The Rake (9 page)

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Authors: Mary Jo Putney

BOOK: The Rake
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“In other words, you gave away less than your predecessor stole.”
She gave a lopsided smile. “I never thought of it that way, but I suppose you're right.” After hesitating for a moment, curiosity drove her to ask, “Now that you know how Strickland has been run, do you have any comments?”
Davenport thought for a moment, his hands loosely laced around his tankard. “As you have pointed out, your results are a justification for your methods. Also, everything you described belongs to the past, when I had no say in what went on, so I have no right to criticize your decisions.
“The future, now ...” He swallowed his remaining ale in one gulp, then clinked the tankard onto the table as he watched her expression narrowly. “That will be a different story. I expect I'll want to make some changes, but I shan't rush into them.”
As an endorsement, it didn't go as far as Alys would have liked, but it was the best she was likely to get. At least he intended to move slowly.
She started to rise, but her employer wasn't finished yet. He lifted his hand to halt her. “I have only one more question at the moment. As an eager reformer, have you had everyone on the estate vaccinated against smallpox?”
Alys was startled. “No, I've encouraged vaccination, but some of the workers are very suspicious about ‘newfangled ideas.' Only about half the people would agree to it, and I don't really have the authority to insist on something like that.” In fact, she had railed, begged, and pleaded with the tenants, enraged by their pigheaded stubbornness.
“In that case, I will issue my first order.” His gaze met hers, cold determination in the depths of his eyes. “Everyone who is not vaccinated within the next month will be dismissed and evicted. There will be no exceptions.”
“But ...” Alys gasped, torn between approval of the result and shock at his high-handedness, “you can't ...”
“No buts, Miss Weston, or arguments about whether I have the authority.” He stood and looked down at her, dark and implacable. “The cost will be carried by the estate, and there will be
no exceptions
.”
Alys saw very clearly how he had earned the reputation for being dangerous. If she were younger or more timid, she would be diving under the table to avoid that stare.
He added with a hint of scorn, “If you're afraid to tell them, I'll do it myself.”
Those were fighting words. She stood also, since glaring from a sitting position lacked impact. “I am not afraid to tell them, Mr. Davenport. It will be done.” Meeting his gaze with her own, she said, “Are you ready to continue your inspection?”
“Quite ready.” He dropped a handful of coins on the table, then crossed the taproom with long, lazy strides. As she followed, Alys remembered that tonight she would face a barrage of questions about what kind of man the new master was.
She realized that she had no idea what the answer should be.
Chapter 6
Alys spent the afternoon showing her new employer the barns, granaries, and other farm buildings. Then they started on the village workshops and small businesses. Davenport asked endless questions, keeping his own counsel about what he thought of the answers.
Now that Alys knew he was a native of the area, she could see the quiet signs of recognition from the locals. Though watchful, they appeared ready to give him a kind of acceptance that Alys had not received in all her years in Dorset.
Of course, it helped that he was male, she commented to herself acidly. No amount of time in Dorset would change the fact that she was the wrong sex to be a steward. Even many of the people who had benefited from her management could not quite approve of the fact that she was a woman.
Just beyond the half dozen acres of orchard that produced apples and cider for estate use, they came on a large patchwork area of vegetable gardens. Davenport reined in his horse. “What are these?”
“Most of the laborers' cottages have only small gardens, so I've provided extra land for those who want it,” Alys replied. “A few of the more ambitious tenants not only grow food for their families, but have enough left over to sell in the Shaftesbury market.”
A young woman working in her allotment looked up and saw the visitors. After a doubtful pause, she bobbed a nervous curtsy to Davenport, then scooped up the baby dozing on a blanket by the turnips and came to show him to Alys. Under her employer's sardonic eye, Alys chucked the baby's chin and admired his first tooth before returning him to his mother. As they continued on their way, Davenport remarked, “It looks like everyone at Strickland eats well.”
“They do indeed,” Alys agreed. “Eating well is probably the first prerequisite for contentment. In addition to the allotments, I added a second dovecote and started raising rabbits on a large scale. Most are sold to people on the estate at a price low enough that everyone can afford fresh meat several times a week. Not only has that virtually eliminated poaching, but we have enough squabs and rabbits left over to sell in the market, which covers the costs of both operations.”
Davenport didn't reply, but Alys thought his nod seemed approving.
They arrived at the potbank, last stop on the tour. As they dismounted, the foreman came out to greet them. Jamie Palmer was a gentle giant of a man, Alys's oldest friend and ally, and he took his time surveying the visitor.
