep Mary safely in. There was a small bed and tiny dresser, and though there were only a few playthings, Mary’s new dolly had already been installed on top of the pillows on the bed. Anne was showing Mary a little wooden wagon with flocked horses to draw it, but on her entrance Mary looked up.
“Mamoo!” The baby got to her feet and toddled to Silence.
“And how are you, Miss Mary?” Silence smiled. The baby was freshly washed and wearing a new rose-colored dress that contrasted nicely with her glossy black hair. Silence looked at the nurse who had sprung to her feet. “Do you mind if I take Mary for a walk, Anne?”
“Oh, no ma’am.”
Silence picked up Mary and bore her away. “Shall we see what we can find downstairs?”
She descended the stairs, holding Mary. Below, they startled a little maid, dusting the pictures in the hall. They paused for a moment to examine the portrait of a funny spaniel dog before continuing. Further along the hall was an open door on the right. Silence tiptoed in and guessed from the masculine furnishings and the huge desk that this must be Michael’s study. She spent a few minutes peering at the sketches of ships and sails on the walls, and then Mary Darling indicated that she was bored.
“Very well,” Silence murmured. “Let’s see what else we can discover.”
Across from the study was a closed door. Silence gently pushed it open, expecting a little sitting room perhaps.
The room took up the entire south side of the house and was lined with French doors that let in the sun’s rays. A vast carpet covered the floor in muted shades of cream, apricot, and grass green, and scattered here and there were comfortable groupings of plush chairs and polished tables. The walls were lined with honey-colored wood, and everywhere there were books. Big books, small books, books on tables, books laying open as if abandoned by a recent reader. Some were old with crumbling spines, some looked so new they might never have been read, and all were illustrated.
“Down!” Mary said, and Silence absently set her on the floor.
This room was so elegant, and at the same time so comfortable. It was as if Michael had taken his library at the palace and made it something a person might actually want to spend time in.
Days in.
Silence looked around in wonder. By the window was a simple wooden stand with an enormous book opened on it. Silence went to it and looked down. An azure butterfly lay on the page, trembling and delicate, and almost alive. Carefully she turned the page and found an exotic black and white striped butterfly.
This was his butterfly book, she realized. The first book he’d kept. The one that had taught him that there was beauty in the world. She’d found Michael’s treasure, the heart he’d kept hidden.
She looked up and saw that at the top of the walls, where it met the ceiling, the wood had been carved. Butterflies cleverly flew all around the room.
“D’ye like it?”
She spun and was unsurprised to see Michael standing in the doorway, Lad by his side. “I do. It’s… wonderful.”
He smiled and nodded at the windows where Mary stood. “Mary wants to see the garden.”
“There’s a garden?” Somehow the information made her want to smile, as well.
“There is in summer. It’s not much more than bare earth at the moment.”
“Oh, can we see?”
In answer he crossed the room and opened one of the French doors. Outside a paved terrace separated the house from a garden. Low evergreen hedges demarcated earthen beds, most of them barren.
“Look.” Silence crouched over the nearest bed. Someone had planted crocuses and they had spread on their own, like a living carpet, spilling into the lawn. Their delicate purple petals fluttered in the spring breeze.
