Chapter 4 #2
"He's too much mount for a boy," Will put in before Charles could argue. "Come out to the stable yard, and I will make some introductions." He whispered instructions to Reilly and led the Wheatly boys out to the paddock. Two horses grazed in the grassy enclosure.
Freddy watched them with unfiltered longing. "Bit elderly, those," he murmured.
"Still able to carry a load," the earl told him. At the earl's voice, one of the two ambled over. He fetched out a lump of sugar. "Always know where the sweets are, don't you, now?" He patted the horse's neck and accepted a nuzzle in return.
"Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Lady Guinevere, Eversham's matriarch." Charles looked pained. "But I forgot my manners. Charles, permit me to make known to you Master Randolph and Master Frederick Wheatly. Boys, this is Charles Wheatly, Duke of Murnane. I have the honor of being his uncle."
Both boys made a proper bow, but Randy couldn't contain his interest. "Wheatly! We have the same name," he exclaimed.
Freddy, who had already begun to caress Lady Guinevere's nose, said, "Of course we do, but Papa don't like to talk about it."
Charles did his best to maintain a haughty expression, but curiosity got the better of him. "What do you mean by, 'of course'?"
"I believe you are cousins, Charles. Freddy and Randy's father is your father's brother."
"Brilliant!" Randy exclaimed. "Cousins are almost as good as brothers."
The idea seemed to startle Charles.
"I'm ten just this month," Randy went on without noticing. "Freddy's twelve. How old are you?"
Charles glanced at his uncle. Nothing in his experience prepared him for the Wheatlys. Will could tell he waffled between putting Randy down as impertinent, and responding in kind. He looked at the other boys as though they were some sort of exotics. "Ten," he said, at last.
"You're the lucky one, I guess," Freddy sighed, still looking at the horse. He climbed up on a fence rail to get closer. Charles frowned. "You get to have these beauties." Not the title. Not the house. Not the wardrobe. The horses. Good man, Freddy!
"Would you like to give the lady a trot around the paddock?" Will asked.
Freddy leapt down. "May I?" he breathed. Reilly came out of the barn carrying saddle and tack.
"Help Mr. Reilly saddle the horse, and you certainly may."
Charles watched Freddy scramble over the fence and take instructions from Reilly with open curiosity, and, Will hoped, some longing.
"Horse mad," Randy said.
"I beg your pardon?" the young duke asked.
"My brother is horse mad. Always was."
"Do you like horses?" Charles asked cautiously.
"I like them well enough, but I don't get much chance to ride. I like all animals. What is your favorite?" Randy asked.
Charles looked perplexed. Will doubted the boy interacted with livestock, much less wild animals. He had obviously had few interactions with boys his own age.
Randy went on talking. "I like the farm animals myself. The pigs smell, but they are smart as can be. The geese are bad tempered, and the chickens aren't too bright. The goat, though, is my favorite. Do you prefer wild ones?" This time he looked directly at his cousin, expecting an answer.
"I like birds," Charles admitted finally. "Especially hawks. I can see them from the nursery window when they hunt in the meadow."
"Brilliant!" Randy said. "I love them. There's a red-tail that hunts in the orchard. We have an owl in the woods, did you know?"
"Truly? I've read about them, but I've never seen one." Will watched his nephew's eyes shine with interest, all thoughts of status and class gone. He bit back his smile.
"I could show you. It isn't far," Randy suggested.
Charles turned to his uncle as if to ask if he might.
"Up you go, Freddy," Will said, putting an arm around Charles. "She's a patient and gentle soul. Walk her easy." Freddy clearly needed little instruction; he was a born rider. With little encouragement from Reilly, he began to circle the paddock.
"I could do that, if I wanted to," Charles said stiffly.
"Of course you could," Randy told him. "It just takes a bit of patience and practice." He leaned in. "Even I can do it."
Will thanked the Good Lord who sent these boys into his life. I might get through to Charles yet. Before he could consider how best to take advantage, retribution arrived in the form of an irate older sister.
"Randolph and Frederick Wheatly, what on earth are you about?"
"Hello, Cath," Freddy called from horseback. "We're just visiting. His Grace don't mind."
* * *
His Grace, in Catherine's opinion, looked rather too stunned to mind, if the awkward boy next to Chadbourn was, indeed, the new duke.
"Miss Wheatly, it is my privilege to present His Grace, the Duke of Murnane, Charles Wheatly. Charles, may I present Miss Catherine Wheatly?"
