Room at the Inn

Caroline Warfield

Merlin’s Owl Press

Copyright 2019 by Carol Lynn Roddy, writing as Caroline Warfield

All rights reserved. No part of this publication my be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

ISBN and ASIN to be determined upon publication.

Cover art: Peder Mørk Mønsted, Woods in the Snow, date unknown

Created with Vellum

Contents

Introduction

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Room at the Inn

A fatherless child requires a village to care for it, provided they have room in their hearts. When a cold-hearted baroness makes it impossible for the tenants of Little Hocking to care for one little boy, the Honorable Declan Alworth steps up to make room in his heart and his home for the little treasure. How can the vicar’s niece, Maera Willis, resist either one of them?

Dedication

Written to order for Denise Austin with gratitude for her interest in my work.

Author’s Note

I occasionally offer the right to specify elements for a made-to-order story that would be the exclusive property of the winner for two months as the grand prize in a contest. This effort is the result of one such contest. She asked for a sleigh and a secret baby, and so this story began.

Chapter 1

"His Lordship is late this month."

Maera Willis kissed the top of little Samuel's head. "How can he stay away from this little angel?” She hugged the boy close.

Jenna Mullins smiled over the laundry she folded. "He does dote on the boy, but the weather..."

The woman had a point. The December ice storm had been brutal and the snow that came after made the roads and even walking treacherous. Maera knew walking up from the village had been foolish, but the draw of the baby compelled her. She longed for one of her own, and couldn’t resist the opportunity to hold him.

Samuel gave a little burp and smiled up at Maera. How can a father farm out a treasure as adorable as Samuel? she wondered. If he kept him at his side, as a father ought, ice and snow wouldn’t matter. If he truly loved the little one he would have him in his home.

Another insight came to her, one even grimmer. Unless, of course, he has a wife who doesn’t know about of her husband’s sins. Anger for Samuel and for the wife followed the thought.

“What of his mother?” she asked, letting curiosity get the better of her.

“You wouldn’t know, would you—you being newly come to Little Hocking,” Jenna said, lifting the basket of nappies up onto a shelf. “Isabelle Grimm were a foolish girl, make no mistake, taking up with some man. No harm it speaking of it now, I expect.”

Jenna wiped her hands on her apron and sat across from Maera, giving little Samuel a fond pat and a sad smile. “His mother’s dead these six months, poor duck. Childbirth fever. His lordship found this little one crying in the cottage and brought him here to us. Cold and wet he was, but none the worse for wear. Arranged a funeral for her, his lordship did. Generous man.”

Same man? The one paying for her son no doubt. A niggle of guilt reminded Maera she ought not jump to conclusions, but what was she to think with this poor tyke alone in the world. Outrage filled Maera. Jenna thinks him generous? He could hardly do less for the woman who bore his son.

“Davie! Mind the soup pot,” Jenna shouted. She rose and pulled her youngest son away from the hearth. “You boys take your roughhousing outside snow or no snow,” she ordered. With five children of their own, Jenna and Jonah Mullins managed a busy house. Thomas, her oldest boy, helped his father with the stock in the barn. Peg, a year older than Thomas, tended Martha, just a toddler, quietly in the corner, sewing clothing for a straw doll.

“Samuel must add to your burdens, Jenna,” Maera said.

“All babies are a bit of bother but he’s a good one. And his lordship’s coin is a help, what with the baron raising rents,” Jenna replied, picking up her mending. “I appreciate your attention, Miss Willis, but you best get yourself home. It threatens snow again. I won’t have the vicar cross with us.”

Maera’s Uncle David served Little Hocking, a poor living in a remote part of Westmoreland. When his letter came in the wake of Aunt Martha’s death, Maera happily responded. He needed a housekeeper and a teacher for the dame school. She needed an excuse to leave her brother’s house.

“I fear you are right, Mrs. Mullins,” Maera said, laying Samuel in his crib. “Give my regards to Jonah. I hope we’ll see you at services on Sunday.”

“God and the weather willing, Miss Willis. God and the weather willing,” Jenna said wearily. “Thank you kindly for the visit and the apple compote.”

Maera, wrapped in her thick cloak and bundled in scarves, trudged down the lane in front of the Mullins’s farm, head down into the wind. She didn’t see the sleigh that flew around the bend until almost too late. When she did, it startled her so badly she slipped backward into the ditch, landing awkwardly with her feet up one side and her head at the bottom.

Momentarily stunned, Maera couldn’t move.

She scraped the snow from her face and peered up to see a pair of angry eyes, so brown as to be almost black, glaring over the edge at her.

“Are you an imbecile, woman? You could have been killed.”

Heat so strong it ought to have melted the ice filled her. “Me? You almost mowed me down. I’ll have your apology,” she shouted back.

Oddly, the eyes warmed and the man standing above her, arms akimbo, began to laugh. “You sound feisty enough. You can’t be too badly hurt.”

Staring past her skirts where they had begun to bunch toward her knees, and her boots, toes pointed at the heavens, her fury gave way to humiliation. “If you were a gentleman, you would look the other way and help a lady up.”

Her statement added to his hilarity. “Which do you want me to do, my lady—look away or assist you?” he gasped between laughs.

* * *

Declan—The Honorable Declan Alworth—bit his lip and reminded himself he was indeed a gentleman. He had to remind himself twice. He had no business laughing. Relief that he hadn’t killed the reckless chit made him silly —it was his only excuse—and he couldn’t think how he would extricate her from her predicament without making it worse.

He studied the situation carefully from the heels of her well-made half boots resting against the top of the ditch, past the shapely ankles in warm woolen stockings, down to the skirt bunched up at the girl’s knees, to her awkward position at the bottom of the ditch—

Goodness! If a glare could kill, I would be dead.

“Well, are you going to quit ogling my ankles and help me out?” she demanded.

“Be patient, I’m studying the situation. There has to be a way…” If she were a barrel of nails, I could build a ramp and roll her up. If she were a pallet of lumber I could bring in a winch—

She rocked to one side in an effort to sit and fell back with a thud. Thank God she didn’t break her neck or hit her head on a rock, he thought. Stop thinking like an engineer and get her out of there.

“What do you suppose is under all that snow?” he called down.

“Me!” she responded through clenched teeth.

At least she has wit. “I mean next to you. Rocks?”

“I don’t feel any.”

“Well, we’ll know in a moment.” He jumped in beside her, feet first. Fortunately, he did not hit rocks or turn his ankle. Unfortunately his good boots sank into two inches off oozing mud, and his resulting language further called his claim to gentleman status into question.

Lifting the girl proved difficult. He tried pulling her by her hands, but the mud she had fallen in held her fast, and every time he pulled it threatened to suck her back. Every time she did her skirts skittered a bit further up her legs.

Her very shapely legs. Declan began to rethink his assumption that the victim was a young girl.

When he reached down, pulled her shoulders so he could get an arm around her waist, and lifted her into his, he knew his assumptions were a great distance from correct and thanked the angels for it. He discovered the womanly curves that had been hidden under woolens and snow. He had not held such a delectable armful in a long while, and he rather liked the sensation of a woman in his arms.

“Well, do you plan to just stand here?” she demanded.

A very opinionated woman in my arms! That felt good as well. He liked a woman with backbone. “I’m trying to figure out how I will climb that steep slope while carrying you. He judged the distance and the angle. He couldn’t account for the slide of the mud, but he judged three firm strides upward would do it.

“If you’re not going to get on with it, put me down. I’ll—“

Yes, three strides. Being correct pleased him. It always did.

Jenna’s boys met them at the top of the road, mouths agape.

“Good lads! Alert your Mam and open the door for me.” They ran to do as bid, and he savored the feel of her as he strode toward the Mullins cottage.

“Where are you going? Put me down! I can walk. I—”

“Are you always this managing?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a clear enough question. Do you generally give orders to your rescuers? Based on your carelessness, I assume you’ve had many.”

“I never—”

“You’ve never had a rescuer? How impressive. Kindly knock on the door.”

“I beg your pardon? Oh.” The woman looked over her shoulder and realized he had carried her to the cottage door. She raised a hand to oblige, but it opened before she could, revealing Jenna Mullins with Samuel on one hip, and her younger boys in her skirts.

“Miss Willis! Davie and Jake said you fell arse over applecart.”

“Correct. This lady has taken a fall. My fault I fear.” He set her gently on her feet, cupping one elbow to steady her. He sent the boys out to see to his horses.

