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Family In The Making
Jo Ann Brown
Daddy LessonsArthur, Lord Trelawney, is an expert at carrying coded messages for the government—and a complete amateur in caring for children. Before courting a widowed acquaintance with two babies, he decides to practice with the rescued orphans sheltering at his family estate. A practical idea…until he meets their lovely nurse.Maris Oliver is drawn to the principled, handsome nobleman, even if he's expected to woo another woman. Both have secrets that threaten their safety and their fragile trust. But if Maris's sweet charges have their way, Arthur won't need to venture beyond his own front door to find a woman he'll risk all to protect and love.Matchmaking Babies: Seeking forever families and speeding up the course of true love
Daddy Lessonse
Arthur, Lord Trelawney, is an expert at carrying coded messages for the government—and a complete amateur in caring for children. Before courting a widowed acquaintance with two babies, he decides to practice with the rescued orphans sheltering at his family estate. A practical idea…until he meets their lovely nurse.
Maris Oliver is drawn to the principled, handsome nobleman, even if he’s expected to woo another woman. Both have secrets that threaten their safety and their fragile trust. But if Maris’s sweet charges have their way, Arthur won’t need to venture beyond his own front door to find a woman he’ll risk all to protect and love.
“Must you always obey the canons of Society?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are always polite to the point it can become aggravating.”
Her eyes widened. “Would you have me be otherwise?”
“At times, yes! The ton did not collapse when the children began to address me as Arthur. It feels absurd when you continue to call me ‘my lord.’ Why don’t you do as they do?”
“They are children. They are excused from making such a faux pas.”
“How can it be a faux pas if I ask you to address me so?”
Maris had no quick answer to give him. To let his name form on her lips… If other servants or members of his family heard, would they be as accepting as they were with the children?
As if she had aired her thoughts aloud, he said, “It would be only when we’re with the children or when we are having a conversation like tonight. Could we at least try tonight?”
“Yes.”
He raised a single brow.
“Yes, Arthur,” she said with a faint smile. How sweet his name tasted on her lips!
JO ANN BROWN has always loved stories with happy-ever-after endings. A former military officer, she is thrilled to have the chance to write stories about people falling in love. She is also a photographer, and she travels with her husband of more than thirty years to places where she can snap pictures. They live in Nevada with three children and a spoiled cat. Drop her a note at joannbrownbooks.com (http://www.joannbrownbooks.com).
Family in the Making
Jo Ann Brown
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For there is no man that doeth any thing in secret, and he himself seeketh to be known openly.
If thou do these things, show thyself to the world.
—John 7:4
For my dear son Peter and his beautiful bride, Meghan
You are beginning your lives together as a family
May you always be as filled with joy and love as you are on the day you say “I do.”
Contents
Cover (#ubca92824-f71a-53a9-8c2f-357278ff5c38)
Back Cover Text (#u4c2de354-f4aa-5bd0-bbb5-f2e6c04e9be8)
Introduction (#u5b46c3ea-4d6f-557b-acf9-d51489cd4e92)
About the Author (#ucdb9fd18-1e7b-522a-8433-d1fc8861f082)
Title Page (#u36b0e17e-6cb5-54b2-9fb9-dd675e401b3c)
Bible Verse (#u3b8ad0d5-c73f-5820-8258-9e0056f30173)
Dedication (#u44f18aa0-8dfe-5211-97d8-a5e435c1f659)
Chapter One (#ueaa5c4e2-d9c5-53cd-8f40-03b31d00e0ac)
Chapter Two (#u9aa918d6-0591-5bc3-979e-37206a08385a)
Chapter Three (#u5250a61a-9ea2-5bbc-af48-5bfb724087c9)
Chapter Four (#u65bfaa19-4598-50c9-8c29-f0276f4bbddb)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_72649b8a-4c1f-55ec-bec2-93f662ce4848)
Porthlowen, Cornwall October 1812
Another inch. One little inch, and she would have it.
Maris Oliver stood on tiptoe on the chair and stretched her arm across the top shelf, groping for the box she had seen from the floor. When she had asked the cook about a box of small cups, Mrs. Ford told her to look in the stillroom. She wanted to retrieve the cups that were decorated with nursery rhyme characters to use in the nursery.
“Just another inch,” she muttered to herself as the stool wobbled under her toes.
She could have waited and asked a footman to help her, but she wanted the cups for the children’s next meal. She had read the rhymes to them, and they would be excited to see the characters. Making the youngsters smile always was a delight.
The four tots and tiny baby in the nursery, as well as the little boy who lived with the parson and his wife, had been discovered floating in a jolly boat in the harbor. Brought to Cothaire, the great house on the hill overlooking the cove, they were taken in by the Trelawney family. Its patriarch, the Earl of Launceston, had given his children carte blanche to provide for the youngsters until it could be discovered who had put them into that boat and set them afloat and why.
Shortly after their arrival, Maris was offered the position of nurse to oversee the children and the nursery. The position would end once the search for their real families proved fruitful. She should worry about where she would go next, but she spent her time focused on the children, guiding them, teaching them manners, playing games with them in the nursery.
She doted on the adorable urchins. When she was with them, she could forget why she had run away to West Cornwall in the first place. She had found a haven in Porthlowen, and the children had found a way into her heart.
