A Poor Relation (22 page)

“No, no, our plans were all contingent upon... that is, I daresay she will continue at the Grange for the foreseeable future.”

“Then I shall send this letter today.” She folded the sheet, directed and sealed it. “It may take some little time for Mr. Harwin to reply.”

For the next few days, while awaiting the lawyer’s response, Rowena did her best to appear cheerful. She supported Anne’s spirits during Bernard’s absence; she listened to Millicent’s descriptions of the luxurious life she would lead as “dear Adolphus’” wife; she tactfully discouraged Aunt Hermione’s preparations for a London Season without revealing her own plans.

Sure that Lord Farleigh must have guessed her feelings, she dreaded his reappearance. She recalled with shame how she had hung on his neck and pressed against him when he carried her. He had been kind enough not to show his disgust at her want of conduct—or had he been amused? That would almost be worse.

She never wanted to see him again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Rowena,
pray
come to the Grange with me. How can I possibly meet Miss Cartwright without your support? She is Bernard’s only living relative and he is excessively fond of her. I am so dreadfully afraid she will not like me.”

Curled up at the foot of Rowena’s bed, Anne let slip the eiderdown wrapped about her thin shoulders as she waved the brief note from her beloved to emphasize her plea.

“I did not know he meant to bring her back with him.” Rowena tried to postpone the moment of decision.

“Nor did he, before he left. He says Chris suggested it. Was it not kind of him?”

She ignored the question. “Could you not invite Miss Cartwright to come up here?”

“I think it would be more proper for me to go to her.” Anne looked dubious. “Bernard does ask me to go.”

“Yes, of course, you are right, but surely Aunt Hermione ought to go with you.”

“I daresay, but you know very well Millie has talked her into going to Cheltenham tomorrow to order brideclothes. I know you are not quite recovered, but if I send word to Bernard first thing tomorrow that we shall not have the carriage, I’m sure Chris will send his for us. Perhaps he will fill it with cushions again.”

She giggled. Rowena winced. Unable to explain how unlikely that was, she capitulated.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Good. Let’s not tell Millie they are back or she will want to come, too. Though I must say she seems quite happy to be engaged to dear Adolphus. I wish she had taken the plunge sooner, for her disposition is much improved, is it not? All the same, we shall say we are going to see your Pinkie.”

Rowena scarcely slept that night for planning what she would say to Lord Farleigh if she were forced to speak to him. Nor could she decide what to wear. In one of her pretty new dresses she might give the impression that she was trying to attract him, yet she could not bear to go back to her old, shabby half-mourning. Besides, it would look excessively odd and provoke no end of comment.

When morning came and she had to make up her mind, she settled after all on the moss-green Circassian cloth trimmed with peach. It hung loose on her, for she had lost weight since her accident, and it made her pale face look still paler. She stared crossly at her image in the mirror, then shrugged.

Bernard came in the Farleigh carriage to fetch the girls. He and Anne were too preoccupied with each other to note Rowena’s apprehensive silence.

Lady Farleigh and Pinkie awaited them in the green-and-gold drawing room. With them was a motherly, cheerful woman whom Bernard introduced as his cousin Martha Cartwright. Rowena murmured greetings and curtsied, trying not to let her gaze wander about the room in search of his lordship.

Her efforts were unnecessary. He was not there. He must have gone riding to avoid her.

She sought refuge beside Pinkie, and did her best to take an interest in the conversation. Bernard was looking wary. Anne’s intellectual pursuits and sometimes sharp tongue accorded ill with Miss Cartwright’s comfortable common sense, and for a time a clash seemed inevitable. However, with a little nudging from Pinkie and Lady Farleigh they quickly found a mutual interest in their adoration of the captain, to that gentleman’s patent embarrassment.

The girls were invited to stay for luncheon. Lord Farleigh had still not put in an appearance.

“Now, how am I to escort five ladies into the dining room?” said Bernard, laughing. “I ought to have insisted that Chris return with me to perform his duties as host.”

“Is he still in London?” Anne asked the question that hovered on Rowena’s tongue.

