Tender (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Time Travel Romance Book 1) Page 10

  Grey’s breath left him in a frustrated whoosh. Damn.

  “Precisely how are you related to this young lady?”

  “Consider my vigilance that of a disapproving father.”

  Grey gave an unexpected grin. “You must’ve been a splendid father. So I warn you: your diligence shall be tested.”

  Hastings’ face was serene once more, as he ignored the taunt. It was Hastings’ misfortune—and his own, Grey thought—that he believed him to be joking.

  Chapter Twelve

  As the days passed, Rachel fell into the comfortable rhythm of Rosalie. It was no life of idleness, as she’d thought at one time in her life. Grey and Hastings were involved in the business of the plantation by the time she and Emily rose. Grey returned to the house for breakfast, then rode out again when it was finished. She began to notice that he carved out several short periods every day of perhaps an hour each with Emily to conduct lessons. After lunch, the pair had more focused sessions in the library. He left the door ajar, and Rachel could hear snippets of knowledge being passed on, from French language lessons to numbers and reading.

  He home-schooled the child! She marveled at the realization.

  And she grew fond of Emily. Though she’d known few children, she found in the child a quick and precocious wit, a lively appreciation of life, and a canny wisdom. Simply put, she let nothing get by her—not even the rift between her father and grandfather.

  Supper was a leisurely affair, the table laden with fare both exotic and familiar. She grew more aware of Grey each day, and she caught him watching her at odd times, when she and Emily were reading in the gardens, or when a seamstress came to fit Rachel for a suitable wardrobe, at his insistence. His wasn’t a peaceful scrutiny. She saw a disturbing mixture of emotions in his eyes, but the most discernible of them was resentment.

  What crime must Thomas Trelawney have committed to breed such unnatural hatred in his son? In the palace gardens, Grey’s tenderness had swiftly transformed into cold indifference about Thomas’s interest in Emily.

  The strife between father and son had become an obsession for her. She reminded herself to no avail that the turmoil was no business of hers. She tried to capture Grey in any number of unflattering lights, also with little success.

  But when she saw his stolen glimpses of her, she saw a deep, brooding passion—one she’d never known in a man. When he spoke to a servant, she noticed only his gentle concern. When he laughed with her over the supper table, with the candlelight playing softly in his black hair, sparkling in his gray eyes, she saw his appreciation of her intelligence and humor. When she glimpsed him in Emily’s room at bedtime, saying a prayer with her, she saw a man with a fiercely protective love for his daughter.

  One evening at supper, he announced he was going to Norfolk, over Emily’s protest.

  “I’ll only be gone two days.”

  “But, Papa, can’t your men attend the Swallow?”

  “As her captain, it’s my responsibility.”

  Rachel decided the time was right. So the next morning after breakfast, she put her plan into action. Grey had left before daybreak, and she and Emily breakfasted with Hastings.

  “I’d like to take Emily into town. Who can take us?”

  “I’m afraid business keeps me here.”

  Rachel frowned. “What is it you do here, anyway, Hastings?”

  “I tend to the plantation when Lord Windmere is afield.”

  “Oh. Well, you don’t have to go with us. We’re just going into town.”

  Hastings considered this. “As you wish. A groom shall accompany you.”

  A half hour later, Emily and Rachel were on their way into Williamsburg. The coachman stopped at the end of Duke of Gloucester Street, not far from the Capitol. A boy hawked buns on the busy street corner. Men in wigs and elegant suits were engrossed in conversation as they made their way to the Capitol. A pair of women emerged from the apothecary, and as they passed Rachel and Emily, Rachel tried to read their speculative glances.

  “Good morning to you, Mrs. Edwards,” Emily sang sweetly.

  “Hello, Emily,” the elder woman remarked.

  Rachel didn’t like the disapproving stare focused on Emily.

  “How does your father, Emily?” This came from the younger woman, who was fashionably dressed and keenly interested in the topic.

  “He’s in Norfolk, Miss Halliday. I’ve come to town with Miss Sheppard. She’s my new friend.”

  Mrs. Edwards gave Rachel something close to a smile. “Yes. We saw her at the governor’s ball.”

