Eleanor Fitzherbert’s Christmas Miracle (Dangerous Lords Book 5) Page 2

  He knew her to be a widow. She’d been almost unaware of him, rolling her sleeves up over her slender arms, her focus solely on the boy. He’d been instantly drawn to her and wouldn’t mind a little of that unwavering attention centered on him. But there was no point in perusing a relationship. He was needed in Paris and had no idea when he would return to London. But the regret lingered as he said his goodbyes to Broadstairs and climbed into his carriage.

  Chapter Two

  “Some clothes have been found, milady.” The footman held out several small garments.

  Eleanor sorted through them. “I wonder where these came from? The attics I suppose.” The clothes were more elaborate than was fashionable. “Never mind, they shall do for now.”

  The hip-bath had been placed before the hearth, and two footmen filled it with buckets of steaming water. Nash stood eyeing it warily.

  When the door closed on the servants, Eleanor approached him. The boy backed away. “Where is your mama, Nash?”

  “She died.”

  “And your father?”

  The small shoulders shrugged. “Never knew ’im.”

  “Allow me to help you undress.”

  Eleanor divested him of his dirty clothing while trying not to exclaim at how thin he was. “Step into the water, Nash. It’s not too hot.”

  Nash obviously wasn’t one to believe what he was told. He cautiously put in a toe.

  “Am I right?”

  He nodded and stepped in, lowering himself into the water. He leaned back and his gaze drifted. She realized how exhausted he was. Taking up the sponge, she soaped his arms, across his thin narrow chest, and then his back. “You have bruises,” she said, trying not to sound outraged. “Did Grimsby do this to you?”

  “I’ll get more now cause I haven’t done me job,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “There will be none of that,” she said fiercely. “Close your eyes, please.” She began to soap his hair.

  “Ow! That stings!”

  “I did warn you to close your eyes.” She tipped water over his head from a basin.

  She grinned when Nash shook his head like a dog. “Now, I’ll have a foot, please.”

  He raised a leg, and she held his foot in her hand, aware of how slender and fine-boned it was. “Your sole is blistered!”

  “The chimneys get hot.”

  His knees were badly scraped, too. The breath seeped from her lungs. She knelt back on the carpet and let the boy relax in the warmth. It would take several good scrubs to get him clean.

  “You’d best get out before you fall asleep,” she said after a moment. Then regretted it, for the boy’s panicked eyes flew open.

  “Grimsby will be waitin’.” Nash stood, and water splashed over the side of the bath onto the hearth tiles.

  Eleanor helped him out. She towel-dried his long fair hair. “His Grace will deal with Grimsby. How did you come to be working for him?”

  “I lived on the street. A few of us begged for food and coins and shared it every night. Then Grimsby turned up. Said he’d give me a better life.”

  A better life? “It’s not better though, is it,” Eleanor stated flatly as she pulled the shirt over his head.

  “In a way. The bigger lads didn’t always want to share. They’d punch the smaller ones if they carped.”

  “How dreadful,” she murmured, doing up the buttons.

  Nash shrugged. “Weren’t so bad. Some boys got taken off. Never came back neither. Tried to get me once or twice but I ran and hid.”

  “You’re fortunate to be so smart, Nash.”

  His brow shot up. “I’m smart?”

  “Indeed you are.” She stood back and surveyed him. Nash looked like a gentleman’s son from the last century in his pale blue satin trousers, frilly white shirt, and coat. He had delicate bone structure. “Now I think it best we cut your hair.” She went to her sewing box and came back with scissors.

  Nash darted out of reach. “You might cut me ear off.”

  “I promise you’ll keep both ears, but I can’t promise about your nose,” she said.

  A reluctant smile raised Nash’s mouth. He returned to the chair.

  “Gentlemen are wearing their hair shorter this season.”

