A Poor Relation (15 page)

“It was fun, but I had rather be riding. Bernard can ride. He has walked as much as two miles, too, but he is not ready to attempt to dance. He means to drive over tomorrow afternoon and try the walk back to the Grange.” She yawned.

“Lord Farleigh is coming, too. He wants to know about fertilizing his cherries, but I don’t know if I shall dare be so indiscreet as to discuss manure in your mama’s parlour. Pinkie would have a spasm. You’d better go now or you’ll fall asleep on my bed. Sweet dreams.”

As soon as Anne shut the door behind her, Rowena slipped out of bed and went to the dresser. She rummaged in her reticule and withdrew two crumpled dance cards.

Her own she set down. The second was Millie’s, picked up from the floor of the carriage.

She saw the signature at once: Farleigh. Tearing the card across she tossed the pieces on the embers smouldering in the grate. Picking up the other she traced the words with her fingertip. Chris Scott, and he had not discussed agriculture all evening.

That
card went under her pillow.

* * * *

A banging shutter woke her about dawn. She felt for the card and went back to sleep, not to rouse again for several hours. A boisterous wind had risen during the night and violent gusts whipped the trees outside her window to a frenzy. The fire had gone out; a cold draught whistled down the chimney, stirring the ashes. It was hard to persuade herself that she ought to get up, especially since Millicent, if she was awake, was no doubt drinking chocolate in bed. Still, Chris was coming this afternoon. By the time she had washed and dressed and eaten the enormous breakfast she felt in need of, he might be here. She rang for hot water.

The chambermaid was full of chatter about a tree that had blown down, breaking through the roof of a tenant’s cottage. Sir Henry was already out seeing to emergency repairs.

“The master’s a good landlord, miss, and her ladyship’s right kind when there’s trouble,” the girl told Rowena.

Rowena would have liked to have been out there with her aunt, helping her to comfort the frightened family and making sure they had everything they needed. She shrugged. It was not her place to intervene. She was not likely ever again to have the pleasure of seeing those who relied on her content and wanting for nothing.

Her thoughts flew to Pinkie as she pulled on a warm woollen morning dress. Miss Pinkerton had been her chaperon and mentor, but she had been a dependent nevertheless. Now, despite her brave letters, it was obvious that she was leading a miserable existence bullied by her widowed sister-in-law. There was nothing Rowena could do about it. At least her tenants were not suffering, for according to Lady Farnhouse’s occasional chatty communications, the new owner of Chillenden was a good master.

That did not bear thinking about. She picked up a shawl and went downstairs.

She had disposed of a plate of buttered eggs and ham and a couple of toasted muffins with marmalade before Anne joined her.

“What time do you think they will come?” Anne poured herself a cup of tea. “I’m not sure Bernard ought to go out in this wind. It’s practically a hurricane.”

“Not now. It has died down a great deal already. I daresay the captain is solid enough not to blow away. I always rather liked walking in windy weather. It’s invigorating, especially when it is sunny like today. Not for riding, though. Perched on horseback you do feel exposed, as if any gust might carry you off.” As she spoke, Millicent came in. “Good morning, cousin.”

Millicent ignored the greeting and went straight to the attack. “What wiles did you use to persuade his lordship to take you in to supper?” she hissed at Rowena, taking up where she had left off the night before. “It is positively indecent the way you throw yourself at that man. You will be the laughingstock of the county.”

Rowena had had more than enough, but she had no intention of falling into a vulgar squabble. Not deigning to reply, she pushed back her chair and rose. “Pray excuse me. I have finished my breakfast and I have some letters to be written.”

As she left the room, back straight, chin high, she heard Anne plunging in with a comment guaranteed to lead to precisely the sort of undignified pulling of caps she deplored.

“It’s you who will be the laughingstock for being so shrewish only because Rowena danced nearly every dance last night.
She
did not need any wiles to attract Lord Farleigh.”

As Rowena made her way up to her chamber, she could almost find it in her heart to be sorry for Millicent. Brought up to consider her ability to attract men to be her only aim, she naturally lashed out when her preeminence in that regard was threatened. And because she had been taught that the worldly status of her husband was all important, she was liable to throw away the chance of happiness with the man she preferred for the dubious joy of being a countess.

