The Charmer (3 page)

"My name is Orlando
Holt," Holt said, rejoining them. A few strands of his blond hair had
flopped over his forehead but otherwise he showed no signs of exertion. He nodded
at Jeffrey in greeting. "I'm a servant here."

"You most certainly are
not!" she snapped.

He grinned again. Good lord, did
he ever
not
smile? "I am. Mr. Farley has added me to his
staff."

"You spoke to my father
after I told you to leave?" The insolent, devious...
vagrant
! "Go
back inside and tell him you'll not accept his offer." When he didn't
move, she took a step closer, but that was a mistake because it only emphasized
how much bigger than her he was. She came up to the middle of his chest.

"I have offered my services
and your father has agreed to my terms," he said, his eyes sparkling with
humor. "He is the master of Stoneleigh, is he not?" It wasn't a
question that required an answer. The slippery eel knew that. "Besides, I
need the work." He held up his hand to stop her, as if he were the master
and she the servant. She was so shocked she didn't know what to say. "Cowdrey
Farm is too far away and I'm a gardener, not a farm hand."

"Ha!" she managed,
annoyed that he'd predicted her argument.

He forked an eyebrow at her and looked
like he would say something more, but Jeffrey spoke first. "You should
have come to Sutton Hall. There is plenty of gardening work."

"There is?" It was her
turn to lift a questioning brow. Holt kept on smiling, not in the least
disturbed that he'd been caught out in his earlier lie. Had he been to Sutton
Hall at all? He said nothing and she turned to Jeffrey. She could only confront
one liar at a time. "Then why were you offering me one of your gardeners
if there is so much to do up there?"

Jeffrey blushed to the roots of
his bright hair. "Uh...I... "

"So you are the master of Sutton
Hall?" Holt asked when Jeffrey failed to complete his sentence.

Jeffrey adjusted his black velvet
cloak so it draped more elegantly over his left shoulder, and thrust his chin
out. "I'll ask the questions, not you. But I'll have you know that I am
Lord Lynden. I am also Lady Lynden's cousin."

"By marriage," she
added.

"And so it should be I who
provides her with a man to help in the garden. Be off." Jeffrey flicked
his long fingers toward the arch. "Tell Mr. Farley you've changed your
mind and cannot work here. Susanna," he said, turning to her, "do not
trust this stranger. His methods are underhanded and his manner impertinent.
Take my man instead. Indeed, let me speak to your father this instant."

She caught Jeffrey's arm before
he could move off. "Thank you, but there's no need to drag Father into
this. Since he has already employed Mr. Holt here, I must accept. Thank you for
your offer, it was kindly done." And insistently. Very. She was glad to be
able to refuse without qualms. She didn't want to find out what strings Jeffrey
had attached to his proposal.

"You're going to accept this
vagrant?" he spluttered.

"I have no choice. Father is
the master of Stoneleigh."

He stared wide-eyed at her. The yellow
flecks in his eyes glinted in the afternoon sun that had finally wrestled the
clouds aside. "I never thought to see you give in so easily,
Susanna." He made a miffed sound through his nose, bowed perfunctorily,
and walked out of the walled garden. She went to the arch and was relieved to
see him gather up the reins of his horse and ride down the long drive to the
road.

"So," Holt said,
standing with his feet apart as if he'd planted himself there, "what do
you want me to do next? We have some time before sunset."

"You, Mr. Holt," she
said, pointing at him, "should not get too comfortable. I'm going to see
my father and insist he withdraw his offer. You lied about asking for work up
at Sutton Hall, did you not?"

"No lie, m'lady. The steward
shooed me away. If he lied about the lack of work because he didn't want a
stranger on the premises, I cannot be held to blame."

"Well, I refuse to have
someone so ... so ... presumptuous working alongside me."

"Presumptuous? I simply saw
a job that needed doing and offered my services to do it."

"Mr. Holt, perhaps it isn't
clear to you, but we cannot pay you." She wasn't embarrassed to admit it.
One glance at the partially patched-up house and the sorry state of the outbuildings
would tell him money was scarce.