A perfect solution...at least for now.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the box she sought. It rocked.
“C’mon,” she murmured. “An inch more.”
Could she stand higher on her toes? She tried and managed to push aside the box beside the one she wanted. It bumped into others, and one toppled onto another. She held her breath, but nothing fell to the floor.
One more try.
Extending her arm and hand as far as she could, she hooked one finger over the side of the box. She drew it back carefully. It moved an inch, then stopped.
“Bother!”
She was not going to give up. She gave another tug, then a harder one.
Too hard. Her finger popped off the side of the box. The motion propelled her backward. She windmilled her arms before grasping the edge of the shelf. The stool stopped rocking beneath her. She let out her breath in a soft sigh. That had been close.
Suddenly, an arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her off her feet. A shriek burst from her throat. The moment her toes touched the stone floor, she was shoved against the lower shelves. As she was held there by a firm chest, terror took control of her. No! She would not let this happen. Not again! She tried to pull away, but broad hands tightened on her.
Exactly as hands had at her dear friend’s house that evening when Lord Litchfield refused to let her escape him as he squeezed her to the shelves behind her. The brash, flirtatious young lord had proved he was no gentlemen when he had chanced upon her in the book room. The echo of her own screams burst from her memories, his breath hot against her face, the screech of ripping fabric...the laughter of his friends.
Not again! She would not let it happen again.
She drew back her arm and drove her fist into her captor’s gut. Air whooshed out of him, but he did not release her. She aimed her fist at him again. She froze when boxes cascaded down beyond her captor. They struck the stone floor and broke apart. Wood splinters flew in every direction. He pushed her head to his chest. His face hid in her hair. Glass shattered, and metal clanged.
Silence except for her uneven breathing...and her captor’s. No, not her captor. Her rescuer!
Voices rang through the room. She started to raise her head, but the man pushed it against him again. She opened her mouth to protest. Anything she might have said vanished as another storm of boxes fell from overhead, crashing and splintering.
The man holding her recoiled toward her. Had he been struck? She did not move until he lifted his head off hers as silence returned.
“Are you hurt?” called Mrs. Ford from the direction of the kitchen.
Maris opened her eyes and closed them as a cloud of dust and debris swirled around her. How many boxes had fallen? There had been more than a score on the topmost shelf and many others on the lower ones.
Mrs. Ford’s voice grew more frantic. “Are you hurt? Miss Oliver? Lord Trelawney?”
Lord Trelawney?
In horror mixed with dismay, she looked up at the man who still held her close to the shelves. She was accustomed to looking down when she spent time with the children, so it felt strange to raise her eyes to his. Arthur Trelawney, the earl’s heir, was strikingly handsome with his ebony hair that curled across his forehead. She had seen him on occasion in Cothaire’s hallways, but never this close. His face was tanned, for he often rode across the estate on the family’s business. Because his features were sharply drawn, when he moved changes of light and shadow played along them intriguingly. His dark navy coat, which accented his broad shoulders, was cut to his specifications by a skilled tailor. His crystal blue eyes were bright as his gaze moved up and down her.
She tensed, too conscious of how close they stood, for she was aware of each breath he drew in. She must look a complete rump. Her apron was stained with food from the children’s luncheon, and her hair was escaping from its sedate chignon to wisp around her face as if she were a hoyden racing across the garden.
“Are you hurt?” the viscount asked.
“No.” She hastily looked away. Why was she gawking like a foolish chit when she should be apologizing? “My lord...”
He waved her to silence, stirring the cloud of dust, then called, “Mrs. Ford, we are unharmed.”
“I will send Baricoat for footmen to clean up the mess,” the cook said, then ordered one of her kitchen maids to take her message to the butler. “I am relieved to hear you are not injured, Lord Trelawney.”
His name was an awful reminder that Maris had struck the earl’s heir when he was trying to keep her from being hurt. She must hope that he would not give her the bag for such outrageous behavior. Where could she find another safe place to hide?
Again she began, “My lord, I am sorry—”
“One moment.” He vanished into the brown cloud, and she heard china crack under his boots.
A burst of damp autumn air swept into the room, and the dust was flushed out through the stillroom’s garden door. Blinking, Maris coughed as she breathed in fresh air to cleanse her lungs.
When a handkerchief was held out to her, she took it with a whispered, “Thank you.” She dabbed her watery eyes, then faltered. Blowing her nose on Lord Trelawney’s handkerchief did not seem right, especially if he expected her to return it to him.
As if she had spoken her uncertainty aloud, he said, “You may leave it in the laundry, Miss Oliver.”
“I shall.” She took a steadying breath, then looked at him again. There was something about his cool blue eyes that sent a pulse of warmth through her, even though his terse answers suggested he wished to put an end to this conversation immediately. So did she before she said the wrong thing and jeopardized her position at Cothaire. “Thank you, my lord, for saving me. Please forgive me for striking you.”
“I...I shall survive.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, but was gone so quickly that she was unsure she had seen it. Again his pale eyes examined her without hesitation. “You?”
“I am fine, my lord.” Her voice was unsteady, and she was shocked how a wisp of a smile could send another beat of a sweet sensation through her.
“Good.”
