A Most Unconventional Match. Julia Justiss

David made Sir Gregory a proper bow. ‘Good day, sir,’ he said politely. ‘Sands said you wished me to see me, Mama?’

      Elizabeth’s heart swelled with motherly pride at David’s impeccable behaviour before a man she knew he disliked. Indeed, it filled her with gladness just to look at him, so grave and correct as he addressed them both.

      Dropping a brief kiss on the top of his head, Elizabeth said, ‘Yes, my dear. Sir Gregory has been kind enough to bring you something, and I thought you ought to have the opportunity to thank him personally.’ She handed him the toy soldier.

      Solemnly David regarded the toy. With a smile Elizabeth could tell was forced, he bowed again to the baronet. ‘Thank you, Sir Gregory.’

      ‘You’re quite welcome, my good man,’ Sir Gregory said in the over-hearty manner of adults who aren’t accustomed to conversing with children. ‘Capital little soldier, eh? No need to fix the old one now. Toss him in the dustbin!’

      ‘Oh, no, sir!’ David’s eyes opened wide with alarm. ‘I could never do that. Papa gave him to me. And he’s a general, not just a soldier. General Blücher.’

      ‘Ah, I see. Sentimental value. But one soldier’s as good as another, eh? Except on a battlefield, perhaps.’ Sir Gregory chuckled at his own joke.

      David did not look amused. ‘They are not alike,’ he replied, frowning. ‘General Blücher was the head of all the Prussian soldiers. Napoleon might have won Waterloo, Papa said, if General Blücher hadn’t come with his men. This soldier—’ he held up the baronet’s gift ‘—is a Royal Irish Dragoon guardsman. They didn’t fight at Waterloo.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ Sir Gregory said, clearly beginning to lose patience. ‘But it’s only play, son. Would you rather have a working soldier or a broken general?’

      David set his chin. ‘I want Papa’s general. Besides, Mr Waterman is going to fix him. I don’t need yours!’

      Tears in his eyes, the boy tossed the soldier to the floor and ran out of the room.

      Aghast, Elizabeth watched the door slam behind him. In many ways, David seemed so mature for his age, sometimes it was hard to remember he wasn’t yet seven. Still a baby, really, and aching for the father he missed so keenly.

      Embarrassed none the less, Elizabeth turned back to the scowling baronet, who was staring at the rejected toy. With a nervous smile, she went over and picked it up.

      ‘I’m dreadfully sorry. I know when he’s calmer, David will prize the gift. You must excuse him, he’s still so overwrought—’

      ‘Poor behaviour shouldn’t be excused, Lizbet, regardless of the circumstances,’ Sir Gregory said blightingly. ‘You do the child no favour by indulging him just because he had the misfortune to lose his papa. Society will judge him on his comportment—which, I am sorry to report, in this instance was sadly lacking. But now I must go. Do be on your guard about Mr Waterman. I shall call and check on you later. Madam.’ After giving her a stiff bow, Sir Gregory walked out.

      Elizabeth exhaled a trembling breath. She understood only too well how the mere thought of discarding a prized toy his father had given him, an object that represented many hours the two had spent together, Everitt spinning stories about Waterloo, David hanging on every word as they manoeuvred his soldiers in mock battle, would upset her son. It must seem to the boy almost like suggesting he toss away the memory of his father. Small wonder he’d taken Sir Gregory’s well-meant gift so badly.

      But it was a gift and it had been well meant. Sir Gregory was correct. Some time later she would have to reprimand David and bring him to realise that his behaviour had been unacceptable. Worse still, she was going to have to induce him to apologise.

      How she’d bring that about, with David already so ill disposed towards Sir Gregory, she’d worry about later. With a sigh at having the day that had started out so promising turn suddenly sour, Elizabeth set off to soothe her son and coax him down for nuncheon.

      Chapter Seven

      Two mornings later, trying to quell the nervousness in his gut, Hal rang the bell at Mrs Lowery’s Green Street town house. Truly, he’d rather face down a dozen Mr Smiths in some low dive in Seven Dials than meet one Elizabeth Lowery in her drawing room.

      The butler who answered the door informed Hal that his mistress was presently working in her studio and ushered him to a salon to wait while he informed Mrs Lowery of his arrival. Hal’s request that Master David be summoned from the schoolroom to see him in the interim was unusual enough to surprise a momentary raise of eyebrows from the butler before Sands bowed himself out.

      A little shamefaced, Hal paced the parlour. David having mentioned that his mama always worked in her studio in the morning, he’d deliberately timed his visit for this hour. He’d wanted a respite after he arrived in the house to settle his nerves and a chance to visit the boy before he subjected himself once again to Elizabeth Lowery’s unsettling presence.

      When he was finally ushered into her office, he must be able to concentrate on getting out the words to accurately describe the state of Lowery’s finances. He could not let himself be distracted by the rose scent that wafted from her or the mesmerising blue of her eyes that beckoned him to halt in mid-syllable and simply gaze into them. Or the perfection of her skin that made him burn to feel the silk of her face beneath his fingertips…

      Catching the direction of his thoughts, he shook his head. He’d have to do better than this. He had but to recall her and his body began hardening, his mind losing its grip on his purpose in coming here. For a few panicked seconds, he considered bolting from the house.

      But he couldn’t do his duty by running away and delaying wouldn’t make confronting her any easier. He’d never shied from dealing with difficult situations—witness the last seven years of handling his mother—and didn’t intend to let Nicky down by starting now.

      As he rallied himself, he heard the rapid patter of approaching footsteps. A moment later, David burst into the room, the broken soldier dangling from one hand.

      The glowing look on the boy’s face as he skidded to a halt just inside the threshold temporarily dispelled all Hal’s misgivings. ‘Oh, Mr Waterman!’ David exclaimed. ‘You came back!’

      Once again, Hal was catapulted back to a time when he had been small, grieving and friendless. It was worth all the difficulties he would encounter being around the boy’s mama to bring that look of pleasure and relief to the child’s face.