Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows #2)

Chapter Six

I t was late morning when Fenella emerged from her bedroom to check on Brand. A couple of hours of exhausted sleep had left her sluggish. As was often the way, she felt worse than she had when she'd rushed into the house at dawn, buoyed up with fear.

As she'd tidied her hair, she'd met shadowed blue eyes in her mirror. The night's travel had changed her in ways she wasn't yet ready to accept. The woman looking back at her was frightened to death that the firm ground beneath her feet turned to quicksand.

The boys' bedrooms were empty. With a clear if cold day, she guessed they must be outside somewhere. They wouldn't go far. Brand must be well aware a lecture awaited, and he'd never been a coward.

Unlike his mother.

Who hoped desperately that the intriguing Mr. Townsend slept the day away. Then she needn't face the knowledge that while she was a mother, she was a woman, too. A woman who had been wrong to believe all interest in an attractive man died with her beloved husband.

When a footman told her the boys were with Mrs. Penn, she made her way to the east wing for the second time. Mr. Townsend provided generously for the woman who had cared for him as a baby. Unfortunately, not all the generosity in the world could change the sad reality that Carey's nurse was unlikely to live much longer. If Fenella had ever wanted to blame Carey for needless panic, one glance at Mrs. Penn's drawn face had told her he was right to rush to her side.

“Lady Deerham, how kind you are to check on me again,” Mrs. Penn said when Fenella arrived. Her smile didn't hide her frailty.

Carey sat on the bed playing cards with her. Brand had pulled a chair up to the game and gripped five grubby cards in one hand. Marbles on the patchwork counterpane showed the stakes. At the moment, Carey was winning.

“Mamma!” Brand said, throwing his cards down and diving across the room into her arms.

“Oh, Brand…” With a muffled sob, she dragged him into a desperate embrace.

Immediately, the familiar little-boy smell of him soothed away the last remnants of her fear. Although he'd grown in the last month. Soon he'd be taller than she was. A sharp reminder that his precious childhood years were so short—and she was missing them.

After a moment's indecision, he hugged her back. But she understood masculine pride enough to know that he wouldn't appreciate his mother weeping all over him in front of his friend. After a kiss on his cheek, she reluctantly released him.

Brand stepped back and gave her an uncertain smile. “You're not pleased with me.”

He was so infinitely dear and vulnerable, and she could so easily have lost him last night. But some instinct told her to play this particular scene lightly, not as the tragic, widowed mother. She knew he expected a well-deserved reprimand, but she was still at the stage where relief outweighed her urge to chide. “I'm happy you're all right.”

She tried not to fret at the dark circles under his blue eyes. He was safe. That was all that mattered right now. His ill-fitting clothing, borrowed from Carey she assumed, sparked another rush of poignant tenderness. With bony ankles and wrists on show, he looked more like a street urchin than a young baronet.

“There was no harm done in the end,” Mrs. Penn said.

“That's something my son and I are going to discuss at length later,” she said in a steely voice, even as her hands itched to clutch Brand to her and never let him go. “I just want to make sure these two rascals aren't disturbing you.”

“Three.” Mrs. Penn tilted her head toward Mr. Townsend, standing solid as a huge tree near the window.

“Yes.” Fenella glanced at Mr. Townsend—who disturbed her even if he didn't disturb his old nanny. He leaned one shoulder against the flowered wallpaper and surveyed the boys with wry amusement. He must wonder how all the mad fury of their chase through the night ended in this cozy scene. She wondered herself.

When they'd arrived at the Beeches, whiskers had darkened his already swarthy features, lending credence to her fantasies of him sailing the world as a swashbuckling sea captain. He'd since found time to shave, and change into a smart blue coat and buff trousers. Now he looked like a dashing, fashionable gentleman instead of a wild pirate.

Fenella was almost sorry.

She'd changed, too, into a rose pink morning gown—she blessed Greaves's forethought in packing that small bag. The idea of spending all day in the travel-worn blue carriage dress made her shudder.

“Nowt better than energetic young lads around the place,” Mrs. Penn regarded the boys with exasperated fondness. “Even if these imps of Satan shouldn't have run away from school.”

