A Baby For Lord Roderick. Emily Dalton
banished all thoughts of Liam McAllister and smiled contentedly. She didn’t need baby dreams now. She had the real thing. In that moment she decided on following through with the impulse that had seized her the first moment she held him in her arms. She was going to adopt him.
LIAM STOOD on the redwood deck and enjoyed the sight of the sun filtering through the pine trees on the eastern border of Mary’s property, his hands curved around the warmth of the stoneware mug filled with hot coffee. Except for the brief foray into the kitchen to fetch his dose of morning caffeine, he’d been standing there since just before sunrise. Everything was fresh and bright after the storm, and today there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Despite his jet lag and the emotionally exhausting ordeal he’d been through, he’d only managed to sleep about three hours.
“Liam?”
Liam hadn’t heard the glass doors sliding open. He turned and saw his grandmother standing half in, half out. She was a petite woman and seemed tinier than ever in the oversize flannel robe she’d wrapped herself in. He recognized the red plaid robe as his grandfather’s. “Hi, Gran. Sleep well?”
“As well as any old lady sleeps. How about you? No, don’t tell me. I can see you didn’t sleep a bit.” She stood on the deck with him for a minute, looking out at the same vista he had been enjoying for the past couple of hours. The sun glinted off her silver hair and made it look like spun sugar.
Finally she took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air and said, “Come in and have some breakfast.”
Liam obeyed. He wasn’t hungry, but he had to keep his strength up. Besides, Mary got talkative over toast and tea and he had some questions.
As Liam crossed the large great room toward the adjoining kitchen, he remembered how his grandfather, the Earl of Chiltington, used to call this huge edifice “Mary’s little cabin in Utah.” True, it was made of logs, but it wasn’t little and it could hardly be described as a cabin. With four bedrooms, five bathrooms, a great room, a modern kitchen, a library and wraparound decks on three levels, it was more like a charmingly rustic mansion.
Mary had protested when her husband had the plans drawn up for building it. She’d only wanted to update the stone cottage her parents had retired to on the same site and left to her in their wills. She was an only child, therefore the only recipient of their small amount of worldly goods.
As usual, Liam’s grandfather had won the day. He said the property was big enough to build a new house on it and still keep the cottage as a sort of guest retreat. He needed more room if he was going to be spending a bit of every summer in Utah. Besides he just might bring a few jolly friends over with him from England from time to time, and the children and grandchildren must always have a place to stay.
The irony was that Mary had spent two weeks each summer in Utah every one of the twenty years after the “cabin” was completed, while her husband, who had promoted the grander design, had only managed to make the long trip over from England once. He’d stayed a week, then hurried home to his pub, his horses and his hounds. He didn’t mind leaving Mary behind, because he knew she would soon follow.
Cecil McAllister, Lord Chiltington, was an English country gent through and through, and Utah just didn’t cut it for him. But he understood Mary’s love for the country of her birth and they parted amicably for those two weeks each summer, then came together again, ecstatic to see each other and full of family plans for the rest of the year.
As far as the rest of the McAllister clan, Liam was the only family member to spend time with Mary in Utah, and then only once, that first year.
Two years ago, Liam’s grandfather passed away, and last year and this year, too, Mary’s stay in Utah started in June and extended through the autumn months. She would return to England and her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren in time for Christmas, but not before. Liam suspected that she was being drawn more and more to her roots and wondered if she’d finally end up spending most of each year in Utah.
Liam smelled bacon frying and saw Ribchester and Mrs. Preedy busy in the kitchen. They were elderly servants who had been in Gran’s employ since the 1950s. Gran was seventy-eight and Liam guessed Ribchester and Mrs. Preedy—who were married, but still went by their “professional” names—were in their midseventies, as well. Despite their protests, Mary worked about the house almost as much as they did, so they were more like companions. But Mary let them do the cooking because that had never been one of her talents.
“Over easy as usual, my lord?” Ribchester inquired, waving his spatula and looking odd in the tailored jacket he insisted on wearing with a green checked apron, appliquéd with a large moose head, over it.
“That would be perfect, Ribchester,” Liam answered. “But only one this morning, thank you.”
Ribchester acquiesced without comment, but he and Mrs. Preedy exchanged frowns. They’d fussed over him since he was a child and had never got over the habit. He supposed he should have ordered two eggs just to make them happy.
“Bea’s still asleep,” Mary said, as she eased down into a chair by the table. “I looked in on her before coming downstairs. She’s exhausted from the trip.”
“And everything else that happened last night.”
Mary shook her head and gratefully clasped the handle of the mug of tea Mrs. Preedy set in front of her. “Thank you, Mrs. Preedy.” After a sip, she continued, “I could hardly believe it when you told me. I’ve heard of people leaving unwanted babies in rubbish bins and loos and such, but I just never thought something like that could happen in Annabella. And that you, Liam, after all you’ve been through, would be the one to have to deal with something so horrible.”
“I’m glad it happened,” he said.
“Well, of course you are. I didn’t mean—”
He put his hand over hers. “I know what you meant.”
They were silent for a couple of minutes, sipping their coffee and tea, thinking. Then Mary said, “Bea’s so thin, Liam. Just since June I can see a difference. And it’s not just that she’s getting taller and stretching out.”
Liam nodded solemnly. “Yes, I know. I’m hoping this trip will help her.”
“So am I. And I’m hoping it will help you, too. You both needed to get away. Neither of you were bouncing back from Victoria’s death as you should. It’s been a year.”
“Is there a timetable, Gran?” Liam asked with a sigh.
She patted his knee. “No, I suppose everyone has their own timetable when it comes to grief. But when one is getting too thin for one’s own good…”
“She doesn’t talk about her mother anymore. She just…” He shrugged, lost for words.
“She’s internalizing it. Perhaps she needs to talk.”
“I took her to a therapist, but that didn’t seem to help. In fact I took her to two therapists.”
Mary pursed her lips. “I’m sure therapists do a great deal of good for many people. But in Bea’s case, I can’t help but think a good country doctor with practical knowledge and a friendly demeanor that encouraged confidences would probably be much better at drawing out the child.”
“Are you hinting that Bea ought to be seen by Annabella’s country doctor?”
Mary looked abashed, as if she’d said more than she meant to. “Well, I—”
“Which one? Allie or her grandfather?”
“Allie’s the doctor now, not Jacob,” Mary answered evasively.
“But I thought you didn’t know anything about her? How do you know she’d be someone Bea could open up to?”
Flustered, Mary gave a helpless little shrug. “I’ve heard she’s an excellent doctor. Fortunately I’ve never