The Babe and the Baron by Carola Dunn Page B

cotton gloves. It would be easy, she thought, to give up the struggle and let him take care of her. His dark blue eyes were warm, too, gazing down at her. If only his concern were for her as a person, not as a dependent, a pregnant dependent.
    Feeling the warmth reach her cheeks, she pulled away her hand. “As a matter of fact, I had already decided that to have to climb back up these steps would be shatterbrained. Such a pity; the English garden is most attractive.”
    “I should have trusted your common sense.” He grinned. “As it happens, there is a carriage drive behind those ilex bushes. If you wish, I shall help you down the steps and fetch the gig to drive you back up the hill to the house.”
    “That will be delightful, cousin.” She laid her hand on his arm and they descended.
    The fountain featured a pink marble naiad pouring a sparkling stream of water from an urn balanced on her shoulder. As they approached, Laura noticed a marble dragonfly perched on the lip of the urn, and then she saw that the naiad held a frog nestling in her other hand. The shelving rock she stood upon was a haven for other marble creatures: otters, newts, a water-vole, a pair of nesting ducks. Behind her a swan spread wide protective wings.
    “Oh, charming!” Laura exclaimed. “I have never seen its like.”
    “See if you can find the smallest creature.”
    Challenged, she knelt with one knee on the rim of the fountain and peered at the sculpture. “A snail. There by the littlest otter.”
    “Which would crunch it up, no doubt, were they real. But no, there is something smaller. Look next to the larger newt.”
    “A beetle? Oh, a water boatman, of course. The children must love this.”
    “We did, my brothers and I, when we were small. Maria's children are not allowed here.”
    She frowned. “I recall some sort of hullabaloo over her sons when we arrived but I did not properly gather the cause—yes, I admit I was tired,” she added defensively. “Are they so ill-behaved they cannot be trusted in the gardens?”
    “By no means. George and Henry are normal boys with a normal share of naughtiness. But Maria is convinced they will come to some dire end if they are permitted to run about.”
    “Surely it cannot be healthy to keep them cooped up in the house.”
    “They are allowed sedate walks in the shrubbery with their governess,” Gareth said dryly.
    “I daresay that is all the exercise Mrs. Forbes cares to take, so she cannot understand that children need more.”
    “Possibly. More to the point is her fear that they might drown in the fountain—”
    “In four inches of water?”
    “—or break their necks climbing trees. I freely confess I have not sufficient fortitude to face Maria's hysterics should I overrule her where her darlings are concerned.”
    “Her darling devils. Hmm,” said Laura, deep in thought, “I shall have to see what I can do.”
    “Don't tell me I have taken a managing female into my house!”
    She laughed. “I cannot be sure. I have never had much opportunity for managing people and I may well prove an utter failure.”
    “I doubt it. You have by far too much force of mind to make a mull of anything you set your mind to.”
    Reminded of the mull she had made of her life, she shivered. Instantly Gareth whipped off his coat and draped it across her shoulders. “You are cold,” he said, full of remorse. “The morning air is still chilly at this season. Here, come and sit on this bench in the sun while I fetch the gig.”
    He set off up the steps at a run, his shoulders broad in his white shirt, close-fitting buckskins revealing slim hips and muscular thighs above his refulgent top-boots. Gareth Wyckham was no mincing Town Beau in need of a valet to release him from the imprisonment of a fashionably tight coat. She huddled his riding coat about her, breathing in his odour, mingled with the fragrance of peonies and lilies-of-the-valley.
    Not that she was actually cold. In a gesture of