J
acob positioned the brothers at the base of the tree, poised to climb. “Right now, you are still, not in motion. But that does not mean that nothing is happening. Right now, you are full of potential energy. Do you know what
potential
means?”
“It’s like a promise,” Peter chirped.
“That’s right. Right now you are full of the promise of energy, the promise of movement. Scientifically, it is referred to as potential energy. Once you start moving, however, it changes from potential energy to kinetic energy. Can you guess what
kinetic
means?”
“Is it like
kindle
, to start a wood fire?” Peter asked.
“Or like kite flying?” Michael offered.
“If potential energy means the promise of moving, but it keeps that promise by changing to kinetic energy, what do you think might have happened?”
“Did it start moving?”
“Exactly! Kinetic energy means that something has started to move. Now, as I said, right now you two are full of potential energy. I want you to get to the first branch by changing your potential energy into kinetic energy.”
“You mean you want us to climb the tree?” Peter asked. Michael had already started scrambling up the trunk. Within minutes, both boys were sitting on the first branch, slightly above Jacob’s head.
“Well done, gentlemen. Remind me, what does it mean when something has potential energy?”
“It isn’t moving.”
“And what does it mean when something has kinetic energy?”
“It is moving, like climbing a tree.”
“Excellent.” Much better. Jacob felt a surge of something in his chest, expanding and warming him all over. “Those two things are energies. Let’s talk about a particular force right now.” Helping the boys move, he quickly had them hanging from the branch by their hands. “How does it feel to be hanging there?”
“The bark is hurting my hands,” Michael complained.
“It will do that. Later we’ll talk about why trees are made the way they are. Right now, try pulling yourselves up.” The boys struggled and managed to move themselves somewhat, but essentially remained in the same position.
“Mr. Knightly, my arms are hurting,” Peter whined.
“Why do they hurt? Why don’t you pull yourself up onto the branch?”
“I’m trying, but it’s hard. There’s something pulling me down!”
“Exactly. That’s the force we’re going to talk about.” Gently he lifted each boy down and they all sat on the grass, the boys rubbing their arms. “Both of you felt something pulling you down when you were hanging. That is a force called
gravity
. It’s something invisible from the earth that pulls things down to the ground. You see the leaves and branches on the tree? Most of them are pointing toward the ground. That is because gravity has a good grip on them and is pulling them back down.”
“Does the earth have invisible arms?” Michael asked.
Jacob chuckled. “I guess you could say that. Gravity is like the earth reaching out and grabbing hold of something, pulling it back to the ground. The bigger something is, the better grip gravity can have on it, making it more difficult for something to move away from the earth.”
“Is that why birds fly and we don’t?” Michael asked. “Because we’re bigger than them?”
“Partly. We can talk more about the differences between human and bird anatomy later.” He glanced up and spotted their sisters and governess heading their way with a picnic basket. “Why don’t you give Miss Bannister a demonstration of your kinetic energy?”
With eager cries, the boys streaked off toward the approaching group, hollering at the top of their lungs about their kinetic energy. Even from that distance, Jacob could feel Claire’s gaze on him.
He just smiled.
J
acob rose from his chair as Claire entered the room with a freshly washed Miss Allison, the other two girls following behind. Noticing the boys still in their seats, he cleared his throat and got their attention. “Stand up, gentlemen.”
The twins obeyed, starting to scramble toward the table, where Lucy was setting up cooked tea. Jacob managed to grab both boys by their collars and held them firmly, making the struggles futile.
“Let me go!” Peter demanded, but Jacob simply watched the girls and Claire take their places. Once they were settled, Jacob shook the boys slightly. “What was that for?” Michael asked, disgruntled. “You said to stand, so we did. Why did you grab us?”
“You were not standing in order to go to the table,” Jacob said in a calm but firm voice. “Ladies had entered the room. Gentlemen do not sit so long as ladies have entered the room and not yet taken a seat.”
The twins were bewildered. “Ladies? Where?” Jacob nodded his head in the direction of the table. “They’re not ladies,” Peter scoffed. “They’re girls!”
