family had, it would appear, lost their collective minds. These children came from somewhere. They belonged to someone. Eventually they would have to be returned to those people. And the rest of his family would be lost in grief, as they had when Mama died around the same time as his brother-in-law. Arthur hated the idea of that. They had mourned enough for the past five years.
“Caroline, come and join us,” Father said with a smile.
The rest of the family used her full name, but Arthur continued to think of his older sister as Carrie, the nickname he had given her when he was young and could not pronounce her full name. She was a lovely woman who carried a bit more flesh than the ton considered acceptable. He used to tease her about being well-rounded, but he had set aside such jests years ago.
She gave Father a kiss on the cheek, then straightened. “Arthur, I had hoped to find you,” she said in that same carefree tone. “May I speak with you?” She gave the slightest nod toward the hallway.
He swallowed his sigh at another delay before he could read Gwendolyn’s message, but looked at Father. “If you will excuse me...”
“Go, go. I am sure you have many matters to consider.” His father’s smile returned.
Arthur nodded. He did have many matters he should be thinking about. On the family’s vast estate set on the sea and across the Cornish moors, there were repairs to the faulty barn roof on Pellow’s farm and the new well that must be dug before winter for the Dinases’ farm. The old one had suddenly gone dry last week. It might be because of a new tin mine being dug south along the moor, or it could be another cause completely. First, they must get a new source of water; then they could investigate why the well had dried up.
How could he think of any of that when he was curious about what Gwendolyn had written?
Carrie said nothing as they walked to the small drawing room they used en famille. French windows opened onto a terrace with a vista of the sea and the garden. The Aubusson rug with its great white roses was set in the middle of the room, and furniture was spread atop it to allow for easy conversation.
His sister sat in a chair not far from the hearth. Not that he blamed her. The fire burning there chased away the autumn afternoon’s chill. When she motioned for him to sit, he shook his head.
“I would prefer to stand...unless this conversation is going to be a long one.”
“That is up to you.” The lightness vanished from her voice, and her eyes narrowed.
“Me? You asked me to speak with you.”
“Because I am sure you have many things to say about Father’s plan that you would not in front of him.”
Arthur was not surprised that Father had discussed with Carrie the matter of a match between him and Gwendolyn. Since their mother’s death, his older sister had become Father’s sounding post.
“I never expected Father to ask this of me, Carrie.” He leaned forward and put his hands on the settee.
“It is your duty to marry.” Her voice gentled. “Father expected an announcement by the time you celebrated your thirtieth birthday.”
“I have been busy with other duties.” That was his usual excuse.
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know that you have been avoiding the ton since that incident with Miss Mayfield, which is why when Father told me about this arrangement he has made with Lord Monkstone, I did not say that I believed the whole of it was addled.” She looked at him directly. “Tell me, Arthur. Are you truly agreeable with this match?”
“As you said, daughters have come to terms with such arrangements for millennia.” He ran his hand through his hair, grateful that he did not have to lie.
“I know. Will you be able to ask her?”
Her question startled him. Then he reminded himself that his sister believed, as most of the world did, that he was too shy to say boo to a goose. He had never corrected the mistaken assumptions. “I would hope so. There must be some way.”
“You are resourceful, Arthur.”
“I suppose I could write a flowery poem that ends with ‘Will you marry me?’”
“Writing love missives is all well and good, but you have not made her an offer of marriage.” A smile tipped Carrie’s lips. “Don’t look surprised, Arthur. You should know that nothing stays a secret for long here, especially when you receive letters from her week after week.”
He hoped his sister was wrong, because no one else must learn how he had assumed Cranny’s secret duties. As long as everybody believed the notes were focused on avowals of love, his secret should be safe.
“I know you probably find it simpler to put words on paper than to speak them,” Carrie said, “but even if you propose via a love poem, you still must say ‘I do’ at the front of the church.” She reached out and patted his hand. “But let us take one step at a time. There must be some way to make it easy for you to propose to Lady Gwendolyn.” She rose and began to pace in front of the French windows. When the baby began to fuss, she paused. “I must take Joy to be fed. Oh!”
“Oh?” he asked.
“It is simple. Why didn’t I see that before?” She crossed the room and placed the baby in his arms.
He tensed, because he had never held such a tiny infant. His nose wrinkled at the odor of a dirty, wet napkin. “Carrie, I am not accustomed to little babies.”
“I know. The practice will do you good, especially because Lady Gwendolyn’s younger child isn’t much older than Joy.” Carrie’s eyes filled with tears. “How sad to have a child born after the death of its father.” She squared her shoulders, all business once again. “The other is about three or four years old. My advice to you is to get those children to like you, so she will see you are sincere even if you are hesitant when you ask her.”
“Why?”
“The quickest way to a woman’s heart is to win the hearts of her children.”
He did not say that hearts had nothing to do with the arrangement he and his father had discussed. Something twinged in his chest. Regret? He disliked the idea of a loveless match.
The baby grumbled and wiggled. He shifted her so he would not drop her. As he looked down at her tiny rosebud mouth, he asked, “And how do you suggest I win over her children?”
“Play with them. Talk to them.”
“I honestly don’t know much about children.”
“Then learn.”
“You make it sound easy.”
Carrie grinned. “Isn’t it? There are five small children living under our roof and another staying with Raymond and Elisabeth at the parsonage. Why not practice with them?”
“I would not know where to begin.” Or when I would have the time. If Gwendolyn’s message requires me to travel, I must take my leave immediately. He yearned to tell Carrie the truth, but bit back the words.
She
