Kitabı oku: «An Earl For The Shy Widow», sayfa 3
Besides, this outing was not about her seeing Lord Longhurst again, it was about providing food for their table.
She climbed the stile into the field. At this time of year, the birds were quieter, though there was still the odd cheep as they darted about, feasting on blackberries and grass seeds. The crisp morning air seemed to predict autumn just around the corner. The dew caught the sun’s rays and glinted as if there were diamonds scattered across the top of the grass. It would not remain long; a breeze was already ruffling the long stalks like wind upon water.
She found the mushroom ring she had spotted a few days before, and after carefully bruising one of the caps to ensure it turned pink and not yellow, she cut them off and gently placed them in her basket. The next mushroom she found was a giant puffball hiding in the stinging nettles at the foot of an elm tree. It was large enough to provide both her and Marguerite with an excellent breakfast. Careful to make sure the nettles did not touch her skin, she cut the stalk and soon it was also sitting in the bottom of her basket.
She continued up the rolling stretch of land, making her way to the brow of the low hill which ran through the centre of the field.
Because the grass was so long, most of her harvest grew against the hedge, where the vegetation thinned out. Mushroom picking was easier in woods or a pasture with short grass, but since she had promised Marguerite she would not go into the woods alone, she continued up the hill.
By the time she crested the rise, her basket was brimming with assorted mushrooms and it was time to turn back. She stretched her back and looked about. Two men with their shirts off were hacking at the grass at the far end of the field.
Apparently, Lord Longhurst had taken her advice.
She squinted against the sun’s brightness. Oh, goodness. If she was not mistaken, one of those men was His Lordship himself and the other shorter, leaner figure, Mr O’Cleary.
She frowned. With only two of them working, and at the rate they were progressing, it would take ages to mow this field. After that, they would have to pile it into hayricks to dry. It would take days to finish. Why on earth had he not hired any help?
Unable to contain her curiosity, she continued working her way along the hedgerow, picking one or two mushrooms and then glancing up to see if they had noticed her presence while pretending she had not noticed them. As she drew closer, she could see both men in all their glorious detail, though she really only had eyes for the taller blonde giant of a man.
Lord Longhurst’s chest was broad and well muscled, like a statue of a Roman god, and his arms as he swung the scythe were the most enticing sight she had ever seen. Oh, heavens, the way the muscles in his back rippled with his movement made her insides tighten in a most shocking way. She fought the strong desire to run her hands over that back and down his spine and... She could not remember ever seeing a flesh-and-blood man who could serve as a model for a Greek god. Such a gorgeous specimen of the male of the human species.
She fanned her face. What on earth was the matter with her? She could not recall ever having such wayward thoughts before. Not even when Harry was alive and still treating her as if he loved her. With Harry, she realised, she’d been all girlish giggles and eager to do anything to get his attention. With this man, her reactions were far subtler in some ways and earthier in others she simply did not understand.
Good Lord. What would Longhurst think if he knew the direction of her mind? He’d likely be as shocked as she was.
The next glance revealed His Lordship pulling his shirt over his head. A sense of disappointment gave her another shock. No, no, she wasn’t disappointed. She was pleased because he must have seen her. Yes, indeed he had because the moment he was decently covered he strode to meet her.
As he drew close she became aware of trickles of moisture working their way down from his hairline to his neck. Oh, and the way his shirt clung to his skin was positively delicious. No, no, she meant indecent.
She mentally shook her finger at this new wanton version of herself and composed her face into an expression of polite surprise. ‘Good day, Lord Longhurst. A perfect day for working in the fields, is it not?’
He smiled and her heart gave an odd little clench. Oh, she was a fool for those boyish open smiles. She always had been. But she’d also learned those smiles also hid a good deal of boyish vice. Definitely not to be trusted.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Although I have to admit, while the sun is a boon, I am grateful for the breeze.’
As was she, as a gentle waft of air carried his scent towards her, earthy sweat mingled with the fresh scent of soap. She inhaled deeply and caught him looking at her with an odd expression.
