Ridiculous (8 page)

“I may yet,” said Millicent. “I must take care. No doubt that calculating look on Mrs. Prichart's face was meant for both you and me.”

“And yet you diverted it. My admiration, sir. Of course, it increases my determination that you should try to work with my sister.”

“I am supposed to be here to work with my tenant, Your Grace. Mr. Prichart intends to take me over the property tomorrow, rain or not.”

“There are still the evening hours.”

“When we will be obliged to spend time with our hosts.”

The duke, it appeared, could be stubborn.

“Beth shall see you in conversation with others which will aid her immeasurably, I am certain.”

“Perhaps.”

Millicent doused the candles, leaving firelight only to light the room and shrugged out of her own loosely fitted jacket. She shifted her pile of blankets to the other side of the room and sat on the floor with the back of her chair between herself and Shoffer before stripping off her shirt and loosening the band of cravats around her breasts. Tugging her nightshirt over her head she climbed under the blankets before removing her trousers. The carpet under her pallet smelt of years of heavy boots, dogs, and dust but, after the strenuous events of the day, an exhausted Millicent was asleep within minutes.

* * *

They knew morning had arrived when heavy footsteps echoed through the house. Millicent opened one eye, grunted, and stared at the ceiling as feet crossed back and forth over her head. She lifted herself enough to peer through the nearest shuttered window. It was still pitch dark outside. She fell back onto her pallet with a groan.

“Farmers,” came a muffled voice on the other side of the room, “have no respect for sleep.”

Millicent grinned to herself and rubbed sleep from her eyes. There was a hard knocking on the door; one of the younger sons entered bearing a pitcher of steaming water, a bowl, and two rough towels.

“Pa says how he will be taking yourself around the property this morning, Mr. North,” said the boy in a voice that he probably intended as a whisper. “Breakfast in the kitchen, if you do not mind, soon as you are ready.”

“If I must, I must,” groaned Millicent, testing the air outside her cocoon of blankets and finding it not at all to her liking. “And His Grace?”

“Oh, toffs like him sleep 'til noon. Ma will find something for him and the ladies will keep him company ’til you and Pa are finished.”

There was a thud from the other side of the room. Millicent rose to her knees to see over the couch she had chosen as her protection, blankets still wrapped around her torso. Wearing only his smallclothes, the duke tossed his blanket aside and strode across the room to where the boy had placed the shaving water.

“Be damned to that,” swore Shoffer as goose pimples spread over his bare skin. “Be a good lad and tell my groom to saddle my horse. I will view the property with Mr. North.”

“Language,” said Millicent mildly, settling her blankets tent-like about her body and climbing from the floor to collapse into a sagging armchair.

Shoffer snorted as he bathed his face in the steaming water and began working up lather in his shaving cup. Millicent watched the efficient movements, a slow heat climbing in her belly. While he applied a brush load of foam to his face, Shoffer shot a glance toward Millicent.

Millicent flinched and ducked back down to her hiding place. It took a few minutes of struggling to tighten her breast bands without drawing attention to her activities or removing her nightshirt. Finally, she was able to pull on her clothing and wrap her cravat loosely around her neck before rising to her feet.

“You are a lucky fellow,” said Shoffer, as he scraped lather from his face. “Your hair is so pale your night's growth barely shows. Or are you younger than I have guessed?”

Millicent halted in her tracks, confused for a moment, then she raised her hand to her hairless cheeks. Fortunately, aside from the candle next to Shoffer's shaving mirror and the glow from the banked fireplace, there was little enough light in the room for her to be seen.

“Well, sir?” said Shoffer. “Are you twenty at least?”

“Really, such a thought,” said Millicent, as her heart began to beat again. “I am four and twenty and have been shaving for a decade. I shall tend to my whiskers once you have cleared the field.”

Shoffer blinked at her, then down at the jug of hot water.

“Oh. I do apologize. This was sent for you.”

“Rank hath its privileges, Your Grace,” she said with a wave and hurried from the room.

