Phoebe tried to sound casual as she told West, “We’re going to play here for a few minutes. You’re welcome to keep company with us.”
He held her gaze. “Would you like me to?”
Phoebe might have thought the question was a mocking attempt to make her plead for his company. But there was a subtle note of uncertainty in his tone. He wasn’t sure of her, she realized. He’d made no assumptions about her, or what she might want. The realization sent a flush of warmth through her.
“Yes . . . stay.”
Before long, West was wading with Justin in the ankle-deep shallows, helping him collect interesting pebbles. Phoebe, who had discreetly removed her shoes and stockings, sat on a bank with Stephen, holding him while he dipped his feet and watched the minnows darting across in the shallows. Nanny had spread a cloth on a patch of mossy ground and sat with her back against the trunk of a nearby willow tree, snoozing lightly.
Feeling a soft nudge against her side, Phoebe twisted to discover that the black cat had jumped from the pram and was rubbing against her affectionately.
“Kitty!” Stephen exclaimed, clutching at the cat.
“Gently,” Phoebe cautioned, and moved his little hand in a slow, stroking motion over the animal’s back. “Oh, she likes that. Can you feel her purr?”
“. . . the bands of white are chalk,” West was saying a few yards away, bending to examine a pebble Justin held in his palm. “It’s made out of the shells of creatures so tiny, you can only see them with a microscope.”
“Where did the tiny creatures come from?”
“They formed on the ocean floor. All this land used to be covered with water.”
“I know that story,” Justin said brightly. “Noah and the ark.”
“It was long before Noah.”
“How long?”
“Millions of years.”
Justin shrugged and said prosaically, “I don’t know a million. I can only count to ten.”
“Hmm.” West pondered how to explain it. “Do you know how long a second is?”
“No.”
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” With each count, West snapped his fingers. “That was five seconds. Now, if I were to keep snapping like that without stopping for ten days, that would be almost a million seconds.”
Although Justin didn’t fully grasp the explanation, he clearly liked the snapping. He tried to imitate the sound, but his fingers couldn’t quite manage it.
“Like this,” West said, shaping the small hand in his, pressing the thumb and middle finger together. “Now try.”
Frowning with concentration, Justin attempted another snap, but there was no sound.
“Keep practicing,” West advised. “In the meantime, let’s go to dry ground.”
“But I need more pebbles,” Justin protested.
West grinned. “You’ve filled your pockets with so many pebbles, you’re about to lose your trousers. Come, let’s show them to your mother.”
The black cat retreated a few feet, watching warily, as Justin emptied the contents of his pockets onto a handkerchief Phoebe had spread on the ground.
Phoebe dutifully admired the many-colored pebbles and picked up a white-banded one. Glancing up at West, she asked, “How do you know so much about chalk formation, Mr. Ravenel?”
“It’s because of the estate quarry. Before we started digging, I had to consult with mining experts, including a field geologist.”
“What’s a geologist?” Justin asked.
The question made West smile. “A scientist who studies rocks and drinks too much.”
As Phoebe set down the pebble, Stephen grabbed it and tried to put it in his mouth. “No, darling,” she said, taking it back, “that’s not good for you.” The baby whined irritably, reaching for the forbidden pebble. In a moment he began to squall, which awakened Nanny from her light nap. She rubbed her eyes and began to stand up.
“It’s all right, Nanny,” Phoebe said. “Justin, will you fetch a toy from the pram?”
Justin hurried to the vehicle, rummaged at the side of it, and brought back a little stuffed horse made of leather. Its legs had nearly worn down to nubs from the baby’s teething. Stephen took the toy, regarded it disdainfully, and dropped it to the ground as he continued to fuss.
Instantly the cat darted forward, snatched the toy and hurried off with it.
West came forward, reached down to clasp Stephen around the ribs, and lifted him from Phoebe’s lap. “What’s all this racket?” he asked, settling the baby against his chest.
Stunned into silence, Stephen looked tearfully into the man’s smiling blue eyes.