Surprised by her inability to control such reactions in herself, she swallowed and was startled to discover her mouth was quite dry. ‘I have been mushroom picking,’ she said, holding out her basket and sounding more frog-like than she would have preferred. She swallowed again. ‘Half of these are yours.’
He looked startled and peered down at the fungus. ‘Are you sure they are edible? I have heard there are many poisonous kinds.’
Did he think her an idiot? ‘I have been picking mushrooms for almost as long as I could walk. You may trust I know what I am doing.’
She and Marguerite had gone on foraging expeditions with their cook, who had taken pity on their motherless state. She’d been a dear old stick and taught them lots about the bounty to be found in the country. She’d also taught them the rudiments of cooking, never expecting it would come in useful later in their lives.
Petra liked being outdoors. Even in those days Marguerite had preferred standing at her easel creating art to tramping around the countryside in all kinds of weather. Now Petra wished she had spent more time in the kitchen, but fortunately their maid, Becky, wasn’t a bad cook and between them all they managed to put decent if simple food on the table.
His Lordship made a wry face. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I am not sure O’Cleary knows how to cook much besides boiled beef, turnips and potatoes. He’d likely ruin them.’
The way he’d burned the biscuits. A man in Lord Longhurst’s position should be able to hire a proper cook, should he not?
‘I apologise if I seem ungrateful,’ he added, likely to fill the uncomfortable silence.
She pulled her thoughts together and shook her head. ‘Not at all. I was thinking what a shame it is that you do not have a cook, that was all. You might find one at a hiring fair, there are several local ones over the next few weeks.’
‘Yes,’ he said vaguely. ‘Perhaps after we are done here, I will look into it.’ He glanced over at where O’Cleary was quenching his thirst using a long-handled dipper in a bucket they must have filled from a stream. He dipped it again and poured the water over his head.
‘It is hot, thirsty work,’ she said.
‘And we have barely made a dint in it.’
‘What about hiring some men from the village to help you?’
He shook his head. ‘The other landlords are keeping them busy. We will do as much as we can and that will have to do.’
The determination in his voice gave her pause. It seemed he did care something about his property.
The last time Harry had joined her brothers during a harvest, he had tossed the hay about and chased her around the stooks and generally caused much hilarity and disturbance. His carefree ways were what she had loved about him as a girl and what had been so annoying about him when they were wed.
She hesitated. ‘Would you mind if I made a suggestion?’
* * *
Another suggestion? It had been Lady Petra’s idea that he mow this field. Was she now spying on him to see if he had followed her instructions? Or was her motive something different? An excuse for her to meet and flirt with him? Before he’d left the Peninsula, his fellow officers had teased him about all the ladies who would be lying in wait for him in hopes of catching an earl. And Sarah had proved just how right they were. He would do his own choosing, thank you very much. A simple bargain between sensible people was all he needed. No pretence of stronger emotions. The very idea of the sort of destructive passions his parents had engaged in made him feel ill. He was not about to be trapped into such a hideous life by a scheming woman.
Lady Petra’s presence out in this particular field so early in the day certainly seemed highly suspect. A lady of her stature would have no need to grovel around in the fields to put food on the table. No, there must surely be some ulterior motive for her appearance today.
He needed to be careful. ‘Suggest away.’ He braced for what might next come out of her mouth.
‘You are chopping at the hay, rather than mowing it. You need to take wider, slower swings. It will go much faster and will be a lot less tiring.’
His mouth dropped open. She was now instructing him on how to use a farm implement? Given her petite form, he doubted she could even lift a scythe, let alone swing it. The damn thing was as heavy as it was awkward.
No doubt she was one of those females who liked to pretend she knew something about everything and hand out orders to large and apparently slow-witted men like himself. ‘I see.’
She coloured delightfully and for a moment he forgot his annoyance. Which irritated him even more. ‘Perhaps you would like to demonstrate, Lady Petra?’ he challenged.
‘Yes, that might be of more use than trying to explain.’
