Anne Barbour (22 page)

She had promised herself an analytical review of the day’s events, but no sooner had her head snuggled into her pillow than she sank into a dreamless sleep, unbroken until the sun’s rays called her to another day.

She stood uncertainly before her wardrobe. Ordinarily, she would have slipped into her working garb of shirt and breeches for a brisk morning ride. Exercising the horses was the most pleasant of her chores, and although Jonah would not allow her to mount any of the big geldings or either of their two stallions, there were several young mares that suited her well.

But today was promised to Glenraven, although, she reflected, he would certainly not require her presence before breakfast. The matter decided to her satisfaction, she strode, breeched and coated, into the kitchen some minutes later, only to be confronted by Aunt Augusta. That lady, who had long since given up pointing out to her niece the error of her ways in dressing in such a scandalous fashion, merely pursed her lips in disapproval.

“I suppose you’re going out on horseback,” she murmured stiffly, and at Claudia’s unrepentant nod, she sniffed. “I thought you were to be occupied with his lordship this morning.”

“Yes, but not until later. I thought—”

“Good morning, ladies.” Claudia whirled at the sound of a voice from the doorway. It was Jem, of course, dressed in his familiar stable garb. Catching Claudia’s glance, he glanced down at himself and smiled ruefully. “I feel a little like Cinderella, sent back to the cinder heap.”

“But of course, my lord,” said Miss Melksham with some asperity. “You have naturally not had time to acquire a wardrobe suitable for your station. You will no doubt be going into Gloucester at your earliest opportunity to remedy this situation.”

“Actually, I have a portmanteau full of clothing”—he sent Miss Melksham a mischievous look—”suitable for my situation. It should be arriving with Lucas in a few days. In the meantime, I don’t imagine we will be receiving many visitors. Nor do I plan on making any duty calls,” he added.

“The news will spread quickly, I should imagine,” Miss Melksham replied. “I would not be surprised if the vicar will be calling today—or tomorrow at the latest. He is always hot on the scent of the latest gossip, using his duty as an excuse to nose out its trail.”

Jem sighed. He had known that becoming master of Ravencroft would involve more than just running the estate. In his father’s day, when things had been going well, there had been much coming and going between the other houses in the area. He could hardly remember their names now, but he was aware that he would be obliged to renew acquaintance with his neighbors.

Claudia, observing him, felt she could almost read his thoughts. It would not be long before he took his place as a leader in the county. And even before that, the matchmaking mamas would be at him. Claudia could think of at least three eligible misses living in the immediate vicinity. A coldness settled in her stomach, which she tried unsuccessfully to relieve by picturing herself far from Ravencroft, mistress once again of her own modest estate.

“What?” she asked blankly, aware that Jem was speaking to her.

“If we are to go riding, we’d best be on our way.”

“Riding!” exclaimed Claudia, “But, I thought you did not—”

“I said it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a horse. When I was a child, I rode constantly, however, and I am hoping that it’s one of those things that once learned, are never forgotten.” Placing a hand under her arm, he propelled Claudia toward the door, and, though she knew this was not a good idea, she allowed herself to be swept along, unresisting. At the door, she turned to Miss Melksham.

“I almost forgot, Aunt. Would you speak to one of the housemaids for me?” She described the unexplained liveliness of her furniture, and though she raised her eyebrows, Miss Melksham said only, “How very odd, to be sure,” and agreed to look into the matter.

Jem’s theory on learned activities proved to be correct. Claudia watched with trepidation and some amusement as he climbed awkwardly aboard a mount chosen for him by Jonah, but after a few cautious turns about the stable yard, he seemed to come to terms with the spirited gelding and motioned Claudia to lead the way along a worn path leading toward the fields of the home farm.

Claudia pointed to fields of ripening grain, rippling like a golden sea in the breeze. “We anticipate a good crop this year,” she said.

Jem nodded abstractedly. “And the tenants? With so much of the land sold off, do you have enough laborers for the harvest?”

“Oh yes. Most of the land I sold to Squire Foster was pasture. I was forced to let some of the arable land go, but no, you will find that most of the tenant families who served your father are still working Ravencroft land.”

