Page 40 of Miss Delectable
“I would like to meet her,” Jeanette said. “Nettie is family.”
That was the response Rye had been hoping for, and yet, to share Nettie with Jeanette also meant a loss. The upbringing of a girl child would more naturally fall to Jeanette, and Rye would no longer be the only cousin visiting Nettie’s household.
“I will happily introduce you to her.”
“Introduceus,” Dorning said, casually hurling the knife in the direction of a cork target on the opposite wall. “I am well versed in the art of doting upon younger female relations, and this Nettie person will benefit from my expertise. She can laugh at my French, and I will let her dance upon my toes.”
Rye would be doubly displaced then, because a married couple would have more to offer an orphaned child than a military bachelor did.
“She is bilingual, though French is still her preferred tongue. I don’t want her to lose the French, but neither do I…”
“You don’t want her to suffer for her heritage,” Jeanette said. “I understand. Are there other relatives lurking on your coattails, Rye?”
“She is not on my coattails. I have inherited more of the family’s French holdings than is my due, and any number of Frenchmen regard that as a gross injustice. Perhaps one day, some of those holdings can be Nettie’s.”
“I have a platoon of siblings,” Dorning remarked, “and yet, they collectively do not haul about half of the complications and secrets that Jeanette’s one brother seems to have acquired. When can we meet the girl?”
That Rye’s visit had achieved its objective should not leave him feeling so empty. “I’ll send a note around to Tante Lucille and see if Friday suits. Please do not think to pluck Nettie away from all that is familiar. She is dear to Lucille and has a circle of little friends among the émigré community.”
Dorning retrieved the knife from the center of the target. If Ann Pearson ever watched Rye the way Jeanette watched her husband merely stroll across the room, Rye dearly hoped that he and the lady were behind a locked door on that happy occasion. Dorning was somehow preening for his wife’s delectation, even in the way he walked, even in the way he stroked the point of the blade with his fingertip.
“The situation is more complicated than simply a child fond of her playmates, isn’t it?” Jeanette asked. “You support Lucille Roberts. She probably supports others with your largesse, or aids them. Removing Nettie to dwell with me here would be like pulling a loose thread that unravels half a garment.”
Rye had forgotten what a noticing sort of female Jeanette was. In a little sister, that trait had been inconvenient.
“Precisely,” he said. “Lucille does not hire a drawing instructor for Nettie, but a neighbor drops by regularly and provides that service over a full tea tray. Nettie’s clothes are stitched up by another neighbor, because Lucille’s eyesight—which misses nothing—is too dim to manage the chore. The nursemaid sends half her pay back to France and so forth. These people cannot go home, so they make a home here as best they can.”
Dorning laid the knife on the low table, which was proof positive this household was not ready to receive a child. That thought begged the question of whether the boys had taken a notion to inspect Rye’s sword without permission, for the damned thing still hadn’t been returned to its proper place.
“We will merely call upon little Nettie,” Jeanette said. “Introduce ourselves. Would she like a new doll?”
Rye studied the botanical print of some seven-petaled white flowers blooming amid dark green foliage. “She has a half-dozen dolls.”
“A stuffed pony?” Dorning suggested. “Some mighty steeds for the dolls to charge about on?”
“She has several of those.”
“A little tea set?” Jeanette asked. “A hobby horse?”
Rye shook his head, feeling abruptly very foolish. “She needs books in English, the sort of books girls might like to read.”
Jeanette acquired a determined expression that Rye recalled from her earliest youth, one that accentuated her resemblance to Nettie. “I will consult my sisters-in-law, and we will make a list.”
“The child will need a library to house the results,” Dorning said. “Trust me on this, Goddard. I notice you did not answer Jeanette’s question about other French relatives hiding in the hedges. Have we only the one small cousin to spoil?”
“Yes.” Jacques hadn’t been able to get any of his older children to safety, and his wife had refused to abandon them. “Nettie has siblings in Provence, and they are well provided for.”
“No parents?” Dorning asked quietly.
Rye shook his head. “Nor grandparents. I’ll take my leave and send around the direction if Lucille is willing to receive us on Friday.”
“If not Friday,” Jeanette said, taking up the knife Dorning had put on the table, “you ask her when, Rye. Nettie has lost much, but she has us.”
Jeanette threw the knife with as much force as Dorning had, and her throw landed closer to the center of the target than his.
“Please do not think to furnish the child with weapons,” Rye said. “She’s five, as best I can figure.”
“No knives,” Dorning said, “yet. I will see you out.”
