A Poor Relation (19 page)

Pinkie made her next announcement with the air of a whist player producing the ace of trumps. “Lady Farleigh has asked me to stay with her indefinitely.”

“But she only met you for the first time yesterday!”

“Her ladyship prides herself on being a quick judge of character, I collect. She took a liking to you yesterday, my dear, and was so kind as to congratulate me on whatever small part I had in forming your disposition. She says she would like me to be her companion when she removes to the Dower House, which she expects to be soon.”

“She... she does?”

“To be sure. Now no more chatter or you will not go down tomorrow after all.”

Rowena lay quietly but could not sleep. There was too much to think about. Lady Farleigh obviously expected Chris to marry soon, but there was no knowing who would be the lucky bride. The dowager seemed to dislike Millicent, yet Chris would make up his own mind, and his strong sense of responsibility to his tenants must encourage him towards marrying a fortune. Rowena had to admire his loyalty, though it worked against her. She would not love him so much if he was ready to abandon his dependents to follow his own inclination.

She was beginning to dare to hope that his inclination was turning towards her. He had stayed so long this afternoon, and after the first few minutes they had scarcely mentioned agriculture. He had talked about his early childhood in Dorset, his youth in London, his sister, married to a Dorset squire with a brood of children he knew only from brief visits on leave from the war.

Rather than following his father in the law, he had joined the army at nineteen. Rowena imagined him, proud and excited in his first uniform, and wished she had known him then, before the horrors of battle had set their stamp on his stern countenance. She loved the way his eyes softened when he talked of his nephews and nieces. He ought to have a brood of children of his own, and she wanted desperately to be their mother.

And yet, as his adviser, she could not in all honesty recommend that he choose herself as his wife.

If he married Millicent, at least her cousin would be gone from Grove Park, and Pinkie would be living nearby. Rowena tried to persuade herself that that was consolation enough.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

An inexplicable nervousness made Chris’s knock tentative as he stood before the door of Rowena’s chamber.

“Who is it?” called Miss Pinkerton.

“Chris... that is, it’s Farleigh, ma’am. Lady Farleigh sent me to help Miss Caxton down the stair.”

“Just a minute.”

He waited, shifting from one foot to the other, until the door opened.

“Come in, my lord. She is ready.”

His gaze flew to Rowena. She was sitting on the bedside chair, dressed in an amber gown trimmed with lace, her golden brown curls tumbling about her shoulders. Her face was pale, tired from the effort of dressing, but all he saw was the smile of welcome on her lips and in her green eyes. His uncertainty fled as he smiled back.

“Will you allow me to carry you down, Miss Caxton? Lady F. roundly damned me for thinking to entrust so precious a burden to a footman.”

Rowena’s eyes widened, and Miss Pinkerton looked at him with approval and no small degree of satisfaction.

“Very proper, my lord,” she said blandly.

Rowena was speechless but as he went about the clumsy business of picking her up, one arm round her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, she giggled.

“I was half afraid you meant to sling me over your back. This is much more comfortable, but I fear it is awkward for you.”

“It will be easier for his lordship to carry you if you put your arms about his neck,” Miss Pinkerton instructed.

Chris saw the colour rise in her cheeks and she made no move to comply.

“Please do, Rowena,” he said softly. “Miss Pinkerton is right, it will help.”

He was unprepared for the tide of feeling that rushed through him at the soft touch of her hands on the back of his neck. Shaken, he held her closer and turned to stride out of the room, bearing a burden that was suddenly very precious indeed. The emerald eyes, so close to his, were veiled with long lashes. He wanted to kiss the rosy lips, slightly parted as if she were breathless, too. He felt the rapid beating of her heart and wondered if she felt his, if she could sense the emotion coursing through him. How could he have been so blind all that time as to think of her only as his counsellor and friend!

All too soon they reached the hall and Diggory was swinging open the door of the drawing room. Rowena’s gaze met Chris’s. Whatever she saw in the eyes she claimed to read so easily, she gave a tiny gasp and her slender arms tightened briefly about his neck.

“On the sofa by the fire, Christopher.” Lady Farleigh’s command broke the moment.

