The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (18 page)

The moment Cecelia heard the door close signaling that Davis had left Rand’s dressing room she swallowed hard, squared her shoulders and marched through her bed chamber to the sitting room where she knocked on Rand’s door.
    “Come in.”
    She pushed the door open. Rand stood at the window staring out at the darkened landscape. "You can see so clearly tonight. It’s amazing.” He turned to her with a concerned expression on his face. He was wearing a silk red and black striped dressing gown. His hair was combed back from his forehead. “Is your headache better?”
    His words barely registered. She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to sleep.” The words came out brokenly and to her horror she realized that she was close to tears. Again.
    He held out his hand. “Come here, brat.” To her even greater horror, the tears spilled over and onto her cheeks.
    When she didn’t move, he went to her. “What’s this about?” He tipped her chin and wiped her tear streaked face with the sash of his dressing gown.
    “I want you to stop calling me brat.”
    “You’re crying because I called you brat?”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    “I suppose it’s Lady Sheraton, then.”
    She bit her lip and then shrugged. “I feel so stupid. I usually don’t cry and I don’t even know why I’m crying.” She sniffed. “And I still don’t know where to sleep.”
    He bent over and kissed the tip of her nose. “I would be honored if you would share my bed. Tonight. And every night you care to do so.”

She hiccupped and let out a long soft sigh. The tiny sound made him want to protect her. But from what? His reputation? Past lovers? It couldn’t be done. His arms went around her, his fingers threaded through the heavy wave of hair that fell down her back. She had taken him by surprise. Normally impulsive and headstrong, this suddenly vulnerability was completely unexpected and he wasn’t certain what to do about it. He led her to the bed and climbed in beside her, but instead of making love to her, he simply held her. He’d left his dressing gown on and for the moment it was enough to just lie there with his arms wrapped around her. And when her deep even breathing told him that she was asleep, he didn’t move away or change position. It was comforting to have her in his arms. He gently pressed his lips to the back of her head and was soon asleep.

C
ecelia woke in an empty bed to the sound of rain. It was a gentle rain, the pattering soft and rhythmic enough to lull her back to sleep. She stretched and yawned, luxuriating in the feel of the thick feather mattress beneath her. And then the first logical thought of the day came to her and she remembered that they were supposed to go riding. “Blast!” One always seemed to be at the mercy of the climate in England. Time and time again, plans were spoiled because of the rain. Pushing the hair back from her face, she sat up and reached for the bell pull. She plumped up her pillows and settled against them. What had gotten into her last night? Was it jealousy? The idea of her husband in bed with another woman, even if it had taken place years ago, was disturbing. But if that was the problem she had better give it up or she would spend the rest of her life in misery. She’d best take control of her thoughts and emotions. Soon. Scowling, she waited for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time and was about to ring again when Mattie burst in with a pot of tea and a plate of scones.
    “I’m so sorry, milady, but I got turned around,” she exclaimed. “This place is ever so big.” She flushed. “One of the footmen had to help me.”
    As the maid hadn’t had any problems finding her room last night and she seemed unusually flustered, Cecelia wondered if the footman who helped her had also caught her eye. “Just set the tray on the bed side table,” she directed. “And open the rest of the drapes please. It’s terribly dark in here.” The drapes were opened but between the rainy skies and dark furnishings, there wasn’t much improvement. “I must do something about this room,” she said. “It’s dreadful.”
    “Tis that,” Mattie agreed. Her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped. “Oh, I beg your pardon, milady. I spoke out of turn.”
    Cecelia snorted. “You usually do and I can’t recall it concerning you before now.”
    “But you’re Lady Clarendon, now. ‘Tisn’t right for me to be so familiar with you.”
    “I’m the same person I was two weeks ago.” She bit into a raspberry scone as Mattie went about laying out her silver comb, brush and wrapper. “How are Rosie, David and Ashley fairing this morning? Or dare I ask?”
    “Ashley caught several mice and seems ever so proud of ‘erself. Cook said the kitchen was in need of a good mouser so Ashley is in ‘er good graces. Last I saw, she was lapping up a saucer of cream. Rosie and David are still abed in the nursery with Ellie. She thought it best to let them sleep a bit longer than usual. She like to never got them t’ sleep. They wanted stories and drinks of water. Rosie said ‘er prayers twice ‘cause she kept forgetting who she wanted blessed.”
