Nash rose, but John was there before him, holding Maddy’s chair to seat her. It was part of the boy’s training, he saw. Henry, too, stood by his chair, waiting for Maddy to be seated before sitting down.
She smiled at both boys and caressed John’s hair briefly as she sat and began serving out the pancakes.
A small gesture of approval and affection, and so everyday neither of them even seemed aware of it, but it struck Nash that he had no memory of either his father or his mother doing such a thing to him or Marcus.
His father would have scorned it. Children were born as savages and weren’t to be coddled: they needed harsh discipline and rigid training to turn them into civilized beings.
His mother used or withheld her affection as a reward or punishment, to her sons and her husband, and there was never any predicting which it would be. Mama like to keep men on their toes, and that meant keeping them guessing. Even her sons.
Maddy kept these children on the lightest of reins without any of the intimidation or discipline Nash had experienced. She assumed they’d behave well and most of the time they did. When any correction was needed, she did it with the raising of a brow or a quiet word. And still with affection.
Extraordinary.
These children were less perfectly behaved than he or Marcus had been, but there was a relaxed, pleasant charm about them. If anyone had informed him a week ago that he would be dining at table with a bunch of lively young children, he would have been appalled. It would be an event to be endured.
Now . . .
“Mr. Rid—er, Mr. Renfrew,” John asked, cutting into Nash’s reverie. “Will you be bringing more horses like Pepper to Whitethorn?”
“Pepper is actually my brother’s horse,” Nash explained. “I generally use his horses when I’m in England.”
John wrinkled his brow. “When you’re in England, sir?”
Maddy said, “Mr. Renfrew has just returned from St. Petersburg. That’s in Russia.”
“Why were you in Russia, Mr. Renfrew?” Jane asked.
“I’m a diplomat,” Nash explained. “That means I do a lot of traveling in different countries. I’m hardly ever in England.”
“Don’t you keep any horses in England?” John asked in dismay.
“No, I’m not here long enough.”
“But now you’ll be living at Whitethorn Manor, that will change, won’t it?”
“I’ll certainly be seeing to the running of the estate and making a few changes,” Nash agreed. “But I doubt I’ll be purchasing any horses. I’ll be returning to St. Petersburg in June.”
“But that’s just over a month away.”
All talk and clattering of cutlery ceased. John said, “You’re not going to live at Whitethorn?”
“You won’t be our neighbor?” Jane said.
Lucy clutched his sleeve with a small hand. “You’re not going to leave us, Mr. Rider, are you?” she said in a tragic little voice. “But you’re s’posed to be the prince.”
Nash looked at the sad little faces ranged around the table. Good God, he hadn’t even known them a week, and for most of that he’d been unconscious. He liked them, too, but surely they could see . . .
No, they were just children . . .
“I must,” he explained gently. “It’s my profession. It’s how I serve my country. I only came to England to settle my uncle’s estate and to—” He broke off. He didn’t suppose they’d be any more amenable to the idea of him finding a bride. Lucy had said it all: Maddy was Cinderella and he was supposed to be the prince.
He and Maddy knew better.
Rain set in during supper, cold and steady. Maddy glanced outside. There was no sign of it letting up. She wouldn’t send a dog out in this weather, let alone a man who’d been sick so recently. She glanced at Nash. He knew it, too.
“With your permission I’ll stay one last night,” he said in a low voice.
Maddy gave him a doubtful look.
