How to Treat a Lady (22 page)

Gower's mouth whitened. He struggled as if to say something, but no words would come out.

Harriet almost pitied the man. Almost. “Mr. Silverstone, Mr. Picknard, I'm so sorry you wasted your time this evening.”

Mother nodded, her white hair shimmering softly in the light. “I hate to see you leave so quickly. Perhaps you would like to stay for some port? My oldest son could—”

“Thank you, but no,” Mr. Silverstone said. “I apologize again for interrupting your evening. We will see you in a week when the payment is due.” He sent a glare at Gower. “Well, sir. Are you ready to leave?”

For a moment, Harriet thought that Gower would argue, but he gave a sharp nod instead and stepped back to allow the two older men access to the doorway.

Mother and Sophia led the way out into the hall, Silverstone and Picknard following close behind.
Gower remained in the center of the room, his eyes narrowed on Chase.

Chase, of course, didn't back away. Instead, he stepped forward until the two were almost toe to toe.

Harriet sighed. They looked like two rams, blowing steam out their nostrils as they circled one another in a field. “Mr. Gower—please. I think you've done quite enough tonight without—”

Chase waved a hand. “Beloved, allow the man to speak. I can tell he has something of great import to say to us both.”

Gower had stiffened at Chase's endearment. His jaw tightened and he said through clenched teeth, “I do not know who you are, but you are not Captain Frakenham.”

Harriet managed a pleasant smile, though she felt far from such a thing. “Mr. Gower, I'm certain that in time all of this will—”

“Listen, Gower,” Chase said. “I don't know what you hope to gain by this, but leave the Wards alone. If your complaint is with me, then we will settle it as men.”

Harriet closed her eyes. Didn't Chase realize that her future, the future of the Wards, the future of Garrett Park, quite possibly rested in this man's hands?

She sneaked a peek at Gower, her shoulders slumping when she saw that his hands had tightened into fists.

“You, sir, are a charlatan. And I will not rest until I discover who and what you are.”

Chase's smile was not pleasant. “Try your damnedest, Gower. Just do not be surprised if what you find is not to your liking.”

Harriet tried to intercede once again. “Mr. Gower,
please excuse the captain. He's just a little upset about the allegations—”

“I am not upset at all,” Chase said smoothly. “In fact, I welcome the challenge. Gower, feel free to investigate me in any manner at your disposal. I have nothing to hide and I wish you the best of fortune in discovering exactly who and what I am.”

Gower's neck was by then as reddish as his face. “Be careful what you wish for or you may well get it.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stomped from the room, stopping only to give Harriet a scathing look.

“Oh dear,” Harriet said as she heard the front door slam shut.

Mother and Sophia entered almost immediately. “What happened?” Sophia asked breathlessly.

Harriet sighed. “Captain Frakenham was doing a lovely imitation of a rooster.” She sent him a cutting look. “What was that all about? You'd already done what you needed to do, which was cast doubt on his allegations. Getting him angry will only make him more determined to prove you wrong.”

Chase crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder to the mantel, his mouth still hard. “He was rude to you. I couldn't allow that to continue.”

Harriet made an exasperated noise. “Piffle! I vow, but you do not understand. We need his good graces to keep the bank from foreclosing.”

Mother sighed. “Harriet is right. Silverstone has told several people in town that he believes Gower might be the man to take his place on the board one day.”

“Harri?” Stephen and Derrick stood in the door
way, Ophelia peering around them. “What happened?”

Sophia took a quick, excited step forward. “Oh, it was marvelous! Mr. St. John came to our rescue and played the part of Captain Frakenham with such enthusiasm!” She clasped her hands together and beamed at Chase. “The bankers were completely fooled.”

“For now,” Harriet said. “But Gower will be back.”

Stephen scowled. “I hate that man. What are we to do now?”

Everyone looked at Harriet. She met their gazes without expression. Chase found that he wanted to go to her, to put his arm about her shoulders. She looked so young, and far too small to have such burdens placed on her slender shoulders.