“Miss Willis, is it? Are you related to the vicar in Little Hocking?” She gaped at him and he didn’t wait for a response. “You seem steady enough,” he went on. “Have you pain anywhere?” He yanked off his muddy gloves, tossed them on the floor, and reached up to run his fingers through her hair, checking her head for lumps and bumps. The silky curls distracted him, and he may have gone on longer than necessary.

That awoke her from her stupor. “Kindly remove your hands, Sir!” she demanded. “I am quite well. I am indeed the vicar’s niece, and I will return to the vicarage forthwith.”

She stamped her foot for emphasis. She seems well enough. Stubborn though.

“What do you think, Jenna. She’s had a bad tumble. Should we trust her on the roads?”

“You look well enough, Miss Willis, but you can’t be too careful about falls.”

“Nonsense. I broke my fall and didn’t hit my head. It was just, er, awkward. I’ll just take my leave; I’ve imposed on you enough.”

“True enough. We’ve gotten enough mud and melting snow on Jenna’s floor. It might be best if we both leave.” He looked down at the Willis woman. “I saw no carriage. How do you propose to return to the vicarage?”

“I will walk, of course.”

“That you will not. I cannot allow it,” he said. No gentleman would let her walk in this weather. Not when he had a perfectly good sleigh.

“Unless you plan to hold me prisoner, I will do as I please, your lordship.”

She made the title sound like an insult. Maybe it would be, if it were accurate. “No,” he said.

“No?” she demanded.

“No lordship,” he corrected. “I am the mere second son of a baron, so it is Mr. Alworth. That is supposed to make me ‘honorable.’ Jenna forgets. Or Mr. Declan if you will.” He raised an eyebrow to ask her which she preferred.

She ignored him, choosing instead to lift her firm little chin and sweep from the cottage, the impact of her exit somewhat dampened by the squish of her wet boots and her muddy, rumpled clothing. The sway of her hips, however, appeared no less enticing in spite of the mud.

He sighed deeply at the slammed door. “I’m sorry Jenna, but I’m afraid I can’t stay to help you with the mess,” he said picking up his ruined gloves. “And I will miss my time with Samuel. I’m staying through Twelfth Night at the baron’s request, however, and I’ll be able to come over as much as I like. Tell Jonah we’re finally going to look at the drainage problems.” He reached inside his greatcoat and pulled out the purse he brought for Samuel’s care. “For this month,” he said.

He didn’t wait for Jenna’s thanks. He did what a gentleman would do. He chased after Reverend Willis’s stubborn niece.

Chapter 2

“The family would be grateful, Declan, if you would refrain from making a spectacle of yourself in the village.”

Irene’s voice grated on Declan’s nerves more than usual. He’d had a difficult afternoon, and he wasn’t in the mood for his sister-in-law’s imperious dictates or contemptuous tone. He had promised Rod he would stay a month to see to the drainage in the lower fields, but he had no idea how he could bear his brother’s wife that long.

Irene glared the length of the dinner table. She’s just warming up. Any moment now—

“It is bad enough you humiliate us with your insistence on dabbling in trade. You could at least refrain from lowering behavior here where our neighbors might see or hear.”

And there it is. It always comes back to my business, as if building bridges were one of the deadly sins. He clenched his teeth against his usual defense of honest work, but couldn’t resist one retort. “I should think you would be pleased that I don’t require an allowance from the estate. I know Roderick is.”

Irene looked as if she had bit into something vile. She hates it that I don’t rely on an allowance from the estate. If I did, she’d have leverage to make me dance to her tune, like she does Rod. He pitied his older brother. Roderick might be Baron Rockledge, but Irene controlled the purse—and her husband.

“But trade, Declan! They titter behind their fans at the assemblies. As if that weren’t enough, word of your bastard has reached the Marchioness of Oglethorpe.”

Declan’s eyes flew wide. They think Samuel is mine? He glanced at his brother who seemed to be fascinated with the blancmange and jam in front of him, eyes resolutely down. I suppose it was inevitable. Let them think it.

“Oh yes, Declan. Don’t look shocked,” Irene went on, becoming more agitated. “Do you think I don’t know you visit the Mullins farm to pay for his care? Lucy Maguire delighted in telling me that piece of information. The entire county enjoyed the salacious gossip after your last visit. I can hardly show my face for shame. When the squire’s daughters came for tea they attempted to pry details from me. All I could do was lament our family scapegrace. The entire county knows, Declan. You’ve not made any effort to hide it.”

Declan stabbed into his pudding, and tossed it in his mouth. It tasted like sawdust. He glared at his brother, who refused to look his way.

Irene ignored them, wrapped up as she was in the sound of her own voice. “And now you attempt to ruin the vicar’s niece in broad daylight in front of the entire village.”

That got Declan’s attention. “I beg your pardon, Irene. How could I ruin the lady? I drove her home in the sleigh. She was attempting to walk home along the icy road and I feared for her safety.”

“You were seen!” Irene shook with indignation. “A farmer saw you force her—force her—into your vehicle, and her covered with mud. Were you rolling on the ground? Have you no shame?”

The stubborn woman required a bit of convincing. It was hardly coercion! “That’s enough, Irene. Berate me all you choose, but Miss Willis is an innocent. Draw in your claws and leave the woman alone.”

“I suppose I’ll be forced to dine with them,” Irene huffed, baffling Declan by her turn of mind.

“Why is that, my dove,” Roderick asked, puzzled enough to join the conversation at last.

“To deflect any scandal, we must put on a brave face. We will have to attend services on Sunday. Declan will behave like a gentleman for a change, while you and I greet the vicar civilly. We will invite him to bring his niece to dinner, thereby showing we have nothing to hide. That should silence the gossips.”

“Or set them off,” Declan retorted. “They’ll have it I’m courting the woman. I won’t put her in that position. What will happen when I leave?”

Irene flicked a signal to the butler and rose. “As to that, I suggest you take your bastard with you. Miss Willis will have to brazen it out. Unless, of course, she is the mother of the creature. Then you can continue your illicit affair in Glasgow. I am decided on it. You must remove the little by-blow.” She turned her penetrating gaze on her husband who visibly cringed. “Roderick, I insist you force Declan to do just that. I will leave you to your port.”

She sailed out the door, which closed behind her silently on perfectly oiled hinges.

Roderick gave a shuddering sigh. “Really, Declan, must you set Irene off over dinner? It quite ruins my appetite.”

“Me? She lies in wait to bait me so she can have reason to lament my sad lack of respect for my status in life. She hasn’t forgiven me for evading her attempt to marry me to the Marquis of Oglethorpe’s youngest.”

“The chit came with a hefty dowry. You could have given up that foolish start of yours and lived like a gentleman.”

“My business isn’t a ‘foolish start.’ I build things, Rod; things that will last. I would go mad sitting on a piece of land watching peasants till it for me while their families go hungry. At least my business pays workers a decent wage, and gives me a sense of worth.” Sometimes Declan wondered how he and his brother came from the same family. From the look on his face, so did Roderick. “About the baby—” he began.

“I don’t suppose you would oblige Irene and remove the infant from the area,” his brother murmured.

An angry retort came to Declan’s lips—several of them in fact—but most would be pointless. “His name is Samuel,” he insisted. Our father’s name. He stared into the rich ruby liquid in his glass and went on, “I would take him, if I had a house and a way to care for him, but I have neither at the moment.”

When his brother didn’t respond to his dig about the boy’s name or argue about moving him, sorrow sat like a rock in Declan’s belly. “Still, it might be better all around,” he said, “if that is what you prefer. I could oversee his care more easily.” He met his brother’s eyes. “And I would have no reason to come back here again,” he added softly.

* * *

Maera wiggled to find comfort on seat cushions lumpy with age. She rode in a lumbering old sleigh—borrowed for the occasion from Mr. Macaulay, the village physician—and sighed. Her uncle handled the ribbons, leaving Maera to her irritation.

“Really, Maera, you act as though I’m carting you to your doom. We’re responding to a dinner invitation, not a writ of execution,” Reverend Willis said.

“That woman looked at me as if I might soil her hem,” Maera complained.

“The Baroness Rockledge has a haughty edge, I’ll grant you,” her uncle answered.

“An edge? It is a wonder the entire shire doesn’t bleed when they encounter her sharp tongue.” She took a breath. “The Baron seemed harmless enough. Why do you suppose they invited us?”

“She told us—due to your unfortunate accident. They wish to make amends. Lord Declan appeared genuinely regretful.”

“The arrogant miscreant probably regrets that he has to endure dinner with me.”

