Lois Menzel (11 page)

“He is so thin,” she said, dabbing her eyes.

“He will gain the weight back, in time. It would perhaps be best to control your tears, Miss Browne, especially in company.”

She looked at him sharply, “Why? Wexford cannot see them. Surely they don’t offend you?” She stood suddenly, tossed his handkerchief into his lap, and walked away to stand where he had been earlier, gazing down into the fire.

The following day, when Celia joined Lord Wexford for their morning session, he had a gift for her.

“When I handed you down from the carriage the other day,” he said, “I noticed that you had no driving gloves. I had my mother pick these up for you when she went into High Wycombe yesterday. I hope they fit.” He handed over a pair of soft kid driving gloves.

“Oh, my lord, they are very fine. Thank you. And they fit perfectly. Look.” Instantly realizing her mistake, she added hastily, “I’m sorry. That was so thoughtless.”

“Don’t be silly. It was not thoughtless. And I can look. Here, let me feel them.” As he reached for her hands, she placed them in his. He handled them gently in his own, feeling each finger. “You are absolutely right. They are an excellent fit. When will you take me driving again? This afternoon?”

He could hear the regret in her voice as she said, “I cannot this afternoon; I go to visit the children today with Miss Browne. But we could go tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow will be excellent, if the weather holds. What time?”

After they had settled the details of their drive, Celia read from the London papers then wrote several letters. When they had finished, he said, “When you see Ursula today tell her that all has been arranged concerning Mrs. Drew. She will stay on at her cottage, and Dan Hemple will work the land. Young Alan will come to work on the home farm.”

“I will tell her.”

Celia and Ursula rode to the home with Shale trailing along behind. This was their third trip together. They were quickly becoming friends.

Celia relayed Lord Wexford’s message regarding Mrs. Drew and her son.

“If she stays in the cottage, how will she pay the rent?” Ursula asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he will not ask her for any. He and her husband were friends.”

“Seems peculiar to me,” Ursula answered. “But it’s his cottage—his decision.”

“I hope to spend some time with Kitty today,” Celia said. “I bought a hair ribbon for her and never even saw her on Monday.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” Ursula said. “What color?”

“Pink.”

“She will like that. I do wish I could hit upon a situation for Kitty. She worries me.”

“Why?”

“Most of the girls her age have learned a skill. Some will be able to go into service. Others will be taken on by the farms that need extra help. But Kitty, with her bad hand, cannot be a maid. Most physical labor is beyond her ability. I don’t know what will become of her.”

“How did she come to the home?”

“She was left as a small babe at the church. We don’t think she is an orphan. Most likely her parents were poor and could not afford to raise a child who would be unable to do her share of the work.”

“How dreadful.”

“Yes. But I think she has been happy with us. In two years, though, she will be fourteen, and by then something must be found for her.”

Celia brushed and braided Kitty’s hair later that afternoon and delighted the child with the pink ribbon. But the whole time Celia could not help thinking of what Ursula had said. What would become of Kitty when she was too old to stay on at the home?

After dinner that evening, the entire company was gathered in the drawing room having just chosen teams for charades when Wexford appeared accompanied by his cousin. Celia crossed to greet them at the door and exclaimed at the elegance of his lordship’s cravat.

“John tied it for me,” Wexford said, “while the men dawdled over their port. He calls it the ‘Hardy Fall.’ ”

“But you are not a Hardy, sir,” Celia exclaimed.

“No. But my mother was, so we will assume it to be an acceptable style for me.”

Celia cast a look of gratitude at Mr. Hardy for offering his services to his cousin. “Will you join our team for charades, Lord Wexford?” she asked. “We need another quick wit, for the other side already has both your cousin and Lord Matlock.”

Before he could object, she led him to a sofa and sat beside him. Tony had taken a slip of paper from the bowl that held subjects to be portrayed. As soon as he looked at it, he said, “I need another person to help me. A lady. Have you any objection to that?”

