Page 65 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“So I see why you were so concerned about young Geoffrey,” continued Mrs. Thorpe. “You mean to make good fathers of them both.”

“Both?”

“Lord Furness, and then Geoffrey, in his turn.”

Jean stared at her. She’d never put it that way. But the idea grew in her mind.

“The same goes for mothers, I suppose. Though they do say that’s more of a natural instinct.”

A snort escaped Jean. “You have children?”

“I do not,” replied the older woman. “I would have liked them. But it never happened for me. It seems I’m barren.” Her tone was melancholy but even. “Still, one can bemotherly. I’m always ready to comfort and advise youngsters in the theater.”

Jean didn’t know if this was an offer or a simple comment, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want or need any maternal impulses. She wanted to end this conversation. “You should come and meet Geoffrey,” she said. “And Tom. You’ll like Tom.” She went to the door and opened it, standing ready to depart.

Even Mrs. Thorpe couldn’t ignore such an obvious signal. She rose, and they walked together up to the nursery.

Thirteen

The noise was obvious even before they entered the nursery a few minutes later. Jean opened the door to find Geoffrey racing around the perimeter of the large room, yelling at the top of his lungs and waving a stick with a tuft of feathers fastened to the end. His high-pitched shrieks bounced off the peaked ceiling; his small feet pounded on the wooden floor.

Tom lay in wait at the far side of the chamber, ready to grab the child when he passed by, while Lily the nursery maid tried to remove breakable or hazardous objects from his path. Geoffrey skipped and leapt. Just before he reached Tom, he veered one way, then the other, causing Tom to stumble into the cone-shaped tent. It collapsed around the older lad, tangling him in folds of cloth.

Geoffrey laughed. He put the stick in his teeth and swarmed up the draperies on one tall window like a maddened cat. He swayed at the top, leering down at them with a mouthful of feathers. With his red-gold hair and celestial-blue eyes, he looked like a cherub gone wrong.

“I can’t get up there,” said Tom, beating back the encroaching tent and rising. “I’m too heavy. The curtains will come down, and Geoffrey with them.”

Geoffrey opened his mouth to say, “Ha!” The momentarily forgotten stick clattered to the floor. “I’m a mighty chief!” the boy declared. “You can’t catch me.”

“He likes to climb,” said Jean, remembering the incident at Cheddar Gorge. “He’s…a very lively child.”

“My dear, I work in the theater,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “This is nothing.” She stepped over to pick up the stick and examine the feathers. “This looks quite old.”

“The label on the shelf said it was Mohawk,” answered Tom. “I don’t know what that means. It’s part of the old lord’s collections, which we just went in tolook at. I told Geoffrey to leave it alone.” Unusually, he sounded a bit weary.

Jean introduced them, then looked back up. “Geoffrey, this is Mrs. Thorpe. Now that she’s here, I can stay longer.”

The boy looked puzzled.

How was she to explain a chaperone to a five-year-old?

“A duenna,” said Tom. “I heard that word in Bristol. She’s like a…a nursery maid for young ladies.”

Mrs. Thorpe laughed.

“Come down and say how do you do,” Jean added as if this was a normal introduction. “You are one of her hosts, you know.”

Geoffrey cocked his head, surveying the group below him with solemn doubt. Then he smiled—a sweet, charming smile that reminded Jean of his father while being all his own—and slid down the drapery to alight at their feet. “Hello,” he said. His polite little bow was all a high stickler could ask. “Areyou her nursery maid?”

“More a companion,” the older woman replied. She cast a shrewd eye over the group. “Like you and Tom, perhaps.”

“Oh.” Geoffrey nodded. “Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been staying in the village for a little while.”

The boy looked her over more closely. “Are you the mystery lady?”

The two women exchanged a surprised glance.

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