Emily Greenwood (8 page)

“Yes, well, the point is that she liked me being there and she doesn’t like you being there. I would not call moaning a sign of welcome.”

“Some people would.”

Her face flamed at his words and his sultry tone. She pressed her lips together primly, crushing their warm eagerness.

His eyes narrowed. “Well, since you seem to be on such friendly terms with her, you may give her a message from me.”

“Oh?” He wanted her to give the ghost a message?

“Yes.” He drilled her with an intense gaze. “Tell her that, charming though she is, I will tolerate no more visits from her.”

“And just how do you think I might relay this message?”

He shrugged. “If she’s sung you songs in the past, I have little doubt that you’ll find a way to get in touch with her.”

She was bewildered. Mr. Collington seemed so different from what she would have expected of someone in mortal fear of ghosts. But he must be accustomed to masking his terror, and he was doing so now, very effectively, with his arrogance and his wicked ways. Clearly, if he was trying to push her to contact the ghost, he was desperate. She had to admit that it was brave of him to seek a solution for his problem.

“Well,” she said, “I will see what I can do.”

He leaned fractionally closer to her. “See that you do, Felicity Wilcox,” he whispered.

She had to put some distance between them before she crumpled under the force of those dark eyes. In a quick move, she scooted away along the wall then strode over to the door.

“Hadn’t we best be going, then?” she called over her shoulder.

She caught a glimpse of his satisfied grin out of the corner of her eyes. He thought she was going to solve his problem. She allowed herself a secret grin.
Au
contraire
.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, striding over toward the door. She had opened it and was out of the room before he could come any nearer, but still she was fairly certain that she heard him give a low chuckle.

A gray horse stood tethered outside the house, along with his own handsome white mount.

“Do you ride, Miss Wilcox?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, hoping she would not disgrace herself—Tethering hadn’t had horses for years. He helped her up into the saddle, and they set off on a path that led around the side of the manor to the orchard.

They kept their horses to a slow pace as they moved among the rows of apple trees that ran in a wide swath away from the house. On either side were hedgerows that allowed occasional views of the estate’s few tenant farms. The warm, fresh air held the scents of honeysuckle and roses, and the morning light filtered softly through the leaves all around them. The only sound was that of the horses’ hooves brushing the tall grass and the occasional buzz of a pollinating bee.

James cast a glance at his companion, who was staring intently at the trees, her eyes roving over them in an assessing manner. Her thick golden hair was gathered at her nape and tied in a knot with a tattered, colorless ribbon. She was evidently not aware of the telltale smudges of black soot along her hairline in back.

“The grass is high,” he observed as their horses picked their way along a section where weeds brushed the riders’ feet in the stirrups.

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied, not looking at him.

“But the trees look well-maintained,” he continued. “I don’t see much dead wood, and the dense blossoms bode well for a good harvest.”

Still focusing on the trees, she said nothing as they rode along. They came eventually to the far southeast edge of the orchard, an area that apparently had been neglected. Several of the trees were leafless and weather-beaten enough to have been dead for some time, and others had broken and dangling branches. Although the grass in most of the orchard was high, in this area it was thicker and overgrown with weedy bushes. It would take laborers days to clear the area.

“What happened here?” he asked.

She sat silently staring at the dead trees, though not, he would guess, in surprise.

“This isn’t going to work,” he said finally, “you being the orchard overseer, if you refuse to talk to me about it.”

She turned to him. “What do you know about orchards anyway? I could tell you that all the trees need to be cut down to the ground every year to give a good harvest, and what would you know differently?”

He guffawed. “It is true that I don’t know a lot about fruit trees, which is why I have engaged your services. But I do know about growing things. I have just spent three years cultivating grapes for my sherry vineyard.”

“You?” She rolled her eyes. “Gentlemen don’t do farm work.”

“Not all gentlemen are alike, just as most gentlewomen would not be having a conversation with me about how to maintain an orchard.”

She pressed her lips in reluctant admission of the truth of what he said.

“So, what’s going on in this corner? Why is it so neglected?”

She looked back at the trees. “Apple canker. I was too busy last year and was never able to get back this far. The canker took over, and heavy weeds settled in. It was too much to tackle on my own, so I left it.”

“You did all the orchard work?” he asked incredulously.

She shrugged. “Most of it. Once in a while, if my uncle hadn’t overspent too badly, we’d hire a laborer to help.”

“That must have been a lot of work,” he said, remembering the calluses on her small hands, so unusual for a gentlewoman. That they were capable, skilled hands had fascinated him in a faintly sexual way, as if they knew what they were about.