"I only require food and a
roof over my head," he said. "Do you have a barn?"

"The roof leaks."

"The stables?"

"There's no room." It
was filled with crates of jars and equipment for making their marmalades and succades.
Silver needed her space along with the small cart and tack.

"A spare closet in the big
house?"

"You get above yourself, Mr.
Holt," she shot back over her shoulder as she passed under the arch.

His chuckle followed her all the
way to the house.

CHAPTER 2

"Y
ou have to let him go,
Father," Susanna said.

John Farley patted the coverlet beside
him and when Susanna sat down, took her hands in his, dirt and all. "My
dear, you've worked yourself into a state. You'll unbalance your humors. Take a
deep breath and tell me what ails you."

"Nothing ails me."

"You did not take a
breath."

"Father!" Why was she
surrounded by frustrating men? She breathed deeply, not because it was what her
father wanted but because it helped soothe her fractured nerves.

"There," he said, not
letting go of her hands. His palms were warm but the fingers cool. The backs
were covered with freckles in every shade of brown, as were his nose and
cheeks. The skin underneath was pale and stretched so tight over the bones it
looked as if it would fray like an old cloth washed too often.
"Better?"

"No," she said, rubbing
his fingers to warm them. "There is a man in my garden who will not leave.
He says you employed him. I want you to dismiss him. This instant."

Farley sagged into his pillows
and regarded her with one of
those
looks. The sort he always gave her
when he thought her being foolish or difficult. "I cannot dismiss him. Ah,
Bessie, there you are," he said when the maid entered carrying a tray with
cup and bowl on it. "You understand, don't you, Bessie?"

"Aye, sir." Bessie was
as old as her father, perhaps older. It was difficult to tell. She'd always
seemed aged to Susanna, with her rounded shoulders and gray hair peeking out of
the front of her large brown caul. She'd worked at Stoneleigh for as long as
Susanna could remember. Indeed, all three of their remaining servants had. They
were as much a part of the manor house as the stone walls. Susanna suspected
they would still be there even after she and her father passed on, haunting the
place for generations. The idea appealed to her. The ancient Farley line would
end with her, but there would be continuity at Stoneleigh as long as the
spirits of the servants lingered.

"Father," she said,
heavily. "That man Holt...there's something about him. Something I can't
put my finger on. I don't trust him."

"But he's not even been here
a day." He took the cup Bessie offered and cradled it in his hands. "How
can you not trust him when you don't know him?"

"I've seen enough of him to
come to that conclusion. He's...arrogant."

"You say arrogant. I say
charming."

"He doesn't know anything
about growing orange trees."

"Show me an English gardener
who does."

"He, he doesn't know his
place," she said.

Her father laughed, making his
snowy beard shake and his eyes moisten. "Did you hear that, Bessie? A
servant at Stoneleigh who doesn't know his place."

Bessie grinned, lighting up her entire
face. Susanna had always loved Bessie's smiles. They were big and bold and
brought joy into the dreariest of rooms. "I know my place," the maid
said, stirring the bowl's contents with a spoon. "It’s doing Cook's
bidding."

Farley laughed harder.
"Shouldn't you be doing
my
bidding?"

Bessie passed Farley the bowl and
took the cup. "I'm more afraid of Cook, sir. She's bigger and has more large
knives at hand."

Farley sniffed the steaming broth
in his bowl. "Ahhh, and she's a marvel in the kitchen. I don't know what
we'd do without her."

"Starve," both Bessie and
Susanna said, then laughed.

Susanna's laughter quickly vanished.
"Be serious for a moment, Father. Why did you employ Holt without knowing anything
about him? It's most unlike you to do something like that on a whim."

"I couldn't help it, my
dear. He was so insistent. I couldn't say no." He shrugged as if he couldn’t
have denied Holt any more than he could stop a sneeze.