Her uncle chuckled. “You two do seem to strike sparks off each other. I found him to be a perfect gentleman when he brought you home and quite charming on Sunday.”

Maera puffed out her cheeks. “I might find him more ‘charming’ if he didn’t leave that darling boy in the care of strangers. Samuel is precious; he shouldn’t have to suffer for his father’s misdeeds.”

“Really Maera, I thought you were too wise to believe all the gossip you hear. Jonah Mullins tells me his lordship fusses over the boy and never fails to pay for his keep.” He raised a hand to stop any retort. “Enough— One other thing I want you to remember. The church in Little Hocking is a poor one. We rely on the baron and baroness’s good will. I need you to charm the woman.”

It might be easier to charm a snake, Maera thought, but Uncle David meant well. His work mattered to him and to the people of Little Hocking.

“I will be on my best behavior,” she said just as the sleigh pulled up to Rockledge Manor. A man skipped down the steps to open the door. A familiar voice and equally familiar laughing brown eyes greeted her. Lord Declan held out his hand. “May I help you down?”

To refuse would be churlish, and Maera had demonstrated enough of that sort of behavior in their first encounter. “Certainly, Mr. Alworth. I thank you,” she said as sweetly as she could, causing the fascinating lines at the corner of his eyes to deepen in amusement. He knows a bouncer when he hears one, she thought.

He led her to a perfunctory greeting by Lady Rockledge and bored inclination of the head from the baron. A person could freeze to death in their company. The Honorable Declan appeared a model of openness and warmth by comparison, wretch though he might be.

Conversation in the drawing room proved as brief as it was awkward. When weather proved all too brief a topic, Reverend Willis asked after the baron’s two sons, both away at school. Neither parent seemed particularly interested.

Maera breathed a sigh of relief when they were called to dinner. The baroness took her place at the head of a table too long for five people, so long she had to raise her voice speak—or, as Maera thought, make pronouncements. It could hardly be called conversation. The baron sat at the other end, Uncle David next to him. That left Maera marooned in the center across from Declan Alworth.

As a footman served the soup course, the baroness announced, “You will find the dinner more refined than you are used to, I fear. Our chef has superior skills and a excellent reputation.”

Maera found the soup over spiced and unpleasant.

“Not as good as Jenna’s rabbit stew,” Mr. Alworth murmured, eyes alight.

Maera bit her lips to keep from laughing. The baroness didn’t notice; she continued her lengthy discourse on her chef’s bona fides, from the duchess who praised his béchamel sauce to the countess from whom she coaxed him away. She seemed eager to particularly point out those ladies jealous of her success.

The subject lasted well past the meat course, leaving Maera free to concentrate on her plate, avoid Alworth’s dancing eyes, and wonder what her father and the baron found to say to one another.

When the footman cleared the cheese course, she was relieved and grateful to have only two savory dishes to choose from. She had feared the miraculous chef might have produced a dozen, but then the guest, a mere vicar, hardly demanded his best efforts.

A pointed announcement that “Young ladies today do not know how to dress,” an outright insult to Maera who wore her second best gown, a simple rose muslin with lace at the neckline, launched Lady Rockledge into a long catalog of the young women of the county, critiquing each one’s poor taste and fashion faux pas.

The diatribe drew a pained and—to Maera’s surprise—sympathetic glance from Mr. Alworth, but the baroness droned on.

Maera absently accepted an iced cake from the footman, her mind absorbed in trying to picture the gentleman across from her with the tiny baby she had held just that morning. Jenna claimed he came often, and Maera had begun to believe it. She was so lost in thought that a demand from the baroness left her in the uneasy position of not knowing the original question.

“You will, of course, say yes,” the woman demanded.

One did not say no to a baroness, particularly this one, but Maera had no idea what she was being asked to do. The intense expression on Mr. Alworth’s face gave her no clue. Her uncle and the baron waited expectantly for her answer. She could admit she had not been listening, but the consequence of that could be unpleasant.

“Yes, of course,” she said, hoping it had to do with parish charities.

“Of course,” the baroness echoed, diving into her cake, for once blessedly silent.

Declan Alworth peered at her curiously, his eyebrows raised. “I will pick you up at the vicarage at one tomorrow,” he said. She blinked. He narrowed his eyes. “For our outing,” he said. “To the castle ruins.”

Her heart dropped to her feet. “Of course,” she mumbled. “Our outing.”

Chapter 3

Declan half expected the lady to beg off. It had been obvious Miss Willis wasn’t listening when Irene instigated a ride out with him. She’d been trapped, but when he arrived promptly at one, she didn’t even keep him waiting, as any of Irene’s fine friends would have.

A plump little maid answered his knock at the vicarage, but Miss Willis herself emerged from the parlor immediately with her cloak over one arm and a fur muff in the other. She wore a mauve gown chosen for warmth that still managed to bring out the color in her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if she flattered the gown or the other way around. Either way the result was pleasing indeed. He found her appearance striking, out of the common way, and utterly attractive.

He bowed and helped her with her cloak. When he led her outside to his waiting vehicle, she cast the thing a skeptical glance. “Another sleigh?” she asked.

“My brother’s second best, unfortunately. Irene needed the good one to pay calls,” he said with a grimace. The shabby sleigh was more farm vehicle than proper conveyance. He handed her up. “I considered bringing my curricle,” he went on as he jumped up beside her. “But the roads…”

“Is that one safe?” she asked warily.

“It is fast,” he replied.

“That isn’t what I asked. You may remember I’ve already had a sample of your driving.”

“Why, Miss Willis, I do believe you are teasing me,” he said as his team trotted out of the village. “Shall we see what this old thing can do?”

She glared at him. “Even I know the road is pitted from our erratic weather in addition to the snow, and I don’t believe for one moment you would risk those lovely horses,” she said indicating the pair of bays.

“You have me there, ma’am. They are mine, not the baron’s, and they were a bit of a luxury. I prefer to keep them in good health. They got me here from Glasgow in good time, and I need them to take me back in three weeks.”

That subject exhausted, they rode silently as they tooled along at a moderate pace.

“What did she say to you?” he asked giving voice to one of the things that had worried him the night before when Irene and Miss Willis left the men to their port. “My sister-in-law, I mean.”

“That’s plain speaking!” she responded.

“Yes. I prefer it. It is one of the things I like about you.” Ah, a smile at last. Plain speaking it is!

“Since you asked, and prefer bluntness—she told me you needed only a good woman to cure you of your wayward ways. I fear she hinted I might be the one.”

The face he made must have been ugly, judging by the way she winced. “What did she say made up my wicked ways?” he asked.

Miss Willis stared at her lap. “She didn’t.”

He refused to mention Irene’s beliefs and attitude toward Samuel. He let out his breath. “I am sorry. My sister-in-law has no guard on her tongue. Plain speaking is one thing; manipulation is another, and I fear she forced you into this outing. I regret that she put you in such a position. She hopes to see me wed because she believes I will stop disgracing the family by dabbling—her word not mine—in trade. I am an engineer, Miss Willis. I hope that doesn’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“You work for your living? How marvelous!”

He grinned. “Why, Miss Willis, I am shocked. Surely, you don’t believe a gentleman should dirty his hands in actual labor—and I assure you I do. I don’t hide behind my desk.”

“Why ever not? Too many ancient houses are headed by men unwilling to work and desperate for funds.”

“Forced to marry money or starve?”

“Is that what happened to your brother?”

“You are as shrewd as you are beautiful,” he said bringing a delightfully rosy blush to her cheeks.

“She controls the finances, I suspect,” she said.

“Yes, and she controls my brother as a result. It irritates her no end that I earn my own living and owe nothing to the estate so she cannot control me as well. She’s doomed to disappointment. Fool that she is, she doesn’t see that a wife will want keeping and the work will become even more necessary.”

“I’m impressed Mr. Alworth. And you pay for your son’s keep as well.”

“Samuel?” he choked. The truth stalled on the tip of his tongue.

“Of course, whom did you think—” she gaped at him for a moment and then sank back against the seat, obviously embarrassed. “He isn’t your son.”

Shrewd indeed. “He is in every way that matters.” Declan actually hadn’t thought of it before, but once said, it felt right. Rod would never claim the boy, not while his harpy of a wife stood over him. The lad deserved a father who cared.

“But you are not his sire,” she mused. “Who is?”

“There are limits to plain speaking,” he replied, leaving her to her own conclusions when he changed the subject. If the shire didn’t know Roderick fathered the boy, it wasn’t Declan’s place to unleash the gossip. It wouldn’t be fair to Samuel. “Have you been to the castle ruins before? Your Uncle David seemed to indicate you had not at dinner last night.”