  “Are they?” Intrigued, Nash studied himself in the mirror with a towel around his shoulders. He allowed her to cut the thick locks which slid away from the blades. Tufts drifted down over the carpet. Heaven, the maids would have quite a job restoring this elegant room, she thought. Nash’s hair began to curl as it dried. What a pretty child he was.

  He was eating his dinner at the small table in Eleanor’s room when the door opened, and Georgina entered. She started at the sight of Nash, and the maids cleaning away the disorder from the bath and haircut. “Eleanor, that dreadful man is demanding his sweep back.” Her eyes rested on Nash who was eating fast, the food heaped on the plate quickly vanishing.

  Eleanor frowned. She drew her sister away into a corner of the room. “Nash mustn’t go back to Grimsby. Did you hear what happened?”

  “I did. And I quite agree with you. But dearest, you can’t keep him. He’s not a stray pet. He must have a family somewhere.”

  “He hasn’t. Grimsby took him off the street. Nash’s mother had just died.”

  “Hugh supports a very good orphanage. We should send the boy there. He will be well cared for.”

  “Georgie, I know it’s well run, but it is still an orphanage. He will not thrive there.”

  “But what can you do?”

  “I need to think about it. Then I will discuss it with you and Hugh.”

  Georgina raised her brow. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “In the meantime, be a dear and have Grimsby removed from the premises?”

  Her sister nodded. “That will be a pleasure.”

  Eleanor frowned. “I will happily speak to the man.”

  “Wait and see what Hugh does,” Georgina said. “He’s good at this sort of thing.”

  Georgina cast another glance at Nash, grinned, and shook her head. The door closed behind her.

  Eleanor turned to find the food eaten and Nash’s head nodding over the plate. “Come and lie down for a bit, Nash.”

  He eyed her warily, but allowed her to lead him to the bed. She settled him beneath the satin coverlet. A blissful smile briefly lit his small face as he snuggled down, and then he was asleep.

  Eleanor sat and took up her knitting. She enjoyed knitting small garments for her sister and brother-in-law’s baby even though the baby was hardly in need of them.

  An hour later, Nash stirred. He sat up and gazed around. “I thought it was a dream,” he said fuzzily.

  A knock came at the door.

  “His Grace would like to see you in his study, milady,” the footman said.

  “Thank you, Ben.”

  Nash bounced out of bed. “I think you’d better come with me, Nash.”

  “Where to?” Nash asked as she brushed his hair.

  “To meet the gentleman who owns this house.”

  Nash widened his eyes. “He’ll throw me out into the street.”

  “He will not. He’s a very nice gentleman.”

  Eleanor had no idea what Hugh might say as she went downstairs. She had been forming a few plans in her mind but had yet to make them sound reasonable enough to put to Hugh.

  “Stand here for a minute, Nash. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She knocked and entered the study.

  Hugh was behind his huge desk. He stood. “Ah, Eleanor.” He motioned to a seat. “Georgina has told me about your young sweep. We shall have to find a place for him.”

  Eleanor perched on the edge as Hugh sat. “Has Grimsby gone?”

  “Yes, paid him off. He won’t bother us again.”

  “I’m sorry you had to do that. He didn’t deserve any money. You should see the bruises Nash has on his back.”

  “Yes, well. I wouldn’t have had I known that.” He steepled his fingers. “But El
eanor, you can’t take a small ruffian off the streets, he’ll probably rob us blind and run off.”

  She rose. “I’d like you to meet him, Hugh.”

  He cocked a brow. “Should I?”

  “Yes. He’s outside.”

  He glanced at the pile of papers on his desk and sighed. “Bring him in then.”

  Eleanor ran lightly over the coffee-colored carpet and opened the door. She almost feared he’d wandered off, but there he was. “Come inside, Nash.”

  Nash remembered to execute a bow as Eleanor had taught him.

  Hugh’s eyes widened. He rose, and moving around the desk, came to stand before the boy.

  Nash’s head was a halo of blond curls. He looked like one of the cherubs painted on the duke’s drawing room ceiling, but it was plain to see in his fine features the handsome man he would one day become.

