Chapter Five
“Edmund, if you’re still digging a tunnel out here, I’m going to be cross,” Iris called, stepping out the back door of Grove House to peer into the garden.
“I’m not digging. I’m waiting for Becks to signal me so I can go back and help finish painting the birds.” His head popped up from the far side of a tangle of roses. “It’s been hours. Might I go see if she forgot? Because she promised she wouldn’t.”
“I’ll go over with you,” she decided. “It seems fair that in exchange for having you over there, we might do the same for Lady Rebecca.”
With a grin he galloped up to her. “Truly?”
“I never tease about friendships.”
With him beside her they walked back through the front of the house, out the front door, and over a few dozen steps until they reached Raines House. The butler, Butler, pulled open the door as they reached it. “Mrs. Silbern. Master Edmund.”
“Butler, Becks was supposed to send for me to come back and finish the birds, but she never did.”
Inclining his head, the butler stepped back from the doorway. “Yes, we had a bit of a mishap. You’ll find Lord Hentrose and Lady Becks in the morning room.”
“A mishap?” Iris asked, immediately considering and just as quickly discarding a dozen possible disasters that always seemed to involve young children. None of them were good.
“That’s for his lordship to explain, ma’am.” He took a breath. “Suffice it to say that everyone is well.”
Frowning even through her abrupt relief, she followed her son into the neighboring morning room. Young Rebecca lay on the couch, a cloth on her head, and a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea on the table beside her. As they walked in, the girl waved weakly at Edmund.
“I was nearly killed,” she rasped. “By an orange slice.”
“How the devil does an orange slice commit murder?” Edmund asked, sitting on the table beside the biscuits. “Tell me everything.”
“Mrs. Silbern. Iris,” Lord Hentrose said, and she started as he rose from a chair by the window. “Have you met Lady Pauline Grenedy? Pauline, Mrs. Silbern. Iris, Lady Pauline.”
A lady stood up from the other chair and offered her hand to Iris. “Charmed. Is this wonderful boy yours?”
“Yes, he is.” Iris shook hands, or tried to, because Lady Pauline’s hand flopped about so much that she worried she might pull it off by accident.
Pauline was clearly a woman who’d never had to change the sheets of her own—or anyone else’s—bed.
“I’m sorry; if I’d known Lord Hentrose was entertaining, I wouldn’t have allowed Edmund to return. ”
“Oh, please.” Lady Pauline waved her delicate fingers. “I’m happy to meet Beckett’s neighbors. You are his neighbor, yes?”
“Yes. We’re staying at Grove House for the Season. With Lord and Lady Harold Baverstock.”
“Ah, the Baverstocks. A lovely couple.”
“Thank you.” Iris didn’t know why she was thanking Lady Pauline for approving of her aunt and uncle, because she’d certainly had nothing to do with raising them, but some response seemed to be required.
“You’re quite welcome.” The woman twirled around to face Beckett. “On that note, I should be going. I don’t doubt we’ll see each other again soon. Perhaps at the Gramercy dinner tomorrow evening?”
“I’ll make certain I’ve accepted the invitation,” Beckett said, taking her hand and bowing over it, then walking her to the door, her maid popping up from another chair and following. “Thank you for saving my daughter’s life, Pauline.”
“You exaggerate, but this has all given me a new appreciation for your strength of character, Beckett. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“I think they’re courting,” Edmund stated, turning back around to take one of the biscuits off the plate.
Rebecca made a face, which she smoothed out as her father returned to the room. “They are,” she said, and held out her hand. “A biscuit, if you please.”
“Your voice sounds better,” Edmund noted, handing over the sweet he’d taken and then helping himself to another.
“I think I’m beginning to recover.”
“How did you get choked? I’ve never choked eating an orange.” Edmund popped the entire biscuit into his mouth.
“I just … I swallowed funny, and it got stuck right in my throat. It was terrifying, Eddie.”
“You’re lucky Lady Pauline was there to pound you on the back,” Beckett observed. “Some people would have just flapped their arms in distress.”
“Well, I was distressed, and I didn’t flap my arms,” his daughter noted.
“No. You were very brave.”
Iris walked over to Beckett. “I’ll take Edmund home,” she said, lowering her voice. “I don’t doubt that Rebecca wasn’t the only one distressed.” She nearly mentioned the face his daughter had made at the word “courting,” but she had no doubt Rebecca liked things as they were. Edmund did, as well.
