A Dangerous Nativity (3 page)

The boy nodded but didn't look convinced. In
the end, the lesson was postponed for another day, so horse, rider,
and uncle could calm down.

Charles bolted toward the house. The earl ran
his hand through his hair and pounded the fence rail in
frustration. The sound of a throat being cleared caught his
attention.

"Respectfully, my lord, you might be wanting
to know about the boy and horses," Reilly said, pulling his
forelock.

"Tell me," the earl said curtly. He took a
deep breath and tried again. "Tell me, please. I will be grateful
for anything that may help."

"Th' boy took a bad spill when he were a wee
lad."

"Go on."

"T'ain't my place to say, but the mount His
Grace chose may have been a bit too large and spirited for one that
small."

"How small was he?"

"It were his third summer, my lord."

"What did His Grace do when he fell?" Will
asked, with a sinking heart.

The groom looked uneasy. He rubbed a line in
the dirt with his toe.

"Don't hold back now. I need to know. His
Grace is gone."

"Shouted at the boy. Told him a duke's son
did not fall. Told him—"

"I see," the earl said through clenched
teeth. "Did he try again?"

"Once more that summer, but the lad raised a
fuss. Terrified, he was. His Grace had him…" The groom looked
away.

"Flogged?"

"I heard caned, but I don't know myself."

"Did he try again?"

"Every summer."

"No success?"

"Got him around the stable yard once or
twice. Boy's fear made the horses skittish. Horses made the boy
worse."

"Let me guess, the horses were not well
chosen, and the duke blamed the boy."

The groom looked down. "I'll be getting back
to work," he said.

Will felt sick. He had failed Charles, too.
It had taken him too long to realize that Emery kept his family
isolated, and why. The duke and duchess attended Will and Sylvia's
father's funeral, but left quickly afterward. Her responses to
Will's letters were stiff and infrequent. Overwhelmed by his new
title and responsibilities, Will had bowed to his brother-in-law's
wishes.

He should have known better. Abusers cover
their crimes in secrecy. Eventually, he suspected Emery censored
Sylvia's mail, but the man died before he could investigate. Only
then did the full measure of damage become clear.

His mind went to Songbird Cottage and the
boys there. Young Freddy approached Mercury, a huge, spirited
stallion, with confidence, skill, and no fear. Once again, the idea
arose that the boys at Songbird Cottage might be good for
Charles.

Still, Sylvia's veiled comments about those
who lived there stood in the way. It would be like Emery to
establish a mistress next door. That's what Sylvia hinted. He
certainly had more than one in town. The woman, Catherine, didn't
look the part, however. Could those boys be hers? She would have
been awfully young, but then, Emery always did like them young.

He walked back to the hall. Perhaps I should
investigate. If the boys are Emery's, the estate bears some
responsibility for them. A thought made his heart stutter. The boys
could be Charles's brothers! The thought of investigating cheered
him. Songbird Cottage would certainly be more entertaining than the
rest of the messes he had to clean up.

Besides, I have to find a decent steward, he
thought. Better than decent. My own land is calling me home, and
Sylvia can't oversee this mess. He could ask about local candidates
at Songbird Cottage. It was reason enough to visit. That thought
was enough to get him up early with a smile on his face the next
day. Perhaps I can see how the animal nativity has progressed, he
thought with a grin.

Chapter Three

Catherine hummed to herself as she walked
around the barn from the chicken coop. She looked over the numbers
on her notes as she did. If production continued at this pace, the
egg money alone might provide sufficient cash to see them through
winter. If the hens stay healthy. If the foxes stay away. If—

A big bay hunter trotted down the lane,
slowed to a walk, and stopped. The curious earl is back.

A flash of vanity made her wonder if she
might pop up the rear stairs and change from her work clothes
before she was noticed. The earl looked up and nodded in greeting.
He glanced at the door and back at Catherine, as if deciding
whether to greet her or knock.

Too late. He can take me as I am.

She strode over and curtseyed to their guest.
"What may I do for you, my lord?"

"I thought to pay a call on your father,
Miss—" he said.

"Welcome, then. Excuse our informality." She
opened the door and brought him in. In a well-run household, a
servant would meet him at the door, she thought. She wouldn't
apologize that their one cook/housekeeper had gone into the village
this day. He'll have to take all of us as we are.

As if in response to her thoughts, footsteps
pounded down from the upper story.

"There's a horse out front, Cath. The earl is
back!" Freddy shouted, before he noticed their guest and skidded to
a stop. The look on Catherine's face was enough to make him recall
his manners.

"Oh, sorry, Lord Chadbourn," he said,
sketching a tolerably correct bow. Randy, who followed behind him,
did the same.

"Welcome, my lord," Randy said, just before
his brother burst out with, "May I see to your horse?"

Freddy looked desperately eager. The earl
looked disconcerted.

Of course he doesn't want boys handling his
cattle. It isn't as if we have stables.

"His Lordship has come to visit Papa. You
young men are meant to be at your numbers. Off with you."

Randy smiled at the earl and started up the
stairs, watching over his shoulder. Freddy looked as if he meant to
argue.

"Perhaps another time," Chadbourn said. "I
will be in the neighborhood at least until the New Year."

Freddy looked thoughtful. Before he could
wheedle, the earl went on, "Of course, that assumes your studies
are as they should be."

"Yes, sir," Freddy said. He plodded after his
brother.

"Charming boys."

Catherine tipped her head. Did he mean that
as a compliment? She couldn't tell. "This way, my lord."

When they turned in the narrow hallway, the
earl's arm brushed hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her.
She prayed he didn't notice and focused on the door to the sunny
room her father had appropriated for his studies.

