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 stepped behind him and put her hands against his back. Giving him a slight push, she said, “Start with the expert. Ask Miss Oliver. She will be glad to help, especially after you gallantly rescued her this afternoon.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he chuckled. “You heard of that.”
“Even if the sound of crates falling had not resonated through Cothaire, do I need to remind you that nothing stays secret here?” Not giving him a chance to reply, she said, “Will you ask for her help?”
“Yes.” He would have to find a way to balance his sister’s request with his other tasks.
“Off with you then. Joy needs to be fed, and taking her to the nursery gives you the perfect opportunity to speak with Miss Oliver.”
He walked to the door. Another delay before he could read the note after he deciphered it, but the visit to the nursery could be done quickly. He would go through the motions of spending time with the children so Carrie did not become suspicious. Once he had a chance to read Gwendolyn’s message, he would know what he needed to do next. Going to the nursery would not take much time.
And he could see Miss Oliver again to assure himself that she had recovered from the fright of the boxes falling on them. He would give her the baby, ask for her help to convince his family he was making an effort to be a good suitor for Gwendolyn, and then retreat to his private rooms to read Gwendolyn’s message. What could be simpler than that?
“Look! Look! Look!”
Maris smiled at the children as she selected one of the storybooks on the shelf in the Cothaire day nursery. It was their favorite book. She wanted to read it to them before their tea was brought up, along with four of the child-size cups that had survived falling off the shelf. Eight were usable, and two more were being glued together. The rest had smashed into too many pieces to try to repair.
Putting the book under her arm, she went to where Gil and Bertie pointed out the window overlooking the harbor. She knelt on the padded bench there and shaded her eyes as she scanned the waves, which glittered like dozens of fabulous diamond necklaces.
“I see it,” she said, when she realized the little boys were gesturing toward the sails of a ship far out near the horizon. Bertie was, by her estimation, at least four years old, while Gil probably had his third birthday not too long ago.
“Cap’s?”
Before she could answer Bertie, the three-year-old twin girls who had been playing with dolls by a large dollhouse repeated, “Cap?” They jumped to their feet and ran to the window. “Cap’s boat?”
“No,” Maris said, shifting to give Lulu and Molly, the twins, room to get on the bench. She hated dashing the children’s hopes. They missed Captain Nesbitt, who had rescued them from Porthlowen Harbor, but he was not due back for at least another fortnight.
“No Cap’s boat. No Cap for Wuwu.” Lulu’s lisp mixed with her mournful tone.
“But it is a pretty ship.” Maris stood to give the girls more room.
The four youngsters plus baby Joy kept her busy. On occasion, Toby, the sixth child from the jolly boat that had drifted into Porthlowen Harbor, came to play with the others. He was close to Bertie’s age. Parson Trelawney and his wife had offered to take the little boy the first night, when Toby and Bertie would not stop annoying each other. That temporary solution had become permanent...or permanent until the truth about the children could be uncovered.
Maris watched the children, who chatted excitedly about the ship and what might be on it and where it might be bound.
“Ship go bye-bye.” Lulu’s voice was sad.
“Bye-bye,