He shrugged again and looked down at his bony hands. There was dirt under his fingernails that Mrs. Huddleston hadn’t been able to wash away.
“Are you from somewhere near this area? Grimsfield? Or London, perhaps?”
His eyes shifted a little when she said “London.” Maybe the duke was right and he was a street urchin who had somehow managed to wander from London to Mammoth House. But how did he get all the way out here in the dead of winter with holey boots and threadbare clothing?
“All right, I suppose it doesn’t matter where you came from, but I do need to know where you want to go. Like itor not, I will have to know. When you are well enough, I can help you get there.”
He remained silent.
“I can’t assist you if you aren’t willing to talk to me,” she said in a determined tone and rose from the side of the bed. “Will you at least tell me how old you are so I don’t have to guess if you are about the age of ten, or twelve, or thirteen?”
“I don’t know no age. Don’t need one. What good would it do me or ye to know that?” All of a sudden, a cocky grin lifted his thin lips. “Since ye want me to have a name and ye name is Miss Quick, ye can call me Mr. Slow.”
Loretta smiled, too. “That was very clever.” And obnoxious.
She saw by the light that flashed in his eyes that he appreciated her praise. Perhaps she’d try to get more information from him later. The tonic he swallowed would soon put him to sleep.
Facing him again she said, “Very well, if you want to continue to be obstinate, I shall return to what I was doing, and you can return to your world that only you know about.”
After making herself comfortable in the chair, Loretta looked at the table beside her. Over the days Farley had been in the room, she’d brought in yarn and knitting needles, embroidery samples to stitch, and two different books of poetry. She looked at them all and decided on the knitting again.
No more than a few minutes later she heard a mumble and looked over at Farley. He looked asleep but restless, his head moving from side to side and his body twitching. He was dreaming. Again.
“Mama.”
Loretta’s stomach clenched and her hands stilled in her lap.
“Mama, don’t go,” he whimpered.
A chill shook Loretta. Her throat instantly clogged and her eyes watered with tears. Memories of her own mother flooded her. She’d cried those very words:Mama, don’t go.But the sickness claimed her mother and she left anyway.
Loretta dropped her knitting and went to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Come back,” Farley whimpered again. His head rolled from side to side. His chest heaved and his slight body stirred beneath the covers.
“Shh,” she whispered, soothing his brow with one hand and pulling him close to her chest with the other, as she had several times before.
But today she felt unusually weepy, and long-held tears rolled down her cheeks. Instincts she didn’t know she had surfaced and she said, “Everything is all right, my child. You’re just dreaming.”
“Mama,” he murmured softly.
“Yes, I’m here.” She whispered the words she’d wanted to hear her mother say so long ago. The words that never came for her. “Rest easy, my darling. I’m here and I’m not going to leave you.”
Farley’s face relaxed. His body stilled and Loretta shed silent tears for the mothers they’d lost, the vow she should have never made, and because of it, the child she’d never have.
Loretta stayed by his side until his breathing was heavy and he was in a deep sleep. Only then did she rise, dry her face, renew her strength, and continue with her knitting.
Sometime later, the distant reverberating sound of the front door knocker startled Loretta, and she realized she must have nodded off. Had someone arrived? They never had visitors at Mammoth House. But the duke was expected tomorrow. Her head felt a little fuzzy, and she shook it to clear her thoughts. She sometimes lost track of the days. Yes, tomorrow was Thursday. The day the duke was to arrive.
But who else could it be at the door? She should go see, she thought, placing the half-finished shawl she was knitting back on the table. Still she didn’t rise. She looked down and, to her horror, saw she had on the same plain morning dress that she’d worn the last time the duke had come. Tomorrow, she’d planned to wear one of her more elegant day dresses, take care to put her hair up properly with a pretty ribbon.
Drifting through the wide corridors, she heard the muted sound of male voices. It had to be the duke and her brother. Neither Mr. Huddleston nor Arnold would come to the front door. Loretta remained still. She wouldn’t go and greet him. The duke wasn’t coming to see her. It was Paxton he wanted to talk to.
Besides, she didn’t care if it was the duke. She didn’t want to see him anyway.
A soft laugh passed her lips and she shook her head. Of course she wanted to see him. She was eager to see him again! Why would she try to fool herself? But as much as she wanted be a part of their conversation and argue her point on arranged marriages, she had to respect Paxton and allow him to have private time with the duke without her interference.
She must let them talk first.