“I did what was needed, and I didn’t mind. And you needn’t worry that I won’t do my part now. I don’t want to see the orchard go to ruin. But I don’t have to like that it is, for the moment, yours.”

“For the moment, eh?” He chuckled.

Her eyes flashed. “You find this a lark, don’t you? That someone else’s estate has fallen into your hands by a roll of the dice. You’re like a child with a new toy.”

“I hardly consider this estate a toy, Felicity.”

“Miss Wilcox,” she corrected.

He arched an eyebrow at her, a reminder that he knew her in ways that she didn’t want to admit. “And I am very serious about restoring the orchard and the house to excellent condition.”

“Fine,” she said in a small voice. She began again, her voice bolder. “And you need have no doubt that I will do my utmost to fulfill our bargain about the orchard. We’ll need at least a half-dozen workers for pruning and clearing.”

“Good. Fulton has already arranged for some laborers to come tomorrow. You can instruct them as to what needs doing.” He looked at her for a moment. “You know,” he said, “I do want what’s best for the estate.” He had a strong urge to reassure her that this place she loved would be cared for, even though it would never be hers, no matter how much she hoped. He didn’t want her to see him as a threat to the estate. And it irked him that she wouldn’t allow that he might be an honorable man.

She fairly glared at him.

“You have to admit,” he said, “that I’ve made nothing but improvements since I arrived.”

“I grant you I’ve noticed that,” she said grudgingly. “You are perhaps not as much of a wastrel as I had thought.”

“Hah, a fulsome compliment from Miss Felicity Wilcox.”

Her lips twitched in answering mirth, and she turned her horse along the back edge of the orchard. He followed her and they picked their way along the path to the western part of the orchard.

He was struck with the thought of how young she must be, perhaps twenty to his twenty-eight, and yet she’d known great responsibilities. She would make a very capable overseer, he thought as he watched her ride ahead of him, her head bobbing about as she inspected the trees and land. The thought that he was concealing his plans for selling Tethering from her gave him a twinge of conscience, but he ignored it. He couldn’t afford to have a conscience about it, and anyway, there was nothing reprehensible in what he was doing. The estate was his, and he was paying her a generous amount to oversee the orchard.

The day was warm and it was past noon by the time they were done with their inspection. Leaving the rows of trees, they came upon the stream that ran along the property and stopped to let their horses drink. Doubtless the same stream on whose banks they had sat that first day, though here its banks were almost flat.

As they sat in silence while the horses drank, he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out two apples he had brought with him and reached over to offer one to Felicity. Her navy gown had seen better decades, but still he noticed how it hugged her curves. The ride had brought a pretty blush to her cheeks and loosened some of her hair—one piece waved artlessly along her cheekbone, and his fingers drummed against each other, wishing to push it behind her ear. And more.

Damn it all, he thought as she looked at him quizzically. What was he doing with this kind of daydreaming? Already he was far too warm.

She took the apple he was holding out and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “An apple. How appropriate,” she said, accepting it.

“This one came all the way from London.”

She examined the red fruit. “It’s probably dry and fluffy then.” She took a bite. He knew she couldn’t wait to pronounce it disgusting.

She chewed and swallowed, then grudgingly acknowledged, “It’s better than I thought it would be.”

“High praise indeed.”

She scowled at him, but he could see the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “Well, it must be from last year’s harvest, and the storage conditions can’t be good in Town. I hear it is very dirty and crowded there.”

“Perhaps more for people than apples,” he said, laughing. He was struck with the thought that he had laughed more since he met this woman than he had in quite some time. “What an idea you have of life in Town. Tell me, have you ever been farther than Longwillow?”

“No, I haven’t,” she said. She looked away from him, over the banks of the stream, to a brilliant green meadow beyond dotted with trees and sheep, and he turned to gaze, too, upon a scene of bucolic perfection.

“I love the country,” she said with surprising passion. “Beauty is everywhere I look. Why would I seek a change?”

“You know,” he said, “if you cast your eyes farther beyond Tethering, beyond Longwillow, you might find something new you liked, new people.”

She shook her head, and he wondered why the devil he was suggesting she meet new people. He certainly didn’t mean for her to change her life by marrying some wealthy yahoo or, God forbid, the young vicar. She was far too much of a prize for that. And too much of a handful.

***

Felicity watched Mr. Collington as he sat astride his horse, all capable good cheer. Tethering was obviously an engaging challenge for him. He liked challenges. She wanted him to be worthless, a useless dandy, but she couldn’t anymore tell herself that he was. He was knowledgeable, he made plans, he took action. All attributes she respected. All enormous obstacles in her way.

