Chapter Six #2
He gave a short bark of laughter. “I have never dared to aim as high as happiness.” Unbidden, a memory of William’s broken body flashed before his eyes and guilt sliced through his stomach.
William would not have caught the blast of canon fire if it were not for me.
Clara’s sweet voice recalled him to the present. “People love you, Bear. People are willing to help, if only you’d think to ask.”
But his barriers were too high for her words to penetrate.
Instead, he rebuffed her. “I know you speak from a place of kindness, sister. But you forget, you speak to a man whose own father cannot bear to look upon him.”
Except, the Duke of Alton is most likely not my father, he added silently.
The words hung unsaid between them.
Clara waved his unpleasantness away, as if she were swatting at a fly. “I love you, Bear. So did Granny. What about your friend, William? He knew you for most of your life and he loved you.”
Bear put his hands in front of his eyes. “Please, do not speak of William,” he said thickly.
“Many people love and respect you,” she continued relentlessly. “If only you would let them in.”
Bear turned to gaze listlessly out of the window.
“Maybe Lady Brewood will come to love you as well.” Clara’s voice had become impish.
“I do not hope for love.” Bear sighed. “I dare to hope for a level of peace and contentment. To wake in the morning and feel that I am where I am meant to be.” His heart ached. “That seems a bold enough aim for a man like me.”
Clara’s lips turned up in a smile as warm as the sun. “That’s the beauty of life though, isn’t it? You never know what’s waiting for you around the corner. It might be your peace and contentment. It might even be something more, if you only dare to dream.”
Bear dressed carefully for his first meeting with Toby.
He asked his valet for an extra close shave and ensured his hair was neatly combed.
Ignoring the continuing warm weather, he donned a white shirt, a dark-green waistcoat, and double-breasted tailcoat, paired with buckskin breeches and leather boots polished to a high shine.
He was intent on making a good impression.
Lady Brewood had penned a note to him last night, suggesting he attend Hyde Park just after noon. He was to linger by a stall selling ices. A detail which made him nervous. Bear did not have a sweet tooth.
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he walked briskly along Rotten Row.
It seemed all of Society were out unaccountably early on this August day, and Bear was obliged to tip his hat almost continuously.
He did not stop to talk to anyone and thankfully, his reputation for aloofness meant that no one seemed to expect it.
He reached the small but busy stall earlier than anticipated and stood for a moment, not knowing what to do with himself.
A cross-faced nanny berated a blond-haired boy for dropping his ice on the path, and Bear quickly stepped out of the way.
Looking around, he spied a bench on the other side of a grassy clearing and he made his way over, grateful for the shade of an overhanging beech tree.
He smiled as he sat down, recalling how Lady Brewood had emerged from beneath a similarly sized tree on her chestnut horse. It had only been yesterday, but already he missed her sweet smile and arresting blue gaze.
You are as enamored as a schoolboy, he told himself, tapping his fingers on the arm of the bench.
There they are!
His heart seemed to stop in his chest as he watched Lady Brewood walking slowly along Rotten Row, her head inclined to a small boy who held her hand and skipped at her side.
The two were engrossed in one another’s company, sparing hardly a glance to their elegant surroundings.
Bear was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he saw the brightness of the boy’s smile and the enthusiastic nodding of his mother.
His mother.
Bear’s heart contracted once again. He hardly ever allowed himself to think about the kind, beautiful mother he had once adored. She had held his hand and listened to his stories with the same loving attention as Lady Brewood was now exhibiting.
And the boy, Toby, had a head full of dark curls not too dissimilar to Bear’s own. But he had little time to think on this further, as Lady Brewood’s searching eye landed upon him and she bent down to speak in Toby’s ear.
Would they come over to him?
No. Bear watched the little boy jump up and down with glee and then mother and son joined the queue for ices. Lady Brewood glanced back over her shoulder, and he read her intention in her blue eyes.
He must go and speak to them.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Bear rose from the bench and dusted down his tailcoat.
As soon as he stepped out from the shade of the beech tree, he felt the heat of the August day wrap around him.
Perspiration sprang out on his forehead, and he tasted salt on his upper lip as he crossed the grass.
He had worried over what his introduction might be, but Lady Brewood saved him the trouble.
“Lord Benedict, what a surprise.” She wore a pretty gown of blue and cream, with her russet hair pinned beneath a modest bonnet.