Though Chris seemed dazzled by Millie’s face and he needed her fortune, he was no fool. He would see through her charming facade sooner or later. And this very afternoon he was coming to Grove Park especially to see not Millicent but her. She danced up the last few steps.

Before going down to breakfast, she had given her prettiest new morning gown to Minton to be pressed. It was lying on her bed, a round dress of moss green Circassian cloth trimmed with peach-coloured ribbons and flounces. And there, in the middle of the bodice, was a flat-iron shaped scorch mark.

Minton appeared in the doorway. “I’m sure I’m sorry, miss,” she said stiffly. “It was a banging shutter startled me. I can take a bit of the flounce from the back and cover it so it won’t show hardly, but it’ll take a while to do it proper.”

Rowena knew the abigail had too much pride in her work ever to do such a thing deliberately. Besides, she was too happy to let such a little thing overset her.

“Please do that, Minton,” she said cheerfully. “I shall wear something else this afternoon.”

The Broadway seamstress had so far delivered only one other suitable gown, of dark amber merino. Rowena took it from her wardrobe and hung it out to air. She trimmed her pen, but she was too restless to settle to her letters.

Though the gown was a rich colour that set off her hair nicely, it suddenly seemed too plain. If she had some ecru lace to set in the décolletage in place of the ruffled muslin, it would only take Minton a few minutes to stitch it in. The village shop probably had something suitable, since she did not insist on Brussels lace. Ordinary Buckinghamshire was good enough for her.

She looked out of the window. Branches still tossed and fallen leaves swirled across the lawn, but the wind was playful now, not frenzied. A walk was just what she needed. Once again she went to the wardrobe and found an old walking dress.

“You must not let Millie drive you from the house, Rowena.” Anne slipped into the room.

“Of course not.” Rowena looked at her in surprise. She had forgotten all about Millie’s megrims. “I told you I like to walk on a windy day. Besides, I mean to go down to the village and it is probably calmer down there. I suppose you do not care to come with me?”

Anne shook her head with an exaggerated shiver. “I mean to curl up in a rug with a book. Mama came in while Millie and I were at it hammer and tongs, and she has banished me to my room until dinnertime.”

“But Bernard is coming to see you. Surely she will not be so unkind.”

“I did not tell her. She would be bound to ask questions and I am not quite ready for that yet. Bernard will understand. There will be another day. Let me help you with those buttons if you
will
go, and you must wear a scarf under your hood or your hair will be shockingly tangled.”

For a moment, Rowena was shaken by envy of Anne’s faith in the captain.

The exhilaration of battling the wind soon restored her spirits. Walking briskly across the park, wrapped up warm in her cloak, she was glad she had decided not to ride Vixen. The gusts were stronger than she had thought, and some felt powerful enough to unseat anyone in a sidesaddle. Despite the scarf, strands of her hair blew free.

As she expected, once she reached the hedged lane it was calmer, and by the time she reached the stile she was warm enough to throw back the hood of her cloak. She even took off the scarf, though it was still breezy enough to make her wayward curls fly. In the orchard, blown leaves and twigs lay scattered on the ground, with a few larger branches. It crossed Rowena’s mind that she might meet Chris riding out to inspect the damage to his trees. Some gentlemen might be shocked to see her with her hair in tangled knots; he would probably be amused. She loved the way his grey eyes glinted when he laughed.

She did not dawdle, though. He might well have gone in the opposite direction, and she wanted to be back at Grove Park when he arrived with his eager questions. Fertilizer was not precisely a romantic subject, but it was what he wanted to hear about and she was delighted to oblige.

In happy anticipation, she picked her way along the littered path.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Do you think Sir Henry will be at home?” Bernard asked hopefully.

“Doubt it.” Chris was filled with anticipation as he drove up the hill towards Grove Park. He was looking forward to seeing Rowena, and he could no longer pretend to himself that it was only for the benefit of her advice. He enjoyed her company.

“It’s going to be ticklish discussing manure in Lady Grove’s presence,” he observed. “I wonder if I can somehow arrange to talk privately with Rowena without causing gossip, perhaps in the library with you and Anne to play chaperon?”

“I doubt Miss Grove will approve of that!”

