“Very generous, Lady Eden,” Shaw said. She had not imagined that touch of insolence.
“You know my name?”
“Everyone in the dale knows of your ladyship’s arrival.”
He flustered her far too much. Though she had a reputation for taking many lovers, no one would expect her to consider any man so far beneath her station. Yet she wanned under Shaw’s gaze as if he were a man she might be attracted to.
Such notions should not even enter her head. She was in mourning, and he was a servant.
But there was more than one way to keep uncomfortable thoughts—and people—at a distance. She gave both men her best smile. “I forgot how quickly gossip travels in the country.”
“We’re all glad to have you back, my lady,” Dalziel said.
Her reply was interrupted by the arrival of Grubb, Hindle—and Donal. The boy dashed past her and came to stand directly in front of Shaw.
“Are you going to live here with us?” he demanded.
“Donal—” Eden began. She hadn’t the heart to scold him for leaving Mrs. Byrne. She doubted she would ever be able to punish him for any misdeed. For all his solemnity, he was a high-spirited child.
Shaw cast Eden a piercing look and smiled down at Donal. His smile dispelled the coldness of his face, bringing light and warmth to the harshness of his features. There was even something of tenderness there.
“That’s to be seen,” he said. “Your name is Donal?”
“Aye. Your name is Hartley.”
“So it is.” He crouched to the boy’s level. “How old are you, Donal?”
Donal held up five fingers. “How old are you?”
Shaw laughed. Like his smile, his laugh transformed him. Behind the sound lay the cherished warmth of summer, the smell of new-mown hay, the rush of clear water in the beck.
“Much older than you can count on these,” he said, taking the boy’s hand. His fingers were remarkably gentle, dwarfing Donal’s. Donal rewarded Shaw with one of his own rare smiles.
Eden felt as if they had created an invisible barricade around themselves, a world of their own that she could not enter.
“Donal,” she said. “Please come to me.”
Reluctantly, the boy pulled his hand from Shaw’s. He backed his way to Eden, watching Shaw all the while, and bumped against her legs.
“Grubb, Hindle,” she said, “assist Mr. Dalziel to the house, and give him into Mrs. Byrne’s care. Shaw—” She tried to smile, but the expression that once came so easily to her face seemed unaccountably frozen. “Our cook will provide you with a meal. It is the least we can do.”
Shaw stared at her with absolutely no sense of propriety. “Aye,” he said.
Donal’s hand in hers, she led the way back to the house. Mrs. Byrne waited by the door.
“I am sorry, my lady. I turned my back just for a moment—”
“Never mind, Mrs. Byrne. The men are coming with Dalziel. Have you prepared a suitable chamber?” At the housekeeper’s nod, Eden hesitated, half afraid to speak the stranger’s name. “There is another, one Hartley Shaw, who succeeded in calming Atlas. He deserves a good meal, if Cook will provide one. I shall put Donal in my room for a nap, and then I’ll look in on Dalziel.”
Happy to leave Mrs. Byrne in charge, Eden took Donal into her room and tucked him into the immense four-poster. He moved about restlessly, kicking at the sheets and looking toward the door.
Shaw, she thought, though it made no sense. How could Donal have formed an attachment so quickly?
Indeed, how had she come to find him so disturbing?
She stroked Donal’s forehead, smoothing back his hair and marveling that she had fallen in love overnight. I can still love. Not a man—never again—but I have more than enough for my son.
As much to distract herself as quiet Donal, she reached back in her memory for a lullaby her own nurse had sung to her when she was little.
Her lullaby succeeded. Donal slept deeply in the way of young children, his mouth half open and his thick brown lashes shadowing his cheek. Eden glanced at the mantel clock. Two hours had passed; surely Shaw would be gone. Aunt Claudia must still be in her room.