Frovtunes’ Kiss (40 page)

Freddy snatched the sought-after item with barely a second to spare and deposited it onto an end table behind him. “You'll knock someone out with that. Me, more than likely.”

Seeing his treasure whisked out of reach, Michael skewed up his features in preparation of howling, an eventuality forestalled by Letty thrusting a small, clothbound book into his hands. “Just don't eat it,” she advised.

“Come here, little one.” Their mother eased the boy into her lap. He went willingly, apparently far too interested in flipping the pages of his book to spare a thought for where he sat or who held him.

“I do hope he doesn't tear the pages.” Thus far Moira had been quieter than the rest. Watching the baby intently, she seemed thoughtful, preoccupied.

“Never mind.” Augusta ran her fingers through Michael's blond wisps. “We've books aplenty in this house. Don't we, little one? Don't we, don't we, yes, we do…”

Bouncing the baby in her lap, Augusta made a cadence of
yes, we do, oh, yes, we do
. …

It sent Graham's memories tumbling back some nineteen years, to a time before things had gone so damnably wrong, when the twins were adorable imps and Augusta Foster a happy young mother whose greatest quandary lay in her newborns having pet names that rhymed in the most undignified manner.

“Such a sorrowful shame about your friends, Moira,” she said now. “Too young to be so tragically cut down, and leaving this darling boy orphaned.”

Graham had wondered what to tell his mother about Michael, but it seemed Moira had already taken care of the explanations.

“My heart positively breaks for them.” Augusta dabbed at a tear, real or imagined, and happened to glance up. “Monteith, why ever are you hovering in the doorway? Do come in and help entertain our guest.”

Shaun twisted round to regard him. “A capital little fellow, this one.”

Graham strolled to the outskirts of the group but remained standing. Somehow, coming closer simply didn't make him part of the group, not in the essential way he would have liked. But there existed an issue between him and every person present—Freddy, Letty, his mother, and now Moira, too. Even Shaun had taken a swing at him just the other day. Only Michael seemed to bear no grudge. The boy raised his pink little face and made saliva bubbles at him.

Using the sofa table for leverage, the baby pulled out of Augusta's lap and toddled to where Freddy lay stretched across the carpet, propped on his elbows. Michael released the table and collapsed across Freddy's shoulders with a gleeful yelp.

“Ooof
. I suppose you want a ride, then. Is that it?” Freddy peered over his shoulder at the boy draped across his back. Michael let out a happy squeal.

That incited cheers from the others and cries of
giddyap, Freddy
. As Letty grasped Michael's tiny hands to stand him upright, Graham stole the opportunity to note the changes in his brother: the restored color in his face, the easy laughter, the fresh shave. He wore a crisp suit of clothes, albeit he'd shed his coat and his waistcoat lay unbuttoned. Far from the derelict state in which they'd found him two days ago, Freddy now seemed very much a gentleman in a fit state of health.

But however much Graham might wish it, he doubted Freddy's troubles were over.

Rising up on hands and knees, Freddy caught Graham staring. The comical grin faded beneath gathered brows and eyes narrowed in speculation. Graham's neck prickled. Was Freddy remembering their one-sided conversation last night? Would his brother toss his furtive apologies back in his face? Declare his regrets too little, too late? At Freddy's age, that's what he would have done. What he
had
done, when he abandoned England for Africa.

Freddy's gaze angled away. “Hop on, Michael, my boy, and away we'll gallop.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Letty scolded. “He'll topple off.”

“So hold him.”

“Oh, but he might need changing. Mama, you check.”

Augusta reached over and gave the baby's bottom a pat. “Dry as an autumn leaf, dear.”

“Come along, then.” Freddy bounced on his palms as though bucking. “The pony can't wait around all day.”

Letty lifted the child and set him on her twin's back, and Freddy proceeded to approximate a pace as close to a gallop as hands, bent knees, and Letty's encroaching skirts would allow. Laughter came first in bubbles and then shrieks as Michael warmed to his ride.

When Letty's feet nearly tangled with Freddy's legs, Shaun jumped up to relieve her of her duties. Augusta and Moira, meanwhile, shouted cautions concerning tables, lamps, and a prized Sevres vase.

After some minutes, a panting Freddy stopped and reared, allowing Shaun to swing the child from his back and nestle him in Moira's skirts. With a groan Freddy reassumed his human posture and made his way to Graham's side. Too quietly for the others to hear above the baby's gurgling and their own cooing, he said, “Thanks for getting me out of that place. And for not raising a fuss.”

Graham's astonishment was coupled with an indescribable surge of relief. Gratitude. Optimism. All of those and more. He held his brother in his gaze. “You're welcome.”

“Been a bit of an ass lately.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

Freddy's lip curled. “No, I meant me.”

“Oh. Yes, well, me, too, I suppose.”

Freddy responded with a slight shrug and a wisp of a grin before swinging into a nearby chair. That was all, but Graham counted it a huge stride forward.

With the abruptness of a lamp sputtering for want of fuel, Michael began yawning and pushing away the neck cloth Shaun had twisted and tied to resemble a dove. Augusta declared it nap time, scooped the boy up, and bustled off with Letty to prepare a place for him to sleep. Moira rose to follow, but lingered, and approached Graham.