He sighed. “No, and I cannot afford to vex her.” It was a pity she was so easily offended. How it irked him that he needed her money. Neither her fortune nor her face could compensate for...

At that moment the curricle emerged from the shelter of the hedges and a gust of wind hit it broadside. His hat whirled away. It was all he could do to control his horses and retain his seat. A quick glance at Bernard showed him holding on for dear life with his good arm, clamping his beaver to his head with the other.

“Lord, the gale is blown up again! Are you all right?”

“Yes, but I’ll walk home, I believe. Keep your eyes on your cattle!”

Chris nodded, obeying the injunction as another gust blasted out of nowhere. The horses strongly objected to the assault, while the light carriage rocked and swayed like a ship on the high seas. He hoped Bernard was not going to be seasick.

They reached the house before the captain had time to do more than turn a little green about the gills. Chris handed the reins to the groom who ran up.

“Stable them, if you please. I mean to ask if I may leave them here until the wind dies down.”

“Right, my lord.”

The gentlemen continued into the house and were ushered into the parlour. Millicent’s golden curls were bent over an embroidery hoop. She looked up with an enchanting smile of welcome as they were announced.

“Oh, my lord, you startled me. How clumsy of me— I have pricked myself.” She touched the tip of one delicate finger to her rosy lips, her blue eyes gazing into his own.

“Never clumsy, Miss Grove,” he said gallantly. “I rue the day I caused you to hurt yourself. Allow me to bind up the injury.” He reached for his pocket handkerchief, then remembered that he was carrying the one on which Rowena had embroidered his initial. For some reason he was reluctant to use it on Millicent’s finger. “Bernard, have you a clean handkerchief?”

“Yes, I think so.”

As Chris took his friend’s place with Lady Grove by the roaring fire, he noted Millicent’s pout. No doubt she would have preferred an earl to play doctor, he thought with unwonted cynicism. However, she then smiled prettily at Bernard and gave him her hand. Chris was ashamed of his suspicion.

He presented his compliments to her ladyship and begged leave to stable his horses at Grove Park overnight.

“Of course, my lord, and you and Captain Cartwright will be most welcome to spend the night here, too.”

“You are very kind, ma’am, but we mean to walk home. The exercise will do us both good.”

“To be sure, but I wish dear Rowena had not chosen to go out on such a very blustery day. I had to venture forth to see to the Perkinses—only think, a tree right through their roof in the middle of the night! It is a miracle that no one was hurt—but of course I had the carriage and my maid and the coachman with me.”

“It is excessively odd in Rowena,” agreed Millicent, joining them. “I fear she will be shockingly tousled when she comes in.”

Chris frowned. He had told Miss Caxton he was going to call, that he had urgent need of her advice. He could think of no reason why she might wish to avoid him, unless he had inadvertently distressed her last night. He searched his memory, without success. They had had a delightful time together.

“Did Miss Anne go with Miss Caxton?” Bernard was enquiring.

“No, she is in her room. Perhaps I should send—”

Millicent interrupted her sadly indulgent parent. “Poor Anne is laid down with the headache,” she said. “She is subject to megrims, you know. I daresay she strains her eyes with too much reading.”

Bernard looked sceptical. Chris settled down to make the best of the visit, with some idea of awaiting Rowena’s return. He could picture her bursting in with her honey-brown hair in disarray, her cheeks glowing from the exertion of battling the wind. She would look like a healthy, lively country girl, no match for Millicent’s delicate beauty, but attractive in her own way. To him, much more—no, he durst not follow that train of thought.

The half hour proper to a visit was nearly passed when Lady Grove invited the gentlemen to partake of refreshments to fortify them against their walk home. The tea tray was sent for. It arrived with a full complement of scones and sweetmeats, including a plate of Banbury cakes. Since the earl had praised her cook’s Banbury cakes, her ladyship had ordered them baked fresh daily, with plenty of currants, lest there should be an opportunity to offer them to him.

By the time tea had been poured by Millicent’s graceful hand, and drunk, and the cakes consumed, twilight was falling. There was still plenty of time to walk home to the Grange, for Chris was sure that Bernard was strong enough, but he began to grow concerned about Rowena’s prolonged absence.