By the time Millicent returned from the privy, Shoffer was gone. Even though she did not shave, she kept a kit in her travel bag. Using the left over water from Shoffer’s shave, she ran the shaving brush over her soap and left enough foam in the cup to create the illusion of having shaved. After a quick breakfast in the kitchen, Millicent found herself in the forecourt shivering in her greatcoat as the sun struggled to make itself visible through a thick mist.

“Wet Wales,” muttered Shoffer, as he wound a scarf over his face and pulled his hat down securely against the wind. He glanced toward the sky. “It will rain again within the hour.”

“Not today,” said Mr. Prichart. “The wind is picking up. The clouds will stay, but there will be nothing more than water in the air.”

“In other counties we call that ‘rain,’ Mr. Prichart,” quipped Shoffer, settling himself on a magnificent grey mare.

Millicent, offered her choice of one of Shoffer's outriders’ mounts or one of Mr. Prichart's farm horses, requested the most placid mount available. The gathered men smirked at each other when an aged pony was brought out.

“Will this do?” inquired Mr. Prichart innocently.

Millicent examined the creature closely. “Have you nothing smaller?”

“Oh, do get up, Mr. North,” said Shoffer, as the farmer and his workers chuckled. “The sooner we have viewed the property the sooner we can return to the fireside.”

“Truly, I am not skilled with riding,” said Millicent, as she hauled herself into the masculine saddle. “I hope we do not have far to go.”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Mr. Prichart.

And so it proved. It was not necessary to ride more than a mile to find the reason Mr. Prichart had written to his landlord. Winter snow and rain, worse than any in living memory, had caused a nearby stream to break its banks, spilling freezing water over the low lying fields. Mr. Prichart, Shoffer, and Millicent sat their horses on a hill overlooking the flooded area while still more precipitation fell to cling to clothing, skin, and hair.

“How much land is affected?” inquired Shoffer.

“All told, sixty acres.”

“Truly?” asked Millicent, rising up in her stirrups and pointing. “I thought I could see grassy land over there.”

“Aye, you can see the top of the grass, but there be two or three inches of water underneath. Cannot graze sheep on such lands.”

Uncertain as to the truth of it, Millicent said nothing.

“He is right, you know,” said Shoffer in a soft voice. “Sheep are funny things. They eat grass down to the nub in dry weather. They eat wet grass with no ill. But if you put them out on pasturage like this, and do it too soon after the water has retreated, they get a cough from it and become poor goers. Their feet will rot. Some will die of it.”

“You have seen this before?” asked Mr. Prichart.

“I have an interest in sheep farming in Scotland,” replied the duke.

“How much of your land do you expect to be able to farm this year?” Millicent asked Pritchart.

“Depends how long it takes for the water to retreat. It’s not stopped raining yet so we might have half our usual pasturage for a good part of the year. I do not want to go replacing drowned stock if I got nowhere to put 'em. They will overgraze the land and starve.”

“Can you do anything to direct the water back to its previous path?”

One of the farm workers snorted at that, but Mr. Prichart answered Millicent's question in a serious manner.

“We do not know, lad. See over yonder? The stream bed itself is under all that water. And with the lower lands flooded, the water has nowhere to go.”

“Oh.” Feeling very foolish Millicent rode alongside the men as they traveled. Shoffer and Mr. Prichart discussed various breeds of sheep, alternative feeds, and other such matters while Millicent stared into the distance and tried to think of some intelligent seeming comment she could put into the conversation. It was not until near luncheon when they had turned and headed toward the manor that Millicent again spoke.

“It seems to me that I am limited in the aid I can give you, Mr. Prichart, since I must expect other farmers to whom I rent in the neighborhood will be making similar requests. We must take the long view in the matter. If I recall your letter correctly, you request the rent be reduced by a third. I think I can accommodate you. You will contact me if your other interests cannot be encouraged to make up the shortfall. Next year, the first two quarters will be reduced again on the understanding that you will use the money to purchase new stock. From what His Grace is saying, you might consider speaking to his man in Scotland and seeing if you can improve your stock with an infusion of his sheep.”

Mr. Prichart and the duke regarded her with matching shocked expressions.

“Well, well. That be generous of you, Mr. North. Thank you,” said Mr. Prichart.