“He is correct. Aside from throwing us together, why did Lady Rockledge suggest the ruins?”

“To impress you with my consequence, of course, by showing you our ancient roots in this county. Our family built the old stone heap sometime lost in the mist of ages past. I always suspected she was sorry the castle fell down. She would have liked to hold court over a castle rather than a mere manor house.”

They turned onto a narrow lane leading uphill. “Come, Miss Willis, prepare to be impressed—if not by the collapsed glory of my ancient pedigree, then perhaps by the brilliant explanations of a structural engineer.”

Chapter 4

Maera smiled from the window when the baron’s sleigh came to an easy stop in front of the vicarage. Second-best it might be, but perfect for today’s purposes.

The Honorable Declan—that is, Mr. Alworth—walked around and smoothed a hand down the neck of first one horse and then the other, speaking to each in turn. When two village boys ran up to see the horses, he gave each a penny to hold his reins.

Goodness! The man is as kind to his beasts as he is to every one he meets. Ever since their ride out he had become “the honorable Declan” in her mind because she suspected it described him exactly. He had rescued and paid for the care of a baby not his own. He refused to reveal the boy’s actual sire, although Maera had her suspicions, and he treated every one regardless of age or station with respect. He also behaved as a perfect gentleman toward Maera. Honorable indeed.

She hurried to the door, not waiting for him to knock. He grinned broadly when the door flew open. “I do like a lady who doesn’t keep a gentleman waiting,” he said, studying Maera from the tips of her serviceable half boots to the scarf she wound around her chin on top of her cloak until she felt her cheeks heat and she feared her face had gone a blotchy red. He winged an arm. “Shall we away then, since you are so anxious for my company.”

He helped her into the sleigh, climbed up, and pulled a carriage robe over her. She waited until he took the reins to deflate his overblown self-worth. “I’m actually anxious for another gentleman’s company,” she said pertly.

“You wound me!” he retorted, giving the team their head with no sign of any actual distress. “You find younger gentlemen perhaps more to your liking?”

“Indeed."

Some of the gentlemen in question, Jenna Mullins’s sons, waited for them in the farmyard.

“Da says we’re to help you fetch greens for the church,” Thomas, their oldest, called before the sleigh came to a stop. All three boys appeared delighted with the prospect.

“You are indeed,” Maera told them. “But I need a cuddle from little Samuel first.” She began to step down on her own, but the boys’ sister Peg, who came out the door bundling up her cloak, overheard and dampened that idea.

“Samuel is sleeping, Miss Willis. Good thing, too,” she said casting a victorious glance at Thomas and climbing into the back of the sleigh, “because Mam says I can come fetch greenery too.” The boys scrambled into the bed of the sleigh behind her.

Declan’s eyes twinkled. “Well that’s that, then. Shall we go, Miss Willis?”

She sank back into her seat with a sigh. “Lead on, Sir.”

Many hands might have made short work of gathering greens, if not delayed by flying snowballs, excuses to run up and roll down the hillside around the castle grounds, and much hilarity in the process.

With the sleigh almost full of branches, Maera followed Peg slowly up the hillside, delighted by a stand of holly they found. They clipped sprigs full of berries steadily until a well-aimed snowball hit Maera between the shoulders. Peg gasped and Maera turned slowly to see the honorable Declan attempting to look innocent while three boys peeked from behind trees giggling. She leaned over and whispered in Peg’s ear.

Maera settled her best school mistress face on, pressed her hands together primly, and stepped slowly but deliberately toward Declan, with Peg following behind, hidden in Maera’s skirts. The three boys slipped out of hiding, wide-eyed and watchful, as she came within five feet. With a savage whoop Peg leapt out from behind Maera, hit her brother Thomas square in the chest with one snowball, and just clipped Jake’s ear with another. Maera, meanwhile, darted between the trees scooping up snow, Peg on her heels, and the battle was on.

“Not fair four against two,” Peg shouted. The ladies watched while the boys—Maera viewed Declan as an overgrown boy in this case—conferred. Waving Mr. Alworth’s white handkerchief, Jake plodded toward them having been the loser of their confrontation.

“Mr. Alworth said a man must do the honorable thing,” Jake moaned.

“Come on, Jake, let’s take them down,” Maera shouted turning the boy’s face from downcast to gleefully fierce. She watched Declan kneel to show Davie how to make the best snowball and her heart turned over when he ruffled the boy’s hair and lifted him to throw it over the bush where Peg and Jake hid. The man winked at her and then threw one of his own, right at her shoulder.

“Foolish man, I have armaments at the ready,” she called pelting him with three in a row,

It wasn’t long before all six of them, convulsed in laughter, exhausted, and covered in snow, agreed to call truce. “Until we can resume another day,” Declan said, with a smile Maera thought he intended just for her.

The boys helped pick up holly branches and load them in the sleigh. Declan ordered them to sit on the sides, their feet among the greens, but Peg objected.

“What about mistletoe? Won’t there be a kissing bough?” she asked hopefully.

“Not at the church! My uncle would find that inappropriate,” Maera sighed.

“Do you need one at the manor?” the girl asked Declan hopefully.

“I fear the baroness disapproves of bringing the forest into the house,” he said shaking his head in disbelief, likely, Maera thought, for the benefit of the children.

Peg looked so downcast Maera wondered what village boy she hoped to catch under a kissing bough. Thirteen is a difficult age.

“Tell me, Thomas, does your mother object to mistletoe?” Declan asked.

The boy scowled with distaste. “No. Fact she had Da bring some last year and the two kissed the lot of us under it.”

“Luckily, I know the best tree,” Declan said.

Moments later he lifted Jake, who climbed up like a monkey and dropped a large cutting of mistletoe down to them, before climbing back down and jumping into Declan’s waiting arms.

“Well done, lad!” Declan said, scooping up the sprig and eyeing Peg with a teasing glint. “Shall we test it out?” Thomas and Jake backed away and broke into a run toward the sleigh, gagging dramatically. Davie stood wide-eyed and watched.

Peg stared up at him, stars in her eyes. “No, Mr. Alworth. I’m but a lass. Best test it on Miss Willis.”

“Declan…” Maera began when he made a predatory move in her direction. She took one step back only to come against the tree trunk. He came forward until his face was within inches, raised the spring of mistletoe over hear head, and studied her face carefully.

He means to kiss me. Maera couldn’t think clearly in that precise moment, but she rather thought she wanted him to. She stood frozen in place. Suddenly he winked mischievously and darted in to kiss her cheek.

“It works well. Your mother will be pleased,” he said casually, handing the mistletoe to Peg.

Behind his back Maera let out the breath she had been holding and steadied herself.

“Don’t encourage him, Peg,” she rasped. “Some men are horrid teases.” And this tease would likely haunt her nights.

* * *

Declan sat across from Jonah Mullins in the cozy kitchen, let the fire’s warmth seep into his bones, and sipped Jenna’s hot chocolate, while the hum of excited children recounting The Great Snow War to their mother filled the air.

He listened to Jonah with half an ear. His eyes, his mind, and a growing piece of his heart occupied themselves entirely with the woman who sat in the corner cuddling baby Samuel. Maera’s serenity and joy filled his soul. The kiss had teetered on disaster. When he leaned in to peck her check he meant only to tease, but desire overwhelmed him and froze him in place. He thanked whatever angels guarded fools that he came to his senses before he embarrassed the woman in front of the children.

“Has he not spoken to ye?” Jonah’s conversation deserved all of Declan’s attention, and he pulled his mind from the soft curve of an arm around a little one to the man across from him.

“My brother has spoken to me of little except the drainage in the lower fields, the one area where I am of some use.”

“We’re going to dam the burn, then?”

“Not dam it; divert it, and set up a drainage pond. That will keep that strip of land you hold beyond it from flooding, and give several tenants more arable land as well. I’m proposing a bridge to enable you to bring in the crops with less trouble too. Come out with me when I check my calculations, and see if I’ve missed anything.”

“He’ll raise the rents.”

Again. The word hung in the air. Mullins farmed the same bit of Alworth land his father and grandfather had. His father and Declan’s dealt fairly with one another and the Mullins family prospered. Since Rod assumed the title five years ago, relations had not been the same.

“Probably. Let’s hope higher yields make up the difference.” There was nothing Declan could do about it in any case except try to improve the land when asked. Maera nodded over Samuel’s head, and he realized with a start she had been following the conversation. Her approval gratified him.

