A Poor Relation (7 page)

“Then you’ll understand, my lord, that I need cash to pay the harvesters. I found a buyer in Manchester who’ll pay sixpence more per bushel of plums than any in London, but I have to get the fruit picked and shipped and that takes blunt. There’s no two ways about it.”

“How much?” Chris whistled when he heard the figure. “I don’t have so much cash on hand. I’ll have to write a draft on my bank and send someone over to Evesham with it. My London banker made arrangements for me to draw funds there.”

“I’ll go myself, my lord, for I’d not trust anyone else with such a sum.” Mr. Deakins brightened considerably at his lordship’s unexpected acquiescence to his request for the ready.

“You must be busy at this season. I’ll drive over myself, this afternoon, for I can’t stay cooped up with the accounts all day.”

The bailiff actually smiled at this evidence of thoughtfulness. On the other hand, Chris was now sunk in gloom. He cursed himself for wasting so much of his brass in London. In the first flush of the unexpected windfall, he had spent freely on his new curricle and pair and new clothes from Scott and Hoby and Locke. At least the need to oversee Bernard’s recovery had kept him from the gaming tables, not that he was addicted to gambling.

Mr. Deakins patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, lad. That sum’ll take us through the apple harvest, too, for there’s no shortage of labour with Boney on Elba and the army disbanding. Now, here’s the last ten years’ accounts here on this shelf. This is the current book, and this one’s 1813.” He lifted down the heavy ledgers and laid them on the desk.

Chris nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Deakins. Dismiss!” He shook his head ruefully at the other’s surprise. “I beg your pardon. I myself am still not entirely free of the army, it seems. I should say, that will be all for now, and I’ll send for you if I need you.”

His lordship sat a moment in thought. It would be pointless to sell his curricle, for he would not get the half of what he paid for it. He had chosen the horses with an eye to strength rather than speed, so nothing would be gained by selling them. There was one extravagance, though, that he would be happy to do without. His expensive and disapproving valet was more suited to serve a town buck than the gentleman farmer he saw himself becoming. Jessup should return to London on the next stage, with an excellent reference and a month’s wages. Potter could do all that was necessary to take care of his wardrobe.

There was another good reason for keeping the curricle, he thought as he opened the first ledger. The incomparable Miss Grove might be persuaded to let him drive her about the countryside.

After two hours of puzzling over the accounts, Chris was delighted when the butler interrupted him.

“Her ladyship asked me to inform your lordship that there are callers, my lord.”

Nothing loath, Chris abandoned Mr. Deakins’s hieroglyphics and made his way to the drawing room.

In the course of the next few hours, he became acquainted with a large proportion of his neighbours. With the excuse of calling on the dowager, the matrons had no need to wait for their menfolk to visit before they could with propriety bring their marriageable daughters to the new earl’s attention. The older gentlemen were eager to meet the premier landowner of the district, and their sons were ready to admire the exploits of a Peninsula soldier.

“I’m exhausted!” Chris sank into a chair as the last guest departed. “I am not used to doing the pretty by the hour. How did they all hear of my arrival? The country rumour-mill is as efficient as the regiment’s.”

“Surely you did not expect the appearance of a handsome, titled and unmarried gentleman to go unnoticed?” asked Lady Farleigh dryly. “Every eligible chit within a dozen miles has now been presented to you, and a few whose eligibility is questionable.”

“Some of them are delightful girls, though not one has half Miss Grove’s beauty.” Bernard, as his lordship’s intimate friend and an interesting invalid, had come in for his share of attention.

“Will it be proper for us to call at Grove Park tomorrow, ma’am?” Chris asked the dowager.

“Hooked already, eh, Major? Yes, you might even go today to express your appreciation for dining there last night.”

“I must drive into Evesham this afternoon. Do you care to go with me, Bernard?”

“Thank you, no, though I do not mean to retire to my chamber today. I believe I shall explore your library.”

“No doubt you will appreciate it better than I. By the by, I forgot to tell you that Miss Grove’s odd little cousin turns out to be the young woman who stopped you bleeding to death in Kent. I knew I recognized those green eyes, though I could not place her.”

