The Gentleman's Deception

by Tuft, Karen

  “I see. Well, you may tell them the new owner of Primrose Farm has arrived, and hopefully things will be changing soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that, and a good day to you.”

  Lavinia watched him until he disappeared from view, then turned determinedly and studied the farmhouse. She had saved up a goodly sum of money in London, but not enough to see to the monumental task of restoring Primrose Farm.

  She needed to think.

  The first issue that needed to be addressed was lodging. That meant inspecting the house more closely. Perhaps there was a room or two that was habitable in a rustic sort of way . . .

  She picked up her skirts and walked to the front door hanging precariously from its hinges. She could hear Lucas following behind her, his boots treading through the undergrowth.

  “Careful, Lavinia,” he said. “The house isn’t safe.”

  Have you ever been backstage at a theater? she almost replied before remembering that she hadn’t told him about their past yet. Backstage could be a chaotic place, with props and costumes here and there, furniture and set pieces stowed about. One grew used to such things.

  He moved in front of her and opened the door, bracing it against the inside wall, and Lavinia followed him into the farmhouse. She marveled at how easily he’d lifted the large, wooden door. She’d felt that strength when he’d lifted her on and off his horse and had held her while she’d regained her composure. She’d felt his inner strength too, when he’d encouraged her.

  Lavinia had never felt such strength, and to feel her burden lifted—even for that brief moment—had been as much of a solace to Lavinia as seeing the decrepit farmhouse had been a shock.

  She allowed herself the brief luxury of imagining Lucas’s strength as a permanent part of their lives—of her life. He was taller and broader than any man she’d ever met, and his utter maleness was apparent in his every breath and movement.

  He was also kind.

  Such thoughts would get her nowhere, however. She pulled her attention away from him and made herself focus on the situation around her.

  * * *

  Lucas surveyed the inside of the farmhouse, but his awareness was centered on Lavinia. His hands still tingled from the feel of her.

  He had asked the coachman to delay following them for a few minutes, but that hadn’t happened, much to Lucas’s consternation. It meant Lavinia had had to struggle with her own reactions to seeing the place at the same time she’d had to assure her little band of travelers. Mr. Allard’s arrival on the scene had been fortuitous, for he’d been able to answer at least a few of their questions.

  He had no idea what resources she had other than the farm itself, but he doubted she troubled Delia and Artie with such details. Hannah probably had a better idea, but even then, Lucas suspected Lavinia kept her deepest troubles from Hannah. She was going to need someone to help her assess her options, he suspected.

  Perhaps Lucas should be that someone.

  He had dealt with calamity many times. If he could bring Anthony back from near death during their time in Spain, if he could arrange temporary shelter and procure food for officers, if he could learn to be a valet, he could help Lavinia through this immediate problem somehow.

  Just inside the door was a moderately sized entry hall, with a stairway to the left leading upstairs. There was a good inch of dust and dirt everywhere—on the floor and covering each tread of the stairs that still remained in place. To the right was an open archway through which Lavinia passed and Lucas followed into what must have originally been the front parlor, although now it held only a battered, old desk and a toppled chair missing one of its legs, which was lying on the floor on the other side of the room. The windows were covered in grime, and one at the back of the room was broken, with only shards of glass hanging to its warped frame.

  Owing to the marshy environment hereabouts, there had been water seepage, and the floorboards and lower walls were gray with mold and other unseemly things that thrived in dampness.

  Lavinia exited the room, and Lucas followed. She said nothing, and he did nothing to disrupt the silence. He had nothing optimistic to say at the moment anyway.

  Behind the stairs was a corridor that led to the kitchen—or what had been a kitchen. It had a large stone fireplace built to accommodate roasting large joints of beef, although the chimney would need to be thoroughly cleaned before attempting to build any fire in it at all. A large work area made of hardwood stood under more grimy windows and seemed in salvageable condition, if one ignored the fact that it was covered in vermin droppings.