Jem smiled. “That’s good news. I daresay I won’t know any of the families, but—wait, then. I wonder if Will Putnam is still about.”

“Why, yes. His wife just had a baby not two months ago. It was their fifth. Will must be—what, five years older than you?”

“Mm—just about. He was kind to me when I was a boy. He knew all the best fishing spots and all the most promising coverts. It was much beneath his dignity, of course, he being in his teens when I was just a grubby brat, but he knew I had no one my own age to be with, so he was patient.”

Claudia laughed. “I can well imagine. He’s a wonderful husband and father.”

Jem glanced at her curiously. “Are you so well acquainted with all the tenants then?”

“Oh yes. I visit frequently and always enjoy a good chat. I have learned a great deal about estate management from them.”

“Have you, indeed?” Jem was silent for a moment. “I guess Father did, too, come to think of it. I have missed a great deal in being away.”

Unthinking, Claudia drew her mount near and placed her hand on his arm. “Yes, you did, Jem, and I wish with all my heart that Emanuel Carstairs had never entered the lives of your family. I—I hope he is burning in hell even as we speak.”

At once ashamed at the vehemence of her speech and the intimacy of the contact she had just instituted, she drew her hand away abruptly and cantered ahead, up along a slight rise. When Jem caught up, she gestured to the distant pastures, visible from their vantage point.

“Most of what you see still belongs to you, but beyond that ridge of oaks—all that now belongs to Squire Foster.”

“Yes, that’s what I gathered from what Jonah said. I see you have sheep grazing there now.”

“Only about half the number there should be, I’m afraid. I have spent most of the estate profits in the horse business,
you
see.” She looked at him anxiously. “I felt I had a chance
of success there, with Jonah to advise me.”

Jem twisted in his saddle to look at her straightly. “I hope that was not said as an apology,” he said, his tone serious.
“For
you have nothing whatsoever to apologize for.”

She stiffened. “I know that, but—”

“It may be that not every one of your decisions was wise, but who among us can say we always choose rightly. Whatever goal you elected to pursue was chosen with care and intelligence, Claudia, and a love for this land. For that, I shall always be grateful to you, and I shall never second-guess what you have done.”

Once more Claudia felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, and she nodded a wordless thank you. Swinging about, she pointed out in the most prosaic tone of voice she could manage that it was time they returned home.

“But we have been out for less than an hour,” said Jem. “I had hoped to look at the tenants’ cottages.”

Claudia, however, felt she had spent quite enough time alone in his lordship’s company for the moment. It was not so much that she did not trust Jem, she concluded in some irritation. It was her own emotions that were proving traitorous.

“We have much to do today, my lord,” she said stiffly, and turned her mount toward the manor house.

“That’s another thing,” said Jem. “If you are to complete every sentence with ‘my lord,’ you are going to drive me into a megrim. I am unused to being called anything but Jem. Could you not manage that?” His smile was warm and winning, and it wreaked havoc with her interior.

“I think not, my lord,” she said stiffly. “That is how you should be addressed, and you must become used to it.”

“But, I refuse to become used to it,” Jem replied in a tone of utmost reason. “You have already called me Jem once or twice.”

“That was wrong of me. I was not thinking.”

He grinned. “Just as I thought—you do entirely too much thinking.” When the expected smile at this sally did not appear, he continued. “When we are alone, I do not see why we cannot call each other Jem and Claudia.”

“But we shall be spending little time alone with each other,” pointed out Claudia in a chill little voice.

At this, Jem looked somewhat taken aback, and stared at her for several seconds before replying.

“Yes, that’s true,” he said detachedly, and abruptly wheeled his mount about. Claudia gazed after him for a moment, feeling oddly forlorn, before moving to follow him.

Upon returning to the stable yard, Claudia dismounted quickly.

“My lo—sir, shall I wait upon you in the study after breakfast?”

“That would be agreeable, Mrs. Carstairs.” Jem bowed stiffly. “I shall see you in the breakfast parlor.”

Claudia hesitated. “I was not planning to eat there, my—sir. It is not appropriate that I take my meals with you any longer. I am your employee, after all.”

