Love Affairs. Louise Allen

      ‘Does your foot hurt very badly?’ Alice stood right by the chair, her hands on its arm, and regarded Laura’s face intently. Her eyes were clear and green. On her, as with her true father, the winging eyebrows made her seem always to be smiling slightly. On the earl they added a cynical air that only vanished when he smiled.

      ‘No, it is much better now I am resting it, thank you. I am sure it is only a slight strain.’ Was there anything of her in the child? Laura studied the piquant little face and could see nothing that would betray their relationship except, perhaps, something in the fine line of her nose and the curves of her upper lip. Alice had none of her own colouring—dark blonde hair, brown eyes, pale skin. Perhaps, as she grew towards womanhood Alice would develop some similarities. It was dangerous to wish it.

      ‘Why are you wearing a black dress? Has someone died?’ Alice asked.

      ‘Alice, that is an intrusive question.’ The earl turned from the table, displeasure very clear on his face.

      ‘It is all right.’ It was easier to establish her story in response to the child’s innocent questions than to attempt to drip-feed it into conversation with the earl. ‘Yes, Alice. I lost my husband.’ It was true in her heart: Piers had been her husband in everything except the exchange of vows in church. ‘And then my parents died.’

      Alice’s hand curled round her forearm, small and warm and confiding; the touch so precious that it hurt. ‘That is why you have sad eyes,’ she said, her own lip quivering. ‘I lost my mama. Really lost her, because she isn’t dead. Papa says she had to go away and won’t come back.’

      I can’t bear this. I must. ‘I am sure your mama would if she could,’ Laura said and touched her fingertips to the child’s cheek. ‘I am certain she will be thinking about you every day. But we cannot always do what we wish, even if it is our heart’s deepest desire.’

      ‘Alice, run inside and ask Miss Blackstock to join us for tea.’

      Laura glanced at Alice, but the child did not appear frightened by Wykeham’s abrupt order or the edge to his voice. It did not seem that she felt anything but trust and love for the man she believed was her father. She waited until the small figure whisked through the window and then said what she was thinking without pausing to consider. ‘Why did you not tell her that her mother was dead?’

       Chapter Three

      Lord Wykeham did not snub her as he had every right to do. ‘I will not lie to her,’ he said abruptly. ‘Do you take cream or lemon with your tea, Mrs Jordan?’

      ‘Lemon, thank you.’ Laura was hardly aware of the automatic exchange. ‘But you—’ She caught the rest of the sentence, her teeth painful on her tongue. But you let her think you are her father. ‘You do not think that is more difficult for her to accept?’ His expression became even more sardonic. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord, it is not my place to speak of it.’

      ‘Alice likes you,’ he said without answer or comment on her question. ‘Have you children of your own, Mrs Jordan?’

      ‘I lost one child. I have no others.’ It was quite safe to mention that she had given birth to a child, he would never associate her with Alice’s mother, of that she was confident. His natural supposition, should he trouble to think about it, would be that she had married perhaps three or four years ago, some time after her first come-out to allow for the normal processes of upper-class courtship and marriage. She was almost twenty-five now, and her mirror told her that she did not look older.

      ‘She is a naturally loving and friendly child, I imagine.’ He nodded and passed her a plate of small savouries. ‘Has she many playmates in the neighbourhood?’

      ‘No, none. Alice has lived virtually her entire life abroad. We have only been back from the Continent for just over a month. There has been a great deal to do, but you are right to make the point, Mrs Jordan, I should make the effort to socialise locally in order to find her some friends of her own age.’

      ‘My lord, I had no intention of criticising.’ Which was an untruth. How fast he caught her up. As a diplomat the man was used to watching faces, listening to voices and hearing the reality behind the facade. She would have to be wary. She glanced towards the house, then quickly away. He must not see the hunger she was certain was clear in her eyes.

      ‘Hinting, then,’ he said with the first real smile he had directed at her. Laura felt her mouth curve in response before she could stop it. When the man smiled he had an indecent amount of charm. And that was confusing because there should not be one good thing about him. Not one, the child-stealing reptile. She dropped her gaze before he could read the conflict.

      ‘Papa! Here is Blackie.’ Alice, who never seemed to walk anywhere, bounded to a halt in front of Laura. That energy is so like me as a child. The pang of recognition was bittersweet. ‘Mrs Jordan, this is Blackie.’

      The nurse bobbed a neat curtsy. ‘Miss Blackstock, ma’am.’

      ‘Miss Blackstock. Miss Falconer is a credit to you.’ And you are a credit to Lord Wykeham’s care for Alice, she thought, reluctantly awarding him a point for the care of the child. Not such a reptile after all, if Alice could love him and if he could choose her attendants with such care. Being fair was unpalatable, she wanted to hate him simply and cleanly.

      ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ There was a stir as the nurse took a seat beside Alice, then a small tussle over the need to eat bread and butter before cake. All very normal for an informal family meal and not at all what she had expected and feared she would find. And that, Laura realised as she nibbled on a cress sandwich, was disconcerting.

      She had been braced to rescue her child from some sort of domineering, manipulative, bullying tyrant and found instead a happy girl and, she was coming to suspect, a doting father behind the facade of firmness.

      * * *

      Tea was finished at last, a final sliver of cake wheedled out of the earl despite Miss Blackstock’s despairing shake of the head, and Alice wriggled off her chair. ‘May I get down, Papa?’

      ‘You are down,’ he said.

      Alice dimpled a smile at him and came to gaze earnestly at Laura. ‘Will you come and visit again, Mrs Jordan? We are very cheerful and there is always nice cake and perhaps you won’t feel so sad then. You could play with my kittens.’

      ‘Miss Alice!’ Miss Blackstock got to her feet with an apologetic look at Laura.

      ‘It was indeed very nice cake and I feel very cheerful now after such good company,’ Laura said. Could she come again? Dare she? She must not promise the child something she might not be able to fulfil.

      ‘Jackson!’ A footman came striding across the grass in response to the earl’s summons. ‘Send to the stables and have Ferris harness up the gig to take Mrs Jordan back to the village.’

      ‘Please, I do not wish to be a trouble, I can walk,’ she said as the man hurried away across the grass to the side of the house. ‘My ankle feels quite strong now.’

      ‘I cannot countenance you attempting it without an escort and it is probably best if we do not emerge from the woods together.’ The smile was back, this time with a hint of something that was not exactly flirtation, more a masculine awareness of her as a woman.

      ‘As you say, Lord Wykeham.’ To drop her gaze, to hide behind her lashes, would be to acknowledge that look. She sent him a carefully calculated social smile that held not one iota of flirtation. ‘Thank you.’

      * * *

      ‘I do not know what to do.’ Laura paced across the parlour and back, her black skirts flicking the bookcase at one side and the sofa on the other as she turned. ‘I thought she would be unhappy and lonely, but I think she loves him and he loves her.’

      ‘What were you planning to do if she’d