12
When,” Oliver growled as his mother approached, Verity fast on her heels, “did you meet Mrs. Rumford?”
“Just yesterday.” His mother smiled wide, looking at Mrs. Rumford with something like fondness. “She was kind enough to tutor Verity on the local flowers.”
“Yes, kind,” Verity repeated, glaring at Oliver. “And we should show her hospitality for that kindness.”
Before Oliver could counter that idea with one of his own—namely that the most hospitable thing Mrs. Rumford deserved from him was to be set out on her ear with a warning never to return—his mother spoke again.
“Oh, yes, hospitality. Which, Mrs. Rumford, I do hope you will accept today. We would love to have you for dinner. It’s beginning to grow late, and I’m certain you must not have eaten all afternoon, knowing how Verity can be when she has formed an interest in something.
” Before Mrs. Rumford could answer, his mother turned to Verity.
“Darling, why don’t you show your friend inside. ”
Verity needed no further urgings. Sidling up to Mrs. Rumford, she linked arms with her.
“What a perfect opportunity to show you some of the larger watercolors I’ve been working on.
” With that, she fairly dragged the young widow toward the door, chatting the whole way.
Mrs. Rumford, with a surprised glance at Oliver, let herself be dragged.
Leaving him quite alone with his mother.
It was an opportunity he would not waste. “I forbid Verity to have further acquaintance with Mrs. Rumford,” he stated.
To which his mother, to his shock, laughed. “Oh, come now, Oliver. You cannot mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
She waved him off. “You’re speaking nonsense. Mrs. Rumford is a sweet woman who has shown Verity an incredible kindness. I cannot in good conscience refuse the acquaintance. Unless,” she continued, peering closely at him, “you can give me a good reason why.”
“Of course I can,” he declared. “The woman has been sneaking about Lord Durand’s property. I’m certain she’s up to no good.”
His mother pursed her lips. “And?”
He stared at her. “Does there need to be more? I was hired to guard Lord Durand’s collection.
This woman is a botanist who I caught creeping about the man’s glasshouses.
Her friends are just as suspicious, pushing their acquaintance on the earl at such a sensitive time.
And with the evidence of someone trespassing the other night, I cannot be too cautious. ”
But his mother did not appear the least concerned. No, instead she seemed?.? .? .? confused?
“Do you have proof she is involved in this possible trespass?”
He frowned. “Well, no.”
“So the only reason for your suspicions is that you caught her sneaking about the earl’s glasshouses?”
He exhaled sharply. “Isn’t it enough to keep my guard up?”
To his surprise, his mother shrugged. “Perhaps. But it is not enough for me to refuse the acquaintance.”
He gaped at her. “You know my previous profession,” he said tightly, for all he never talked of it to his mother.
“I lived by my instincts. And I was good at my job.” Impotent anger filled him at the reminder of what he’d had, and that it had all been taken away from him because of what he had attempted to bring to light.
He pushed it down, as he had done for the past year, the only way to get by day after day.
“And my instincts,” he continued, “which saved my life on more than one occasion, are telling me Mrs. Rumford is up to something nefarious.”
The look she gave him nearly broke his heart anew, the anxious worry like a knife to his chest. He steeled himself, waiting for talk to turn, as it inevitably did, to all he’d had stolen from him, his mother’s grief for him increasing his guilt tenfold.
But to his surprise it did not. Instead, she took a steadying breath and patted his arm. “You know I trust you, dear,” she said. “You have protected this family even when all hope was gone. And I have followed your lead until now.”
She looked back to the house and his heart sank.
“But I cannot in good conscience turn away Verity’s one friend over an uncertain possibility.
You know as well as I how difficult it has been for your sister to make, much less retain, friends.
This move to the country, especially, has been difficult for her in that regard.
It was necessary, of course, and a blessing.
But your sister has not adjusted well to being so isolated.
I will not turn away the one person who she has been able to forge a connection with. ”
Her smile held a hint of melancholy. “And it seems to me,” she continued quietly, “that Mrs. Rumford may need the friendship just as much as Verity does, if not more.”
With that wholly unexpected comment—one that stirred something deep inside him—she declared in her typically cheerful tone, “Now, why don’t you delay leaving for work for a short while and come inside.