He stared at her in astonishment and followed her when she pushed through the long grass to where O’Cleary was back to plying his scythe.
She stood watching him for a moment.
‘Have you never seen anyone mow grass?’ she asked.
‘Of course I have,’ Ethan said. He certainly couldn’t wait to see what sort of hash she was going to make of this with her tiny arms and hands and in her long skirts and fancy bonnet.
She put her basket aside, lifted her skirts and tucked the hems up at the sides into the waistband of her apron, once more revealing those charming calves and finely turned ankles.
His mouth dried.
O’Cleary turned around and dropped his scythe with a low whistle.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘You’ve seen lasses working with their skirts hiked up before now.’
O’Cleary turned bright red and Ethan knew exactly what sort of work he was thinking of.
Lady Petra frowned reprovingly. ‘Dairymaids and such.’
O’Cleary lowered his gaze. ‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Give me your scythe.’
O’Cleary handed it over. It was nearly as tall as she was. ‘I usually use a smaller one,’ she said. ‘They make them in various sizes.’ She grasped the handles. ‘Stand back, please.’
She took a long slow swing at the stems at ankle height and a swathe of hay keeled over. She took a step forward and swung again and another swathe went down in defeat. In two swings she’d cut as much as he had with ten.
Clearly growing up in the city with a customs clerk for a father had not prepared him for the life of an earl with a country estate. Neither had life in the army.
‘I see what you mean,’ he said, relieving her of the scythe and handing it back to O’Cleary. ‘May I try?’ He didn’t want her exhausting herself.
‘Certainly. Before you start always make sure there is no one close by. Swung with force, the blade can do considerable damage to a human limb.’
To his nonsensical male disappointment, she stepped back, untucked her skirts and brushed them down, looking perfectly demure.
‘O’Cleary,’ Ethan growled, ‘stay well back.’
He picked up the scythe he’d been using and swung as she had done. The damn thing nearly flew out of his hands.
‘It is more about the swing than the force,’ she said.
He tried again, this time achieving a smooth half circle that was not nearly as tiring as what he had been doing before. He tried a few more swings and was surprised by how much progress he made.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Mr O’Cleary, it is your turn to try. Move a little to the right so you are parallel to His Lordship but well clear of his blade.’
O’Cleary touched his forelock and did as instructed. Soon he, too, was swinging in great form and moving forward steadily.
So much for his cynicism. Lady Petra really did know what she was talking about. He leaned on his implement. ‘Thank you, Lady Petra. We will have this field done in no time.’
She beamed at him and he grinned at her. Her smile faded. ‘With only the two of you it is going to take a few days, even so.’
‘It will,’ he said, unsure what he had done to wipe the smile from her face. Women, they were all the same. He just did not understand them. Indeed, he had no wish to understand them, even if they were as pretty as a picture. ‘I ought to get back to work. Thank you again.’
He hefted the scythe and joined O’Cleary, swinging his scythe in easy arcs. The next time he looked up, she was gone from view.
* * *
Over the next few hours, he and O’Cleary made amazing progress, but every now and then the vision of a tiny lady with her skirts caught up, expertly swinging a scythe, popped into his mind.
He felt like he’d been ambushed and had not yet got his troops back into proper order.
Chapter Three
Perched on an upturned bucket, Petra watch Jeb groom Patch with a critical eye. When she had lived at home, she’d had her own riding horse, Daisy, and had learned how to care for her. She enjoyed working with horses, but this was another thing Jeb had decided was too lowly to be undertaken by a lady. So, having helped Becky make the bread first thing this morning, she’d come out to watch Jeb work, mostly so she would not disturb Marguerite at her drawing.
‘How old are you, Jeb?’ she asked.
He straightened and turned to face her. ‘Sixteen, my lady.’
So young! Yet hadn’t she known exactly how her life should be at sixteen? Wife to Harry, whom she’d assumed would become a gentleman farmer.
