Page 17 of Second Chances
She did not know what she would do if the offer was not made or if she decided she could not stay. She tried to look upon her future as an exciting challenge. Provided she sold the school for a decent price, she would have a tidy nest egg left even after paying back Wulfric’s loan.
She broke the news to her mother and sisters, none of whom was upset with her, only perhaps a little for her. All three assured her they would support her in whatever she decided to do. She told Claudia, the Marchioness of Attingsborough, from whom she had purchased the school not so very long ago. Claudia was surprised and sympathetic and supportive—and hugged Eleanor warmly.
Wulfric’s birthday was to be a day of busy celebration, though he had been heard to comment that only his wife would consider a fortieth birthday a cause for jollification. There was to be a children’s outdoor party during the afternoon, weather permitting, a banquet early in the evening in the rarely used great medieval hall, and a grand dance in the ballroom to follow it.
Christine was in a great fever of activity and excitement during the morning, though there was no real need. Wulfric’s secretary, his butler and housekeeper, and an army of servants had everything well in hand, Eleanor judged. Trying to lend a helping hand herself would only cause them all annoyance. Like the other guests, she stayed out of the way. She sat for a while in her mother’s sitting room, but when it began to fill up with other ladies, she fetched a shawl from her room and went walking alone outside. She took a diagonal course across the wide lawn west of the house, no particular destination in mind. Servants and gardeners were setting up for the children’s party in the area around the lake.
When she was some distance from the house, she became aware of a voice calling her name and turned to watch Robert Benning come dashing toward her, all alone. By the time he reached her he was breathless and wide-eyed, the blond fuzz of his hair even more unruly than usual. He stopped abruptly a few feet from her, hung his head, and scuffed the grass with the toe of his shoe, all his courage apparently having deserted him.
“Robert,” Eleanor said, “what is it? Have you come to walk with me?” Her heart ached with love for the child, who shied away from every other adult except his father and his nurse.
He mumbled something.
“What?” she asked. She stooped down on her haunches to bring herself closer to his level. “Is something troubling you, sweetheart?”
“Georgie said I had to do it,” he said, his chin still tucked against his chest. “Because she can’t. She promised.”
“And what is it you have to do?” she asked. This sounded very underhanded.
“Tell you,” he said.
“Tell me?” She frowned. “What does she wish you to tell me?”
He mumbled something again and then looked abruptly up at her, his eyes huge and earnest. “That you are our mama,” he blurted.
Eleanor tipped her head to one side. “I am your mama?”
“As soon as Georgie saw you,” he said, “she knew. She told me to look for myself when you came for dinner, and then I knew too. And then we thought we would not see you again, but you were here and Georgie said it was fate and meant to be and all we had to do was let Papa know it too before he picked that other lady who is going to send Georgie away to school. Georgie told Papa, but he said you may not want to marry him or be our mama, and he made her promise not to tell you because it might embarrass you. But he hasn’t done anything since then and in two days we are going home and will never see you again. Georgie said I must tell because a promise is a promise and she can’t. But I think Papa will be cross with her for sending me instead. He will be cross with me too for coming. But I had to come, not just because Georgie said so. I don’t want never to see you again. Please can you do something?”
Eleanor doubted he had ever strung together so many words in his life before. He was breathless and flushed and furiously kicking at the grass with one foot, and then he was rubbing both curled fists into his eyes and hanging his head again. She felt very close to tears. These two precious children wanted her for their mama? But their father did not want her for his wife?
“Papa said maybe you do not want to marry him and be our mama,” Robert murmured into his chest, “because you have a life of your own and are someone important.”
Eleanor reached out both arms and gathered him in. Ambiguous words, those—maybe you do not want to marry him. He had been avoiding being alone with her. But he had fetched her that book from the library. He had sat close to her a few times when he might have joined another group. She had been very careful on each occasion to be very correct and reserved in manner, lest he think she had foolish expectations. Was it possible...? And now that she thought of it, he had not spent much time with Miss Everly in the past few days.
“Robert, sweetheart,” she said, “I cannot think of any greater honor than to be your mama and Georgette’s. I love you both very dearly indeed. But it cannot happen, you know, unless I am also your papa’s wife. And perhaps he does not want that. But if I cannot be your mama, I will always love you anyway.” He was right, though. She would probably not see them again after they left here the day after tomorrow.
She stood up when he wriggled out of her embrace. “But you would if he did want it?” he asked her, his face all bright eagerness.
“Well, yes,” she said, “but—”
She got no farther. He turned and darted away, running and skipping in the direction of the house.
“Oh,” she said, reaching out one arm toward him. “But... Oh.”
Oh, dear.
Oh, dear!
Chapter 7
Michael was playing billiards with a number of other guests who were staying out of the way of the preparations for the day’s festivities. He was standing by one of the tables, cue in hand, when he felt something tapping persistently at the back of his waist. He turned to find his son standing there, looking up at him with a face that brimmed with excitement. He was supposed to be upstairs on the nursery floor with all the other children. But here he was and, wonder of wonders, he had walked into a room filled with adults.
“Papa,” he cried as soon as he had his father’s attention, “she said yes.”
“Ah, one escaped convict,” Lord Aidan Bedwyn said, smiling kindly down upon Robert who, surprisingly, did not duck for cover. It seemed doubtful he had even heard.
“Who said yes about what?” Michael asked.
