“I shan’t, you may be sure. I am all too conscious of his condescension. Could we look out the coat right now?” he asked eagerly.
“If we want it to be ready for the morning, we shall have to.”
Refusing to give in to nervousness, Selina occupied herself with tasks about the house for the entire morning after Henry left. When her eyes tended to stray to the clock on the mantelpiece after luncheon, she assured herself that the pack had had a difficult time picking up a scent. As the hours crawled past, though, and the light began to fade from the sky, she could no longer keep still. It was possible that Henry had been invited to dine at Oak Park and had neglected to send her a message. Possible, but unlikely. Lady Southwood would not forget. Selina sent a message to the kitchen to put dinner back an hour. If Henry had not arrived by then, she would eat, if she could, but she would send a messenger to Oak Park to enquire, no matter how distressing it might be to her cousin to be checked on in such a way. She could not pay attention to her knitting for more than a few minutes at a time but jumped up frequently to gaze anxiously out the window.
It lacked but ten minutes to six when she heard the sounds of arrival in the drive. Tossing her handiwork carelessly on the spindle-legged table, she hastened from the room and out into the chilly hall, where no amount of fuel in the mammoth grate managed to alleviate the cold. McDonough, well aware of her anxiety (since he shared it), was already in the process of drawing back the heavy oak door. Up the stairs and across the terraces came Henry and Mr. Rushton, the former white-faced but grinning from ear to ear, the latter supporting his companion while they sang a sporting song incredibly off-key. Henry’s arm was in a sling.
The boy gazed up and saw his cousin in the well-lit hall. “Ho, Selina! Sorry to be so late. Took a while for the doctor to come.” He slurred his words as he spoke. “Famous day’s hunting! They gave me the brush!” He dug with his good hand in the pocket of the red hunting jacket and withdrew his trophy, waving it about delightedly.
Exercising the utmost control over her tongue, Selina replied, “You must have done very well. Congratulations. What has happened to your arm?”
“Broke it. A clean break, the doctor said. Should heal in a trice.” By now he stood before her, a trifle sheepish but defiantly proud as well. “Sir Penrith says I’m a bruising rider.”
“I hope you did not injure his horse when you had your accident.”
“Good God, no. Fact is, Selina, Sir Penrith said it was not in the least my fault. Practically everyone had trouble going in and out clever but Trafalgar was superb. Thing was, they must have been doing some draining on the other side, just where we landed, for there was a ling-filled trench under the snow. Trafalgar just sank right in and toppled over, but I got clear of him, all but my arm.”
Mr. Rushton took up the narrative at this point. “Your cousin maintained the greatest presence of mind, Miss Easterly-Cummings. He held onto the reins and had the horse on his feet in no time. Then he mounted and rode off as though nothing had happened.”
“You completed the run with a broken arm?” Selina asked faintly.
“Hardly hurt at all, my dear, and I had no need of my whip hand. Had no call to urge Trafalgar on. He’s mad for the hunt. Sir Penrith says I may ride him again if I like.” His speech had become more fuzzy as he stood talking and now he passed a hand over his face. “Had a bit of brandy before the doctor set my arm. I think I shall go lie down for a spell. If you will excuse me, Selina? Servant, Rushton.” With some difficulty, he executed an awkward bow and wandered toward the stone stairs.
Selina answered McDonough’s questioning look with a nod, and the butler moved forward to assist Henry in his dazed climb up the stairs. She did not say a word until they were out of sight, then she turned to Rushton. “I am in your debt for seeing him home, sir. Will you join me for dinner? Obviously Henry is in no condition to do so, and I don’t doubt you have missed yours at Oak Park.”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Easterly-Cummings, but please do not speak of any obligation. Sir Penrith and I are distressed that your cousin should have met with an accident his first time out, but I must say it does not seem to have daunted the lad. He is all eagerness to have another go.”
Rushton left unasked the question as to whether Henry’s cousin would allow him to repeat his day’s hunting, but Selina was uncomfortably aware of his curiosity. “I do hope he will wait until the arm is healed,” she replied as casually as she could while she led him to the dining hall, where she absently instructed that dinner might now be served. Rushton seated her at the head of the long table and took the only other place set, immediately to her right.
