“Yes, please, but hold them by the blade, not by the handles,” she called after his daughter.
“Yes, Miss Chase,” Anne called over her shoulder darting off again.
“And no running while you’re holding them.” Mary called as the child disappeared, leaning away from him to be heard by Anne.
He stared at her with painful awareness. She was beautiful and this first afternoon had been an oasis compared with the past several months. Did that mean she could do the job after all? And how would he cope with her living here full time? “You’re going to teach her to arrange flowers?”
“I am,” Mary answered, pulling her hand from his once again.
“And her fear? Is this also part of addressing that?”
Mary turned to look at him. “I first need to see what makes her afraid. Then we shall know if we can fix it.” She quirked a brow at him. “So far I haven’t seen anything.”
He straightened, looking down at her. It was ridiculous but he had the urge to ask her if she thought she could fix him too. But of course, she couldn’t. Instead, he murmured a ridiculously personal question. “She does all right most days. Better with you here. It’s night that she struggles with.”
She let out a long breath. “Night is difficult, isn’t it? We all have fears that come out then.”
“What makes you afraid?”
“My brother died as a baby. My parents in a carriage accident. My fiancé at war.” She swallowed, her face tightening in pain. “I am afraid of wasting my time on this earth.”
He drew in a deep breath. Her comments about working and being useful coming into focus. “Would you consider marrying to be a waste of time?”
She shook her head. “No, of course not. Having a family is the most useful thing in the world. But I can’t spend years flirting in society. I won’t. If that means that I spend my life helping children like Anne rather than having my own, I’m prepared for that.”
“Mary,” he whispered so that only she could here. Something inside him was shifting. “Such loss. And here you stand ready to help others.” A great many of his doubts about her were melting away. At least the ones involving her teaching Anne.
She shook her head. “It’s because of the loss, not in spite of it.” Her mouth pinched. “When I lost my fiancé, Harold, usefulness was the only thing that saved me.”
He grimaced, wanting to pull her close and hold her in comfort. Hell, he wanted to kiss her again.
But he couldn’t do that. Even if Mary was right for Anne, she was not for him, and therefore he needed to leave her be. “I admire your strength.” Her inner strength called to him, but still, how could he allow her to slip beneath his guard when he knew all too well what could happen to her delicate body during childbirth? He couldn’t risk that kind of loss again. He took a step back. “I’m so glad you’re here to help my daughter.” He didn’t bother to add that her presence was a torture for him. A sweet sort of temptation that was going to bring him to his knees.
Chapter Seven
Mary had a lovely afternoon sketching with Anne followed by a wonderful dinner in the nursery. Without Lord Sinclair making her tremble with attraction, her job tutoring Anne was turning out to be a delight.
Brushing out her hair, she carefully braided the long brown strands into a loose braid over her shoulder. She’d changed into a night rail and dressing gown and hummed as she worked through the hair. It had been a very satisfying day.
A cry from the other room made her sit up. The noise sounded again, louder and stronger than the first time.
Jumping from the chair, she raced into the Anne’s connecting room, positive that was the noise’s source.
Sure enough, the child thrashed on the bed, her cries growing louder. Mary settled next to Anne, cupping the child’s cheek. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re fine.”
“No,” Anne whimpered, her eyes still closed. “No.”
“Shhhh.” Mary softly stroked the child’s cheek, then she began to sing. “Sleep my child, let peace attend thee, all through the night.”
Anne sighed, her limbs settling back at her sides.
“Guardian angels, God will send thee, all through the night.”
Anne’s eyes opened then. “I like that. Can you sing more?”
“Soft the drowsy hours are keeping. In the veil of slumber sleeping. I my loving vigil keeping all through the night.”
Anne placed her hand over Mary’s. “Will you stay with me for a bit?”
“Of course,” Mary answered. “There now. There’s no need to worry.” And she lay down on top of the covers, still stroking Anne’s cheek. “I’m right here.”
Anne curled into Mary’s side and in seconds was back to sleep again. Mary, however, lay next to the child for a long time. Only when Anne was deeply asleep, did she finally rise from the bed and return to her room.
She didn’t bother to close the door before she moved to her bed and climbed under her covers. She didn’t bother to take off her dressing gown either. Mary had the feeling she’d be up again before too long. But as she relaxed into the pillow, a knock sounded at her door.
Crinkling her brow, she tossed back the cover and crossed the floor to open the large wooden panel. Sin stood on the other side, still fully dressed. Her breath caught to see him standing there in the dark. “My lord,” she asked. “What is it?”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I heard Anne. When I went to comfort her, you were already there and I didn’t think it appropriate to enter, but I wanted to check on you before I retired.”
Something inside her melted a bit. He was accustomed to soothing his child back to sleep. “I’m fine and so is she.” She hesitated, leaning her cheek on the edge of the door. “Do