“It’s that sorry we are you’re gone to Glasgow, Mr. Declan. You are sorely missed,” Jonah said.

“Will all your boys want to farm, Jonah? Or will you send one to apprentice with me in time?”

“Me Da!!” Jake interrupted. “I want to be a builder.” At nine he was yet a bit young but it wouldn’t be long. Declan wondered if Jonah could spare him.

“Someone has been appropriating all my snuggle time,” Declan said rising to his feet. He reached for Samuel and she gave him over without objection. The boy had grown in the past month.

Declan rubbed his nose in Samuel’s hair and then bumped nose to nose. The baby reached up and grabbed the scarf tied loosely around Declan’s neck. “Oh no you don’t,” the man said, repeating his words in a silly voice until he drew a smile and a giggle from the boy.

Maera pretended upset. “Fickle. The lad is fickle.”

“He loves his father best,” Declan said, drawing a gasp from Jenna. He looked at her sharply, realizing what he said and opened his mouth to speak, but shut it.

“Or at least the man who is as good as,” Maera put in, smoothing the moment. Jenna smiled and went back to her cooking, the moment gone. “As much as I’d like to linger, we best get the rest of the greenery and holly to the church before dark,” Maera went on.

Peg came up to take the baby, “Afore you go, Miss Willis, may I ask something? It’s about the pageant,” she said shyly.

With Christmas Eve two days away, rehearsals were finished and all was in place, and Peg had the central role this year; Mother Mary herself. Maera couldn’t imagine what the girl wanted. “Of course, dear. What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking. We practiced and practiced with that little rag doll, and here’s this perfect baby. Why can’t Samuel be the Christ child?”

Jonah chuckled and Jenna, Maera, and Declan gaped. “Would it work? What do you think, Jenna?”

“If you mean his behavior, I’d say if he’s dry and fed, yes, it would work. He’s an easy baby. But Mr. Declan, we’ve not had the boy to church yet.” Jenna watched him warily.

What will the congregation think of a parentless child? The thought hung in the air.

Maera spoke first “Why not? I should think my uncle and the congregants would love a real baby.” She looked from one to the other. “In any case, he’ll be the most innocent person in church.”

Wise as she is beautiful, Declan thought. “That settles it. Samuel, you are going to star in the Christmas pageant.” He kissed the boy and handed him to Peg.

Chapter 5

The next two days flew by. Between decorating the church, tidying the vicarage, helping with baking, and rehearsing the pageant with the children, Maera should have had no time to think about Declan Alworth. Except he insisted on carrying in branches, climbing ladders, and hanging greens around the ceiling of the little stone church, an exercise that required removal of his coat to reveal muscular shoulders when he stretched up to hang garlands. Except he decided to bring the Mullins children to practice. Except he stayed and let baby Samuel nap in his arms. That sight and his smile sent her to bed each night considering mistletoe and what might have been if Peg hadn’t been close by.

It is a wonder, she thought, my thoughts aren’t entirely scrambled. The day arrived, however, without disaster, and Maera walked over dressed in her warm mauve wool, the one that made the oh so honorable Declan’s eyes light up. She came along the side of the church but stopped around the corner when she heard his voice.

“It matters to the tenants, Irene. My brother’s presence matters, and therefore so does yours,” Declan said. “I wish your boys had come home for the season.”

Maera couldn’t make out the baroness’s irritable sounding retort, but the woman’s voice rose when they reached the door of the church. “Really, Declan! Pine branches? Rather pagan isn’t it? How does the vicar permit it? Oughtn’t frivolity be saved for Twelfth night?”

Not frivolity—joy! Maera bit her lip to keep from speaking. She paused a moment and then came around on time to see the children marching over from the bakery where they had gathered in the assembly room above it. Her heart lifted at the sight of crooked angel wings, shabby shepherds, and kings in paper crowns. She pulled them all into the vestibule with a finger to her lips, allowing room for smiling latecomers to scurry by.

At a signal from Uncle David, Martin Carpenter, the baker’s elderly father, raised his fiddle, and a hush came over the church.

To the sound of his playing, the children processed down the aisle and took their places at the front. Thomas—solemn, as Joseph—led Peg by the hand. He carried a bundle slung over one shoulder, meant to look like luggage. Maera breathed a prayer that the little angel inside it would stay quiet in the short distance from vestibule to altar.

She let out her breath when they arrived without incident and he set his “bundle” behind the cradle, hopefully uncovering the baby’s face as she told him to. The congregation, too busy chuckling over Mickey Fuller’s enthusiastic. “NO! There’s no room in the inn,” didn’t notice. But when Thomas responded, “But my wife is expecting a baby…” Samuel let out a squawk. Peg leaned over to pick him up and Uncle David leapt in with “And she brought forth…”

Peg stepped back and knocked the cradle over, the snickers turned to laughs, and the girl began to weep. Thomas, ever the gentleman, righted the cradle, took Samuel and laid him in it. “And we’ll put him in a manger,” he said. “The cows are happy to oblige.”

By that time Maera had slipped down the side and urged her angels to sing, which they did with good heart, almost loud enough to be heard over a crying baby. Maera gestured to Peg to pick him up. The girl obliged, sitting gracefully down on the altar step as they had planned and cuddling Samuel on her shoulder until he popped his fingers in his mouth and stopped crying, allowing the kings to make their hasty entrance and the entire cast to make their bows to raucous applause.

The children trailed out and Jenna Mullins herded them back to the assembly room while Uncle David kept caroling and sermon brief.

Maera stood by her uncle on the steps greeting the joyful congregation that exited with congratulations and happy stories about pageants past. “Always some excitement,” Mr. Carpenter told her. “It’s what they expect. Little ones are a joy.”

Maera’s smile froze at the sight she saw over Mr. Carpenter’s shoulder. The baroness glared at her and swept up to the vicar. “I assume you were not aware that the creature foisted on you for this farce of a pageant is base born. My brother-in-law’s mischief is a disgrace.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She pulled in her skirt, and flounced toward the baronial sleigh—the good one, Maera noticed.

Staring after the departing sleigh, Maera realized the baron didn’t wait for Declan either.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, Reverend Willis.” His deep voice reverberated through her as he spoke behind her. She turned to see her uncle shaking his hand, sympathy in his expression.

“We’ve had worse, Mr. Alworth. Children are always unpredictable. This bunch carried on admirably.”

“I believe he meant the baroness, Uncle,” Maera said.

Uncle David’s eyes twinkled. He knew full well what Declan meant. “Well, she is one for denying folk room at the inn. I’ll give you that.”

Declan relaxed at the vicar’s words and offered her his arm. “Shall we congratulate the angels and their crew? The Carpenters promise biscuits and cider,” he said by way of invitation.

Soon the sound of fiddles and laughter drove ugly thoughts away as Maera watched children dart about, old friends share greetings, and Declan Alworth smile at the festivities with Samuel nestled on his shoulder. Most folks seemed to view little Samuel with compassion as the blessing he was. It took an aristocrat—and a petty, mean one at that—to fuss about a baby’s bloodlines in church.

* * *

A few days later, with Boxing Day gone, trouble struck and Declan’s mood sank.

“I’m that sorry, Mr. Alworth, but the baron gave me no choice.” Jonah Mullins’s distress as he described the baron’s threat to put him out if his family continued to care for Samuel added to Declan’s growing anger.

Declan swallowed the string of curses that leapt to his lips. The outrageous threat—Irene’s no doubt—eradicated what little respect that remained in Declan’s heart for his brother. Only care for Jonah Mullins gave him strength to hold on to his self-control.

They had come out to examine their flood prone areas, stream flow, and Declan’s proposed site for a drainage pond when Jonah pulled him aside. Three other men, Roderick’s tenants every one, stood in embarrassed silence some feet away pretending not to listen.

Every word will be repeated in the pub tonight and passed on to wives and sisters before bed.

“He said little Samuel offended the baroness’s ‘delicate sensibilities’ on Christmas Eve, and he has to go. She won’t have him in a tenant cottage. Didn’t he tell you the same?”

“No, he did not.” The coward. “Tell me again how much time he gave you?”

“Twelfth Night,” Jonah said morosely. “He said the boy must go or—” the farmer bit his lip. “He said he’d raise the rents so high my family would be out on the road.”

“Eight days. About a week,” Declan murmured. “Not even enough time for me to get to Glasgow, make arrangements, and come back.” He glanced over at the embarrassed faces under the tree. “No one else in Little Hocking will dare take him.”

