Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Though overindulging a child is unwise, what constitutes overindulging? One parent considers an extra apple tart a mere concession to hunger, while the other believes it leads down the road to perdition. Is it any wonder that children grow up confused?
“She’s mad at us, ain’t she?” Georgie whispered to Ian across the carriage, so loudly that even passersby outside could probably hear him. Certainly everyone inside did, including the motionless woman who sat beside the young scamp.
Yet he couldn’t see her reaction in the meager glow of the scarce street lamps. Then a trickle of light crept across her face to dapple her cheeks with silver and highlight her fixed gaze. His breath caught in his throat. He’d never seen her look so forlorn.
He shifted on the seat he shared with James and William. His normally roomy carriage was cramped and hot with six bodies squeezed into it. “She’s not mad at you.” Ian didn’t bother to lower his voice. “She’s mad at me.”
Felicity ignored him.
“Why?” Georgie asked.
“She thinks I was wrong to take all of you into The Separate Room.”
The boys began reassuring him that he wasn’t, that they’d had a fine time.
Then Felicity spoke. “I’m not angry at any of you, unless it’s for speaking of me as if I’m not here.” Her gaze scoured them all. “I’m angry at myself. I allowed you children to enter that dreadful place when I should have stood firm.”
Ian stifled an oath. Yes, stood firm against him. And if she wasn’t angry, why did the smoke of her disapproval clog the air in his carriage?
Damn it, how could he have known the rascals would scatter as soon as their wriggling bodies entered The Separate Room?
How could he have known what lay inside?
All right, so they’d been met by three severed wax heads impaled on tall poles.
Wax figures of criminals had lined the walls bearing bloody axes, bloody swords, bloody everything.
Wax blood stained the hacked-off limbs of their victims, and wax blood dripped off the guillotine blade at one end of the hall.
Was it his fault Madame Tussaud possessed a seemingly endless vat of red wax? And a flare for the dramatic?
Apparently so, judging from the way Felicity had glared at him, then stormed about the room catching each boy by the scruff of the neck and herding them toward the entrance.
By then it had been too late. By the time she’d caught Georgie, the boys had been exposed a good fifteen minutes to the horrors of the Separate Room.
Thus had begun Ian’s exile from Felicity’s affections.
She’d spoken to him only in one-word utterances.
She’d barely touched the supper of mutton pies, apple tarts, and tea that he’d paid for at a popular cookshop, though the boys attacked theirs with gusto.
Now she sat like one of Madame’s cursed statues, as far from him as possible.
She’d probably hang her limbs out the window if it would gain her more distance from him.
Everything had gone so well until then. He couldn’t believe he’d ruined his plans for the evening with so heedless an act.
James spoke up from beside Ian. “Well, you shouldn’t be angry about me, Lissy. I’m old enough to go in the Separate Room if I like. I’m not a child anymore.”
Ian stifled a groan when Felicity flinched. Wonderful. Why must James choose this inopportune moment to assert his independence from his sister?
James continued in the unevenly pitched voice that amply illustrated his youth.
“It’s not as if you’re our mother or anything.
If I hadn’t been forced to leave Islington Academy, I could have gone on my own to the exhibit, you know.
And then no one would have prevented me from seeing The Separate Room. ”
At the mention of Islington Academy, a silence as heavy as this year’s winter snow fell on the carriage. Even the triplets stopped fidgeting. Ian glanced at Felicity, whose eyes he could dimly see, gone wide with clear alarm.
He turned to stare at James. “Why were you forced to leave Islington Academy? You’re a bright lad and well-mannered. Surely they’d have no reason to throw you out.”
Panic made the boy jerk upright in his seat. “Well, I ... I—”
“You misunderstood him, Ian,” Felicity interrupted. “He didn’t leave. He’s merely home on holiday.”
“Yes, th-that’s it,” James added, stumbling over the words. “For Christmas.”
The brother lied as badly as his sister. Ian stared down at the beardless lad whose defense of his family was so transparent. “You know it isn’t right to tell tales, James. I want the truth—did you leave the academy because your sister needs money?”
James shot his sister a helpless glance. “Lissy—”
“It’s all right, James.” The lamplight caught Felicity’s shuttered expression. “Really, Lord St. Clair, there’s no need to badger the poor boy. If you want to know something, ask me.”
