Page 5

Seated at the sturdy oak escritoire in his sister’s comfortably elegant drawing room, Frederick blew out an exasperated sigh, his breath rustling the blank sheet of foolscap that seemed to be staring back at him.

He’d been in Little Bilberry nearly five days now, and he still hadn’t written to his mother to let her know he’d arrived. It was unlike him.

He was an imperfect man with many faults, yes, but when it came to his mother, he was a faithful correspondent. Usually.

The problem with this particular letter was that he had no blasted idea what to say to her. What to say for himself.

There was nothing he could say for himself.

His recent conduct had been a mistake, a blot on the Darrington name, and because of it, his mother was ashamed of him.

She’d spared barely a word for him these last few weeks since the end of his affair, and the morning he left London for Hampshire, all she gave him was a cool kiss on the cheek and an even cooler farewell.

He almost wished she’d shouted at him instead, or at least scolded him.

A quiet Adelaide Darrington was not a good thing.

Sitting back in the desk chair, Frederick pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, his shoulders tensing beneath his wool daycoat.

He truly did feel terrible for what he’d done, and he genuinely wanted to make amends with his mother.

He owed her an apology, but he had no idea what to say, or how to say it, and that was a foreign feeling for him. One he did not like.

“Frederick?” Penelope’s voice called out from the hall. “Oh, here you are,” she said, walking into the drawing room. “I think I—oh. Apologies, you’re busy. I’ll leave you to your letter.”

“No,” Frederick said quickly, dropping his pen into the inkwell before turning in his chair. “My letter can wait. Please, join me.”

That was all the encouragement his sister needed. She dropped onto the chaise and propped her feet atop the rosewood sofa table, heaving an appreciative sigh as her eyes fell closed.

Frederick frowned. “Are you unwell, Pen? You look tired.”

“I am tired,” she said, smiling without opening her eyes. “Come to think of it, I’m always tired.”

“Why don’t you take a nap?”

“I wish I could, but I have too much to do this afternoon.” Another sigh overtook her, and her eyes popped open.

“I must drop off a basket of goods for the widow Bates on my way to the village, where the children’s new shoes are waiting to be retrieved.

Then I must head to the inn and pick up the bread and cheese Lily’s grandmother sets aside for me every week.

” She gave a regretful hum. “A nap does sound lovely, though.”

“Then why don’t you let me complete those errands for you?” Frederick asked, the words slipping from his mouth nearly as fast as they’d entered his brain.

Penelope’s eyes lit with surprise before narrowing to wary slits. “And why would you want to do that?”

He shrugged. “I could use the excuse to stretch my legs, and I’d like to do this for you. Your well-being is the reason for my visit, after all.”

She raised her eyebrows, demanding honesty.

“ One of the reasons,” he amended.

Penelope considered his offer for an unflatteringly long moment before finally giving in. “Very well,” she said. “But take the children with you. And if you should see Lily at the inn”—she gave him a hard look—“you will behave yourself.”

“I shall not seduce Miss Grayling today, I promise.” He held up a hand to emphasize the vow.

“That isn’t funny, Freddy.” Penelope frowned at him, her blue eyes somber, and Frederick let his hand fall to his lap.

“Lily is a dear girl and a wonderful friend,” she went on. “She has been through much, and she works so hard with very little help. The last thing she needs is a—” She broke off. “Please do not trifle with her, Freddy. Promise me you won’t.”

Frederick stiffened, indignation surging through him, and it was on the tip of his tongue to object.

Only, he didn’t. What right did he have to be offended?

He’d earned his sister’s distrust, hadn’t he?

He only had himself and his poor decisions to blame, and all he could do now was do better, and work to earn her trust again.

“I promise, Pen,” he said quietly. And he meant it.

One hour later, Frederick set out from the house into the mild October weather with Gretchen, Willie and little Cathy in tow, all three children chattering excitedly at once.

It was a good day for a walk, with its mostly cloudless sky and calm, intermittent breeze. The happy brood stopped first at the widow’s cottage, where the mother of four accepted their basket of goods with harried but grateful thanks.

The foursome then carried on down the scenic dirt lane and into the charming village square.

As instructed, they collected the children’s new boots at the milliner’s, and then Frederick surprised his nieces and nephew with a stop at the sweets shop where he purchased a peppermint stick for each of them.

And now, lastly, they were on their way to their final stop of the day: The Weeping Whiskers Inn.

Anticipation filled him at the thought of seeing Miss Grayling again.

The reaction was bemusing, to say the least, but he gave it a mental shrug.

Lily Grayling was an attractive woman, and he was a man with a keen interest in attractive women, especially one who was so determined not to be charmed by him.

Perversely, her determination to resist only made him more determined to keep trying.

“Uncle Frederick?”

He turned to find his nephew beside him, his short legs pumping, the half-finished peppermint stick bobbing in his hand.

The boy’s sisters trailed behind them, bickering over something, though Frederick couldn’t make out what they were discussing. It was probably just as well.

