Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

“Well, as a matter of fact,” his mother said, “I can believe it.”

He managed a grin. “Ah, you and Father, always there for each other. Yes, you would have leaped up in that tiger’s perch, wouldn’t you?”

“Mayhap I would have pulled out the derringer I wore strapped to my leg and shot the villains. I would have made the effort to save my ball gown.”

“You think to make me laugh? No, I can see you doing that, Mother.” James sighed and closed his eyes again. “I can also picture Corrie in my mind, all of three years old. It was the first time I ever saw her. You were holding her hand when you introduced her to us. I’ll never forget how she looked from Jason to me, back to Jason, and then she said, those big eyes of hers on my face, ‘James.’ ”

“I remember. Then she left me without a backward glance, walked up to you, her head back so she could see as high as your face, and she took your hand. You were ten years old, I believe.”

“She didn’t want to let my hand go. I remember how embarrassed I was. There was this little faerie, and she would sit at my feet and stroke my hand.”

“Remember when Jason tried to fool her into thinking he was you?”

“She kicked him in the shin. He started chasing her, all in good fun, then she saw me and tried to climb up my leg.”

Alex laughed. “Jason was so certain that he had all your mannerisms, but she wasn’t fooled.”

“Miss Juliette Lorimer can’t tell us apart.”

“Ah, yes, Juliette,” Alexandra said, studying her well-worn green slippers. “A lovely girl, don’t you think?”

James nodded. “She dances well, is light on her feet, and yes, really quite beautiful. But the thing is, I could be Jason and she wouldn’t know the difference.”

“She and her mother visited on three different occasions during the time you were missing. We weren’t here, but Jason was. He said that Juliette was very distraught when she realized he wasn’t you.”

James thought about that, but not too much. Weariness dragged at him. He managed a lopsided grin at his mother. “Thank you for keeping me from starving.” And he closed his eyes.

Alexandra leaned down and kissed her son. She straightened, stood there looking down at him for a very long time, thanking God and Corrie Tybourne-Barrett for her son’s life.

“WHO ARE YOU?”

“I’m Freddie, my lord, the new Sherbrooke tiger,” the boy said, puffing out his chest, an amazing feat since there wasn’t much chest to puff out. “No wonder you don’t remember me, real down in the chops ye were.”

What there was, however, was a good deal of pride standing here in his bedchamber. James smiled at the boy wearing the Sherbrooke livery who had traveled to London to tell his parents where he and Corrie were.

“I remember you now, Freddie. Why are you here?”

“I ’ad this gnawin’ in me brain, me lord. I jest wanted to make sure ye were still above ground like everyone were sayin’ downstairs. Everyone is mighty pleased ye survived. Best thing I ever did was to come to yer folks’ big ’ouse, tell ’em where ye was, even though I nearly got me liver sliced.

“And would ye look at what did transpire? Jest look at me, me lord. Ain’t I somethin’ to behold? ’Ere, me lord, ye want to feel this wool? Soft as a baby’s butt, it is.”

“Yes, it looks quite soft and you do look quite splendid, Freddie. Forgive me that I didn’t remember you, but I do know what you did for Corrie and me. Thank you.”

“No matter, my lord, ye was so sick I believed I’d be bringing yer folks back fer a burying, but no, ye managed to pull yerself out o’ the casket. It was Miss Corrie who saved ye. She’s a tough ’un, she is, and she didn’t leave yer side, no she din’t.”

“What did I hear about you nearly getting yourself killed trying to get to London?”

“Set upon, I was, set upon by a gang o’ young toughs what wanted to pound me, fer the fun o’ it. Not much fun fer me, I’ll tell ye. They took the groats Miss Corrie gave me, even though I’d poked ’em down under my foot, but they found ’em. But I gets away from them and got here, looking real bad, but Willicombe knew I ’ad somethin’ important to tell ’is lordship, so’s ’e brings me right in.”

“I appreciate your bravery, Freddie, and your tenacity.”

Freddie nodded, thinking of the five pounds he now carried in his pocket, not under his foot, given to him by the earl himself, and ah, didn’t it feel good lying against that soft wool of his suit, what Mr. Willicombe called his livery. Fine word, livery. Sounded like a dressed-up body part. Freddie rubbed his clean palms over the wool breeches. “Yer pa told me Mr. Willicombe ordered six suits fer me. Six! Can ye imagine that?”

“No,” James said slowly, “I can’t.” James thought about his Uncle Ryder who took in abused and mistreated children, raised them, educated them, and best of all, loved them. How would Freddie do with his Uncle Ryder?

When Jason came into his bedchamber not long after Freddie had slipped away, still stroking wool, James said, “What about sending Freddie to Uncle Ryder?”

“Our very pleased-with-himself new tiger with his six new suits of livery? I don’t think he’d want to go, James. He’s so excited about being in the big city, can’t stop talking about seeing the Tower of Lunnon where all the heads were lopped off. Don’t you see? He’s now worth something. He’s now important to himself. He doesn’t need Uncle Ryder.”