With the utmost gentleness he set her down on the couch. Only the presence of the dowager, Miss Pinkerton and Bernard stopped him running his fingers down her cheek and asking if there was any hope...

“Miss Grove, Mr. Ruddle,” announced Diggory.

Millicent glided in, beautiful as ever in celestial blue, her escort following dressed in mauve. After one glance and a slight bow, Chris returned his gaze to Rowena’s bent head. As he leaned over her to ask if she needed a glass of wine to revive her, he was vaguely aware of Millicent’s prattling about Mr. Ruddle’s kindness in bringing her to see how her cousin did.

“No… yes... thank you, I...” Rowena stammered, raising her eyes as far as his neckcloth.

He took her hand and pressed it. “Better have something. You will need to fortify yourself to face our visitors, and Anne and your aunt are not far behind, I daresay.”

As he poured a glass of canary, he looked back at Rowena. She was holding the hand he had touched to her cheek. His aim wavered and he spilled several drops of the wine.

He was behaving like a callow youth in the first throes of calf love. With a deliberate effort he steadied himself and returned to her, setting the glass on a table at her elbow and pulling up a chair close by. He became aware that Bernard was regarding him with a knowing grin, while Millicent pointedly ignored him.

“I am glad you are so much better, Rowena,” she said sweetly. “You will be able to drive home with Mama and Anne, I expect.”

Lady Farleigh and Miss Pinkerton both hastened to assure her that it was out of the question for several days yet. However, Millicent’s knowing smile made Chris’s heart sink.

“You are prodigious kind, ma’am, but I am sure Mama will not permit Rowena to discommode you any longer.”

As he had predicted, Lady Grove and her younger daughter arrived a few minutes later. The merest suggestion from Millicent convinced her mother that in view of Rowena’s rapid recovery, the inconvenience of her stay at the Grange must come to an end. Even Lady Farleigh was unable to persuade her, under Millicent’s minatory eye, to extend the convalescent’s visit by more than a day.

Millicent retired triumphant to flirt with Mr. Ruddle. Chris turned his back on her.

“Your cousin is quite wrong, you know,” he assured Rowena with quiet fervour. “Your presence is not an inconvenience but a delight—to all of us. I must not gainsay your aunt, of course, but I cannot think the journey will be good for you.”

“I shall be sorry to go.” Her soft voice was unwontedly shy, and she met his gaze uncertainly. “But it is scarce any distance.”

“True.” He could ride to Grove Park in less than a quarter of an hour, and surely even Millicent could not hide her from him. “If go you must, you shall go in my carriage, with every pillow and cushion I possess to soften the way for you.”

She laughed. “On the seats, or under the wheels? I daresay there are enough in the house to pave the lane all the way up the hill.”

“Would that I could! But the carriage is well sprung. My predecessor did occasionally spend a little blunt on something other than bricks and mortar.”

She reached out and touched his hand. “Don’t be bitter, Chris. It can only hurt you.”

“Don’t you ever resent your father’s lack of care for your future? No, I have no right to ask you that.”

“I resent losing Chillenden, but I try not to blame Papa. He did his best, which is all anyone can do. We all have our own burdens to bear.”

A burden shared is a burden halved, he thought, but it was neither the time nor the place to speak out. He asked her about her father, trying to understand the man who was in part responsible for the existence of the woman he loved.

Love had crept up on him unawares. As he carried her, tired, trusting, back up the stairs later, he mused on the course of their acquaintance. It had all started with his gratitude for the help of a chance-met stranger in a country inn; now that stranger was in his arms, and he never wanted to let her go.

Reluctantly he left her in Miss Pinkerton’s care and went downstairs. There was work to be done.

Mr. Deakins had left on his desk in the estate office the bills for the repairs to his tenants’ farms. Harsh reality intruded on his dreams. His bank balance, having swelled remarkably as the proceeds of the harvest came in, had shrunk again after paying the servants’ wages on Michaelmas quarter day. There were new saplings to be bought, men to be paid for felling and planting and pruning. A feeling of panic assailed him at the prospect of losing Millicent’s twenty thousand pounds.

