Chapter Thirty-Six

Graham hadn’t seen Kit all day, and it worried him. There wasn’t much else that could be moved until another man or two arrived. He hadn’t wanted to move anything at all until the men arrived, but Jess had simply glared at him and set about tying ropes around a heavy armoire. He and the women had managed to move that and most of the bedframes, which now stood side by side in the front hall because they hadn’t decided yet how to get them up the stairs. They’d gotten them down by laying a piece of wood over the stairs and letting gravity do the hard part. The force would be working against them this time.

The sound of a wagon signaled Nash had finally arrived, and Graham hoped Kit was with him. He’d already walked out to her special tree, but she hadn’t been there. He’d even taken a quick walk to the grotto, following the path on which they’d shared that glorious kiss, but Kit hadn’t been there either.

As the wagon came into view, he sighed in relief that Kit sat on the wagon bench beside Nash. Whatever she’d felt the need to go do, it hadn’t been to run away, which was all Graham cared about. If she ran away, he couldn’t persuade her that he didn’t need a wife with a perfect past.

Her face was ashen, pale to the point of frightening him as he rushed forward to help her down from the wagon.

“Blake,” she breathed out. “I need Blake. An-and Daphne and Jess.”

“I’ll get them, but let me help you to the kitchen, get you some tea or something.”

She nodded and went to take a step, but her leg didn’t hold her and she stumbled.

Sweat broke out on Graham’s forehead. What had happened? He scooped her up and glared at Nash, who was coming around the wagon.

Nash simply shook his head. “I’m still in shock myself, so I can’t really blame her.”

Graham carried her to the kitchen, feeling a bit guilty at how much he enjoyed having her in his arms, her head resting softly on his shoulder. Her breathing was even as it brushed his neck, so he didn’t think she was hurt physically.

He sat her at the worktable in the kitchen and prepared tea from the water that had been kept on the fire all day.

“Blake,” she said again. “Daphne, Jess.”

Graham glanced at Nash. “They’re all up in the bedchambers.”

The solicitor nodded and left the kitchen.

Kit drank tea and nibbled on whatever Graham forced into her fingers, but she didn’t say anything. Her movements were careful, as if she were terrified that one wrong move would break her.

“Are you hurt?” Graham asked, gently running his hand across her hair.

She shook her head. “No, I”—she swallowed more tea—“I’m well. I just . . . you were right.” She looked up at Graham, blue eyes wet with tears that had yet to fall. “I took away their chance to do the right thing.”

A bit of Graham relaxed. Whatever had happened today had shaken Kit terribly, but at least it sounded like it might not be all bad.

Footsteps echoed down the stone stairs and suddenly everyone was rushing into the kitchen.

If possible, Kit turned whiter. “Blake.”

The young boy stepped forward, shaking his straight black hair out of his eyes. He put his shoulders back and stuck his chin up before straightening his shirt collar in a gesture that was all too familiar because Graham had been doing it his entire life. Was it just coincidence that the boy did it, too, or had he picked up the habit from Graham?

“I need to talk to Blake,” Kit said quietly.

“I’m here,” the boy said.

“We should probably have this discussion alone.” Kit wrapped her hands around the teacup.

Benedict stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Blake’s shoulders. “We’re here for you, Blake. Whatever Mama Kit needs to tell you, it won’t matter to us. This is our family.”

“Right,” the boy whispered. Then his voice came out stronger. “Right. This is family. So, if you don’t mind, Mama Kit, we’ll hear it together.”

“I . . . I . . .” Kit’s gaze flew around the room, resting on faces until Graham worried she’d get dizzy. Daphne stepped forward to stand on Blake’s other side while Jess came and sat across the table from Kit, reaching one hand out to wrap their fingers together.

The boys were right. This was family. And Graham wanted to be a part of it.

“Your father wants to meet you,” Kit said quietly. “And, if you want, he’s going to take you to live with him. He wants to claim you as his son.”

No one made a sound. The silence was so complete Graham wasn’t even sure anyone was breathing. He knew he wasn’t. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to look, and certainly didn’t know what to say.

“The only thing I’ve promised is that he’ll get to meet you, but”—Kit paused to take a deep breath that shuddered through her—“he’ll be able to give you a life unlike anything we can provide. You should know that.”

