Chapter Seventeen #2
“How is our young man this morning?” he asked as he knelt by Miss Whitchurch’s chair to catch the boy’s hand in midair.
The child’s fingers wrapped quickly around Benjamin’s index finger, and contentment took up its customary place in Benjamin’s heart.
This was his dream. The lady. The child.
And, perhaps, if they were fortunate, children of their own.
“It is wonderful when he is not crying,” she said. “His tears always make me feel so helpless. My sister is missing all these moments.” Her bottom lip trembled. “How could she simply walk away from her own child?”
Benjamin had his opinions, but he swallowed his criticism of Miss Cassandra Whitchurch.
Instead, he said, “My father frequently spoke of how God always places the right person in our lives just when we need him most. God wanted this child in your care, for He has great plans for this young man. The Lord knows you possess the capacity to provide him a life like no other, even what his actual mother might do. God does not make mistakes in such matters.”
“Do you really believe your words?” she pleaded.
“With all my heart,” he assured. “Now, come. We require our meal where we discuss both the small and the big plans we hope to accomplish. It is one of my favorite times of each day.”
“I feel the same,” she admitted with a small smile.
She stood to join him as he picked up the child and placed him in the basket, adding a quick tickle to the boy’s midsection and receiving a gurgle and the boy’s fists and legs pumping in delight.
Benjamin followed her through the house to the morning room.
Mr. Patterson held “her” chair for the lady, while Benjamin placed the boy’s basket in his usual spot between them.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said as she sat. “I must also remember to thank God for London’s rain.”
“Londoners curse it often enough, but I agree, Miss Whitchurch,” he concurred, as he sat proudly at his place at the head of his table. It was the first time Benjamin had really appreciated the moment. The first time he thought he might deserve the distinctions thrust upon him.
She waited until Mr. Patterson stepped away to fetch their meals before she said, “Considering all you have done for me, I would think it appropriate that you call me ‘Victoria,’ at least when we are within these walls.”
“I would consider it a privilege to do so,” he said through the flood of emotions threatening to choke him, “I am ‘Benjamin.’”
“Benjamin,” she repeated as if tasting his name for the first time.
His heart soared at finally hearing his name on her lips.
“From the youngest son of Jacob. Israel’s first king was a son of Benjamin.
‘The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by Him, and the Lord shall cover him all the day and he shall dwell between His shoulders.’ I may freely speak of the ‘safeness’ I experience when I am with you. ”
“After you rest, we should set forward how you mean to proceed. I know you desperately wish to discover your sister, and we will not abandon our efforts to do so, but you should no longer be in limbo. The boy should be christened. You must make plans for his sake and your own.”
“Mrs. Taylor said something similar before we parted last evening,” she admitted.
“Did your sister not say you should name him?” Benjamin asked. “He must be nearly three months of age.”
“Yes, but…” she began. “Naming the boy feels as if I am abandoning Cassandra.”
“Just consider it,” he said diplomatically. After that, Benjamin simply joined her in playing with the boy. He touched the tip of his spoon in the yolk of the egg and knew contentment in watching the boy smacking his lips in delight.
“You should ask Mrs. Sullivan before giving him the yolk,” Miss Whitchurch chastised, but she was smiling, which pleased Benjamin greatly.
After their meal, he saw the lady back to her bedroom and turned the child over to Mrs. Sullivan and the maid Jane, who had become the trio’s maid of all works.
“I will see you later. Rest well. Everything will be set for the day when you awake.” Surprisingly, she did not respond. Instead, she walked into his embrace, her head resting against his chest once more.
“I like the sound of your heartbeat,” she said with a sigh, while his chest expanded with pride as her words took root. She wound her arms around his waist.
“I am grieved regarding all that you have suffered,” he murmured into her hair. “I wish I could have protected you from these last few months.”
“I am well now. Feeling your warmth around me. You have a similar effect on the boy. We are blessed.”
She tilted her face up to him in what was surely an invitation, so he said, “I mean to kiss you, Miss Whitchurch. If you do not wish me to do so or believe it is too soon, step back now. Nothing will change between us. I will continue to extend my protection. Please do not consider a kiss as some sort of payment for my assisting you,” he instructed.
Ironically, in response, she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. That was all the invitation Benjamin required. His mouth moved over hers—tentatively, at first, then more thoroughly. Even so, the kiss was far too brief for his liking. “Are you well?” he asked almost immediately.
“Very well. A bit raw,” she added, and blushed immediately. “Not the kiss, but rather the emotions.”
Benjamin had never kissed a woman as such.
He wanted to spend another hour or so simply kissing her.
Assuredly, he had kissed a half dozen or more young girls over the years, but none with any seriousness—not in the manner he was feeling now.
“I like raw,” he managed to say. “How would the lady react if she knew I had already presented her with my heart?” his mind insisted on adding, but he did not say those words aloud. “Rest well, Miss Whitchurch.”
“Victoria,” she corrected.