“All right. Do you need money?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll find out the truth anyway.”
She glanced out the window, her fingers clutching her reticule as if to protect it from a thief. “We don’t need ... that is ... at the moment we’re short of funds, because we’re waiting for Papa’s estate to be settled. But as soon as the money comes to us—”
“Settled? But he’s been dead over a year.”
“Yes, it’s some legal mess. The lawyers will sort it out. In the meantime, my columns support us.”
He snorted. As if that could support a household as large as theirs. “Perhaps you need someone to intervene on your behalf and hasten the process. I could speak to your father’s trustee—”
“No! You’ve no right to interfere. We’re fine, I assure you.”
“But Lissy—” James began.
“We’re fine,” she gritted out, casting her brother a warning glance. “I’m sure the money will come through any day, and James will be back at Islington Academy.”
“Very well. Do as you see fit.” He dropped the subject. No point in annoying her further when a few words with Mrs. Box would tell him what he needed to know.
Though the boys seemed to relax, Felicity began to fidget.
She fiddled with the clasp to her reticule.
She fussed with Georgie’s clothing, plucking a leaf from his cap and finger-combing his hair until he grumbled.
The one thing she didn’t do was look at Ian.
There was more to this than she’d admitted.
He intended to get to the bottom of it tonight, but how could he wrangle an invitation inside when she was so uneasy?
Minutes later, he got his answer when something dropped onto his legs. He looked down to find William fallen over in sleep, his head nestled comfortably in Ian’s lap. The poor lad. It must be nearly his bedtime. An idea struck Ian suddenly.
“Is William asleep?” Felicity asked, leaning forward. “Do you wish me to take him from you?”
“No, he’s fine where he is.” Ian kept his voice low, not wanting to awaken his little ticket into the Taylor house. “I suppose it was a long and tiring day for him.”
“I told you it would be.”
“You also told me it would be boring, and it was anything but that.”
A thin blade of a smile cracked her reserve. “I doubt anyone could find The Separate Room boring. Appalling perhaps, but not boring.”
“What’s ‘appalling’ mean?” Georgie asked.
“It means that all the blood horrified your sister,” Ian answered before she could.
“It wasn’t real blood, Lissy.” Georgie patted his sister’s knee reassuringly. “’Twere only wax. You mustn’t be frightened by it.”
He couldn’t help it—he laughed, though softly to keep from awakening William. Soon she joined him. The sound of her muted chuckles warmed him clear to the heart, and made him yearn to reestablish their earlier closeness.
When the laughter died off, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the exhibit. Even if I didn’t agree with your reasons for refusing to take them in The Separate Room, I shouldn’t have pressed you.”
She acknowledged his apology with a wry smile. “It’s all right. You couldn’t have known what it would be like.” She looked down at Georgie. “And I dare say this little rascal would have found some way in there anyway, permission or no.”
“Probably,” Ian said, feeling better about the afternoon.
The companionable silence that ensued was strangely soothing.
Who would have thought that rumbling along in a carriage with three little hellions, a scholar-in-the-making, and their prim sister could be so pleasant?
He hadn’t been around children in years, not since his youth when he’d spent time with his young cousins.
To his surprise, he realized he missed it.
The carriage shuddered to a halt. He glanced out to see bright lamps illuminating the Gothic entrance to Taylor Hall.
The carriage door opened and the boys climbed out, uncharacteristically drooping.
With the help of the coachman, Felicity disembarked, then turned to reach for William.
Ian stayed her with his hand. “I’ll carry him in. ”
“I hate to inconvenience you,” she protested. “The nursery’s two flights up.”
“I don’t mind, and besides, you have to look after the others.”
From her grateful smile, he guessed she hadn’t been looking forward to hauling a child of four stone or more upstairs.
She stepped aside as the coachman took William, allowing Ian to climb down.
When the child was once more in Ian’s arms, he uttered a little sigh, then snuggled against Ian’s chest with a sleepy expression of trust.
Ian gazed down in awe at the small fist balled against his cravat and the smooth cheeks smeared with remnants of apple tart. A surge of tenderness made him clutch the boy close. One day, it would be his son he held in his arms. His and Felicity’s.
The thought hit him like a whirlwind. After today, he had no doubt she would be a good mother. But could he be a good father? He wanted the chance to find out.