He knew an instant's elation that she would seek him out.

“Do you see a resemblance at all?” she murmured.

Elation dimmed to disappointment. He set it aside. A quirk in her brow suggested her thoughts were troubling ones, deeply so. “To Everett, you mean?”

She nodded. “I keep looking for it. In the hair color, eye color, the shape of the chin, the ears…” Here she smiled faintly, then just as quickly sobered. “I simply find none.”

“It's difficult to say. I didn't know Everett well.”

“He was dark-haired with hazel eyes. And his ears…they were rather large, and one stuck out more than the other.” She sighed, shaking her head at her own observations. “Perhaps the resemblance is there in those sweet little features, and I simply refuse to see it.”

“Or the boy takes after his mother's side.”

“He looks nothing like his uncle, thank goodness.”

Before Graham could affirm the sentiment, she excused herself and left the room.

He turned to Shaun, reclining now on a settee. “How did Letty do on the sketch of Piers?”

“First rate. Quite a talent, that sister of yours.”

“Do you think if the two of you put your heads together, you might also make a sketch of Susan Oliphant?”

Shaun considered. “I don't believe your sister ever met the woman, but perhaps if I described her in detail, we might produce a tolerable likeness. Perhaps Miss Hughes can help.”

“Why do you need a picture of Susan Oliphant?” Freddy pushed to his feet and began buttoning his waistcoat. “She can neither tell us anything new, nor come to any more mischief.”

“True. But I want to know where this woman came from and how the devil she entered Everett Foster's life. I've a growing hunch about her, and I need to find some answers.”

“Care to enlighten us?”

“No, Shaun, not yet. See what you and Letty can accomplish. In the meantime, I'm going to pay a visit to Mr. Stuart Davis, of Smythe and Davis, Legal Consultants.”

He started across the room, but movement at the corner of his vision brought him to an uncertain halt. Freddy had ambled to the brandy cart. He stood before it, his gaze pinned on a crystal decanter. As Graham watched, hoping for any outcome but the one he dreaded, Freddy's hand curled around the cut-glass stopper. His palm cupped it a long moment. The stopper clinked as it slid free. Graham held his breath.

Don't, Freddy.

A quick glance confirmed that Shaun was watching, too. Graham snatched at the first idea that entered his mind. “Freddy, want to come along?”

Stopper in hand, his brother slowly turned. “Trying to keep me out of my cups?”

“I thought you might wish to get out of the house.”

His thin lie raised a chuckle. “You know you can't keep an eye on me all the time.”

“I don't intend to.”

Freddy squinted down at the stopper, running his thumb over its facets. “Can't make any promises.”

“No one's asking for any.”

His brother nodded and slipped the stopper back into the decanter's neck. “At least I won't likely puke in the carriage again.”

       22      

G
raham was minding his distance. Respecting her wishes. Keeping his hands to himself.

Moira should have been grateful. Relieved.

So why, then, did she feel this oppressive disappointment? This illogical resentment. Not to mention the desire to demand how his acceptance of her newly established boundaries could be so swift and so complete. Were his feelings for her as fragile as all that? Or was she the fragile one, demanding distance while in her heart of hearts she wanted—yearned for—just the opposite.

But, no. Her yearnings only led her into trouble, made her believe in things that weren't true. Made her forget who and what she was. Moira Hughes, daughter of the Reverend John Hughes, who died many years ago. Yes, John Hughes, a man she never truly knew nor had any memory of, had been her father. Not Everett Foster, a man she had loved so much.

So very much. And who had betrayed her so utterly. The notion awakened demons, ones that chanted the word
fool
, that…

Stop. Breathe. Do
not
cry.

There.

She smoothed her skirts, tidied her hair, and lifted Michael from the blanket she'd spread out on the floor for him to play on. His cradle occupied a corner of her bedroom, and the trunk beside it held baby clothes retrieved from many years' storage in the attic.

Together they set out for the morning room, Michael happily humming and blowing through his lips while Moira's thoughts scurried against her will to Graham.

It was a fortunate development, really; he'd suddenly found much to occupy his time. This morning he had again included his brother in his mysterious errands, a fact from which she derived considerable satisfaction. She had, after all, set out to mend the rifts in this tattered family.

Still…

She'd like to know what he was up to. Mr. Paddington had no inkling, surely, or she and Letty would have coaxed the information out of him last night while piecing together another sketch, this time of Susan Oliphant. Even Letty's most coquettish inquiries had failed to draw particulars from Mr. Paddington, leading Moira to conclude his ignorance was sincere.

“I do wish the men would get over their need to be so hush-hush about everything,” she said to Letty as she placed Michael in the younger woman's lap. She poured a cup of coffee and took a seat beside them at the breakfast table.

“If you're so eager to know what they're doing, why don't you simply
ask?”
Leaning back in her chair, Letty stood Michael on her thighs and shook her curls at him.

The child responded with a delighted squeal. He snatched one golden brown corkscrew and tugged.

“Ouch!” Letty's head snapped forward. “Oh,
do
let go! No,
don't
yank. Moira,
help
!”

Suppressing a chuckle, Moira set down her coffee cup. “There, there, Michael, you're hurting poor Auntie Letitia.”