“Victoria,” he said softly and caressed her cheek before turning to walk away, all the while wondering if Miss Whitchurch might learn to care for him in the manner he cared for her.
She did not know how long she slept—not long enough to be refreshed fully, but enough that her mind was no longer a pot of gruel. “Where is the boy?” she asked when she found Mrs. Sullivan alone in one of the sitting rooms.
“His lordship took the boy with him into his study. Lord Thompson said he did not want the boy waking you up.”
“That was sweet of him,” she replied. “Perhaps I shall join them for a few minutes. His lordship is a busy man with many interests and should not be expected to tend to a babe not of his family.”
“As you say, miss,” Miss Sullivan said as she set her next row of stitches.
Victoria caught up her shawl and ran her damp hands across the wrinkles of her day dress to smooth them out.
Her head was still more than fuzzy with having had only a bit over four hours of sleep, but she was exceedingly eager to learn how his lordship would treat her now that they had shared a kiss.
In reality, she was losing track of how long she had been at Macalhey House.
Though she had unconsciously begun to feel as if the sparse second part of Lord Thompson’s terrace house was the home she never knew she required.
She was living in a dream. “What woman did not wish to encounter a strong and caring man and a sweet babe nestled together as a family, while knowing security under one roof.”
She paused briefly before entering his half of the house. “You must not consider his life as yours,” she silently warned her heart. “Lord Duncan’s sons are not your family. Lord Thompson is not your husband nor even your betrothed. Yet, could they be?”
Despite a renewal of her qualms, Victoria was still eager to look upon her two favorite people in the world: his lordship and the child.
Therefore, she placed her doubts aside to experience one more cherished memory.
She found the pair in his lordship’s study.
Lord Thompson was at his desk, the boy laid out on a cloth mat before him.
His lordship was reading aloud, but she was not confident “what” he was reading, for she had never heard the passage before, though she thought it might be Shakespeare.
Yet, it was no Shakespeare of which she was aware.
The baby batted the air with his fists to the timbre of his lordship’s voice.
Ladies, if we have been merry,
And have pleased ye with a derry,
And a derry, and a down,
Say the Schoolmaster’s no Clown
Duke, if we have pleased thee too,
And have done as Boys should do,
His lordship ran his finger along the page of the book he was holding out of the child’s reach. Meanwhile, the boy followed his lordship’s reading. Gurgling. And swinging his hands about to the rhythm of Lord Thompson’s recitation.
Give us but a tree or twain
For a Maypole, and again
Ere another year run out,
We’ll make thee laugh and all this rout.
“You are reading him what sounds of Shakespeare, but not the Shakespeare I know,” she said from the open door’s portal.
“You said the child appears to like the sound of my voice. Should not the boy enjoy what many believe to be a John Fletcher and William Shakespeare collaboration? This one would be near the end of the Bard’s career.”
“And what is the name of this play?” she asked. “I am most curious.”
“The Two Noble Kinsmen,” he responded. “First published in 1634 with the names of John Fletcher and William Shakespeare on the title page.” He held up the book for her to see.
“However, most scholars believe, because parts are borrowed from Beaumont’s 1613 masque and referred to in 1614’s Bartholomew Fair, it was written earlier and was revised merely by Fletcher. ”
“Both the boy and I learned something new today,” she said softly, while marveling at the man who possessed a heart of gold and was a champion for those, like her, who required a hand up.
She circled the desk to look down upon the child, whose eyes were opening and slowly closing as sleep called his name.
His lordship stood and gathered her to him.
Victoria stifled the sigh of satisfaction she wished to admit.
Instead, she relaxed into his presence. “I am exceedingly grieved you have suffered all that has occurred, but I do have some good news. Mr. Sustar has agreed—though a bit reluctantly—that you may, at least for the immediate future, work from your home. My man of business, Mr. Froschele, convinced Sustar that the evening and overnight hours were evidently becoming too dangerous for you to be coming and going and being alone in the shop at such unusual hours. Sustar has permitted Mr. Froschele to send you a variety of young women to assist you. Sustar will furnish the cloth, needles, and thread. You, however, must train the women so there is no waste. Once you choose your assistants, I will have several large tables and some chairs brought in. I was thinking the large room at the front of the house would be the best, for the light is better there, and that room could keep your living quarters and your workstation separate. I believe that is the best plan, but if you prefer another room, just say so. I know little of a young woman’s sewing needs beyond Lady Theodora’s efforts to net a purse or cover a screen.
I fear my adopted sister is better with a bow and arrow than she is a needle. ”
“When I take the lady’s acquaintance, should I tell her what you said?” Victoria teased.
“Not unless you wish said lady to turn her bow and arrow on me,” he said with a chuckle.
“You must remember, Theodora is not as likely to understand your humor as, say, Lady Emma Orson, my other adopted sister through her marriage to my eldest brother Richard. Her ladyship dearly loves verbal swordplay.”