When Lord Matlock, captain of the other team, raised no objection, Tony grasped Ursula’s hand and pulled her to her feet, showing her the slip of paper upon which the clue was written.

Celia leaned close to Wexford and quietly told him all she saw happening. “Tony has taken Ursula up to help him. He is pointing to himself, and to Ursula.”

“You are two people,” Lady Matlock said. “A couple.”

“He has taken Ursula into his arms and is looking deep into her eyes,” Celia continued.

“You are lovers,” shouted Todd Crowther.

At Tony’s vehement nod of approval, Celia said, “Tony has nodded yes, they are lovers. Now he is patting Ursula on the head. He looks positively demented. He is pointing to himself again, beating himself upon the breast.”

“Antony and Cleopatra,” Wexford said, loud enough for all to hear.

“Yes!” Tony shouted. “Our point.”

Celia turned to Wexford in disbelief. “How did you guess that?”

“It was clear.”

“Not to me.”

The game continued for several hours, the lead in points shifting back and forth between the teams more than once. As the hour advanced, the players grew bolder and noisier; sometimes the whole room dissolved in uncontrollable laughter. When they decided to call a halt near midnight, Celia did not think either side any longer knew the score or even cared which team was the victor.

The following morning, when Celia was due to arrive to read for Wexford, the butler entered with a message from her.

“Miss Demming asked if you would please excuse her this morning, my lord, as Mr. Anthony is taking her to call on some of the neighbors; but she said she will be ready to drive at the time you arranged, and she will meet you at the head of the stairs.”

“Thank you, Leech. Order my chestnut team harnessed to the curricle and have them at the door at two o’clock.”

“Very good, my lord.”

When Leech was gone, Wexford put aside the paper he was going to have Miss Demming read to him, and as he did so, he discovered he was ridiculously disappointed that she would not be there that morning. He had to admit that of all the women he had ever known, she was the least complicated and most natural. She seemed to know instinctively how to put him at his ease, even when he himself was not certain why he was uneasy. Tony was lucky to have found her.

At precisely two o’clock, Celia found Lord Wexford waiting at the top of the stairway. In the drive outside the house stood a curricle and a team of four horses.

She smiled with delight. “These are your chestnuts. Tony has told me about them. You will let me drive them?”

“I cannot imagine who else.”

“Perhaps Shale,” she said, since the groom stood holding the leaders.

“Shale won’t be coming with us. Will you, Shale?”

“No, my lord.”

“There you have it, Miss Demming. Take the reins. The privilege is all yours. Tony told me you have driven a curricle-and-four.”

“Indeed. My father has a splendid team.”

“These will challenge your skill. Honeysuckle is the outside leader. She will try to run the show, test you every step of the way. On the other hand, Spring Mist, your inside wheeler, is as steady as they come. Take them out and see how you do.”

The moment Shale released the leaders, Honeysuckle broke into a trot, and the others followed her lead. With Wexford’s warning in mind, Celia was prepared, and after a short battle of wills, the lead horse settled into the walk Celia demanded of her.

“Good,” Wexford approved. “You have shown her you are not a novice. She will respect you now.”

For the first fifteen minutes of the drive, Celia’s attention was totally claimed by the fresh team, for although they were well-matched and well-mannered, they knew they had a strange driver.

Eventually they settled into a steady, ground-covering trot, and Celia marveled at their stamina.

“Should you like to let them gallop?” he asked.

“I would love to. But I am not at all certain I could stop them once I let them run.”

“What is the road like ahead?” he asked.

“Straight and wide and empty for as far as I can see.”

“Go ahead then, let them run. I can lend a hand if you need help pulling them in.”

So Celia did let them run, and they ran straight and true down the center of the road, pulling the curricle like a feather behind them. When she saw a bend in the road far ahead, she said, “I will pull them in now, my lord. There is a turn in the distance.”

Her first attempt to collect the team slowed them, but they did not fall into the trot she wanted. She experienced one short moment of panic, thinking she would not be able to stop them, before she felt Wexford feeling for her hands and the reins she held.

