Chapter Fourteen #3
Neal felt his heart warm and expand at the boy’s words. And then Jonathan placed his hand in Neal’s. So much trust in one small gesture.
The talk he’d given Jonathan had been necessary, considering how petty the Carpsleys were, but it was also a conversation he wished his father had had with him.
In fact, there were many things he wanted to do differently than his father had, and he prayed he had the time left to him in life to see these matters through. Together they walked home.
Christopher was not waiting for them. Instead, they found him in the library with Harry. They were playing marbles on the floor, and Christopher was beating Harry. Their shouts and challenges could be heard all the way down the hall to the front door.
Harry looked up as they entered the library. “You shouldn’t have left Christopher behind,” he said. He was truly angry.
Christopher’s response was to pat Harry on the shoulder. “I don’t care. I like playing with you. Your turn. Your marble is on the other side of the room.”
Harry groaned his ill fortune and then showed his hand at marbles by bouncing one of Christopher’s to the other side of the library.
Soon they had teams. Jonathan and Christopher against Harry and Neal.
The competition was fierce. Neal knew he should have been going over Lord Leeds’s proposal for the building of docks on the North Thames, but playing marbles was far more fun.
Harry lost the challenge for them. Jonathan and Christopher crowed like the victors they were.
They even went so far as to do a jig. Harry started laughing and couldn’t stop.
Neal was stunned by the sound. He couldn’t remember when he’d last heard his brother laugh.
He had to laugh as well, just because the sound gave him so much pleasure .
. . and that was when he noticed Margaret standing by the door. She appeared thunderstruck.
Seeing him notice, she started to back away, but Neal didn’t want to let her escape. “Come join us, Margaret,” he invited.
She hesitated. He expected her to run to her room, but then she asked, “What is going on here?”
Christopher immediately answered, “Marbles. Jonny and I beat them. We played three games and we beat them all three.” He held up three fingers in case she didn’t understand how victorious they were.
“Would you like to play?” Neal asked his sister.
“Girls can’t play,” Harry countered. Christopher nodded his head in agreement, but Neal knew what Harry was doing. Perhaps he was as worried about Margaret as Neal was.
It was Jonathan who came to Margaret’s defense. “Why not?”
“Yes, why not?” Margaret echoed with a hint of her old spirit.
Neal sat up, amazed at this exchange. For too long his sister had been like a ghost around the house, a ghost of a mother hen. She clucked and worried and took care of them, never asking for anything for herself.
“They don’t have the right thumbs,” Harry said. “Your thumbs can’t shoot marbles very far.”
Both Jonathan and Christopher swerved their attention to Margaret’s thumbs.
She held them up. “Oh, I don’t know. I have rather strong thumbs,” Margaret argued.
“No, you don’t,” Christopher assured her, siding with Harry.
“I think she does,” Jonathan said, and Neal was charmed.
These boys had wrought a miracle in his family. They were bringing them together. Children were safer than adults. His siblings might not have approached him, but Jonathan, Christopher and a bag of marbles provided a bridge. Neal said, “I want to make a challenge.”
Jonathan’s and Christopher’s eyes lit with anticipation. So did Harry’s. “Margaret and I against the three of you.”
Oh, there was a game they couldn’t pass up.
To Neal’s surprise, his stylish, staid sister plopped herself down on the floor beside him with the demand “Show me how to shoot.”
Neal obeyed, and within minutes they had a vigorous game going. Margaret proved to be quite adept at sending a marble after Harry’s, and she and Neal almost won the challenge.
They were preparing to start another game when Thea entered the room, her manner one of concern. “Lyon, we have a visitor.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Neal said. He didn’t want to interrupt the play.
“I think you should see this person,” Thea said. “Certainly I can’t send her away.”
“Who is she?” Margaret asked. Her hair had come undone with all the rigors of crawling on the floor and she looked years younger. Her eyes sparkled in a way they hadn’t in a long time.
“It’s Lady Lyon, the dowager countess,” Thea said.
Immediately the atmosphere in the library changed. The boys were still happy as larks, anxious to play some more, but Margaret, Harry and Neal all went tense.
“I am not receiving visitors,” Neal said. How dare she call and ruin an important afternoon for his family—
“I thought you’d say that,” a woman’s silky voice behind Thea said, interrupting his indignation.
Thea jumped, as if surprised she’d been followed.
She stepped aside, and Cass Sweetling sauntered into the library.
She was a petite redhead dressed in the height of fashion in a mustard-colored dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat à la shepherdess, with saucy lace gloves, gold bracelets and jeweled ear bobs.
Neal rose to his feet.
Heedless of the game of marbles, Cass walked right up to him. “It’s been a long time, children,” she said, chiding them with her position in their lives. In truth, she was the same age as Harry.
“You have lacked for nothing,” Neal responded. Margaret had come to her feet, self-consciously pushing a stray strand of hair back into place. Harry didn’t move from the floor, his manner defiant as he snubbed Cass.
Their stepmother did not seem to take offense.
“No, I have all I need, and this isn’t a social call.
” She looked over at the boys. Jonathan listened to the conversation with concern, while Christopher picked up marbles and put them in a bag for safekeeping.
Disinterested in them, Cass swung her gaze back to Neal.
“Then what sort of call is this?” Margaret said. “You know you are not welcome here.”
“I am well aware of that.” Cass laughed. “And believe me when I say that I have no desire to be here. However, I promised I would deliver this to you, and so I shall. I’ve heard you are happy in your marriage, Lyon. Congratulations. I am pleased for you.”
“Thank you,” Neal responded briskly.
At his curt tone, Cass shook her head. “Always wary, never trusting. That’s sad.
But I’m not here for me. I’ve come because I am honor bound to bring this to you.
You understand honor, don’t you? You steep yourself in it.
” She reached in her reticule and pulled out a letter, still sealed and addressed To my sons.
“Who is it from?” Neal asked, making no move to take it from her.
“Your father,” she replied.