A Country Wooing (2 page)

She took the last step into his arms and was folded in a surprisingly strong bear hug, an action that was totally unlike Alex. His cheek brushed hers. It felt warm and smooth. A tang of spice hung about him, perhaps from shaving lotion. She felt a little uneasy at this prolonged intimacy. She could even feel his breath on her cheek and the thud of his heart against her breast. It darted into her head that she had had no more intention of throwing herself into his arms than she had of striking him. Both seemed equally strange. Where had he gotten that idea?

She pulled back and looked at him. The first thing noticed was the regimentals; it’s not easy to ignore a well-set-up gentleman, less than a foot from you, in a blazing scarlet tunic embellished with gold lace and brass buttons. The next thing was his face. It had changed. At first she thought it was the close-cropped brown hair that made him look different—older—but closer scrutiny told her it was his cheeks. They were leaner than before, and weathered to tan from Spain’s sunny climate. Then she looked at his eyes and revised her opinion once more. It was the eyes that had changed. They were the same warm brown she remembered, but now they were set deeper in his thin face. The corners of them were etched with fine lines, giving him a somewhat hard look. But no, the glow in them was not hard; it was only startlingly intense.

“Oh, you’ve changed so, Alex!” she exclaimed even before she said “Welcome home.”

“At the Hall they’re calling me the walking skeleton”— he laughed nervously—”but Pembers will soon get me filled out.
You
haven’t. Changed, I mean,” he said, and his laughter changed to a peculiar smile. “Still the prettiest sight in the county,” he said softly.

This, too, was unlike Alex. It almost had a touch of Charles about it. “Do you like my uniform?” he asked, turning to allow her to admire it from all angles. “I thought you might like to have a look before it’s done up in camphor for posterity—or future costume balls.”

“Very handsome! You’ll be turning all the girls’ heads if you go on the strut in it.”

“I wouldn’t want to go breaking every heart in the neighborhood, but I did want
you
to see it.”

Had she imagined the inflection on “you”? She looked away, confused, and said, “Mama will want to see it, too. Where can she be? I called her....”

His reply, though he was unaware of it, showed knowledge of his new importance. “The servants will tell her I’m here.”

Every word that came out of his mouth surprised her. His coming in uniform surprised her, as did his saying fairly baldly that he wanted her to admire him. “Come in and sit down, Alex—Penholme!” she corrected herself, then looked uncertain, for though Alex had certainly donned his new dignity and title, his manner was freer than before.

“Penholme? Good God, you sound as though I’m a stranger. I haven’t been gone that long, have I?”

“No, of course not. I—I didn’t say welcome home, did I?” she asked in a little confusion.

“No, you didn’t say you’d missed me either. I missed you,” he added with a long, meaningful look into her eyes.

“Of course I missed you. We all did.”

That blanket addition caused his smile to dwindle. “It’s wonderful to be back. Shall we go in and have some tea?”

“Yes, certainly.”

She led him into the saloon, uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. “How did you find the children? Very grown-up, I expect.”

“I hardly recognized them. Youngsters change so quickly.”

“You must have been shocked to hear of Charles’s death,” she said, for it seemed a subject that must be touched on.

Something in him froze. Her first impression that he had hardened was revived, and strengthened. “It was a shock to us all; but I lost many good friends in Spain. Death isn’t the stranger—the tragedy—to me that it must have been for you, though, of course, losing a brother is different—worse.”

She cast a wary eye on him. Charles’s death had been a mixed tragedy for Alex, throwing him into his new position of power and prestige, which he was obviously enjoying.

Mrs. Wickfield, no longer able to contain her curiosity, came pelting downstairs to make Alex welcome. She saw none of that joyful reunion she’d been hoping and scheming for. Alex was as backward as ever, and Anne did nothing to set him at his ease. He had to rise again and show off his uniform and have his new slenderness exclaimed over.

“You still cut a gallant figure. Quite a pineapple of perfection in your red jacket. How is your shoulder, Alex? Not bothering you too much, I hope,” she said solicitousl
y.

“It’s not bad now,” he assured her.

Under Mrs. Wickfield’s skillful encouragement, Alex stayed for an hour, nibbling macaroons, sipping tea, and regaling the ladies with humorous anecdotes of his military career in a fashion so unlike him as to make them wonder whether the sun had not turned his brain. Even an invitation to lunch was accepted, with a casual “I mentioned at the Hall I might be staying.”