Why had she not seen that, while Harry had enjoyed his visits to her brothers, he was not the least bit interested in the land? He’d liked the hunting and the rollicking around the neighbouring villages getting up to all sorts of tricks, which she had known nothing about. After their marriage, he had made it perfectly clear that residing in the country would be a sort of living death for him. He declared he belonged in town, where he could continue to enjoy the company of his friends and, as she discovered later, any female who happened to come into his orbit.
A pang seized her. She quelled it. She never allowed herself to think about his unfaithfulness. It was simply too demeaning.
She sighed. Red had been right in cautioning her against setting her sights on Harry, but in those days, she had been so sure of everything. Now she felt as if she knew absolutely nothing, although her stupid body seemed to be attracted to the first handsome man to cross her path since Harry died.
Which was nonsense. She hadn’t given a thought to that sort of thing before she married, so why would she need to think it about it now she was a widow? She was a lady after all, not some lowly maiden.
Jeb was staring at her. Oh, yes, he’d told her his age. She frowned. ‘That means you started working here when you were fourteen. Isn’t that rather young?’
Surprise filled his expression. ‘Why, no, my lady. Me da started work up at Longhurst Park when he was nobbut ten. Under-groom he were then. He said we were spoiled going to school and not working till we were fourteen as our ma insisted upon.’ He grinned. ‘To hear tell, it was a fine life up at the Park till the old lord up and died. The fellow that came after him was sickly and spent most of his time in London, so he had no need of the horses or the staff. I was supposed to train there when I was old enough, but it were not to be.’ He went back to currying Patch’s flank.
‘Where does your father work now?’
Jeb shrugged. ‘Died of the lung disease three years ago. Leaving Ma to raise five young ’uns on her own. God’s blessing it were when this here job came up or we might have ended up on the parish.’
Guilt assailed. Why had she not known this? But it was Red who had hired Jeb before she and her sisters had arrived in Westram. ‘I suppose your mother is helping the other ladies with the millinery now?’ She winced, as even that work wasn’t certain.
‘Nah, my lady. She cooks for a family out beyond Ightham.’ His gaze held sadness. ‘She gets home one day a month. The little ’uns miss her, but me and my older sister do the best we can with them. Suzy does a bit of lacemaking, but it be hard for her to do much with the baby an’ all.’
‘Baby?’
‘Ah, he be four now. Right little handful.’ He grinned fondly. ‘The other three help out.’
This vision of Jeb as head of a family was shocking. And for a mother to be separated from her young children! A vision of singed biscuits popped into her head. ‘Your mother is a good cook, then?’
‘Yes. Trained she did, up at the Park when she were a lass. Had to give it up when she married me da, of course, but he had a good job by then.’
A good cook. Now, that was something. ‘When will she be home next?’
Jeb rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Next week, I reckon, my lady. Sunday.’
‘Do you think she might be willing to cook for us here on that day?’
Jeb turned to look at her. ‘What, my lady?’
‘I would like to invite a guest for dinner, but we will need someone to cook for us. Your mother can take home any leftovers, and, of course, we would pay her for her time.’
His eyes lit up. ‘I’ll have my sister write and ask her, but I am sure as how she would be pleased to help out. A bit of extra never goes amiss.’
Hopefully Marguerite would not object to spending a little bit extra next week. Now if she could convince the Earl to accept her invitation, she might kill two birds with one stone by finding His Lordship a cook as well as help Jeb’s family out by having their mother live at home. The thought pleased her inordinately, even if it did mean having to entertain the Earl for dinner.
* * *
Ethan tied Jack to the fence in front of Westram Cottage. At first, he’d thought to refuse the ladies’ invitation to dine with them, but the thought of a half-decent meal, instead of O’Cleary’s stew, was far too tempting for any man, especially one who liked his food as much as Ethan did.
Besides, strangely enough, he was looking forward to seeing Lady Petra again. Which wasn’t moving the next project on his list in the right direction.
According to his man of business, who had his office in Sevenoaks, he was not entirely destitute. He’d offered the heartening news that if Ethan was careful in the management of the estate, and if he perhaps found himself a suitably wealthy bride, he should come around very nicely.
