Somewhat stunned to see him there, Maeve rushed over and grabbed his monstrous hand. “What is it? Is Harlowe suffering a muscular cramp?”
“No, milady.” Two bright spots of scarlet dotted the highest points of his cheekbones. “His lordship requests your presence for dinner.” His eyes cut to Parson, whose mouth hung open.
“Oh. Yes. Of course, Rory. Tell him I shall meet with him directly.”
“No hurry, milady. He said a half hour would suffice.”
Maeve clamped her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting against the walls.
Rory bowed his way out of the room, fortuitous the door did not hit him in the forehead and knock him silly with Parson’s slam.
Again, Parson’s lips took on a mutinous line. “It’s not seemly,” she said in a nearly toneless strain.
Maeve swung away, stalking to the wardrobe, her already feverish pulse beating harsh and exceedingly quick. “I’ll wear the deep violet.” There was nothing remotely inappropriate about the gown. It showed far less cleavage than the burgundy she’d worn the evening before to Oxford’s ball.
“Lady Alymer, ’tis my greatest fear Lord Harlowe’s intentions are not honorable.”
Maeve backed out of the wardrobe, flabbergasted at Parson’s sheer unmitigated gall. But catching sight of her expression, Maeve held her tongue. She appeared genuinely concerned. “Parson, there is no need to concern yourself. You know Lord Harlowe is recovering from a horrific ordeal,” she said gently.
Parson didn’t respond, instead assisting Maeve silently with dressing for dinner.
Maeve made a definitive point of being late by twenty minutes with a short visit to the nursery. She would never admit she was dressed and ready by the appointed time to meet with Harlowe, but appearing too eager was the end-all of any summons by a titled man. No matter how much she might admire—
Another level up, she stepped over the threshold into the nursery. “Hello, Molly. How is Nathan doing this evening?” Molly reclined in a large rocker, holding the one-year-old against her chest.
He had a thumb in his mouth, and though heavy-lidded, his sharp familiar hazel-colored eyes cut to her.
“He wore himself out, but good today, milady. Would you like to see him? He’s not asleep quite yet.”
Maeve smiled down at the adorable cherub. “I don’t wish to disturb you.”
His thumb plucked from his mouth with an audible plop, and his chubby arms reached up, thoroughly entangling her heart.
There was nothing left for it but to take the lad. Maeve could no more have ignored him than she could his father’s distress. Nathan’s legs wrapped her waist, and he laid his head on her shoulder with blinding trust. She glanced at Molly. The girl was no more than ten and seven with a generous spirit and seemed to adore her precocious charge.
She beamed Maeve with a bright smile. “He’s a happy child, he is,” Molly said.
“He certainly is, and in largesse, thanks to you, I’d wager. Has he, um, seen his father much?”
Molly’s expression transformed to one of blank passivity. Not that Maeve could blame her. It wasn’t a servant’s place to judge her master’s behavior toward his child. In most houses of nobility, children were tolerated and rarely seen. But holding this baby, experiencing the confidence he placed in Maeve’s hold, rallied her determination to see that Nathan would not be neglected by his father. Especially at having already lost his mother.
Molly blinked, not giving an iota of emotion away. “Not since Lady Irene was here a few days ago,” she admitted softly.
“I see.” And she did, all too clearly. Maeve swiveled back and forth in a gentle motion. “Tomorrow, have Nathan dressed for an outing to the park. One of the clock should do nicely.”
Molly’s countenance softened. “Yes, milady. He’ll like that. Boys are lively rambunctious creatures and require lots of strenuous activity—oh, look! He’s fallen asleep. Shall I take him now?”
“Of course.” Tenderness swelled within Maeve’s breast that brought her near to tears. She hadn’t believed herself capable of such sweet emotion. What a daunting thought. She handed Nathan over to his caretaker, and once she stood outside the nursery door, she inhaled deeply several times to steady her… her, well, whatever it was that had taken hold of her wits.
A few minutes later, she glided into the dining chamber in which she’d found Harlowe the evening before, when she’d held her shredded slippers, standing in her bared-stocking feet—not that he’d had the slightest inclination for indiscreet behavior. She scanned the massive hall and located him at the far end, dressed to the nines, and holding a glass of amber liquid.
He tipped it in her direction.
A flock of seagulls took flight in her lower abdomen, seeing him in full dress for the first time… ever, that she could recall.
“Madeira?”
“Thank you,” she said accepting the offering.
