by Wilma Counts
“Sundance had her babe? I knew she would do so while we were gone. Did I not tell you so?” Maria said to her brother.
“‘I told you so,’” he said mockingly. “Well, do let us go and see it.” He started to rise, then sat back down, turned to Harriet, said in a formal tone, “May we please be excused?”
She looked at the colonel and then nodded, amused at seeing his tolerant consideration of this little sibling byplay.
His tone was rather chilly, however, as he asked, “Miss Mayfield, will you join me in the library, please?”
Oh, dear. Now what? She did not bother to try to make idle conversation as they strolled down the hall to the library. Preceding him through the door he held open for her, she caught a whiff of sandalwood as she brushed past him, and she noted that he had apparently ordered a small fire to be lit to take off any shred of chill in the room and give it a distinct sense of welcome. He gestured her toward the beige wing chairs that flanked the fireplace. She waited expectantly for him to say whatever was on his mind.
When they were both seated, he said in a flat tone, “Are you, by any chance, the one who put a flea in Phillip’s ear about his going off to school this autumn?”
“Am I wha-at?” she asked, on the edge of being outraged.
“I think you understood me. Phillip accosted me in the garden this morning. Drew me aside as we waited for Richard and Robert to disentangle themselves from the tree they had climbed. Phillip just stood there, his arms folded in that way that Win always had, and told me quite earnestly that he preferred not to go away to school this autumn.”
“And you responded with—?”
“I told him with no equivocation whatsoever that he absolutely would be going to Eton this year, that six generations of Sedwick earls before him—and their brothers too—had been educated there and he was not going to be the exception to that rule.”
Harriet drew in a deep breath. “Phillip has had a very difficult time adjusting to the death of his parents,” she said tentatively. “Perhaps because they are older and so close, he and Maria have felt the loss keenly.”
“Yes. Well, we all have. But life does go on, does it not? They cannot go through life as uneducated dolts. That I cannot—I will not—allow.”
“Colonel Burnes! Neither Phillip nor Maria is what any right-thinking person might label a ‘dolt’! They have attended the vicar’s day school, as have the twins and Sarah, and in recent years the vicar has given them extra lessons as well. What is more, their parents, as you well know, were well-educated and they saw to additional opportunities for all their children.”
“A vicar’s day school hardly constitutes a complete educational program,” he said dismissively. “Most vicars are barely literate themselves in my experience.”
“Sir, have you met Mr. Powers?”
“Haven’t had that dubious pleasure yet. But my point stands: my brother’s children are not being educated to the positions they may hope to assume in the English world one day.”
Harriet sat silent for a moment. How to get through to this obtuse man?
“Miss Mayfield?” he prodded.
“Colonel Burnes, I am not sure how much time you actually spent with your brother and his family when you were home on leave a few years ago.”
“A fair amount, I would say.”
“Then you know that as ton parents go, they were quite unusual.”
“I know they were not only besotted with each other, but they doted on that lot in the nursery.”
“Yes, they did. But not to the point of doing ‘that lot’ injury. They spent far more time with their children than I gather your parents ever spent with you.”
“What is your point, Miss Mayfield?”
She sighed. “These children and their parents were very close, but beyond that, the children themselves are very close—just as I gather you and Win were as children and then when you went away to school—together. You are proposing to send Phillip and Maria away from the others and from each other.”
“Good God, woman! They can hardly go to the same school. Last I heard, Eton was not admitting females.”
“I know. But does it have to be now? This year? Did Phillip tell you he never wanted to go to Eton? And don’t swear at me!”
“I apologize.” He glared at her, then ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t think he said it exactly like that, but he is already twelve years old. His father and I were ten when we went. That is, Win was ten. I was nine.”
“But you went together.”
“Perhaps the twins could go too. It is not unknown for students to be that young.”
“Oh, my heavens! They are just babes! What about Maria? Are you going to send six-year-old Sarah off to keep Maria company? Or why not Elly? Or Tilly?” Harriet had to pause, for she knew if she went on much longer, she would burst into tears.
“Oh, for—” He ran his hand through his hair again. “Now you are being silly. And you are refusing to acknowledge the basic point that these children need an education commensurate with the positions they will expect to hold in life as adults.”
Harriet drew in a deep breath and, resisting the urge to grab a pillow from a nearby couch and throw it at him, she said calmly, “While we were in London, I took the liberty of exercising to the full the authority Winston had given me in his will regarding the children when you were unavailable.”
“Why am I wary of whatever you are about to say?”
“I have no idea. But what I did was this: I had Phillip and Maria, the twins, and Sarah all examined rigorously by Sir Charles’s son’s tutor and my own former governess to try to determine the level at which each of them would be placed in one of London’s finest day schools.”
“And—?”
“Robert is the only one who functions intellectually at his age level.”
“There. You see?”
“The others are above or far above their contemporaries.”
“Oh.” He looked thoughtful. “Well, then. Phillip and Maria should do very well in their respective schools this year.”
“You are adamant about this decision then?” She could not hide her dismay.
