Page 50 of The Music of Love

“Oh?” The warmth in her voice startled him. Was she saying that was what she wanted? “We can certainly ask her if she would like to move back to Whitethorn.”

Just then Gerald Fant came storming out of the small shed that stood off to the side of the house. He looked furious. His wife stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, and watched him for a long moment before she noticed Stacy and Portia. She raised one hand in a belated greeting and then smoothed her skirt, giving her husband’s retreating back a last glance.

What was that about? Stacy mentally shrugged. Probably just a domestic dispute—something he would soon get to experience himself if his wife’s confession about her passionate nature was true.

“We’ve come to see Nanny,” Portia called out. “How is she today?”

The older woman gave Portia a stiff, rather sour, smile and curtseyed to Stacy. “She is sitting down to tea. There’s a bit of a breeze today so she’s in the sun room.”

Nanny Kemble was waiting for them at the front door and threw her arms around Stacy as though she’d not seen him in a year. He held her birdlike body in a gentle embrace before releasing her.

“Well, Nanny. I guess you’ve missed me?”

She squeezed his arm tightly with her slender, claw-like hand. “I thought you’d been killed. Miss Frances would only say you were fine and wouldn’t tell me what had happened.” Her face wore the bitter look it always did whenever she spoke his aunt’s name. Stacy had never understood why she disliked his aunt so much. Especially as Frances had been the one to engage her and did everything in her power to see to her comfort and care.

“I daresay she didn’t want to alarm you, Nanny. As you can see, I am fine,” he held out his arms and turned around and she laughed.

“I’m so pleased you’ve come to see me, Master Stacy, even though you should be home resting,” she scolded.

“Signora Stefani would agree with you, Nanny.”

The old lady gave Portia an affectionate look. “You’ve a good woman in Signora Stefani.”

“I know, Nanny. I’m fortunate.” He smiled at Portia and the wicked woman crossed her eyes at him, quickly, so that Nanny never saw. The playful gesture touched him more deeply than he would have expected; how wonderful to have a wife who wasn’t only a mate, but also a companion and friend and lover.

He turned to his old nurse, disconcerted by the sudden surge of emotion. “Come, Nanny, I need some sustenance after that grueling walk. I am a wounded man yet Signora Stefani drove me before her most cruelly.”

While they sat and enjoyed their tea Stacy told his old nurse a less remarkable version of his shooting. By the time they’d finished the second cup he could see she was tired and had begun to mistake him for some long-past child, murmuring about his sister Miss Mary and how she ate bonbons until she cast up her accounts in the drawing room.

“She is such a dear lady,” Portia said as they began the walk back. “I wish she did not suffer from such confusion.”

“So do I, but at least she does not seem much disturbed by it. I believe most of the time she forgets about the brief episodes almost as soon as they happen.”

“Did you know the family she was with before you?”

“I only know she was married to Mr. Kemble for barely a year before the poor man died in some tragic accident. She was with child at the time and miscarried from the shock.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame she never married again. She is the kind of woman who needs children of her own.”

“Oh, what kind of woman is that, sir?”

He smiled down at her. “The loving kind.”

The look in her dark eyes was unreadable and they walked in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts.

Stacy wondered how she felt about carrying his child, a man she barely knew. He wondered if she’d yet realized their baby might very well be born with his condition. He would need to broach the topic eventually.

“Is your leg paining you?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Not a bit,” he lied. “I believe you must have magic hands, Signora.” He held one of those magic hands in his as they came to a part of the trail wide enough to walk side-by-side.

“No, that would be Doctor Gates who has magic hands. If you will recall, all I did to that particular wound was clean it and cause you to scream.”

“I do recall that, actually.”

She shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“No, just remembering what you looked like when they brought you into the house that night.” She stopped abruptly and looked up at him, taking his hand, her eyes wide. “It was terrifying, Stacy. There was so much blood you looked as though you’d been mauled by a beast.”