A Poor Relation (12 page)

“How do you do, Miss Caxton.” Bernard was bowing to her. “I hope you do not mean to desert us the moment we arrive.”

“No, do not go,” said his lordship, seconding his friend. “We must make plans for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Major!” She laid her fingertips on the arm he offered and allowed him to escort her back into the parlour as the butler announced them.

The gentlemen made their bows. Millicent beamed at the earl, to Mr. Ruddle’s obvious chagrin. His lordship, however, immediately rejoined Rowena, while Captain Cartwright stayed by Aunt Hermione, chatting about the dreadful rainstorm. With a show of indifference, Millicent turned back to her faithful admirer.

His lordship grinned at Rowena. “I can always count on you and Bernard to let me know when I am being dictatorial.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said with a conscious look. “It is most improper in me to... to call it to your attention.”

“To roast me, rather. On the contrary, I am glad of it. It is more difficult than I had supposed to rid myself of my army habits. Lady Farleigh is herself in the way of issuing orders, so she does not notice my bad manners.”

“I am sure an earl, or a countess for that matter, is as justified in issuing orders as a major.”

“In certain circumstances, perhaps, but not when attempting to arrange a rendezvous with a pretty young lady. Shall you and Miss Anne be able to join us tomorrow, think you, if the weather improves?”

Rowena felt her cheeks grow warm and prayed he would not notice. “I... I expect so, sir. I must ask Anne, of course.” Nothing, she vowed, should be permitted to prevent tomorrow’s meeting. “Ah, she has torn herself from her book. Anne!”

Entering the room, her cousin curtsied to the earl, but her eyes were on the captain. He glanced up and smiled at her, bowing slightly, though he did not rise from his seat beside her mother. Satisfied with this meagre attention, Anne turned to Rowena and the earl.

“Good day, my lord. I hope you and Captain Cartwright did not go out this morning. I shall be excessively angry if you dragged him out in the rain.”

“What an odd notion you have of me, Miss Anne! Having struggled to bring him alive across France and England, I’ve no intention of losing him to an inflammation of the lungs, I promise you.” Lord Farleigh’s tone was teasing.

“It will likely be fine tomorrow, Anne,” Rowena said. “I mean to ride down to the village early. Will you come?”

Lady Grove had rung the bell and was ordering refreshments. Captain Cartwright left her and came up to them at that moment.

“Do say you will come, Miss Anne.’’ His look was warm. “I depend upon you to help me chaperon this careless pair, who are too involved in their agricultural studies to observe the proprieties.”

Anne was slightly flushed. “Oh, yes, I shall be there, but I hope you meant it when you said you ride slowly, for my Rocinante is a regular sluggard.”

He laughed. “Rocinante! Well, one cannot expect more from Don Quixote’s horse. Did you read Smollett’s translation? Is that what aroused your interest in Spain?”

Lord Farleigh exchanged a glance with Rowena as the other two delved into one of their literary discussions.

“Rowena, pray help me pour the tea,” called Aunt Hermione.

Abandoned, his lordship sped to Millicent’s side. Rowena saw her cast him a melting look and then ignore him to continue her conversation with Mr. Ruddle.

“Oh, dear, I hope Millicent knows what she is about,” murmured Lady Grove.

“I believe she means to make his lordship jealous.” Rowena doubted, to judge by the earl’s sardonic expression, that her cousin’s manoeuvre was having quite the effect intended. Was he at last beginning to see that her character was less attractive than her face?

As if conscious of this possibility, Millicent addressed a remark to Lord Farleigh. He responded politely, and came to fetch two cups of tea. These he presented to Millie and Mr. Ruddle, and promptly returned to the tea tray.

“Here is your cup, my lord.” Rowena expected him to carry it back to sit with Millie, but he took a seat beside her. “Will you have a Banbury cake?”

“Thank you, my favourite. I hope your cook puts plenty of currants in them, ma’am.”

“Oh, yes... to be sure... I shall tell her always to put in plenty of currants.”

“Delicious.” He demolished half the little cake at a single bite. As Lady Grove called Anne to fetch tea for Captain Cartwright, he whispered to Rowena, “You see, I grow quite adept at polite nothings.”

