“No.”
Long experience with women had suggested to Rushton that they were inveterate talkers. For a moment he waited to hear what explanation she would make, what qualifying statement she would attach to her simple negative. Once a woman started to make excuses, there was always the chance of poking holes in her reasoning and eventually accomplishing one’s purpose. And if she did not essay into muddled explanations and excuses, she invariably fidgeted with her hands and shifted in her seat under his scrutiny. Miss Easterly-Cummings did neither.
At length he commented, “I would be willing to pay handsomely for the land.”
“I have no interest in selling, Mr. Rushton.” She rose gracefully to her feet and offered him her hand. “I appreciate your calling and hope you will give my best to Penrith, Lady Southwood and Cassandra. I believe Cassandra is the only one still living at Oak Park with her mother, is she not?”
“Yes,” he agreed as he shook her hand before watching her tug the bellrope.
“No doubt she too will marry one day and move away,” Miss Easterly-Cummings suggested by way of conversation, as she eyed him speculatively.
Between Sir Penrith and his youngest sister there were three other daughters, each one of whom, as she had arrived on the London scene, Mr. Rushton had, for his friend’s sake, assisted to entertain. There had never been any question of his marrying any of them; they were not in his style, though certainly very agreeable young ladies who had the same sunny disposition as their only brother. Somehow Mr. Rushton received the impression that Miss Easterly-Cummings thought him a suitor of Miss Cassandra’s, and found him wanting. He had in mind to set her straight, but the butler arrived to show him out before he could think of a way in which to deny such a ludicrous notion. His irritation with Miss Easterly-Cummings perceptibly grew.
“Good day, ma’am. I appreciate your taking the time to see me,” he murmured with a note of sarcasm as he bowed to her.
She returned no response but watched indifferently as he stalked from the room. When he was gone, however, a grin stretched her generous mouth and a gurgle of laughter escaped her. Stuffy sort of fellow, she thought, and it surprised her that Pen should have such a friend of no recent acquaintance. Although Sir Penrith was ten years her elder, she had known him well some years ago, being the same age as his sister Maria. Dropping onto one of the gold satin chairs, she sighed. Five years ago she had known most of the gentry in the neighborhood well.
The door opened quietly and a teenage boy stepped into the room. “Is something the matter, Selina?” There was the merest trace of a limp as he crossed the colorful carpet to seat himself beside her.
“Heavens no, Henry.” Her rich laughter escaped once again. “I have had a call from a guest of Sir Penrith’s. A very stiff sort of person named Rushton. First he mistook me for my own companion, and then he was miffed that I would not sell the land in the vale to him. I suppose he is a suitor of Cassandra’s, though she seems a bit young for him. He must be all of Pen’s age, and what he would do with a merry little soul like Cassandra is beyond me. I can see them now at the breakfast table.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she enacted the scene. “Cassandra would be dressed in a round dress of jaconet muslin over a pale peach-colored sarsnet slip, made high with a triple fall of lace at the throat. A pure vision of the shepherdess with a leghorn hat (with a wide brim, of course) swinging in her hand. She would say, “Oh, Mr. Rushton, it is the loveliest day! We must certainly walk in the park, for every bird on the estate is singing the sweetest song.’ And he would grunt at her, ‘My dear Mrs. Rushton, can you not see that the day is fine for shooting? Birds! Yes, of course, there are birds. I shall bag any number of them in two or three hours.’”
“You are absurd, Selina,” the boy chuckled. “Did Sir Penrith tell him you would consider selling the land?”
“No, I don’t think so. Actually, I think it was rather a joke of Pen’s. Mr. Rushton arrived obviously believing that Miss Easterly-Cummings was an aged lady.”
“And so you are, my dear cousin,” he retorted, flipping the cap off her head. “Who would believe you were three and twenty when you insist on wearing that hideous item. You know, Selina, you cannot hide your light under
that
bushel. You are an extremely handsome girl,” he remarked gallantly.
“Silly child!” she returned as she reached down to retrieve the ugly cap. “What does a sixteen-year-old know of feminine beauty? You can hardly brush your own hair!”