“Yes, Miss Mayfield. I am quite determined to do what is right for my wards—regardless of whether you or they agree at any given moment.”
Thinking that he might be making an effort to control his own anger, she merely rose and said, “So be it, then.” However, she could not help muttering under her breath as she left, “But there are alternatives!”
“I heard that!” he called as she closed the door.
Chapter 7
Having risen from his seat when Harriet left the room, Quint stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in some confusion at the closed door. Damn! he thought, that woman could drive a man crazy if he allowed her to. It annoyed him that he found himself distracted by her person—by that trim figure, those intriguing eyes, and a smile that flashed unexpectedly and dazzled. He marveled at the easy rapport she had with the children. It also annoyed him that her questioning the matter of schooling for Phillip, especially, was causing him to entertain second thoughts on the issue, even for a moment. Of course the boy would go to Eton and of course he would do so in the next school term. Adults had to act in the best interests of children for whom they were responsible, even when others, including the children, raised objections. A child whose future held a seat in the House of Lords needed an education equal to that of his peers. And Quint intended to see that one Phillip Burnes, Seventh Earl of Sedwick, was at least equal to his peers.
As for Maria’s schooling, he was feeling magnanimous enough to leave himself open to the choice of school for his niece. After all, what did he know of schools for females? Perhaps there was mention of specific schools for the girls in his brother’s papers. With that thought, he strolled across the room to the h
uge oak desk, the contents of which he had not yet forced himself to examine. He glanced at the mantel clock. No time like the present.
He spent the rest of the afternoon poring over a mass of documents that had been shoved haphazardly into the various drawers of the desk and a glass-doored cabinet behind it. He was amused, but also shocked at the incredible disorder he found there. He chuckled to himself. Win was never very organized, but good grief, some of these things were signed by our father! Besides dozens of loose papers, there were several ledgers with entries dating back forty years. When he had been at it for about two hours and arranged the loose papers in several neat stacks, he stood and sent for his man Gibbons.
“Chet, I think I have found something truly worthy of our talents. You have always had a better head for numbers than I have, so perhaps you can help me make some sense of this mess.”
“Yes, sir. ’Twill be a welcome change from shining those boots you near ruined the other day.”
“I did not drag you into the wilds of Derbyshire to serve as my valet!”
“I know. I know. But I doubt any of these pretty boy footmen can produce a proper shine on these things.”
“What would your Scottish laird da say of your doing such work?”
Chet snorted. “Who cares? Did he no like it, he shouldna ha’ sent his baby boy off to fight alongside ye Sassenach devils.”
Quint laughed. “Good job for me he did! Anyway, you are my guest while you are here, so stop lurking around the servants’ hall.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel, sir,” Chet mocked. “I thought to give you some time to get acquainted with your charges.”
“Thank you.”
“An’ I must say getting acquainted with their aunt shouldna be too painful.”
Quint merely rolled his eyes and gestured at the paperwork.
Chet pulled up a chair next to Quint’s and the two of them worked at sorting tradesmen’s bills and invoices for farm equipment and animals, and for machinery and supplies for woolen mills and cottage weavers. Tucked away in a hidden drawer he had found a dismaying number of what could only be vouchers from gaming tables with some intriguing handwriting and dates. Win had often worried in his letters about the state of finances in the earldom, but the situation was far worse than Quint had expected from the cursory inspections he and Chet had made in their first few days. Those little jaunts about the countryside had revealed some obvious repairs needed—a fence here, a roof there, a shed or a barn falling down. Yet, overall, the morale of tenants and cottage workers seemed higher than Quint might have expected. They had not yet visited the mills, however.
Finally, Chet leaned back in his chair. “Kind of like looking at muddled battle plans, ain’t it? But this is sort of sad. I feel sorry for that young lad.”
“It’s a bloody disaster!” Quint said. “The land is entailed, so it is protected, but there is no money for improvements to it or the farms. The mills were not entailed, so they are mortgaged to the hilt—which is the worst of it, for in the last forty years or so, the mills have been the principal source of Sedwick wealth.”
“So what happened, do you think? Not that it’s any of my business,” Chet said apologetically.
Quint snorted. “I don’t think. I know. My father and my grandfather could not resist a throw of the dice or the turn of a hand of cards. My brother inherited a mess. He did his best, but it was not good enough. Now Phillip is faced with it.”
“Can you save it?”
“I have to try.”
* * * *
I have to try. I have to try. The words pounded in his brain like a mantra as he put the papers and ledgers back into the desk and cabinet—in far better order than he had found them—and later as he dressed for supper with the family. It was as he dressed that he pulled from a pocket a paper he had stuffed there earlier. On it was written the name of a school, Miss Penelope Pringle’s School for Young Ladies of Quality, and an address in the city of Bath, as well as a date. Quint looked again at the date. Good God! Win and Anne were on their way to or from checking out this school when they died! Now he supposed he would have to do so too, but he put that matter out of his mind for the moment.
