George squinted up at Oliver and, after a small smile had flittered over the man’s usually impassive face, he grinned and disappeared again.
“The boy does no harm,” Oliver assured her.
Rather than meet his eyes, Beth moved to a window and tried to slow her chaotic thoughts. Outside, the season was turning toward winter with a slow and steady march. This was the time of year she loved, curled up beneath a warm blanket with the cold as her excuse to be idle.
Oliver moved about restlessly behind her and left her with little peace. He embraced the idea of experiencing new places—she’d heard nothing but his grand plans to travel since his return. Yet the idea filled her with unease. She knew nothing of America, in truth very little beyond the district. Her brother-in-law was a virtual stranger to her as well, which did not help allay her fears.
What could she do to prevent Henry from taking George away? She had limited knowledge of the law, but Leopold had more extensive experience and he appeared worried and also not as friendly toward Henry Turner as he’d once been. She’d have to appeal to Leopold for help, although the idea did not sit well with her. Leopold had done too much already. More than she deserved.
Morose thoughts would not help her out of this situation. Work had always been a good distraction, but she’d none to do now that the duchess had dismissed her. In the end, Beth faced Oliver to see what on earth he was doing. He’d stripped himself of his coat and was striding about in his fine fitted waistcoat and breeches, gathering small objects from around the room and placing them together on one round table. Next, he forced a sash window open, letting a cold breeze flood the room. One by one, he threw dusty puddles of faded drapes through the gap and then several cushions with their stuffing falling out followed. “What are you doing?”
“Clearing some space,” he replied without breaking his stride.
He prowled around and when he found nothing else to toss out with the trash he lowered the window again, leaving only a narrow gap to stir the air. He dusted himself off and scrubbed a hand through his short hair, the epitome of energy and optimism.
She was glad he had recovered his health. The first time she’d laid eyes on him again had made her weep into her pillow that night after George had fallen asleep. She’d always wondered what had become of the Randalls, but she’d never imagined Oliver would return so changed. He’d always been lean of build, but his face was now gaunt, although not as bad as the first day. Late at night, his eyes were dark, sunken pools of weariness and occasionally she detected traces of that same fatigue in the mornings when he’d remained up very late reading. It had taken days before she’d been able to look upon him without her fears for his survival surfacing. But he’d recovered and resumed his usual style of living. Remote and self-sufficient for everything he might want.
“May I ask why you are doing the maid’s work?”
He moved a chair and began rolling a floor rug into a log, but it was just too long to do on his own. He glanced up and a rueful smile twisted his lips. “I will need your assistance to begin.”
Caught staring, a blush heated her cheeks as she remembered his kiss from an hour earlier. The foolish moment had fled her mind once she’d learned of Henry’s plan for George and it seemed Oliver had forgotten the kiss as well. There was no hint he’d even thought of it again. She moved to the other end of the rug and together they completed the task. She stood and quickly dusted off the hem of her skirts. Oliver moved off into another chamber without offering thanks of any kind. He seemed as indifferent to her presence or her help as he had ever been.
Irritation seized her and she hurried toward the room George had disappeared inside. She caught a glimpse of Oliver standing beside a large canopied bed in the other room, removing the faded curtains from the bed poles and balling them up at his feet. She blushed self-consciously as her gaze snagged on the wide expanse of his shoulders. She’d always admired tall, broad-shouldered men, even indifferent ones.
She sighed and turned away, afraid, she was backsliding rather badly. She wasn’t a young girl anymore and she couldn’t spend her time wishing for what she couldn’t have.
The small chamber her son had disappeared into lacked drapes and dazzled her eyes momentarily with its brightness. George sat on a hardwood chair he’d dragged to the window and stared out at the scene below, a book lying neglected in his hands. He turned and smiled suddenly. “I like it here.”
She set her hands to his shoulders and kissed the top of his head, admiring the scene outside the window. “It’s a pretty view.”
Outside, there was nothing but fields and forest. No one moved on the great estate that she could see. It was as if the world did not exist beyond the dirty panes of glass.
Beth glanced at the book George held. “Are you enjoying that?”
He shrugged. “I found it beneath the cupboard, but I cannot understand it.”
She took the slim volume from him and flipped a few pages. She squinted. “It’s in French, I believe.”
George took the book and stared at the pages with a glum expression on his face. He’d never learned the language, and Beth’s understanding was rudimentary at best so she’d not taught him. He looked so frustrated by it that Beth took the book back and set it aside. “We should go now.”
He slowly got to his feet. “I like this room better than mine.”
She tapped his nose. “The rooms we have are fine enough for the two of us. Come along. The duchess has given me leave for the afternoon. We can do anything you want.”
She wouldn’t tell George about her sudden change in circumstances yet. If she did, she’d have to tell him why and that could only lead to questions she wasn’t prepared to answer yet.
“Can we stay here instead of going out?”
Beth looked at her son carefully and grimaced. His best clothes were covered in dust. “I’d rather not.”
George shrank into the chair in an act of silent defiance. Beth sighed. George’s growing reluctance to leave the abbey preyed on her mind. Had the stable masters sons become that big a nuisance?
When Oliver stopped in the doorway as if to speak with them, Beth pulled George up from the chair.
“Ouch,” he complained. “That’s twice today.”
Beth pushed him to the door, past Oliver, and into the sitting area. “Enough. You’ve monopolized Mr. Randall’s time sufficiently for today.”