The nursery maid nodded to them both as they headed out the door.
Chapter Seventeen
Taviston led the way down the hall and the stairs, a newfound calmness replacing his earlier tension. He wasn’t sure if that was because he had been holding tiny Alexandra Russell or because he had been in the presence of Miss Forster. For damn sure he wasn’t going to analyze it any further.
Miss Forster had looked so comfortable holding the babies. She would no doubt make an admirable mother for the children of some lucky man. Maybe even for Lord Wareham.
Hell, but his stomach was aching again. He was generally as healthy as could be so this lingering stomach ailment bewildered him.
As they came down another flight of stairs Taviston glanced at her. She had been silent after admitting she had given up her dream of marrying for love. In one respect he couldn’t blame her, but in another he was a little disappointed she had so easily thrown over her ideals.
At the bottom of the staircase there hung a cozy picture of a fireside scene in some anonymous cottage. Taviston stopped to stare at it and then felt a slow grin stretch his mouth wide.
“Are you all right?” Miss Forster inquired.
He looked down at her with amusement. “I want to show you something. Come along.” He lifted a lamp off a side table and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the hallway, away from the drawing room.
“Taviston! What are you doing?”
She protested but he noticed she willingly followed him and didn’t attempt to remove her hand from his. Good, because he wasn’t giving it up. It felt entirely too right to be clutching her small hand in his.
“I want you to see something,” he repeated. He slowed his steps so she could walk beside him.
“Might I remind you this isn’t your house?” she said primly.
“I know that. But it is like a second home to me. Northfield and I split our childhood days equally between my house and his. I could find my way around Northfield House blindfolded.” Taviston glanced down at their joined hands and immediately stilled his wayward thumb, which had somehow started to caress the back of her hand. But he didn’t let go.
They turned a corner and encountered a darkened hallway.
“You apparently will have to find your way around in the dark,” Victoria muttered.
“We have a light,” he countered with some impatience. “Will you trust me?”
He couldn’t see her very well in the meager light of the lamp, but she gripped his hand a little tighter and said confidently, “Yes.”
He smiled, to himself mostly, since she probably couldn’t see him either. “You won’t regret this. It is very much worth seeing and I can assure you Northfield would never show it to you.”
They rounded another corner and entered a hallway briefly lit by a flash of lightning shining through a tall window at the end of the hall. But within seconds the portrait gallery was plunged back into darkness.
“I apologize for the poor lighting. But come, look.” Taviston gestured to the right side of the hallway.
As they walked closer, he held the lamp up high to shed as much light as possible on the portraits.
“These are Northfield’s ancestors. Tell me what you see.” He couldn’t keep his amusement from seeping into his voice.
“I really don’t see anything unusual about these portraits,” she said as they moved down the hall and he illuminated lord after lord.
Finally, they stopped in front of a portrait from the eighteenth century. As Victoria studied the picture, Taviston surveyed her profile in the brief burst of lightning that lit the hall again.
Her face puckered in bewilderment. “It’s a traditional portrait of a titled gentleman, with his horse in the background and hunting dogs lying at his feet.”
“Exactly. That man is Northfield’s grandfather.” With a tug of her hand, he led her to the end of the hallway, by the window now shaking from the booming thunder disturbing the night.
“This is Northfield’s great-great grandfather,” he said triumphantly as he raised the lamp to shine on the picture.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the seventeenth-century portrait. They grew wider and wider until tears formed, and she dissolved in a fit of giggles. Inanely, he found her giggles engaging. Reluctantly releasing her hand, he set the lamp down on a table.
He stepped behind her, eyed the portrait himself and said, “What do you think?”