The combined minds of the Wickfield ladies had not foreseen this degree of condescension, and it was to only an inferior luncheon that the returned hero sat down. At table, the conversation turned from the war to domestic matters. Alex had not discussed affairs with the bailiff or his man of business, had not ridden over his estate nor attended to any of the multitude of matters awaiting his attention.

“You’ll have plenty to keep you hopping,” Mrs. Wickfield warned him.

“At least there’ll be no impediment to my doing what has to be done,” he said curtly. Anne gave him a narrow-eyed glance, recognizing in the speech a slur against Charles. Even if it were true, she didn’t feel he ought to have said it.

“I wonder you ever left, Alex, since you pretty well had control of the estate for Charles when you enlisted,” she said.

“I had only responsibility, not authority. Now that I’ve enjoyed both, I realize the impossibility of that situation.”

“I shouldn’t think Charles would have been an unduly hard taskmaster,” she said rather testily.

Mrs. Wickfield threw herself into the breach. “You’ll have a trip to London and Sawburne as well, to take matters in hand there,” she said.

“I mean to turn Sawburne over to Robin fairly soon. My father bought it with the second son in mind.”

“Charles never gave it to you,” Mrs. Wickfield said, nodding her head in approval of what she had heard.

“He would hardly do so when Alex was leaving for Spain,” Anne pointed out.

“Why, Alex was here for two years, and...” Mrs. Wickfield became aware of a tension in the atmosphere and let her speech peter out to silence.

“Charles didn’t intend to deprive me of it,” Alex said, but coldly, as one doing his duty. “He mentioned my having the use of it. I don’t approve of the system of primogeniture we follow in England. If a man has five sons, as my father had, he ought to make some provisions for them all, and not give the lot to the eldest. It’s foolishness to give one man so much consequence and put the others at his mercy, or the mercy of their own wits. Of course, I don’t have anything equal to Sawburne to give Willie and Bung, but I’ll do all in my power to see them started in some profitable career, or try to help them set up a place of their own if that’s what they want.”

Anne interpreted this to mean he’d make a good marriage. How else did he plan to have all this beneficence to distribute? Her mother said, “Why, Willie and Bung both want to be soldiers, like you. You won’t have to do any more than buy them a commission.”

“Boys of twelve don’t know what they want. They think it’s all parades and playing with guns. It’s not like that, I promise you,” he said grimly. “I’ll give them a truer idea of what a soldier’s life is like.”

Willie and Bung were twins, so much alike that their own family had trouble telling them apart. Recently Bung had knocked a chip off the corner of his front tooth. It would not have bothered him a whit if only Willie could have done the same, but till they managed to get an identical chip off Willie’s, their favorite stunt of posing as each other was ruined.

“When do you plan to turn Sawburne over to Robin?” Anne asked. “We shall miss him when he goes.”

Alex looked alert at this question and in fact didn’t answer it. “It’s only five miles away. Not too far a distance to travel, if he has some special reason. Has he?” Anne and Mrs. Wickfield blinked a question at each other. Alex’s voice was suddenly thin and cold as ice. “Is he seeing some local lady? He didn’t tell me so. I hope she’s not ineligible.”

“Oh, no!” Anne said. “Good gracious, he’s only twenty-one, Alex. A bit young to shackle himself for life.’’ She noted, but didn’t mention, the word “ineligible.” It seemed Alex’s ambitions extended to the whole family.

“Won’t you need Robin to help you at Penholme?” Mrs. Wickfield asked. “It’s been a long time without a master. Robin and Mrs. Tannie do the best they can, but that last crew of bucks Charlie had staying there made a sorry shambles of the place. Shot off their pistols in the armaments room, and the south wall is still full of holes. One of them set fire to his room—the blue suite had its carpets burned. A set of black rags hang at the windows to this day. You’ll need an extra man for the farms. And for the Hall itself, what you need is a wife, my lad,” she said firmly, but was subtle enough not to glance at her daughter.

“Carpets and draperies won’t take much mending,” Alex answered. “It’s the home farm and the tenant farms I’m worried about. I haven’t had a look around yet. I know the man I hired for Charles before I left didn’t stay long. I understand a Pat Buckram is acting as bailiff nowadays. Robin was overseeing things as best he could, but he’s still green. I shan’t send him to Sawburne till he’s dry behind the ears.”

