Free Nina Coombs Pykare by Dangerous Decision Page B

they eat in the dining hall. Mrs. Simpson is too old to be lugging meals up the great stairs. Since there is no one else to do it, it’s far easier for us to come downstairs.”
    “The children do not come downstairs,” his lordship replied sternly.
    Ah, now they were getting to it. But she couldn’t give in. The knowledge that she was in the right lent strength to her voice, though her knees still felt a trifle unsteady. “Yes, milord. So they informed me. But I thought it some kind of error.” She pretended ignorance. “You see, I could not imagine why they should be so confined.”
    He scowled at her. “They’re sickly. It’s dangerous for them to go outdoors.”
    Had his tone gone a little defensive?
    She pressed the point. “Of course the girls are sickly, milord. Living in this gloomy place is bound to make them sickly. And never getting outside ...” She shook her head.
    “Lady Leonore thinks them safer in their own rooms. I agree with her.”
    Edwina almost bit her tongue trying not to say what she was thinking. It would do no good to berate the man, to tell him what she thought of such reprehensible behavior. Or of his precious Lady Leonore. He was the one in authority here. She had to remember that.
    She swallowed hard, fighting to keep her voice neutral. “With all due respect to the lady, milord, I doubt that she has much experience in raising children.” Edwina had no experience either, but she didn’t intend to let the earl know it.
    He scowled. “I told you. I do not see the children. It’s too painful for me.”
    She took a deep breath. “Yes, milord, and how do you suppose it is for them?”
    He looked at her in surprise, as though he hadn’t considered that aspect of the matter at all. Indeed, from the expression on his face she believed he hadn’t.
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “They’re afraid of you,” she told him. “Your own children are afraid of you. They think you’re angry with them. They think that’s why you refuse to see them. They think you’re angry because they have done something wrong, though they don’t know what it is.”
    His scowl deepened. “Angry? What should I be angry about?”
    Edwina raised an eyebrow. “They don’t know, milord. But they have lost their mother and now their father has abandoned them.” She chose the harsh words on purpose, hoping to reach through his grief, to make him think of someone beside himself.
    He stared at her in amazement. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said sharply. “They cannot possibly think that. Why, I love them.”
    She crossed the rug to stand before him. “Then show them your love, milord. Give them back some of the joy they knew when their mother was living.”
    His jaw clenched, his eyes grew haunted. “You don’t understand. Things were very different then. We were a happy family. Catherine was a good mother. She enjoyed being with the children. So did I.”
    “You must do things with them now,” Edwina insisted, pressing harder. “They need you, milord. They need your love. If you would just see them, talk to them ...”
    “No!” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I loved Catherine. Henrietta looks so like her. The constant reminder ...”
    “You do not understand,” she said, hardening her heart against his obvious distress. “If you loved your wife as you say, you must know that she would want you to care for her children.”
    A grimace of pain crossed his face. “I have been withdrawn,” he explained. “The sorrow, you see. I miss her so much. The way it happened ... I have not been myself.”
    She suppressed an urge to put a comforting hand on his arm and said instead, “I can see that, milord. I can understand it, too. But your children cannot. They are too young. They only know that their father doesn’t want to see them. To them that means he’s angry with them, that he doesn’t love them.”
    He glared at her so long that she braced herself for dismissal. He