“Lady Brewood.” He gave a short bow. “It is a beautiful day for a walk in the park.” He felt stilted and awkward, enormously aware of the serious brown eyes of the little boy that were fixed upon him.
“This is my son Toby. Toby, this is a friend of mine, Lord Benedict.”
“You can call me Bear.” He bent down and extended his hand, feeling a jolt of pleasure when it was accepted.
“Bear?” Toby’s dark eyebrows disappeared beneath his thatch of dark curls. “Like the animal.”
“Toby,” reprimanded his mother.
But Bear laughed. “Exactly. Like the big, wild animal. Only I’m not wild, I promise,” he added hastily.
Toby smiled and Bear’s heart turned over. His smile was the same as his mother’s. “That’s a good name.”
“We have stopped for ices. Would you care to join us?” Lady Brewood spoke freely, as if issuing such an invitation was the most natural thing in the world.
Bear paused. “I would be most pleased to join you. But I will not partake of an ice.”
“Why not?” Toby’s little face turned towards him.
Bear fumbled for an explanation. “I’m not overly fond of them.”
Lady Brewood met his eye over her son’s head, and he saw that she shared his opinion.
But Toby was not to be swayed. “How can you not be fond of ices? Maybe you just haven’t found the flavor you like.”
They moved closer to the front of the queue and Bear fought an urge to loosen his cravat. “You could be right,” he allowed. Then, because the boy was so easy to talk to, he smiled down at him. “What would you recommend?”
“Chocolate, always chocolate.” Toby nodded, as if imparting some great secret. “Although Mamma likes lavender.” He widened his eyes incredulously and Bear stifled a laugh.
“I have a sweet tooth, I admit.” Lady Brewood gave a girlish shrug. Her movements were looser and more animated in the company of her son. “Although I can’t help worrying about the methods of storage and preparation in such places.” She gestured quietly toward the wooden stall.
“Mamma, you promised we could,” Toby protested.
“Just this once,” Lady Brewood took his hand and led him to the front. “One chocolate and one lavender, please.”
“And the gentleman?” asked the server.
Bear’s heart warmed at the man’s easy assumption that he, Benedict Fairfield, held a place in the lives of this beautiful woman and her charming son.
Lady Brewood smiled over her shoulder. “Would you like one, Lord Benedict?”
He did not want to appear churlish in front of Toby. “I’ll take a pistachio, please.” He named the least offensive flavor he could think of.
Toby’s grin of delight made it all worthwhile.
Licking their ices, the three made their way across the grass to the bench Bear had sat on earlier. The sun was high in a cloudless sky and all seemed right with the world. A thrush sang overhead, and Toby gazed upward, trying to catch sight of the melodious bird.
Bear pointed through the branches. “There it is.”
Toby’s chocolate ice was melting but he cared only for the bird. “I can’t see it.”
“That’s because it blends in so well with the tree.” Bear took the child’s free hand and pointed it toward the small, speckled bird. “There. See?”
“I see it!” Toby’s pleasure was contagious, and Bear found himself smiling widely, even as he was forced to eat his unpleasant green ice cream.
“Toby enjoys being outside,” Lady Brewood said. “You like birds, don’t you Toby?”
“And squirrels,” the child confirmed.
“We have a family of red squirrels at The Towers,” Bear said. “When I was your age, Toby, my granny would give me a handful of nuts to feed them with.”
Toby’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Did they eat right out of your hand?”
“Not quite. But they would come close to me when I scattered the nuts on the ground.”
Toby turned to his mother. “Can we do that one day? Please, Mamma?”
“Perhaps.” She smoothed back a dark curl from his forehead. “Here, clean your face with this handkerchief. You look a terrible sight.”
“That’s what Nanny always says.” Toby took the white lace handkerchief and dabbed ineffectively at the chocolate smears on his chin, then he stiffened. “Mamma, there’s that man again. The man with black eyes. He’s watching us.”
Lady Brewood swiveled to look where her son was pointing and Bear followed her gaze. Sure enough, a well-dressed, youngish man was lounging by an oak tree, appearing to study the little group of three.
“He could be looking at something else,” Bear suggested, wanting to reassure the little boy. “The birds, maybe.”
“I saw him the other day.” Lady Brewood’s voice was strange. “I’m sure it was him.”
“He’s always here,” Toby declared. “But Nanny says it’s nothing to worry about.”
Apparently unaware of their interest, the man yawned widely, checked his watch and then sauntered away. Lady Brewood exhaled.