The Proposal (2 page)

“Jennings?” Knightly called out as he entered the veranda. “What are you doing out here?”

Mr William Jennings, the man he sought, glanced over his shoulder, not at all sorry to be out of Lady Wendt’s stifling ballroom and in the fresh air.

“It was a bit warm in there,” Jennings said briefly as Knightly joined him at the railing.

“Yes, and getting warmer. Did you see Louisa Dent tonight? Her husband leaves for France, and she throws off every inhibition.”

Jennings shook his head in disgust and said, “I’ve known for many years what Dent has yet to find out: Most women cannot be trusted.”

“I’ll say,” Knightly agreed fervently, draining the glass he’d brought out with him.

“Knightly?” a female voice called from behind the men just as they were beginning to enjoy the silence. “Are you out here?”

“Yes, Augusta, I’m here.” Knightly turned from the railing. “Are you coming back in, Jennings?”

“I think not,” that man replied. He was tired and wished to go home.

“We’ll see you later,” Knightly said and moved toward his wife.

Jennings did not reply. He was in need of solitude and knew that home was the only place he could be guaranteed of that.

The carriage delivered Jennings to the front of his London home precisely on time, but that man barely took notice. Though footmen in attendance and his man, Bates, didn’t often see him elated, at times they sensed a lighter mood. Not tonight. Tonight he seemed far away, his mind in deep thought.

In the eyes of Jennings, Lady Wendt’s dinner party had been dreadful, full of women who had nothing more on their minds than catching a rich husband or gossiping about a woman who had. His dinner companion had been a vain, blonde creature so occupied with herself she had never stopped speaking. It had given him a headache.

Now in his dressing room, having stated that he wished to be alone, Jennings slowly loosened the cravat at his throat, telling himself that tonight’s dinner party would be the last. In truth, he didn’t know why he’d gone in the first place.

His mood growing more pensive by the second, he waited only until his throat was free to retire to his study to sit by the fire. No other lights burned, and for long moments he stared into the flames.

Jennings had not been reared to distrust women, but his own good mother was dead, and his sister, a woman he’d admired for many years, had changed since she’d found God, cementing Jennings’ belief that women were not all that trustworthy.

Jennings hated to even think about the change. It made him angry. That anyone with half a brain would embrace the teachings of an ancient book and say they were lifechanging, was incomprehensible to him.

Prior to her religious experience, his sister had been a brilliant woman. Articulate and keen—why, that’s what had drawn Frank Palmer to the altar thirteen years ago. They’d been a promising couple. But Jennings couldn’t stand to be around either of them any longer. For him, the relationship was over.

Warm from the fire, Jennings felt fatigue creep over him. The blaze lulled him as his irritation drained away. At moments like this, when his sister and her family came to mind, and only if he was very tired, he asked himself if he’d made the best choices. Maybe he should have looked into a family for himself. Maybe having sons to carry his name would have been worth taking a chance on a wife, but he would be thirty-four on his next birthday, and though not old by many standards, Jennings felt he was now too set in his ways to accommodate a family.

Sleep began to crowd in, and Jennings fought it. Just when he thought he could nod off in the chair, Jennings, a man of discipline, made himself rise and find his bed. The cool touch of the linens against his skin was enough to rouse him for a time, but the day’s activities and the busyness of his mind were catching up. Asleep before the clock struck one, he never heard a sound.

“How did he take the lost letter?” Bates asked.

“I can’t tell you. He didn’t want the post with breakfast.”

The two men looked at each other before going on about their duties.

The staff was accustomed to a life of order and discipline, so this was a surprise to them. Jennings was not an unreasonable man, but he liked his routine. And since he rarely stepped from the routine himself, it left his servants in something of a quandary. They carried on as best they could.

Bates went soundlessly into the room to see to his master’s needs, but clearly Mr Jennings’ mind was elsewhere. He seemed to be eating the breakfast in front of him without notice or even taste. All over the house, people were moving about quietly and for his comfort, and faint sounds of this activity drifted even to the small dining room where he sat, but there was no outward recognition of anything.

This went on for an hour before Jennings reached for the day’s newspaper. He had only just immersed himself in an article on finance when Bates came to the dining room, this time to interrupt.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but a situation has arisen.”

Jennings, wanting his solitude at the moment, still put the paper aside.