  He watched Lavinia lean over to peer through the windows; she was careful not to brush against the worktable or the droppings. Something had caught her eye, so he followed her gaze. Through the grime he was able to make out a large cistern used for collecting rainwater, the most reliable source of potable water here in the Fens.

  A door leading outside was still intact on its hinges. Lucas threw the bolt and opened it, then walked over to inspect the cistern. Surprisingly, it was in fairly good condition but was full of murky water. It would need to be emptied and cleaned. Tiles along the roof on this side of the house had been laid in such a manner that the rainwater drained in a path that funneled into the cistern.

  The farmhouse, with a little effort, could at least have water and fire available for setting up lodging. And this particular room had less rot along the foundation, which was more good news. An inspection of the entire foundation would be in order, but not today.

  “I suppose I must attempt the stairs if I am to inspect the upper floor,” Lavinia said, brushing at the dirt that had accumulated on her skirt during her inspection. Her gloves were dirty too.

  “The stairs are in poor condition, Lavinia,” Lucas said. “Let me inspect it for you.”

  “I won’t turn down an offer for you to join me, Lucas,” she replied. “But I intend on seeing everything for myself. I must, you see.”

  There was such earnestness in her voice. She was a determined woman who wouldn’t be put off when her mind was made up, and he admired her for it. Very well; she would attempt the stairs. He would lead the way, then, for safety’s sake. “I’ll go first. If the treads can support my weight, they’ll have no problem supporting yours.”

  “Excellent idea. Thank you, Lucas.”

  The first four treads were in solid condition, but the fifth tread was missing entirely, and the sixth was broken. Lucas easily stepped from the fourth to the seventh tread and then held out his hand to assist Lavinia.

  The confounded woman surprised him yet again. She yanked her skirts up to her knees, clutching them in one hand, and then set her other hand in his, exposing a pair of very nice legs Lucas couldn’t help but admire right along with her fortitude. She stretched a leg toward the seventh tread until she gained a bit of footing. Then she gripped his hand tighter, and he hoisted her over the two bad treads.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” she said after puffing out a breath.

  “That was the easy part.” There were still a few treads that didn’t look too damaged, but then there were two treads entirely gone and two broken treads immediately above them.

  Lucas planted a foot on the first of the broken treads to test its strength, and the simple movement broke it loose, and it fell to the entry hall below them.

  “That’s not good,” Lavinia said rather unnecessarily.

  He moved his foot to the second of the broken treads and applied a little weight to it. His height enabled him to stretch the distance necessary with only minor difficulty; his concern was for Lavinia. She would have to put more force behind her effort to jump, which could dislodge the tread they were currently on. Or he could lift her, but their combined weight could also dislodge it.

  Lifting her was the best solution. He was certain he could toss her safely up to the landing before he found himself slipping through a hole and breaking a leg or plummeting through the stairs altogether to the floor beneath. All in a day�
�s work for someone who’d dug muddy, slimy trenches in torrential rain while serving as a soldier in Spain.

  He tested the tread once more. It seemed to be holding, although it wobbled more than he would have preferred.

  “Let go of my hand,” he said.

  “What? No!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m going to lift you to the landing,” Lucas explained. He should have been more specific in his instructions—especially considering the handrail was in as bad a shape as the rest of the stairs. “Simple as can be. Think of it as me lifting you up to sit on Hector’s back.”

  “It suddenly dawns on me,” she said, now squeezing his hand for dear life, “that we may reach the next floor and then not be able to come back down afterward.”

  At that moment, another loose piece of tread fell with a clatter. Her hand jerked in his.

  “Not to worry; Artie will rescue us,” Lucas said. Lucas grinned at her, hoping he’d allayed her fears.

  Her eyes widened in response to his absurd words—and then it happened.

  She squeaked.

  The squeak turned into a giggle and then a full-throated laugh. She still clutched his hand, but he used her laughter as an opportunity for action. While laughing himself, he wrenched his hand free and grabbed her waist, turning her laugh into a shriek, and swung her up to the upper floor landing, where she tumbled into a heap on the dusty floor. Then he jumped over the last few stairs to join her on the landing, although he tripped over her foot as he did so and fell in a sprawling heap on top of her.