“It is not so much a question of strength as skill,” he said. “Don’t let go. Keep up the tension behind my hands and try to feel what I am doing.”

By now he had a firm grip on the reins above her hands, and in a matter of seconds, with steady, firm pressure, the team gave over their headlong rush and dropped again into a manageable trot.

“I have never in my life traveled so swiftly,” she said.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes. It was wonderful. Like flying.”

Then, as she realized he was still holding her hands, an indefinable shiver ran through her and she said, “I have them now, my lord. Thank you. I must say, I truly needed the help.”

“I am not so sure,” he said as he freed her hands. “I think in a moment or two more you would have had them slowed all by yourself.”

“Is it not frightening for you,” she asked, “rushing along at such speed, not being able to see where you are going?”

“No. It is not in the least frightening. It takes a lot to frighten you once you have taken part in a battle of any size at all.”

“I’m sorry. I should not—”

“Miss Demming,” he said, interrupting her. “Please stop the horses.”

When she had pulled them in and the carriage came to a standstill, he turned slightly toward her on the seat. “Miss Demming, there are two things I should like to settle with you. The first is that I would like you to stop apologizing to me every time you mention the army, or my loss of sight. These things are nothing you should apologize for. We were engaged in a bloody conflict. Every family, every village in the country was affected. It is on everyone’s mind and on their tongues. It will be mentioned; you cannot stop it. And I, my dear, can deal with it. Trust me, I can.”

“And the second thing?” she asked in a rather small voice.

“Please,
please
call me Robert, or Wexford, if you prefer. In a few short months I will be your brother-in-law. I find it incongruous that you are tying my neckcloth one moment and calling me Lord Wexford the next.”

“I will strike a bargain with you, sir. I will call you Robert if you will call me Celia, but only in private with the family.”

“Agreed, for now.”

When she had started the team again, this time at a leisurely walk, he asked, “How was your visit to the children’s home yesterday?”

“Rewarding, and a bit troubling.”

“Why troubling?”

“For one thing, the wood supply is low, and the nights are getting colder.”

“I will speak to Carter, he will see that they have whatever they need to see them through the winter.”

“That would be wonderful.”

When she said nothing more, he asked, “What else? You said for one thing, which means there must be more that troubles you.”

“There is a young girl, Kitty, who is twelve. She has a crippled, useless hand, and Ursula says she will be unable to find work like the other girls. I worry what will become of her.”

“No doubt she will end up at the posting inn at High Wycombe,” he said. “It is the fate of most girls who have no skill or cannot learn one. She can serve customers with her good hand, and for the work that comes afterward, she will not need her hands at all.”

For a moment Celia had no idea what he was talking about. Then, as his meaning dawned on her, she was so shocked she could barely speak. “You mean . . . surely you cannot mean . . . she would not be . . .”

“A prostitute, yes.”

She stared at him in horror. “I wish, my lord . . . Robert . . . that you could see me right now.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I would like you to see the shock on my face. How can you even suggest such a thing?”

“I suggest it because it is a reality. And I am, my dear Celia, a realist. I have been forced to be.”

“But surely there can be some other answer for her.”

“Should you like me to give her a house and an income, or perhaps a dowry?”

“Of course not, but there must be something—”

“You have seen the estate records,” he said. “My father lived beyond his means for years. That kind of extravagance cannot be remedied overnight. I cannot afford to pension off every dependent who has a crippled hand or a missing leg. And, believe me; I know exactly what they are suffering. If the girl cannot use her hand, and you do not want her to be forced to sell her body, then think of some way she can use her brain to make her way in the world.”

“What do you mean?” Celia asked.

“You said she is twelve. That means she still has a few years in which to acquire some training, some sort of education. Is she intelligent? Can she learn?”

“I think she is very clever, yes,” Celia replied.

“Then she must learn to read, learn arithmetic.”

Already Celia’s mind was racing ahead. “She can read a little. If I taught her to read really well, perhaps she could teach the others.”