Amanda Scott (42 page)

“No, thanks. Powell can tell you all you want to know. I must tell my man to be certain I have the appropriate attire for a country dinner party.”

Lyford did not press him, and when they had gone, the countess turned her attention to preparing a list of guests for her party. “Let me see, now,” she said to no one in particular, “there is Sir Spenser, of course, and Mr. Harold Ponsonby. I believe he is worth a tidy sum. Do you know him, Wynnefreda?”

“Well, of course I do. He was a friend of Cadogan’s and is, I might remind you, young enough to be your son.”

“Very true, but his health is not good. Gout since he was forty, I’m told. I don’t admire a man for drinking a great deal, you know, but it does have its advantages. Now, what think you of Lord Margate? Nearly ninety, I believe, but he still hunts. Not a good sign. Here, Miss Beckley—oh, nonsense, I shall call you Pamela, of course—fetch me a pen and paper!”

“I’ll ring, ma’am,” Gwenyth said, standing and suiting action to words, before Pamela, who was staring at the countess in awe, had so much as moved a muscle in response.

G
WENYTH HAD CHANGED TO
a morning frock, so it was necessary to don her habit again before she and Pamela joined the two gentlemen for their ride. The day remained a fine one, but the air was cool enough so that she was glad of her jacket. She was looking well, she thought, but she could not be surprised when both gentlemen fixed approving gazes upon Pamela.

The younger girl’s habit had originally been intended for a wealthy tradesman’s daughter, but when Lady Gwenyth’s modiste had realized it would fit her favorite customer’s young protégée perfectly, she had parted with it gladly. A brilliant pink, it was trimmed with gold braid, and had military epaulettes on the shoulders and gold buttons down the front of its close-fitting jacket. The hat, an elegant confection ornamented with pheasant feathers and silk rosebuds, was tied beneath Pamela’s chin with a neat pink bow, the color emphasizing the roses in her lips and cheeks and making her eyes look more like violets than ever. Gwenyth stifled a sigh of envy, knowing the outfit could not possibly have become its intended owner as well as it did Pamela.

Their mounts were ready, and they were soon off, turning this time along the drive to the road and across it, following a gravel trail up onto the chalk downs. There was room for only two to ride abreast, and for a time the two young women rode ahead, with the gentlemen following behind.

“Heard you went to London,” Gwenyth heard Jared say to the earl after they had been riding for a short time. “More trouble over the will?”

“No, just business.”

Gwenyth glanced at Pamela, but the girl appeared to be paying no heed to the conversation behind them.

“Devilish dull stuff, business,” Jared said. “Thought you’d given up the daily details, or were you checking up on me?”

“As a matter of fact,” Lyford said, “I went to Bow Street.”

“Good Lord, what for?”

Pamela looked over her shoulder then and proved that she had been listening after all. “Lady Cadogan told us you had done so, Marcus, but I confess I had forgotten all about it. I was so relieved when she said she was persuaded you had no intention of hiring Runners to find me that I quite forgot why you wanted them. It was your steward, was it not?”

Lyford said to Jared, “You must have heard that Silas Ferguson died the day after you left for Somerset. There have been some odd rumors. I want them quashed.”

“I heard, of course, but his death was an accident! Drowned in the river, I thought. Happens all the time.”

“His head was broken, however, and that doesn’t happen so often. Where he was found, the riverbed is mostly silt.”

“Then whatever he hit his head on drifted away with the current, or he floated some distance himself. Folks are only trying to make more of it than there is. You know how they are.”

“No doubt you are right,” Lyford said calmly.

Pamela said, “Did you bring any Runners home with you, Marcus? I have never seen one.”

“No,” he replied. “I talked with the chief magistrate at Bow Street, but after he explained what would be necessary, I changed my mind.”

Jared chuckled. “Too expensive to suit you, coz? I know they require that all their expenses be paid, plus their fees.”

“I would not count cost if I thought they would learn much,” Lyford said, “but there is no reason to waste my blunt when we don’t even know that a crime took place. I decided my own people will learn more than a stranger would.”

“Well,” Pamela said with a disappointed sigh, “I should have liked to see a Runner. It seems a pity you went all the way to London without bringing even one back with you.”

