Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows) Read online

  Carey shot him a direct look. "Of course I don't hate you being my guardian. I hate…I hate that my parents aren't here, but I like you, Uncle Tony. And you've been devilish kind to me."

  He had to clear a lump of emotion from his throat before he spoke. "I hate that your parents aren't here, too."

  "Because you have to look after me?"

  Apparently he wasn't alone in needing reassurance. "No, because I miss them."

  "I do, too." Now he wasn't awaiting the wrath of God—or at least his uncle—Carey turned his drowsy attention to Fenella. "Cor, Brand didn't exaggerate about his mother being a looker. The miniature doesn't do her justice."

  She laughed. "Why, thank you," she said unsteadily. "I think."

  "Mind your manners—and your language, young man. You're still on thin ice, remember?"

  "Yes, Uncle Tony," Carey said in a subdued voice, but mischief glittered in his eyes. "Good night."

  "Good morning," he corrected. "And we'll see you later."

  As Anthony pulled the door shut behind them, there was a drowsy murmur from the bed. "Thank you, Uncle Tony. I knew you'd turn up sweet when we came to the sharp end."

  "Brat," he said, and Carey chuckled sleepily in response.

  "You said he was afraid of you," Fenella said as they started down the corridor.

  "I thought he was," Anthony said in a wondering voice. "I've got not much more than a peep out of him since his parents died."

  "Perhaps you weren't at ease with him either. And you both had to deal with a terrible tragedy."

  "I didn't know what to do with myself, let alone how to comfort a grieving child." He cleared his throat. "Carey should have been on the yacht, too, but he broke his arm the day before, climbing out of a cherry tree."

  "And you worried about his lack of spirit."

  "He's been a perfect angel the last few months. I should have realized that spelled trouble. This escapade is the first sign that he's still got the old imp inside him."

  To his surprise—and pleasure—she slipped her hand through his arm. There was the usual jolt of male response, but with something sweeter and deeper flowing under it. Difficult to recall that he'd only met her last night. They talked like old friends.

  "Perhaps he's coming to terms with losing his parents. I hate it when people talk about getting over a loss—you never do." Her voice was sad. "But life goes on regardless."

  "You needed so much courage to carry on."

  Her smile was self-deprecating. "I wasn't brave at all. I've hidden behind my widow's weeds since Waterloo. But early this year, two dear friends got sick of my moping and hauled me out of hibernation. We made a pact to be the dashing widows."

  "The dashing widows? I like it. And I reckon you do yourself an injustice. Only the dashingest widow would take off into the night with a loudmouthed stranger."

  She laughed as they descended the steps. He recognized that he was losing his head over this lovely—and dashing—widow.

  "Put like that, I sound quite outrée, don't I? And I soon recognized that your bark was worse than your bite. At least when it came to me. It was patently clear that you were mad with worry."

  "Carey's lucky he wasn't at your house. I wouldn't have been nearly so calm."

  "Oh, you might have scolded him, but I doubt you'd have done much more."

  They reached the ground floor and turned toward the morning room. The aromas of bacon and coffee reminded him that he'd been on the road all night. By now the sun was up and in the stark light, he saw the weariness on Fenella's remarkable face.

  She paused in the doorway. "What a lovely room."

  The morning room was decorated in the Chinese style popular last century, and its high windows overlooked a wilderness of garden, turned to enchantment with frost and early sunlight. Probert and two footmen arranged covered dishes on the sideboard.

  Anthony stood beside her, ridiculously pleased at the praise. "Thank you. I thought we'd have breakfast here."

  "I really should wash my travel dust off first."

  Of course she must. Heat prickled the back of his neck. What a clod he was, not to offer her some privacy when they arrived. He nodded to a footman who left to send up a girl from the kitchens. "I'll have a maid show you to a bedroom."

  "And with your permission, I'll check on Mrs. Penn. I might be able to help. Also I'd like to send a note to London, letting the household know Brand's safe."

  "You can spare half an hour to tidy up and have something to eat."

  The warmth in her smile banished his awkwardness. "You're right. All that can wait."

