Her brother scowled and crossed his arms, slumping with a fervent determination to show the world how irritating that pronouncement was. Bringing her arm around the small boy, Judith drew him closer, though she had nothing more to say that hadn’t been said. Besides, Griffith didn’t want any assurances unless it was precisely what he longed to hear.
Alice cast a furtive glance from across the way, though Judith had no more assurances to give to the nursemaid than she did to the children. Whatever may come, Mr. Silas Byrnes was the master of the family, the master of the household, and the master of their fates. The young woman bounced Leah, though the child remained listless, sucking on her fingers as she stared out the window.
“It will be good to be at home once more,” said Judith, grasping onto anything that might entice the children. There were few promises she could give them, but the familiarity of their own bedchambers and nursery would be of some comfort.
Griffith sighed and rested his head against Judith, and the conversation lapsed into silence. She hated seeing the children so at odds, but there was nothing she could do. The last six months had seen far too much upheaval, and no amount of assurances would alter that fact.
“Would you like to see my father’s sketchbook?” Judith grasped onto the first diversion that came to mind.
Griffith perked up, and Helen slanted her gaze to Judith, though gave no other sign she’d heard the question. Reaching to the floor, Judith opened the latch of her portmanteau and pulled out a sketchbook; easing back onto the squabs, she unwound the strap that kept the book secure. Griffith moved closer, resting his head against Judith’s arm as she flipped back the soft leather cover.
The first few pages were filled with a patchwork of sketches, each one featuring a different bit of anatomy from varying angles. Feet, hands, eyes, and lips passed before them with a fragile elegance that entranced Judith, despite being nothing more than quick studies. But as Judith moved through the pages, the subject focused on a single woman. With little more than a few scratches of the pencil, she was captured in various poses, each showing a bit of her heart.
The children on either side moved closer, the images capturing their attention as Judith showed them page after page. Before long, the woman was joined by a babe, who shared her mama’s smile.
“You were an adorable baby, Miss Delmonte,” said Helen.
“All babies are adorable,” replied Judith.
“May I hold it?” asked Griffith.
Her heart clenched, and Judith wanted to say no, though there was no reason she could not allow it; Griffith was tucked up next to her, and though the carriage was rocking, she was close enough to catch it should he drop it. Yet Judith shuddered away from it.
“Only if you promise to be careful,” she said, holding his gaze as he nodded. “It is very dear to me.”
“Because it was your papa’s,” said Griffith with a nod.
Placing it gently on his lap, Judith kept her gaze fixed on him as he turned the pages with as much care as could be expected of a five-year-old, but he followed her prompts, tempering his enthusiasm to see it all.
“I like this one,” he said, pointing to one in which Judith must’ve been around Leah’s age. Mama was seated against a willow tree while Judith’s younger self balanced on her mother’s stomach. With arms reaching high, the child was fairly leaping upwards in her effort to tell her mother some desperately exciting story. The expression on Mama’s face was such a combination of humor, contentment, and love that Judith’s heart warmed at the sight of it. A little scene of domestic bliss.
But Judith turned the page and pointed to the next. “This is my favorite. It is the only portrait of my father. Apparently, he wasn’t keen on drawing himself.”
There was a trio of portraits on the page: mother, father, and child. Marcello Delmonte had been more arresting than attractive, his dark eyes shining with the joy of spirit he’d always carried with him. So many memories of her parents were fading with time, but even on her deathbed, Judith would remember those laughing eyes. And Mama’s embraces. Judith could still feel those arms around her, enfolding her with all the love and heart that dear lady had.
“Did your papa love you?” asked Helen. There was a quality to her tone that had Judith paying extra heed to the child’s question, though it took little insight to understand the meaning behind it when the girl who’d voiced it was facing a reunion with her long-absent father.
“Papas love their children very dearly, and mine was no different,” said Judith.
They turned to the last drawing, and her heart gave a familiar pang at the sight of it. Not so much the drawing itself, but the knowledge that it was the last. A young artist’s life cut short. The solitary child he and his wife had left behind.
Good gracious. She was not normally so maudlin. The children’s moods were coloring her own, but it would do no good to sit about bemoaning what cannot be altered. That orphan had grown and made a life for herself, and the children at her side would find their footing with their newly returned papa as well. Change was terrifying, but it did not signify a terrible future.
Judith felt a modicum of relief when the carriage finally stopped. Tucking the sketchbook back in its place, she ushered the children out and stood before Stowell Cottage. Such a name conveyed a quaint air, as though it belonged to a tiny single-room building in the sprawling countryside, surrounded by massive hedgerows. And while it did have the familiar expanses of fields surrounding it, the cottage was neither small nor enclosed by greenery. It wasn’t even a cottage.
Stowell Cottage was little more than a rectangular block placed on the landscape, but it sat on a gentle rise, surveying the world in all its glory. The red brick stood out against the green grass and white quoins that ran along the corners of the building. The steps swept into the entrance, and the stonework and columns adorning the door told all the world that this was the entrance of a fine home—one that could compete with her aunt and uncles’ estate.
The door opened, and Judith ushered the children and nursemaid into the parlor. Griffith ran to a corner of the room and ducked behind an armchair while Leah wriggled free of Alice’s hold, toddling around the area; no doubt, it seemed new to her young mind, and she was determined to explore it. Only Helen remained where she was; standing with a straight spine, she surveyed the room with a gaze that was far more mature than her eight years. She looked so very much like her mama. Judith had not known the woman well, but Mrs. Byrnes had an air that demanded respect the moment one saw her. With silent footsteps, Helen took her mother’s favorite seat. Her hand rested on the wooden arm, and her fingers traced the carved scrollwork there.
A movement at her back had Judith jumping, and she whirled around to see a young man standing on the opposite side of the parlor, his hands tucked behind him as he watched the three children. He was too young to be the master of the house, yet he did not look like a servant, either. His clothes were of decent quality but so plain she couldn’t decipher his social standing; he was closer in age to twenty than thirty, yet there was an edge to him that belied his few years. Between that and his broad physique, instinct had her stepping between the stranger and her charges.
But before Judith could think to ask the man what he was about, another strode into the room with his arms held wide as he called for his children. Judith’s face flushed as her heart pounded a violent rhythm in her chest as she stared at the fellow. Her stomach failed her altogether, sinking to her toes as she wondered why fate hated her so.
Mr. Byrnes spared her no more than a passing glance, but that was enough for Judith to realize he was both her employer and the man she’d ogled in the street.
Chapter 4
This was what came from allowing fantasies to run amok. Thank the heavens that Mr. Byrnes was not privy to Judith’s foolish imaginings. To think she had fairly swooned over a stranger in the street. And no matter how she tried to stop herself, Judith’s cheeks continued to burn a bright pink. And though her mind recognized the danger of nursing a tender for her employer, her eyes couldn’t help but notice—yet again—just how fine his features were.
