Sweet Deception Regency 07 - The Divided Hearts (11 page)

“Lord above, Miss Judith. Just imagine me
sleepin’ till noon. Just think what my dad would say.” Her plain
face split into an elfin grin and she rolled her brown eyes.
“Course sharing my bed with three sisters might make sleepin’ in a
bit of a problem.”

Judith couldn’t even imagine what life must
be like in the Finney household. Phoebe was the oldest of ten
children and as happy and free spirited a child as Judith had ever
met. She treated her servitude in Simon’s house as a pleasure not a
chore. Granted Simon was an easy taskmaster but Judith had noticed
that the whole idea of work was treated far differently in America.
There was a joy in labor, almost a need to work, that surprised
her.

Judith poured her own tea then handed a cup
to the girl, who accepted it with a twinkle in her eye. Phoebe had
confessed that her mother refused to have tea in the house. There
was still a great deal of resentment left over from the War of
Independence. So each morning, Phoebe accepted an illicit cup,
holding it under her nose to inhale the moist orange fragrance, her
eyes closed in ecstasy. It always amused Judith because she
suspected that the girl did not like the brew; the cup was never
emptied, only tasted periodically during their morning chat. At
fourteen any rebellion was wonderful.

“What’s the morning news, Phoebe?” Judith
asked patting the side of the bed for the girl to sit down.

“One of the cows on our farm calved
yesterday. Best of all she dropped twins. I missed all the
excitement, but that’s all my dad could talk about at supper last
night. Told mama iffen it’d been a colder winter, along with the
calves, we’d have had a bundling baby.”

“A what?” Judith asked, unsurprised at the
frank discussion of Phoebe’s family life. Even in England she had
been aware that most of the under servants had more information on
sexual matters than she did.

“A bundling baby. Don’t the country folk
have bundling in England?” Phoebe asked and at Judith’s puzzled
headshake, the girl grinned in triumph. It pleased her that she had
discovered something that her mistress did not know. “It’s mostly
for courting couples in the winter. Our lads work all week so’s the
only time they have for courting is on Saturday night. When my dad
took a fancy to mama he’d walk almost ten miles to visit her folks.
It was winter so they bundled them up nice and tight in bed.”

“In bed?” Judith asked, shocked in spite of
herself. “Wasn’t there a sitting room in your mother’s house?”

“Yes, ma’am, and a right pretty one, mama
said. But that’d waste a good fire and a lantern when dad just
wanted to snuggle close to mama anyways.” Phoebe noticed the glazed
look on Judith’s face and hurried to explain further a custom that
must seem rather bizarre. “It’s not quite like it sounds, Miss
Judith. My grandmam and my aunt would wrap up mama just like a
butterfly in a cocoon. Then they’d wedge a board between them, but
dad said, thank God it weren’t very high.”

Here Phoebe burst into laughter at the
horrified expression on Judith’s face. She was aware that for all
the older girl’s sophistication, Judith was relatively ignorant
about ‘those’ facts which Phoebe, raised on a farm, took as a
normal part of life. She had never thought much about how strange
this story must sound to an outsider. But then she’d never
considered her mistress an outsider.

“Does everyone do that sort of thing?”
Judith asked in a choked voice, feeling rather like a pupil being
educated by this bright child.

“Nobody much does it anymore,” Phoebe said,
a wistful look on her plain face. “Town folk never took to it.
Especially the fancy set. I was born too late, I guess.”

“Oh, Phoebe,” Judith laughed. “You sound
positively ancient.”

They both giggled, much in charity with each
other. Judith cocked her head as a light scratching sounded at the
door and her name was hissed plaintively through the wood panel.
Young Patrick usually announced his impatience each morning.

“Judith? Aren’t you ever going to come out?
Your father says we can leave as soon as you come down.”

“I’m coming, Patrick,” Judith called. She
handed the breakfast tray to Phoebe and pushed back the covers.

“He’s pacing the front room and rapping his
pipe on the mantelpiece,” Patrick warned. “Says if you don’t hurry
all the good horses will already be sold.”

“Tell Simon, I’ll be down shortly,” Judith
said.

