The door opened again, and Mrs. Mann and the maid Mary stumbled inside. Both were dripping wet. Frances ran to the table, snatched Notley’s fork, and brandished it. “Stay back.”
“I say! That’s my fork.”
“Now listen—” Mary began, scolding Frances. Mrs. Mann, having seen Rory, touched her arm. Both women suddenly straightened and then curtseyed.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Mrs. Mann said. “Miss Frances seems to have slipped away from us.”
“Don’t come any closer!” Frances yelled, pointing the fork at the housekeeper. Notley surreptitiously put his hand over his knife and drew it off the table so it wouldn’t be visible.
“Now, Miss Frances,” Mary said in a tone that was far too sweet. “You must take a bath. Once you are clean, you may climb into bed, and I will read you a story from the Bible.”
“I hate the Bible!”
Even Notley raised his brows at that statement.
“I don’t want a story, and I will not take a bath.” Frances stamped one of her small feet.
Rory cleared his throat before his staff tried to negotiate with the child further. She turned and looked up at him. “Not you again.”
“Yes, me again.” Rory tried to look stern, but it was difficult not to laugh when the child scowled and pointed the fork at him. “This is my house, and if you are to live here, you must do as Mrs. Mann says.”
“I don’t want to live here. I want to go back to Grandmama’s house.”
Rory wanted her to go back to the Dowlings’ house as well, but that wasn’t an option. “Your grandmama wants you to visitLilacfall Abbey for a little while. I’m sure she told you to behave while you are here.”
“I don’t care what she says,” Frances said. “I hate her, and I hate you.”
Notley raised a hand to summon a footman. “I will need more wine,” he said. “Much more.”
Rory was at the end of his patience. He wasn’t about to stand here while a child screamed at him and threatened him with eating implements. He’d endured that from her mother, and he wouldn’t live like that again. He moved forward, and Frances moved back. She turned her head from side to side, probably looking for an escape, but Mrs. Mann and Mary were standing in front of one door, and the butler was in front of the other. Meanwhile, Rory advanced until the child had backed herself into a corner.
He held out a hand. “Give me the fork.”
“No.” Frances shook her head.
Rory reached for it, and she lunged.
“Ow!” he said, but he grasped the fork with one hand and her arm with the other. Then he swung her up and tucked her under his arm, tossing the fork on the ground where she couldn’t reach it. She kicked and screamed, but Rory held her tightly so most of her kicks didn’t land. She was surprisingly light, and though he hadn’t ever before carried a child like a parcel, it worked quite well. “Lead me to the nursery, Mrs. Mann,” he said.
“Yes, my lord.” She hurried away, and he followed, Frances demanding to be put down the entire way. The nursery was in the wing opposite that of his bedchamber. He remembered it now from when he’d first purchased the house. It had been bare, a chamber of white walls and moldering draperies. When Mrs. Mann opened the door, he was pleasantly surprised to find it painted yellow, with white and yellow curtains and an assortment of dolls and toys. A small table with child-size chairshad been laid with a plate, cup, and saucer. A small bed had been made with a pink, fluffy blanket over the top of the sheets. In the center of the room, a small tub sat near the hearth.
For a moment, Rory was stunned. How had Mrs. Mann managed all of this in just a few short hours? And then he realized she hadn’t. Harriet had done this when she’d beenenceintewith Frances. A sliver of pain so slight he almost didn’t register it shot through him. It was gone in an instant, and Rory gritted his teeth, intent on keeping it that way.
“Is that the bath you want her in?” he asked, though the question was quite superfluous.
“Yes, my lord. I can take it from here, my lord.”
Rory ignored the protest, marched to the tub, and deposited the child on her bottom in the water. She screamed as though she’d been burned. He stared at her and attempted not to cover his ears. What the devil? The tub held less than three inches of water, as what had been there had obviously been splashed on Mrs. Mann and Mary, and what remained was probably cold by now. The child was not burning. Instead of covering his ears at her screams, he clamped his hands on Frances’s nightgown-clad shoulders and held her in place. Her face was bright red as she continued to scream, but at least she wasn’t fighting him. “Mrs. Mann,” he said. “Soap?”
“Yes, my lord.” She lifted it, but he shook his head when she held it out to him.
“Wash her face and hands. I’m afraid the rest of her will have to wait until she can behave.”
Mrs. Mann did as she was told. Then she fetched a towel, and Rory pulled Frances up and wrapped her in it. She finally ceased screaming.
Perhaps he should not have forced her into the bath. But then, what did he know about children or the raising of them? His parents had left that task to their servants, and if Rory haddared oppose his nanny, he would have been subjected to far worse treatment than Frances had endured just now.
Rory sat the child in front of the fire. “I am leaving now so Mary can dress you in a dry nightgown. But if I hear another scream from you or see you outside of this nursery again tonight, you will be sorry. Do you understand?”