Davenport was aware that he was being judged, and Alys could see his hackles rising. Wanting to defuse the tension, she swiftly performed the introductions, then asked, “Would you give us a tour, Jamie? Mr. Davenport is interested in how pottery is made.”
“Of course, Lady Alys.”
As Jamie led them inside, Davenport gave her a slightly pained look, but followed obediently through the works as the foreman explained clay preparation, throwing wheels, and slip-casting. Alys trailed behind. Meredith worked at the pottery several mornings a week, using her considerable artistic talent to develop new china designs. This was not one of her days to work, or Alys would not have suggested the tour. The more time that passed until Davenport met the girl, the better.
Despite Davenport's doubts about having a potbank on his property, he asked interested questions about the bottle kiln, which was being carefully packed with green ware, and the willow crates for shipping the fragile pottery to market. Alys hoped that his interest would make him tolerant of the enterprise.
The tour ended in the office, where there was a display of finished products. Alys handed her employer a richly glazed round brown teapot. “This is our most popular item. We can't compete with the large manufacturers, so I decided to make things for people of moderate income—those who like having something nice, but who can't afford the fine china from places like Wedgwood and Spode.”
As with everything else, Davenport drank it in, but he didn't comment until they left to ride back to the estate office. “You continue to impress me, Lady Alys. If you hadn't been born a female, you could have succeeded at anything you chose. Strickland is very lucky to have you.”
Alys glowed at the compliment. It was good to be considered talented rather than merely eccentric.
 
 
Back at the estate office, she settled wearily behind the desk and waited for the next round of questions. To her surprise, her employer asked, “Has the sheep washing been done yet this year?”
She shook her head. “The spring washing is scheduled for day after tomorrow.”
An amused gleam came into Davenport's eyes. “Splendid. As a boy, I always wanted to participate in a sheep washing, but I was too small. Time has cured that.”
“You really want to wash sheep?” Alys said, startled. It was a messy, time-consuming chore, not the sort of thing anyone did voluntarily.
The gleam deepened. “Would you deny me one of my boyhood ambitions?”
“It's your choice, of course, but an amateur could slow the process down,” she said doubtfully. “Besides ...”
“Yes?” he prompted as her voice trailed off.
“Wrestling sheep in a river is not exactly conducive to dignity.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “While I will listen to you on matters agricultural, I'm not interested in your opinions about my dignity or lack thereof.”
She flushed, knowing she had stepped over the line permitted for an employee.
The awkward silence was broken by the arrival of Meredith, golden hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun and a look of misleading innocence on her angelic face. “Lady Alys, I wanted to ask you ...” She stopped, looking at Davenport with a pretty expression of hesitation. “I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you had company.”
Alys rolled her eyes, knowing where Merry's playacting was aimed. The girl had probably been watching the estate office all afternoon, waiting for an opportune moment to trip in and meet the new master of Strickland.
Davenport reacted as any normal male would, rising with warm admiration on his long face and a twinkle in his eye. Clearly he realized that Meredith's entrance was no accident, but that didn't prevent him from enjoying the sight of the visitor. Merry was delightful in blue-sprigged white muslin, her golden curls tumbling around her shoulders with just the right touch of modest abandon.
Alys made the introductions. “Mr. Davenport, this is my ward, Miss Meredith Spenser. Merry, I'm sure that you know who this is.”
Her acid tone was not lost on Merry, who tossed her guardian a roguish glance before turning to Davenport. “What a pleasant surprise!” she said with a flutter of lashes.
Eyelashes that had been carefully darkened, Alys noted. Blast Meredith for flitting in like a houri! Though most gentlemen could be counted on to see the girl for the innocent she really was, Davenport's reputation was enough to put fear in the heart of any guardian. At times like this Alys regretted taking on the responsibilities of a parent.
While Alys worried, Davenport and Merry were furthering their acquaintance. After a few moments of badinage, Meredith turned to Alys as if struck by a new thought. “Lady Alys, do you think Mr. Davenport might be persuaded to take his potluck with us tonight? Mrs. Haver is roasting a nice joint, more than enough for company.”
So that was Merry's main purpose in this little charade! Not just to meet Davenport, but to inveigle him over for dinner.
In the face of Alys's glower, Davenport hesitated. “I'm sorry, Miss Spenser, but your guardian has been in my company all day. It hardly seems fair to inflict me on her this evening as well.”
Meredith said, “She won't mind, will you, Alys?” accompanying her statement with a speaking look.