“It’s a good thing you’re back,” Mrs. Wickfield declared, and seemed in much of a mind to go on disparaging Charles, till Anne stopped her.

“There’s no need to go into all that, Mama. What’s done is done.”

“Best not to speak ill of the dead, so I’ll say no more about it,” her mother agreed. Alex sat like a jug, not condemning but not saying a word in Charles’s defense. “I can just imagine the excitement at the Hall when you arrived last night, Alex. Willie and Bung have lived at the roadside for three days. Set up a little tent with a flag on top and didn’t stir from it from morning till night, so as to see you come home.”

“They nearly pulled me bodily from the gig when they recognized me. I borrowed the gig from the inn in Winchester, for I took the post down from London. They were disappointed I didn’t arrive at the head of an army, or at least mounted on a steed. I had no cattle or carriage in London and didn’t want to buy any till I got home and saw what was in the stable.”

“That was sensible.” Mrs. Wickfield nodded and thought to herself that it was not the way Charles would have arrived. He’d have bought the flashiest nag he could find and hired an army to come after him.

“I shouldn’t think you’d have to buy any horses or carriages,” Anne said. “Robin is always complaining of the number of mounts in the stable. There seem to be plenty of carriages for everything.”

“I was amazed to see an even two dozen nags, with only the twins and Robin riding. And with all that horseflesh, there’s nothing for the girls to ride. I must get a pair of ponies for Loo and Babe. Do you still ride, Anne?”

“Yes, still the same horse. Mrs. Dobbin is approaching my age, twenty-two, and is about ready for pasture.”

“What she’s ready for is the glue factory,” Mrs. Wickfield declared.

“Lord, are you still coaxing that old nag along the roads?” Alex exclaimed. “Why don’t you get yourself a real mount?”

“Mounts cost money. We aren’t the Penholmes, you know, to be throwing it around as though it were hayseed.”

Alex stared in surprise. “Surely you can afford a decent mount.”

“Of course we could—if we thought it took precedence over having food on the table.’’ Alex gave a guilty look at his plate, and she laughed. “No, really, we are not quite so hard up we begrudge you your mutton.”

“You’ve no idea what’s happened to money, Alex,” Mrs. Wickfield said. “They blame it on the war, but it’s the merchants filling their pockets, if you ask me. Mrs. Perkins—from the general store, you know—has set herself up a carriage and team, and she need not bother letting on she isn’t putting half the increased price in her pocket. You have only to look at the Anglins—retired merchants from London, and millionaires. They’ve built a castle to rival Penholme. We who are living on a fixed income must make and mend as we can. We are getting pretty good at mending. Anne even took the hammer to her own slipper yesterday, to save paying the cobbler.”

Alex laughed, thinking it a joke, but was soon told otherwise. “It’s no laughing matter!” Mrs. Wickfield scolded him. “We used to be able to afford a trip to Bath or London once in a while, but with what money is worth today, we’re lucky we can keep a gig to drive to Eastleigh.”

A frown settled on Alex’s brow as he listened. “Is it really that bad? Aunt Tannie has been reading me a list of woes, but I confess I paid her little heed.”

“You’ll see for yourself,” Mrs. Wickfield continued, happy to air her grievance to a new audience. “Servants’ wages are so high I threaten to turn maid myself. With the merchants able to offer them a fortune, we must do likewise or scrub our own floors. Our maid demands thirty-five pounds a year, if you please. We decided between us, Annie and I, that for that sum we could well make our own beds and run a dust cloth over the furniture.”

“You have only the butler and cook, then?”

“Butler?” Mrs. Wickfield stared. “Nobody but lords and merchants has a butler. We have cook and a backhouse boy, who looks after the stable and does a bit of gardening and tends the fire. Just a boy, you see, so we don’t have to pay the tax on him. He’s ignorant as a whelp. Annie is teaching him to read and cipher. We pay him fifteen a year, and like him a deal better than Mary, for she turned into such a flirt, there was no standing it. She’s gone up to Penholme to distract your footmen there and keep them from their chores. I told Aunt Tannie the girl is useless and certainly not needed at the Hall, but it went through her like a dose of salts. Charles hired a dozen girls after you left. Of course, the local girls do look to the Hall for work.”