“Now that’s doing it a bit too brown, Selina.” He grimaced as she carefully restored the cap to her brown curls. “Do you have any special reason for not selling the land?”
A flicker of caution passed over her eyes but he did not notice. “I have no need to sell it, and it’s rather a charming spot, don’t you think? Where else would we go for our picnics?”
“Dozens of places, I dare say, but it
is
nice. Did this fellow wish to build a house there?”
“A hunting-box. He’s been riding with the Quorn, I take it, and thought to provide himself with a small residence in the area. That may all have been a diddle, of course. Perhaps he simply wishes to offer Cassandra a house not so far away from Oak Park. He mentioned that his home was in Suffolk.” She glanced at the case-clock in the corner and lifted a brow inquisitively. “Have you finished the Homer already?”
“Well, no. The thing is, I feel a little restless this morning, Selina. Thought I might ride out for a bit. Would you like to come?”
“The snow...” she began hesitantly and then smiled at him. “Yes, Henry, of all things, I would like a ride.”
Mr. Rushton left Shalbrook in rather a dudgeon. Of course, the young lady had every right not to sell her land if she did not want to, but she could at least have been pleasant about it. Perhaps explained why she wished to retain it, or at least excused her abruptness. Instead of following the road straight around to Oak Park, Rushton turned at the gates so that he could once more pass the vale. He halted the curricle and sat for some time gazing into the small valley between its two rounded hills. Right there in the clearing would be the ideal spot for his retreat. Surely that was a stream meandering through the property, partially hidden with snow-covered bushes as it now was. He could perfectly envision how the land would look in spring, the bare branches disappearing under the new growth of luscious green leaves, the meadows beyond as richly colored. But even now, under its cloak of snow, it was one of the most delightful spots he had laid eyes on. Drat the girl! What use had she for it, with all of her land on the other side of the road?
In summer the heat would shimmer around the hills on either side and flowers would decorate the borders of the woods. And surely in fall the maples would be aglow with color from that special sharpness in the air. Damn! It was all too real to picture a house in such a setting. He dropped his hands and allowed the chestnuts to move forward at a brisk pace. There must be some way to convince Miss Easterly-Cummings to sell the land.
Before searching out Sir Penrith, Rushton politely conveyed Miss Easterly-Cummings’ greetings to Lady Southwood and her daughter. The ladies were seated in the winter parlor, companionably chatting while they worked lace on large pillows.
Lady Southwood sighed. “Such a dear girl. A pity she does not go out in Society anymore, but there, I fear she has become a trifle…unusual in her dress. She and Maria were the greatest of friends many years ago, and certainly Selina showed no sign of such eccentricity then. Two hoydens they were, though,” she chuckled. “Forever following Penrith about when he had become far too conscious of his dignity to bear it. Many were the times when he would come stomping in to say, ‘Really, Mother, it is too much! Can you not keep better track of Maria and her friend? I was driving Miss Sotherby about the lanes near her home, and what should I find but the two of them up an apple tree giggling at us.’” Lady Southwood seemed to recall herself abruptly. “But that was years ago, Mr. Rushton, and I have no doubt my reminiscences are the greatest bore to you.”
“No, no, not at all,” he swiftly replied. “How old were the girls then?”
“Oh, I should think eight or ten, but it was years before they behaved properly,” she admitted with a rueful shake of her head. “And to think of Maria with two children of her own now.”
Cassandra turned her merry blue eyes from her mother to Mr. Rushton. “Does she wear that awful brown dress at home? And the religious-type cap?”
He laughed. “Yes, indeed, with a scarlet shawl and the sturdiest walking shoes I have laid eyes on, I promise you.”
“Well, that is going a bit far,” Cassandra said cryptically. “One would think that at least in her own home she might dress as she pleased.”
Her mother turned startled eyes to her. “Whatever do you mean, Cassandra?”
Confused, Miss Southwood waved an airy hand. “Not a thing, Mama. It is rather chilly weather for a muslin dress, though, is it not?”
“I dare say she has them in wool, too,” her mother replied shortly with a reproachful look at her youngest.
When no more information on Miss Easterly-Cummings appeared to be forthcoming, Mr. Rushton excused himself to find the master of the house. He had a few choice words to say to Sir Penrith.