“Henry and I see no reason for formality at meals, and I would not like to have to shout all the way to the other end of the table. Our other meals we take in the breakfast parlor, which is more comfortable, but it would seem somehow untraditional to dine there, or to have a shorter table brought in, for that matter. This one was fashioned from trees on the estate some two hundred years ago.”
“Your family has lived here that long?” he asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes,” she answered negligently as a footman ladled soup into her bowl. ‘The Easterly family goes back to the original building of the house. Somewhere along the line there was only a female heir, and her husband adopted her name as well as his own. In 1473, I believe, though I would have to check in the muniment room. I have never been as concerned with my ancestry as I might, I fear.”
“And now there is only a female heir again.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Father was very sad about that. I mean, even if I had married, one could hardly expect a man to take on Easterly-Cummings-Something-or-Other. I suppose Henry or his children will inherit Shalbrook one day, but it is hardly likely that they will live here. He has an estate of his own in Derbyshire, near Chesterfield, which, though smaller, is a much more comfortable place. I cannot see anyone choosing to live at Shalbrook when they don’t have to endure damp walls, cold corridors and smoking chimneys, can you?”
“It’s picturesque. Perhaps the family will produce a romantic,” he suggested with a smile.
He had a charming smile, and Selina had rarely seen it before. For a moment she forgot what they had been discussing. “Well, we have no ghosts to offer, and a very uneventful history, but you may be right.” He was studying with fascination the dish placed before him and Selina could not repress a chuckle. “Those are
balons
of legs of fowls. We have a very inventive cook, Mr. Rushton. You need not try anything that does not appeal to you. There will be a goose-pie larded with bacon and a leg of veal marinaded with endive sauce. Sometimes I feed the most unusual dishes to the dog, just so they won’t go back untasted, you understand. But it’s difficult to keep a good cook for just the two of us, and I feel it is only fair to allow him to experiment now and again to keep his hand in.”
Selina laughed. “I have found it expedient to have the dog admitted only toward the end of the meal. Sometimes there is more than one dish which she would enjoy.” The corners of his mouth twitched and they shared an understanding glance. The task of entertaining him with light conversation did not seem burdensome afterwards, and when she would have excused herself after the sweet wines, he asked her permission to withdraw with her.
“Certainly. I shall have McDonough bring whatever you wish to the drawing room. We have a fine old Manzanilla.”
Chapter Six
Established in the gold drawing room, Rushton was hesitant to bring up the subject of the vale. The former restraint between them had been broken down over their shared meal, and it was easier than he had thought to ignore the outlandish clothing she wore and merely enjoy her companionship. There was no artifice to her, no airs of any sort. She did not seem in the least perturbed to have dined along with him; in fact he felt sure that the thought of proper chaperonage had never occurred to her. Accustomed as she was to her life with her cousin, such matters undoubtedly did not arise very often.
Selina watched as he poured himself a glass of Manzanilla, the fine, long hands carelessly accomplishing the simple task while he spoke of his home and the wines his father had laid down. He had a way of meeting her eyes even across the room that was unnerving, as though he could tell what she was thinking or feeling. His black hair gleamed in the candlelight and his height seemed exaggerated as he approached and took a seat near hers. Selina had decided at tea the previous day that if there was an interest between Mr. Rushton and Cassandra, they hid it extremely well. Though he was not perhaps as saturnine as she had originally imagined, she could not think them well suited, and curious as to his intentions in that direction she asked, “Will you be staying with Penrith long?”
“That depends on a number of things.” It was the opening he needed, and reluctantly he took advantage of it. “As I mentioned the other day, I would like to purchase a piece of land in the area and build a hunting-box. I was disappointed to learn that you are not interested in selling the vale, for I had rather set my mind on it. There must be a need for employment in the area, especially for the building crafts, and such a project would probably be welcome.”
“I’m sure it would, but there must be other parcels which would take your fancy.”