“Miss Caxton? That settles it, then, we must go tomorrow so that I can thank her.”

“What a fortunate coincidence that she happens to be Millicent Grove’s cousin.” Her ladyship’s voice was heavy with irony.

Bernard grinned at the old lady. “I assure you, ma’am, that were she cousin to Old Nick himself, I should feel obliged to thank her for saving my life.”

* * * *

Millicent glowered. All day yesterday she had waited for Lord Farleigh to call, and they had seen neither hide nor hair of him. Rowena was amazed at her cousin’s ability to persist in the sulks overnight.

Wise in his daughter’s ways, Sir Henry had breakfasted early and gone about his business, so only the four ladies were present in the dining room. Aunt Hermione nervously buttered her fifth muffin. Millicent’s megrims always made her overeat.

“Pass the marmalade, if you please, Rowena. You must not suppose that his lordship means to slight you, Millicent dearest. I daresay he is unaccustomed to polite society and does not realize that a courtesy call is proper after dining out.”

“Mr. Ruddle has better manners by far.”

“But Farleigh is an earl, my love. One must forgive a titled gentleman a great deal. I am certain it must have been Captain Cartwright’s health that kept him at home. Nothing less could keep him from your side, for it was plain that he admired you prodigiously.”

“It is not at all becoming in a gentleman to fuss so over his health. Captain Cartwright is a bore.”

Anne flared up. “He is an excessively well-informed gentleman, and kind, too, for he answered all my questions. If you want to flirt with the earl, I wonder that you do not go to the Grange.”

“That just shows how little you understand. I’ve no intention of making him think I am chasing him. It is for him to do the pursuing.”

“But you
are
chasing him.”

“Anne, go to your room at once. You are not to speak so to your sister. Hush, Millicent dear. You will cry yourself into a spasm. Come up to my room and I shall bathe your temples with lavender water. Anne is a shockingly unfeeling creature to distress you so.”

Abandonned, Rowena poured herself another cup of tea and sipped it slowly. Why did Aunt Hermione always give in to Millicent? She and Anne had discussed it more than once. Anne’s theory was that her mother was like a hen set to hatch a peacock egg. Being a plain woman, Lady Grove had been overwhelmed to find herself with a beautiful daughter and had spoiled her from the start. Pampering and pleasing Millicent had become a habit, and there was the added incentive of trying to avoid the fits of temper that could render the entire household uncomfortable for days.

It was impossible not to sympathize with Lady Grove, equally impossible not to be irritated.

Rowena was not sure which she disliked more, the way Millicent so determinedly relegated her to the background or the constant rows between the sisters. Though Anne did not ruffle Millicent’s feathers on purpose, she had no notion of minding her tongue. In a way it was admirable that she did not allow herself to be cowed by Aunt Hermione’s constant strictures, but it did not make for a comfortable atmosphere. Of course, Anne could always escape to her books.

That was why Rowena did not go now to join her. She was no doubt poring happily over some weighty tome.

Rowena had tried to occupy herself with reading during her free time, but she was used to an active life and soon grew restless. She wanted some useful occupation, other than trailing round after her cousin. At least she was free for an hour or two this morning, till Millicent recovered from her fit of pique. She decided to go for a walk.

A brisk breeze herded clouds across the sky, their shadows sweeping across the hills. It was a perfect day for a wild gallop, and Rowena wondered wistfully if Vixen had found a good home. In the end the mare had been put up to auction along with Chillenden and its contents. She must not think about Chillenden. She turned her thoughts to Lord Farleigh as she rambled across the park and up onto the sheep-cropped slopes beyond.

Aunt Hermione was right, the earl admired Millie prodigiously. He had scarce been able to tear his eyes from her all evening. With Millie setting her cap at him, the poor man did not stand a chance, which was a pity, for Rowena could not help liking him. There was something about those expressive grey eyes that captivated her.

She wished she dared discuss the neglect of his orchards with him. The memory of Geoffrey Farnhouse’s disbelief in her capability deterred her. Even Geoffrey’s father, who had helped and advised her, would have been shocked if she had ventured to suggest any improvement in his own management. For some obscure masculine reason, it was beneath a man’s dignity to consult a woman on such a subject, however knowledgeable she might be. Lord Farleigh’s grey eyes would turn to ice if she was so bold as to tell him to prune his trees!