Chapter Three
“I did not find it at all amusing to look such an idiot, my dear Pen,” Rushton explained to his friend, who was regarding him with innocent eyes. “At first I took Miss Easterly-Cummings for some sort of companion. After all, who would dream that an excessively wealthy young woman would dress as she does?”
“Did you think a companion would dress like that?”
“Frankly, I have not the least idea how companions dress, and I have no desire to learn. She was dowdy, Pen; no, more than that—she was absurd.”
“Well, I did hint that she was unusual, did I not?”
“You allowed me to think she was an old dragon,” Rushton said grimly. “What chance was I to have of buying her land after such a
faux pas?”
“You had no chance from the start, Gareth,” Sir Penrith told him patiently. “I tried to warn you. Benedict has been after the land for years to tie it in with his estates, and Selina will have none of it.”
“You did not precisely tell me that.”
“Well, perhaps not, but I told you it wasn’t for sale, didn’t I? You were not in a mood to listen to me yesterday, if I recall correctly.”
A wide grin eased the gloom of Mr. Rushton’s face. “So that is what you were paying me back for. I wondered about it most of the way home.” His face became serious as he stretched out his legs. “You must not think that I do not value your advice, my friend. I do. But in this matter I shall have to take my own counsel. Can you bear with me?”
“Why, of course. You know I have only your best interests at heart. We won’t discuss the matter again.”
“Thank you.” Rushton draped one leg over the other and stared thoughtfully at the grate. “What I
would
like your advice on is how to convince the eccentric Miss Easterly-Cummings to sell me that piece of land.”
“Devil take you, Gareth! I thought we had just established that she did not wish to sell the land.”
“True. She does not wish to sell it and she has no need to sell it. Now we have to decide how to convince her to sell it, all the same.”
“You know, I think your mind has snapped!”
“Not at all. I am set on having that piece of property. Tell me about Miss Easterly-Cummings. What does she do? Who lives in the house with her? Is she a recluse? Yesterday you called her the source of all good works in the neighborhood. What did you mean?”
Sir Penrith paced up and down the room for a while before speaking. “I won’t have you harass her, old fellow. She’s a family friend—my sister Maria’s boon companion, a few years back. And though Selina is an oddity these days, you should have seen her when she was younger. Sparkling with vitality, full of fun, dressed to the nines. Outshone anyone else in the area. A bit after her father died, all that changed. She stopped attending parties, very seldom came to call, stayed mostly at Shalbrook. But she is not inactive. Her interests simply seemed to alter. In many ways your assumption yesterday was correct. Oh, not that she lords it over the lesser folk and dispenses moral platitudes. Her father was active in the community— first to employ new methods of farming, supported the local charity school, saw that the indigent were employed on his estate, whether he really had work for them or not. Selina has taken over those responsibilities, and more.”
“I don’t suppose there was ever any question of her marrying, considering the way she dresses,” Rushton mused.
“Well, there you are wrong. Before her father died, she and young Benedict were thought to be planning a match of it. But Benedict had joined up and was off in the Peninsula. When he returned, nothing came of it, and that was a few years ago. Lord, she was the belle of all the assemblies when she was eighteen. If her father hadn’t died, she would probably have had a London Season, and I don’t doubt it would have been very successful. As to that, my mother offered to bring her out when the mourning period was past, but Selina refused.”
“And she lives alone in that mausoleum?”
“No, she has a young cousin living with her. A boy of fifteen or sixteen, I should think. No companion any longer, but an army of servants. She’s as good as her father was about seeing that there’s no one on the poor roles, and supplying aid to the needy and sick. I won’t have you harass her,” he repeated.
“I don’t harass girls,” Rushton said bitterly.
“I say,” Sir Penrith protested, “I didn’t mean that you would purposely do so. It’s just... well, Selina is not a neighborhood joke, or anything of that nature. She’s respected, you see, in spite of her..
.
oddities. Everyone sort of looks out for her. No, that is not precisely what I mean, because she’s perfectly capable of managing for herself.”
“She’s the good fairy hereabouts,” Rushton suggested.