jumped down as Drew walked forward. She’d watched Robbie moving last night as he’d danced. His slender, athletic build gave his movement grace. He’d not meant to disconcert her yesterday. She knew it. He was simply being thoughtful, and she had watched him dance with his sisters and his cousins, displaying the same thoughtfulness, while his brother and his male cousins stood to one side of the room talking amongst themselves and laughing frequently.
“Uncle Bobbie!” George cried again, his legs straightening, expressing his desire to get down as he wriggled to be free.
Caro set him down. Immediately he ran to the door and tried to reach the handle.
“Master George!” The nanny reprimanded, but George would never be deterred from the thought of someone new to play with.
“I shall go with him,” Caro stated as George managed to turn the handle and run out. “Forget the tea. I doubt we shall be back,”
Caro’s heart raced as she followed, but it was not with fear. She felt inexplicably excited. Why was she excited?
“George!” she called, as he ran along the hall. He always looked like a little caricature of Drew when he ran. “George!” He did not stop. “George! Wait! Or I will tell your papa you misbehaved and you shall not see Uncle Robbie!” Her heart thumped harder as George neared the top of the narrow stairs leading down from the attic. “George, stop!” She clasped her skirt and held it high as she ran too, terrified he’d fall.
The child was an absolute nightmare when he chose to be, but thank the Lord he stopped and turned back, waiting for her as he grasped a spindle of the banister.
“Good boy, George, darling,” she praised breathlessly when she reached him, dropping to her haunches to hug him in relief. “Remember, you are not to run near the stairs, nor near horses or water, they are the three things you must never do.”
He nodded, his face twisting in a look of concern over her distress.
“Good boy,” she gave him another squeeze as love spilled from her heart into her blood. Drew’s children were her life. Without them she would have nothing to hold her together.
When she rose she lifted him to her hip and kissed his cheek, then said near his ear, “Come along, then, let us find your Uncle Robbie.”
She carried him down, with one hand sliding along the stair rail.
“May I see Uncle Bobbie’s ho’ses?”
“They will be in the stables. You may see them another day.”
“Will Papa let me ‘ide them?”
“One day, yes, I’m sure he will.”
George’s short-sentenced conversation continued down the stairs. He so rarely ran out of enthusiasm or energy.
When they reached the first floor, Caro heard loud, masculine voices echoing along the landing. Robbie was already upstairs and he and Drew were heading towards the drawing room. She stopped on the stairs, looking down through the stairwell and saw the servants carrying in Robbie’s luggage on the ground floor.
She’d hoped for a moment more of obscurity, but her hopes wilted as George shouted loudly, “Uncle Bobbie!” and then he fought for freedom. She finished her descent and set him down. He charged off in the direction of the voices.
Caro did not follow. Her excitement ebbed as she saw them.
“Uncle Bobbie!”
They looked back.
Foreboding crept over Caro and then the familiar discomfort—panic. Her lungs emptied of breath. Rob was looking at her not George, his gaze briefly skimmed the length of her body, then lifted back to her face. She felt hot as well as uncomfortable. The recollection of his touch now gave her a sense of self-consciousness. Her discomfort with other people had been her companion for too many years.
“Oh!” The cry came from George. He’d caught his toe on a wrinkle in the carpet and he tumbled forward, still gripping his wooden horse.
Caro lifted the hem of her dress and ran as the poor child’s head hit the floor with a bump. Thank the Lord it was wood and not stone.
Drew reached him first, but George was now howling, the broken wooden horse still grasped in his hand. It had lost a leg, but it was also covered in the child’s blood.
“What has he done?” she asked, stopping before them, breathing hard.
Drew wiped his thumb across his son’s swollen lower lip as Robbie held out a handkerchief.
“He bit his lip when he fell. No real harm, Caro,” Drew answered.
Caro’s fingers pressed against her chest, then reached to brush through George’s hair. He was crying still. She sensed Robbie watching her, but she did not care. George was everything to her. “Poppet,” she whispered, “did you break your horse?”
“Grandpa will buy you another,” Robbie said, his fingers brushing across George’s brow. They touched Caro’s. She pulled her hand away as she met Robbie’s dark gaze.
Her heart raced into a gallop, calling her to flee.
But if Robbie was to be here for the whole summer she must force herself to feel easier with him. “I brought him down because he wished to see you.”
George’s wails had turned to quieter sobs and sniffs. Robbie held his hands out and George reached for him in return. He set his arms about Robbie’s neck as Robbie took him.
Robbie’s ease with George moved something within Caro. If she had given Albert a son he would not have held the child, he would have probably looked into the nursery for a few moments each day and no more. It was more evidence that Robbie’s actions towards her had been nothing more than kindness. He was simply a good-natured young man.
“Mama,” George cried, pressing his face into Robbie’s neckcloth, probably getting blood all over it.
“Your mama is asleep,” Drew ruffled George’s hair. “Iris woke her in the night and she needed to rest. She will be down in a little while.”
Robbie’s gaze lifted to Drew then passed to Caro, and he smiled. It shone in his eyes, not simply parted his lips. He was as open in nature as his sister.
The rhythm of Caro’s heartbeat was painful. Something solid tightened in her chest. He’d smiled at her last night, across the room, and anger and discomfort had taken up their swords and begun a war inside her. That was her irrational madness. But when he’d touched her arm, his fingers had gripped her gently.
“Are you going to join us for tea, Caro? You could act as hostess…” Drew lifted an eyebrow at her. It was a challenge.
Forcing a smile, she looked from Drew to Robbie, fighting the urge to run. Yet, bizarrely, as much as she wished to run, she felt pulled towards Robbie when he smiled again. His smile tried to reassure and pleaded with her to stay.
Her skin burned as she blushed, but she nodded, then turned to lead the way towards the drawing room. A maid was already there, laying out the tea tray. Drew must have ordered it when Robbie arrived.
Caro breathed slowly, trying not to show how hard it was to draw the air past the panic in her chest.
A plate of almond biscuits stood beside the teapot, and as the men came into the room, George released a deep whimper of longing.
Caro picked up the plate and held it out for George, who was still balanced in Robbie’s arms. George took a biscuit and sucked it. Tears stained his cheeks.
Caro’s gaze lifted. Robbie had been watching her again.
“Your neckcloth is ruined,” she said to him.
Drew was watching her too.
Robbie’s hand lifted and he took a biscuit. He had long, slender fingers and beautifully proportioned hands.