Once she was on the road, she was that much more vulnerable. He hadn’t wanted to alarm her any further, but if he’d been Count Anton and his quarry had slipped though his fingers, he would put men on each of the main roads leading away from Lulworth and at several of the main coaching inns on the London road. A lone woman and a small boy with a limp would be easily traced.
When she finally left for London, Gabe decided, she’d be accompanied by four of the best—the Duke’s Angels or, as some had called them, the Devil Riders: Rafe, Harry, and Luke. And, of course, himself.
Harry was already on his way, bringing horses.
Rafe was at a house party at Aldershot, trying to nerve himself to do what his family expected—nay, urged him to do, no matter how much the idea of it stuck in Rafe’s throat—marry an heiress.
As for Luke, he was in London, but the Lord knew what he would be doing—anything that could blot out memories of the Convent of the Angels. Poor Luke. Of all of them, he was the most haunted by the past. If he didn’t learn to master it, Gabe feared he would go mad. It would be good for Luke to have a real problem to worry about, something in the here and now, a woman, a child hecouldprotect.
Gabe dipped the quill in the ink and began writing.
Dinner that evening was served in the small breakfast room and once again, Mrs. Barrow used the boys as waiters, only this time she sought Callie’s permission.
She’d feed the boys in the kitchen first, she explained. “Young Jim’s manners not being fit for company, Your Highness. Your Nicky now, he’s that correct a little gentleman that it practically hurts to watch him, so I reckon Jim’ll soon pick up the way to behave.”
Callie was not surprised by what Mrs. Barrow had said. Nicky was painfully correct, it was more noticeable here, where everything was more relaxed.
At home, whenever they’d dined en famille, Rupert had directed a nonstop barrage of instruction and criticism aimed at his son—at his manners, his bearing, the way he broke his bread, his attempts to respond to the conversational gambits his father shot at him.
Rupert had been a good enough man, she thought sadly, but he’d been determined to forge his son into a prince worthy of the name. His methods were crushing to a small, sensitive boy.
It was something she needed to redress.
Perhaps being the kitchen role model in manners for Jim might give Nicky a little of the confidence he lacked.
“Very well,” she agreed, knowing how much Nicky had enjoyed waiting on table this morning. “But after dinner, send him to join me in the drawing room, please.” It had been a big day, and she wanted to talk to her son, to hear his thoughts, and to reassure him if necessary.
She was also a little worried about the way he’d taken her announcement earlier that they were leaving. He’d said nothing—he was invariably obedient and well behaved—but his face had fallen with utter dismay.
It was hard for him, she knew. He’d taken to this place like a duck to water, and even seemed to relish Mrs. Barrow’s brusque bossiness. He’d hunted leeches, had his first-ever fight, and made a firm friend from it—males were strange creatures.
He’d even had his first ride on a horse that hadn’t ended up with him sprawled painfully on the ground to laughter or, more humiliatingly, embarrassed silence.
If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the way he’d greeted her this morning, all covered in mud, grinning at her from the back of a giant horse in front of Gabriel, breathless with exhilaration and triumph. And burgeoning confidence.
He was happy here, happier than she’d ever seen him, and it pained her to tear him away. But it was his happiness or his safety. Count Anton had not pursued them this far to give up and tamely go home.
She’d had in mind an intimate after-dinner conversation with her son, but Nicky brought his friend Jim with him, and then the men had surprised her by not lingering over their port, and joining her, Tibby, and the boys.
“Do you play chess, boys?” Mr. Delaney had asked and produced a small wooden box that opened up to become a chessboard. “A grand game to while away a chilly night.”
Jim was eager to learn, so Nicky hovered, observing quietly. Tibby wandered over to watch, too. Callie smiled. Even Papa had deemed Tibby a worthy opponent.
Gabe pulled a chair up next to her. He said nothing for a while, just divided his time between watching her pretend to sew and watching the chess lesson.
“Your son already knows how to play chess,” he commented.
She glanced at him in surprise. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “He’s watching the interaction between the players, rather than trying to learn the mechanics of the game. And since he strikes me as the kind of boy who likes to know things, I assume he already knows the moves.”
She gave a little nod. “Yes. My father and my husband were keen chess players.”
“Took it very seriously, too, I’ll wager.”
She nodded.
“It’s like watching myself and Harry all over again,” he said after a time. “Harry was just such a wild child as young Jim, and I was probably just as needy as Nicky.”
