Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(54)

Christopher dropped the scone—onto the floor, regrettably—and took the teacup with both hands, eagerly drinking. When he lowered the cup, milky tea stained his upper lip. “She told me a corker of a story last night, though.”

The boy looked wistfully at Isabel’s back.

The nursemaid, a rather plain woman of middling years, ran into the room. “Oh, my lady, I am so sorry.” She came over to scoop up Christopher from Winter’s arms before turning back to Isabel. “It won’t happen again, my lady, I promise.”

Isabel still had her back to the room. “Please see that it doesn’t.”

Poor Carruthers blanched before curtsying and hurrying out the door with Christopher.

Winter thoughtfully poured himself a cup of tea.

“You think I’m mean,” Isabel said.

Winter looked at her. Her back was straight, but he could tell by the bow of her shoulders that she’d folded her arms about herself as if to shield her center.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that I would like to know who Christopher is and what he means to you.”

There was a long moment of silence in which he wondered if she was going to answer him; then her voice came, steady and without emotion. “Christopher is my late husband’s son.”

Winter’s brows knit, but before he could ask the question, she turned and paced to the middle of the room.

Her beautiful mouth was compressed into a straight line as if to contain some overwhelming emotion. “His mother was Edmund’s mistress.”

“I… see,” Winter said, though he didn’t. “And he lives here with you? Was this your husband’s wish?”

She shrugged. “I never knew about Christopher and Louise—his mother—until after Edmund’s death. He appears to have made no provision for them.”

He simply looked at her, waiting, wishing the distance between them weren’t so wide.

Isabel clasped her hands at her waist. “Louise came to me a month after I’d buried Edmund. She said that Edmund had set her up in a little town house, but with his death, the lease on the house was no longer paid. She had no money. I’ve since learned that she doesn’t understand even the most fundamental basics of managing her funds. She asked me for some money and I…” She trailed off, shrugging again.

She looked so forlorn standing alone in the center of the room, her hands clasped as if for an unpleasant but necessary recital. “Isabel, come have some tea.”

To his great relief, she came toward him, sitting on the settee opposite him, watching numbly as he poured her a dish of tea and added plenty of milk and sugar.

“You shouldn’t pour for me,” she said absently as she accepted the dish.

He gave her an ironic glance. “No one pours for me at the home, I do assure you.”

“Oh.” She took a sip of her tea. “Yes, of course.”

He watched her uneasily. There was something here that he was missing. Something she hadn’t yet told him. “Did you know your husband kept a mistress?”

She shook her head as she lowered the dish of tea to her lap, holding it there between both her palms. “No, not really, but I wasn’t at all surprised. Edmund had been widowed for many years before we wed and he had his needs.”

He took a sip of his own tea, grown cold now. “You told me before that you were faithful to your husband. It must have been a betrayal to find he was not to you.”

Her look was cynical. “You forget that such things—a man keeping a mistress—are considered almost de rigueur in my circles. I was surprised to learn of Louise, but not shocked. Ours was not a love match, after all. Edmund always showed me the greatest courtesy. He provided for me even after his death. What more can a woman ask from a man?”

“Faithfulness. Passion. Love,” Winter said too quickly. Too sharply.

She looked at him, her cynical expression dissolving into curiosity. “Truly? Is that what you think marriage is made of?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes shuttered. “Then it’s a pity you’ve decided never to marry, Mr. Makepeace.”

It was his turn to look away. “Why didn’t you simply give Louise money?”

She circled the rim of her tea dish with one finger. “I did, but… she moves from place to place and my house is big.” She bit her lip. “Christopher was little more than a baby at the time, and Louise seemed an absentminded mother.”

“So you invited her to leave him with you?” he asked. “Your husband’s child?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“That was very kind of you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It was no hardship, especially when Christopher was small. I hired Carruthers, made sure he was provided for…” Her voice trailed away uncertainly.

“But?” he prompted.

She darted an irritated look at him. “But as Christopher has grown, he has become oddly fascinated with me. He sneaks into my rooms, hides in the drapes and under the bed, looks through my dresser and jewelry box.”

Winter blinked. “Does he take things?”

“No. Never.” She shook her head firmly. “But still… why would he do it?”

“It’s not such a mystery as all that,” Winter replied. “You’re the head of the household, beautiful, and charming. It’s natural that he would be fascinated by you.”