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‘Yes, later,’ Max agreed. ‘For now, I’m happy to see you without bruises, madame. Will must have been taking good care of you.’
For an instant, she recalled the whole amazing, wonderful journey and how well in truth Will had cared for her. Suppressing a sudden urge to weep that their time together was over, she said, ‘Ah, yes. Most exceptional care.’
‘Good.’ Suddenly Max’s eyes lit and a smile of joy warmed his face. ‘Caro, I didn’t know you’d come down! Come, my dear, and meet our guests.’
Elodie turned to see a slender woman enter the parlour, her simple green day dress setting off the auburn tints in the dark hair that crowned her head in a coronet of braids. Eyes the bright green of spring moss glowed when she looked at her husband, who walked over to meet her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you feeling strong enough to be up?’
‘I’m fine. When Dulcie told me there were riders approaching, I had to come down. Isolated as we are, Denby Lodge doesn’t often receive unexpected guests.’ Turning towards the hearth, she said, ‘But this gentleman needs no introduction. You must be Will! Alastair told me you and Max favour each other strongly.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ Will said, giving her a smile and a bow. ‘Alastair said you were lovely and talented. An understatement on both accounts; we’ve just had a most enjoyable ride past your fields and some of the handsomest mares and foals I’ve seen in a long time.’
‘Flatterer! You could find no faster way to my heart than to praise my horses.’
‘I warned you he was a rogue, my dear,’ Max murmured to his wife.
Will moved to Elodie’s side, putting a protective hand on her arm. ‘Mrs Ransleigh, may I present Madame Elodie Lefevre.’
‘You, too, are very welcome,’ Caro said, holding out her hand to Elodie, who, after a moment’s hesitation, shook it.
‘Caro, why don’t you show Madame Lefevre up to a room, while Will and I get reacquainted?’
When Will gave his cousin a look and tightened his grip on her hand, Elodie murmured, her voice pitched for his ears alone, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll not try to run away again.’
‘It’s not that. I feel … better when you’re close.’
Watching their interplay with an appreciative smile, Max said, ‘You needn’t worry to let her go. Caro will take even better care of her than you do. Madame, you look exhausted—why don’t you rest before dinner? And if you don’t mind my saying so, Will, after a quick chat, you could use a bath.’
‘Won’t you come with me, madame?’ Caro said. ‘After a hard day’s riding, there’s nothing so soothing as a long soak in a hot tub. I’ll have some tea and biscuits sent up, too, to tide you over until dinner. We’ll see you later, gentlemen.’
And so Elodie allowed herself to be shepherded out of the room, down the hall and up the stairs to an airy bedchamber that looked out over the expanse of front lawn to the barns in the far distance.
She found herself instinctively liking Caroline Ransleigh, who offered her hand to shake like a man, dressed simply and whose unassuming, straightforward manner spoke of a self-confidence that had no need to impress.
Upon first seeing Max’s wife, she’d been surprised, even though Will had told her his cousin said Caroline Ransleigh was not in Max’s ‘usual style’. She was certainly different from the beautiful, seductive Juliana Von Stenhoff, who’d been Max’s mistress at the Congress of Vienna. That lady would never have deigned to greet guests in so simple a gown—nor would she have passed up an opportunity to try to entice a man as handsome as Will.
With that observation, Elodie liked Caroline Ransleigh even better. Though she doubted her hostess would return the favour, once her husband informed her just who she was harbouring under her roof.
Waving her to a seat on the wing chair near the hearth, Caroline Ransleigh turned to direct the footmen who were bringing in a copper tub, while a kitchen maid started a fire. A moment later, a butler appeared to leave a tea tray on the side table and a freckle-faced maid, carrying Elodie’s saddlebags, bowed herself in. ‘I’ll be happy to wash up your things, ma’am,’ she said.
‘Excellent idea, Dulcie,’ Mrs Ransleigh said. ‘Having been travelling so long, you probably don’t have any clean garments.’ She gave Elodie a quick inspection from head to toe. ‘You’re a bit slighter than I, but we’re of a height. You are very welcome to borrow something of mine while your own things are drying.’
A clean gown, one no doubt newer and in better repair than the well-worn few she still possessed! The idea was almost as welcome as a soak in a tub. ‘That is most kind of you, Madame Ransleigh, and you, Dulcie.’
