Chapter Two #2
She passed it off as a response to the turmoil of the past hour, first Lady Felicity’s screeching at her and then poor Jordan’s falling out of a tree.
But his touch had felt quite nice despite its brevity, gentle and also conveying confidence and protective caring for her. As though she were his to look after as much as his sons were.
She settled beside Robert and put her arm around him, because he seemed more upset at the moment than his injured brother.
Jordan, no doubt experiencing much pain, closed his eyes and rested his head against Milbury’s broad shoulder as the barouche wound its way along the busy London thoroughfares toward Dr. Farthingale’s infirmary.
Gwendolyn mostly peered out of their open carriage, but was surprised to see Milbury studying her when she happened to glance at him.
Thank you, he mouthed, nodding in the direction of Robert, who also had his eyes closed and was burrowed against her.
She had kept her arm around him during the entire ride.
She smiled and nodded back.
Dr. Farthingale had just finished with his last patient when they arrived at his doorstep. “Ah, what have we here? I was about to close up the infirmary and start on my round of house calls before heading home.” He sighed and motioned them in.
“Thank you, doctor.” Milbury maintained a gentle hold on Jordan, since the lad appeared unsteady on his feet.
The doctor smiled at Jordan as they all walked in. “Did you run into an angry wall? Trip on a rug? Or…let me see, fall out of a tree?”
“Yes, that is exactly what happened,” Robert said, no doubt hoping to be helpful. “Tumbled right off a branch and landed with his arms held out to brace his fall. He wouldn’t have fallen, except I was shaking the branch too hard. It is all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t,” Jordan insisted. “I should have been more careful, holding on to an upper branch instead of bouncing around like a big ape. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“Come into my examining room.” The doctor motioned for Lord Milbury to join them as well.
Gwendolyn remained in the small waiting parlor with Milbury’s younger son and did her best to distract him.
She now understood why he’d been so insistent on joining his father and Jordan here.
The poor lad not only feared losing a beloved brother—he also felt guilty and blamed himself for Jordan’s injury.
She thought it quite honorable of Jordan to take responsibility and be protective of his younger sibling who might have otherwise carried that burden of guilt for years. “Sit next to me, Robert. I’ll tell you some saucy pirate tales while your brother is examined by Dr. Farthingale.”
The lad’s eyes immediately brightened and he took a seat beside her. “All right.”
“Well, that was easy,” Milbury whispered in her ear before following the doctor and his son to the examination room. “I’m going to owe you a king’s ransom by the time we are through.”
She was rather proud of how capably she was handling the boy. But as the minutes ticked by, she started to run out of pirate ideas. Fortunately, Jordan and Lord Milbury emerged from the examining room before the last story idea ran dry.
“Oh dear.” She noticed Jordan was sporting a sling on his arm.
Dr. Farthingale chuckled. “He does not have a broken arm or any broken bones, fortunately. The sling is just an arm rest to use for a day or two at most in order to cushion his sprained wrist.” He cast both boys a stern look.
“Jordan, you are fortunate you did not break your neck falling out of that tree.”
Robert gasped.
“It wasn’t very high,” Jordan retorted, and then turned to Robert to repeat his earlier statement, once again fiercely protective of his younger brother’s feelings. “I should have been holding on instead of recklessly showing off. It wasn’t your fault.”
The doctor’s expression remained stern. “It was an accident, and these things happen with no one necessarily to blame. Just a confluence of unfortunate circumstances. Both of you need to use common sense. Your bodies need to last into your dotage. Treat them with care.”
Milbury thanked the doctor and then shepherded them all into his carriage. “Gwendolyn, would you mind if I settled the boys at home first and then escorted you back to Duchess Square?”
She nodded. “Not at all.”
He let out a breath. “Thank you…for everything.”
“Well, we’ve had quite some adventures today.” She laughed softly. “Hopefully, none to be repeated ever again.”
His affectionate smile stole her breath away. “I second that resolution.”
As they made their way to Milbury’s home, she realized something quite odd.
She had never been inside his home before.
