She lifted the lid on the biscuit jar.
“The fits Cassandra threw when Mother told her she was delaying her come-out. I wanted to thrash her.”
Mr. Lovelace murmured something inaudible.
Curiosity pulled her closer to the open door.
“Yes, I know,” James said. “But after Charlotte arrived and Lady Glanford took us out to gather greenery, the girls ran about plotting and hanging kissing boughs everywhere.”
“Cassandra said it’s time for you to marry, and that you’re going to marry Charlotte.”
That plot had been obvious to everyone tonight. Mr. Lovelace remained silent. Perhaps he’d worked that out already. Perhaps he didn’t mind and that’s why he’d goaded her earlier about Charlotte.
“But Charlotte is too silly for you. Cassandra was fretting that you might like Lady Glanford better. I do. I think you should marry her.”
Her heart thumped so loudly she almost missed the next words.
“Exthept, we don’t have a feather to fly with.”
The earthenware lid slipped, and she juggled it, almost dropping it.
Ben had heard the expression from one of their fellow travelers, and so tickled by the poetry of it, he’d searched out the meaning from a maid at the inn.
An argument erupted between the two Lovelace boys drowning out anything Mr. Lovelace might have said.
Clutching the sideboard, she steadied herself, letting the blood flow back to her hands. She really, really must stop eavesdropping.
Ben was only a child, and he wasn’t intentionally trying to embarrass her.
And what did it matter what George Lovelace thought? She didn’t want to marry—not him, or anyone else. Her boys were what mattered, protecting them, seeing to their futures.
She took a deep breath and returned to the biscuits. She’d tried to spare her boys the full truth. They couldn’t have all they wished for, but they’d had all they needed in the way of food, good shoes, and proper clothing. And love. She’d made sure they knew they were loved.
“Do you want to argue, or do you want to hear about my railway?” Mr. Lovelace said, and the quarreling stopped.
Settling the lid on the jar, she hurried out. She would hear more about his railway. Never mind his arrogant leering. The railway might be a sound investment, once she had access to capital.
An embarrassed nursery maid appeared just as the boys finished another round of biscuits.
“Fell asleep, did you, Meg?” Mr. Lovelace teased.
“You know better, Master James and Master Edward,” the middle-aged lady scolded, “sneaking about and bringing along the little one. Why you’re as bad as…” She bit her lip and glanced at Mr. Lovelace, her eyes twinkling.
“Hah,” James said. “As bad as George. And I’m too old to be in the nursery.”
“Me too,” Edward said.
“Off you all go,” Sophie said before another argument started. “I’ll tidy up here. Mr. Lovelace, would you accompany them and make sure there are no more disputes?”
He ushered them to the door. Her relief was cut short when she saw him returning.
“Please, Mr. Lovelace. Go. You must be tired after your journey.”
He gathered up plates and mugs and she made herself shrug. “I suppose there’s no point in arguing with you.”
“None at all.” He brushed by her, sending an unexpected tingle through her. “And by the way, my compliments on your boys. They are certainly better-behaved than my brothers.”
“James and Edward have been very kind to my sons. I’m grateful.”
“You don’t find them too spirited?”
She thought of their green-gathering excursions and smiled. “Oh my, no. At home with family, children should be free to be spirited. Especially during the Yuletide.”
“Perhaps their grief is easing. Father’s death was hard on them.”
“Yes. My condolences. I do understand.”
He set down the cups and dishes. “Mother employs a scullery maid who will see to these. Come.”
Tucking her hand over his arm, he pulled her into his warmth and they climbed the dark narrow stairs, the woodsy scent of his soap muddling her mind.
“Mother confided she’s enjoying your visit. She likes a full nursery and I believe she’s scheming. Not just about you sponsoring Miss Cartwright. She mentioned the boys. What are your plans for them when you go up to London? James and Edward will return to school. Perhaps Arthur could join them, and Ben can stay in the nursery with little Mary.”
Send Arthur to school? The vicar had tutored him in Latin, and she herself was teaching both boys the other basics. But for the lack of funds, he was ready.
They climbed in silence to the second floor and paused on the landing. Dim light shone from a nearby lamp.
The thought of sending Arthur off depressed her. “At present, Arthur is being educated at home.”
“He’ll benefit from school,” Mr. Lovelace murmured. “Not just from the instruction, but also from the connections and friendships.”
She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and eased in a breath.
“I would miss him terribly, but I do agree, Mr. Lovelace. I…” Perhaps he might intervene with Fitz. “I haven’t yet had a chance to discuss schooling with your brother. As his mother, my decision-making is limited.” As well as my means to pay school fees.
He frowned. “But…Glanford died over a year ago.”
“Yes.”
As his gaze searched her face, she tried to tame the turmoil inside her, reminding herself of Fitz’s comment about Mr. Lovelace keeping her.
Warm hands enveloped her own and their grip firmed.
“Fitz hasn’t spoken to you at all?”
She shook her head.
“Hasn’t visited Arthur?”
“Not since Glanford’s funeral. And thus, I am here. And it’s late. I mean to rise early and shamelessly corner him over breakfast.”
His thumbs swept over the backs of her hands, sending unexpected heat roaring through her.
“You are cold.”
“Mr. Lovelace,” she said, feeling breathless. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m in the dark with a man, a man in his nightshirt and dressing gown, and he’s fondling my hands. I am anything but cold at this moment.”
His eyes lit, and the corners of his mouth quivered, and he bit back a grin. “My lady.” He laughed. “Come this way.” He tugged her a few steps and glanced up.
Her gaze followed his, and her heart turned cartwheels, pounding like the pistons of a steam engine. A treacherous kissing bough hung from the ceiling. This was a recent addition. She didn’t remember the girls hanging it.
Chapter Seven
“Oh drat,” she whispered. “Those girls.” She stepped back and raised one of her hands, still engulfed in his.
The grin creasing his face made her knees weak. Before she could topple, he pulled her into his arms, cupped the back of her head, and she found herself looking up into midnight blue eyes and a silent request for permission.
The spark of attraction roared to a full blaze, sucking the air from her lungs. Her chin moved up and down of its own volition.