Page 23 of A Momentary Marriage

chapter 9

Laura awoke in much better spirits. However overwhelming this room was, the massive bed was comfortable, and she had slept the night through. Getting out of bed, she opened the drapes. Her window faced the gardens below, a massive spread of spring flowers, trees, and shrubbery. The house, on the crest of a hill, commanded a view of the countryside. Rolling hills stretched off in the distance, and closer at hand, at the bottom of the hill, she could see the ruins of a stone castle nestled beside a pond.

She dressed quickly, eager to explore the gardens. As she left the room, she heard a door slam down the hall and turned to see Patricia, sobbing hysterically as her mother tried to calm her. Laura hesitated, uncertain whether to go back inside her room, sneak away, or try to help.

Patricia looked up and saw her, and her face twisted. “You!” She flung out an accusing hand at Laura. “It’s all your fault!”

“Hush, now, darling,” Tessa said in a harried way, patting her daughter’s back and looking at Laura apologetically. “Don’t fret. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“It won’t. It won’t. I hate him!” Patricia cried as she let her mother sweep her into the room behind her.

Laura stood for a moment, gazing after them. Well . . . life in the de Vere household was certainly not dull.

As she stood there, a small face edged around a corner. When Laura made no move, the boy stepped into the hall, lifting his hand to wave to her. She presumed that he must be Claude’s son whom James had mentioned the day before. He looked around six years old, with a mop of blond curls and an angelic face that reinforced the idea that he was Adelaide’s child.

Laura went down the hall to him. “I’m—well, I guess I’m now your aunt. Laura is my name.”

“Hullo.” He looked up at her with great interest and no appearance of shyness. “I’m Robbie. Robert Edward Danforth de Vere.”

“My, that’s certainly a mouthful. May I simply call you Robbie?”

“Course.” He continued to regard her. “You’re Uncle James’s wife. I heard Mum talking about you.”

“Did you?” However sweetly she had spoken to Laura last night, Laura suspected that in private Adelaide’s words had been more acidic.

He nodded. “You are pretty, though.”

Laura wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Robbie seemed to require none, for he went on, “I like you. You’re nicer than Aunt Patricia.”

“Thank you.”

“I like you better than Uncle James, too. He never talks to me.”

“I suspect your Uncle James isn’t sure what to say to young boys.”

“Why not? He was a boy, wasn’t he? Papa always says, ‘James is just like when we were boys.’ ” He dropped his voice on the last sentence in imitation of his father.

Laura smiled. “I’m not sure your Uncle James was exactly like other boys.”

“Robbie?” a piercing voice called. “Robbie, where are you?” A moment later, a stick-thin woman came into view. “There you are! Come here. I told you not to leave the nursery.”

“That’s Miss Barstow,” Robbie explained to Laura. “She gets upset. I have to go.”

He took off down the hall to meet the woman, presumably his governess. She took him by the arm and hustled him back the way she had come, grumbling, “Why do you always run away?”

Laura turned, smiling a little. It seemed Robert Edward Danforth de Vere was a bit of a handful. She hurried back down the hallway to the front stairs, hoping that Patricia wouldn’t pop out to hurl more accusations at her. Downstairs, she found that the dining room held only Claude and Cousin Maurice.

Claude glanced up and rose politely, followed by the other man. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She nodded at them. “I thought James might be here.”

“Here and gone. You know James.”

No, she really didn’t. But she could scarcely say that.

“I hope you slept well,” Cousin Maurice offered.