The Gentleman's Deception

by Tuft, Karen

  If the weather continued thus, they should make it to Stamford by the end of the day, and if Lucas was fantastically lucky, he would find his trunks still at the inn there, still waiting to be fetched by one of his father’s servants. He would be able to retrieve one of his smaller trunks and have additional clothes for the continued journey northward to Sleaford and then on to Primrose Farm. He would also be able to leave a note at Stamford for his family, explaining his unexpected detour and its resulting delay in his arrival at Alderwood.

  He gave Hector free rein to pick his way along the road. Hector was a good lad and had been with him in Spain. The one thing Lucas had insisted upon for himself when he and Anthony had returned from the Peninsula was that Hector return with them. He and Hector had ridden through a great deal of muddy terrain together the past few years—muddy terrain, scorching heat, freezing cold. For the first couple years Lucas had been in Spain, he’d marched. As a lowly enlisted man in the infantry, he’d not had the luxury of a horse as the officers and cavalry did.

  What a fool of a boy Lucas had been back then, to have impulsively enlisted in the army at the callow age of nineteen—and over a female, to boot.

  And yet, it was this very female who, even now, created a pit in Lucas’s stomach and whose presence at Alderwood was causing him to delay his return there. Ah, Isobel, he thought. He had faced the French with more readiness than he could muster for Alderwood at present.

  Their travel northward went smoothly and was uneventful, which was a relief after the storm and broken carriage wheel the day before. They were able to make it to Stamford by early evening, and on Lucas’s suggestion, they took rooms at the George, the owners having provided accommodations to the Viscount Thurlby and his family on many occasions over the years.

  “So good to see you back from the Peninsula safe and sound, Mr. Jennings!” Tom, the robust innkeeper, said upon their arrival. “And, of course, only the best rooms will do,” he added, motioning to his servants.

  As blessed fortune would have it, his trunks had arrived on the mail coach shortly after their own arrival in town. “I’ll be taking the small trunk with me, Tom,” he said to the innkeeper. “Can you arrange for the others to be taken to Alderwood? I’ll also be writing a letter to include with them.”

  “I’ll see it done, Mr. Jennings.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucas took his small trunk to his room. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to share his room with Mr. Drake tonight, as Tom had provided their lodgings for the evening at a nominal rate. It was always good to do agreeable business with the local aristocratic families, Tom had assured him. Lucas hadn’t felt inclined to argue the point. He was looking forward to sleeping in an actual bed tonight.

  He removed a sheet of foolscap from the writing desk in his room and picked up the quill, dipping it in the ink bottle while he pondered his words.

  Dear Mama, he began, for, of course, if he addressed the letter to his father, his mother would be at his heels, shaking her finger at him for not writing to her. His father, on the other hand, would merely expect his arrival to occur when he arrived—and would presume Lucas had a reasonable explanation for arriving whenever he did. So, “Dear Mama” it was.

  I look forward to seeing you and Father soon, as well as the rest of the family. Would that it were today, my dear! However, my services have been required elsewhere for a few more days.

  All my love and regard,

  Your son,

  Lucas

  As letters went, it was a pathetic specimen. Perhaps he should have explained his reason for delaying a bit more or made mention of each family member rather than refer to them collectively. But then he would have had to list Isobel, and that he would not do. The less he thought about her, the better.

  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of his supper. He thanked the serving girl, who bobbed a curtsy before leaving.

  Actually, the less he thought about his siblings altogether, the better off he’d be, he thought as he dug into the steaming pork pie on his plate. It would only serve to remind Lucas of his own lack of fortune and vocation. He loved his siblings and truly wanted to see them again; he didn’t begrudge any of them their accomplishments and happy lives.

  If only he could arrive at Alderwood with a sense of accomplishment himself.

  Chapter 9

  They should be nearing Primrose Farm if the directions Great-Aunt Mary’s solicitor had given Lavinia were correct. Anxiety was making her heart race and stealing her breath. They would be facing the truth of their future any moment now, and she was keyed up with anticipation. Lavinia had seen Lucas ride ahead of the carriage until he’d disappeared from view, undoubtedly looking for the private lane that led to the farm.