    “She was terribly wound up last night. I suppose it’s the excitement of being someplace new. Let Ellie know I’ll take them after lunch. We can spend a few hours exploring the house.”
    “Yes milady. I’ll see that ‘ot water’s brought up. Did you want a bath this morning?”
    Cecelia set her cup down and she stretched. “A bath would be lovely.”
    Twenty minutes later she stepped into a copper tub every bit as large as the one at Bryony Hall. She had missed the luxury of a long hot soak. The tub at Danfield House was much smaller and there wasn’t a team of footmen to carry up the hot water. Life at Fenton Abbey would have its advantages. Mattie had added scented bath salts to the water. A bar of French milled soap was on a table next to the tub. She slid down until her head was resting against the back of the tub and she was submerged up to her shoulders in rose scented water. She closed her eyes and murmured, “This is bliss.” She didn’t even open her eyes when she heard the door open and close.
    She heard a gasp from Mattie and then Rand’s voice. “Don’t fall asleep. I would hate for you to drown.” Her lids flew open. Her husband was grinning at her as he crossed the dressing room. He nodded at the maid. “Run along, Mattie. Lady Clarendon will ring when she needs you.”
    Wide-eyed she looked to Cecelia, who nodded her head. Then she dipped a quick curtsey and bolted from the room.
    “That girl of yours hasn’t grasped the notion that it’s perfectly acceptable for me to see you naked.”
    Cecelia eyed his dark blue coat, carefully tied cravat and fitted buckskins. His soft leather brown boots were trimmed with tassels. “Did you plan to join me? If so, you’re wearing far too many clothes.”
    He sat on the edge of the tub. “The idea is very tempting but I’m afraid there isn’t time. Whitley’s waiting for me downstairs. And don’t you dare splash me,” he warned.
    She grimaced. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
    He chuckled. “Frightening as it is, I’m beginning to understand how your mind works.”
    She scooped up a handful of water and let it run through her fingers. “That puts me at a distinct disadvantage. How will I ever be able to get anything past you?”
    “That’s the idea. You won’t.”
    Scowling, she grumbled, “Spoilsport. How long will your meeting take?”
    “I don’t know. All day I imagine. I suppose it’s just as well that it rained. I would have had to cry off our ride, anyway. I’m afraid, I had forgotten he would be here.”
    Her mouth fell open. “You would have called our outing off? But you promised!”
    “I’m very clever, Cecelia. By the time I was through, you would have thought it your idea and insisted that we postpone our ride.” He grinned at her. “Don’t look so incensed. If the weather cooperates we’ll go riding tomorrow. Do you have anything planned for today?”
    She propped her feet up on the edge of the tub and wiggled her toes. “Other than soaking in my bath until I’m as wrinkled as a prune?”
    “Wrinkled as a prune doesn’t sound very attractive.”
    She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Then I suppose I’ll have to find something to do. Actually, I thought I would spend some time exploring with Rosie and David.”
    He made a face. “Sounds dangerous.”
    She grinned. “I’m the adventurous sort.”
    “I know.”
    She sat up fully exposing both breasts as she lifted her hair away from her neck. “Since you sent Mattie away you should wash my hair for me. It’s too long to do by myself.”
    He averted his eyes. “You’re a conniving little temptress. You know very well that if I start washing your hair I’ll be done for. In fact, I should leave before I forget all about Whitley.” He rose to his feet.
    “Wait.”
    “Yes?”
    “I wanted to apologize. She hesitated.”I was foolish last night. I shouldn’t have made so much of it. I don’t know why I did.”
    He shrugged. “Forget about it. You were overtired. We both were. I’ll send Mattie back in.” He bent down, kissed her lightly on the lips and made for the door.

Rand’s initial meeting with Whitley had been at Bryony Hall. In-between seeing the house made ready for his bride, dealing with business matters and struggling to decipher the poorly kept accounts for the Clarendon estates kept by the previous steward he had managed to squeeze in an interview with Whitley. Whitley had come highly recommended. He was a small, wiry man whose weathered skin and callused palms bespoke a lifetime of hard work spent outdoors. His experience was impressive and after a lengthy interview Rand came to the conclusion that the recommendation was well justified. He had offered him an annual salary in excess of what most stewards would see, and Whitley had left for Devon the following morning. His first responsibility had been to evaluate the Devon and Cornwall properties and Rand was anxious to hear what he had to say. He greeted Whitley, who rose and tugged an obligatory forelock when he entered the office.