“He went down to Dorset, to see his sister.” He offered his arm to Lady Farleigh, as the first in precedence and most in need. “He is very fond of her, and of all his nephews and nieces, too, and he has seen little of them since we returned to England.”

Rowena trailed after the others into the dining room. She was not hungry. Bernard might explain Chris’s absence by his affection for his sister, but she was afraid it was her presence nearby that had driven him from his home.

Miss Cartwright stayed for a week. The day after Bernard accompanied her back to town, Rowena received from an agent in Evesham a list of four local properties he thought suitable for her purposes. She disclosed her plans to the Groves. Their reactions were exactly what she might have expected.

Millicent was utterly incredulous at the very notion of choosing to become a farmer instead of a debutante. Aunt Hermione wailed about the impropriety of a young lady leaving her family to live alone. Sir Henry told her she must do as she saw fit. Anne was both encouraging and practical.

“You will have to inspect all the farms to see which you like best,” she pointed out. “I shall go with you, since Bernard is away. Papa, may we have the carriage tomorrow?”

So, early the next morning the two young ladies set out on a tour of inspection, dressed in sensible warm clothes and boots suitable for walking about a farmyard. It was a perfect October day, still and sunny with a hint of frost in the air. Woods and orchards were dressed in autumn russet and gold; in the hedgerows flocks of chaffinches squabbled over the crimson haws.

Neither her cheerful companion nor the prospect of once again running her own farm could rouse Rowena to enthusiasm.

The first place, somewhere north of Evesham between Salford Priors and Abbot’s Salford, was in excellent heart, but given over to sheep and cattle and grain. The second was planted to fruit trees, only they were in even worse condition than those at Farleigh Grange, and the house was a dilapidated shack. By the time they turned south, Rowena’s dream of independence and a quiet, useful life was fading as the dream of winning Chris’s love had faded.

“The next is bound to be better,” Anne encouraged her. “Besides, you would not want to live in a village called Wyre Piddle.”

Rowena summoned up a smile. “Hinton on the Green has a solid, respectable sound,” she agreed, “and there has been nothing but orchards for some way. Are you sure your papa’s coachman understood the directions to the farm? We seem to have been driving for... Oh, what is that?”

A shout was followed by a confused sound of cursing as the coach came to a sudden halt.

“Highwaymen!” Anne’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

Rowena let down the window and looked out. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it seems to be Bernard. Oh, and Lord Farleigh!” She ducked back into the carriage as Anne flung open the door and jumped out.

What was Chris doing here? A moment’s reflection told her that he had simply accompanied Bernard, who must have been impatient to see his betrothed.

She heard him now, talking to the coachman, at first apologetic then in a no-nonsense tone of command, his “major” voice. She could not make out his words. A moment later he led El Cid and Sluggard past the window towards the back of the carriage, presumably to tie them on behind, for he next appeared without them at the open door.

Of all the high-handed, arrogant wretches, to assume that she would want to ride with him!

“Good day, Miss Caxton.” He doffed his hat and bowed, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze.

She saw uncertainty in his grey eyes, and her resentment melted. After all it was Anne’s carriage. As Bernard’s friend, Chris could hardly be refused a place in it.

“Good day, my lord.”

“I beg your pardon if we caused you any alarm. I had not thought that your coachman might take us for highwaymen.”

“I did not for a moment credit it. However, I trust we shall not be much longer delayed for I have two more farms to look at this afternoon.”

“Ah, yes. As it happens, Bernard and I have already done some inspecting and have decided that the next is not at all what you will like. I know of the ideal place for you. In fact, I have taken the liberty of directing your coachman, in the hope that you will be so kind as to take me up so that I may show it to you.”

His look was so appealing that she could not resist. Besides, her curiosity as to what he considered suitable was almost as great as her chagrin that he should fall in so readily with her plans for the future.

“Very well,” she said gruffly.

He called to Anne and Bernard, who took their places close together on the facing seat. Rowena saw that they were holding hands. She blushed and pressed herself farther into the corner as Lord Farleigh sat down beside her. Suddenly he seemed very large. The carriage moved on.