  Delia and Artie had managed to nod off during the carriage ride. It was amazing what a pair of old traveling theater veterans could sleep through. Hannah sat quietly to Lavinia’s left. They had visited many parts of England during their years together with the troupe, but they’d never traveled to Lincolnshire. Lavinia suspected it was due to her father’s efforts to avoid his family, thought he’d never said as much.

  She looked now at the landscape that surrounded them: flat, green, lush. Marshy. Fens, as they were called: low-lying flatlands requiring drainage and flood protection to keep the lands dry and arable. It was rich, promising soil, but Lavinia suddenly understood how little she knew about the place. It wasn’t quite the picture of genteel farm life she’d had in mind.

  This morning she’d decided to set aside her ill-fitting clothes and cap and dress as she intended to dress going forward as a member of the community. She’d chosen a traveling gown of deep blue, with a tiny straw bonnet trimmed in forget-me-nots—nothing at all fancy. And while the innkeeper had initially stumbled over his words, he’d been able to collect himself eventually, as had Mr. Grimes, although poor young Garrick had tripped in his attempt to put down the steps of the coach.

  Their overall reactions had been promising.

  Lucas had been momentarily stunned, even though he’d already seen her without her disguise. His eyes had traveled up and down her person, but then his eyes had met hers and he’d smiled with warm approval, indicating that he’d understood what she hadn’t verbalized—that she was neither hiding in disguise nor flaunting herself in her choice of dress. She was simply being Lavinia Fernley—whatever that meant.

  She wished she had a better idea of who Lavinia Fernley was, in truth.

  Through the window, she could see Lucas riding back toward them and hailing Mr. Grimes. The coach slowed until it rattled to a stop.

  A knot formed in her stomach. She pushed the window open and leaned out until she could see Lucas, who was in discussion with Mr. Grimes. “What is it?” she called. “Did you find Primrose Farm, Lucas?”

  He ended the discussion with Mr. Grimes and approached her window, his face blank. “Yes, I have located Primrose Farm, Lavinia,” he said in a low voice intended for her ears only. “It isn’t far, but I would speak to you privately before we arrive there.”

  “What’s going on?” Delia asked, blinking as she awoke. “Have we arrived?”

  “Dozed off there for a bit, I suppose,” Artie said, stretching. “What news have we?”

  “Lucas says we’re nearly there,” Lavinia answered in a cheery, matter-of-fact tone. She would not have the others sense her anxiety for the world. “I’m going outside to speak with him. It might be a nice opportunity to stretch your legs while I do.”

  “If we’re that close, I’m inclined to think our legs can wait a while longer,” Artie said. “What say you, Delia?”

  Delia had covered her mouth with her handkerchief to stifle a yawn. “I believe I’m quite cozy at the moment, thank you, Artie.”

  “As you wish,” Lavinia replied. The door opened, and Lucas held out his hand to assist her down. “We’ll return shortly,” she said, hoping she sounded more reassuring than she felt.

  “You go on, dearie,” Hannah said
. “We’ll be fine here.”

  Lavinia smiled in thanks before turning to place her hand in Lucas’s, certain Hannah had sensed something amiss just as Lavinia had and grateful she hadn’t said anything to alarm Delia and Artie.

  Lucas led her to an old post at the side of the road where he’d tied Hector. “I’m taking you to see it before the others do, Lavinia.” He grabbed the reins and swung onto his horse. “Place your foot on my boot.”

  “Tell me what’s going on first.”

  He looked off in the distance and then returned his gaze to hers. “I’m afraid it isn’t the idyllic place you and the others were counting on,” Lucas said. “Although there is a farmhouse, of sorts.”

  The knot in her stomach grew. “Is it that bad, Lucas? Truly?”

  “Put your foot on my boot, Lavinia,” he said gently.

