“No, of course not.”
“We just came to tell you that Mr. Groby is well—” Bridget paused—“at least under the circumstances.” She held out the bundle. “And to give you these biscuits for the children. I had Cook bake themfresh this morning.”
“That’s kind of you.” Mrs. Groby took the bundle. “The children are both down for naps, and they’ll be wanting a little something when they wake. Why don’t you come in for some tea? I think Mr. Collins and I could use a small break, too.”
“That would be lovely,” Bridget said.
Nate smiled to himself. Bridget had such a way with people. Despite the inward anxieties she suffered from, she was always able to put others at ease.
Once inside the comfortable cottage, Nate and Bridget sat on the settee in the front parlor with Collins while Mrs. Groby prepared tea.
“You’ve only been here a few months, haven’t you, Mr. Collins?” Nate took the opportunity to ask the man a few questions. “What made you decide to come to Westmorland?”
“Indeed, I’ve only been in Westmorland for a few months, but I’m from York. That’s not too far away. One day, I picked up Mr. Wordsworth’s guidebook and that lured me here.”
“Are you also a poet?” Bridget asked.
“No. I’m only a farmer and a bit of a wanderer.”
A farmer? The man doesn’t sound like a farmer. He’s educated, and he can read.Nate was about to ask Collins more when Mrs. Groby’s young son wandered into the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Just in time for your tea,” Mrs. Groby said as she entered the front parlor and placed the tea tray on the table. The child ran to his mother. She embraced him. “Where’s Charlotte? Still asleep?” The child nodded, and his mother guided him to his seat.
But it wasn’t the child that interested Nate. It was Collins. He saw a change in the man’s face as he looked at Mrs. Groby’s little boy. He saw the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth turn up slightly as he reached out and ruffled the child’s blond hair. He saw exactly what he felt when he looked at his own little boy, Henry. It was the look of unconditional love. It was a look a father would give a son.
*
Bridget could seesomething was bothering Nate. He’d grown very quiet once the children had woken up. She’d seen him watching young Edmund closely, and she knew immediately why. He was thinking of Henry.
Guilt gnawed at her stomach. She should have told Nate about Henry’s arrival as soon as she met him on the road as planned. That was the reason she’d abandoned the croquet game and rushed out of the villa, only stopping to drop Bijou off in the kitchen where Cook had insisted she take the biscuits “afore they grew hard and brittle.” But she’d become sidetracked by the visit to Mrs. Groby. She’d planned to go anyway, and after Nate had told her what he’d learned about Mr. Collins, it seemed better that they went together.
Still, now was as good a time as any to tell him. She had no intention of allowing Lady Luxton to blindside Nate as the manipulative woman had obviously planned. She couldn’t imagine the shock he’d experience upon seeing Henry playing on the lawn, particularly after Lady Luxton had sworn never to let him see the child again. He’d mourned for Henry these past eight months, and Bridget had ached for him. She knew the unimaginable agony of loss. Nate would be delighted to see his son again, but he needed to be prepared for it. He needed to be in control of his emotions, or Lady Luxton would rule them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nate said as they mounted their horses.
“Pardon?” Bridget asked, startled.
Nate’s gelding trotted forward, and she pressed her calf against her mare’s side to make her horse catch up with his.
“The little boy.” Nate slowed his horse as she came up beside him. “He’s the same age as Henry.”
“Edmund? Yes. He’s three.” Bridget’s heartbeat accelerated. Whyhad she waited? It had been selfish of her. “Can we stop a moment? There’s something I need to—”
“It’s his child.” Nate interrupted. “The boy.”
“Sorry?” Bridget said, confused.
“You saw the way Collins looked at the boy, didn’t you?”
“I…are you talking about Mrs. Groby’s son?”
“Of course? Who else would I be talking about?” He paused. “I thought you noticed it too.”
“Noticed what, exactly?”
“The way Collins doted on the boy.”
“He seemed very kind to the children, especially Edmund.”