But while he was trying to find a way to say that, to say something that would take the focus off Harriet, she lifted her chin.

A look of stark determination settled on her face as she faced her family. “Tomorrow, we begin the shearing.”

T
he next morning broke cool and breezy and it was with a true sense of purpose that the Ward family, their two hired hands, and Chase gathered at the barn. Harriet ran the operation like a general and soon everyone was sent on his appointed duties. Sophia and Ophelia went to man the gates at each end of the sheep pens. Mother went to oversee a nice luncheon, to be served under the oak tree once noon arrived.

Harriet decided Stephen and one of the hired men
would help her with one lot of sheep while Derrick and Chase would be responsible for shearing the other lot.

Harriet stole a glance at Chase where he stood in the barn, wearing Stephen's old clothing. Chase's hair fell over his brow, his arms bared from where he'd rolled up his shirtsleeves. This was a man who was used to riding the best horses, dancing with the most beautiful debutantes, sharing confidences with the crème de la crème of society.

Yet here he was, dressed to work in the fields, as if he was a member of her family.

And in a way, that was exactly what he had become. When he'd first arrived he'd been arrogant and spoiled. But every day she saw him changing, opening his heart to her family, becoming more a part of them all. For the first time, she realized how difficult it was going to be when he left.

Stephen hobbled up. “There you are, Mr. St—”

“Just call me Chase, if you please.”

Stephen grinned. “Chase, then.”

“I've been meaning to tell you that I'm sorry things did not prosper with Miss Strickton.”

Hot pink flooded Stephen's cheeks. “I'm sorry I took you so literally. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I daresay that was the brandy thinking and not you.”

“You are probably right.”

“Don't worry about it. There may be a way 'round Miss Strickton's hard heart yet.”

Stephen's face fell. “No. I fear I've botched it so badly, there is no redeeming myself now.”

“We'll see,” Chase said.

Stephen grimaced. “She said she never wanted to see me again. And I don't blame her. I made a mull of it.”

“I believe our problem is that we didn't attempt to approach the situation the way a woman would.”

“What?”

“What do you think would impress Miss Strickton? What does she seem to be drawn to?”

“Sir Roger Blevins,” Stephen said glumly.

“Who is that?”

“A completely pompous ass who makes as if he's a swell of some sort just because he's been to London a time or two. I think he's a damned mushroom. A complete cit with no breeding. But to hear him tell it, he practically grew up riding with the Prince and shooting billiards with lords and ladies.”

Chase frowned. “Sir Roger Blevins, you said? I've never heard that name and I can tell you for a fact that he's not a member of White's.”

“I wish someone would tell that to Miss Strickton.” Stephen brightened. “Say! Could you—”

“No, no. You're mistaken if you think discrediting your opponents will win you anything. What you need to do is outshine the fellow, make her forget all about him. How does this Sir Blevins dress?”

“Wide collars, shirt points up to here, huge cravat. He can barely turn his head, yet Miss Strickton acts as if she'd never seen anything more beautiful.”

Chase rubbed his chin a moment. “Yes. I think I know just what you need to do. After we finish today, you will go to town. Will Miss Strickton be there?”

“She should be. Her father's house overlooks Stick
lye, and she rides through often.” Stephen frowned. “But what would seeing Miss Strickton again do? She will only wish me to the devil.”

“Not this time, she won't. You'll see.”

Harriet wondered what was going through Chase's mind. She didn't know if she liked his smile or not—it seemed to be a sort of scheming smile.

Harriet's finger itched and she absently rubbed the talisman ring. Every day for a week, she had tried to remove the blasted thing, but to no avail. Now, of course, she was used to it.

She glanced down at the ring and noticed how delicate it appeared on her finger. Her hands were red and chapped from helping with the fence rails, her nails ruthlessly pared. She wondered what the hands of the women in London looked like, then decided she really didn't want to know.

It was unlike Harriet not to face facts. She was usually the first one to denounce avoiding unpleasantness. It was always better to stand before the horrid truths of life and get on with things. But somehow, all the rules changed when they concerned Chase. Everything changed—even Harriet, in some indefinable way.