  She complied, and Lucas lifted her easily to sit in front of him. “Hold on,” he said, one of his arms coming around her to hold her in place. He urged the horse forward, and they rode for what Lavinia figured to be about a quarter of a mile before they stopped. There, on the side of the rode, was a weatherworn sign coming off its post with faded letters that read “Primrose Farm.” She looked around for any sign of a farmhouse, but there was none.

  Lucas clicked his tongue, urging Hector down a lane nearly hidden from the road by the surrounding overgrowth of sedge and grasses toward a small rise, shrouded in tall shrubbery and trees. As they neared the top, a derelict two-story brick structure came into view. Slates were missing from parts of the roof, leaving great gaping holes, and several windows were broken. The exterior was as weather-beaten as the sign that had led them here, its shutters and door in dire need of paint.

  They made their way to the front of the building, and Lavinia saw that the door was, in fact, hanging from its hinges. Her sinking spirits plummeted into the vicinity of her toes. She and the others couldn’t stay here even for a single night in order to allow Lavinia time to come up with an alternate plan for them all.

  Lucas dismounted and put his hands on Lavinia’s waist to help her down. She didn’t look at him—couldn’t, or she would break down completely.

  The coach arrived much too soon and came to a lumbering halt behind them. “Oh dear,” she heard Delia say. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

  Hannah and Delia had descended from the coach, and they were both staring at the farmhouse in dismay, but poor Delia was shaking her head in disbelief, a hand clutched at her heart. Lavinia watched as her knees began to buckle beneath her. Mr. Grimes dashed over and caught her before she crumpled to the ground. Artie sprang from the coach at Delia’s cries, stumbling, nearly falling before catching sight of the decrepit farmhouse and crashing to a halt.

  Lavinia stood, the tableau unfolding around her as though she were in a play, her head buzzing. Her dear elderly friends’ faces were contorted by shock, but Lavinia could only watch. She couldn’t move a muscle.

  She’d thought she had the solution for them all, but instead, she’d led them out of London toward . . . nothing.

  Oh, what horrible predicament had she created for her poor friends? Here they were, in the middle of nowhere, facing a sodden farm as their only means of living. The dilapidated building didn’t even have the dignity of being a house anymore. It appeared to have been converted into some sort of outbuilding intended for use by the farm laborers employed here—except there hadn’t been any farm laborers for years, by the look of things.

  Mr. Grimes led Delia to a fallen log, and she sat, ghostlike, her eyes closed, her face ashen while Hannah fanned her and Artie alternately paced about and patted Delia’s hand, murmuring words of reassurance.

  Lavinia rested her forehead against Lucas’s chest, barely aware that at some point, she’d clutched his lapels like a lifeline. His hands were still on her waist. She might have collapsed if not for that.

  “It’s a sorry sight, and that’s a fact,” Hannah said from her position by Delia.

  What an understatement, Lavinia thought.

  Letting down Hannah was the worst part of it. Steady, reliable Hannah, who’d taken care of her for as long as Lavinia could remember. She’d been the constant in Lavinia’s life. Hannah had changed her nappies and fed her and kept her safely away from her father’s bawdy women and his drunken fits of temper and had comforted her when he’d died. Hannah, who’d sewn Lavinia’s clothes and welcomed Artie and Delia when Lavinia had learned the troupe manager planned to sack them.

  Hannah had always given Lavinia the sturdy support she’d needed. And Lavinia had failed her.

  “Courage, Lavinia,” Lucas whispered to her, his hands moving to her shoulders. “You are strong, and you will rise above this challenge. Of that I have no doubt.”

  “Oh, Lucas,” she said with a sigh.

  “Ho, there,” a voice called out. Lucas’s hands dropped away, and Lavinia saw a man on an old nag a ways off, waving his cap in the air as he approached.

  Lucas waved in acknowledgment, which was just as well since Lavinia, despite having acted on and offstage her entire life, wasn’t sure she could rein in her emotions and respond in a normal fashion.

  “Don’t get many visitors out this way,” the man said, dismounting. “Got me curious-like when I saw the coach here back on the road. Thought I’d see if I could be of service. Name’s Allard.”