Jonah shook his head sadly. “No, Sir. I expect not. We’ve enjoyed the boy, me and Jenna. We’d happily keep him, but I can’t afford double rents or worse—eviction. I have my children to think about.”

Declan clapped a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “It isn’t your fault—it’s the baroness. Thank you for telling me right away.”

“Can’t you talk to your brother? Change his mind?”

“My brother and I speak of little besides drainage,” Declan answered and the truth of it sank like a stone to his belly.

“I wish—”

Declan gave Jonah a sharp glance, guessing what he meant. Since Roderick’s lady had provided him with two sons, there was no hope of Declan inheriting and improving the lot of the barony’s tenants. The boys always seemed decent enough to their uncle, but the way they were alternately spoiled, abused and neglected, the tenants might not be any better off when the eldest’s time came.

“This wouldn’t have happened in your Da’s day, Mr. Delcan,” Jonah went on.

“No, it would not have. He was a man of kindness and compassion.” What in God’s name happened to my brother?

Declan shook with the force of an indrawn breath. “My brother and I are overdue for a talk. You’re right about that.” He turned on his heel and walked to his horse gracing in the meadow.

“Mr. Declan,” one of the men called, “Aren’t we going to see about the drainage?”

He turned the horse’s head toward the manor. “My brother will have to see to his own fields,” he shouted back, regret for the fate of Roderick’s tenants choking him.

Chapter 6

Maera knew she ought to go but, distressed as she was over Jenna’s news, she couldn’t make herself rise. She stared at the sleeping baby.

“But surely another family can be found,” she said again.

“Not in Little Hocking. They’ll run whoever tries it out o’ their homes. Her ladyship wants the little angel where she can’t see him, and that’s no lie,’ Jenna told her. “Poor mite. Not his fault.”

The baroness thinks he’s her husband’s by-blow, Maera realized. She could see in Jenna’s face that she knew it too. The woman feigns outrage to deflect attention. She ought to aim her anger where it belongs—at the baron.

“Then we’ll have to take him at the vicarage,” Maera said decisively.

“And have your uncle lose his position?” a deep voice bellowed.

The women spun around to see Declan in the doorway, removing his hat. Jake took it and his scarf too.

He strode toward the women with a thunderous expression, softened only slightly by the sight of the sleeping baby. He turned a chair around backward and straddled it.

“You must have figured out by now, that my sister-in-law has determined to banish Samuel from the neighborhood. I won’t have you putting the reverend’s position in jeopardy.”

“Your brother can’t be as unreasonable as that! Can’t you talk to him?” Maera pleaded.

“Since I just left him nursing a black eye and my sister-in-law in hysterics, I’m not even sure I’m welcome back tonight.”

“What did you do?”

“I reminded him of his responsibilities.”

Maera darted a glance at Samuel.

“Yes,” Declan said. “Samuel as well. I believe the reply was, ‘don’t try to blame your carelessness on me.’ He’s a damned poor liar.” He peered up at their hostess. “Sorry Jenna,” he mumbled.

“Don’t you go apologizing to me, Mr. Declan. You’ve done your best for the boy. Is it the orphan asylum?”

“Good God, no! I’m taking him to Glasgow. It is for the best. If he stayed here, Irene would poison his life. Her venom would do him more harm than my brother’s neglect.”

“But can you manage it, Mr. Alworth?” Maera demanded.

“Given time, very well. I planned to take him as soon as I had a house, and… someone—a nursemaid and a nursery. I haven’t had time.”

A wife. He needs a wife. Maera thought. No nursemaid will work in a bachelor establishment.

He must have seen her dubious expression. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. “I’ll manage. I’ll have to, won’t I? I came here to ask Jenna to make him ready to travel. Pack his belongings and—” He waved a hand in the air. “—things.”

“You can’t possibly mean to—” Maera began.

“Can you have him ready tomorrow first light, Jenna? And perhaps take time to write notes for me about feeding and such?”

“Alone? How are you even going to travel alone with a little one? Are you going to stop every hour to change him? Feed him? You can’t—” Maera’s agitation grew with every word.

Declan studied her solemnly. “Come with me,” he said.

His words knocked her back on her heels. She gaped like a fish.

Jenna glanced from one to the other. “You ought to take a woman, Mr. Declan, that’s no lie, someone to care for the boy, but no respectable unmarried woman will travel alone with a man.”

“I’ll have to hire a less respectable one. Someone at a coaching inn looking for a few coins.”

Maera gasped.

Jenna shook her head. “I know you’re a good man, but folks will talk. You’ll make the lad’s situation worse, you will.” She turned her gaze pointedly on Maera. “The man needs a wife, and I’m not afraid to say it.”

Silence lay thick in the cottage until Jenna rose and shooed her children out the door. “We’ll just go see to the stock. In the barn,” she said, shutting the door on Maera and the honorable Declan.

Maera felt herself go hot and then cold. She suspected her face had become a mass of red blotches. “Jenna can’t mean you ought to snatch a wife up off the village street, anyone who comes along.”

“Not just anyone, no,” he murmured. “She has a point though. I thought of asking Peg to come as the nursemaid, but Jonah would have my head.”

“You asked me to come,” she reminded him.

“I spoke without thinking. If you leave with me, Irene will have it about that you are Samuel’s mother and my—” He broke off, but Maera understood his intent.

“She’ll say I’m your mistress.”

“You won’t be able to come back and your uncle will suffer for it.”

Maera stared at her lap unseeing while she ran all the choices through her mind over and over finding no way out. She looked up at Declan who seemed as troubled as she.

“Jenna is right. I need a wife. You could marry me,” he said. He rushed on, gesturing with one hand, before she could reply. “I know it isn’t the proposal a woman dreams of, but we get on well, don’t we? I would make a faithful husband and—and we’d have Samuel.” His hand moved toward Maera as if to touch her cheek, and then fluttered to his lap.

Maera glanced at the baby who stirred in his sleep, and couldn’t hold back a smile. Samuel. Yes. The idea that she could be his mother warmed her heart.

Declan went on, his trying to cajole her now. “I confess I don’t have a house—I just never got around to getting one—but I will. It won’t be a manor house; just enough for a family, children.”

Children. Plural. Everything marriage entailed came crashing in.

Her distress must have communicated itself to her face—because Declan leaned closer. “I’m sorry this is all so fast. Come to Glasgow with me. We won’t rush this marriage business, at least after the vows are said. You can stay in my apartment above the shop while I look for a house and then we’ll see.”

Does he think it’s the house that matters? Maera opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with his ridiculous proposal, but the words would not come. Samuel needed her. How could she say no. Dear God I’ve only known this man for three weeks. How can I say yes?

Declan ran his hand through his hair, the now familiar gesture making him even more attractive, which didn’t help her state of mind. She lay awake nights thinking of his kiss as it was. She had to be rational about this.

“I’ve upset you,” he said, “And I’m sorry. It was a ridiculous impulse. I have to take Samuel away from here before more people get hurt. I’ll be taking him in the morning. If you think of any solution to my problem before then, I’ll be grateful. If not, the lad and I will manage on the road. We’ll figure it out, he and I.” He touched the little one’s foot under the blanket with a gesture that melted Maera’s heart to a puddle.

When he looked at her under thick lashes, she suspected he knew exactly how attractive he was. “You haven’t told me no outright. Will you at least sleep on it? I leave in the morning. If you don’t come, I’ll have my answer.”

Maera nodded. “I’ll think of little else,” she said. “How can that woman be so cruel to an innocent child and her husband’s tenants? Has she no heart?”

“None that I’ve noticed,” he sighed. He rose to go. “I have to gather my belongings. I want to finish my drawings for the drainage project. Jonah can handle it if the baron allows it.”

Even in distress he still thinks of others… He’s a good man, gloriously attractive and… Maera shook her head to clear it. “You said you wouldn’t be welcome back. Where will you sleep?”

“My brother’s stables,” he said with an attempt to grin. “Simon, the head groom won’t give me away, and he’ll help me sort my curricle and team. I’ll break in after dark and fetch my belongings.”

“You’re leaving your childhood home,” she said with sudden insight.

“No. Not anymore. It hasn’t been since my father died and Rod married Irene. I prefer to stay away.”

He left her there next to the baby, as confused as ever. Sleep on it, he said. How does he think I will manage sleep at all?