“Are we ready?” Chase asked, so close to Harriet's ear that she started. He grinned down at her.

Her body warmed to awareness and she instantly thought of how he'd looked after they'd made love, his eyes shining, his hair mussed. “Are we ready for what?” she returned in a breathless voice.

“To begin shearing, of course.”

Derrick walked up. “Well, Harriet? Who does what?”

“Take Mr. St. John with you. Use the first shearing pen. I'll take one of the hired hands and Stephen. He
can't herd the animals, but he can open and shut the shearing gate. Sophia and Ophelia will take care of the larger gates.”

Derrick agreed. “Well, St. John. It looks as if it is you and I for this round.”

Chase nodded, though his gaze never left Harriet. “You know, they say the first round is never quite as good as the second or third. That over time, things get even better.”

Harriet colored faintly. She knew what he was thinking about because it was what
she
was thinking about. “Just see to it that you are careful with the shears. They are wicked and I wouldn't want you to lose anything important.”

Chase's grin widened. “I've never had a problem handling my blade, thank you.”

Derrick choked on a laugh as he grabbed Chase's arm. “Come, Blademaster. We've work to do and while teasing Harriet has its merits, now is not the time.”

Harriet heard Chase's quiet laugh as he went outside with Derrick. Chase had wormed his way into the hearts of everyone at Garrett Park. She tried to imagine what it would be like without him, but somehow no picture would form. She only knew that having him here, with her family, working in the fields or sitting at the dinner table entertaining their neighbors with tales of made-up sea lore, was now a part of her life. An important, vital part. And she ached to think what that life would be like without him.

“He is a very intriguing man,” Stephen said quietly.

She turned to find her brother regarding her from where he stood, leaning against the cart. “Yes, he is.”

“He's made quite an impression on Mother and Sophia. And Derrick, too.”

Harriet waited, but Stephen said nothing more, just remained where he was, looking at her.

She sighed. “I'm certain he's made an impression on everyone here. He has been most generous in a reluctant sort of way.”

Stephen's gaze trailed to where Chase and Derrick stood. “Can't say that I blame him for being reluctant. I daresay people have been importuning him for money and favors his entire life.”

Harriet had never thought of that, but it seemed as if it might be true. Certainly the Wards had done just that. She thought of what Chase had let slip about his former life over all their evening meals, of his homes, horses, and carriages. It wasn't really what he said so much as what he didn't say. He was of a world far removed from Garrett Park, and she knew that come the end of the week, he would leave and return to the world in which he belonged.

She took no delight in that thought. “With all that money, I'm certain he and his family have done their fair share of charity.”

“Charity and generosity are not the same thing.”

“That is very true.” Harriet forced her lips into a stiff smile. “It's a good thing we found him, then, isn't it? I, for one, believe we've improved him immensely.”

“Indeed we have. I wonder how he'll do in London with his newfound country virtues?”

She wished she could believe that he would never forget Garrett Park, never forget her. But somehow, she couldn't. She would not waste her time wishing for the impossible. Harriet picked up the shears. “We've a lot to do today.” With that, she marched out of the barn, intent on working so hard that she
didn't think at all of Chase St. John or his imminent departure.

 

Chase gripped the stick tighter, glaring at the large sheep that stood just out of arm's reach. That was the problem, the sheep had managed to remain at arm's reach for the last thirty minutes. “You blasted scrap of leather.”

Ophelia pushed her spectacles back up on her nose. She sat atop the huge fence that led to the holding pen, watching the whole scene while Derrick remained in the small narrow leader pen to one side. “You can't talk to them like that.”

“Why not?” Chase snapped, wishing she was anywhere but here. It was hard enough doing this with Derrick dying of laughter at his post. Having Ophelia perched on the gate like a chubby angel, offering advice every two minutes made the chore all the more difficult. “I can speak to them any way I want.”