  “Lucas Jennings, Mr. Allard, and this is Miss Lavinia Fernley,” Lucas said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.

  Lavinia smoothed her expression as best she could and turned to face Mr. Allard, extending her hand to him as well, despite the gloom that threatened to swallow her whole. “How do you do, Mr. Allard? I’m the new owner of Primrose Farm.”

  “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, ma’am,” Mr. Allard said, removing his hat and bowing over her hand.

  He was being utterly respectful toward her without the typical reaction she was so accustomed to. It was surprising and a relief. “I was recently informed I inherited Primrose Farm from my late great-aunt,” Lavinia said, pressing forward. “A Miss Martha Harrison, my grandmother’s sister.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Allard, we arrived here under the assumption that Primrose Farm was a working farm, not a derelict,” Lucas added.

  “Aye, that it was. Two hundred acres and a good piece of land, too, when it’s drained proper-like,” Mr. Allard said. “Been a few years though.” He scratched his bristled chin in thought. “Five or six, I’m thinking.”

  Two hundred acres? And it hadn’t been worked in that long a time? Lavinia didn’t remember the solicitor mentioning its size or its condition in his letter to her. He’d been negligent in that regard, to say the least—not that Lavinia had thought to ask. But then, since it had apparently taken the solicitor time to find her father and then three more years after that to locate Lavinia after her father’s passing, she supposed the man had tired of the whole business and had simply been glad to be done with it.

  “Jennings, eh?” Mr. Allard said, turning his attention deliberately from Lavinia to Lucas. “There be Jennings hereabout, family of the Viscount Thurlby. You any relation?”

  “His son, actually.”

  “Ah, well, ahem.” He tugged deferentially at his forelock again. “Don’t know the viscount personally, o’ course. Fine family. Well respected hereabouts.”

  “Good to hear it,” Lucas replied.

  “Mr. Allard,” Lavinia said, beginning to feel steadier. “What more can you tell us about Primrose Farm? Why was it left to decay in this manner? I can’t imagine an elderly woman such as my great-aunt would have managed the farm on her own. She must have had a man of business. Why would that have ended upon her death?”

  “Don’t know the particulars, ma’am,” Allard said. “What I heard tell was there was a falling out between what parties was involved, if you catch my meaning. People what worked the farm needed their income, and when the old lady died, the wages stopped, so they left. Couldn’t legally work the farm and keep the profits, you
know. And that was that. Sad, it was.”

  Why had Lavinia thought that Primrose Farm would be an idyllic cottage with a bit a land for growing vegetables? She hadn’t even considered that the farm was more of a commercial entity than a family farm. Her education in these matters was sorely lacking.

  She was a landowner with two hundred acres to her name—good heavens!—except the land had to be reclaimed and cultivated and the house restored, and the physical labor resources at her disposal included two retired thespians and a middle-aged seamstress and herself. She wasn’t afraid of work, but she could hardly undertake all this on her own.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. I’m off to see the wife,” Mr. Allard said. “Time for luncheon, and then I’m back to work. You’re welcome to come along, if you like. The missus is a good cook, and kind.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Allard, perhaps another time,” Lavinia said, smiling and offering her hand again. “I’m sure we shall be great neighbors. In the meantime, my friends and I have plans that need to be made.”

  “Understood.” He secured his cap on his head and walked over to remount his nag of a horse. “The missus and me are just down the way a bit and to the left, if you should need anything at all.”

  Lavinia had a sudden thought. “Mr. Allard, before you go . . .”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Tell me about the people who worked the farm. Did you happen to be one of them?”

  “Aye, ma’am,” he replied. “Was foreman, in fact. I was fortunate to get on at a neighboring farm when things took a turn for the worse here. Others wasn’t so lucky. Some has moved away. Others is making do.” He coughed and looked away.

  Lavinia was beginning to understand. “And by making do, are you suggesting they farmed some of my land in order to get by?”

  “Won’t say yes or no to that, ma’am, begging your pardon. They be good folks what was left in a bad way, is all.”