and their life in Hawkhurst.
Julia had gotten the feeling that there was nothing Ainsley Becket saw or heard that he didn’t remember. And that some of what he’d seen and heard still hurt him very badly.
“You’re feeling overwhelmed, aren’t you?” Eleanor asked, sitting very still in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. “We Beckets can be a bit…daunting.”
“Not to mention numerous,” Julia said as she stood, walked over to seat herself in a chair closer to Eleanor. “I should like to write all of your names down on scraps of paper, then pin them to you until I can sort you out.”
Eleanor’s smile was glorious, lighting her entire solemn little face. “I felt the same at first. Perhaps I can help?”
Julia wondered what Chance’s answer would be to that question, wondered how much he really wanted her to know about his “family.” But then again, Chance was with Ainsley and his brothers, still in the dining room. “Yes, please. As you said, I am feeling a little overwhelmed.”
“But certainly not because we all look like peas from the same pod,” Eleanor said, then sighed. “I’m sure Chance told you at least that much? That we’re Papa’s children but not really his children, except for Callie?”
“Yes, he did tell me that.” Julia looked toward the closed double doors to the dining room, hoping they’d stay closed until Eleanor had told her more about her siblings, most especially about Chance.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Eleanor said. “They’ve left the dining room by now and are shut up tight in Papa’s study, all of them ringing a peal over Courtland’s head for some reason or another, or so Morgan told me. They’ve been at it all day, and I doubt they’ll be coming in here any more tonight.”
“Courtland’s rather a serious sort, isn’t he?” Julia asked, remembering the man who had sat across from Eleanor at the dinner table. Courtland Becket was tall but shorter than Chance and built along sturdier lines. Only his longish, unruly light brown wavy hair softened his features and kept him from looking petulant rather than intense.
“Courtland enjoys being dour and sober,” Eleanor said, then sighed. “Life is very serious to Courtland. I think Callie’s the only thing that keeps him from becoming positively grim. It’s as if the weight of the whole world is on his shoulders, and what isn’t there, he’ll pick up for the rest of us and carry it. He feels responsibility for everyone, you understand.”
“But he’s not the oldest,” Julia said, remembering what Chance had told her at the inn. “Chance is the oldest. I’m sure he told me that.”
“Yes, all right, we’ll do it that way,” Eleanor said. “There are two ways, you understand. Our ages or when Papa found us. Chance was both the first and the oldest. Papa always kept him close, so that’s why it’s so difficult that…”
“That Chance doesn’t visit Becket Hall very often?” Julia supplied helpfully, trying not to sound too eager.
“They had a falling-out when…some years ago. It’s why we’re all so glad he brought Alice here—and brought you here. To be fair, I think he tried to mend things before, by bringing Beatrice and Alice here, but his wife made it very plain that she wanted nothing to do with us or with Becket Hall. She called us a “barbarian menagerie” and much worse than that. Of course, Fanny did put a dozen frogs in her dressing room, with Callie’s assistance, which didn’t really help matters.”
Julia laughed. “No, I suppose not. How old is Fanny?”
“Sixteen, so she’s not the one I should tell you about next, although she is one of the last Papa adopted. Both Fanny and Rian the same day.”
“Those are Irish names, aren’t they? They’re really brother and sister? By blood?”
Eleanor shook her head. “No. But they were orphaned at the same time. Rian is six years older than Fanny. They used to be very close, but now he and Spence call her a pest. And she is, I suppose. Not quite a child, not quite grown. She still thinks she should be running free and even refuses to put up her hair.”
“Spencer,” Julia said, remembering the dark-haired young man who’d sat at the table looking very much as if he longed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. “He and Morgan seem somewhat alike—in their coloring, that is.”
“Some Spanish somewhere or even Portuguese,” Eleanor said, nodding. “At least Papa thinks so. They’re both very…passionate people. And when they argue? It’s really almost funny, unless Morgan is throwing something.”
Julia pressed her hands to the sides of her head. “I think I’m even more confused now. Eight of you! I know that isn’t a large family, especially here on the Marsh, but I had no siblings at all. Now let me see if I have this correctly. Chance is the oldest, then Courtland, then—Rian or Spencer?”
“Spencer by a year. Then me, then Morgan, then Fanny and lastly Callie. Papa hadn’t planned on us girls, not at all, but here we are.”
“So you’re the oldest girl,” Julia said, believing that would mean she had known Chance the longest. “What was it like growing up on the islands?”
Eleanor looked at her hands again. “I have no idea. Papa…found me on his way here, to England. I’m his bit of flotsam, I suppose.” Then she smiled. “Well, that’s the lot of us. And if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go up to bed now. You’ll be all right here by yourself? Morgan or Fanny might come back downstairs, but I can’t be sure. You can ring for someone if you need anything.”
Julia watched as Eleanor left the room, a graceful figure, only slightly favoring her left leg. Then she sat back and counted Beckets on her fingers and decided she liked Ainsley Becket very much, for he had chosen to provide for all these children, now mostly adults.
And they must have great affection for him, for none of them had left, save Chance.
Julia looked about the large, lavishly appointed room, enchanted once more by the portrait hanging over the fireplace, then realized that she was the lone female and could soon be surrounded by five Becket males. Did she really want that? Was she really ready for that?
It had been difficult enough sitting at dinner this evening, being welcomed to the family, and she’d felt a fraud as she’d coaxed Eleanor into telling what very well could be family secrets.
She probably should go to bed, as she’d really like to rise early, be ready to walk on the beach the moment the morning mist dissipated. She hadn’t been out-of-doors all day, what with settling in both herself and Alice, and both she and the child could use a bit of fresh air.
But first, Julia decided as she climbed the stairs, she would check on Alice in the nursery.
CHAPTER NINE
CHANCE STOOD IN THE shadows, his arms folded across his chest, and watched as Odette approached Julia’s bed.
She carefully turned down the bedspread, exposing the sheets, then moved to the top of the bed, to the pillows. In the light of the small bedside candle Chance could see that, unbelievable as it seemed, Odette had begun to show her age.
Not that anyone would dare ask how old she was, not even while on a ship just setting sail for the other side