  A fresh-faced country girl came in and curtsied. "My lady, my name is Susan. I'll show you upstairs."

  Fenella delayed to lay one slender hand on Anthony's arm. "Don't fret about Carey. You've both suffered an appalling loss, and you have a lot of adjustments to make. But love on both sides will smooth the way. You just need time to work out how to proceed. Kindness and patience will win the day."

  Her eyes glowed as if she had every faith in him. Looking into her bonny face, he found himself believing her.

  "Thank you," he said, wishing she'd keep touching him, but she left to follow Susan upstairs.

  In a daze, he drifted across to sit at the round mahogany table, barely noticing when Gregory the footman placed a steaming cup of coffee before him.

  He could blame his distraction on lack of sleep, or his overwhelming relief at finding the runaways. But he hadn't built his business empire from nothing by avoiding unwelcome truths. He wasn't going to start lying to himself now.

  Unromantic, mundane Anthony Townsend was falling helplessly in love with a fine lady who, by rights, shouldn't spare him a glance. And he had no idea what in Hades to do about it.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  It was late morning when Fenella emerged from her bedroom to check on Brand. A couple of hours of exhausted sleep had left her sluggish. As was often the way, she felt worse than she had when she'd rushed into the house at dawn, buoyed up with fear.

  As she'd tidied her hair, she'd met shadowed blue eyes in her mirror. The night's travel had changed her in ways she wasn't yet ready to accept. The woman looking back at her was frightened to death that the firm ground beneath her feet turned to quicksand.

  The boys' bedrooms were empty. With a clear if cold day, she guessed they must be outside somewhere. They wouldn't go far. Brand must be well aware a lecture awaited, and he'd never been a coward.

  Unlike his mother.

  Who hoped desperately that the intriguing Mr. Townsend slept the day away. Then she needn't face the knowledge that while she was a mother, she was a woman, too. A woman who had been wrong to believe all interest in an attractive man died with her beloved husband.

  When a footman told her the boys were with Mrs. Penn, she made her way to the east wing for the second time. Mr. Townsend provided generously for the woman who had cared for him as a baby. Unfortunately, not all the generosity in the world could change the sad reality that Carey's nurse was unlikely to live much longer. If Fenella had ever wanted to blame Carey for needless panic, one glance at Mrs. Penn's drawn face had told her he was right to rush to her side.

  "Lady Deerham, how kind you are to check on me again," Mrs. Penn said when Fenella arrived. Her smile didn't hide her frailty.

  Carey sat on the bed playing cards with her. Brand had pulled a chair up to the game and gripped five grubby cards in one hand. Marbles on the patchwork counterpane showed the stakes. At the moment, Carey was winning.

  "Mamma!" Brand said, throwing his cards down and diving across the room into her arms.

  "Oh, Brand…" With a muffled sob, she dragged him into a desperate embrace.

  Immediately, the familiar little-boy smell of him soothed away the last remnants of her fear. Although he'd grown in the last month. Soon he'd be taller than she was. A sharp reminder that his precious childhood years were so short—and she was missing them.

  After a moment's i
ndecision, he hugged her back. But she understood masculine pride enough to know that he wouldn't appreciate his mother weeping all over him in front of his friend. After a kiss on his cheek, she reluctantly released him.

  Brand stepped back and gave her an uncertain smile. "You're not pleased with me."

  He was so infinitely dear and vulnerable, and she could so easily have lost him last night. But some instinct told her to play this particular scene lightly, not as the tragic, widowed mother. She knew he expected a well-deserved reprimand, but she was still at the stage where relief outweighed her urge to chide. "I'm happy you're all right."

  She tried not to fret at the dark circles under his blue eyes. He was safe. That was all that mattered right now. His ill-fitting clothing, borrowed from Carey she assumed, sparked another rush of poignant tenderness. With bony ankles and wrists on show, he looked more like a street urchin than a young baronet.

  "There was no harm done in the end," Mrs. Penn said.

  "That's something my son and I are going to discuss at length later," she said in a steely voice, even as her hands itched to clutch Brand to her and never let him go. "I just want to make sure these two rascals aren't disturbing you."