* * *

The lad owns little enough, Declan thought, as he tied the bundle of blankets and baby gowns next to his trunk on the boot of his curricle. I’ll fix that as soon as we settle in. He placed the parcel of nappies and a jug of milk mixed with gruel under the seat up front. A wooden box Jonah nailed together lay on the floor next to the driver’ side and the wooden rattle he’d given the boy lay on the seat. He made a quick prayer of gratitude that at least the weather had turned and the roads improved.

Jenna stood in the shelter of the farmhouse, with little Samuel in her arms, bundled against the cold, worry in every line of her face. Declan flashed her a smile he intended as reassuring and checked the bridles and harness, though he needn’t have. Old Simon knew his job.

He leaned his head against the neck of one of the horses, patting its side and garnering strength from the unruffled animal. Maera hadn’t come. Any doubts he had about how badly he wanted her evaporated when the sun rose she did not appear. He doubted he would return to Little Hocking, and he likely would never see her again. The hole in his heart throbbed. I didn’t even say a proper good-bye.

Leaving the shire proved more difficult than he had claimed the day before. He grieved the loss of the brother of his childhood, but would not miss the man his brother had become. Other folk would be harder to forget. And Maera…

“Thank goodness! I was afraid we were too late.” The one voice he knew he would miss flew like an arrow across the farmyard.

She stood at the edge of the lane clutching a portmanteau, anxiety marring her expression, and time stilled.

She came and the portmanteau means— “You’re coming with me!”

Her smile wobbled but her answer was firm. “Yes. Samuel and I are coming.”

The paralysis that had frozen him in place at the sound of her voice lifted and he reached her in a few strides. “Let me take that from you,” he said, sucking in a breath when he realized Reverend Willis stood behind her frowning deeply.

“This is bad business,” the vicar said.

“I know I’m only a younger son, but I can support her, believe me. My business prospers. I will take good care of her.”

The old man waved his words away. “I know you have the finances, and I had hoped the two of you might make a match, but not like this, not this rushed affair.” He gestured toward Samuel with his head. “Bad business treating an innocent baby this way, driving him—and you—out of your home, and in winter too.”

Declan took one of Maera’s hands. “We’ll make a new home. A good one,” he said fiercely.

Reverend Willis stood a little straighter. “See that you do—by special license if you can, or banns if you must, but as soon as possible once you reach Glasgow,” he said, his voice harsh.

“No need,” Maera said softly shocking both men. She glanced from one to the other. “It’s Scotland, isn’t it? We don’t need a license. What did you think I meant?”

The vicar looked as relieved as Declan felt. She plans to go through with it. She’s going to marry me.

Maera shook her head and thrust the portmanteau into his arms. The assured, determined woman had reemerged. “You best get that stowed so we can be on our way if we don’t want to wander the road north with a baby any later than we have to.”

Declan stood rooted to the spot holding her bag while she accepted Jenna’s hug along with the swaddled baby. She frowned at his curricle, a vehicle better suited to racing than family transportation, he realized. “I hope that thing makes up in speed what it lacks in comfort,” she said. Her raised eyebrow sent him scurrying to help her up and tie on the bag, while she tucked the little one into the box under woolen shawls.

“You didn’t bring much. Even Samuel has more,” he muttered, pulling the rope tight.

“Uncle David will send the rest; he has your direction.”

He watched the sky as they drove out the lane and unto the main road. “Early yet. We should be in Scotland by nightfall, the Good Lord willing.”

Chapter 7

“We can’t go on much longer; I fear for him in the cold,” Maera told the man at her left shoulder. Little Samuel lay nestled against her breast inside her cloak, his woolen shawls over both of them, but still she shivered. Her feet felt like blocks of ice. It had gone full dark, and fear added to her distress. Visions of nighttime road hazards—from brigands to unseen obstacles—taunted her.

“I know this stretch of road. There is an inn coming up soon,” Declan replied.

“We should have stopped at the last inn,” she mumbled.

“Still England,” he replied.

“Why does that matter?”

“When we stop and I declare you to be my wife, I want it to be true—or as near as— lest you have repercussions.”

“So that’s it? We’ll stand in front of some inn-keeper and declare ourselves married?” He didn’t immediately reply, and another thought struck Maera. “For it to be real don’t we have to… complete it?” Even in the frigid wind her face heated.

“Not in some traveler’s inn. We’ll see a minister when we get to Glasgow and do the thing properly, and we’ll ‘complete it’ as you put it in a warm bed in our own home. But for tonight, for the benefit of the inn folk, we’ll declare it, yes.”

Long excruciating minutes later—probably less than half an hour in actuality—they pulled into a coaching inn. Declan tossed the reins to a hostler, lifted her, still holding the baby, and carried her into the common room, sat her by the fire and demanded hot cider “for my wife.”

He knelt next to the chair and took one hand, rubbing warmth into it. “I have to see to the team. I won’t be long. They carried us over thirty miles today, and need their rest as well if they’re to take us the rest of the way.”

The innkeeper’s wife bustled over, a mug of mulled cider in hand, to coo over the baby. She pulled a wide stool over so Maera could lay him down and free her hands. “Welcome to Gretna,” the woman said. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she asked, “Be you wed actually? Willing?”

She assumes—but they must see eloping couples often. Maera couldn’t formulate an answer. Willing? Yes. Wed? Perhaps not yet. She nodded silently sipping the welcome warmth.

“You best get papers witnessing it for the little one’s sake,” the lady advised. “I kin tell you the best place.”

Maera found her wits. “We plan a church ceremony in Glasgow,” she responded.

The innkeeper’s wife sighed deeply, patting Samuels foot. “After the fact is better than naught. Do y’trust the man?”

“With my life.” Maera didn’t even hesitate. Declan would keep his word.

A stable hand brought Samuel’s bundle of necessities just as the boy began to wake, fussy and irritable. The inn found milk, and they showed her to a room with a warm fire, heavy quilts and reasonably clean sheets. She quickly changed him, adding the wet ones to the oilcloth bag Jenna had thoughtfully included, lay his shawls near the fire to dry, sat on the edge of the bed, and began to help him take the milk.

Declan came up after what seemed an eternity, carrying the makeshift cradle from his curricle, and Maera’s heart lifted at the sight of him. The innkeeper followed with a tray of hot stew, warm bread, and cider. He put it on the table and bowed out.

“Is he well?” Declan asked.

“As can be. Warm, dry, and fed. We’re managing,” she responded.

Declan put the cradle down between the bed and the fire where it would be warmest and she would hear him. He fell to his knees next to the bed.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“Whatever for?”

“Putting you and Samuel through this.”

“I think blame lies with the baroness,” she replied

“I could have stopped sooner. My pride—”

“Your care made decisions difficult. We’re here and no harm done.”

“We can slow down now, and take the rest in easy stages,” he told her.

“Now that I’m your ‘wife?’” she asked.

“We’ll make it formal, I promise, but yes. There’s no going back, Maera.”

“No,” she sighed. As if I’d want to. She reached out and brushed his hair back. “You look exhausted.”

“You as well. I’ll go back down and sleep in the taproom,” he said.

That made her laugh. “Won’t that undermine your declaration of marriage?”

He grinned up at her. “Perhaps. But I promised you we would not consummate this marriage on the road and I meant it.” His eyes, black and intense, drew an answering warmth in Maera. “Lying with you—being here—I’ll struggle to keep my word.”

She wanted to tell him not to be so noble, but common sense told her he was right. Rumpled, dirty, exhausted in a lumpy bed near a fussy baby—all of it doused any romantic feeling. Her respect for the man grew.

“Stay with me,” she said impulsively. “Sleep on top of the covers if you want. We’re both too tired to get up to anything anyway.”

He started to shake his head no, but conceded she had a point. They went to bed fully clothed after Samuel went back to sleep and they had devoured the hot meal. Declan arranged the quilts for maximum privacy in a narrow bed.

Maera curled to her side on one edge next to the cradle, Declan’s back to hers, and wondered how she would endure his closeness without touching him.

“How long?” she whispered in the dark.

“Long?”

“I should say how many days—to Glasgow that is?”

“In easy stages, four…

It seemed an eternity but she knew they couldn’t maintain the pace, not traveling with a baby. “Let’s do easy stages,” she replied, but she heard his breathing even out and thought perhaps he slept.

A baby’s cry and a shaft of sunlight woke her after what felt like mere moments. Maera flopped over onto her back to find herself staring up into dark eyes and a warm smile. Declan leaned over her on one elbow and brushed back her hair with his other hand. “I like you by me,” he said, his voice husky.

I like it too…

Before she could say the words, his mouth met hers and she lost herself in his kiss, reaching up to put her hands around his neck and tug at the hair curling in the back.

