Page 112 of A Momentary Marriage

The discussion of Mr. Netherly continued, though Laura contributed little, more eager to finish her food and go find James than to speculate on the poet’s obscure motive. When she finished the meal, she was surprised to see that Claude followed her into the hall.

“Lady—that is, Laura . . .” When she turned back to him, Claude went on. “James told me you argued that I wasn’t the culprit. I wanted to thank you. And . . . well, I should apologize that I was not more welcoming when you arrived.”

Looking at his stiff demeanor, Laura thought he had more in common with his brother than either thought. She smiled. “Thank you. I hope that we can—all of us—become better friends.”

A faint smile lightened his stern expression. “I’m not sure James and I can ever be friends. But perhaps we can be better brothers. I—James has changed since he married you. You’ve filed down his sharp edges.”

“I’m not sure I deserve the credit, but I believe he looks at things a little differently now.”

He nodded, offering nothing further, and somewhat awkwardly they parted. Laura watched as Claude walked down the hall to James’s study. She had planned to see if James was there, but now she felt embarrassed to do so. She didn’t want to appear too bold, especially in front of James’s brother. James could, after all, come looking for her.

Feeling at loose ends, she strolled out to the terrace, Dem trailing along after her. Robbie was perched on the top step, and he jumped up at the sight of Demosthenes, coming forward to pet him.

“No studies this morning?” Laura asked lightly.

He shrugged. “Miss Barstow’s in her room, crying.”

It took Laura a moment to remember that Miss Barstow was the boy’s governess. “I see. She’s unhappy?”

“Mum was mad at her. But Mum left, so she’ll feel better soon.” He brightened. “You want to see something?”

Laura nodded and followed him into the house, feeling a trifle sorry for the boy, who often seemed lonely and bored.

“I found it yesterday,” he went on as he led her and Demosthenes up the back stairs. “Miss Barstow said I mustn’t disturb it.” He frowned. “She’s not a bad sort. I hope Mum doesn’t send her away, but she was frightfully angry.”

“At Miss Barstow?”

“Yes. But before that she was mad at Uncle James. She said Papa was a fool to trust him.” He paused at the top of the stairs. “Then Mum heard Miss Barstow tell me Mr. Netherly was a wicked man who tried to kill Uncle James. Did he really?”

“Yes.”

“Mum said Miss Barstow didn’t know what she was talking about and she shouldn’t gossip about her betters. It was because she likes Mr. Netherly.”

“Miss Barstow does?” Laura remembered the time they had seen Netherly coming up the back stairs and heading toward the nursery.

“No.” Robbie laughed. “Mum likes him. He’s her friend. But it’s a secret.” Robbie turned to Laura anxiously. “You won’t tell her I said that, will you? I swore not to tell.”

“No. I promise.”

Mr. Netherly was Adelaide’s secret friend? Was Claude’s wife having an affair with Tessa’s admirer? Perhaps she had become too cynical, living with James. Maybe it was just flirtation, or he simply showered Adelaide with the same sort of flowery comments he gave Tessa. Still . . .

“Robbie—” Laura began as she followed the boy into the sitting room over the ballroom. “Did Mr. Netherly ever borrow your slingshot?”

Robbie cackled. “No, he doesn’t do things like that. He’s boring.” He crossed the room and opened the doors onto the balcony. “Come see what I found.”

She stepped out onto the balcony after him, alarmed when she saw the child loop his arms over the balustrade and pull himself across it until his head was hanging over the edge. Dem let out a sharp bark, and Laura exclaimed, “Robbie! Be careful!”

“I’m fine,” he said, shooting her a scornful glance. “Look.” He pointed downward.

Laura planted her elbows on the stone railing and peered over the side. There, on a narrow lip, tucked in against the wall of the building, was a nest of twigs holding three small speckled eggs. Laura laughed, delighted. “Bird eggs!”

“I thought you’d like it. You’re nice. Like Uncle Walter.”

“Thank you, Robbie.” Laura’s mind was racing. “Robbie, did anyone ever borrow your slingshot?”

He glanced at her curiously. “No. Do you want to borrow it?”

She smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to use it. It’s not a toy girls often have.”