Page 3 of Ella’s Desire

Her eyes crinkled with the happy memory. “Aye, though you are a few feet taller.”

“Did Father not send funds?” Bronson asked.

The joy fled her expression and her gaze dropped to the tops of her shoes. They were badly scuffed, worn to tearing in some spots. Most certainly they wouldn’t last to winter, let alone through it. Were they her only pair?

As if hearing his silent assessment, she swept her skirt forward to cover her insufficient footwear. “He stopped sending anything several years back. He said we were spending too much. But we weren’t, truly. It was only what was needed.”

Bronson frowned at his father’s egregious oversight. He and his father had lived a luxurious life at court, while the countess lacked the bare necessities.

A shy face peered around the corner at him and then quickly disappeared behind the wall again.

“Is this Lark?” He peeked around the wall as he asked.

A girl with brown hair and eyes as green as his own, as green as their father’s had been, stepped forward. Her skirt came only to her shins and her sleeves to her elbows. The child was nearly splitting from her clothing and her feet were bare. Nay, not a child, for though she appeared to be nearly ten, she was fourteen.

She nodded and gave him a tentative smile.

“Aye, this is my Lark.” Brigid ran an affectionate hand over her daughter’s hair. “Do you remember Bronson, your brother?”

“Nay, my lord, but I’ve heard much of you.” Her voice was small, and her shoulders curled forward as if she wished to hide herself.

An uncomfortable silence congealed between the three of them, one borne of an unexpected visit and the revelation of hard times. He felt the fool, standing in his silk brocade doublet when his sister could scarcely fit into her dress.

“I’ve heard you were ill for some time.” To fill the heavy quiet, Bronson pulled the tidbit from his memory.

Lark lifted her brows. “When I was a girl. I’m much recovered now.”

Ah, that was correct. It had been some time since then.

“We were preparing for supper,” Brigid said. “Would you join us and regale us with tales of court? It has been some time since I have been.”

Bronson hesitated. He had planned to stay at Berkley Manor. Now he dreaded taking supper with them and diminishing what stores of food they possessed. Knowing it would be insulting to decline, he agreed and found himself set before a table decorated with wildflowers and nicked cups.

He was right to be concerned about their supply of food. Supper was a simple soup with several lumpy bits of something that might be barley, unidentified chunks of greasy meat he couldn’t chew and a couple of peas. His bowl had been filled to the brim while theirs had barely covered the bottom. He wanted to refuse it, to let them eat the lot of it, but did not wish to cause offense. At least he’d left his servant, Rafe, in the stables, lest they felt the need to fill his bowl with what little remained in theirs.

Bronson forced himself to eat their generous offering as he shared courtly gossip rather than extravagant descriptions. They didn’t need to know how Bronson and his father had lived then. How he and the former earl had slept on feather beds and ate sumptuous meals, leaving more on their plates than they could possibly fit into their bellies.

In the small space of time that he spoke, Brigid’s eyes lit up with joy and she gave the same radiant laugh he’d remembered from the few times he’d met her as a boy.

At last, Jane cleared away supper and Bronson gave his excuses to repair to an inn nearby where he intended to sleep that night. It was a lie, of course, but he would not eat any more of their food than he already had.

Brigid allowed Lark to offer Bronson a shy farewell before sending the young woman to her room. Once Lark was gone, she regarded Bronson. “May we talk a moment?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She balled her hand into a fist and drew a deep breath. “I must seek your favor.” Her words were whispered, as though she didn’t want anyone else to hear. She closed her eyes, her expression pained. “Could you perhaps provide me with a small stipend? I would not ask for myself,” she rushed on. “It’s for Jane who has stayed on for over four years now with no pay, and to buy Lark’s winter shoes. She has none to fit her feet.”

Bronson regarded his stepmother, a woman only several years older than himself. The hope in her eyes made the hole in his chest widen. How could he tell her the truth? That there was no money, that even the immaculate and rundown manor could soon be taken back by the king?

“I will provide you with as much as I have on me presently and will send additional funds when I can. You will have more than a stipend,” he promised. “You need wait only awhile longer and I promise I will give you your life back as it ought to be.”

He did a quick inventory of the coin on his person. It was not much, but he had more in the apartments he’d shared with his father, as well as items of worth to sell. He handed her the small coin purse. She accepted the weight of it in her cupped palm, the contents within clinking.

She stared down at the small purse and remained silent. Shame squeezed through him. His offer was not enough. And how could it be, after so many years of shameful neglect?

“Forgive me,” he said. “It is all I can give as yet. There will be more soon…”

Brigid sniffled and finally lifted her head. Tears shimmered in her pale blue eyes. “Thank you.” The words came out on a sob. She pressed her lips together and swiped at her eyes. “I think God has finally heard our prayers, because he brought you to us.”