“No, I’ve seen nothing else. Penrith and I asked in Barton and Mr. Dodge informed us that not a bit of land is currently to be had in the area.”
“What a shame. As you say, there is a need for employment, especially in the building crafts. Sir Penrith’s stables last summer were a real boon to the neighborhood.”
“Yes, and I am sure the building of a house and stable would be even more welcome. I suspect that the hunting season provides miscellaneous jobs for any number of men, and they are thrown on the parish when the warmer weather comes. Has the vale some sentimental attachment for you?” His eyes, earnest and friendly, sought her own.
Selina looked away and shrugged. “Henry and I picnic there by the stream, but, no, there is no tradition attached to the land. It only recently came into the possession of the family, and is surrounded by Lord Benedict’s land.”
“So Penrith said. He also told me, after I had first talked to you, that Lord Benedict wished to purchase it, but you refused. Had he mentioned that when first I saw the vale I might not have allowed myself to become so enamored of it,” Rushton admitted wryly.
“Oh I doubt it,” Selina retorted. “We always want what we cannot have, and when we get it we find it does not live up to expectation.”
“I think you are mistaken in this instance, Miss Easterly-Cummings. The location is ideal, the land itself charming. I have envisioned it at each season of the year, and found nothing lacking. Would you not reconsider? New construction would be most beneficial to the neighborhood, and the permanent employment of a small staff would be an on-going reward.”
She found herself not immune to his warm smile or his earnestness. Just so would Henry try to wheedle a treat from her. But this was not her cousin; this was a stranger when all was said and done. Still, Rushton was right about the need for employment in the area. Useful new jobs were hard to come by in the pastoral setting of Leicestershire, and no matter how many she attempted to invent, there were never enough. Too many families were forced to leave the countryside to earn their bread in the mills of Birmingham and Leicester. The new steam factories, brass foundries, iron works and mines sucked in the desolate and drained them of any hope for more than survival. No craft apprenticeship, but an endless, mindless labor. No cottage, but an accumulation of squatters’ dwellings. Selina’s heart ached when she journeyed through the industrial towns where the children were soot-covered and sullen, often hungry and almost always illiterate.
“I begin to think there is no possibility of stemming the tide,” she replied, discouraged. “If there is work this year, there will probably be no work next year.”
“But you can never tell, can you? There would have been no work last year if Penrith had not rebuilt the stables. It is not inconceivable that next year one of the landowners will have a project. One year at a time, Miss Easterly-Cummings, is all anyone can hope for.” The intense blue eyes studied her gravely.
Selina nodded as she tugged the shawl closer about her shoulders. For the first time she became conscious that her being alone with a strange man might not be altogether proper. Not that she cared for such things, she scolded herself. After all, it was her own home and she might entertain whom she pleased. Well, not entertain, perhaps, but repay him for his kindness in restoring Henry to her. This was, as it were, an obligation. Selina stole a quick glance at her companion under the pretext of plumping up one of the pillows on the sofa where she sat. He rested casually in his chair, his eyes thoughtful and the black brows drawn into a slight frown, his fingers tapping lightly on his wineglass.
At length she said hesitantly, “I have never wished to sell the vale to Lord Benedict. My father would not sell it to his father, though he risked the loss of it on the turn of a card to spare himself a fight in the courts. If I were to sell the land to you, I would have to be offered first refusal in the event you were to resell it for any reason.”
Surprised, Rushton stared at her for a moment. “Of course I would offer you first refusal. Do you mean you will sell?”
“I suppose there is really no reason not to. Would you give me your word to employ men from the area, and not to import your own workers or craftsmen?”
“Wherever feasible, Miss Easterly-Cummings. You may not have all the necessary trades represented right here.”
“Possibly, but I would expect you to do your utmost before going elsewhere.”
“I have said I would.” He watched her warily now, afraid any misstep would unbalance their negotiations. “Had you given any thought to what the land is worth?”
“Lord Benedict has offered me, at various times, seven, eight and nine hundred pounds. There are only thirty acres, and a fair amount of it is wooded.”