Carey's worried glance at his guardian encountered a sardonic lift of one black eyebrow. With perfect composure, the boy returned to perusing his cards. Whatever else this escapade brought, Fenella was glad to see that uncle and nephew were well on the road to an understanding.

Carey had the look of his uncle. The same air of contained energy. The intense features, incongruous on a young face, although he'd grow into them. A body, like Brand's, that promised future height, but was all gangling awkwardness now. Compared to his friend's saturnine darkness, Brandon seemed brilliantly fair.

Mrs. Penn turned to her former charge. “And how grand to see you, too, Master Tony. This old house is too quiet and empty without the family. Young Carey caged in that den of iniquity, and you gallivanting on the high seas every hour the good Lord sends.” She paused. “Especially with Mr. William and his dear wife lost to us.”

Familiar sorrow flashed in his eyes. “You know I'd give anything to have them back, Penny.”

The old woman brushed a skeletal hand over Carey's unruly thatch of hair so like his uncle's. “You two shouldn't grieve alone when you're all the family left to each other.”

“Lads are sent away to school.”

“Not in my family they're not—and you never had to go away either. The local grammar school was good enough for you. And for your brother. Most of the time, your brain works well enough to keep the wolf from the door.”

He straightened and muffled a sigh, running his hand through his hair. Fenella found this interaction fascinating. This old lady had powerful Anthony Townsend at a complete disadvantage, despite his wealth, arrogance, and as Mrs. Penn pointed out, brain.

“Penny, Carey is growing up in a different world from the one I knew. As my heir—”

Mrs. Penn made a dismissive sound. “He won't be your heir for long. You'll marry and have bairns of your own.”

“Carey will always have a place in my home,” he said stiffly.

That tone cut no ice with this irrepressible old woman. Fenella wanted to cheer—and she liked Mr. Townsend even better for giving his old nurse a hearing when she didn't say what he wanted to hear. It was terrifying how much and how quickly she'd grown to admire this large, irascible man who concealed such unexpected sweetness in his heart.

“Of course he will. But right now, you two need each other, and you should be here together, not half a world apart.” She sent Fenella a meaningful glance. “A man reaches the age when he needs the comforts of home. A fine house, a wife, children.”

Fenella cursed that Mr. Townsend looked in her direction just then and caught her blush. It was her turn to undergo the eyebrow's inquisition. She glanced away to find Brand following the discussion with an intent expression.

Mr. Townsend turned back to Mrs. Penn. “Carey will grow up to take a place in the world—and boys who do that go away to school.”

“Not always” Fenella found herself saying, despite reminding herself that this was none of her business. “Many children from good families are tutored at home.”

Three pairs of masculine eyes settled on her in surprise and curiosity. “You never gave me any choice about school,” Brand said slowly. “It was just accepted that I'd go.”

She regarded her son searchingly. His tone as much as his manner alerted her to something going on beneath the surface. “It's what your father wanted.”

“Was it what you wanted?”

“What I wanted didn't matter. It's what's best for you.”

“So if the decision was yours alone, you wouldn't send me away?”

Dear heaven, where was this coming from? “I didn't send you away.”

“Yes, you did.”

She clenched her hands in her skirts as disquiet knotted her stomach. Her son had hidden his true feelings from her. Which hurt. And made her feel guilty. “I thought you liked school.”

He shrugged. “It's all right. It's been better since Carey started.”

She loathed to hear that he was miserable—and that he hadn't confided in her. “You never said anything.”

“I didn't want to upset you.” He looked startlingly adult, and she had a sudden, poignant vision of him as a man. “The way I've upset you now.”

“Devil take you, lad,” Mr. Townsend growled. “I won't have you worrying your mother.”

When he stepped forward, Fenella caught his arm. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Mrs. Penn's avid expression. “No, he's right to tell me. He should have told me before. Brand, I'm so sorry. Is that why you ran away?”

Brandon dipped his bright head and shuffled his feet, and returned to looking like an eleven-year-old boy. “No, of course not. I'd never be so craven as to run away just because I was unhappy.”

Which meant he had been miserable. The guilt pierced deeper. How could she not have known?

“Come here,” she said huskily. He shot her a quick grin and slipped under her arm. She hugged him close to her side, grateful all over again that he'd come out of his adventure in one piece.