“As it happened, I had other business too,” Lyford said.

Blushing, she turned away, but Jared said, “Business?”

“There was a shipload of wheat due from India,” Lyford told him in a rather grim tone. “Your father, thinking perhaps that you would be too busy to attend to it, wrote ahead to ask me to see it safely landed. When I arrived, I found our Bristol agent there and in a dither about some mix-up or other with the London people over a number of the bills of lading for drawback—”

“Have mercy!” cried his cousin, laughing. “You don’t mean to bore on about such stuff as that. Devil take it, man, you’re a lord now and ought to act accordingly. You must trust Powell and his people to look after everything. I do. He was our agent in Bristol, you know, before I dragooned him to be my man of affairs. I say, Marcus, I’ve just had a notion. Powell would make an excellent replacement for Silas Ferguson.”

“I think not.”

“Well, you must decide, of course, but I think he would make an excellent steward. In any event, these ladies don’t wish to hear about bills of lading or customs difficulties. I say, Miss Beckley,” he went on, “wouldn’t you like to work the fidgets out of that nag? You’ve an excellent seat for a lady, and I’ll wager you’re tired of this plodding pace. I’ll race you to the top of that hill yonder if you like.”

“Done!” she cried, lashing her mount’s flank with her little whip before anyone could stop her. They were off and gone, leaving Gwenyth to turn ruefully to the earl as he brought Cyrano up alongside her gelding.

“Perhaps we ought to catch them up, sir.”

He shrugged. “They won’t go far. Talk to me instead. Are you enjoying your stay at Molesford?”

“Oh, yes, for I have seen little of my aunt this year, you know. She was in London for a time during the Season, but when my sister Meriel discovered she was in the family way, Auntie Wynne removed to Maidenhead until your grandmama insisted that she return to the abbey. By then, I daresay the truth was that she’d had a surfeit of small children, for she left at once. Did you say your steward’s name was Ferguson, sir?”

He glanced at her sharply, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Yes, Silas Ferguson. Why?”

“Well, Joey—”

“Oh, yes, of course. He was Joey’s uncle.”

She nodded. “Do you often look after business for your uncle, sir?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then said casually, “Since he is fixed in India, he occasionally requests my assistance when he wishes to know a matter will be properly attended to, and I oblige him.”

“Oh your cousin’s behalf, I collect. He does not seem to be particularly interested in his father’s business.”

“He wasn’t raised to be. Though my uncle would like to see Jared take over my late duties, I do not think it will answer.”

“I see. What is a bill of lading?”

He chuckled. “I doubt that it would interest you.”

“You wrong me, sir. I am interested in many things.” Besides, she told herself, if he talked about such boring stuff as that, perhaps she would not continue to feel so overwhelmed by his nearness. Cyrano was so close to Prince Joseph that Lyford’s body nearly touched hers. Bills of lading might help defuse the tension rapidly building within her.

Lyford looked at her narrowly, but when she returned his look with one of limpid innocence, he shrugged. “Very well, then, a bill of lading is a list of the items in a ship’s cargo.”

“That’s all?” That would never do. Jared and Pamela had disappeared over the hill, so she had time to fill. She remembered something else that had aroused her curiosity. “Tell me again why your Bristol agent went to London. For that matter, why do some vessels land at Bristol and others in London?”

“Enough!” He grimaced. “If you are really interested, I will explain. Our ships from Barbados land at Bristol because the cargo, which is primarily rum and tobacco, is not meant only for England but for other places too. It would be a waste of valuable time to sail all the way to London.”

“But why come to England at all? I should think it would be more efficient to sail directly to the port of intent.”

He grunted. “The law says they must. One cannot export goods from Barbados to other countries without first bringing them here to register them with customs. Foolishness, but many laws are foolish. The reason the agent went to London is more difficult to explain. Duty must be paid on all goods coming into England, you see, even if they will go somewhere else.”

“But that is not fair,” Gwenyth said, becoming interested despite herself.