Jacob moved toward the table and took his seat at the head of it, opposite Claire at the foot. The boys followed. “They are ladies because they are the daughters of a lord, just as being the sons of a lord makes you gentlemen.”
“Ladies do not stick out their tongues, Miss Mary,” Claire admonished. Lucy began serving the plates as Claire poured the weak tea.
“But they said we were girls,” she protested.
“Did they lie? Are you not a girl?”
“But—”
“No buts. If you want your brothers to see you as a lady, you must act as one.”
“The same goes for you,” Jacob told the twins. “There is more to being a gentleman than to whom you were born. It is a behavior that you learn; it is how you treat others. One of those behaviors is to show respect to ladies by standing when they enter a room and not sitting until they do.”
“I don’t understand why that shows respect,” Peter grumbled. He glared at his sweet bun, tearing small bits off it.
“Nevertheless, it is something you must do if you want people to respect you.” Jacob said. He caught Claire’s eye and held it as he added, “Besides, there are more ladies in the room than you realize.”
Claire’s eyes widened in surprise at his comment and a slight flush covered her cheeks. Jacob’s eyes were drawn to that small bit of color, basking in the effect of his compliment. Had no one ever called her that?
“Excuse me,” Claire said, rising from the table. “I will see if Lucy needs any help.” Her voice lacked her usual confident briskness, another sign that Jacob’s comment had unsettled her. She left the room in a quick rustle of skirts.
“Do we have to stand every time
they
do as well?” Peter’s moan brought attention to how Jacob had stood. The twins gave long-suffering sighs but followed suit.
“What do the girls do for us?” Michael demanded. “They get all the good stuff. I saw Papa give Mama a set of pearls, and all she did was
kiss
him.” A dramatic shudder accompanied his comment.
“That’s what girls are supposed to do,” Mary chimed in. “That’s where babies come from.” She said this with an air of superior knowledge.
“Eww, that’s disgusting,” Peter said.
“I’m never kissing a girl,” Michael concurred. “It’s gross, pressing your lips against a girl. Papa and Mama even used their tongues. It makes me sick.”
“Are we going to have another brother or sister?” Mary asked Jacob. He looked at her with panic in his throat, unsure of how to answer or to steer the conversation another direction.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Kissing doesn’t cause babies.”
“I a stork!” Allison cried, putting her napkin in her mouth and flapping her arms. “See, I bringing a baby.”
“Yes it does,” Mary insisted. “Elizabeth Pike told me at church. That’s why only husbands and wives kiss.”
“Elizabeth Pike can barely put her hair up in the same ribbons. Babies come when husbands and wives kiss, hold hands, and be in a room alone together.”
Allison slid off her chair and began her stork flight around the table, adding squawking to the performance. “I’m not standing for her,” Peter said. “She may be a girl, but she’s just a baby, not a lady.” He frowned mulishly and shoved a large bit of biscuit in his mouth, crumbs falling around him.
“Elizabeth has four older sisters, one who is married. She knows all about how babies are made, and you don’t.” Mary glared at Allison.
“They were going like this.” Michael demonstrated the art of kissing, making it a dreadful experience.
Jacob’s head spun with how quickly the cooked tea had spiraled out of control. He doubted Claire had even walked three steps from the nursery before all hell had broken loose. He was half tempted to run after her for assistance but didn’t trust the little hoodlums to leave the nursery intact.
He got their attention by slamming his fist against the table. Plates and dishes rattled; tea spilled and stained the already stained tablecloth.
“That is enough.” His voice was low and tight.
“You shouldn’t hit the table like that,” Sophie said.
“It might break,” Michael continued.
“It would be a big mess,” Peter joined in.
“And then where would we be?” Mary asked in a reasonable tone.
“Dead,” was Allison’s contribution from under the table. “Dead is bad.”
A slow inhalation through his nose, released just as long, just as noisily. “This is what is going to happen . . .”
Claire could not believe her eyes. Upon returning to the nursery, she found its occupants—both child and adult—sitting around the table in absolute silence. The meal was still being consumed, eyes were moving to others suspiciously, lips were pressed shut and quivering to keep silent. The males of the room had risen, albeit reluctantly on the part of the younger two, but had not spoken.