  Pushing himself up with his arms, still laughing, he looked down at her. The tumble had knocked her bonnet askew, loosening her hair in such a way as to create a riot of red curls about her face. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes luminous, and she was altogether lovely . . .

  Her laughter faltered.

  “Goodness me!” a resonant voice exclaimed, echoing off the walls and through Lucas’s brain.

  It always amazed him that such a voice belonged to a petite elderly woman. He quickly rolled away from Lavinia and rose to his feet, still feeling rather dazed from the close proximity of Lavinia’s enticing face.

  “Delia!” Lavinia sat up, and Lucas assisted her to her feet, shaking his head to clear it. “Mr. Jennings and I have been inspecting the farmhouse and had a bit of a spill when taking the stairs.” She brushed her hair from her face and then gave up and removed her bonnet, causing the rest of her curls to tumble down her back.

  “If you say so.” Miss Weston stood—more like struck a pose—just inside the doorway, and Lucas got the distinct impression that it was more for show than concern over what she’d observed—not that it had been anything but an accidental spill, Lucas reminded himself. He had not accosted Lavinia, nor had she made any overtures toward him.

  Mr. Drake’s head popped around the doorjamb, and then he came in to take his place next to Miss Weston.

  “And now we shall inspect the upper floor,” Lavinia announced in an authoritative tone. “I hope we’re able to descend the stairs a little more gracefully than we ascended them just now,” she added jauntily.

  “I shall save you if that is the case,” Mr. Drake said cheerily. “I’m sure there’s a ladder or a rope around here somewhere that can be put to use.”

  “I told you so,” Lucas murmured so only Lavinia could hear.

  Lavinia threw her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter and looked straight at Lucas. He coughed, trying to cover his own laughter. It was no use; they both failed, laughing until tears were running down their faces.

  “I say, what’s so funny?” the old man asked indignantly.

  Hannah stomped into the entry hall at that moment. “It’s a fine mess we’re in to be sure, Livvy,” she said, unaware of what had gone on before. “The coachman’s wondering if he’s to leave us here or take us elsewhere, considering the state of things. He’s hankering to be on his way and wanting to be paid too. I’m not keen to see him take that carriage and leave us here, what with the house not exactly fit for human habitation.”

  That was quite a speech coming from Hannah Broome. Lucas wasn’t sure he’d heard her sling that many words together at one time before. She was right though. Decisions needed to be made, and quickly.

  Lavinia dabbed at her eyes, all the humor draining from her face. “True enough,” she said. “Tell him I shall be along shortly.”

  She and Lucas quickly assessed the upstairs rooms, consisting of what originally would have been four bedrooms of varying sizes and a linen closet. They were empty and dirty, with several broken windows, and had been subjected to the elements in areas where the roof was missing. Fortunately, the rot wasn’t beyond repair, which indicated the roof had developed holes only in the last year or two. It was a small blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

  Since Lucas was now familiar with which treads on the stairway were the most stable, he was able to maneuver himself partway down and then lift Lavinia over the trouble spots more easily. Mr. Drake’s rescue was not needed after all.

  Lavinia gathered her little band of travelers together in the main hallway while Mr. Grimes and Garrick lurked just outside the door, waiting for instructions. Drake had located an unbroken chair somewhere, and Miss Weston now sat in it. Lucas stood to the side of the room in the role of observer, allowing Lavinia to take charge. This was her affair to manage, not his.

  “There’s no reason to beat around the bush, my dears,” she began. “It is entirely apparent that the house is not habitable, although nothing about the farm’s current state was mentioned in the letter. I am dreadfully sorry I didn’t think to find out more about Primrose Farm before we set out, only to face disappointment like this. If we’d stayed in London—”

  “If we’d stayed in London, you’d still be battling old Hinchcliffe and fighting off Lord—”

  “Hannah!” Lavinia said sharply, cutting her off. Lucas wondered again who this Hinchcliffe character was and what hold he had on Lavinia. And now Hannah had let slip that there was also a Lord Somebody-or-Other Lavinia had been fighting off. As in advances.

