Chapter Eleven
“And what should I expect from this visit, my angel?” Jansen wasn’t nervous—more curious, actually.
Joy eyed him as if carefully considering how to word her answer.
“Aurora, also known as Rorie or little Starpeeper, is a wild two-year-old who effectively runs the household with her extremely hard-of-hearing grandmother, Thorne’s mother, Lady Roslynn, and their army of cats.
Blessing thrives on the furor, as does her husband, Thorne. ”
“Starpeeper?” Jansen repeated slowly, wondering at the odd word as the carriage turned onto Brook Street.
“Before Rorie was born, Starpeeper was what we all called her, since we didn’t know she was a girl.
Essie is an avid astronomer, so Starpeeper was the perfect name, no matter if it was a girl or a boy.
Someday, I shall show you Essie’s old observatory that Papa built for her at Broadmere House.
Thorne is attempting to recreate it at the Knightwood residence.
He’s been overseeing its construction since they married, and it’s nearly finished.
To Essie, that gift is more precious than any jewels he could ever buy her. ”
“Your family is very…”
“Careful what you say, dear sir.”
He laughed, but his mirth quickly faded. “I was merely searching for a word to describe such a unique family of independent and intriguing individuals. I wish Ambrose could take a lesson or two from you and your siblings.”
“I know I have yet to meet him, but I could try to talk with him. Might that help?”
Jansen slowly shook his head, bleakly staring out the carriage window without seeing anything at all. “I don’t know, my angel. Every time I try something I think might help, it seems to drive him deeper into his misery. I am at a loss as to what to do about him. I have never seen him so morose.”
“I will talk to him, and if that fails, Aurelia and I shall lecture him until he improves. Never underestimate the power of women intent on a cause.”
The carriage rolled to a stop. Copper opened the door, set the steps, then helped Joy step out into the sunshine.
Jansen descended after her, then stood on the sidewalk, gazing up at the townhouse that used to belong to the most notorious rake the ton had ever known.
Perhaps if an Abarough sister could reform such a man, Joy might be able to help Ambrose reclaim himself after all.
They ascended the front steps and made use of the brass door knocker. From within the house could be heard the loud, exuberant squeals of a small child. The door opened the barest crack, and a man—Jansen assumed it was the butler—peered at them with only his one eye showing.
“Welcome, Lady Joy,” said the servant, without opening the door any wider. “Please mind your step and rush inside when I swing the door wide, as Lady Roslynn, Miss Rorie, and an untold number of cats are currently marching in the hallway, waging war on France.”
“Thank you for the warning, Cadwick. We shall take care so none escape.” Joy’s sympathetic smile seemed to calm him.
“That would be most appreciated,” the sorely-put-upon butler said gratefully.
Jansen held his breath to keep from laughing and prepared to bolt into the house as soon as the door opened wide enough.
Cadwick avidly watched something behind him, then swung open the door. “Come in. Quickly, if you please.”
“Charge!” shouted a silvery-haired matron from her bath chair at the other end of the hall. The golden-haired tot at her side squealed in agreement, lifted a wooden sword, and thundered down the marble-tiled way with what looked to be nearly a dozen cats galloping alongside her.
“Doy-Doy!” The wooden sword clattered to the floor. The battle quickly forgotten, the child barreled into Joy’s embrace.
“There is my sweet Rorie.” Joy swept her up and spun her around. “Are you and the kitties terrorizing poor Cadwick again?”
Rorie bobbed her head. “And Fance.”
“Oh, and France too? Well done.”
“Yep.” The child nodded again, then narrowed her sparkling blue eyes and pointed at Jansen. “Who dat?”
“Wait! Wait!” The elderly woman held an ear trumpet to her ear while waving them closer. “I want to hear too.”
A young blonde woman, whom Jansen could only assume was Joy’s sister, Blessing, swept down the stairs, looking slightly pale.
“Joy! Forgive me. I completely lost track of the time. This dreaded sickness… If I am not starving to death and stuffing myself silly, I am casting it all back out again.” She locked eyes with Jansen, giving him such a look that he almost backed up a step. “So this is him?”
“Sir Jansen Winterstone, meet my sister, Lady Blessing Knightwood—arguably the fiercest of us all.”
Jansen offered a proper bow, then tipped a nod at the disorder in the hallway. “I fear we interrupted a most important campaign against France.”
“It would seem so,” Blessing said, “and it is a pleasure to meet you.” She frowned and glanced all around. “And where is your chaperone, dear sister?”
