Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(16)

“I have no interest whatsoever in taking part in the season,” Beatrix said. “I’ve done it four times, and that was three times too many.”

“But you were very sought after. The gentlemen adored you. And perhaps there will be someone new there.”

Beatrix lifted her gaze heavenward. “There’s never anyone new in London society.”

“True,” Amelia said after a moment’s thought. “Still, I think you would better off in town than staying here in the country. It’s too quiet for you here.”

A small, dark-haired boy charged into the room on a stick horse, letting out a warlike cry as he brandished a sword. It was Rye, Cam and Amelia’s four-and-a-half-year-old son. As the boy sped by, the end of the stick horse accidentally knocked against a floor lamp with a blue glass shade. Cam dove reflexively and caught the lamp before it smashed against the floor.

Turning around, Rye beheld his father on the floor and leaped on him, giggling.

Cam wrestled with his son, pausing briefly to inform his wife, “It’s not that quiet here.”

“I miss Jàdo,” Rye complained, referring to his cousin and favorite playmate. “When is he coming back?”

Merripen, Amelia’s sister Win, and their young son Jason, nicknamed Jàdo, had left a month earlier for Ireland to visit the estate that Merripen would someday inherit. As his grandfather was ailing, Merripen had agreed to stay for an indeterminate time to become familiar with the estate and its tenants.

“Not for a while,” Cam informed him regretfully. “Perhaps not until Christmas.”

“That’s too long,” Rye said with a wistful sigh.

“You have other cousins, darling,” Amelia pointed out.

“They’re all in London.”

“Edward and Emmaline will be here in the summer. And in the meantime, you have your little brother.”

“But Alex is hardly any fun,” Rye said. “He can’t talk or throw a ball. And he leaks.”

“At both ends,” Cam added, his amber eyes sparkling as he looked up at his wife.

Amelia tried, without success, to stifle a laugh. “He won’t leak forever.”

Straddling his father’s chest, Rye glanced at Beatrix. “Will you play with me, Aunt?”

“Certainly. Marbles? Jackstraws?”

“War,” the boy said with relish. “I’ll be the cavalry and you be the Russians, and I’ll chase you around the hedgerow.”

“Couldn’t we reenact the Treaty of Paris instead?”

“You can’t do a treaty before you have the war,” Rye protested. “There would be nothing to talk about.”

Beatrix grinned at her sister. “Very logical.”

Rye jumped up to grab Beatrix’s hand, and he began to drag her outside. “Come, Auntie,” he coaxed. “I promise I won’t whack you with my sword like the last time.”

“Don’t go into the woods, Rye,” Cam called after them. “One of the tenants said a stray dog came out of the hazel copse this morning and nearly attacked him. He thought the creature might be mad.”

Beatrix stopped and looked back at Cam. “What kind of dog?”

“A mongrel with a rough coat like a terrier’s. The tenant claims the dog stole one of his hens.”

“Don’t worry, Papa,” Rye said confidently. “I’ll be safe with Beatrix. All animals love her, even the mad ones.”

Chapter Seven

After an hour of romping along the hedgerow and through the orchard, Beatrix took Rye back to the house for his afternoon lessons.

“I don’t like lessons,” Rye said, heaving a sigh as they approached the French doors at the side of the house. “I’d much rather play.”

“Yes, but you must learn your maths.”

“I don’t need to, really. I already know how to count to a hundred. And I’m sure I’ll never need more than a hundred of anything.”

Beatrix grinned. “Practice your letters, then. And you’ll be able to read lots of adventure stories.”

“But if I spend my time reading about adventures,” Rye said, “I won’t actually be having them.”

Beatrix shook her head and laughed. “I should know better than to debate with you, Rye. You’re as clever as a cart full of monkeys.”

The child scampered up the stairs and turned to look back at her. “Aren’t you coming in, Auntie?”

“Not yet,” she said absently, her gaze drawn to the forest beyond Ramsay House. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Shall I come with you?”

“Thank you, Rye, but at the moment I need a solitary walk.”

“You’re going to look for the dog,” he said wisely.

Beatrix smiled. “I might.”

Rye regarded her speculatively. “Auntie?”

“Yes?”

“Are you ever going to marry?”

“I hope so, Rye. But I have to find the right gentleman first.”

“If no one else will marry you, I will when I’m grown up. But only if I’m taller, because I wouldn’t want to look up at you.”

“Thank you,” she said gravely, suppressing a smile as she turned and strode toward the forest.