Worth Lord of Reckoning (7 page)

“Papa decided against retrieving him—a younger son must be allowed his pride, according to the earl—though I think it broke his lordship’s heart, and then I was too busy marrying to go haring south on a goose chase.”

“Your only brother and heir is not a goose.”

“He acted like a goose.” So, apparently, had Hessian.

Her ladyship tactfully pretended to peruse a portrait of Hess’s mother hanging over the fireplace, one she’d seen dozens of times. The two bore a resemblance, something Hess noticed only now.

“Were you the soul of probity at age seventeen, Grampion?”

Yes, he had been, more fool him. He slipped her arm through his, because the time had come to gently herd her toward the door.

“I was seventeen, and that’s as much as I’ll admit. If I’m to heed Worth’s summons, a journey of two hundred miles will take some preparation. What have you heard from Lucas?”

She prattled on about her oldest son, spending a summer in the south between public school terms, and in her voice Hess heard pride, longing, and love. Not for the first time, Hess regretted the lack of children in his own household. Grampion was beautiful, the land graciously generous, the views spectacular.

But lonely. His only consolation was that Worth had no children either, no wife, no family about except a little niece who likely understood only French, and now Yolanda, a near adult and about as sunny-natured as a hurricane.

Still, Hess wouldn’t remain in the north, without niece or sister, while Worth had both, though neither would Hess go galloping south and solve all the family’s problems himself—again.

* * *

“Tell me about these Damuses,” Worth said as he settled onto the seat of the dog cart beside Mrs. Wyeth. Goliath—trained to drive as well as ride, like any proper mount of his breeding and dimensions—was in the traces, which had required loosening the harness by a few holes in all directions.

“The Damuses are not an old local family,” Mrs. Wyeth said as they clattered out of the coach yard. “She was a Dacey, and he’s the second son of a baronet in Dorset. Their holding was willed to him by a grandmother, and she brought a good settlement to the union, so they prosper.”

“With twelve children, that’s not all they do. How about the Hendersons? Have they leporine inclinations?”

“Leporine?”

“In the nature of a hare, similar to caprine, or vulpine, in the nature of a goat, or a fox, you know?”

“My Latin is rusty. The Hendersons are a young couple who moved here from Dorset when his cousin left the property for London. They’ve three boys yet, now that Linda has passed on. The land is good, but they haven’t been farming it for long, and it takes time to learn the way of a piece of ground.”

What manner of housekeeper was brought up on Latin?

Worth turned Goliath onto the lane. “Ground is just
there
. What do you mean, learn the way of it?”

“This field tends to get boggy in spring, but mostly in the one corner, so you might plant that corner later. That field is perfect for oats, but doesn’t do quite such a good job with barley. A particular irrigation ditch is always the first to back up when the leaves come off in the fall. That sort of thing.”

Agricultural land was like women then, full of idiosyncrasies and quirks. “How come you, a housekeeper, to know about
that sort of thing
?”

“I wasn’t always a housekeeper, Mr. Kettering. My father was responsible for a great many acres, and land doesn’t farm itself.”

So her father was likely a steward to some lord. Worth hoarded up that information the way some of his clients hoarded their denarii and sesterces.

“What do the Hendersons do well?”

“Her people are Irish on her mother’s side, which is part of the reason they left their home county.”

“We’re superstitious about third-generation Irish, are we?”

“I haven’t asked her for the particulars, but Mrs. Henderson can tat lace so delicate it hardly catches sunlight. Mr. Henderson has a magnificent sow by the name of William.”

“A sow named William, and my livelihood depends on such as these?”

“The boys named the pig, because she lets them ride her, so she’s in the way of a porcine charger.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to ride this great pig?”

“Don’t let me stop you, if that’s your inclination.”

He deserved that, and it was worth the insult to know Wyeth was enjoying herself. “Goliath would never bear the shame if I rode a pig. Is there a marker for the child’s resting place?”

She was silent for a moment, and Worth was pleased to have surprised her. He’d surprised himself, but he knew what it was to lose a family member, and to some people, a marker would be important.

“We’ll go by the church on the way over,” Wyeth said. “We can look.”

They found the grave but no marker, and the curate intimated none had been ordered. Worth drew the man aside, made arrangements for something befitting a girl child, and handed Wyeth back into the gig.

“How is it you know French, Wyeth?” He slapped the reins on Goliath’s shiny black rump before his housekeeper could remark his discussion with the curate.

“I had a good upbringing, and French is not a difficult language.”

A steward’s daughter might have a good upbringing, if her father served the nobility. “Where did you have this good upbringing?”

“Dorset.”

Dorset, from whence the beleaguered Hendersons hailed, though from Worth’s observation, they did not know they were beleaguered. The lady of the house had a sadness in her eyes, but she was much loved by her beamish young spouse and doted on her menfolk. Worth dutifully asked to see the magnificent sow and, while the boys rode her around the yard, inquired of Mr. Henderson if Mrs. Henderson might consider parting with some of the exquisite lace gracing their spotless cottage.

“Whyever would a grand fellow like yourself be in want of lace?”

“I’m not, personally, but I’m also not such a grand fellow that I’d pass up an opportunity to make a coin or two. Lace like that is becoming scarce, and all the fine ladies in Town will pay dearly for flounces, ruffles and mantillas. I know modistes and tailors who’d die for as much of that lace as they could get their hands on.”

“You’d buy Trudy’s lace?” Henderson was tall, rangy, blond and ruddy. He was also besotted with his round, red-haired Trudy, and appropriately protective of her.

“If you’re willing to part with your goods,” Worth said. “I’d take a commission, for arranging the London end of things, but there’d be coin for you and yours as well.”