  Hugh crouched down before him. “Who was your father, Nash?”

  “Don’t know, milord.”

  “Nash, you must call the duke, Your Grace,” Eleanor said.

  “No matter.” Hugh waved his hand dismissively. “Best take the boy to the schoolroom. He can remain there for a few days until we work out what’s best to do. A maid can stay with him.”

  She wondered at Hugh’s reaction. She’d been prepared for an argument, but as Hugh picked up his pen to return to his letters, she nodded, took the boy’s hand, and led him to the door.

  “Oh and Eleanor?”

  She turned. “Yes?”

  He cast her a quizzical glance. “We are attending a ball this evening.”

  “Oh, yes, Lord and Lady Pickering. I’d forgotten for a moment.”

  A smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “I can see you are thrilled at the prospect.”

  “Well…” She shrugged. “I’m sure I will enjoy it immensely, I always do once I’m there.”

  “You might enjoy this one,” he said ambiguously.

  He lowered his head over his work. Dismissed, she left him to it. Did Hugh really believe she was interested in Lord Beacham? Or he with her?

  Nash walked into the schoolroom comfortably furnished with a rug, two desks, a stack of slates and chalk, a blackboard, and bookshelves. “I’ll have a cot bed brought in. Rebecca can look after you. You’ll like her. She is a sweet country girl.”

  He nodded and walked to the bookshelves.

  “Many of them have pictures,” Eleanor said, watching him sort through them.

  Nash looked affronted. “I know my letters!”

  “You can read?”

  “Annie taught me. Said I was a gentleman’s son.”

  “Who was the gentleman, Nash?”

  Nash shrugged. He selected a book and sat down to read it.

  “I’ll have some afternoon tea brought up,” Eleanor said. “Cook makes excellent scones.”

  That caught Nash’s attention briefly, before he returned to the book.

  Eleanor had thought the way to Nash was through his stomach, but it appeared it might be books. A gentleman’s son? Could that be right? Might Hugh have thought the same?

  *

  While Mark was checking his travel documents before departing for France, a letter arrived from the king requesting his presence. With a sigh of frustration, he sent the lackey back with an answer.

  Mark came away from Carlton House as the setting sun struggled through the London smoke, with the knowledge that he would not be returning to France until after the king’s coronation. The king gave vent to his dislike of the queen and his determined campaign to discredit her. Mark disapproved of George’s intention to bar his wife, Caroline, from his coronation and tactfully tried to dissuade him, suggesting the people would be against such an action. It fell on deaf ears.

  Mark returned home and instructed his valet to unpack and returned to his study to read his mail. He would prefer to spend the time at his country estate where he could be more active rather than this big empty townhouse. Too much time was spent in smoky rooms in London, and Paris for that matter. It was three years since Susanne died in childbirth. Since then, his life had centered on his work for the government, but it no longer seemed to sustain him. After losing her, he’d attended few social gatherings and spent his evenings at his club and his mornings riding in the park. Now he looked for more society. He missed a woman’s company. Casual arrangements didn’t appeal to him, a mistress seemed a poor substitute for a happy marriage. He wanted a home filled with laughter and at least one child in the nursery. But he’d nothing in common with debutantes, and they more than likely considered him old at thirty-seven. He was drawn to women who treated him as an equal. Who were interested in him, not just someone who might please their marriage-minded mamas, and their fathers who were keen to settle them well. Lady Eleanor had met his gaze with calm equanimity when she wasn’t concentrating on young Nash. He wondered how that business had been dealt with. Couldn’t have a young rapscallion living in the duke’s house.

  He rifled through the invitations. One was for this evening which he had declined. He would send a note to his hostess advising her of the change in his travel plans and his eagerness to attend her ball, then rang for the footman.