They had been working together for several months, yet she had never once bothered to observe him in his familiar surroundings.
Every meeting had been at her home on Duchess Square.
How foolish of her. Even amateur naturalists understood they needed to explore animals in their natural habitat. How was she to get a proper sense of this male animal without doing the same?
And there was something quite “male animal” about Milbury, she suddenly noticed.
He moved with a leopard’s sleek grace and power, had fiercely protective instincts for those in his fold, and exuded a sensual strength and authority.
A natural confidence. One felt a sense of ease and safety whenever he was around…
hence her unexpected tingles when he’d touched the small of her back.
She hadn’t felt cared for or protected in a very long time.
Of course, she was capable of being on her own and had managed quite nicely all these years.
But Milbury’s touch…
She shook out of the thought, concentrating instead on her matchmaking duties. Had she been derelict in them? Not getting to know him as well as she should?
Milbury always called upon her at her home, or they met and briefly chatted at ton affairs. Was this not a serious oversight on her part? How else was she to acquire an intimate sense of the man and how he lived if she never visited him in his own habitat?
Because of this glaring oversight, her observations had been superficial at best. Had she concentrated too much on outward appearance, merely concentrating on his manner of dress, which was always impeccable, and how he acted when in the company of others?
He was always charming, interesting because he was so well read and naturally intelligent, often witty, and always tactful. Nothing crude or boorish about him.
But she had not dug deep into the workings of his mind or probed the essence of his soul. She had no idea what he considered important beyond being a good father. How was she to find him a true love match when she had barely scratched his surface?
She took a moment to study him more closely.
He was a handsome man. Indeed, quite tall and handsome, which was why every lady she approached as a potential match was eager to meet him.
She tried not to be too obvious when now studying his body, which was mostly muscled and not at all flabby.
Yes, very nice musculature. His face had a sculpted maturity to it, and one felt power and commanding authority when looking at his strong jaw and keenly assessing eyes.
There were slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes that denoted a sense of humor because those little lines came about from smiling.
He dressed with understated elegance, preferring sober colors such as gray, dark blue, black, or an occasional dark green. He was never ostentatious, knew just the right thing to wear for any occasion. Of course, that was probably his valet’s doing. Still, the man knew how to look good in clothes.
He probably looked good out of his clothes, too.
She cleared her throat. Coughed once or twice.
It was just an observation. She meant nothing improper by it.
Her heart beat a little faster when he suddenly turned to her and regarded her with concern. “Are you all right?”
She ignored the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks and nodded. “Quite perfect.”
Did he know what she was thinking?
He cast her a wry smile.
Oh dear.
But he couldn’t possibly…
Or could he? Was she that transparent?
The man was smart, too. In truth, exceptionally smart.
This was him. Powerful marquess. Wealthy. Handsome, intelligent, and possessing a sense of humor.
Well, one would need to have a good measure of humor and patience when dealing with two growing boys. But what did he enjoy? What were his interests and hobbies? Hopes and dreams? What was his taste in furniture, in food, and in women?
Obviously, she had done a poor job of framing her questions.
They were shamefully lacking in substance.
She had asked him little beyond whether he preferred blondes, brunettes, or redheads.
Did he enjoy quiet evenings at home, or was he fond of parties?
Did he prefer a debutante fresh out of her first year or someone older?
Really, she had been quite superficial in her interrogation of him.
His answers had been accurate but not really helpful.
Yes, she got that he preferred a quieter life and did not want a child bride.
He had been quite adamant about that. “No fresh-faced debutantes for me,” he’d insisted.
“No one under the age of five-and-twenty.” Nor did he care about the color of a lady’s hair.
When first embarking on this matchmaking challenge, she had invited him to her home and they had chatted casually on a variety of topics. She thought she had been thorough and got a good sense of him.
But she now realized how inadequate this had been.
Who was he, at heart? What were his childhood influences?
How had they formed his character? Had he been adventurous or studious?
What did he expect of a wife? What qualities were most important to him in a spouse?
Had he faced difficulties or losses other than the loss of his wife?
How had they changed him? Had they strengthened him?