“At least you did not order my aunt to make sure there are enough currants in future!”

“Speaking of currants, though of a different kind, I find I have several acres of red- and blackcurrant bushes. No doubt they are in as bad shape as my orchards. What ought I to do with them?”

“They will need pruning in November, but the red and black need to be done quite differently. It is difficult to tell you without showing you. Is your bailiff truly so ignorant?”

“To tell the truth, I think he knows a good deal. What stymies me is his inability to explain, but I have shown him your suggestions and he agrees with all of them. I believe that given the opportunity and the means, he can carry out orders perfectly well, and the men seem to work well for him. We need to establish a chain of command: you tell me what to do, and I tell him.”

Rowena crowed with delight. “That makes me a colonel, does it not? Splendid! Have another Banbury cake.”

“Is that an order, ma’am?”

With one eye on Millicent, Aunt Hermione broke in anxiously, “Of course my niece would not presume to give you an order, my lord. Rowena, you must not speak so familiarly.”

“It was a joke, ma’am,” Lord Farleigh assured her. “Miss Caxton’s manner is perfectly unexceptionable. Tell me, do you think this weather will continue for some days yet?”

As he listened courteously to her ladyship’s rambling predictions of flood and disaster, he flashed a laughing glance at Rowena. His eyes invited her to share his amusement at this display of his ability at small talk.

“I
think it will be fine tomorrow,” she told him hopefully.

No sooner had the visitors taken their leave than Millicent rounded on Rowena.

“I suppose you think that Lord Farleigh will notice you in riding dress,” she said spitefully. “You will do anything to draw his attention. Mr. Ruddle was shocked to see you so inappropriately dressed for the drawing room.”

“Just because you are terrified of horses!” snorted Anne, as usual bringing down her mother’s wrath upon her head.

It was on the tip of Rowena’s tongue to declare that she had stayed at his lordship’s specific request. She decided instead to escape while all attention was on Anne, and she rode quietly once around the park in the mizzle. She knew that horses had nothing to do with Millicent’s pique. The trouble was that her cousin was no longer willing to believe Rowena and the earl were only discussing her charms.

* * * *

It was a golden morning. Raindrops glinted in the spiders’ webs on hedgerows entwined with silky old man’s beard and colourful necklaces of bryony berries. Vixen danced impatiently as Rowena reined her in to keep pace with Anne on Rocinante. Close behind them plodded a groom on an aged cob.

The earl and Captain Cartwright were waiting beside the five-barred gate that led to the short cut across Farleigh land to Down Stanton. His lordship spotted the groom.

“Good morning, ladies,” he called, raising his hat.

“What a
surprise
to see you out so early.”

“We are on our way to the village,” Anne responded, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “May we ride through your orchards? It’s much shorter, and I fear I am no horsewoman.”

“But of course, Miss Anne. It is in any case an ancient right of way, I collect.” He leaned down from the saddle and unlatched the gate.

“Only for walking, not riding,” she corrected him. “It is a footpath, not a bridle way. But you are right that it is ancient. I have seen medieval maps of this area where the path is clearly marked.”

Captain Cartwright wanted to know more about the maps. He fell in beside Anne, sitting very straight and somewhat stiffly on his bay mare. He no longer had his arm in a sling, though Rowena had noticed that he used it as little as possible and that with care. His thin face had filled out a little from the gaunt planes she had first seen, and his animated conversation with Anne brought some colour to his cheeks.

“The captain looks quite well today,” she said to Lord Farleigh as the groom closed the gate behind them. They rode slowly after the others.

“His health is vastly improved. I fear he is still in some pain, and he has spells of weakness which I cannot like, though Dr. Bidwell says they will pass. Gentle exercise on horseback seems to have a beneficial effect, and your cousin’s chatter distracts him from his discomfort without encouraging him to exertion he is not ready for. She’s a nice child.”

“She’s no child, my lord, for all her schoolroom dress. She is seventeen, near eighteen, and will go to London in the spring if she can be persuaded that the frivolity of a Season is not an utter waste of time.”

“I thought she looked very grown-up this morning. That brownish colour suits her better than white.”