Instead he allowed his mind to drift to the more diverting image of Miss Mayfield, telling himself that her presence had come as a pleasant surprise. However, he cautioned himself not to let a pretty face distract him, for he suspected this was a woman of very decided opinions, and she could either be a formidable adversary or a welcomed partner. He hoped for the latter.
He chuckled to himself. Had he not already seen her worth as an ally? It had been only a couple of years ago, but he remembered writing Win about the hardships his men were enduring in their fight against the elements during a cold, wet autumn. Officers could usually be billeted in homes or cottages, however rude, in the villages, but the men were left to fend for themselves: dig holes in the ground and pull branches or debris over themselves to provide some protection. It seemed no matter how many times Wellington appealed to Parliament for a simple thing like tents, the men of that august body turned a deaf ear. Then the Lady Senator had blistered those ears in one of her essays and apparently her readers, especially the mothers among them, had taken note. Quint had recognized with both pride and amusement some of his own phrases in her essay. Within weeks, tents were on their way to the Peninsula.
After that incident, Colonel Lord Quinton Burnes had become an avid reader of the Lady Senator’s work, which he always found entertaining, though he did not always agree with the positions she took—too reformist by half! Just consider her recent treatise on labor unrest. Did that silly female mind not comprehend the impact that thousands of demobilized soldiers was having on the labor situation? And now she was apparently putting her reformist nose into the matter of educating the aristocracy—beginning with the new Earl of Sedwick. It simply would not do.
Bolstered by this sense of determination, he entered the drawing room to find the others before him, except for Chet, who was still leaving the family to itself. His mother and her companion had returned from their shopping trip; Miss Mayfield had come down with Phillip and Maria. The youngsters were sitting on either end of a horsehair sofa drinking lemonade. Both Maria and Phillip had changed for the evening meal, but both still wore subdued clothing, Maria’s dress a dull mauve. With glasses of ratafia on a small table nearby, the older ladies occupied red barrel chairs, the dowager in her black bombazine, and her companion in gray. Miss Mayfield, on a dark gray couch, held a glass of sherry in her hand.
“Sorry if I kept you all waiting,” he said, going to the sideboard to pour himself a whiskey, then taking a seat in a chair near the couch. In a quick glance he noted with appreciation that Miss Mayfield’s gown this evening was definitely more blue than gray, and that it definitely showed more of that delectable cleavage than her garment of the day had shown. She had again attached the flower brooch to her dress and added some aquamarine earrings that swayed and sparkled as she moved her head.
“Oh, not at all, my son,” his mother said. “Sylvia and I scarcely had time to change when we returned from Hendley. Such a pleasant outing we had. I think every time I go into town, there are at least two new shops to explore.”
“We had quite a nice outing here too,” he said, his smile including his wards and their aunt.
“Ohhh?” His mother drew out the single syllable in almost disbelief.
“Yes, Grandmother,” Maria eagerly picked up the conversation. “We reacquainted Uncle Quint with the gardens.”
“I hope you noticed that they need some tending to,” the dowager said.
Quint nodded. “The gazebo needs some repair, and the boathouse definitely needs to have one wall replaced. I did not check the boats.”
“They were mostly all right in May. Before we left for London, the twins and I took one out,” Phillip said.
“I do hope you ha
d proper supervision,” his grandmother said hastily, with an accusing glance at Harriet.
Phillip heaved what could only be deemed an adolescent sigh. “Yes, Grandmother. Tom, the footman, sat on the bank. Though we can all swim, you know. Father saw to that last summer. Even Maria and Sarah can swim.”
The older woman pursed her lips. “Shocking. That is what I say. Shocking that a mother would allow her daughters to engage in such unladylike behavior.”
Harriet lifted a hand in weak protest. “I believe their father was quite insistent that all the children should learn to swim what with there being such a large pond on the property.”
“And you do know how persistent Win could be when he got a bee in his bonnet,” Quint said, and finished his drink.
“Hmmphf.” The dowager rose. “Shall we all go down then?”
Quint jumped to his feet and gestured at Phillip to offer his grandmother his arm, which the boy dutifully did. He then offered his own to Miss Mayfield, and waited for Maria and the companion, Mrs. Hartley, to precede them down the stairs.
“Thank you,” Harriet whispered.
He looked at her questioningly.
“For coming to Phillip’s rescue—and possibly mine.”
* * * *
The supper finished, Phillip and Maria asked to be excused as the adults again repaired to the drawing room. Quint declared that he had no intention of remaining in the dining room imbibing port or anything else in solitary splendor, and joined the ladies for tea. As Lady Margaret presided over the brewing tea a footman had delivered, Harriet mused silently at how pleased she had been that Phillip and Maria had comported themselves so well this evening. She doubted even the dowager could find anything about which to quibble.
“So,” Quint said conversationally as he accepted the cup of tea his mother had prepared for him and took his seat, “we know that Mother and Mrs. Hartley had a successful shopping expedition. How did you spend the rest of the afternoon, Miss Mayfield?”
“Writing, mostly.” She lifted her hands for all to see. “’Tis a wonder I was able to remove all the ink stains. I did not want to appear at the dining table with blackened fingertips.”