  “Hello,” Rachel said, trying to ignore the woman talking at her rather than to her.

  “Good day,” Emily said with a curtsy. As they continued down the street, Rachel felt twin stares of reproach boring into her back. Unable to understand their censure, she instead dismissed it, savoring the morning with Emily.

  They stopped at the milliner’s, where Emily selected a yellow ribbon. They sampled a meat pie from a corner vendor, and they watched a harpsichord lesson in progress through a shop window. They stopped at the silversmith’s, where they saw an array of silver mugs, spoons, and plates.

  “Oh, Rachel, look!”

  Emily’s blue eyes were round with delight as she stared at a delicate locket.

  “Let’s go have a better look.”

  When the silversmith told Rachel the price of the locket, she hesitated. Hastings had given her a generous stack of notes before they left, but this covered only half of it.

  “’Twas fashioned in London, ma’am,” the silversmith said.

  Emily’s dreamy smile made the decision for Rachel. “It’s very beautiful, but I don’t have enough for it.”

  Outside on the steps, she knelt beside the child. “That was a lovely necklace, wasn’t it?”

  She sighed. “Yes, but Papa says I’m not big enough for ladies’ trinkets yet.”

  “Well, I have a special trinket that’s made just for little girls.” She pulled the chain around her neck over her head.

  “Oh, Rachel. Not your very own locket!”

  The silver heart was heavy in her palm. If she herself couldn’t find the memory of who had given it to her, perhaps at least Emily would someday treasure this memory.

  “You see. Now you can choose pictures of the two people you love best. Or perhaps one of you and one of your father.”

  “Why don’t you have pictures there, Rachel?”

  She settled the locket around Emily’s neck. “Because I was saving it for you.”

  Emily was lighthearted as they strolled down the street, and they stopped to buy a silk flower from an old woman peddling on the corner. Rachel selected a deep blue iris, and while she paid the woman, she realized Emily had vanished.

  She quickly scanned the street, amazed at what she saw. The child raced along the path to the Trelawney home, her skirts gathered in one hand.

  “Emily!” She glanced at the old woman. “Please excuse me.”

  By the time she reached the corner of the yard, Emily was running back to her, exhilarated. “I did it! I did it!” She ran into Rachel’s embrace, giggling as she wrapped her arms around her.

  “Did what?” Rachel asked, laughing, absorbing the child’s nervous joy.

  “I left Grandfather a present! There, on his steps! Nobody stopped me!”

  Rachel spotted the forlorn bouquet Emily had hastily fashioned with wildflowers and the yellow silk ribbon. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, stroking the child’s soft hair.

  Emily’s head jerked up, her chin trembling uncertainly. “Do you think he’ll not fancy them?”

  “He’ll love them.” She kissed her head and gave her the iris. “But we have to make sure he knows who they’re from.”

  She led Emily straight back to the house, ignoring the girl’s stunned awe. Retrieving the hastily assembled bouquet, she tied the ribbon into a bow and passed it to Emily. Darting her a quick, mischievous smile, she knocked on the door.

  A se
rvant opened the door, a handsome older woman with vivid red hair heavily laced with gray. “Good morning.”

  “Hello. We’re here to see Mr. Trelawney,” Rachel said. The child clung closer to her as the woman examined them.

  “May I tell him who’s calling?” She spoke with a lilting Irish accent, and she beamed at them.

  “Certainly. Rachel Sheppard. And Miss Emily Trelawney.”

  The woman’s eyes widened on Emily as if she were a mythical creature she’d heard of. “You’re—” Her mouth snapped shut. “Please, come in. I’ll announce you.”

  They were shown into a parlor, and Emily’s small, sweaty hand gripped hers. She pried open the child’s nervously clinging fingers. “It’s all right, honey. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Papa—Papa said he’s an odor.”

  As if on cue, an impatient voice arose in the hallway. “I’m late to court as it is, Aileen. I’ve no time for callers.”

  “But, sir—it’s—it’s the young miss. Miss Emily.”