“You obviously savor travel and town living,” she said. “I wonder you should want a small, provincial manor like Tethering at all. You can’t be planning to live here.”

“No,” he replied, his expression turning sober, “probably not beyond this summer.”

He pulled his horse away from the stream then and directed it up the hill toward the back of the house and the stables. She squeezed her horse onto the narrow path beside him.

“Well, what will you do with it then?” she persisted, looking intently at the side of his forward-directed face as their horses carried them up the hill toward the stable. “The estate will go to ruin if you just leave it empty.”

Still looking ahead, he replied, “I am not certain. There are several possibilities. I may offer it to my Aunt Miranda.”

Her heart sank at this news, and she looked away, to the overgrown currant bushes that bordered the path on her side, biting her lip to force down emotion. She realized that she had been softening toward him, just a tiny bit impressed by his capability and seriousness in dealing with the estate, and undeniably dazzled by his charming, handsome self. She had presumed that he didn’t really have a plan for Tethering, that he wouldn’t miss it if something induced him to give it up. Had some foolish, feminine part of her thought she might charm it out of him? That would never happen. He had a whole universe of plans that she couldn’t know about, and in some of them Tethering figured.

***

The Reverend Mr. Crispin Markham turned away from the door of Blossom Cottage and returned to his horse. According to Martha, Felicity was accompanying Collington on a tour of the Tethering orchard. With a frown, he mounted and made his way up Tethering’s drive.

He hated that the Wilcoxes’ fortunes had declined so dramatically. Grimacing, he recalled the bizarre gown Felicity had worn to the garden party. At the same time, though, her reduced circumstances might just be the way to help her see sense, because it had been clear at the garden party that she was going to be difficult.

With a rueful snort, he reminded himself that she’d never been what one would call tractable. But ever since he’d been man enough to notice, she had gotten his attention. From laughing playmates they’d grown into friends, but by the time he turned eighteen he’d known he wanted them to be more. The challenge had been getting her to see him amid all the other gentlemen who vied for her attention at parties and balls.

And then her mother had died, and everything had changed between him and Felicity.

After that night, she had refused to talk about what had happened. She kept to the house and refused all visitors, including him, and what could he say? Her mother had just died, and she was grieving. And he was supposed to be going off to university. It was what his family expected, and what he had to do. So he’d left her to the solitude she’d wanted then.

He’d written to her several times from university, but she always kept the tone of her responses casual. He hadn’t liked it, but he’d had the pressures of university to engross him. And what else could he have done then?

Now, however, he was back to stay. And he wasn’t going to let Felicity dictate how things would be between them. Not only did he want to erase the sense that he had done wrong by her three years earlier—he wanted her. He could take care of her now, take her away from the shambles her life had become, and he meant to do it.

As he drew close to the manor, he heard the sound of voices from behind the house and directed his horse around the side. Felicity and Mr. Collington were coming up the hill toward the manor on horseback. Crispin grunted in irritation. Collington’s presence and his willingness to hire Felicity to oversee the orchard were only making things worse.

At the sound of his hoofbeats, they turned to see him approaching. Calling out a greeting, he came toward them. He nodded briefly in Collington’s direction and stopped his horse alongside Felicity’s.

“Crispin, this is a surprise,” she said. “I just sent you a note not two hours ago.”

“Yes, I got it.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “I’ve come to change your mind.”

She frowned slightly. “I’m sorry you’ve come all the way here, but I’m afraid I really do have to decline the invitation.”

“Why?”

She glanced sideways at Collington, who was watching their conversation with a dark expression.

“Crispin,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t
owe
you explanations.”

“I think you do,” he said in a stubborn tone, “considering what—”

Her brows snapped lower in warning.

He pressed his lips together in frustration. “Of course.” He rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand, then sighed and forced a smile. “Of course you don’t owe me an explanation about the assembly. I was just looking forward to seeing more of you. To having a chance to really talk.”

She gave him a smile, and though it was only small, it sent a jolt of pleasure through him. “I do look forward to visiting with you at greater length, Crispin. Soon. But right now, things are very busy.”

“They are indeed,” Collington intoned from over her shoulder. “And I’m afraid we’re not done here yet, sir,” he said, sounding not in the least regretful, “and so Miss Wilcox and I must bid you good day.”

Felicity glared at Collington. Crispin wasn’t happy about how this meeting had gone, but he would speak with her later. It was not as if she would be going anywhere. He ducked them a stiff farewell and took himself off.