“Brownish! That, sir, is
couleur d’oreille d’ours,
and a very fashionable shade indeed, straight from Ackermann’s
Repository.
Not, I hasten to add, that Anne is in the least interested in fashion. Her habit was made from some cloth Millicent bought and then decided she did not care for.”

“Bear’s ear colour! You are roasting me again.”

“Indeed I am not. It sounds better in French, however.”

“I have a feeling that bear’s ear is the common French name for the primrose, or perhaps the cowslip. No odder than our cow’s lip, I suppose. But surely the colour should be yellow?”

“If so, you must blame Mr. Ackermann, who describes it as ‘a rich brown colour.’ My French is not adequate to mislead you. I sadly neglected all the ladylike accomplishments in my youth and now I am sorry, as Pinkie always said I would be. I do make an effort now and then, though. Here is the handkerchief you lent me, my lord, and the stitchery in the corner is intended to represent an F.” It cost Rowena a struggle to give up the one item of his that she was ever likely to possess. She wondered whether some time in the future she would regret it, but at present returning it seemed the wisest course.

He was regarding her embroidery with judicious interest. “An F, is it? It might pass for an S, which will do very well, for my surname is Scott, you know.”

“Now
you
are roasting
me.”

He grinned as he tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. “Not at all. My name really is Scott. But why do you speak of your youth as if it is past? I daresay you have had that birthday you mentioned and have attained the great age of one and twenty, if my arithmetic is correct.”

Rowena was astounded that he had both remembered her words and bothered to calculate her age. For some reason it made her feel shy, and she stammered a little as she said, “Yes, that’s right. My aunt was kind enough to make a family celebration of it. No great age perhaps, but too late to return to the schoolroom for embroidery and French.”

“Your accomplishments are far more to the purpose, Miss Caxton,” he said warmly. “What is your opinion of these apple trees?”

She drew rein and looked about her. “The trees need to be replaced. They are past their best bearing years, and there is little demand for this variety since better ones have been developed.”

She saw his disappointment. “Of course there are things that can be done to improve your yield until you are in a position to replace them. They are badly in need of pruning. Look at all the dead branches, and the green ones are so crowded that no light and air reaches the interior. However, you must wait to prune until the trees have lost their leaves. The best you can do for the moment is to have the weeds scythed and shoot some rabbits.”

“That will please my cook, no doubt.”

“You might consider giving some to your tenants and workers, though I daresay they poach a good few already.”

“Will that make them view me more kindly? My tenants are my biggest problem, for it will take money I do not have to solve their troubles.”

Emboldened by his trusting her with his financial difficulties, Rowena ventured to say, “If their rents are not too high, they can help themselves.”

“They were cut by half on my predecessor’s death, yet I see no signs that the savings are being invested in the farms.”

“Perhaps they were afraid the new heir would raise the rents again.”

He looked at her, startled. “I never thought to tell them I would not. What a nodcock I am! I have assumed that they realized I had their best interests at heart, but of course they could only judge me by their last landlord. It’s like taking over a company from a bad officer, except that I know how to talk to soldiers and I am so confounded ignorant about farming.”

“You are doing your best to learn. What more can anyone expect? Let us go on to the next orchard.”

They trotted on, passing Anne and the captain with a wave. In this way they covered a good portion of the earl’s land, pausing here and there to examine the trees while they waited for the others to catch up. Rowena would have been happy to continue all day, but Captain Cartwright’s tired face drew her attention to passing time.

It had been the most enjoyable morning she had spent since leaving Kent, and she had every intention of repeating the experience. If Lord Farleigh was interested in her only for her agricultural expertise, he should have his fill of it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Anne Grove is a pleasant young woman.” Chris led the way out of the stable yard, El Cid moving smoothly beneath him. The misty morning sky was clearing to the pale blue of a fine September day.

“She is far more than that.” Bernard was indignant. “Her intellect is superb. I tell you, at times I am hard put to it to keep up with her, and I don’t mean that this sluggard is even slower than Rocinante. With formal schooling to supply discipline and experience of the world for understanding, she could develop into a formidable scholar. It is criminal that her brain should be wasted because she is a female.”