  Lucas’s blood heated with annoyance.

  “Nonetheless,” Lavinia continued before Hannah could say more. “We did leave London, and we are here now. We shall simply have to return north to Sleaford and take rooms until the farmhouse can be made habitable. I don’t see any other solution. I shall hire laborers as soon as I can. One step at a time and we’ll get there eventually.” She looked around for agreement.

  “Back the way we came, then, it seems,” Miss Weston said, her frail shoulders collapsing in on themselves for the merest moment before straightening again. Miss Weston had struck the perfect balance of abjectness and resolve with her statement, Lucas thought abstractedly, arousing sympathy without adding to Lavinia’s guilt. It had been a subtle yet artful performance, managed in the uttering of one sentence.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Fernley.” Mr. Grimes stepped fully into the hallway. “I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation. I’d like to remind you that our arrangement was for me to bring you here and for me to continue on my way south from here back to London. If you’re planning to return north to Sleaford, we’ll need to discuss things a bit.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand fully.”

  “I wish we’d thought to bring sandwiches,” Mr. Drake said. “I’m feeling a bit peckish all of a sudden.”

  “I did bring sandwiches, Artie,” Lavinia said. “And cheese and apples and jars of lemonade and water as well. I may not have had the foresight to realize the farmhouse would be in such a state, but I at least assumed there might not be a hostelry nearby to provide us with luncheon.” The clenched fist she was hiding behind her skirts during her speech told Lucas she was nearing her wits’ end, and he had to admire how well she maintained her composure and smooth tone so far. “Hannah,” she continued, “I’m sure Mr. Grimes or his associate would be kind enough to help you fetch the basket from the back of the coach, as there is plenty of
food for all. And after we’ve had the opportunity to eat, Mr. Grimes, we can discuss our travel arrangements, if that agrees with you.”

  “Aye, ma’am, it does, and thank you.”

  “I think we must avail ourselves of whatever stairs or floors suit our personal fancy. It shall be a picnic.”

  “Oh, how I adore a picnic!” Miss Weston said, clapping her hands at her breast.

  “We’ll be right back, then.” Grimes tipped his cap and followed Hannah out the door.

  Lucas suddenly had an inspiration—a thought that should have occurred to him sooner. But it hadn’t dawned on him until this very moment, when the acuteness of his newfound friends’ situation had become blatantly obvious. “If you would excuse Lavinia and me for a moment,” he said to Miss Weston and Mr. Drake. “I wish to speak to her privately.”

  “You don’t intend any more of that naughtiness I caught you at earlier,” Miss Weston said with a shake of her finger.

  “Delia!” Lavinia exclaimed. “There was no naughtiness. I fell and tripped Mr. Jennings in the process. Completely innocent.”

  Miss Weston, however, was looking at Lucas like a cat that had trapped a mouse. “It is as she said, Miss Weston,” he replied as evenly as he could.

  “If you say so,” she said again, arching an eyebrow.

  He was not going to convince the old woman of anything, so he gave up trying. He took Lavinia by the elbow and led her to the kitchen and away from listening ears.

  “You mustn’t put too much stock in Delia’s comments,” she said. “She can be fanciful at times.”

  “She has a vivid imagination,” he said. And yet there had been that distinct moment of connection during their mishap that might have been discerned by the woman. “That is not why I want to speak with you though.” He looked her fully in the eye. “Lavinia, I realize I have no right to interfere in your life. But as a bystander who has inadvertently fallen headlong into your affairs and as a gentleman trained from birth to help a lady in need, I would like to offer my assistance—”

  “I am not a lady in need, Lucas,” she said, interrupting him. “I have resources, and I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and the others.”