Jem sighed gustily. “Am I to have the same difficulty I had with your aunt?” He drew breath to continue, but observing the mulish set of her mouth, he capitulated with suspicious good grace. “Very well, I will accept your argument—for the time being. But, you are not my employee yet. Today you are still my guest, who is about to turn over the reins of Ravencroft—but has not yet done so.”

Claudia opened her mouth.

“That being the case,” continued Jem in somewhat of a rush, “it is entirely proper for you to breakfast with me, since if I am not mistaken, your aunt will be joining us.”

Claudia closed her mouth. She inclined her head, feeling remarkably foolish as she did so, and swept off toward the house with as much dignity as her trousers and slouch hat could afford.

On reaching her room, she found a housemaid there, industriously polishing the windows. Glancing about, she saw that her furniture had been restored to its proper arrangement.

“Thank you, Pritchert,” she said, smiling. “I find I am such a creature of habit that I do not function well unless everything in my chamber is as it should be.”

The little maid bobbed a curtsy, but stared blankly at her.

“The tables and chairs.” At Pritchert’s continued puzzlement, she continued. ‘Thank you for putting them back where they belonged.”

Pritchert shifted her stare to the items indicated, then back to Claudia. “Put them back, mum? I—I didn’t do nothing to them. They was in place when I come in. Did you want them moved?”

“That’s just it, they weren’t in place,” replied Claudia, beginning to feel somewhat awkward. “They had been moved, but now they are back where they should be. I assumed it was you who did it—moved them, that is, and that you had now ...” She stopped in the face of the growing bewilderment on the girl’s face. “Never mind, Pritchert. If you’ve finished here, you may go now.”

The maid, with a single backward glance of puzzlement, whisked herself from the room. Claudia sat herself in a chair and looked about her. “How very odd,” she said, echoing her aunt’s words earlier. She pondered the matter for some moments before deciding the explanation was quite simple, really. One of the other maids must have rearranged the furniture and, realizing her mistake—or having been told about it by Aunt Gussie—had crept in earlier to make things right.

Still, she felt oddly unsettled as she shed her work clothes. Shrugging, she put the matter from her mind and bent her thoughts to choosing a morning gown. She told herself that the fact that she would be dining with Lord Glenraven had nothing to do with her choice of a daffodil cambric that she had been told matched her hair. It was trimmed with lace and a silk ribbon of a light amber, that her mirror told her matched her eyes. Threading a ribbon of like color through curls teased into an artful curve, she hurried from the room, giving no more thought to her wandering furniture.

She found Lord Glenraven already at breakfast with her aunt. Pouring herself a cup of coffee from the urn on the buffet, she selected toast and jam before joining them at a small table that overlooked the east garden.

Miss Melksham beamed at her niece. “His lordship was just—” she began, but Jem held up his hand.

“I really think I must get this my lord and your lordship settled. Since both of you seem so adamant against using my Christian name—which, I must say I always thought extremely, er, acceptable—I propose that you call me Glenraven. That still sounds a bit toplofty to me, but it’s better than the other. Agreed?”

Two pairs of eyes stared unwinking at him for several moments before turning to each other. Miss Melksham raised her brows in silent question, and Claudia finally nodded in unspoken agreement.

“Very well then.” Miss Melksham began again. “Glenraven was just asking what I thought it might take to bring the garden back.” She gestured to the scene outside, which, though its former beauty could be discerned, had dwindled to a few dispirited rosebushes, fighting a losing battle with the weeds that grew sturdier every year.

“Why,” responded Claudia coolly, “if several men were set to work now, I think you might see a vast improvement by next season. Do you have the means for this?” Her aunt gasped, and she knew her question had been embarrassingly farouche, but her curiosity about Lord Glenraven’s vague promises to restore Ravencroft had been of great concern to her.

“Yes,” replied Jem with an appreciative grin. “I think my funds might stretch to a few gardeners—and a clutch of housemaids and footmen, too. In fact, after we have had our discussion, I shall see about hiring additional hands in the stables, and for farming, as well. And we must not forget the sheep. The flock, as you say, needs rebuilding.”