  "Three." Mrs. Penn tilted her head toward Mr. Townsend, standing solid as a huge tree near the window.

  "Yes." Fenella glanced at Mr. Townsend—who disturbed her even if he didn't disturb his old nanny. He leaned one shoulder against the flowered wallpaper and surveyed the boys with wry amusement. He must wonder how all the mad fury of their chase through the night ended in this cozy scene. She wondered herself.

  When they'd arrived at the Beeches, whiskers had darkened his already swarthy features, lending credence to her fantasies of him sailing the world as a swashbuckling sea captain. He'd since found time to shave, and change into a smart blue coat and buff trousers. Now he looked like a dashing, fashionable gentleman instead of a wild pirate.

  Fenella was almost sorry.

  She'd changed, too, into a rose pink morning gown—she blessed Greaves's forethought in packing that small bag. The idea of spending all day in the travel-worn blue carriage dress made her shudder.

  "Nowt better than energetic young lads around the place," Mrs. Penn regarded the boys with exasperated fondness. "Even if these imps of Satan shouldn't have run away from school."

  Carey's worried glance at his guardian encountered a sardonic lift of one black eyebrow. With perfect composure, the boy returned to perusing his cards. Whatever else this escapade brought, Fenella was glad to see that uncle and nephew were well on the road to an understanding.

  Carey had the look of his uncle. The same air of contained energy. The intense features, incongruous on a young face, although he'd grow into them. A body, like Brand's, that promised future height, but was all gangling awkwardness now. Compared to his friend's saturnine darkness, Brandon seemed brilliantly fair.

  Mrs. Penn turned to her former charge. "And how grand to see you, too, Master Tony. This old house is too quiet and empty without the family. Young Carey caged in that den of iniquity, and you gallivanting on the high seas every hour the good Lord sends." She paused. "Especially with Mr. William and his dear wife lost to us."

  Familiar sorrow flashed in his eyes. "You know I'd give anything to have them back, Penny."

  The old woman brushed a skeletal hand over Carey's unruly thatch of hair so like his uncle's. "You two shouldn't grieve alone when you're all the family left to each other."

  "Lads are sent away to school."

  "Not in my family they're not—and you never had to go away either. The local grammar school was good enough for you. And for your brother. Most of the time, your brain works well enough to keep the wolf from the door."

  He straightened and muffled a sigh, running his hand through his hair. Fenella found this interaction fascinating. This old lady had powerful Anthony Townsend at a complete disadvantage, despite his wealth, arrogance, and as Mrs. Penn pointed out, brain.

  "Penny, Carey is growing up in a different world from the one I knew. As my heir—"

  Mrs. Penn made a dismissive sound. "He won't be your heir for long. You'll marry and have bairns of your own."

  "Carey will always have a place in my home," he said stiffly.

  That tone cut no ice with this irrepressible old woman. Fenella wanted to cheer—and she liked Mr. Townsend even better for giving his old nurse a hearing when she didn't say what he wanted to hear. It was terrifying how much and how quickly she'd grown to admire this large, irascible man who concealed such unexpected sweetness in his heart.

  "Of course he will. But right now, you two need each other and you should be here together, not half a world apart." She sent Fenella a meaningful glance. "A man reaches the age when he needs the comforts of home. A fine house, a wife, children."

  Fenella cursed that Mr. Townsend looked in her direction just then and caught her blush. It was her turn to undergo the eyebrow's inquisition. She glanced away to find Brand following the discussion with an intent expression.

  Mr. Townsend turned back to Mrs. Penn. "Carey will grow up to take a place in the world—and boys who do that go away to school."

  "Not always," Fenella found herself saying, despite reminding herself that this was none of her business. "Many children from good families are tutored at home."

  Three pairs of masculine eyes settled on her in surprise and curiosity. "You never gave me any choice about school," Brand said slowly. "It was just accepted that I'd go."

  She regarded her son searchingly. His tone as much as his manner alerted her to something going on beneath the surface. "It's what your father wanted."

  "Was it what you wanted?"

  "What I wanted didn't matter. It's what's best for you."