She had been assiduously attentive to Mr. Ruddle throughout their visit. Had she decided to take the bird in the hand? Had she guessed at his feelings for her cousin?

Chris cursed himself for a coward. He would manage without the dowry. He could never be satisfied with Millicent when he loved Rowena, even if he could not afford to ask her to be his wife. He settled down to serious calculations, covering sheet after sheet of paper with figures and lists in his neat handwriting.

Hours passed before he ruled two black lines at the bottom of the last page. He gathered up the sheaf of papers and went to see Lady Farleigh.

“Her ladyship is dressing for dinner, my lord. I was about to take the liberty of sending to remind your lordship of the time.”

“Thank you, Diggory. I do vaguely remember someone coming in and lighting the lamps an hour or two since.”

Chris went upstairs. He paused outside Rowena’s door. He wanted desperately to see her, but she was probably alone, for she no longer needed a constant nurse, and Miss Pinkerton also must be dressing for dinner.

He knocked, anyway.

“Who is it?” She sounded drowsy.

“It’s Chris.”

“Come in.”

She was reclining on the chaise longue by the fireplace, the flickering light of the flames drawing red-gold gleams from her tousled hair. She blinked up at him, a dreamy smile curving her lips.

“I did not mean to wake you. I just wanted to be sure that you have not suffered from going below stairs this morning.” Torn between his desire to gather her into his arms and his knowledge that he should not be there, he was awkward.

“I was not really asleep.”

“I meant to come and see you sooner, but I was working.”

“I know. Mrs. Diggory came in to see if I needed anything, and she told me you’d been closeted in your office all afternoon.”

“There is so much to do.”

“Is there any way I can help?”

Once again it was the wrong moment to tell her he wanted her beside him to help him forever. He must not stay, and he had to talk to Lady Farleigh before he dared commit himself.

“Only by taking care of yourself and making a quick recovery. I must go.” He could not resist raising her soft, warm, little hand to his lips and pressing a kiss in the palm.

She flushed fiery red, and as he left he thought he heard her murmur, “I must be dreaming still.”

With a tender smile and a dream in his own grey eyes, he went at last to change for dinner.

Lady Farleigh adamantly refused to spend the evening talking business. “In the morning, dear boy,” she said. “You may come to my sitting room at nine. And don’t look so surprised, I may not appear below stairs until eleven but I assure you it is my habit to rise at a reasonable hour.”

Chris laughed, thinking how lucky he was to have inherited her along with the Grange. He had no qualms about opening his budget to her tomorrow. Instead of the vapours, or sulks, or tantrum he might expect from a lesser woman, she would give him her honest opinion.

When he presented himself next morning, she was already busy writing letters. Her sitting room was no elegant, feminine boudoir but a comfortable, rather old-fashioned place, a strong contrast to the splendour of the rest of the house.

“I would not let Farleigh furnish this for me,” she said, noting his surprise. “Sheraton and Hepplewhite have their place, but an old lady must have somewhere to relax. I look forward to removing to the Dower House. You have not seen it, I think. It is a charming Queen Anne house.”

“I have ridden by it, ma’am. Is it in good condition?”

“Farleigh renovated it when I would not let him pull it down and rebuild from nothing. Miss Pinkerton and I shall be very comfortable there. I trust you mean to marry Miss Caxton soon?”

“How do you...? It seems everyone knows my mind before I know it myself! I have not asked her yet. I have so little to offer her, for we shall have to cut expenses to the bone to manage at all, if indeed it can be done. That is what I want to ask you about.”

Lady Farleigh had all the household expenses at her fingertips. She knew which of the servants could easily find a new place and which had been with the family for years and must stay on, or go with her to the Dower House. She was full of suggestions as to which parts of the vast mansion might most easily be closed up, and which expensive pieces of furniture might be sold profitably and never missed. Chris scribbled notes and numbers and referred to yesterday’s calculations, and at last he set down his pen with a sigh.

“It can be done. It is not what I should like to give her.”

“Do you think Miss Caxton cares whether she lives in the style of a countess?”

“No, but I had hoped to offer her more.”

“Silly boy, offer her your heart. That is all she wants.”