“Perhaps we’ll see you there, Mr. Stockton,” Brina added.
Mr. Stockton nodded to Brina before his gaze swept over to Julia once again. A deep warm glow seemed to fill her. Yes. She would love to see him there.
“It was my pleasure to see you, Lady Kitson.” He bowed, turned, and headed toward the doorway.
“What are you doing?” Brina whispered. “Don’t just stand there.” She made brushing motions with her hands. “You must at least see him to the door. Go.”
“I don’t need encouragement to do something I shouldn’t do.”
A wild squeal of merriment startled Julia. The shrieking was followed by childlike laughter and little feet rushing down the stairway.
Julia huffed. “Chatwyn knows better than to run down the stairs. I’ve told him a thousand times he’s going to fall and hurt himself one of these days.” She picked up her skirts and marched toward the corridor. “Chatwyn!” she called. “Slow down!”
She entered the corridor in time to see her son careen into Mr. Stockton at the front door. Chatwyn giggled, wrapped both his arms around one of Mr. Stockton’s legs, and looked up at the man gleefully.
Chapter 5
Gasping in horror that her little boy would be so familiar as to lock his arms around a stranger’s thigh, or anyone’s, and be happy as a puppy while doing so, immobilized Julia. Mr. Stockton seemed completely calm. He looked down at Chatwyn, ruffled his hair a couple of times, and asked, “Who are you running from?”
“Miss Periwinkle is after me.”
Julia could only manage a whispered, “Chatwyn, what are you doing?”
“Playing chase,” he answered loudly, looking around Mr. Stockton’s long, sturdy, and quite powerful-looking leg to stare at Julia. A gleam of youthful mischief shone in his bright blue eyes. He giggled again. “And I caught him. It’s his turn to chase me now.”
“What?” Julia almost sputtered the word. “Absolutely not! Mr. Stockton isn’t playing with you. He is a guest in this house. Let go of him this instant!”
Miss Periwinkle made it to the bottom of the stairs and assessed what was going on. “I am very sorry, my lady,” she said hastily. “I told him it wasn’t playtime but he can get past me so quickly. Master Chatwyn, you must come with me at once.”
Chatwyn paid no mind to Julia nor to Miss Periwinkle. He continued to stare up at the man he held hostage, seeming captivated by him. Spurred into action, Julia rushed forward, and the timid Miss Periwinkle reached for Chatwyn.
Mr. Stockton stayed the governess’s hand and glanced back to the distraught Julia. “He’s all right. He’s just being a little boy.”
“A very naughty boy,” Julia whispered under her breath, stopping beside the two.
Mr. Stockton looked down at him, smiling. “It looks as if you won the game. I’m caught and can’t go anywhere.”
“I’m fast and strong,” Chatwyn said. “Do you want to play chase with me?”
Julia listened to her son in stunned disbelief, quite humiliated by his refusal to obey her command and let go of Mr. Stockton. “He’s not the duke, Chatwyn. He can’t play games with you.”
“Your mother’s right,” Mr. Stockton said good-naturedly. “I can’t play with you today, but maybe another time.”
“When?” her son asked.
“I’ll have to discuss that with your mother and she’ll let you know.”
Mr. Stockton glanced at Julia. She gave him a grateful smile. He was being kind and patient to a little boy who was misbehaving badly. Her heart softened even more toward the sojourner. “Chatwyn, you must let go of him now.”
“I’m going to be tall like you when I get older,” Chatwyn said, continuing to ignore his mother completely. “When I turn five, I’ll be as tall and big as you are.”
“You probably will.”
“What’s your name?” Chatwyn asked.
“That is none of your concern, young man,” Julia said sternly, having had enough of her son’s deliberate disobedience. “Let go of him this instant or you won’t be allowed to go outside for the rest of the day and maybe not for an entire week.”
“Chatwyn,” Brina said, walking up to him with York ambling slowly behind. The old dog looked as if he had no clue as to what was going on in the entryway.
Brina stopped beside Chatwyn and bent down to his level. “Look what I have here in my hand. I brought you something I think you will like very much.”
Chatwyn’s blue gaze searched the pretty wrapped package she held. “What is it?”
She placed it close to his face, and with a smile she said, “Smell this and I think you’ll know.”
He leaned in and put his nose against the cloth. So did York, who had nudged in between them. There was no doubt when Chatwyn caught the scent of baked pastry and fruit filling. His eyes grew wide with delight. York’s tail started wagging and he licked his chops. He might have lost his hearing but not his sense of smell.
“Mama, can I have one?” Chatwyn asked.
“Of course, but you must—”
Chatwyn didn’t wait to hear more. He let go of Mr. Stockton and reached for the tarts.
Brina pulled them back just before his little hands closed around the fragrant bundle, and rose. “Not yet, my little friend. You can’t eat them here in the entryway. That wouldn’t be the polite thing for us to do. You must come with me and I’ll give you one—or two or maybe three if you are a good boy.”
“I’ll be good.” He looked at Julia. “I love you, Mama.”
Julia’s throat clogged with emotion.
“Come on,” Brina said. She held out her hand to him. In an instant he reached up for her. Brina smiled at Julia. “No need to thank me. We’ll be in the breakfast room if you need us.”
With a bob of her head, Julia motioned for Miss Periwinkle to go with them before taking in a deep breath and facing Mr. Stockton again. Their eyes met and held. What had just happened left her feeling drained, and strangely moved by how he’d talked to her son and how he’d looked at him so calmly and didn’t seem perturbed at all. She was grateful he wasn’t as horrified as she was by her little boy’s behavior.
Instead of following the food as a younger dog would have done in hopes of a dropped crumb or two, York decided to sniff around Mr. Stockton’s boots. She reached down and tried to brush the old hound away, but he didn’t obey her any better than Chatwyn had.
“I’m sorry for that display of childish behavior and his wanting to be in control,” she finally managed to say and hoped Mr. Stockton didn’t hear the catch in her breath. “Chatwyn is still learning his manners and, apparently, has further to go than I realized.”
“He was fine. He behaves better than some of the men I’ve sailed with.”
His words comforted her and she whispered a laugh. “I remember you saying yesterday you didn’t know much about children. That can’t be true. You certainly showed you know how to handle a rambunctious little boy. You didn’t blink an eye at his overactive behavior.”
Mr. Stockton looked thoughtful, as if he were weighing whether or not he wanted to say what had entered his mind. He must have decided against whatever it was because he looked down at York, who acknowledged him with a woof.