They reached the end of the tunnel. Harlowe turned to the eldest child. Harriet was almost eight. She’d been the most dangerous to the order. Not so easy to eradicate her memory.
“Harry”—her preferred name. Harlowe didn’t object. It was far safer for her that way—“You remember the plan?”
“Yes, sir.”She clutched the coins he’d given her in the event of disaster.“Hide first, then find Lord Dorset.”
The name jolted Harlowe to the cold pouring in the window over his skin.
Dorset. Friend or foe? What had the man been saying the night he’d been so soused at the widow’s salon? Something about harms and brothers? Brothers… brotherhood… arms… Brotherhood of Arms?
Harlowe turned around and slid down the wall to the floor, holding his head between his hands. The Brotherhood of Arms was a consortium of do-gooders who worked for the crown.
Was Dorset part of the Brotherhood? Was Harlowe?
Either way, Harlowe’s instincts were sound. His family was in danger.
Thirty-Five
I
t had been a week since Melinda had joined the household, and Penny had not had a single nightmare. It was quite remarkable. Maeve had her bed back. Disappointingly, her husband had not joined her. Well, he had, but he usually left before morning. It baffled her. And hurt. But she had too much pride to complain. She kept her days full by assisting Miss Bristol in the schoolroom and visiting the shops with Lorelei and Ginny. She spent time in the nursery with Nathan to give Molly breaks. The girl worked diligently and was much deserving of them.
Ginny was generous with Irene’s and Celia’s castoff clothing. Mary, at ten and Melinda, at nine were near the same in size.
Dressed for the day, Maeve left her bedchamber ready to break her fast. Voices and hammering sounded from the floor above. She glanced up at the ceiling. She had energetic plans for the day.
The children were not the only ones who needed a reprieve from the construction of turning the open salon into a studio for Brandon. After their studies, of course. To her surprise, or perhaps not, Penny and Mary had taken to their letters with great enthusiasm and aplomb. Stephen at the dignified age of four and ten took exception to being forced in the schoolroom, as did a much sophisticated Melinda. But Maeve insisted. As she told them, “Knowing how to read and calculate sums can only help you in life, not hurt.”
She would not force Stephen to accompany the group to the park. He preferred the stables. Which she allowed as long as he kept up his studies. The system seemed to work.
Famished, Maeve passed the maid, holding a bucket of coal. “Good morning—” She stopped and turned around. “Who are you?”
“Mornin’ ma’am.” She dipped a quick curtsey. “Me name’s Bitsy.”
“Sister to—”
“Abby, m’lady. I’m lightin’ the fires.”
“Carry on,” Maeve said on a sigh. Shaking her head, she made her way down the stairs to the morning room, wondering how many more servants she employed of which she was unaware.
She entered an empty morning room and her appetite dimmed. Brandon was nowhere to be seen.
“Mornin’, m’lady, tea?”
“Thank you, Niall.” Steam rose from the chaffing dishes on the sideboard, and Maeve took a plate and filled it. “I have need of your services today. I’d like to take the children to the park. I thought Hyde Park would be a nice change from Cavendish. Have Cook prepare a luncheon. We’ll go early enough to be back before the fashionable hour starts. Say two?”
“Aye, m’lady.”
“Ah, there you are, Lady Harlowe.” Brandon strolled in, and her heart kicked like a flailing Mellie. He took her plate from her and set it on the table then held out her chair.
Once Maeve was seated, he leaned down and kissed her, full on the mouth. Heat rushed her face. “What was that for?”
“Can’t a man kiss his lady wife when the urge takes him?”
Maeve’s glance snapped to Niall, but thankfully the young man was retrieving a cup and coffee for Brandon. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence this morning? I’ve scarcely seen you in a week.”
He sent a pointed look at Niall. “Construction is going well,” he told her.
“It’s certainly noisy,” she retorted, fully aware that the idea of turning the salon into his studio was all her idea. She sounded completely unlike herself. “Leave us, Niall.”
