Royce drew back, but Stephen put his hand on the boy’s shoulder for reassurance. “It’s all right,” he said beneath his breath.
“I don’t believe you were really in India.” Royce kicked at the carpet, his face sullen.
“That I was, my boy. I even rode an elephant while I was there.”
Royce reached out for Stephen’s hand, not at all convinced.
Nigel sent Stephen a wink. “And this must be young Victoria. Why, you are a pretty little thing.”
Victoria buried her face in Stephen’s neck and wailed. Although Anna offered to take the baby, Stephen refused to hand her over just yet. He soothed the infant, rubbing her back.
Stephen accompanied the children to their rooms, hoping that Royce would brighten with all the toys. Instead, the boy clenched one of his toy soldiers. “I want you to stay,” he pleaded with Stephen.
“I shall. But as soon as your aunt arrives, I must return to London. It will only be for a short while.”
Victoria rubbed her eyes, whining to go to sleep, and Stephen exchanged glances with Anna. The nurse nodded in silent understanding.
The baby unleashed a furious howl when Stephen handed her over to Anna, crying out, “Da, da, da!” Though he was not her father, he’d wanted nothing more than to turn around and sweep the infant into his arms. Leaving her behind would be even more difficult than he’d thought.
But it was only temporary. As soon as he spoke with his solicitor, he would try to coax Nigel into giving back custody of the children. He leaned down and touched the boy’s shoulder. “It’s late, Royce. Best get to bed.”
The boy glowered at Nigel before he took Anna’s hand and let her take him into the bedroom.
“It will take time for them to know me,” Nigel said sadly. From the look of longing on his face, no doubt he’d been disappointed by the children’s reaction.
“Indeed.” As Stephen followed a servant to his own room, he tried to dismiss the uneasiness creeping over him. This was for the best, he knew. Though he’d have preferred to bring Emily and the children together, she’d made her feelings quite clear. Only in this manner could he ensure that she made the journey.
Stephen grimaced, wishing he’d thought to take the rest of his wardrobe with him. He didn’t like to imagine the state of his shirts at the moment, given what Emily had done to his boots.
Chapter Seventeen
Emily’sbodywasnumb,cold with fear as the coach pulled up to Nigel Barrow’s residence. The estate sprawled across acres of green fields, a stone manor with turrets similar to a castle.
Her husband had known she would come after him. In fact, he’d had a coach waiting, along with her packed belongings and the two footmen. Though she had tried to catch up to them, her coach had been mired in the muddy roads, and they’d lost several hours on the journey.
Then, too, she’d had to spend the night at an inn along the way. Even with her escorts, she’d hardly slept at all, worrying about someone following her.
Now, it had been a full day since she’d last seen Stephen and the children. She missed Royce and Victoria desperately, her heart sick with fear. How could Stephen have left her behind? It infuriated her that he’d done it, and she intended to blister his ears once she saw him again. Right now, the very thought of her husband made her want to strangle him.
As the footman helped her disembark from the coach, she moved as if in a trance. Nigel lived like a king, but it made her even more nervous at the thought. Though he was wealthy, it did not mean he would treat the children well.
A middle-aged footman with red hair welcomed her, accepting her cloak and bonnet, before leading her into the parlor. ‘Mr. Barrow hoped you would come, Lady Whitmore,“ he said. “I am Roberts, and if there is anything I can do to ensure your comforts, you need only give the orders. I’ve arranged for refreshments, and I shall inform Mr. Barrow of your arrival.”
Emily did not sit but studied the room. Oil paintings of landscapes hung at intervals, along with portraits she recognized. She saw her mother and father, and a deep loss cut through her. She had been only fourteen years old when her mother had died of consumption. And Father had—
She winced at the memory, not wanting to relive his death.
“Emily?”
She turned and saw Nigel. A stout gentleman, with long white whiskers and a balding pate, he gave her a warm smile. “I am delighted you have come. I hope you will stay for a while?”
She did not answer the question. She had come with the intention of taking Royce and Victoria back to Falkirk. Without prelude, she demanded, “Where are the children?”
“They are playing upstairs in the nursery. Would you care to see them? I promise you, I have not sent them to a workhouse or enslaved them.” His eyes gleamed with amusement.
“Yes, I want to see them.”
“Come, then.” Nigel offered her his arm, and she took it with reluctance. He leaned heavily upon a walking stick, and from his slow, steady movement, she realized Stephen was right. Nigel’s age revealed a weakness she’d not expected, and she saw the pain he tried to hide as he moved up the stairs.
