Page 52 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
“One more attempt,” Sarah declared, feeling a little competitive now. She picked another, smoother stone and held it out for his inspection, then with a flick of her wrist, sent it skipping across the river’s surface.
“Gemini,” Rowan whistled, before hastily apologising again.
“Your turn now,” Sarah said, helping him select a promising stone from the bank. She gently instructed him on his posture and wrist movement, then declared him fit to begin.
Rowan scrunched up his face in concentration, flicked his wrist, and sent the stone bouncing once, twice, three times, before it sank beneath the surface.
“Well done,” Sarah cried, sharing in his victory, “Now try another.”
They spent a happy half-hour skimming stones. Apart from the occasional oath—which was to be expected from young boys—Rowan was charming company. He was cheerful and open, with a crooked grin and a ready laugh. The time flew by and Sarah was having so much fun, that she near forgot she was expected at Northcott Manor.
“Lawks,” she cried, as she heard the church bells chime the hour from the nearby village. “I’ll be late for lunch.”
She caught the delighted look on Rowan’s face and offered a hasty apology for her own slip of the tongue. There was nothing children loved more, Sarah knew, than reprimanding an adult.
“I’m expected for lunch now too,” Rowan added, casting a rueful glance at all the stones they had not yet gathered.
“I’m visiting with the Duchess of Northcott,” Sarah informed him, as she picked up her basket.
“Why, that’s where I’m staying!” Rowan was endearingly surprised by the serendipity of it all.
He cheerfully offered to escort Sarah to Northcott Manor and kept her entertained on the short walk there with a string of chatter.
Sarah and Lucian had agreed that there would be no talk of marriage in front of the boy, until they had been properly introduced. So, when they arrived—both with muddy boots and hems—Rowan made a great show of introducing his Papa to his new friend, leaving Sarah and Lucian to act as though this was their first meeting.
“I think you’ll like her,” Sarah heard him whisper solemnly to the earl.
“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Lucian agreed, ruffling his son’s hair and winking at Sarah over his head.
The gong sounded for lunch, and they all made their way into the dining room, where the entire Mifford family was already gathered. Sarah glanced fondly around the table: Lord Chambers was checking his reflection in the back of a spoon; Lord Crabb and Lucian were deep in discussion about Mrs Vickery’s incarceration in Stroud; Mary was regaling Jane with George’s latest exploits; and Eudora and Emily were embroiled in a spirited debate about baby names
“I have always said that if I had a daughter, I would call her Belinda,” Eudora informed her sister heatedly.
“No,Ihave always said I’d name my first daughter Belinda,” the marchioness shot back, with equal indignation. “You’re copying me.”
Beside them, Jane cast a swift, alarmed glance between the pair and hastened to diffuse the tension.
“I don’t think you need to worry yourselves over girls’ names,” she said lightly. “As a family, we’ve only managed to produce boys so far for the next generation.”
Sarah had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the identical looks of horror that crossed Eudora and Emily’s faces. The idea of the Mifford girls producingonlysons was, clearly, unthinkable.
“I expect I’ll have the first girl,” Eudora declared quickly—and rather smugly—once they had both grappled with the idea.
“No, I will,” Emily said confidently, as she stroked her high bump. “I’ve been dreaming of flowers for weeks now; Mrs Bridges says it’s a sure sign I’m carrying a girl.”
“Speaking of Mrs Bridges,” Jane interrupted, “Flora handed in her notice at Crabb Hall this morning.”
“She did?” Sarah gasped; with all the drama of the murders and the excitement of the engagement, she had forgotten about poor Mrs Bridges and her granddaughter.
“Yes,” Jane confirmed with a nod, smiling across the table at her husband. “It seems she has come into an inheritance.”
With the whole table’s attention, Jane gently explained the circumstances of Flora’s birth. Her mother had fallen in love with Mr Gardiner’s son, though the crotchety landowner had forbid a match between the two—he believed the daughter of a local-healer woman too lowly a bride for his offspring.
“So they eloped,” Jane said, a little starry-eyed with the romance of it. “They moved to Bristol, where young Mr Gardiner purchased a commission in the navy to support his wife and child. Alas, his young life was cut short during a skirmish off Cape Santa Maria.”
Sarah noted Lord Crabb’s wince; though his sea-faring days were far behind him, she guessed he could picture the true circumstances of Mr Gardiner’s death better than most.
“Young Mrs Gardiner carried on, managing on her widow’s pension,” Jane continued, “Though she fell ill when Flora—or, Florence, as she is christened—turned three. She returned to Plumpton with Flora in tow for her mother to help care for her. I believe Mrs Bridges sought some financial help from Mr Gardiner, but he refused.”