“Since we are engaged to be married, Seri has relaxed that requirement…somewhat. And she knew we were coming to visit you.”
“Engaged?” Blessing repeated slowly, then exploded with a happy squeal. Now Jansen understood where the child had gotten that trait. “And what is the date? Since none of the banns have been read, I am assuming it will be longer than a month from now?”
Joy glanced at him and smiled. “I wanted all my sisters to meet my intended before I set a date.”
“I had better not be the last sister,” Blessing said.
“We have yet to visit Gracie—calm down.”
Blessing turned to Jansen. “Have you ever known anyone to calm down whenever someone told them to do so?”
He failed to stanch a laugh. He couldn’t help it. “No, my lady. If anything, it makes them worse.”
Blessing nodded. “He will do.” She waved them closer to the matron glowering at them from her bath chair. “Forgive me, Mother Roslynn. I did not mean to ignore you.”
“Just because I can read lips does not mean I do not wish to be closer.” The elder sniffed, then offered Joy and Jansen a regal nod. “Good afternoon.”
Jansen bowed and spoke louder. “Good afternoon, my lady. Sir Jansen Winterstone, at your service. I am here for your inspection, for I intend to marry Lady Joy.”
Lady Roslynn hiked her nose higher and swept him with a sharp gaze. “We shall see. Wheel me into the parlor, Sir Jansen. Rorie and I shall conquer France at another time.”
“Right away, my lady.”
“Cadwick,” Blessing said, “tea in the parlor, please and thank you.”
The butler nodded and hurried away.
Jansen noticed Rorie with her head resting on Joy’s shoulder, very nearly asleep.
He touched a finger to his lips and nodded at the tot.
Joy smiled back at him and gently rubbed the little girl’s back while slowly swaying.
The sight made him ache for children of their own.
Joy’s ease with young Quill and now Rorie assured him that she would be the very best of mothers.
“Sir Jansen,” Lady Roslynn said in a snappish tone, “hast thou forgotten thine assigned duty?”
Assuming the elder wished to continue the pretending, either for the sake of her granddaughter or perhaps even for herself, Jansen played along and offered a deep bow.
“Nay, my lady. This knight is at your service.” He went to the bath chair and wheeled her into the parlor.
“Where dost thou wish thy throne placed, my lady?”
Lady Roslynn chuckled and pointed at a spot between the pair of settees in front of the hearth. “Over there will be fine, Sir Jansen. Thank you for humoring an old woman attempting to teach her granddaughter the loveliness of chivalry, even though she appears to have gone to sleep.”
“It is my pleasure, my lady.” An irritated hiss caused him to hop aside. “Forgive me, beastie. I did not mean to get too close to you.”
The large cat, colored in patches of orange, brown, black, and white, flattened its ears and hissed again.
“Hera! That is most unbecoming of a lady. He will not trouble you or your babies,” Blessing said to the cat.
“Her babies?” Jansen asked.
“She had them under the settee to the left and will not allow us to relocate them. Each time we move them somewhere quieter, she brings them back.” Blessing shooed the cat aside. “See to your babies, madam. Now.”
“She wishes to be in the parlor because she is curious,” Lady Roslynn said. “She simply desires to be a part of every conversation.”
Jansen wondered if the elderly woman was speaking more about herself than the cat.
“You know you could set a date without meeting Gracie,” Blessing said. “I cannot imagine your breaking anything off just because she might not approve of him.”
“So, I take it you approve of him, then?” Joy shot back at her sister.
“Of course. He is tolerant, considerate, and likes cats. What is there not to like?”
“Yes, my angel,” Jansen said, unable to resist preening just a bit. “What is there not to like?”
“Your relentless stubbornness, for one thing. However, we cannot set a date without speaking to Gracie first. It would hurt her feelings because he has already met everyone else. It’s going to be bad enough that she is last.”
“Yes.” Blessing grinned. “Indeed, it will be.”
Jansen sensed a strong sense of competitiveness between the sisters, and it gave him an entirely new respect for Chance.
Poor old bloke. Outnumbered by so many wily women.
No wonder he possessed such a vicious disposition.
“It is our hope to attend Lady Grace’s churching.
Perhaps that will ease her frustrations with being last.”
“I am sure it will,” Blessing said. “And how are you with children?”
“Blessing!” Joy said sharply.
“It is a valid question.”
“I look forward to children of my own,” he told Blessing.
“And how many are you looking forward to?” she asked.