  "So if the decision was yours alone, you wouldn't send me away?"

  Dear heaven, where was this coming from? "I didn't send you away."

  "Yes, you did."

  She clenched her hands in her skirts as disquiet knotted her stomach. Her son had hidden his true feelings from her. Which hurt. And made her feel guilty. "I thought you liked school."

  He shrugged. "It's all right. It's been better since Carey started."

  She loathed to hear that he was miserable—and that he hadn't confided in her. "You never said anything."

  "I didn't want to upset you." He looked startlingly adult, and she had a sudden, poignant vision of him as a man. "The way I've upset you now."

  "Devil take you, lad," Mr. Townsend growled. "I won't have you worrying your mother."

  When he stepped forward, Fenella caught his arm. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Mrs. Penn's avid expression. "No, he's right to tell me. He should have told me before. Brand, I'm so sorry. Is that why you ran away?"

  Brandon dipped his bright head and shuffled his feet, and returned to looking like an eleven-year-old boy. "No, of course not. I'd never be so craven as to run away just because I was unhappy."

  Which meant he had been miserable. The guilt pierced deeper. How could she not have known?

  "Come here," she said huskily. He shot her a quick grin and slipped under her arm. She hugged him close to her side, grateful all over again that he'd come out of his adventure in one piece.

  Carey, who had remained a silent observer, scrambled to stand. "I told Brand I had to see Penny, and he said no true friend would let me go without someone to watch my back." When he smiled at the old lady, Fenella's heart went out to the motherless child, so gallant, so fragile. "I had to come, Penny. You're family."

  "You must have known I'd bring you down to see Penny if you asked me," Mr. Townsend said austerely. "By the way, how the hell did you get here so quickly?"

  "Language, Master Tony," Penny said repressively. "There's a lady present."

  The faint pink in his cheeks charmed Fenella, but he wasn't about to let Carey off the hook. "Well, young man?"

  "I used my birthday money to pay Old Jock's nephew to take us."

  "Did you indeed
? And who, pray tell, is Old Jock?"

  "He's one of the school gardeners. His nephew Fergus is first rate. You'll like him."

  "I rather doubt it. Is he still here?"

  "No, he had to get the cart back to Bray to take the piglets to market."

  "So you see, we were never in danger," Brand said staunchly.

  Mr. Townsend looked unconvinced. "You've worried your poor mother sick. You worried her so much that she trusted her safety to a stranger and sat in an open carriage all night. She didn't get a wink of sleep for fear of what might happen to you."

  "It wasn't…" Fenella began, but faltered under his direct gaze. Because of course, it had been exactly like that. Her grip on her son tightened as she recalled how frantic she'd been for his safety.

  Carey raised his chin, increasing his resemblance to his uncle. "I deserve a beating."

  "Yes," Brand said with less conviction. Fenella had never raised a hand to her child, much as that had incurred Henry's mother's disapproval. He stepped out of her embrace, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "Although I did write to Mamma to tell her."

  "Thank goodness you did," Fenella said. "We were about to call in the Bow Street Runners."

  "Cor," Carey said.

  "Young gentlemen do not say cor." Mr. Townsend narrowed his eyes at Fenella who was trying not to laugh. It had been difficult enough stifling a giggle at the idea of piglets taking precedence over a young baronet and his wealthy friend. "You're lucky this lunacy didn't end in disaster—I've no idea what the masters at Eton will say. You'll probably both be expelled."

  "Good," Carey dared to say.

  "Don't push your luck, young man," Mr. Townsend said in a quelling voice.

  "You really don't want to go back to school, Brand?" Fenella asked.

  Brand glanced at Mr. Townsend as if he had some say. A poignant reminder of the sad lack of a male authority figure in her family. "Do I have a choice?"

  She spread her hands in bewilderment. "I don't know. You've hit me with this out of the blue. You know Creston Hall is tenanted for the next five years, so we can't go there. Your grandmother isn't up to looking after you in Bath." Henry's mother was hopelessly old-fashioned in her ideas, and she'd never recovered from her only son's death. "And while I'd love to have you in London, it's not a suitable place for a child."