Page 12 of The Moonstone Major
Phoebe, now a marchioness since marrying the Marquess of Burness several years ago, cast him a warm and generous smile. “My sister is stubbornly refusing to remain in her bedchamber. She is eager to see my husband’s nieces. Would you mind terribly helping her downstairs? We’ll make certain to set her up properly and not allow her out of the chair.”
He nodded. “Do you mind if I check the binding first? It has to be tied snug. And if you have ice, wrap it in a handkerchief and keep it pressed against her elevated ankle. It will help ease the swelling.”
Chloe laughed gently. “I think if you ever tire of being in the army, the hospital you are building for them will gladly take you on as a doctor.”
“No, I assure you,” he said with a wry smile. “This is about the extent of my medical knowledge.”
He took her in his arms again, trying hard to suppress all the feelings he should not be having for this girl, and carried her downstairs.
Blast it.
He was a street rat, grew up in surroundings where it was every man for himself. He had learned to use a knife with expert skill by the time he was seven years old, and did not hesitate to use it a time or two when one of the older street boys attempted to steal his food.
He should not be having any delicate feelings.
In truth, he should not be feeling anything at all.
A lovely breeze blew off the water and onto the terrace as he strode outside with Chloe in his arms. He was pleased to see her family, for he had come to know most of them well on his many sojourns to Moonstone Landing.
The marquess’s little nieces, Ella and Imogen, were delightful girls and rushed forward to greet him, almost knocking him over before he had the chance to put Chloe down.
This was why he adored this family. They did not see him for the nobody he was.
Once he had properly settled Chloe, he bowed to each niece in turn. “Lady Ella. Lady Imogen. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
They giggled and introduced him to their parents. Their father, Lord Stockwell, was a younger brother to the marquess. His wife, Charlotte, was a shy woman with a gentle smile.
Of course, he knew Chloe’s other sister, Henley, and her husband Cain, the Duke of Malvern. They were just as warm in welcoming him.
Nor did they refer to each other with any formality. The marquess was Cormac. The duke was Cain. And Lord Stockwell was merely John. Same for the ladies, merely using their given names. NoYour GraceorLadyused among family.
He had never met people so loving and generous before this. Of course, his benefactor, Viscount Brennan, had been kind to him. A caring mentor who had fed, clothed, and educated him. The viscount had been a good man, but the rest of his family were an odious pack of jackals.
Someone placed a lemonade in his hand, and he somehow wound up seated beside Chloe as they all now settled in to enjoy the cakes they had brought over from Mrs. Halsey’s tearoom. He did not mind finding himself beside her, since he had resolved to make himself responsible for her care until the doctor arrived to properly treat her ankle.
“What made you decide to let Moonstone Cottage?” Lord Stockwell asked him.
Fionn truly did not know the reason other than to describe it as a feeling that led him to do it. “Perhaps the cottage ghosts summoned me,” he said in jest. “But in truth, it is also an excellent location to hold concerts or other special functions for the recovering soldiers. We may need to move some of them here for a few weeks during the worst of the hospital construction. I have made arrangements with the vicar to accommodate most of the wounded men at the parish church during this time, but I don’t think they can handle all of them.”
Little Imogen, almost nine years old now, regarded him solemnly. He tried to stifle a grin, for her eyes were almost as big as her head. “Yes, Imogen?”
“I think you look like him.”
“Who do you think he looks like?” Chloe asked.
“The ghost captain.”
The marquess choked on his chuckling. “Blessed saints, Imogen. Don’t jest about a thing like this.”
“She isn’t,” her Ella, now almost eleven, said in all earnestness. “It is in the eyes. There is a resemblance between Captain Arundel and Major Brennan.”
Chloe was now gaping at him. “No… Well, yes. Now that you mention it. Perhaps the tiniest bit around the eyes. But not their color. The captain’s eyes were blue, while Major Brennan’s eyes are silver.”
“And his mouth is similar, too,” her own sister, Phoebe, added.
Now everyone was staring at him.
He groaned. “The notion is preposterous. Coincidence, nothing more.”