"I'm honored, Your Grace." Catherine curtseyed to the boy properly. Through lowered lashes, she watched his uncle whisper in his ear. The duke looked at Chadbourn in question before he turned back to Catherine. What on earth?
The young duke looked uncertain. "Chadbourn suggests you should call me Charles, since we are cousins. Are you really my cousin?" he asked.
Or something very like. "Of course, if your uncle says it. You may call me Catherine, if you like." His returning smile looked more shy than haughty. Catherine warmed to the boy immediately.
"Cath, His Grace likes birds," Randy broke in. "Can I show him the owl in the woods? He don't even know it's there, even though it is practically on his land," Randy enthused.
"That would be 'may I' and 'he doesn't…'" She caught the earl's eye. "I need to discuss it with His Lordship." She couldn't decide if Chadbourn's welcome of her brothers boded good or ill. The damned man seems amused.
"Famous," Randy said to Charles, "Cath will talk him round. She likes the owl, too. My father is an expert on birds. Would you like to see his books?" The two boys moved toward the rails, talking a mile a minute, but Catherine quit listening. Chadbourn's eyes held hers.
"When would you like him?" Chadbourn asked with a grin.
"Beg pardon?" Catherine shook off the stupor his gaze had engendered.
"My nephew. Nothing for it. He has to visit."
"I'm sorry, my lord. This is all too much. We don't 'visit' with Eversham Hall."
"And that's a damned shame. The boys are good for Charles, and he would be good for them."
Catherine searched her brain for a riposte. Her hard-won contentment lay on the ground. This interfering earl plans to upset everything.
"You said yourself, you would only be here until the New Year. You don't—"
"They are only boys, Miss Wheatly. Whatever lies between Songbird Cottage and Eversham Hall need not color their lives."
She frowned but had no reply, because in her heart she agreed with him.
"The horses alone would enrich Freddy's life, and his example might—"
Whatever the earl meant to say was cut short by a screech from farther down the paddock fence.
Charles lay half-suspended on a fence rail inside the paddock.
Both adults took off at a dead run. Randy had his arms around the young duke supporting his weight.
A nasty slice that cut through his trouser leg oozed blood.
"I'm bleeding, Uncle Will," the boy cried.
Chadbourn called out to Freddy, "Help Reilly get the horses out of the paddock!" He lowered his nephew to the ground and tore back the cloth around the duke's thigh. The earl looked frantic. Freddy dropped to the ground and led the horse away, while Reilly ran to help.
"Am I going to die?" the boy asked. His clenched teeth looked like they held back a cry. Catherine guessed he couldn't bear to show weakness in front of other boys.
Before the earl could answer, Randy piped up. "No, but you may get an interesting scar from that one. I sliced my arm on a broken branch last year. Hurt like the Devil, but I got the best scar." He started to roll up his sleeve.
Catherine thought about the days she spent dreading infection, and dropped down beside the earl.
"It doesn't look so bad," she said soothingly, but whether she meant to reassure the boy or his uncle, she couldn't say. "It will need some attention, though. Cleaning and bandaging. An application of honey may be in order."
"Honey?" the earl and the duke asked in unison.
"It aids healing. I don't know why, but it makes infection less likely. Dark is best if you have it. I can send some, if you don't."
"I saw a surgeon use it in the Peninsula once. Does it work?"
She cast him a sardonic eye as if to say, Of course it works, you looby.
"Ever so well," Randy interrupted. "And Catherine will give you a spoonful when she's finished dressing the cut. That's the best part."
Catherine did not intend to dress it. "Not I, the earl. We're going home. Now."
"You can't. I need your help." Chadbourn lifted his nephew into his arms, and Catherine rose to her feet. "Come along." He started for the Hall, but Catherine stood fast. She stared up at the imposing facade of the old house and felt her stomach clench. The earl turned to see why she didn't follow.
"Miss Wheatly, we need your help. You obviously know more about cuts than I."
Don't these people have servants for that?
"You know more about boys, too, I think," the earl went on.
A boy needs more than servants and bandaging when he's been hurt.
She turned to her brother. "Randy, fetch Freddy, and the two of you go directly home. I expect to find you there shortly, and I'll be wanting an explanation for what happened."
"There's nothing to explain. His Grace climbed the fence after me, and he slipped. It wasn't my fault."
"Home. Now." He left, head hanging.
Catherine took a steadying breath.
"Will you come now, please?" Chadbourn urged. She fell into step beside him, feeling like a cow in the vicar's parlor in her plain dress.
I don't belong here.