  The hall went silent, and perhaps five seconds passed. The sudden brisk tap of heels in the hallway alerted her, and she rose from her chair, suddenly afraid that she might have been wrong, coming here.

  But her heart was broken at the expression on Thomas Trelawney’s face as he entered, his eyes immediately seeking Emily. A wig concealed his hair, but in him she saw Grey’s eyes, his nose, his supple, well-shaped mouth. This man’s mouth trembled almost imperceptibly as he gazed at Emily, and his gray eyes glistened.

  Pity swelled within Rachel as Emily hesitantly stepped forward and curtsied. She gulped nervously then held out her bouquet. “God’s blessings to you on your birthday, Grandfather.”

  He burst out in choked laughter as he fell to his knees, gathering the child to his breast. “Dear, dear child,” he murmured brokenly, tears in his eyes. “I think I’ve never seen a lovelier flower than you, my darling. Nor a lovelier bouquet.”

  He dabbed surreptitiously at his eyes as he rose, lifting Emily into his arms. At last he turned to Rachel, grinning broadly. “I apologize, Miss—”

  “Rachel Sheppard, sir. I’m a friend of Mr. Hastings, your son’s—er, associate.”

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you, and under such happy circumstances. I’ve imagined this moment many times.”

  “Then I’m glad. Happy birthday, Mr. Trelawney.”

  He chuckled. “The finest gift I ever could’ve hoped for.”

  A young woman appeared behind him, smiling expectantly from Rachel to Emily. She looked about half his age—and was heavy with child.

  “Thomas?”

  He turned slightly, putting his free arm around her shoulders. “Jennie, this is Rachel Sheppard, a friend of Grey’s.”

  “Good afternoon.” They smiled and shook hands.

  “And this,” he said with a sigh of pleasure, “is Emily.”

  “Why, Emily, I feel as if I know you. Did you know your grandfather has a portrait of you in our bedchamber?”

  “I had heard Grey commissioned a portrait,” he explained, “and I asked the artist to paint another for me.”

  Just an inkling came to her of the misunderstandings that must have passed between this man and his son. Today she saw firsthand evidence of his suffering. Last night, she’d seen Grey’s bitter resentment. But how to breach the chasm between them?

  “Will you stay a while?” Jennie invited.

  “Oh, we couldn’t. I know Mr. Trelawney was on his way out—”

  “My dear Miss Sheppard, his Royal Highness the King himself couldn’t drag me from this house for this hour.”

  Rachel offered her help in preparing tea, and Jennie accepted. Thomas and Emily remained in the parlor chatting as the women went to the kitchen. Aileen popped her head through the doorway. “Can I help you with anything, dear?”

  Jennie shook her head with a smile. “Thank you, Aileen. I can manage.”

  “Well, just call if you need me.”

  “I’ll do that.” She bobbed her head and left the room.

  “She seems to dote on you,” Rachel said, looking after the woman.

  “She was my nurse when I was a child, and she loves me like the best of mothers.”

  “I can imagine she’ll be a comfort to you in the coming weeks.”

  “Yes, I’m very happy she’s here.” Then, without preamble, she asked, “How long have you known Grey?”

  “Not long. I’m visiting for … for a brief time.”

  “Well, I must thank you for what you’ve done today. You’ve taken quite a risk, bringing Emily here. But you’ve made my husband a happy man.”

  “What do you mean, taken a risk?”

  Jennie wiped her hands on her apron. “Thomas is happy indeed. But Grey may well kill you.”

  “Why does he hate his father so?”

  “In a word?” Jennie gave a wry smile. “Thomas deserted Grey’s mother after their marriage.”

  “But that must have been long ago.”

  “Perhaps Grey is the only one who knows the entire story. I know only Thomas’s side. He was fifteen when he fell in love with Lucy Huntington, Grey’s mother. He was of a fine Welsh family, but not the kind of husband a peer of the realm would choose for his daughter. When Lord Windmere—Grey’s grandfather—forbade his daughter from accepting Thomas’s courtship, she eloped with him. Her father disowned her. The next morning, Thomas was remorseful over how he’d destroyed her life. And he left her.