“Yes, Bates, what is it?”

“Some children have been delivered to our door, sir. The coachman insists that they are to come here to Mr William Jennings.” Bates paused a moment but then went right on. “And if I may be so bold, sir, I have also brought you the post. On top is a letter that was given to Mr Collins yesterday. It was misplaced for a few days.”

As keen as the sister he admired, Jennings was lifting the letter and opening it to read just moments later. The news that a cousin he barely knew existed had died was surprising enough. Learning that the man was leaving his three children to him was staggering. Jennings sat utterly still for a full three minutes before standing to face Bates.

“Where are these children right now?”

“In the foyer, sir. The coachman would not be swayed.”

Jennings consulted the letter again.

“Three children?”

“Yes, sir. Two boys and a small girl.”

“And their father’s just died,” he said almost absently.

Bates remained quiet.

“Ready a room they can all sleep in tonight.”

Jennings made his way toward the foyer. It didn’t take long to identify his guests. Standing in a sober mass were three children. The boys stood side by side, but the girl tried to stand behind her older brother. Upon seeing Jennings approach, the older boy gently pulled his sister out to stand next to him.

Jennings went directly to the oldest child.

“I’m William Jennings, your father’s cousin,” he said, putting his hand out to shake the boy’s. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, sir. My name is Thomas Jennings. This is my brother, James, and my sister, Penelope. We call her Penny.”

“Hello, James,” Jennings greeted him, shaking his hand as well. But when he turned back to the little girl, she was already trying to hide behind her brother.

“May I ask you a question, sir?” Thomas, pale from the events of the last weeks, took the courage to ask.

“Yes, you may, Thomas.”

“Were you expecting us, sir? Is this where we are to stay?”

As though a present had been dropped from heaven, William Jennings saw what had been given to him. The answer to the boy’s question came from Jennings’ mouth just heartbeats before it entered his mind.

“Yes, Thomas. This is where you’re to stay.”

The young man, near his thirteenth birthday, bowed slightly in acknowledgment. His ten-year-old brother and six-year-old sister made no comment or movement at all.

“How are they?” Jennings asked, hovering near the base of the main stairway and waiting for Mr Collins to descend.

“Settling in, sir.”

“Did they need anything?”

“No, sir. Young Master Thomas assured me that he would see to things and make us aware of their needs.”

“Are they coming down?”

“I don’t believe so right now, sir. I heard Master James say that the little girl needed to sleep.”

“What’s her name again?”

“Penny, sir.”

“That’s right.”

“Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, Collins. Thank you.”

Mr Collins had all he could do not to shake his head. He’d never seen his employer so anxious or animated. He couldn’t wait to learn Bates’ opinion on the matter.

Left alone at the bottom of the stairs, Jennings debated his next move. The children needed time to settle in to their new surroundings—they’d been through quite an ordeal— but at the same time he wanted to get to know those boys. Many times in his life he had yearned for this very thing: sons to share his life with, and now he had two of them! It was almost too fantastic to be real. Last night he’d been mourning his choices, and now he had two sons without the trouble of a wife.

His mind ran with the things he wanted to tell them and show them. Not sure when they would be ready to come down, Jennings retired to his study to prepare for such a time.

“It’s all right,” Thomas said to his sister as he stroked her hair and tried to believe his own words. “Just go to sleep.”

“I’m cold,” she sobbed.

Thomas shifted the covers up closer to her face.

“The fire is high; you’ll be warm soon. Just close your eyes, Penny.”

The little girl did as she was told, but not before whispering, “I need Papa.”

Thomas didn’t reply. He wanted their father too. From his place at the edge of the bed, Thomas looked over to where James sat by the fire. Normally rather bookish, James hadn’t read a word since their father’s death. Even now he looked into the flames, seemingly unaware of much else.

A glance down at Penny told Thomas she was asleep. She’d traveled in wide-eyed terror all the way to London, and he knew she was exhausted. Moving quietly to the fire with James, Thomas took a moment and looked at the room they were in. It was a large room with two wide beds. They would be very comfortable in here, but something in his young heart told him not to get too relaxed.

“Is she asleep?” James asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“I’m hungry,” James admitted.

“I am too.”

James looked at his brother. “Do you want me to ask for something?”

“I thought I’d wait until Penny woke.”

James looked surprised. “She could sleep for hours.”