Carey, who had remained a silent observer, scrambled to stand. “I told Brand I had to see Penny, and he said no true friend would let me go without someone to watch my back.” When he smiled at the old lady, Fenella's heart went out to the motherless child, so gallant, so fragile. “I had to come, Penny. You're family.”

vYou must have known I'd bring you down to see Penny if you asked me,” Mr. Townsend said austerely. “By the way, how the hell did you get here so quickly?”

vLanguage, Master Tony,” Penny said repressively. “There's a lady present.”

The faint pink in his cheeks charmed Fenella, but he wasn't about to let Carey off the hook. “Well, young man?”

“I used my birthday money to pay Old Jock's nephew to take us.”

“Did you indeed? And who, pray tell, is Old Jock?”

“He's one of the school gardeners. His nephew Fergus is first rate. You'll like him.”

“I rather doubt it. Is he still here?”

“No, he had to get the cart back to Bray to take the piglets to market.”

“So you see, we were never in danger,” Brand said staunchly.

Mr. Townsend looked unconvinced. “You've worried your poor mother sick. You worried her so much that she trusted her safety to a stranger and sat in an open carriage all night. She didn't get a wink of sleep for fear of what might happen to you.”

“It wasn't…” Fenella began, but faltered under his direct gaze. Because of course, it had been exactly like that. Her grip on her son tightened as she recalled how frantic she'd been for his safety.

Carey raised his chin, increasing his resemblance to his uncle. “I deserve a beating.”

“Yes,” Brand said with less conviction. Fenella had never raised a hand to her child, much as that had incurred Henry's mother's disapproval. He stepped out of her embrace, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Although I did write to Mamma to tell her.”

“Thank goodness you did,” Fenella said. “We were about to call in the Bow Street Runners.”

“Cor,” Carey said.

“Young gentlemen do not say cor.” Mr. Townsend narrowed his eyes at Fenella who was trying not to laugh. It had been difficult enough stifling a giggle at the idea of piglets taking precedence over a young baronet and his wealthy friend. “You're lucky this lunacy didn't end in disaster—I've no idea what the masters at Eton will say. You'll probably both be expelled.”

“Good,” Carey dared to say.

“Don't push your luck, young man,” Mr. Townsend said in a quelling voice.

“You really don't want to go back to school, Brand?” Fenella asked.

Brand glanced at Mr. Townsend as if he had some say. A poignant reminder of the sad lack of a male authority figure in her family. “Do I have a choice?”

She spread her hands in bewilderment. “I don't know. You've hit me with this out of the blue. You know Creston Hall is tenanted for the next five years, so we can't go there. Your grandmother isn't up to looking after you in Bath.” Henry's mother was hopelessly old-fashioned in her ideas, and she'd never recovered from her only son's death. “And while I'd love to have you in London, it's not a suitable place for a child.”

“Brand could stay here,” Carey chipped in.

His uncle subjected him to the sardonic eyebrow. “And where the deuce will you be while Brandon's settling into the Beeches, my lad?”

“You can't send the poor mite back to that nest of heathens,” Mrs. Penn protested, looking unconvincingly piteous.

“Poor mite?” Mr. Townsend said drily. “A few minutes ago, you called him an imp of Satan.”

“Can't I stay here?” Carey fixed burning dark eyes on his uncle. “Please?”

Mr. Townsend's lips flattened in frustration. “There's nobody to supervise you.”

“You could get me a tutor.”

“Not good enough. This latest mess only confirms that you need a firm hand.”

“You've got a firm hand.”

“I live in London.”

“You could live here.”

“Aye,” Mrs. Penny said. “The house needs a master. And you must be sick of traipsing around all those foreign places.”

“You think so?”

“You've got a boy to raise. His father wouldn't want the lad unhappy.”

Mr. Townsend went ashen under his tan. It had been a telling blow—and the canny old woman knew it.

Carey still hadn't given up. Fenella admired his persistence, a quality he shared with his guardian. “Will you at least think about it, sir”

Mr. Townsend nodded shortly. “I'll think—but that doesn't mean you've swayed me.”