  “By Thomas’s calculations, Grey would’ve been twenty-four when he arrived here, claiming to be Thomas’s son. Unfortunately, he sent him on his way. So much time had passed, and he’d never considered that their brief union might have produced a child. But anyone can see the resemblance between them. By the time he found the tavern where Grey had been staying during his visit, he was gone. He had no idea where to find him, and he later learned Grey had returned to sea.

  “Two years later, Grey returned with Emily. Since then, he’s refused Thomas’s attempts to make amends, clinging to his hatred. Although we might say time heals all wounds, in his case he’d grown even more bitter. He was a deeply unhappy man when he returned to Williamsburg—I think for reasons that had nothing to do with Thomas. But keeping Thomas away from Emily seems to be Grey’s chief joy.”

  An uncomfortable awareness settled over Rachel as she realized the awful magnitude of what she’d done.

  “But now you came and changed all that,” Jennie said, as if reading her mind. Then, she grew uneasy, and she avoided meeting her eyes. “And I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re at Rosalie. Emily needs a woman’s influence, and it’s certain she’s not going to get that from her—”

  The door burst open, and Thomas had to duck low to enter. Emily rode majestically on his shoulders. Her wildflowers had been fashioned into a daisy-chain crown, with the ribbon threaded through them.

  “Look, Rachel, I’m a princess.”

  He approached the table, and Emily regally held out her hand. “You may kiss my ring.”

  Rachel dropped a kiss on the small knuckles, loving this child. They had tea in the parlor, and a few minutes later a loud knock at the door interrupted them. The maid peeked into the room. “Lord Dunraven is here to see you, sir.”

  “Tell him—”

  “Oh, stop it, Thomas,” Donovan interrupted, barging into the room. “Gooch is ready to call an election for a vacant seat—”

  He stopped short, peering blankly from Rachel to Emily.

  “Oh, Grandfather, it’s Lord Dunraven,” Emily chirped, scrambling off Thomas’s lap and into Donovan’s arms.

  “What a marvelous surprise, Emily. And Miss Sheppard. You’re the last two I would’ve ever counted on to be holding up the King’s business.”

  “I regret it, but duty calls me away,” Thomas said, and Emily immediately protested. “Perhaps you can return tomorrow.”

  Rachel nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “And we’ll bring Papa soon,
I promise.”

  “I’ll count the hours till then.”

  “May I escort you home?” Donovan asked.

  “Aren’t you tied up with the King’s business?” Rachel smiled.

  “Oh, heavens no,” he said as they strolled out into the yard. “I’m merely a poor ill-reputed lawyer, charged as an errand boy to fetch the occasional errant burgess.”

  Donovan traveled back to Rosalie with them, and Emily fell asleep against the handsome lawyer. He smiled at Rachel. “I’m afraid I can’t resist asking. Does Grey know where you spent the morning?”

  She gave a slow shake of her head.

  “Ah. I thought not.”

  “How did you know the state of affairs between Grey and Thomas?”

  “I live in Williamsburg,” he replied, and she remembered the gaping stare of the maid who’d answered Thomas’s door.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Jennie thinks he’s going to kill me.”

  Donovan laughed, stroking Emily’s tousled curls. “That, my dear, is a matter of course. The only questions are when and how.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rachel had just put Emily to bed the next night when Grey returned. Just outside her room, she caught him staring at her from the end of the hall, and her heart swelled. His damp hair gleamed in the candlelight; he was clean-shaven. But he looked careworn.

  A somber smile moved over her face as she approached him. “You look extremely clean for a man who’s spent the day traveling.”

  The lines around his mouth seemed deeper; the shadows in his eyes, darker. “I stopped in town for a bath. The Swallow—” he shook his head. “A messy business, mucking out a snow after such a journey. It was harsher than most.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His gaze moved over her with restrained yearning. “I—I apologize for my rudeness with you the night of the governor’s ball. I was … abrupt, without cause. I ask your forgiveness.”

  She hesitated, trying to find the words to confess what she’d done. But he lifted a hand to brush a curling tendril of dark hair away from her temple. “You have no way of knowing all that’s passed between that man and me.”