Blasted hell, this
should
be easy. All he had to do was use this stick to coerce a sheep into the narrow lead pen where Derrick waited with a looped rope. Derrick would secure the rope about the sheep's head and tether the animal to the wide board at the head of the pen. Once tied in such a fashion, the sheep was left standing and immobile, and they could shear it.

Or so the theory went.

Ophelia pursed her lips. “Don't listen to me if you don't wish to. I'm just telling you how Harri does it.”

Chase glanced over to the other pen. From where he was standing, it appeared as if Harriet and Stephen,
ably aided by Sophia, had already sheared three sheep while Chase, Derrick, and Ophelia hadn't managed a one.

For the love of Hera, it was ludicrous. He eyed the sheep before him, noting how the animal was eyeing him back, distrust in its black eyes. “Bloody asinine creature.”

“You can't talk to them like that,” Ophelia insisted yet again.

He turned to glare at her. “Why the hell not?”

“Because they'll get mad. Sheep are very intelligent creatures. They know every word you say to them.”

“Nonsense. They are completely stupid. You can tell that by looking in their eyes.”

“Harriet gives each sheep a name so they know she's talking to them. See how they obey her?”

Chase looked over at the other pen. Harriet stood in the center, a stick in her hand, the sheep gradually moving toward the leading pen. “Where is Max? That dog could do this.”

“He's helping round up strays,” Derrick said.

“He needs to be here, with me. There is no way I'm going to get this”—he pointed his stick at the huge sheep—“in there.” He directed the stick at the narrow gate.

“We have to,” Derrick said.

“How?”

“One at a time. Come on now, give it another go. You don't want Harri coming over here offering advice, do you? I assure you that she likes nothing better.”

Like hell he wanted that. Blast and double blast. Chase gripped the stick tighter and began trying to get the sheep into the narrow gate. Each time, the
sheep would get just beside the opening…and then, with a wild kick or a bleating cry, it would bolt to the other side of the pen.

After another twenty minutes, Ophelia sighed. “I told you to name it.”

“I did,” Chase said grimly.

“What?”

“Pox-Ridden Sow.”

Ophelia giggled. “How lovely. What will you call that one?” She pointed at a very fat, lazy-looking ewe with a black nose and two black feet, which stood peering into the pen with obvious interest.

“Jackass.”

Ophelia chuckled. “And the ram?”

Chase glanced into the other pen, where a very large and angry-looking ram stood stubbornly and silently daring them to try and get him into the leading pen. “I can't say his name aloud or lightning might strike.”

“How will you call him to you?”

“I won't. I don't like him, and so I will never, ever call him. See? It all works out.”

Derrick choked on a laugh. “Come on, St. John. Let's try and do at least one before lunch.”

Chase rubbed his face, loosened up his shoulders, then hunched down, intent on winning the battle. This time, something went right. He waited until the sheep got close to the pen, then he dodged to the side, knowing that it would do the same in an effort to avoid being herded through the small gate. His abrupt movement startled the sheep and she bolted into the leading pen where Derrick tossed the loop over her neck and tied her tight. Pox-Ridden Sow was right where they wanted her.

Chase felt as if he was ten feet tall.

Derrick laughed and then stood, hands on hips. “You know, you may have a talent for this after all.”

It was faint praise, but coming from one of the Wards, for some reason, it was great praise indeed. Chase just grinned in return and brought out the shears.

The rest of the morning passed quickly, and Chase got better and better at the process. Except for having to put up with Ophelia and Derrick, who seemed to be in extraordinarily good spirits, things went fairly smoothly. In fact, things went so smoothly that they finished shearing the sheep in their pen just as lunch was ready.

Half an hour later, Chase found himself standing beside Harriet at a table under a tree where Mrs. Ward was overseeing a feast fit for an army.

Harriet was hot and tired, her gown muddied, her hair falling from beneath the edges of her bonnet, hanging in loose tendrils down her back. But the wide grin she tossed him when she saw him was worth every bit of effort he'd expended this morning. “We're ahead of schedule already!”