    Rand settled himself behind a large, heavy mahogany desk and said, “No reason to waste time dancing around the bad news. As near as I’ve been able to decipher, with the exception of the manor and surrounding parkland, the Clarendon estates in Devon are in sad shape. What can you tell me?”
    The steward ran his hand through his dark hair. He looked as if he had slept in his clothes. “Wish I could tell you different, milord, but you summed it up pretty well. You’ve four small farms still occupied but the rest have been abandoned. Can’t say the tenants who stayed were very happy to see me. Last steward wasn’t particularly well liked.” He chuckled. “One fella met me with a shot gun. Name’s Harold Trawley. It took some fast talking on my part to keep from having my head blown off. I told him you were a fair man and would set things right. That seemed to help, though I’m not sure he believed me. He claimed he’d been paying up until about a year ago. Wiped him out. Other tenants say ‘bout the same thing.”
    Rand frowned. “If I’m to believe the ledgers no one has paid as much as a farthing for the past three years. And before that the payments were spotty.”
    “I could be wrong, milord, but I believe the tenants. If they kept the rent I don’t know what they did with it. Merchants weren’t getting paid so they weren’t inclined to extend credit for seed and livestock. As a result, most of the fields went fallow. I saw kitchen gardens, a few chickens and a bit of livestock, but they’re likely to have a hard time feeding themselves much less take anything to market.”
    “I’ll take care of the merchants and see that credit is made available, first thing. What about the farms that were abandoned?”
    “They’re in a sorry state. Some of the buildings should be torn down. Most need major repairs.”
    The marquis nodded grimly.
    “Isn’t all bad, milord. This is good rich soil. Crops’ll grow. There’s no reason why the land won’t prosper. But you’ll need good equipment, good livestock and good people.”
    “When the weather clears a bit, I’ll make a call on the tenants.”
    “You might want to use some caution when you go. They don’t know you and the Marquis of Clarendon has black name at the moment. Don’t expect them to be too friendly. Not until they know they can trust you.”
    The marquis shrugged. “I’ll have to convince them.” He picked up a pencil and rapped it against the desk. “What’s next?”
    “That’s easy enough. Sheep. There’s plenty of land for grazing both here and Cornwall, but I’ve been able to round up less than two dozen sheep. The ninth Marquis of Clarendon sold off most of the livestock to pay his gambling debts. If he hadn’t been kicked in the head by an irate bull and died three weeks later he would have likely gambled away what funds remained.”
    “Thank God, for that,” Rand muttered with a look of disgust on his face. “Though it appears that those who followed didn’t do much better. At least the household funds were well managed. Winston and Mrs. Brice have done an exceptional job these past few years but without money coming in, it’s been difficult for them. We’ve got to get this estate producing and profitable. I’ll absorb the initial costs for what we need to start over.”
    The steward looked troubled. “It will take a great deal of money, milord.”
    “I have a great deal of money,” Rand said irritably. “Might as well put it where it can do some good.”
    Whitley cleared his throat. “Most of the tenants who left owe money to the Clarendon estates.”
    “I’ve no plans to track them down or send anyone to debtor’s prison,” Rand broke in shortly. “The circumstances are too muddled to make sense of. There may well be a few that deserve it, but I’ve more pressing concerns to deal with.”
    “Beggin’ your pardon, milord, but there might be a bit of grumbling from the local gentry if you allow the tenants to get away without punishment.”
    Whitley had no notion that he had touched on a sore subject. Rand leaned forward in his chair prepared to educate him on his position. “I was a businessman long before I was a marquis and I know from experience that my relationship with the people who work for me is far more important than making a bunch of bloody aristocrats happy. It isn’t a popular theory, but it’s how I handle things. My concern is with Clarendon, not the God-damned gentry. If my peers think I’m setting a bad example my they’ll have to live with it. I do things as I see fit.”
    Whitley blinked. “Of course. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”
    Rand reached for the bell pull and in less than a minute Winston had materialized. “We need coffee, a bottle of whiskey and cognac for now,” he instructed. “Serve luncheon in here at one. And please inform Lady Clarendon I’ll be occupied until dinnertime.”
    “Very good, my lord.” Winston bowed and left the room.
    Rand rummaged through the drawers until he found vellum and a knife to sharpen the quills in the inkstand. “Now.” He turned his attention back to Whitley. “Tell me everything you can about sheep.”