The offer confirmed her suspicion that Max’s wife, who appeared to be a straightforward woman with no diplomat’s artifices, could not know what role she’d played in Max’s life, else she’d be much less accommodating. Feeling guiltily that she ought to acquaint her with the facts before the woman did her any more kindnesses, she was wondering just where to begin as her hostess seated herself and poured them each a steaming cup of tea.
‘Here, this will help warm you. Such a raw day for midsummer! After riding in the damp, you must be chilled through.’
Murmuring her thanks, Elodie had just taken a reviving sip when a knock sounded and an older woman came in, carrying a wrapped bundle. ‘Dulcie said you was in here, Miss Caro, and that you’d want to tend the young master as soon as he woke.’
‘Andrew, my love!’ Her face lighting, Mrs. Ransleigh reached out to take the bundle—a closely wrapped, newborn child.
Elodie gasped, her teacup sliding from her nerveless fingers to clatter against the saucer, her gaze transfixed on the baby’s face.
In a sweeping vortex of memory, she saw in rapid succession bright dark eyes, a pink bow mouth and waving arms as the newborn Philippe surveyed his world. His drunken-sailor, wobbling steps as he determined, at nine months, to walk upright. The restless toddler fixing his intent, curious gaze on every object that caught his attention, asking ‘What is it? What it do? Why?’
And then the boy she’d left, that intense gaze focused on the soldiers he meticulously arranged in battle formation.
As if lying in wait to ambush her after she had thought she was safely over the worst, the pain of his loss attacked her with the blunt impact of a footpad’s club. She couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t move, could do nothing but stare at Mrs Ransleigh’s beautiful child, the very image of all she had lost.
‘What is it, madame?’ Over the roaring in her ears, Elodie dimly heard Mrs Ransleigh’s voice, saw her turn to look at her with concern. ‘Are you ill?’
Elodie struggled to pull herself together. ‘No, no, I am fine, really.’ Her fingers shook as she picked up her cup again and took a determined sip.
‘You have children, madame?’
Elodie nodded. ‘I have a son. Had … a son,’ she corrected, biting her lip against the urge to weep.
Mrs Ransleigh’s face creased in concern and she hugged her infant tighter. ‘He died? How horrible!’
‘No, he is alive. But … living in Paris. Another lady looked after him for some years, while I was away. She is wealthy, from an important family. He is happy with her and she can give him many advantages, so I … left him with her.’
‘But you miss him,’ Mrs Ransleigh said softly.
‘With every breath.’ A few traitorous tears forced their way to the corners of her eyes. Determinedly, Elodie wiped them away. ‘Your Andrew is a handsome child. How old is he?’
‘Three weeks today. A lusty lad. His proud papa is already planning his first pony.’
With a pang, Elodie thought of the traitorous toy horse with the glass eyes. ‘He may need to wait a few more weeks for that.’
The magnetic power of the newborn still held her. ‘May I?’ she asked, extending a hand. At the mother’s nod, Elodie reached over to stroke the infant’s soft cheek. Immediately he turned his mouth towards her, rooting. She gave him her fingertip to suckle.
‘Always hungry, too, just like his papa,’ her hostess said.
After vigorously sucking for a moment, the baby spat out her fingertip, giving her a mildly indignant look.
Mrs Ransleigh laughed. ‘I know that look. I’d better go feed him, before he demonstrates just what a fine pair of lungs he has. Ah, here’s your hot water,’ she said, as the kitchen maid and two house boys brought in steaming urns of water to pour into the tub, followed by the lady’s maid with clean clothing and a towel.
‘Ring for me when you’re ready, ma’am, and I’ll help you into the gown,’ Dulcie said, depositing the garments within reach of the tub.
‘We’ll leave you to your bath.’ Mrs Ransleigh rose, cradling her son.
Elodie put a hand on her hostess’s arm. ‘Treasure every moment with him.’
‘I intend to.’ About to walk away, Mrs Ransleigh hesitated. ‘He’s my miracle child. Nearly all the women of my family died in childbed and I almost did, too. So I take nothing for granted. Not Andrew. Not Max. Not the farm and the horses that are my life’s blood. They are all precious gifts.’
