“Goodwin,” the viscount continued, “Miss Oliver needs young Bertie returned to the nursery and the word to go out that he has been found none the worse for his adventures. Take the lad to the nursery and hand him over to...?”
“Rachel,” Maris supplied.
“Yes, hand him over to Rachel and let her know that Miss Oliver will be returning shortly.”
“Certainly, my lord. I will spread the word that Master Bertie is safe.”
“Yes, thank you, Goodwin.”
The valet bobbed his head, then crossed the room to where she stood with the child. He held out his hand.
Bertie stared at it, but did not move.
“Go with Goodwin, Bertie,” she urged. “You heard Lord Trelawney ask him to take you to the nursery.”
“Want you.”
“I will be there soon, but you need to hurry, or the cakes for tea will be gone.”
As she had guessed, the mention of sweets changed Bertie’s mind. He placed his hand in Goodwin’s and went toward the door. “Goodbye, Arthur,” he called over his shoulder.
The valet exchanged a startled glance with Maris.
“Goodbye, Bertie,” the viscount said.
When the door closed behind the servant and child, Maris clasped her hands in front of her. Her feet again urged her to flee, but she could not leave without being dismissed. She had no idea if anyone else was in the viscount’s rooms or even nearby.
“Miss Oliver, would you mind sitting where I can see you without craning my neck?” Lord Trelawney asked.
Meekly, feeling like a lamb bound for slaughter, she walked toward where he sat. When she hesitated, he gestured at a chair to his left.
She sat on the edge, her shoes pressed against the floor. She was being silly. Lord Trelawney had never been anything but polite and respectful, even when he was in pain.
Shame flooded her. She had not asked what the extent of his injuries were, but she quickly rectified that.
“A strained knee and a twisted ankle,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Hockbridge told me to rest my leg today and to use the laudanum if I needed it to sleep tonight. In spite of Goodwin’s nagging, the pain is tolerable. Tomorrow, the doctor wants me to walk around a bit, using a cane, and to increase the distance I walk each day after that. He tells me in a few days I will experience no more than some twinges.”
“That is good to hear.”
“Very good to hear. How are the children?”
“At the moment, they are subdued, but I am sure that by the morrow they will return to their normal selves. From what your sisters have told me, after they were rescued, they recovered swiftly, save for a few nightmares. Those nightmares may have nothing to do with what happened to them. Maybe normal childhood fears of the dark and big animals.”
“Like bears?”
“Yes. Thank you for your kindness to Bertie.”
“He is a fine lad.”
“When he is not being a naughty one.”
The viscount chuckled again. “I saw your face when I admitted to being a bear. I want to assure you that I had no intention of scaring the boy. Not again, at any rate.”
Her face heated, and she wondered if she was blushing again. “I should have known that, my lord.”
“Why? You don’t know me well enough to guess beforehand how I might act.” He did not pause as he said, “Do me a favor, and do not chastise Bertie for calling me Arthur. I would prefer that he do so with a smile than cower away from me as he did before.”
She rubbed her hands together on her lap and stared at them. “I must warn you that when one of the children takes on a bad habit, they all seem to latch on to it quickly.”
“That is fine. As my goal is to get to know the children better, anything I can do to make them more comfortable with me is a step in the right direction. But you know them better than I. Would you agree with that opinion?”
“Yes,” she answered without looking up.
“Good. And now, Miss Oliver...”
He added nothing more, and she waited and waited. As one minute, then another, then a third passed, she wondered if she should excuse herself. Maybe he had fallen asleep. She raised her eyes.
Her breath caught as her gaze met and was held by his. He leaned forward and folded one of her hands between both of his. She stiffened, knowing how alone they were, but he made no further move toward her as he held her hands as gently as she would the children’s.
“Miss Oliver, if you do not look at me, I doubt the children will, either. They take their clues from you.”
“I am sorry. I did not mean to—”
“There is no need for an apology. I would rather speak of our next outing with the children.”
“Next?”
“As I told you, I have not given up on the idea of getting to know them. My sister has encouraged me to do so, and I learned as a child myself that doing as my sisters wish often makes my life easier.” He smiled.
Maris did, too. There was something so honest and earnest about his grin that she could not help responding. She wanted to ask why he hid behind his arrogant mask. She bit back the words, telling herself to be grateful that he was willing to speak more than a handful of words to her.
Instead, she asked, “When do you think you will feel well enough to spend time with the children again?”
“Is tomorrow possible?”
“But Mr. Hockbridge said—”
“I will not be running about with them. Rather, I thought you might bring them to the garden. They could play for a while, and then we can take a light tea together. That way, they will become accustomed to me.”
“If you are certain...”
“I am.” He released her hand as he covered his mouth to hide a yawn. “In the meantime, I shall make sure I am prepared.” He did not give her a chance to ask the obvious question before he said, “Now that Bertie believes he knows the meaning of his name, I am sure the others will wish to know theirs. If you would tell me more about them, I will devise something for each of them.”
Something softened inside Maris at his thoughtfulness. As she began to share stories about the children, she slowly sat back when he did. She could not recall the last time she had spoken easily with anyone. A part of her mind stayed on alert, but she focused on coming up with the perfect stories to describe each child.
She watched Lord Trelawney’s eyelids grow heavier. Yet he was listening closely, because he chuckled over some of the youngsters’ more mischievous antics. She kept talking until Goodwin returned. A single glance from him told her that Lord Trelawney’s valet believed it was time for the viscount to rest, as the doctor had ordered.
She stood, asking the viscount to excuse her to return to her duties. Lord Trelawney caught her hand as she walked past his chair. When she looked down into his ice-blue eyes, that sweet warmth glided through her anew.
“Thank you, Miss Oliver,” he said, trying to fight his obvious exhaustion. “I appreciate you telling me about your charges. Please bring them to the