The noose tying him to this estate was growing ever tighter, but he still had hopes of returning to his army career. After much discussion, Ethan had reluctantly agreed to the man of business making discreet enquiries regarding the availability of such a bride. He had indicated his preference for a sensible woman who would understand the concept of a marriage of convenience. Preferably one who had some experience of country living and all that it entailed, so he could leave matters in her hands. There were to be no commitments or promises until Ethan had met the lady.
He marched up to the ladies’ front door and rapped the knocker. After some discussion with O’Cleary, he’d decided not to wear his uniform. Since a military man had little use for civilian clothes, his wardrobe was limited, but he did have a coat he’d bought from Weston on a whim during one of his visits to London. It wasn’t exactly evening wear, but O’Cleary had agreed it would do for dinner in the country. Though why on earth the batman thought himself an expert in the matter Ethan didn’t know.
A maid guided him to a small parlour at the front of the cottage.
The two ladies rose to their feet when he entered. He gave them his warmest smile and bowed. ‘Good day, ladies.’
They dipped their heads in unison.
‘Please be seated, Lord Longhurst,’ Lady Marguerite said. She glanced at the servant. ‘That will be all, thank you, Becky. May I offer you some sherry, Lord Longhurst?’
‘Thank you.’
He took his glass when she poured one for each of them. Both ladies perched on the sofa. He sat opposite in the armchair and raised his glass. ‘To your very good health.’
‘Your health,’ they replied.
He took an appreciative sip of his drink. The sherry was of excellent quality.
A silence descended. Ethan dragged out his party manners. ‘What a snug house you ladies have.’
‘Thank you,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We like it very much.’
‘There is one thing I do not quite understand,’ he said, recalling some earlier musings. ‘The village has your family name and yet your family does not own any property in these parts, apart from this cottage.’
‘It is quite a long story,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘But it is not an unusual one. It dates back to Oliver Cromwell’s rule.’
‘Do not tell me your family once owned Longhurst Park?’ Blast, he had not anticipated that when he asked the question, though he should have. He really ought to find out more about this branch of his family’s history. He just hadn’t thought it important before now.
‘Oh, no,’ Lady Petra said. She chuckled. ‘Actually, it is Lord Compton who is the usurper.’ Her amusement lit her blue eyes like sunlight dancing on water. He found himself enchanted. He suppressed the sensation. He had seen that sort of conspiratorial amusement on his mother’s face. It had been a lie then and was likely one now, too. Ladies’ smiles were not to be trusted, even if they were pretty and enticing.
‘Petra, you really should not say such things,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘It is all water under the bridge. While Compton Manor, then known as Bedwell Hall, did belong to our family, our ancestors supported the idea of a republic. After the Restoration, we lost the title and the land. Charles the Second bequeathed Bedwell to the Comptons, all except this cottage, which was occupied by an elderly lady who had maintained her loyalty to the King.’
‘A very stubborn old lady apparently.’ Once more Lady Petra’s eyes twinkled. ‘My family says I take after her.’
Lady Marguerite shook her head fondly at her sister. ‘You are not stubborn, my dear, unless you do not get your own way.’
Both ladies laughed. Once again Ethan was struck by the younger sister’s angelic beauty. Her laughter was a sweet light sound and her eyes gleamed with mischief. She was the sort of woman who stood out in a crowd and drew every man’s eye when she smiled. The sort of woman who would lead a less sensible man a merry dance.
His suspicions about her having an ulterior motive returned in full force. He really should have declined this invitation. He certainly did not want to create any false impressions or hopes.
Lady Marguerite continued the story. ‘It wasn’t until the Stewarts were gone that our family wormed their way back into the good graces of the royals and were granted the property in Gloucestershire. Danesbury is where Westram has his seat now.’
‘Yet you choose to live here in Kent?’
‘Yes,’ Lady Marguerite said, lifting her chin as if she expected him to take issue with her words. ‘We like our independence.’
