Refined young woman that she was, Irene managed to nod, her dark curls bobbing. And to her credit, she fought to hide a smile.
Inside, his grin was wide, but he kept his expression bland. “I say, does Lady Cecilia screameverytime someone attempts to relinquish her?” His voice light, he followed Irene’s glance to the maid. Irene lowered her eyes without speaking.
The maid’s lips held a tight grimace.
Resigned to the weight in his arms, he studied the maid through a hooded gaze. She was scarcely older than Irene. Well, that wasn’t quite true, but she couldn’t have been more than sixteen, striking with an upturned nose and full lips. He shuddered to think of her in Maudsley’s employ.
Silence grew heavy in the confined space. As heavy as the sleeping child on his shoulder, the other pressed firmly to his side. They smelled sweet and innocent, raising every protective instinct he’d ever thought to possess. He let the quiet grow, and as predicted, the young governess shifted as her comfort level lessened.
“Are we almost there?” They were the first words Irene had uttered since having left the Kimpton townhouse in London. Granted, she’d slept a good portion of the journey, which had him wondering what they’d seen—heard.
A sharp gasp sounded from the maid. Irene pressed closer to his side.
“Indeed we are.” Thorne pointed to a large oak from the window. “That’s the oldest tree in Kimpton.” He smiled at her. “It signifies our arrival. We’ve reached the estate grounds.”
By the time the carriage pulled to a stop in the drive, the sun was on the descending side to the west, though not so far gone in the afternoon. He estimated the time as close to four.
The carriage jounced before Bons swept the door back. Thorne indicated to the maid to precede him. Odd, he hadn’t even asked her name. Tiny arms tightened about his neck, and the concern for the girl’s name evaporated. Lady Cecilia had wakened. He had a feeling she would not be letting go easily.
Quince met him halfway to the door. “My lord, it’s good to see you.”
“Lady Kimpton?”
Quince opened his mouth but his gaze moved to the two girls crowding Thorne. He cleared his throat. “Lady Kimpton is resting, my lord.”
Alarm prickled his skin. “Resting? She’s not ill, is she?”
“She was out rather late, assisting… ahem… the neighbors,” he returned.
Thorne’s eyes narrowed on him. “Fetch Mrs. Metzger at once. Come with me, ladies. Let’s see you settled, shall we?” As he started for the stairs, Mrs. Metzger approached them, her eyes full of questions. “Ah, Mrs. Metzger, please see to the feeding of… of…” He flung a helpless gaze after the children’s chaperone.
Lady Cecilia lifted her head from his shoulder and tugged her thumb from her mouth. “Miss Elbins,” she whispered.
“Elvins,” Irene corrected. “Miss Elvins.” Her voice was barely above that of her sister’s.
“Feed Miss Elvins and have a tray sent up to the nursery, please. Send a maid as well. I’m sure the rooms will need a good airing.”
“Of course, my lord. This way, Miss Elbins.”
“Elvins,” the girl snapped.
Grinning, Thorne took Lady Irene’s hand and proceeded up the stairs. He stepped over the threshold and attempted to set Lady Cecilia on her feet, which she steadfastly refused, clinging to his neck with a deathlike grip. Not that she could hurt a flea.
Bright yellow dominated the chamber in the wall’s paper, the books, and the lined curtains. It was a bit like too much sun after a brazen night with a bottle of whiskey. With Cecilia still ensconced in one arm, he let go of Irene and pulled back the curtain, allowing the late afternoon sun in to compete with the glaring decor.
After a moment, he faced Irene. “Is there something you wish to confide regarding Miss… Miss…”
“Elbins,” Lady Cecilia supplied.
“Elvins,” Lady Irene said.
“Miss Elvins,” he said. Thorne moved to the one chair large enough to accommodate an adult, shifted Cecilia onto his lap, and sat down.
Lady Cecilia’s thumb had found its place firmly secured in her mouth once more. Two sets of wide blue eyes watched him with caution.
“Come now, you are safe here. What is amiss?” he asked gently.
Tears glistened in Lady Irene’s eyes, but remained unshed pools.