  Later that evening, Mark entered Lord and Lady Pickering’s smoke-filled, crowded ballroom and made his way through the crush, pausing to greet friends and acquaintances. A lively Scottish reel was in progress. He paused to take a glass of champagne from a footman and watched the dancers go through the energetic steps, the ladies moved gracefully, their beautiful gowns swirling to reveal a dainty ankle. Dances might appeal to ladies, but they were designed for men, he decided. A couple danced into view.

  The elegant lady caught his eye in her gold silk gown. Two ostrich feathers decorated her blonde hair. In his opinion, she stood out as a vision of perfect loveliness. He stepped forward for a better view of Lady Eleanor, admiring her graceful fluid movements and her voluptuous curves the gown displayed. Like a green youth, his body warmed. He didn’t just want the lady in his bed, he was eager to learn all about her. A widow who had chosen not to remarry it seemed, for as the sister of the wealthy marquess, Lord Strathairn, she would be much sought after.

  He paused. Lady Eleanor was over thirty and childless. If she should welcome his advances, his chances of filling his nursery became considerably less likely.

  The dance ended, and the couples left the floor. Mark found himself following as Eleanor’s partner returned her to the sofa where her sister, Georgina, sat.

  After the other gentleman left, Mark bowed before them. “Your Grace, Lady Eleanor.”

  “Why, Lord Hayworth, we thought you’d sailed for France,” the duchess exclaimed.

  “The king had other ideas, I shall be spending the next few months in London,” Mark said, his gaze resting on her sister. “Might I have the next waltz, Lady Eleanor?”

  She smiled. “I shall be delighted, sir.”

  “His Grace is here tonight?” he asked.

  “Broadstairs is with Lord Castlereagh amongst the group over near the windows,” the duchess said.

  He bowed and left them. Curious indeed, but instinctively, in that moment, he knew his life was about to change. Had changed perhaps the moment he helped Eleanor rescue Nash from the chimney.

  Chapter Three

  “My heaven,” Georgina said, waving her fan.

  “What?”

  “The way Hayworth looked at you, Eleanor.”

  “Nonsense. You must have been woolgathering.” Eleanor shrugged. “A lady of my years is unlikely to inspire heated passion in a man.” She didn’t want to encourage Georgie. She was never quite sure what her irrepressible sister would say or do next.

  “Ha! Well, apparently you can!”

  “I expected him to be married,” Eleanor said, casually playing with the tassel on her fan.

  “He hasn’t remarried since his wife died in childbirth a few years ago.”

  “Did the babe survive?”

  “No. I heard it was a boy.”


  Eleanor sighed. “How very sad.”

  “You have that in common.” Georgina studied her. “Two lonely people.”

  Eleanor huffed. “Matchmaking again, Georgie? I am not lonely. And neither would a man like Hayworth be. He might marry any young debutante in the ballroom, should he wish to.”

  “Yet it is you he wants to waltz with.”

  “I expect he’s curious about Nash. He rescued the boy after all.”

  Georgina fanned herself and giggled.

  Eleanor shook her head with a wry smile. “You sound like a meadow lark spying a bug, Georgie. I should hate to disappoint you.”

  An hour later, Lord Hayworth returned to lead her onto the floor. He took her in his arms. “I have been looking forward to this.”

  His words brought a warmth to her face. “You enjoy the waltz?” She didn’t mean to sound quite so offhand.

  He smiled down at her. “When I have a beautiful woman in my arms.”

  Surely he wasn’t flirting? Disconcerted, Eleanor stared at his square chin as he settled her closer, and breathed in starched linens, Bergamot and male. She missed being held in a man’s arms and still disliked sleeping alone. His green gaze sought hers as he swept her into the dance, moving with the other dancers around the floor. He had an attractive smile, his teeth very white. The fine streaks of gray at his temples was misleading. He would not be more than mid to late thirties and most likely seeking a young bride to give him children. She steeled herself to remain indifferent to his charm, but found it difficult. He had a way of looking at her that sent her pulses racing. If he’d been a cheating, sweet-talking rake, it would be easy, but there was a frankness and manliness about him that drew her. And Hugh liked him.