She gasped for breath when Samuel’s cries became frantic and Declan pulled away. “I’d call that a promise,” he said hoarsely before rolling over and standing. “Can you manage Samuel? I’ll see to ordering breakfast.”

* * *

Declan’s easy stages stretched into noon of a fifth day. His relief at the sight of his business premises almost equaled his concern about the impression it made on the travel-weary woman at his side. “I warned you it was my workshop,” he said.

Maera’s smile could have been stronger, but she didn’t complain. God bless the woman, she never complains. He’d slept in the stables at coaching inns the last four nights, unable to stand the temptation of having her close, and she didn’t try to argue with him. The babe had become increasingly fretful with erratic feedings, bad weather, and strange beds. Now that he had them home, he promised himself he would make it better.

He helped her down and led her through the door to what had been his entire world a month ago, but which appeared little enough with Maera at his side. On the other side of the door was a counter with open workspace behind it. The door to his office lay to the right and beyond it, the stairs to his apartment, his tiny entirely inadequate apartment.

“Declan!” his foreman called. “Well met. You didn’t warn us you were com—” The man’s voice fell of when he spied Maera. The other four men laboring behind him stopped to gape as well. As if seeing them for the first time, he wondered what Maera made of the dirty, smelly crew of builders. There would be more. Men came in and out between this place and the work site.

“Soon-to-be-Mrs. Alworth, may I present my foreman, Frank Price.” Still gaping, Frank touched his forelock and dipped his head. “And behind him Charlie, Arnold, Hamish, and Ian.” They did the same.

Finding his voice, Frank said, “Welcome,” swallowed deeply, and said more forcefully. “Congratulations!” He came forward to shake Declan’s hand. “Is this the wee one you had in foster?” he asked peering down at Samuel. Blessedly Declan saw not one sign of judgment or even speculation in the man’s eyes.

“It is, and this miraculous woman has agreed to help me improve the lad’s circumstances. Let me see them upstairs, and then I need your help. Ian, be a good lad and see that some hot water is brought up, would you now?

He led Maera toward the stairs where she surprised him. She reached the third step and stopped, forcing Declan to stop with her. She turned to look down at the men who had followed her every move with astonished stares.

“It is good to meet you, gentlemen,” she said. “I can see why Declan is proud of you. Thank you for your congratulations.” Their wonder fed his pride in this marvel who would be his wife.

She gazed around his sitting room. The tiny kitchen in its alcove, just visible through a pair of curtains, always seemed adequate to him, but now… “it isn’t much, I know.”

“It’s clean and warm. We’ll be comfortable here. We can take our time about the house.” She smiled up at him. “There is room for Samuel here.”

He sagged with relief. “The bedroom is through there,” he said pointing to a door, and I’ve a copper tub hanging on the wall if you want to, ah, bathe.” The word seemed to stick in his throat. “Ian’s fetching water.”

“I’ll need to do laundry soon too. Samuel went through all his clothes and nappies.”

Nappies. One more thing to worry about. He ran his hand through his hair absently nodding. Where does a man buy a woman a dress to be married in? And a ring?

“I’m going to find a minister who will marry us quickly. Will tomorrow be too soon?” he asked.

She frowned. “Would he do it today, do you think? We promised Uncle David as soon as may be possible.”

His heart galloped in his chest, and her glance toward the bedroom door didn’t help. “I can ask,” he rasped. “You make yourself comfortable.”

He left her then, his mind wandering in circles about rings, flowers, and how fast he could hire a laundress.

Chapter 8

Hot water proved a blessing. Declan’s workers carried their bags up as well, and two hours later Maera felt more human. She had bathed, washed her hair, sponged her rose muslin dress, and shook out the wrinkles. The workroom below had gone silent. She wondered if they’d all gone off to the worksite he mentioned.

She wandered about the rooms, unpacking and tidying. Where the workshop appeared neat and bustling, his rooms looked sadly neglected and lonely. She’d soon fix that.

Clean rags in Declan’s tidy little kitchen proved excellent nappies, and Maera found one clean gown for Samuel, a pretty thing Jenna had embroidered blue flowers on, one she suspected had already dressed more than one Mullins child. Fed and clean, she wished Declan would see him before he needed to be changed again, as babies do. She tied his bonnet under his chin.

As if conjured by the wish, she heard Declan bang through the door and take the stairs two at a time to burst into the room. Her heart soared at the sight of him, and Maera wondered if she would ever grow used to it.

“It’s set. I hope you’re ready. The minister wishes to do it now,” he told her.

She felt like he devoured her with his eyes, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

“What did he say?” The words were thick in her throat.

Declan feigned an irritable face and put on his best Scots brogue,” “T’is better to marry than to burn in Hell. Best do it quick, Sassenach…”

They laughed together at that, and she knew it for the blessing it was. Their life would have laughter.

“What are you carrying?”

“I almost forgot. Nappies,” he said putting them down on the table.

She laughed again. “Not precisely a young girl’s dream of a wedding gift, is it Samuel?” she said rubbing the baby’s nose with hers.

“Perhaps this is better,” he said handing her another package, taking the baby so she could open it.

She gasped at what it held. “Declan, this feels like silk!”

“I hope so. That’s what I bought.”

She held it in front of her. The blue, green, and mauve exactly complemented her dress. “It is beautiful,” she breathed.

“I thought you ought to have something beautiful for your wedding,” he said sheepishly. She threw her arms around him, baby and all, and kissed him fiercely. “Did I do well?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Oh yes,” she whispered back, and she kissed him again, only to have him pull away.

“I need to change my clothes. You and Samuel will show me up.” The bedroom door vibrated with the force of closure.

He emerged in a fine black jacket, the white of his cravat and shirt gleaming above an embroidered waistcoat. Only his boots spoiled the picture of the perfect upper-class gentleman.

“I haven’t had much use for fancy shoes or dancing slippers lately,” he said by way of apology.

“You are a vision of perfection to me, Mr. Alworth,” she said.

“And you are a vision of all that is beautiful to me, soon-to-be-Mrs. Alworth,” he replied. They grinned at each other like fools. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and picked up her cloak. He tucked the baby in one arm and gave his other to the bride.

She stepped down into the workshop to see that Declan’s men had returned wearing clean shirts and wicked grins. A plump little woman introduced to her as

“Mrs. Frank” clapped her hands in delight.

They all trooped after her to the kirk where the dour old minister heard their vows and unbent to bless her with a twinkle in his eye. He made sure they signed two copies of the marriage lines, one to send to her Uncle David in Little Hocking.

When they walked back home, Maera was astonished to discover the counter in the workroom covered in a linen tablecloth with a vase of flowers at either end. A cake had place of honor in the middle, watched over by three Price children under orders from Mrs. Frank who seemed to be the mother hen of all these men. Someone managed to find a bit of brandy and soon a jolly party ensued.

Samuel was handed from person to person and the boy proved to be as friendly as he was bright. He sagged at last in his new father’s arms, sound asleep.

“There now,” Mrs. Frank announced to one and all, “We’ve worn out the wee boy, and I suspect our bride is dead on her feet as well. Get you gone now.“

The men all began to leave, shouting their final congratulations. The cheerful little woman reached up and took Samuel from Declan. “Frank and I will take this little treasure home for a night or two. Don’t you worry Mrs. Alworth. We can take care of him.”

Declan reached behind the door and handed Frank the package of baby things. Before Maera could object, the Prices were gone and they were alone.

“You conspired in that!” Maera said leaning into Declan’s shoulder.

“She offered,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

She turned in his arms until they were face to face, their breaths mingling. “Are we well and truly married now?” she asked.

“We will be very soon,” he replied, “But there’s something I forgot today.”

Her head jerked up. “What can you have forgotten?”

“To tell you something important.”

She opened her mouth to say something else and he silenced her with a finger. “Before we do this, you need to know that I love you.” Her eyes flew open, but he continued without letting her speak. “I think I loved you since I peered down in that ditch and you demanded to be rescued. I’d have taken the time to court you properly if I hadn’t been forced to leave.”

“Is that all?” she demanded.

He nodded, unable to speak.

“Good. Because I love you too. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you holding Samuel.” Their matching grins surfaced again. This is going to be a happy home. “And if you don’t mind,” she said, “could we go up and get on with being married?”

He kissed her first, as deeply and possessively as he’d wanted to for weeks, scooped her into his arms, and started up the steps. “I don’t mind, Mrs. Alworth. I don’t mind one bit,” her murmured nibbling her ear.

THE END