He took a quick breath. “Some new gray hairs sprouted. But she’s fine; I think it frightened her more than anything. I’d like her to resume bird painting, so choking won’t be the last memorable event of the day.”
“Of course.” She glanced toward the children, now naming things likely to cause choking. “If Edmund’s presence interferes with you paying court to Lady Pauline, please tell me. I’ll permit him to use my bashing shovel again so he can return to digging to the bottom of London.”
“My paramount concern in a possible new marriage is that my wife and my daughter get along. And getting along with Rebecca includes getting along with her friends.” He looked at her, gray eyes thoughtful. “Have you considered it? Remarrying, I mean.”
A shudder shook her. “No. I’ve had enough of someone else controlling the purse strings and their whims determining whether we eat meat or weak soup.
” She made a face. That was all in the past. No need to pummel an innocent man with her complaints.
“My only concern is seeing Edmund grow up to be a good, honorable man. I can manage that on my own.”
“I like that. I’m not so certain I can do as well on my own teaching Rebecca to be polite, demure, sure-footed, and independent all at the same time. If I were a woman dipping a toe into Society, I have the feeling I would have fled, screaming, into the night.”
Iris laughed. “I don’t claim to be an expert, by any means, and I was never demure, but I am just next door if you have any more questions about hair ribbons or hatpins.”
“Don’t jest about that; I lie awake some nights.” With a grin he gestured her toward a chair. “Please stay if you like. The two of them together are spectacular.”
She nearly sat. Just knowing Edmund was playing with someone—and not tunneling through her relatives’ garden—gave her a measure of ease.
But she still had funds to secure, and an aunt to tend.
“Thank you,” she said aloud. “I don’t doubt I’ll be here more frequently than you’d like.
This afternoon, though, my aunt has some social calls to make. ”
“Let me walk you out, then.” He led the way as they left the morning room.
To her surprise he pulled open the front door himself, then followed her outside.
“I do have a query,” he said, lowering his voice so she had to take a step nearer to hear him.
“You didn’t respond the other day when I mentioned perhaps acquiring a pony for Edmund in addition to the one I’m getting for Rebecca.
I thought to take Rebecca to Tattersall’s tomorrow to choose a mount.
I would like to do the same for Edmund. You may board it here, I’ll see to its care, and when you depart London at the end of the Season it will go with you. Is that acceptable?”
Goodness. “I didn’t think you were serious. That’s exceedingly generous of you, Beckett. Especially toward a boy you’ve only known for two days, with a mother who nearly batted you in the head with a shovel.”
He shrugged. “I’d hate to attempt to teach one to ride and make the other watch.”
She put a hand on his sleeve, unexpected tears pushing at her eyes. A kindness, when she’d given up hope of experiencing one again. “Back when I used to be proud, I might have been offended. Today, I’m just grateful. Yes, by all means.”
With a smile, he put his hand over hers, his touch warm and comforting rather than making her think he expected something in return. Another small gift. “We spouseless parents see the world differently, I think. Join us tomorrow. I intend to go midmorning.”
“I’ll see if I can manage it. Thank you, Beckett.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You’ll be the one listening to Edmund talking about his pony at all hours.” He chuckled, the expression lighting his gray eyes and making her notice all over again just how well-favored he was. No wonder he had half the females in Mayfair sighing after him.
“I’ll comfort myself with the knowledge that you’ll be doing the same thing over here with Lady Rebecca,” she quipped, slipping her hand free of his to continue up the street. “Please see Edmund returned before dinner.”
“I shall. And don’t mention anything about tomorrow. It’ll be a surprise.”
A surprise, indeed. And one from a stranger who only remembered her because she’d ruined his jacket over a decade ago. As he’d said, though, they’d found themselves in similar circumstances. Pony or not, it would be pleasant to have someone with whom she could chat. Commiserate.
There was a time she’d longed for that, for a connection with …
someone to remind her that she wasn’t alone in the world.
But the young ladies with whom she’d shared her Season had either answered her deliberately cheery correspondence with tales of ill-timed visits to relatives that couldn’t be delayed, or sudden necessary trips to accompany a husband to …
somewhere, or so much involvement with their local church they had no time to even breathe, or they hadn’t answered at all.
Ultimately, she’d realized that her friends—former friends—didn’t want to know what it was like to raise a child alone, or to hear anything about her experience as a widow.
She’d become a horror story simply by existing.