“The unfair part is that some goods, including tobacco and rum, have to pay both duty and the excise tax. However, anything that is then exported is eligible for what they call a drawback. That means the money is repaid once the goods leave the country. Since some of our tobacco and rum stays here in England and the rest goes elsewhere, there are sometimes hitches in the proceedings. Generally, the paperwork is handled in Bristol, but in this case there was a question of a bad count, either before they left Barbados, or when they landed, or after the London goods reached London. The Bristol agent had dealt with the situation with his customary competence, but since his London counterpart questioned some of the details, they wanted to discuss the matter with me, that’s all.”

“I see.” She didn’t, but they had reached the top of the hill, and she could not see the other two riders ahead. “Where are they, do you suppose?”

“The other side of the grove of trees, I imagine,” he replied, clearly unconcerned. “Are you looking forward to my grandmother’s dinner party?”

She looked at him, smiling, perfectly willing to accept the change of subject. “Will you think ill of me if I confess that I am? I find your grandmother vastly entertaining.”

“From which statement I deduce that she has a plan to entice as many eligible bachelors to her table as possible.”

“Yes, but you must not be thinking she means to play matchmaker for Pamela or me,” Gwenyth said, grinning.

“I don’t. Indeed, I wish her luck in her pursuit.”

Gwenyth chuckled and said without thinking, “Truly, I think she would be well-advised to place an advertisement on the first page of the
Times
.” Then, hearing herself, she bit her lip and said, “I beg your pardon. What a thing to say!”

“Not at all,” he replied blandly. “I know just the style of thing you mean. Very tasteful. Let me see …” He gazed upward, thinking, while Gwenyth watched him in astonishment. Then, just as she decided that he had thought better of it, he said musingly, “‘Attractive widow in reduced circumstances requires wealthy—’ No, that won’t do. How about …?” He pondered as they entered the shade of the wood, then continued in a satisfied tone, “Ah, yes. ‘Recently widowed lady of title, wishing to avoid the discomfort of existence in reduced circumstances, desires to wed wealthy gentleman—’”

“‘Wealthy gentleman in poor health, preferably unencumbered by heirs,’” Gwenyth put in, gurgling with laughter. “Oh, sir, we mustn’t. How very dreadful we are to make fun of her!”

“Nonsense, she invites it,” he said, smiling at her.

Gwenyth returned his look, wondering not for the first time just what manner of man he was. Her brother Tallyn would have taken her immediately to task for the remark she had made. He would certainly never have expanded upon it or encouraged her to do so. But this was not the first time Lyford had surprised her. He had handled the boy, Joey, with deftness, and he had not only not objected to her unfeminine desire to swim but also promised to arrange it for her. He was not a conforming sort of man at all, which was rather disconcerting at times. Indeed, he was precisely the sort of man who made the ladies of the
beau monde
frown and shake their heads. But how pleasant it was to speak one’s mind to a man without fear of censure or consequence.

“There they are,” he said, looking away at last as they emerged into the sunlight again.

Gwenyth gave herself a shake and noted that Jared and Pamela had dismounted some distance ahead, where the road disappeared into a second grove of trees. “What is wrong, do you think?”

“Looks like Pamela’s mount picked up a stone in its shoe.”

They soon discovered that that was precisely what had happened, but when they joined the other two, Gwenyth saw immediately that Pamela’s cheeks were flushed, and when Jared lifted her to her saddle again, she avoided Gwenyth’s gaze but made no protest when he fell in beside her, leaving Lyford and Gwenyth to follow along behind.

A quarter of an hour later, they reached a small tenant farm, and Gwenyth stayed with Jared and Pamela when Lyford dismounted, grounded his reins, and strode into the barn.

He returned in minutes. “All’s well here. Lacy’s a capable fellow.” He mounted and led the way from the yard.

“Barn’s got a new roof, I see,” Jared noted.

“Put it up himself.”

“So you’re refitting the farms, are you?” Jared observed, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m providing materials for those who wish to do the work.”

“Grandpapa said that trying to put this place in trim again would be a waste of good blunt,” Jared said provocatively.

“And so it would be if I just hired men to do the work without demanding a return for it. This way the tenants take pride in what they accomplish, and when they feel a sense of pride, they do their work better and their production increases. Lacy tells me he’s already harvested his crop and cleared two fields for the new one. Crop wasn’t much this year, because his seed was bad and there wasn’t much incentive to grow a great deal of corn or barley with the prices forced so low. But I’ve promised to find a market for all he can grow next year.”