William came to a halt, like any well-trained mount, then—with the two little boys bouncing happily on her back—trotted off in the direction of the chicken coop.

“Trude’s proud of that lace,” Henderson said. “We’ve shown the boys how to tat a little, too.”

“You know your lady best. Discuss it with her and send word of your decision. Seems a shame to keep work that fine a secret, though, and I could use the coin.”

Henderson looked him up and down, from his brilliantly white cravat to his shiny riding boots and all the Bond Street finery in between. “Takes a bit of the ready to trick yourself out like a swell.”

“More than a bit. Now, you’re a married fellow. What is the secret to politely prying two women apart when a man needs to be on his way?”

Henderson’s expression turned sympathetic. “Can’t be done. Trude gets to visiting in the churchyard, too, and the boys have walked halfway home before I get her in the cart.”

“Don’t suppose that pig knows how to drive?”

“The boys are working on it. They want to be famous throughout the shire for training the realm’s first draft pig.”

Worth complimented the boys on William’s accomplishments, scratched the pig’s hairy chin, and took his housekeeper by the elbow to remove her from the Hendersons’ front porch.

“Mrs. Henderson’s a genius with her lace, isn’t she?” he observed when he’d handed Wyeth up.

“The whole family can do work like that, but it’s hard on the eyes. We’d best hurry. Looks like we’re in for a squall.”

“Goliath is the steady sort, and he must live up to the standards set by that pig. He’ll get us home safe and sound. What did you ladies talk about?”

“The usual.” She pulled her shawl closer. The temperature, which had been summery warm, was dropping as the breeze picked up. “The boys are growing, the crops are coming along, she misses her Linda, but may be carrying again already.”

“The fences were not in the best repair, and I suspect one corner of the cottage roof leaks.” Though Henderson hadn’t mentioned either problem.

“Your steward will have a list of tenant repairs for you,” Wyeth said, eyeing the sky. “A short list, but he’ll want to show it to you before he spends any coin on maintenance.”

“I know this steward you mention. Mr. Reilly sends me reports each month almost as detailed as yours. Is the weather always so changeable here?”

“This is England, so yes.”

It might have been Worth’s imagination—or wishful thinking—but it seemed to him she bundled closer to his side.

“Your bonnet might get a soaking.” She likely had only the one. “May we impose on a neighbor along the way to the manor?”

“The Hendersons are the closest tenants, and the church is kept locked on weekdays.”

“To prevent felons from taking refuge?”

She made no reply, and from the south came a long, low rumble of thunder.

Worth gestured with his chin, because his hands were on the reins. “A covered bridge, about half a mile ahead. We’ll make it.”

Goliath gave them his best bound-for-home trot, and a gust of rain spattered down, but they made the covered bridge before the heavens opened up. To Worth’s surprise, his housekeeper’s gloved hand was manacled around his arm when he drew the horse up in the middle of the bridge.

“You are pale as a winding-sheet, Wyeth. Is your head paining you?” He set the brake and wrapped the reins, unwilling to move until she loosened her grip.

She slipped her hands to her lap. “I hate to be out in storms. When I was a girl, I saw a tree struck by lightning, a lovely old oak I’d been playing in an hour earlier. The tree went up in flames and became an ugly, charred skeleton. My brothers thought it wonderfully dramatic. I hated it. The tree had been refuge for me.”

“Brothers can be the worst.” He climbed down and came around to her side of the gig. She sat straight as a lamp post, clutching her shawl around her as if a winter gale rather than a summer storm threatened. “Get you down, Wyeth. The weather must have its fifteen minutes, and Henderson said the corn can use the rain. Tell me more of these disgraceful brothers.”

He lifted her from the seat before she could protest, then she stood beside him, looking pale and shivery, while he untied her bonnet and set it on the seat.

“The one I’m closest to is Grey, and he’s a good brother.”

Worth settled his coat around her shoulders. He liked the look of her in his clothes already, and this was only the second time he’d offered her his coat.

Fast work, though, even for him.

Chapter Four

“Tell me about your brother Grey,” Worth said, offering his arm to a woman who was not, after all, without a few human failings. “I have a perfectly useless brother in the north, and we’ve him to thank for Yolanda’s charming presence.”

“She is charming,” Wyeth said, sails filling, but then a loud crack of thunder sounded right overhead and she hunched into him.

“Silly woman,” Worth murmured, and his arms went around her without him thinking about it, the same as they might have gone around Avery after a nightmare. Then the rain was too loud on the roof to permit further conversation—or further endearments.

Wyeth stayed bundled against him, not quite shivering with cold, but twitchy with nerves. When the rain changed to hail, she tucked her nose against his neck and held on to him with gratifying tenacity, making no move to lecture or move off when Worth’s hand settled on the back of her head and stroked her hair.

He’d never quite appreciated the potential in rainy days before, nor the value of a horse who was blasé regarding the weather.

“I’m being ridiculous,” she said, when the rain slowed. “I can’t seem to let go of you, though.”

“You have a frightening association with storms like this, and I’m at least good for keeping off the chill.” He rested his chin on her hair, which smelled wonderfully of lavender and sunshine. “You were about to tell me of your brother.”

“Grey is older than I. He became head of the family quite young, and that’s a difficult role when a man has eight younger siblings and half-siblings.”

“You’re the oldest girl?”

“How did you know?”

“How else would you have learned how to command a regiment, hmm?”

“My mama died after my younger brother Will was born. When my step-mama came along, and all the little ones appeared, I enjoyed being the big sister.”

Little ones didn’t simply
appear.
“I’ve always wished I came from a large family,” Worth said, keeping an ear on the rain. “I have a brother and now a sister extant, and we have Avery. That’s it. While my brother and I are estranged, my sister and I are strangers.”