Millicent flushed, worried that she had yielded too fast or reduced the rent too far. Behind the farmer's back Shoffer dropped a wink to Millicent which confused her further.

She waited until he guided his mount to ride alongside her.

“Was it too much? Too little?” she whispered. “I cannot calculate his income from an acre of land. I could but guess.”

“I must say, from the state of the roads and fields hereabouts, your offer is a good one. It is a difficult balance to maintain — your needs for your rents versus the needs of your tenants.”

Mr. Prichart paused to speak to one of his workers who stood watching the waters with a sour look on his face. Shoffer nudged his horse a little closer.

“If you had but waited until we could have spoken privately, I would have advised you thusly…” he paused, then smiled, “to do exactly as you have done.”

Without thinking, Millicent slapped him across the back of his arm. Then flushed and withdrew her hand. That move, in an assembly room with fan in hand, would have been judged flirtatious. Man to man, she was uncertain if the gesture was acceptable. Truly, she should pay more attention to her manners. She cast her eyes down as Shoffer roared with laughter and slapped her hard across the back, nearly knocking her from her saddle.

“My dear Mr. North, you are too uncertain of your own skills. Have you but recently come into your responsibilities?”

It took a few moments of searching her memory for Millicent to find the answer. It would not do for some chance remark of Mr. Prichart's to reveal an inconsistency.

“Ah, it has been some six years since my father's death. But this is the first serious matter to come to my attention since then.”

“In that case you have been much blessed. I find I must deal with a disaster somewhere at least once in every year.”

“Rather, perhaps, you have been cursed.”

“Or you have been negligent.”

Millicent paused, blushed, and looked away. Shoffer leaned closer still.

“I am sorry, my friend. Please do not take offense. I am not as skilled a rattle as you and only wished to match your humor.”

“No, Your Grace, you have not offended. Instead, you have reminded me of my indolence. Once granted my inheritance, I retreated to one of the smaller estates to the north and did not venture out again for several years. My only excuse…” she paused and considered believable lies to explain the years the real Mr. North spent closeted up in his Yorkshire estates. Saying she had been a practicing miser and misogynist would not do.

“Lack of preparation?” suggested Shoffer. “You are young for your responsibilities and could have been no more than eighteen when your father died. Your father could hardly have expected you to inherit so soon. My father trained me from boyhood for my estates. I imagine if the training were not completed, I would have found it difficult, nay, impossible. Even a small estate has its particulars and problems. If I may be so impolite as to inquire, how large an estate weighs on your mind?”

Millicent closed her eyes and rattled off the list of Mr. North's properties she had memorized. She opened her eyes and peered up at Shoffer sitting tall on his much larger horse, with a rather stunned expression on his face.

“That is a considerable estate,” he said, after a pause.

“I know.” By this time they were back within sight of the manor buildings. Despite the weather, Mrs. Prichart and her daughters were out and about in the kitchen garden. One of the girls caught sight of Millicent and Shoffer and her shout immediately set off a round of handkerchief fluttering waves and curtsies. Exchanging a glance with Shoffer, Millicent straightened her spine. “The sad thing is, so do they.”

Chapter Four

Dinner, set at country hours, was not bad. Millicent concentrated on being the fribble and rattle that everyone seemed to accept so well and distracted the women of the family for most of the meal with humorous stories of Bath society. The eldest daughter, Eilowen, positioned between Shoffer and Millicent, practiced what coquetry she knew to no avail. Millicent pretended not to notice and left Shoffer to suffer and deal with the situation as best he could. As with every social event both good and bad, dinner came to an end and Mrs. Prichart, determined to demonstrate the superiority of her household, summoned the ladies to accompany her to who knew where since the other parlor was currently a bedroom.

A bottle of port was brought to the table and Shoffer offered around his own selection of cigars. Millicent declined both.

“I must say,” said Mr. Prichart to Millicent as the door closed behind the ladies. “That you are not the man your father's letter led me to believe you were.”

Millicent's hand trembled on her wineglass. Letter? Whatever had the old man written? That Mr. North was as blind as a bat? Had it given his age? His interests? What item of description had revealed Millicent's deception?