Carey's brilliant smile reminded Fenella of his uncle's charm when he forgot his sternness. “Capital, Uncle. And can Brand stay, too?”

“Brandon's mother won't like that.”

Carey looked crestfallen, then cast Fenella a glance under his eyelashes. “Will you think about it, too?”

“Please, Mamma,” Brand said.

“You can't saddle poor Mr. Townsend with the care of two unruly ruffians,” she said helplessly. “Be reasonable, Brand.”

An uncharacteristically mulish look settled on her son's face. “I won't go back to school without Carey.”

“Brand…” she began in a warning tone.

“Apologize to your mother,” Mr. Townsend snapped. “And while you're at it, tell her you're sorry for dragging her all the way to Hampshire in the middle of a freezing night.”

Remorse filled Brand's face and he stepped forward. “I'm sorry, Mamma. I hope you'll forgive me.”

“I'll forgive you as long as you promise never to do it again.”

“I promise,” Brandon said solemnly.

Carey approached his uncle and awkwardly stuck out his hand. “Will you forgive me, too, sir? I regret causing so much trouble, but my intentions were good.”

When the two Townsends briefly shook hands, the tension drained from Carey's thin shoulders. For one resonant moment, the two stared at each other. Then the man tugged the boy into his arms.

“Come here, you appalling brat. Of course you're forgiven. Although when I found out you'd taken off from school, I wished you to Hades.”

Fenella's eyes misted up at this awkward, heartfelt rapprochement, as Carey gave a choked laugh and wriggled free. “I'll wager you did, Uncle.” He turned to give Fenella a creditable bow. “Lady Deerham, I apologize to you, too. The scrape was totally my fault.”

Fenella cast Brand a mocking glance. “My son was perfectly capable of saying no. But as nothing too dire has happened, we'll let bygones be bygones.”

“Thank you, Mamma” Brand said with a quick smile.

“Nicely done, my lads,” the old lady said from the bed. Fenella knew her praise included Mr. Townsend.

“We should leave you to rest” she said, noting Mrs. Penn's pallor.

“It's been grand to see the youngsters. But…”

“But they're a handful. I know” Fenella turned to the boys. “Collect your winnings and come downstairs”

As the boys said goodbye to Mrs. Penn and rushed ahead through the door, she couldn't help smiling. Despite hints of future maturity, they were still such babies.

“They're good bairns. I'm right glad you're not going to punish them,” Mrs. Penn said, collapsing back with a rattling gasp. Fenella crossed to close the curtains before the old lady stopped her. “I'd rather see the sky, my lady.”

“Very well.”

“Dr. Brown will be here this afternoon.” Mr. Townsend bent to kiss his nurse's lined cheek with a touching lack of self-consciousness.

“He's an old fool” she grumbled. “Always prying and prodding”

“He speaks right highly of you”

Mrs. Penn gave a weary grunt of laughter. “Get away with you, lad, you and your nonsense. And make sure you show this bonny lady over the house. It's a fine place and if you impress her, she might decide to take you on”

Mr. Townsend burst out laughing and kissed Mrs. Penn again as Fenella, furiously blushing, said, “Mr. Townsend and I only met last night. You misunderstand”

Mrs. Penn's eyes fluttered shut, but a faint smile curved her mouth. “Forgive a doddery old woman. My mind's not what it used to be.”

Mr. Townsend took Fenella's arm and led her from the room, closing the door after him.

“She's a troublemaker,” Fenella said.

He cast her an amused glance, and she marveled yet again how much more approachable he looked when he was laughing. “She is, at that.”

“Does she try to marry you off to every unattached female she sees in your company? That must wear out its welcome.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “You know, this is the first time she's done that. You're special.”

Fenella's dismissive snort would have shocked her swains in London, all of whom were convinced of her fastidious nature. “It must be her illness.”

He raised that speaking eyebrow. “So you're brave enough to see through the house?”

Fenella responded with a speaking look. “I dare you to show me. I'll struggle to resist the temptation to drag you before the nearest vicar.”

He gave a theatrical sigh. “You know the risks. On your own head be it.”

Only as they descended the stairs did she realize that Mr. Townsend hadn't scoffed at Mrs. Penn's matchmaking. She hadn't realized he was so tactful.