Dinner is ready, and we can have a nice chat with the woman while we eat.
After all,” she continued, a teasing spark lighting her eyes, “if the person who has kept you so busy is here with us, there’s no reason for you to hurry off to work just yet. ”
To which he didn’t have a reply. Mrs. Rumford was here, a place he could easily keep an eye on her—and perhaps quiz her in a roundabout way as to her purpose here.
As if fully aware of the effect her words had on him, his mother chuckled and returned to the house, leaving him with no alternative, really, but to follow.
Though interrogating her was far from his mind when he finally had her in front of him.
He lifted his spoon to his mouth, hardly tasting the creamy soup as he cast a surreptitious glance at Mrs. Rumford—only to find her wide eyes on him. As they had been the last five times he’d looked her way. She blushed, her gaze dropping like a stone to her own untouched bowl.
“I do hope you don’t mind us eating à la francaise,” his mother said, indicating the covered dishes laid out on the table.
“Hmm?” Mrs. Rumford started, looking at his mother, blinking owlishly. “Oh, of course not. I actually prefer it.”
His mother smiled, relief evident in the relaxing of the lines on her face.
Oliver felt a momentary pang for all the things he couldn’t give her, only one of which was servants to help with her daily chores.
She had grown up with that gentility and privilege, and had given it up upon her marriage to his father.
He set his jaw. If he managed to do a proper job with his latest position, he had every hope of providing her with those things again.
His eyes narrowed on Mrs. Rumford. If, that was, he could protect Durand Manor.
And if that meant keeping an eye on a suspicious widow and her friends, then so be it.
“How long will you be in the area?” his mother asked, breaking him from his morose thoughts.
“I’m not certain. I would say not above a fortnight.”
“Is that all?” His sister sat forward, spoon clattering to the table.
Oliver sat forward ever so slightly as well, head tilting to one side, the better to hear Mrs. Rumford’s answer—purposely ignoring the sudden drop of his heart into his stomach.
That reaction was merely due to learning new information about Mrs. Rumford’s stay.
It was most certainly not dismay that the woman, who had been a thorn in his side since her arrival, was to leave so soon.
“That’s all we had planned on,” the widow replied.
“But that’s awful,” Verity mourned. “I’m just getting to know you.
Couldn’t you stay longer? Oh, I know!” she exclaimed before Mrs. Rumford had a chance to catch her breath.
“You can stay with us. I’m sure Mama wouldn’t mind.
Would you, Mama?” Their mother had barely managed to nod her agreement before Verity’s attention was back on Iris.
“We would have so much fun. Do say you’ll stay. ”
Images of Mrs. Rumford here in this house for weeks on end materialized in his mind: sitting across the table during meals as they were now, reading by the hearth in the evening, talking and laughing with his mother and sister.
But they paled in comparison to the final image, of Mrs. Rumford in her nightgown, blond curls down about her shoulders, preparing for a bed that was beneath the same roof as his own?. .? .
He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as heat saturated his body. What the devil was wrong with him?
“Verity,” he said sternly, because, really, he had to say something to stop this mad scheme of his sister’s, “that is out of the question. I’m certain Mrs. Rumford has things to get back to.” He leveled an expectant look on that woman. “Haven’t you, Mrs. Rumford?”
“What? Oh! Yes. Yes, I do. I need to get back to London as soon as our time here is through.”
“Oh, are you from London as well?” his mother asked with a smile. “Where do you reside?”
“Wimpole Street, ma’am,” Mrs. Rumford replied.
“A lovely area,” his mother continued. “Do you live alone then?”
Mrs. Rumford, her initial awkwardness having lifted at his mother’s sincere curiosity, took a spoonful of her up-until-then untouched soup. “I share a house with Lady Vastkern and several other widows,” she replied, accepting a bit of bread from his sister with a smile.
Oliver stilled, though his every sense went on alert.
The way Lady Vastkern had spoken of Mrs. Rumford to Lord Durand that first day, she had made it sound as if they were mere acquaintances.
Yet they were close enough that they lived together, and not just during a quick holiday to the countryside as they were doing now.
He glanced sideways at his mother, praying she continued her innocent yet highly informative line of questioning.
“It must be a boon to have the support of women who have gone through the same tragedy as you yourself have,” his mother said kindly.