Daphne guided Blake to one of the empty stools and then sank onto one herself.

All of the women were focused on Blake, but when Graham glanced at the other children, his heart broke. What was it Aaron had said he wanted more than anything? A family? Yes, this was a family, here in this room, but every last one of them was aware that it was a family they’d had to create, a family of necessity. It wasn’t the same as a family with parents and siblings and a future that extended beyond preparing them to work for a living.

There was happiness on behalf of Blake, that his father wanted him at all, but also a lonely sadness on all the faces. The older ones held the mix better than the younger, probably able to decipher what they were feeling and understand. The younger they were, the more another emotion mixed into their faces, one that took Graham a while to identify.

Hope.

If someone came back for Blake, was someone coming back for them?

Graham almost fell to his knees because he knew Blake’s situation was the exception. No one was coming for these other children.

The look on their faces was so similar to the one Aaron had worn when he told Graham about his childhood. When he’d said that the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world was a family.

An idea sprouted in the back of Graham’s mind. He couldn’t give it too much attention right now, had to make sure everything was safe here, but it was hard to push it away. If he could make it work, if it was possible, he could give these children everything they’d ever dreamed of. And maybe even fulfill his and Kit’s dreams in the process.

They’d chosen the rooms above Mrs. Lancaster’s shop for the meeting because it felt more private and intimate than Nash’s office, and Kit wasn’t about to take anyone to Nash and Margaretta’s home.

She, Daphne, and Blake had arrived in the morning, escorted by Nash and Graham. Kit had sent the men away, though. Blake needed to do this, needed to face his father, on his own. Even Kit and Daphne planned to wait in the other room . . . with the door open, and ears pressed to the gap, of course.

Graham had brought his bag into town with him, so Kit had to assume that he’d found whatever he needed and was going home. At least they were parting with some strange sort of friendship rather than in a flurry of tears and accusations. Still, it hurt knowing she’d likely never see Graham again. Nash had mentioned there was a small farm for sale on the edge of Marlborough. It would take all of their saved-up money to purchase it, so they’d have to make new plans for the oldest children, but it would be theirs.

And Graham wouldn’t know how to get to it.

That knowledge was sure to hurt more eventually, when she found the time to really think about it, but it was the right thing to do, and that was what she was set on doing from now on.

Kit held her breath when the knock finally came.

Blake stared at the door, shaking.

“Do you want me to open it?” Kit asked. The plan had been for Blake to do the honors, but the boy couldn’t move. He was in the best clothes Haven Manor had to offer. Extra linen was stuffed in the toes of his shoes because Reuben had the newest pair and had insisted that Blake wear them.

They’d pinned the waistcoat at the back because Benedict was the only boy with such an item in his wardrobe. It hung too long on Blake, but it had given him confidence, so Kit hadn’t said anything as Daphne adjusted and pinned the best she could.

At that moment he looked exactly like what he was. A poor boy trying to make a good impression on someone very important. If Lord Eversly crushed his spirit, Kit didn’t know what she would do. It certainly wouldn’t be anything pretty.

Another knock echoed through the room, and Blake pressed a hand to his middle.

Kit crossed the floor and lifted the latch on the door.

Lord Eversly nodded to her and stepped into the room, his gaze immediately searching out Blake.

They stood there. Staring at each other. Neither moved.

Kit knew she should step into the other room but she couldn’t. The stillness in the room felt fragile, and walking would only disturb it.

Finally, the man spoke. “My name is Richard, Lord Eversly.”

“Bla—er, Mr. Blake Harrison.” The boy’s voice trembled slightly and Kit wanted to run and hug him. If she was having this much trouble, Daphne was probably a ball of trembling mush on the other side of the door.

Lord Eversly reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown paper sack. “I saw licorice in the store downstairs. I used to like them when I was a boy.” He pulled one out and popped it in his mouth before extending the bag to Blake. “Have you ever tried one?”

Blake’s eyes were wide as he looked at it. Of course he’d tried licorice before. Mrs. Lancaster was always sneaking the children candy, but an entire bag had never been presented to him like this.

He carefully slid his hand in and took one.

The man nodded and rolled the bag closed. “We can have another later, if you want.”