Cornered, Alys said, “We dine
en famille,
Mr. Davenport. A bachelor might find it rather hectic.”
Merry turned to him and said coaxingly, “I shall endeavor to keep my younger brothers quiet. Do say you will come.”
Unable to refuse again without seeming churlish, he said, “It will be my pleasure, Miss Spenser.”
After suitable expressions of delight, Merry took her leave and departed. Davenport resumed his seat and gave Alys a companionable grin. “Have you ever considered buying her a chastity belt?”
“I certainly have!” Alys blurted out without thinking. At Davenport's laughter she said in a doomed attempt at dignity, “That is a most improper thing to say.”
“I warned you, no missishness. I may assist you into a sidesaddle, but I have every intention of being my normal vulgar self the rest of the time.” His voice turned ironic. “She's a taking little minx, and she looks a good deal less ‘minor' than your words had led me to expect.”
“She's nineteen, Mr. Davenport, and has seen little of the world.” Alys toyed with a Venetian glass paperweight. “Please remember that.”
His humor evaporated. “I shall endeavor not to debauch her this evening. If it's any comfort, I find virgins boring.”
Alys tensed, wondering if the words were intended as an indirect insult toward her. “Merry is a bright, lively girl, and very sensible except for her flirtatiousness. She was only practicing her wiles on you because she meets so few new people.”
“Nonetheless, if you want an experienced rake's advice, find her a husband, and soon,” he said dryly.
Alys glanced down at her hands, tensely linked on the desk. He had a talent for touching on sensitive issues. She'd invested considerable thought in the question of a husband for Merry. “I'd like to, but the choices are limited. All the eligible men in the neighborhood are mad for her, but they are either callow lads, or widowers looking for mothers for their children. She deserves better than that.” Alys sighed. “Actually, I think she would make quite a splash in London if she could make her come-out there.”
“The girl is definitely a diamond of the first water,” Davenport agreed, “but does she have the birth and fortune to match her face?”
“That's the rub,” Alys admitted. “She'll have a respectable portion, but it's not a great fortune, and her father was a London merchant. She has no family connections that could introduce her to the
ton
.”
“She may be better off doing her husband hunting here. London can be a dangerous place for the innocent.” Dismissing the topic of Merry, he asked, “Whatever persuaded you to take charge of three young people? The girl represents one set of problems, and the boys will be just as much trouble in different ways. It would be a heavy burden for anyone, and you aren't even a relative.”
It was none of his business, of course, but his question seemed to come from genuine interest rather than idle curiosity. She propped one elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her hand as she considered her reply. “The obvious answer is that there was no one else Mrs. Spenser trusted. She had no children of her own. In fact, she was only their aunt by marriage, no blood relation at all, but she loved them. She wanted to make sure they were properly cared for.”
“If that is the obvious answer, what is the unobvious one?”
“They were my students, and I'm very fond of them. I've known William, the youngest, since he was in leading strings.” Alys gave a brittle laugh. “And this is the closest I'm likely to come to having children. I would have been a fool to pass up the opportunity.” She stopped suddenly, wondering what had made her reveal a deep and painful truth like that.
Tactfully restraining himself from probing more deeply into what was obviously sensitive territory, Davenport said, “I hope they realize how fortunate they are to have you, Miss Weston.”
Shaking off her mood, she said with a grin, “Merry might, but the boys look on me in the light of a necessary evil. I'm always nagging them to do their studying, mind their manners, and make at least a token gesture to the proprieties.”
At the sight of her wide smile, Davenport sat up and leaned forward in his chair so he could scrutinize her face. “Lady Alys, you have dimples,” he said accusingly.
Caught, Alys blushed. “I'm sorry, I can't help it. I think God made a mistake and gave me someone else's dimples.”
Davenport stood, his tall form looming over her desk. “Don't apologize. They're quite delightful. Dimples are called the mark of Venus, you know.”
He smiled that lazy, intimate smile, the one designed to make proper ladies forget their virtue. Alys found herself smiling back.
He raised one hand and lightly brushed her cheek, right where a dimple lurked. It was a casual gesture that some women would hate, and others find utterly entrancing. Alys was of the latter persuasion. His touch was warm, and her hypersensitive skin recorded the faint roughness of the whorls on his fingertips. It was as erotic as a kiss, and she felt a reaction clear down to her toes.
Lord only knew what showed on her face, because he dropped his hand and stepped back, his expression growing cool and detached. “If you would prefer not having me for dinner, I can send my regrets to your ward. You really should not have your employer forced on you after normal work hours.”

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