“Poor chap,” West soothed. “How dare they offer you a toy when you had a perfectly good rock to play with? It’s an outrage . . . yes it is . . . an atrocity . . .” To Phoebe’s amazement, Stephen’s temper subsided as the “stranger” continued to coddle him. He put his hand on the West’s cheek, exploring the bristly texture. In a moment, West lowered his face and blew a rude sound against the baby’s tummy, making him convulse with giggles. He lifted him in the air and began to pitch him upward repeatedly, eliciting squeals of delight.
“Mr. Ravenel,” Phoebe said, “I’d prefer you didn’t toss my child about as if he were an old valise.”
“He likes it,” West replied, although he gentled the movement.
“He also likes chewing on discarded cigar butts,” Phoebe said.
“We all have our bad habits,” West told the baby kindly, lowering him back down to his chest. “Justin, come—we have work to do.” He bent to pick up a stick the length of his forearm.
Phoebe’s eyes widened. “What is that for?”
“We’re clearing the area of crocodiles,” West informed her, and handed the stick to Justin. “If one comes close, beat him off with this.”
Justin squeaked in excitement and followed at his heels.
Although Phoebe was tempted to point out there were no crocodiles in England, she only laughed and watched as the three adventurers set off. Shaking her head, she went to sit beside Nanny.
“There’s a lot of man in that one,” the older woman remarked.
“There’s too much man in that one,” Phoebe said wryly.
They watched West stride off with the boys, still holding Stephen in one arm. Justin reached up with his free hand, and West took it without hesitation.
“They speak well of him in the servants’ hall,” Nanny ventured. “A good man, and a good master, who should have a household of his own. Well favored in looks, and the right age for fathering, too.”
“Nanny,” Phoebe said, giving her an amused, incredulous glance, “he’s only half tame.”
“Fie, milady . . . there’s not a man alive who’d be too much for you to manage.”
“I don’t want a man I’d have to manage. I’d like a civilized one who can manage himself.” Phoebe reached over to a patch of wild chamomile and plucked a blossom. Rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger, she inhaled the sweet apple-ish scent. Glancing sideways at the other woman, she added quietly, “Besides, you haven’t forgotten what Henry asked of me.”
“No, milady. Nor have I forgotten that he asked it when he was in his last fading. You’d have promised anything to ease his mind.”
Phoebe felt comfortable discussing Henry with his old nanny, who had loved him from the first day of his life to the last. “Henry gave careful thought to my future,” she said. “He saw the advantages of a match with Edward, who has a fine reputation and a gentlemanly nature, and will set a good example for the boys while they’re growing up.”
“A fine shoe often pinches the foot.”
Phoebe gathered more blossoms to make a tiny bouquet. “I’d have thought you would approve of a match between me and Henry’s cousin. Edward is so very like him.”
“Is he, milady?”
“Yes, you’ve known him since he was a child. He’s very much like Henry, only without the quirks.”
Despite Edward’s relatively young age, he was a gentleman of the old school, courtly and soft-spoken, a man who would never dream of making a scene. In all the years of their acquaintance, Phoebe had never once seen him lose his temper. She wouldn’t have to worry that he would be unfaithful, or cold, or thoughtless: It simply wasn’t in him.
It wasn’t difficult to envision being content with Edward.
The difficult part was trying to imagine sleeping with him. Her mind couldn’t seem to conjure it except in an unfocused way, like watching shadow puppets.
When it came to West Ravenel, however, the problem was exactly the reverse. The idea of sharing a bed with him made her mouth go dry and her pulse race with excitement.
Troubled by the direction of her thoughts, Phoebe wrapped a stem around the little chamomile bouquet and gave it to Nanny. “I should go see what Mr. Ravenel and the children are doing,” she said lightly. “He probably has them playing with knives and sulfur matches by now.”
She found West and the children on a low bank of the stream, all three of them muddy and disheveled. Stephen was perched in West’s lap, his white linen smock positively filthy. They appeared to have made a project of stacking flat river stones into towers. Justin had used his stick to dig a channel in the sandy silt and was transferring water from the stream with his cupped hands.