Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,17

“I truly believe it was Divine intervention. I was being compensated for past suffering. Do you believe that life offers compensations, my lord?”

He shrugged. “I never thought about it.”

She smiled. “Your dear father did select me and was kind enough to advance me money for the stagecoach for Stevie and me to travel here. He didn’t even object to me bringing a young boy. And, as you know, he was wonderful to Stevie.” Her eyes misted.

It upset him. He couldn’t help himself. He put an arm around her and waited patiently for her to continue.

“We had a special bond, almost like a father and daughter. He was like a grandfather to Stevie. I was devastated when he sent us away. You see, Stevie and I had found true happiness for the first time since Peter died.”

“I’m shocked Papa would have done that.”

“I was, too. It wasn’t until I returned to Darnley two weeks ago that I learned why he’d sent us away.”

“Why?”

“Mrs. Ballard gave me a letter Lord Paxton had written me before he died. In it, he said he’d sent us away to spare us from watching him die. He hadn’t wanted those he loved to see him slip away. That included you, my lord.” She started to cry.

David, too, was not able to staunch the tears that seeped from his eyes. In his melancholy, all thoughts of seduction fled.

He merely lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to it, and said, “Thank you for sharing this with me. I didn’t know. I feel a little less guilty now for not being with him at the end, yet very morose.” He stood. “Allow me to assist you to your chamber, madam.”

When he got to his old bedchamber, he was too restless and too melancholy to go to bed. Instead he went to his desk and began to write. First he wrote to Stonehouse and instructed him to terminate any efforts to try to break his father’s will. “I now fully support every bequest made by my father in his will,” he wrote.

Next, he penned a long letter in conversation style to his old tutor, who’d been a curate in a neighboring village near Tonton Abbey. He started by reminiscing about what drudgery he’d at first considered the lessons but went on to express his gratitude to Mr. Jackson for the fine job he had done in preparing him for Oxford. “I knew not your equal among all the learned scholars at that august institution.” He went on to inform Mr. Jackson of the recent demise of his own father and concluded by saying, “It is my fondest hope that if ever I have sons, it would be our good fortune to obtain your services to be their tutor, for they could receive no finer education in all of England.”

Afterwards, he felt less melancholy. Mrs. Milne had been right when she said praise was more precious than jewels—not only to the recipient, but also to the giver.

Now David understood why his father had been so fond of Mrs. Milne…Mary.

Chapter Seven

The previous day’s rain had brought in even colder air, so it was with some misgivings that Mary allowed Stevie to go off in Lord Paxton’s coach. She’d seen to it that Stevie bundled up in all his warmest clothing, wrapped a thick woolen muffler about his thin neck, and insisted that he bury himself beneath the thick rug in his lordship’s enclosed carriage.

She must not have hidden her fears very well. Before they left, Lord Paxton set a gentle hand to her waist and bent to speak to her in a low, reassuring voice. “I vow to protect Stevie from the cold. You mustn’t let your own apprehensions steal away his Christmas cheer.”

She peered up into his concerned face and nodded. “Of course, you’re right.” How was it that this man had come to know her so well in so brief a time? She’d not said a word about the worries that nearly paralyzed her, yet he’d been able to read her as if she were a penny pamphlet.

Part of her leapt for joy over this close connection between her and Lord Paxton; part of her braced for a mammoth let-down when he returned to London and to women of his own class.

She had lain awake for hours the previous night pondering her feelings toward him. How could she care for him so deeply in just a few short days? She had even come to realize—as foolish as it sounded—that she