David couldn’t be unkind to the boy. He turned to him. “I am David Arlington, Earl of Paxton at your service, young fellow.”
“I know all about you.”
“And how is it that you know all about me?” David asked the boy.
“Lord Paxton would tell me stories about you when you were a lad. I know about when you learned to ride Pudding.”
Good lord! Pudding had left this earth more than ten years ago, yet this boy knew about him.
“And Lord Paxton would tell me stories about the shooting parties you would have with your friends from Eton. I even learned their names: Finch, Perry, and Knowles. I didn’t learn their first names because Lord Paxton said young bloods almost always referred to each other mostly by last names.”
David couldn’t believe it. He found himself laughing.
This did sound like his father. Knowing the lad had no father, his father would have taken it upon himself to try to teach the boy the things he thought a lad should know. He’d done so throughout David’s life. Never didactic, just caring. That was his father.
Why had the solicitor not told David The Schemer had a son? It certainly sounded as if his father had befriended this boy every bit as much as he had befriended the mother.
So much was still not explained.
David did feel better now that he knew the woman was most likely not a doxy. Had she been—which David had doubted from the start, knowing how honorable his father was—it would have diminished his father’s memory even more than this ultimate betrayal had.
His coach pulled up at Darnley, and he was quick to leap from it and have the coachman assist him in carrying the woman inside.
The weathered timber door to Darnley opened, and when Ballard saw Mrs. Milne, he came rushing to her, concern etched on his ruddy face. “Whatever be the matter with Mrs. Milne?”
“I’m all right, Ballard. I just took a tumble and hurt my ankle.”
“I can assist you, Lord David,” Ballard said. “Welcome home.” Then the servant thwacked his forehead. “Pardon, my lord. ’Tis hard to remember you’re now the earl.”
“No worries. But you cannot welcome me home any longer. You forget, it’s no longer my home.”
“Oh, please, Lord Paxton,” Mrs. Milne said, “I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t feel this is your home while you’re here. Please.”
It was easy to see how she had charmed his father. The Schemer.
They set her down on a sofa in the morning room just off the low-ceilinged entry hall.
A hurried thumping on the nearby wooden staircase alerted David. He knew it would be Mrs. Ballard scurrying down the well-worn wooden stairway. Since he’d lost his mother, this old family retainer was the closest thing he had to a mother, and the bond between them was strong.
He went to greet her. Thank God nothing had changed in her familiar appearance. She still wore her customary gray with a mobcap smashed on her silvery curls and was as plump as ever.
“Oh, Lord David, it’s ever so good to see you. And at Christmas. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without you.” She, too, had forgotten to address him by the new title.
Never mind that she was a servant and he the master, he went and gave her a big hug. “Happy Christmas. It’s good to see you, Mrs. Ballard. I have such bitter regrets about not being here last Christmas. I didn’t know it would be his last.”
“Don’t you go scolding yerself,” she said. “There’s no way you could have traveled here on those icy roads in the snowstorm. Yer father knew that.”
“Still, I’m just so sorry.”
“The important thing is, he wasn’t alone. He was with people who loved him.”
David stiffened. Was she talking about the Ballards, who most certainly loved him? Or was she referring to the Milnes? The Usurpers.
Good lord, was he jealous of a mere boy?
She looked around. “Where’s Mrs. Milne?”
“She’s in the morning room. She’s injured her ankle and needs to stay off it.”
“Oh, dear!” The housekeeper went flying into the adjoining chamber and began to make a cake of herself over her new employer.
That had been another slap in David’s face. His father’s will had allowed the Ballards to stay at Darnley for as long as they liked, and if they chose to continue on the staff for Mrs. Milne, their salaries would be paid from his estate. David had been informed they chose to stay with Mrs. Milne.
He wasn’t angry. He understood. The elderly couple had never been employed anywhere else. It would have been too difficult at their age to adapt to a new environment. Still, he felt another betrayal.
Mrs. Ballard not only propped up Mrs. Milne’s ankle on a mound of pillows, but she was eager to bring her a pot of tea. Her very manner with her new mistress was in no way forced. Her concern was genuine. David knew the long-time housekeeper well enough to know that she obviously held her new mistress in high regard.
The lad came up to his mother, still clutching the basket of greenery. “Should you like me to begin decorating for Christmas, Mama? Perhaps it will cheer you.”
“That would be wonderful, my little love.”
The lad looked to David. “Perhaps, my lord, you could help with the taller places I cannot reach. We’ve even got mistletoe to hang over the doorway.” He giggled. “Last year Mr. and Mrs. Ballard kissed beneath it!”
A smile lifted David’s face. How could he deny this child? “Sounds like a jolly good time. I haven’t decorated for Christmas in years.”
They started spreading sprigs of holly in the morning room, then moved to the modest entry hall before climbing the stairs to the drawing room where David attempted to fashion a garland over the mantelpiece before he ran out of greenery. “It looks like you and I will have to gather up more of this stuff,” he said to the boy.
The lad frowned. “My mother won’t permit me to go out of doors past two in the afternoon in the winter.”
“Why in the devil is that?”
The boy seemed reluctant to answer. “It’s my lungs. She says they don’t work properly. I breathe much better during the warmest part of the day—and in country air. I have a great deal of difficulty breathing good in London.”
David’s brows lowered. “When was the last time you were in London?”
“About a week ago. We had to go back to London to live when Lord Paxton got sick. That’s when my lungs got bad again.”
David’s father must have known about the boy’s condition. That helped to explain why he might have been persuaded to give them Darnley. His father was the most tender-hearted man he’d ever known.
“Your mother’s wise to try to protect your lungs.” David was happy to see that the Ballards had seen to it that fires were kept in every room.
“I told the old Lord Paxton I wanted to grow up and be like you.”
David’s brows formed a V. “How can that be? You never even met me.”
“Oh, but Lord Paxton talked about you all the time. You were very…very fortuitous to have Lord Paxton for your father. He was so fond of you and so proud of you.”
A wave of some strong emotion broke over him, and David almost felt as if he could lose his footing. It was a moment before he summoned his voice. “And why do you want to be like me?”