“How did you know where we were?” Anne asked.

“Chris tracked you down,” Bernard told her, “and not without considerable hazard. I regret to tell you, sweetheart, that when we went to enquire after you, your sister flung herself into Chris’s arms and offered to send Mr. Ruddle to the rightabout, though I must admit it was in a half-hearted way.”

“What a peagoose she is! She is perfectly happy with dear Adolphus, but I suppose the prospect of losing the title forever overcame her. Millie is a constant source of mortification to me. Whatever did Lord Farleigh do?”

“Why, to tell the truth I believe he scarcely noticed, eager as he was to find out which direction you had taken. I’d have been perfectly content to await your return at home.”

“You should not have ridden so far! You must take better care of yourself,” cried Anne.

Rowena had lost interest in their exchange. She stole a peek at Chris.

He was looking at her seriously. “Miss Pinkerton told me you had chosen not to go to London in the spring. That is, she told me you were seeking a farm to live on.”

As an explanation it left a lot to be desired. Rowena could not think of any answer but a weak “Oh.”

The engaged couple had a great deal to say to each other, but between Chris and Rowena conversation languished. She gazed out of the window as if fascinated by the passing scene, though she could not have said whether the hedges were hawthorn or hazel, whether the cottages of Hinton on the Green were built of stone or brick.

He had rejected her cousin. Of course that was the only gentlemanly thing to do, whatever Millicent’s feelings, since she was betrothed to another.

Why had he come to meet her? Why was he determined that she should see the farm he chose rather than those she had set out to see? Why was he sitting there in silence looking, as another stolen glance showed her, both discouraged and anxious?

The carriage turned right and Rowena recognized the road to Down Stanton. A horrid suspicion seized her. One of his tenants must have given notice and he wanted her to take over the farm. Though he did not care to marry her he needed the benefit of her advice and expertise. In a way it was flattering, but it did not tempt her in the least. In fact, it would be unbearable.

“We are going towards Farleigh Grange,” she cried, turning to him. “I won’t go any farther.” She let down the window and called to the coachman to stop. There were tears in her eyes; she furiously blinked them away.

“Why not?” Chris sounded alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“I do not want to be your tenant.”

Smiling wryly, he captured her agitated hands. “It is true I am not the best of landlords. However, that is precisely the opposite of what I hoped for. Rowena, I want to be
your
tenant—for life.”

She looked at him in confusion.

Bernard exchanged a glance with Anne. “I think this is where we go for a stroll,” he suggested, and helped her down into the lane.

“Rowena, what is wrong?” Chris demanded urgently.

“What does that mean, that you want to be my... tenant for life?”

“A reprehensible phrase signifying a husband. I want to be yours.”

“Then why did you go away, stay away so long?”

“Because of your inheritance, and Millicent’s betrothal. I knew what people would say, and I was afraid you would believe it. Besides, I thought you wanted to have your Season and make a splendid match.”

“What people would say? Oh, I see!” It had not crossed her mind before, when she was so delighted to have the money to smooth his path, but people would talk. Millicent, for one, would be certain that Chris’s offer was prompted by Rowena’s unexpected inheritance. All her loving trust was in her eyes as she assured him, “But I do not care what people say.”

“I decided I don’t, either. I want you too much to give you up for such a silly reason. And you do not want a splendid match?”

“Oh, yes, I want to be a countess.”

Chris tightened his grip on her hands and she moved a little closer, but still he held her away from him. “Rowena, I love you and I want more than anything in the world to marry you, but you know I cannot offer a life of luxury. Your money must be put in a trust fund for our children, so we shall have to scrape by as best we can.”

His children! Rowena felt the colour rise in her cheeks. But what nonsense the dear man was talking.

“I mean to invest my fortune,” she said with determination.

“Of course you shall choose how it shall be disposed.” He looked disconcerted.

“The only investment with which I am conversant is agriculture,” she continued demurely, hiding a smile. “I believe the best use that can be made of it is to improve a faltering estate so that in due course it will yield proper returns.”