Page 6 of A Stranger’s Promise

“Yes, my lord,” she croaked.

Charlotte turned to the children, instead, and noted their solemn, shuttered expressions. The little girl still huddled behind her brother’s protective arm. Ah, yes. Their names.

She nodded at Lord Cassilis, her focus on his chest, and asked, “Might I know their names, my lord?”

Silence met her request.

When it became apparent he wouldn’t answer, she dared a glance at his face, only to see him surveying the children with a mystified expression.

He slanted a smile her way with a graceful incline of his head, and announced, “Children, this is your governess, Miss Atchenson. Step forward and tell her your names.”

They didn’t budge, nor did they speak.

He waited a moment, then shrugged. “Well then, there you have it.” He gave a dry humph of a laugh and shook his head in some private joke. Turning to her, he added, “We leave at once, Miss Atchenson. See the lad and lassie settled in the carriage, will you? And be quick. We are late.”

Charlotte frowned, confused. Their names? Did the man not know them? Or was it some strange sort of game? She faced her young charges once again, and mustered her brightest smile. “Come now, children, let’s go to the carriage, shall we?”

To her delight, the little girl smiled back and took a timid step forward. But her brother, with a single, large step, blocked her way, eyes flashing outright defiance. Charlotte blinked, startled at the intensity of his reaction.

“You’re welcome to stay, lad,” Lord Cassilis calmly remarked over her shoulder. “I’m certain Lady Prescott will find you pleasant enough company.”

The words had a rousing effect. The boy seized his sister’s wrist and pulled her toward the door. Charlotte started forward, but he ran with his sister down the stairs before Charlotte reached the first step. A deep chuckle rumbled through Lord Cassilis’s chest as he stepped up behind her.

“My lord.” Charlotte raised a brow. “Please, sir,” she smoothed her suddenly sweating palms over her skirt. “Might I know their names?”

His eyes twinkled as he bent close and whispered in her ear, “I confess, my dear Miss Atchenson, I haven’t the faintest notion of what they might be.”

His breath warmed her ear. She took a startled step back.

His lips quirked in a devilish grin. “But please do not let them know, aye? Especially the lad.” He spun on his heel and strode down the hallway.

Charlotte stared in astonishment. What manner of man failed to know the names of his own children? And the boy? She’d recognized the raw emotion under that defiance. She’d seen it often enough in the mirror, staring back at her from within her own eyes. Anger. Deep anger. She’d do well to stay on her toes.

“What a fine kettle of fish you’ve landed yourself in,” she groused, then marched down the stairs after them.

Charlotte caught up with the children in the foyer. Lady Prescott wasn’t there to bid adieu, but the staff had formed a respectful line leading to the open door. They bowed and curtsied their farewells as Lord Cassilis acknowledged each one on his walk toward the door. Finally, he reached the end of the line where the butler waited, holding a dark wool overcoat and a black silk top hat.

“Safe travels, my lord,” the butler spoke in soft, polite tones, as he handed Lord Cassilis the hat and coat.

With a crisp nod, Lord Cassilis swirled the great overcoat over his broad shoulders and clapped the hat on his head, then stepped out the front door.

Charlotte took it as her cue to follow and shooed the children forward, but this time, the staff responded with only chill, silent stares and, by the time they’d reached the end of the line, the butler had long gone. Affronted on the children’s behalf, she hurried them out the door and down the steps.

“Pay the judgmental creatures no heed,” she advised as she marched them down the walk to the waiting barouche.

“We will not be traveling far, milord,” the coachman was saying to Lord Cassilis as they neared. “I fear it will snow.”

Charlotte glanced at the line of dark clouds massed on the northern horizon. Indeed, it did look like snow, but the prospect of returning to Lady Prescott’s oppressive household looked even worse.

Apparently, Lord Cassilis felt the same. “If we get no farther than a mile from this house, I will dance with joy.” He stepped back and waved Charlotte and the children to the carriage.

The mutton-chop whiskered footman helped the children into the coach. When he grasped Charlotte’s hand, she ducked as she entered, then paused. Double-stitched, quilted, black leather lined every inch of the luxurious interior. Ornate brass oil lamps hung on either side of the door. The polished plate glass windows rested in gilded frames with crimson velvet curtains held back in gold-tasseled loops. The seats, soft and plump, with fleece-lined lap blankets, begged to be used. A finely woven carpet covered the floor.

“Miss Atchenson?”

Charlotte startled at Lord Cassilis’s voice so near her elbow. She turned and plopped down on the seat beside the little girl. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Lord Cassilis’s large frame as he grasped the handle. She jerked her gaze aside and spotted a folded blanket on the seat beside the boy.

Crossing her fingers he would listen, she pointed at the blanket. “Hand me the blanket, sweetheart, and I shall tuck it around you and your sister for our journey.”