She crossed the floor and opened the
right-hand door of the oak clothes press. She raised her arms over
her head in a satisfying stretch, then reached inside the press to
take her riding habit from the wooden peg. Opening the left door
she poked among the shelves until she found her favorite,
black-plumed riding hat. She yawned widely as she turned to face
the room. “It’s much too early to start the day. It’s a bloody
conspiracy to get me out of bed.”

“Miss Judith!” Phoebe might be a free
spirited soul but her Puritan ancestry did not condone such
language.

“I’ll wash out my mouth later. Right now see
if you can find my riding boots.”

Judith unbuttoned the lawn night rail as she
searched the serpentine bureau for appropriate underthings. Clad in
all but her habit, she made her ablutions, muttering under her
breath at the hurried pace of her life in America. Looking into the
mirror of the dressing table, she smiled at the rosy color in her
cheeks as she brushed her hair and Phoebe fumbled with the buttons
on the back of her white shirtwaist.

“By the way, Phoebe, please thank your
mother for letting Patrick stay with her yesterday. He was full of
his adventures at supper last night. I’m glad he’s found a friend
in Roger.”

“Roger considers himself cock of the walk
since Patrick came,” Phoebe said, her voice disapproving as
befitted an older sister.

Roger Williams Finney was named after the
founder of Rhode Island. He was a scrawny, redheaded boy whose
enormous brown eyes reminded Judith of a sad looking cow she had
once seen. However the twinkle in Roger’s eyes, accompanied by a
saucy grin, indicated that the boy was neither docile nor sad. He
and Patrick were the same age and Roger had been more than thrilled
to become the newcomer’s mentor. Judith hoped the boys would be
able to stay out of trouble but decided that was a futile
expectation.

“And, Patrick, hasn’t moaned once since he
started taking lessons with your mother.”

“Mama says he’s a bright boy. He already
knows how to read some. Now Roger is studying harder just because
Patrick is doing so well.”

Judith chuckled remembering the look of
horror on the boy’s face when she announced he would have to have
some schooling. Simon had suggested Phoebe’s mother knowing that
the woman had already taken on the task of teaching her assorted
tribe of children. Phoebe’s grandmother had been the schoolteacher
in Newport until the British burned the school during the war. For
Patrick, unused to the rigors of a structured education, this
solution had been perfect. Judith could not imagine the mischief
that the two boys could cause in an ordinary school atmosphere. The
home school offered more chance for supervision and a great deal of
loving attention from Phoebe’s plump, cheerful mother.

Judith fastened the black frogs on her
jacket, fluffing the lace cravat on her shirtwaist so that it
floated softly down her bosom. She was delighted with the golden
brown material of her riding habit which despite it’s military
markings made her look both graceful and feminine. Phoebe waited
with the usual expectant look on her face, while Judith tied her
hair back with a thin black velvet ribbon. She could watch the
little servant’s face reflected in the mirror as she experimented,
trying the jaunty hat with the sleek black plume at various angles.
Only when Judith caught Phoebe’s nod of approval did she consider
her outfit complete. Grabbing the last muffin off the breakfast
tray, she accepted her crop and gloves with a hug for Phoebe and
scurried down the hallway. She finished the muffin, licking the
crumbs from her fingers as she descended the stairs.

“It’s about time,” Simon grumbled as he
kissed her on the cheek.

“Now, Father, a lady should never be rushed
at her toilette,” Judith answered primly. Ignoring Simon’s snort,
she strolled toward the front door. As she approached, it was flung
open and a pair of bright blue eyes peered around the edge.
“Morning, Patrick.”

“It’s about time,” the boy said, mimicking
Simon.

Judith stuck out her tongue at the child and
skipped down the stairs to the cobblestones. An open buggy was
waiting, Timothy at the reins, glowering over the backs of the
horses. With a whoop of delight, Patrick leaped up beside the
driver, while Judith climbed more decorously to the seat behind.
Simon mounted a deep chested bay, leading as they wended their way
through the city streets.