He had not always been so easy.
When he was younger and Stoneleigh's estate larger, he'd been careful and
thorough. His wishes had always been followed and he commanded respect from his
family, servants, and the villagers. Never a cruel man, he did, however, expect
to be obeyed. And everyone had.

Then many things happened. The
first husband John Farley had found for his only child proved to be a wolf in
sheep's clothing. Once he'd lost his fortune, he took his anger and frustration
out on Susanna, beating her for no apparent reason except that he could.
Fortunately he died before the beatings became unbearable, and not a single
soul mourned him. At the same time, the weather conspired to ruin the crops at
Stoneleigh for four years in a row and money became tight. Farley was forced to
sell all productive lands to his neighbors to make ends meet. Then, worst of
all, his beloved wife, Susanna's mother, died and he went mad with grief. Her
death changed him in other ways too. His health failed, his mind went a little
wayward, and all vitality seemed to leech out of him. Where once he was strong
and capable, he became helpless and easily led. That’s how Phillip had talked
him into agreeing to a marriage between himself and Susanna when her father had
wanted to keep her at home awhile. To be fair, it was a good match for an
untitled widow with a small dowry, and Susanna had desired the man and the
marriage anyway. She'd been reluctant to leave her father, but Sutton Hall was
only across the fields from Stoneleigh.

With only a few servants to aid her
father, the remaining land ceased to make a profit and had to be sold. Weeds
infiltrated the garden at an alarming rate, choking out most of the herbs and
orange trees which her father managed to keep alive as a loving tribute to his
wife who'd planted them. The outbuildings fell apart, and even Stoneleigh
itself began to look like a tarnished trinket in need of loving care.

Then there was the loss of her
two babies in the early stages of the pregnancies. It had devastated her father
almost as much as it had devastated her.

"You will have to say
no," she said, digging her heels in. "I don't need him."

"My dear, you do." He
sipped his broth. "I know how hard those trees can be in these cold
months. I fear you'll work your fingers to the bone and lose your pretty looks."

"I don't care about my
looks."

"No, but a husband will. You
can't expect to catch another if you look like a tired old hag."

She shot him a withering glare,
but he was concentrating on his broth and didn't see. She appealed to Bessie,
but the maid bustled about, tidying up the bedchamber, and didn't seem to be
listening. "You agreed you would not make me wed again."

Farley glanced up sharply. His face
softened and she realized she must have looked quite pale. The thought of
marrying again always made her feel ill.

"I'm sorry, my dear, you're
right, but that's not what I meant. I won't force you again, but that doesn't
mean you won't
want
to marry."

"I won't."

"You may," he said and
returned to his broth. "If the right man comes along."

She sighed and shook her head.
"None of this changes the fact that we cannot pay Holt. We don't have
enough money."

"We could pay him in
marmalade." He chuckled but caught her narrowed glare and sobered.

"Perhaps I can offer a
compromise," Bessie said.

"Please do," Susanna said,
suddenly feeling tired. There was so much to do and here she was arguing with
her father over money matters. Sometimes she wondered if he really knew how
desperate the situation at Stoneleigh was.

"Offer him board and food in
exchange for his work in the garden," Bessie said, placing a folded
blanket in a trunk.

It was what Holt himself had
suggested. "Yes, but..." It didn't solve the issue of having a man
like Holt working in her presence. Too close.

"Tell him he is free to come
and go as long as he achieves a minimum amount of work each day, an amount
which you both can agree to, m'lady."

Interesting. It sounded like a
good compromise. Servants and laborers valued their free time since they were
given so little of it. It didn't solve the problem of Holt himself. He
unsettled her, made her nerves stretch. He was so much like Phillip in that
regard. So...smooth. Phillip had a way of slipping under her defenses without
her realizing until it was too late, and then he would get what he wanted. What
he wanted usually included forcing her to entertain guests she didn't like or
stopping Susanna from visiting the villagers he thought beneath them. Then there
were his lovers...so many lovers.

Bessie's sympathetic gaze fell on
her. "Since he is in
your
house and you are
his
mistress, he
will do as you say or be forced to leave."