Blake nodded and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We can sit.”

They crossed the floor and sank into the chairs near the fireplace. Neither seemed to remember that Kit was in the room. She slid along the wall until she reached the door to the bedchamber. She slipped in and then closed the door partway, leaving her head hanging around the edge so she could see. She felt pressure behind her knees and looked down to see Daphne had crawled over to look through the opening as well.

Boy and man said nothing, and Kit’s heart threatened to explode. Should she go in? Tell Lord Eversly this wasn’t working?

Blake scuffed a toe along the floor. “Did you ever eat boiled turnips as a kid?”

“Probably,” Lord Eversly answered. “But I’m an adult now, and I don’t have to eat the disgusting things unless I want to, so it’s been a while.”

“When I’m an adult, I’ll never eat turnips again!” Blake crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his tongue.

Lord Eversly chuckled. The laugh sounded much smoother than Kit would have imagined. “They’re not too bad if cooked in butter. What games do you like to play?”

And that was the only opening Blake needed.

He started talking and, in the way of a child who had always had to share everything, including attention, and who suddenly found himself with a captive audience, the talking never stopped. After exhausting his list of favorite games, all it took was an encouraging nod for him to talk about what he liked about the goats and how to avoid being pecked by chickens. He talked about learning to throw knives and play the pianoforte, about attending chapel and lessons in the big house. Everything.

Kit’s legs grew tired so she sank onto the floor next to Daphne, swinging the door open wider, as neither Lord Eversly nor Blake seemed to remember they were there.

Whenever Blake started to slow down, Lord Eversly would ask a question. A real question. The kind people ask when they’re really listening.

Finally, Blake stopped to breathe. Lord Eversly asked, “Would you like to hear about where I live?”

If Kit had expected him to try to win Blake over with riches and grandeur—and she had expected him to do just that—she was bound for disappointment.

Lord Eversly told Blake about the way the house was situated so that the morning sun hit the stained-glass window in the front hall, making it a welcome sight when he came down to start his day. He shared about the lake he liked to swim in and his favorite place to ride, past the tree he’d loved to climb as a boy and down to the cliffs where he could hear the ocean crashing far below. He talked about his dog and the way the animal liked to curl up in front of the fireplace when Lord Eversly sat reading in the evening.

There was no doubt that the life Lord Eversly was sharing about was more than enough to tempt a little boy, but Kit was surprised that what he’d mentioned, what Blake was likely to dream about tonight, was real. It was about life and living. Lord Eversly had money and connections, but he either knew those weren’t what was important in life or he was trying to impress Kit and Daphne.

Given that the man had made his way to a small-town inn twice in one week for the express purpose of arranging this meeting, Kit didn’t think the man cared whether he impressed her or not.

An hour later, they had finally lapsed into silence. Blake had definitely talked more of the two, but the man had said more words than Kit thought possible.

“I’d like to see you again,” Lord Eversly said.

Blake, who had been bouncing in his seat while talking about the table Benedict had made that held all the boys’ shoes in racks underneath, dropped his gaze back to the floor and scuffed it again with his toe. “Mama Kit says you want me to live with you.”

The man sighed, and Kit’s hand found Daphne’s and gripped it tight. “I do want that. But I want you to want that, too. So, I thought we could meet again. Maybe eat dinner or whatever else there is to do. I go to the menagerie in London sometimes, and I enjoy the theater, but I’m afraid I don’t know what’s around Marlborough.”

“There’s the white horse. If you’ve never seen it, you should.”

Kit winced. An aristocrat from London wasn’t going to want to—

“Perfect. Why don’t we let your, er, the ladies come out of the other room and discuss a time?”

Blake bounced up, excitement having returned. “Should I get them?”

The man smiled and cast a glance toward Kit and Daphne, acknowledging them for the first time. “I think they’re listening. These are good women who’ve taken care of you, Blake. I couldn’t have asked for better.”

His praise stabbed Kit in the heart. Daphne was good, but Kit knew she’d been forgiven too much to hold such a label.

Her legs protested their prolonged stillness as she rose to her feet and went to discuss the next time Blake could see his father. If the meetings continued to go like this one did, she had a feeling they’d soon be waving good-bye to Blake permanently.