Lady Petra nodded her agreement.
Perhaps he was misjudging her motives after all.
The maid peeped in. ‘Lady Marguerite, I am to tell you dinner is served.’
‘Thank you, Becky,’ she said, standing.
‘May I?’ Ethan offered both ladies an arm. He escorted them into a small dining room overlooking the garden at the back of the house. The French doors were wide open, admitting a light breeze along with the scent of roses.
He seated the ladies and then took a chair. ‘Your garden is beautiful,’ he said.
‘That is Petra’s doing,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘She has a talent for making things grow.’
Lady Petra smiled. ‘I have always had an interest in plants. How about you, Lord Longhurst?’
He grimaced. ‘I enjoy eating what the land produces, my lady, but my knowledge beyond that is severely limited. But not for long, I hope.’
The little maid carried in an assortment of dishes, including a magnificent roast of beef, assorted vegetables and puddings.
Having carved the roast and made sure each lady’s plate was full, Ethan got down to eating his own meal with a will. Food like this had not been coming his way recently.
The conversation, led by Lady Marguerite, revolved around the weather, the need for a church roof and some information about other families in the neighbourhood.
Finally, Ethan, put down his knife and fork. ‘That was the best meal I have had in months, if not years.’
Lady Marguerite looked pleased. ‘Surely you exaggerate, my lord.’
‘Not at all. Everything was cooked to perfection. Your chef is to be complimented.’
‘Actually, she is not our cook,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We hired her for the day.’
He frowned. ‘Do cooks hire themselves out by the day?’
‘Not as a general rule, but she is looking for a permanent post near to Westram. We do not need a full-time cook, unfortunately.’
Everyone needed a full-time cook if they could afford one. Again, his irritation at Westram’s niggardliness with his sisters raised its head. But it was none of his business. Indeed, he had no idea why he would care.
‘Perhaps you would like to hire her,’ Lady Petra suggested idly. Too idly. He narrowed his eyes on her face. Why was she so interested in his household arrangements? The sort of arrangements that would normally be within a wife’s purview. Was she seeing herself in that role? No doubt she thought an earl would be a very good catch.
Even so, the thought of having meals like this on a regular basis was so tempting as to make Ethan’s mouth water.
‘Are you sure I would not be depriving you of her services, if I hired her?’
‘Oh, no,’ Lady Petra said airily. ‘Becky manages our everyday needs and, since we rarely entertain, we do not have need of a cook. Mrs Stone comes highly recommended. Indeed, she used to work at Longhurst Park years ago, so she should fit right in. And it would mean she could live at home with her family.’
The lady did protest too much. He frowned. ‘Did you invite me to dinner so I might be convinced to hire this woman?’
Lady Marguerite looked embarrassed.
‘Is it so terrible?’ Lady Petra asked. ‘Is it not our duty to help our neighbours and friends? Besides, what better way to know if she will suit than to sample her skills?’
She looked a little disgruntled. What? Had she not expected him to see through her ploy? Was she like so many others, including his father, who thought him lacking in intelligence because of his size?
Indeed, he also felt a little disgruntled. He had thought—well, perhaps vaguely hoped—she had invited him because she valued his company, but it seemed that it had been an attempt to manipulate him into hiring a cook. A very fine cook, to be sure, but he did not intend to be manipulated by any woman ever again, especially after his lucky escape from Sarah.
The maid entered with a tray containing desserts. A fruit compote, an apple pie and a lemon mousse. Everyone served themselves. Ethan partook of the pie and a little of the mousse.
Any idea of resistance immediately disappeared. Mentally he shook his head at what he knew would next be coming out of his mouth. Complete and utter surrender. ‘Ask the cook to report for duty as soon as she is able.’
Both ladies seemed happy with his pronouncement, Lady Petra exceedingly so, blast the woman. O’Cleary would be delighted in the extreme. Ethan, however, could not quite shake his earlier sense of being ambushed once again.
From now on it would be best if he avoided Lady Petra completely.