What a glorious morning, Judith thought as
she raised her face to catch the rays of the sun. She looked around
her with interest, amazed at how familiar her surroundings had
become. Outside the Redwood Library, she spotted Priscilla
Woodbridge and waved in answer to the older woman’s hail. Luckily
Simon had a membership to the library and Judith had spent no
little time there. She smiled and nodded to other faces she
recognized then sighed happily as they headed towards the
countryside. Once clear of town, Simon brought his stallion back
beside the buggy and entertained her with outrageous anecdotes of
the owners’ of each house and farm they passed.

“Where are we going?” Judith asked.

“The farm’s called Tregonwell. Just a short
piece from town,” Simon answered, pointing to a group of buildings
just visible through the trees. “Lots of horse farms in Rhode
Island. Folks travel from as far away as Virginia just to buy our
cattle. But I think the best of the lot come from right here.”

As the buggy turned into the long drive,
Judith was impressed by the line of stately trees that formed a
foliage archway overhead. The leafy shadows dappling the path must
be especially welcome during the hot summer months, Judith thought
as she craned her neck upwards. On her right, through the trees,
she could see a herd of sheep grazing under the morning sun,
looking like soft clouds fallen on the ground. Beyond them, and
closer to the buildings, there were fruit trees and massive gardens
laid out in a green-hued patchwork. Everywhere she looked, there
were signs of the fertility of the land and the industry of the
owner of the farm.

As the house came into view, Judith smiled
in approval of the long, low outline of the structure. Weathered
clapboard under a gambrel roof made the house appear to snuggle
into the landscape, a part of nature, rather than something imposed
upon the ground. Simple roofed walkways joined several wings to the
main part of the house adding to the harmony of the impression.

The buggy swung away from the main drive,
passing beside the house and an enormous hedge-enclosed garden. Now
Judith could see the fenced corrals and paddocks spread out, dotted
here and there with stables and other outbuildings. The main stable
blocks were ahead and Timothy clucked to the horses as they pulled
through an archway, rolling to a stop in the stable yard. Judith
looked around her in astonishment. She was amazed to find a stud
farm of this caliber in a small New England town. Even in England
this would have been considered a thriving empire.

“You were expecting something a little less
exalted?” Simon asked as he handed her to the ground.

“What a wretched man you are, Father,”
Judith teased. “You might have warned me.”

“And take the fun out of seeing the
expression on your face? Never say, my girl.” He held out his arm,
grinning as she linked her arm with his. “Come along, Patrick.”

Judith extended her hand as she noticed the
gape-jawed expression on Patrick’s face. He scrambled to the
ground, groping for her fingers, his eyes swiveling around the
stable yard in speechless awe. Judith felt almost as impressed as
she took in the meticulously neat details of each of the buildings
they passed. As they approached a multifoiled arch, strung between
the two arms of the stables, a man exited the doorway and strode
toward them. Judith stumbled over her own feet as she recognized
Nathanael Bellingham.

After her disappointment on the picnic, she
had promised herself that she would have nothing further to do with
the man. She had met too many man-milliners in London to waste her
time with someone like Nathanael. She had looked forward to
purchasing a horse and wanted nothing to spoil the day. Hopefully
they could brush through the civilities in good order.

“Greetings, Lady Judith.” As always Nate
made an exaggerated bow in her direction. “Patrick. Simon.”

Nate shook hands with Simon and then an
exceedingly pleased Patrick. As the men exchanged greetings, Judith
peeked under the brim of her hat at the man. She was struck again
by a sense of disappointment as she took in his handsome face and
muscular body. Today he was not dressed in the flamboyant costuming
she had become accustomed to. He wore a rust colored jacket that
was conservatively adorned, making Judith aware of the sleek power
of his physique. Instead of a cravat, he wore a loose Belcher scarf
around his neck. His fawn riding breeches molded almost indecently
to his thighs, Judith thought as her glance swept downward. Raising
her eyes she found Nate watching her and flushed crimson in
embarrassment.

“You approve, Lady Judith?” Nate asked.

For a horrified moment, she thought he was
questioning her opinion of his leg. “App-prove?” she stammered.

“Of Tregonwell?” Nate said. His brows were
bunched in puzzlement at her behavior, yet there was a suspicion of
amusement at her misinterpretation.