But this was a little boy, not her erratic mother. A boy she’d vowed to care for. He’d endured a great deal, and he shouldn’t be lied to. That was far more important than her lingering fears. “It was a mistake,” she said. “Everyone makes mistakes.”
The silence that came after this seemed very long.
“I ruined everything,” Geoffrey wailed then. “It was all right, and I ruined it. The lord will be angry. He’ll stop speaking to me again.”
“No, Geoffrey! That isn’t true.” The door was a maddening obstacle between them. “You made a mistake, and you’ll have to make amends. That’s true. But I’ve made mistakes. So has your father. Everythingisn’truined.”
The reply, when it came, was very low. It sounded as if Geoffrey was leaning up against the door, almost speaking to the panels. “You promise?” he said.
“I promise,” Jean replied, filling her voice with conviction. “On my word of honor.” The boy said something she couldn’t hear. “What?”
“An honorable gentleman makes things right,” Geoffrey repeated.
“An honorable person,” Jean answered. “We will make things right.”
Cloth brushed against the outside of the door. “I’ll get Tom.”
“Good. Yes, get Tom.” Jean heard nothing more, and it felt as if Geoffrey was gone. She took a deep breath and settled herself to wait. Surely it wouldn’t be too long.
Nineteen
Benjamin had left his horse at the stables and was heading wearily toward the house when he saw his son trotting along a path at the back of the building. Geoffrey was streaked with dust, which was not unusual. “What have you been up to?”
Geoffrey winced, stood still, and gazed up at him. “I was going to get Tom,” he said.
“Planning some adventure?” Benjamin looked forward to a soft seat and a warm fire. “Mrs. Wandrell is home again,” he added. “I just got word. It seems she marched in, covered in dirt, and declared she wanted a bath before she spoke to anyone.”
The boy simply stared at him. He seemed more tentative than usual.
“I imagine she’ll have quite a story to tell. I can’t wait to hear it.” Benjamin wanted Jean. She would appreciate the news, and perhaps cosset him a little. He’d enjoy that. “I must go and tell Jean.”
“She’s…” Geoffrey began, then stopped.
Benjamin waited, but when his son said nothing more, he moved on. He was nearly to the kitchen door when he heard, “Papa.”
The word brought him to a standstill. Geoffrey had never used it in his hearing before, and the simple sound touched something deep inside. Benjamin turned and looked at the small, grimy figure. Was that distress in his expression?
“I want to be an honorable gentleman,” Geoffrey said. His voice caught on something remarkably like a sob.
“That’s good.” Benjamin moved closer to his son. “Is something wrong?”
“I made a mistake. Does everybody really make mistakes?”
“Yes.” He drew his son over to a garden bench, lifted him onto it, and sat down next to him. “What was your mistake?”
Geoffrey shifted on the seat. He looked apprehensive. Or perhaps despondent? Benjamin didn’t recognize this expression. “Is Miss Saunders going to be my stepmother?” Geoffrey asked.
Benjamin felt a touch of real unease. The boy wasn’t acting like himself. “Yes. But that’s just a word, you know. Real stepmothers are nothing like in the fairy tales.” Most, Benjamin amended to himself. No need to go into that.
“You know about the wicked stepmothers?”
“I do. The old tales seem to be full of them.”
“That’s what she…” Geoffrey began, then stopped.
WassheJean? Benjamin waited, though he wanted to push. When his son said nothing more, however, he added, “Jean isn’t wicked. She’d kind and gentle. You know that, don’t you?”
Geoffrey nodded.