Unsure of what was happening, Claire took her seat, her eyes on each of the children. No one spoke. Allison smiled and opened her mouth, but remembrance dawned on her face and she quickly snapped her mouth shut.
Claire looked across the table at Jacob. “What—”
“She spoke!” Peter crowed. “Miss Bannister spoke! She loses!” The other children chimed in, shattering the silence.
“Lost what?” Claire looked back at Jacob in confusion.
“We were playing the quiet game,” Sophie explained over her brothers.
“The first person to speak loses,” Mary added.
“And you spoke. You lost, you lost, you lost,” Peter and Michael sang.
Allison’s face began to crumple. “I don’t want Miss Bannister to lose.” Tears threatened her eyes.
“Ahem.” Jacob’s clearing throat and firm eyes quieted the noise. He gave his attention to Claire. “As the girls explained, the first person to speak in the quiet game loses. However,” he cut off Peter’s attempt to resume his chant, “as you were not in the room when it began and therefore did not know what we were playing, you did not technically lose.”
“What?” protested Peter.
“How can someone lose a game they are not playing?” Jacob asked reasonably.
Slumping in his chair, Peter mumbled, “I suppose so.”
“That means Peter spoke first,” Sophie declared. “He is the loser!”
Peter’s adamant returned immediately. “I am not!”
“Peter’s the loser. Peter’s the loser,” the two elder girls chanted.
“Ladies, that is enough.” Claire’s clear voice rang over theirs, silencing the chant.
“I am not the loser,” Peter said, glaring at his sisters.
“A gentleman accepts his losses with grace and pays his debts with honor,” Jacob informed him.
“Being a gentleman is horrible.”
Jacob ignored that. “But considering the circumstances, as supreme judge I declare the penalty null and void.”
Claire addressed Sophie and Mary. “And ladies, poor losers are never respected, but poor winners are abhorrent.”
“What’s abhorrent?” Sophie asked.
“Extremely hateful,” Claire supplied. “Such behavior calls for an apology.” The girls muttered their apologies. “Now, I believe we are all finished here. Up and to your rooms. It’s been a long day, so quiet time before bed is called for.”
Despite their protests, the children were herded into their respective rooms. Jacob sat back in his chair and watched the sway of Claire’s bottom as she brought up the rear of the line.
She looked over her shoulder before leaving the room. “What was the penalty for losing?”
He grinned. “Giving my sweaty, stinky feet a foot rub before going to bed.”
Her laughter filled the room and lingered after she left, putting a smile on Jacob’s face.
Y
et another surprise awaited Claire after the children had been put down, Mr. Knightly was crouching in front of the fire, stirring the embers. Cushions had been piled up around the hearth, and Claire noticed a tray bearing bread, cheese, ham, and sweetmeats nearby along with a decanter of wine and two glasses. A familiar toasting fork was propped up against the fireplace.
Hearing her enter, Jacob turned and stood, the fire poker hanging from his hand. He made a bow worthy of a courtier. “Good evening, Miss Bannister.”
God in heaven, he was a beautiful man. Especially reflected in the firelight. Some candles remained lit, but the glow from the fireplace provided most of the illumination. Standing as he was, his features were covered in orange light, the shadows making his aristocratic features more prominent, more beautiful. Claire knew that
beautiful
was not a word usually associated with the males of the species, but nothing seemed more appropriate at the moment. The one regret was that the reflection of light on his spectacles distorted her view of his gentle blue eyes.
She cleared her throat. “What is all this?”
He smiled. “You did not eat much at dinner. I thought you might still be hungry.”
His smile eased away some of her initial wariness, and Claire moved toward the setup. “How did you manage to get the tray?” she asked, settling down on the cushions. “Cook doesn’t like preparing anything extra after the children have eaten. Even the tea tray is not a guarantee.”
“Cook might not appreciate the extra work, but the undercook—now she’s a different matter.”
Claire sniffed. “All you have to do is smile at a lady and she does your bidding.”
Jacob grinned. “It has worked so far.”