She knocked softly but didn't wait for an
answer. The door opened to the south-facing breakfast room, lined
with windows, their drapery pulled back for maximum light. It was,
she noticed, as cluttered as ever. She leaned over with a sigh and
picked up papers that had fallen off the wide worktable in the
center of the room.

"Papa, we have a visitor." "She looked at the
papers in her hand and restored them to the correct pile.

Her father sat hunched over the table, pen in
hand. He bobbed his head up. "Visitor? It's Thursday,
Catherine."

"The Earl of Chadbourn, Papa. Your Lordship,
may I make known to you Lord Arthur Wheatly."

***

Wheatly? Good Lord!

The old man rose to his feet, cast a cautious
eye at Will, and bowed. "Chadbourn. Of course. You were at the
funeral."

Manners failed the earl. Who is this man?
"Lord Arthur" would make him the younger son of a marquess at
least—or a duke. Good Lord! Charles's estate might bear some
responsibility for this family, but I'm damned if I know what it
is.

"I—" The earl couldn't articulate a single
question from the dozen in his head. He turned to Catherine.

"And you are?"

"She's m'daughter," Wheatly snapped. Of
course she is.

"Miss Wheatly," the earl said, bowing, "We
met before, but I missed your surname during our encounter with the
pigs."

"Pigs, Catherine?" Wheatly sputtered. "What
nonsense is that?"

Catherine colored deeply. Will followed the
rosy glow from her cheek down her neck with his eyes, and imagined
how far down that blush might go. He forced that unproductive line
of thought from his mind. There was a mystery here, and he meant to
solve it.

"The funeral, Wheatly? What do you mean?"

"Emery's, o'course. I saw you there with the
boy and his mother."

"You went to the duke's funeral, Father?"
Catherine looked astonished.

"Slipped in the back when everyone's
attention was up front. Hadn't spoken to the bast—uh, the duke, in
twenty years, but it seemed right."

Will's head spun. He called the duke by his
given name. "I can't help but notice the family name. May I ask
your relationship to the duke?"

"None I want to claim, and none you need to
know," the old man growled. "Is there a purpose to this call?" The
set of his jaw made it clear the subject was closed.

"The earl admired our fences, Father. I
believe he came to pay his respects." Catherine's voice took on a
soothing tone, while Will tried to recall his excuse for
calling.

"Fences?" Lord Arthur waved his hand
dismissively. "MacLeish takes care of that. Far too busy with my
studies to be bothered by such nonsense."

"MacLeish?" Will asked.

"Our man-of-all-work," Catherine explained.
She looked jittery. "Why don't you show your work to the earl,
Father." She looked desperate to change the subject.

Wheatly launched easily into his
obsession.

"Birds, Chadbourn. England is blessed with
'em." He held up a stack of drawings. The subject had been neatly
changed, and good manners prevented Will from probing. "I'm
finishing the text for my next work. Birds of the English Farm and
Fields this time."

"This time?"

Catherine smiled and showed him a shelf next
to the mantelpiece. Five well-bound volumes in brown leather, a
foot high each, had pride of place. Will could see Birds of English
Marsh and Wetlands and Birds of English Woods and Brush neatly
lettered on two of them.

"Impressive, sir."

"Mr. Porter will be wanting this one soon
enough," Wheatly said.

"You have until after Christmas, Father,"
Catherine put in. "At least six weeks."

The old man suddenly pulled one sketch from
the pile Catherine had laid on his desk. "This one isn't right," he
murmured.

Will looked at the watercolor of a
black-and-white bird perched on a leafy branch. He didn't know
birds, but the painting looked exquisite to his untrained eye.
"It's lovely work," he said.

"Wagtail wing bars aren't so wide. And look.
Catherine painted his head cocked downward. They don't sit that
way. Point their beaks up like some snooty duchess. Has to be right
for Porter."

Catherine took the painting with a sigh.
"I'll redo it. Mr. Porter wouldn't know the difference or care, but
you will. I'll get to it tonight after supper."

Chadbourn frowned. Miss Wheatley looks weary.
Does nothing happen here without her competent touch? She is
nervous, too. My presence makes her jumpy. I need to cut this
strange visit short.

"If I may interrupt, Wheatly, the reason I
came was to ask for advice."

Two pairs of wide eyes turned to him.

"Eversham Hall is without a steward. I fired
the man for incompetence."

"Excellent!" Catherine exclaimed. "Barker
about ruined the land."

"Nasty, too," Wheatly scowled. "Th'duke's
creature."

Will wondered what dealings Songbird Cottage
had with the rotten steward, but didn't voice the question.
"However, that leaves my nephew's estate without a steward. I need
someone trustworthy and skilled enough to oversee the restoration
of the estate, someone whom I can trust. I can't stay here forever.
I hoped you might know someone, Wheatly. It would be best if the
man knew local conditions."

The old man looked baffled and confused. Will
realized his mistake. He had asked the wrong Wheatly. He looked at
Catherine, who appeared lost in thought.

"Have you spoken with Squire Archer?" she
asked. "He owns a small estate several miles above Wheatton. His
nephew, John Archer, manages it. He's young, and Eversham would be
a challenge, but he has the skills. He understands the land. You
would do well to speak to him. The Squire wouldn't stand in the way
of John improving himself."

Her comments confirmed Will's suspicions
about the source of Songbird Cottage's order and well-managed
operation. His other suspicions about the estate's obligations
toward this household would have to wait until he had more
information. Clearly, that wouldn't come from Lord Arthur.

"Thank you, Miss Wheatly. I will call on
Squire Adams as soon as I am able. Can you see me out?"

He took his leave of Lord Arthur Wheatly,
convinced that he looked relieved to have him gone, and followed
his hostess to the door.