Instead of alternately pitying and ignoring her, he would take her in aversion, a horrid prospect.

Walking in a wide circle, Rowena returned to Grove Park near the entrance gate. As she started up the drive towards the house, the sound of hooves and wheels on gravel alerted her and she stepped aside as Mr. Ruddle’s phaeton rolled past. It moved slowly for his blacks, chosen for showy action rather than strength, disliked the hill up to the Park.

She might as well not have existed for all the notice Mr. Ruddle took of her. In her grey dress and unaccompanied by Millicent she might have been any servant girl, and servants were invisible. All the same, she was glad to see him, for his arrival could only improve Millicent’s mood.

It was odd how fond her cousin was of the pompous, vain little man. Rowena did not think his money was the attraction, though no doubt it helped. At least Millicent could be sure that it was not her own fortune that drew him to her side. Besides, they had in common an interest amounting to obsession in fashion and appearance. Yet if Millicent was tempted to accept the fop’s frequent proposals, her mother’s constant reminders that he had no title seemed to be enough to quench her undoubted affection.

Rowena looked back at the sound of another carriage. This time it was Lord Farleigh’s curricle, driven at a brisk trot by his lordship with the captain next to him. The earl pulled up beside her.

“Well met, Miss Caxton. May I offer you a ride?”

“Thank you, my lord, it is only a step to the house and there is no room in your carriage.”

“You must allow Chris to make amends for his rudeness when we met you in the lane the other day.” The captain moved over on the seat. “See, there is space enough for one slim young lady between us.”

Suddenly Rowena was tired of being subdued and discreet and compliant. She smiled up at the gentlemen and nodded. Passing the reins to his friend, Lord Farleigh jumped down. She accepted the hand he offered to help her into the curricle and settled herself beside the captain.

The earl rejoined them and took back the reins. It was a tight fit. Rowena was conscious of his muscular thigh pressed against hers, of every movement of his strong arms as he gave the office to his team and set them trotting up the drive. Captain Cartwright’s words came as a welcome distraction.

“I understand I have to thank you for your care of me at the Four Feathers, Miss Caxton. Chris tells me I’d have bled to death failing your intervention.”

“His lordship exaggerates, sir. I was happy to give what little assistance I could, and I am happier still to see you so much recovered.”

“Do you not think Bernard’s convalescence will proceed more rapidly in the country, ma’am? Your Dr. Benson rightly insisted that he see a London surgeon, but I cannot think town life healthy for an invalid.”

“Cut line, Chris, I’m no invalid! You make me sound like a gouty old gentleman taking the waters at Bath. A fine idea Miss Caxton will have of me.”

Rowena giggled. “I think you already look better than when you arrived here. You need not go to Bath. But though I have never lived in London, I believe his lordship is right that the fresh air and peace of the country will suit you better.”

“As for peace, he is like to get little enough.” Lord Farleigh drew up behind Mr. Ruddle’s phaeton. “We received a round dozen invitations this morning. I hope we may count on seeing you at the dinners and picnics and assemblies our kind neighbours have included us in?”

“I left this morning before the post arrived, so I cannot tell. I expect Millicent will attend most of them.” Though Rowena knew that was what he wanted to hear, she was a little hurt at his obvious pleasure. She was not at all sure whether any invitations would have been extended to her.

“Lord, who’s that popinjay?” Once again the captain’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Mr. Ruddle, resplendent in his orange outfit, was descending from his carriage with the aid of his black-clad groom. He looked back to see who had driven up behind him, swivelling his whole upper body to avoid being impaled by his shirt points.

“That’s Mr. Adolphus Ruddle. He is Millicent’s most favoured beau,” said Rowena tartly.

A challenging light flashed in his lordship’s eyes as he introduced himself and the captain. Rowena sighed. Not only was the snide remark unworthy of her, it had added the spice of rivalry to the earl’s pursuit of her cousin.

When she went down after changing, she found Millicent holding court. Besides his lordship, the captain and Mr. Ruddle, a couple of sprigs of the local squirearchy hovered about her. She was in her element.