“Yes, Willie?” he asked with an encouraging smile, intentionally slowing his strides.

“Do you have... sisters?” Willie’s nose scrunched up as he said the word, as if it stunk of rotten eggs, and Frederick had to suppress a laugh.

“I have two, like you,” he said. “Your mother is my sister, and so is your Aunt Margaret.”

Willie’s frown cleared, surprise taking its place, as if he’d only just learned that sisters could also be aunts.

“Do you like them?” he asked, his tone of voice both curious and dubious.

“I do. Don’t you like yours?”

The boy’s gaze dropped to his new boots, and he shrugged. “Sometimes. But Cathy is such a baby and she’s always asking me to play baby games, and Gretchen thinks she can order me about just because she’s older than me.” He huffed out a sigh. “It’s very annoying.”

Frederick nodded. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“You do?”

“I have two older sisters and an older brother. I used to have two older brothers, but George is—” He broke off and cleared his throat, attempting to dislodge the unexpected lump there.

“Dead?” Willie supplied, before giving his peppermint stick another lick.

A pang of regret speared Frederick’s chest as George’s face flashed through his mind, his ever-present smile wide with mischief.

It was a smile he hadn’t seen in nearly ten years, since before George left to fight Boney in the war.

He died in battle in 1814, one of the many fallen soldiers who had spent their final moments on the battlefield at Toulouse.

“Yes,” Frederick said softly. “He’s dead.”

Willie nodded. “My father died. He fell off his horse. I was only seven then.”

“I know. That’s...” He cleared his throat again. “I’m sure you miss him very much.”

His nephew nodded again then went back to his peppermint stick, and Frederick couldn’t help but feel he’d let the boy down. He should have said more, something meaningful and wise. After all, he knew what it was to lose someone. He knew what it was to lose a father.

Frederick was only a few years older than Willie when his own father had unexpectedly died, and the loss had hit him hard. His father was his closest confidant, his idol, and suddenly he was gone.

He knew exactly what Willie was going through, and because of that, he felt a kinship with the boy, and a certain duty to him. He knew he should say more, but what? The right words eluded him, and his chest grew tight with regret and disappointment.

Useless. Good for nothing. Idiot.

He batted back the self-recrimination, and nearly heaved a sigh of relief as The Weeping Whiskers Inn finally came into view.

“There it is!” Gretchen cried excitedly, as if they’d arrived at a unicorn sanctuary instead of a roadside inn.

The girl shot past Frederick, her two long braids flying behind her, and her siblings followed, Willie clearly determined to keep pace with his older sister while Cathy trailed after them, her gaze downcast, seemingly more interested in admiring her new boots than keeping up with her siblings.

The door to the inn opened as the foursome approached, and a small, gray-haired woman walked out onto the front step, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Mrs. Grayling! Mrs. Grayling!”

The children called out to the woman, who smiled as they ran up to her.

Ah, then this must be Miss Grayling’s grandmother, Frederick thought, liking the warm smile on the older woman’s face as she greeted them.

“Well, this is a delightful surprise!” she said. “And what are you three little monkeys up to today?”

“We’re running errands for Mama,” Gretchen said proudly.

“We have new boots! See?” Willie stuck one skinny leg out to show her.

“Very smart, indeed,” Mrs. Grayling said with an approving nod. “And what’s that you have there, Miss Cathy? Is that a peppermint stick?”

Cathy gave a shy nod before popping the peppermint into her mouth.

“Our uncle bought one for each of us,” Gretchen explained.

“Well, and wasn’t that generous of him? I do hope you all thanked him properly.” Mrs. Grayling’s friendly brown eyes met Frederick’s.

“We did,” Willie assured her.

“Good day to you, madam,” Frederick said with a bow. “I am Frederick Darrington, Mrs. Marsh’s brother.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Darrington. I am Charlotte Grayling. I run this inn with my granddaughter.”

“Miss Lily.” He nodded. “Yes, we’ve met.”

Her gray brows rose. “Have you? I didn’t know that.”

It was no great surprise to Frederick that Miss Grayling had not mentioned him, but it still smarted, and more than he cared to admit.

“Please forgive the interruption,” he said. “I can see that you are very busy. My sister sent us here to collect the milk and cheese she says you will have set aside for her...?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. I have everything ready and waiting for you in the kitchen. My granddaughter should be inside, and she will be able to help you.” Mrs. Grayling turned to the children. “As for me, I was just on my way to milk Blythe. Perhaps the children would like to come and help me?”

All three of them shouted their enthusiastic agreement, even shy little Cathy, and Frederick shared a smile with Mrs. Grayling.

“Thank you, madam,” he said. “I think the children would like that.”

How much help they would prove to be was less certain, he thought, as he watched Mrs. Grayling usher the children toward the barn.

He was almost sorry to miss the event.

But as he turned and headed for the inn’s front door, anticipation quickened his steps, and he smiled.

Almost, but not quite.