The Landowner's Secret

by Sonya Heaney

  She stared at him, light eyes uncomprehending at first.

  ‘This is still your land?’

  He nodded, and she lightly touched a finger to a purple petal of one of the flowers he held.

  ‘Bloody hell, how much of it do you need?’

  He laughed, and then gestured to the sheep off in the distance.

  ‘How much land? Animals need space to graze.’ And his property was tiny compared to many; his interest in expanding his numbers of Merino nowhere near that of his interest in the introduction of riesling production to the region.

  The land in the valley was a little more fertile than some in the southern areas of New South Wales, and his family had been lucky to purchase it before its value was discovered. However, it was not English soil; it was a much harsher thing than that. Rain was much scarcer, and rarely did anything planted seem to obey as it ought.

  He watched Alice watch the view, saw her comprehend just what she would be marrying into if he ever managed to ask her.

  Robert pointed into the distance. ‘My land ends at the rise, see there? Where that distant tree seems to be growing on its own?’

  She nodded, shielding her eyes from the harsh late afternoon sun with one hand. He gave her a few moments of contemplation, and then her attention was inevitably attracted by the flowers once more.

  ‘I could really pick more?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  It was all the encouragement she needed.

  ‘My mother used to have these, when I was young,’ she told him as she continued with her self-imposed task. ‘I always meant to have them again, but I haven’t seen any for a long time. Around here it’s always bluebells, which are nice, but … I ought to come back soon and clip them properly. Maybe they could be grown nearer to the house?’

  ‘You’re the one who knows their flowers, Alice. Do whatever you think is best.’

  She shrugged her shawl off and used it to wrap the stems in, adding those he held to the combination, creating a bouquet.

  ‘These’re rarer than bluebells.’ Satisfied with what she had, she turned to him with an artless smile.

  ‘All right, we can go,’ she said as though granting him permission, and he grinned as she went to the step of the vehicle and reached up to hoist herself into the seat alone and one-handed at that.

  Robert extended a hand to stop her.

  ‘What?’ she asked when he removed the makeshift bouquet from her grasp and put it up in the gig.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked when he took her arm and led her slightly away from vehicle and horse.

  ‘Miss Ryan,’ he began tentatively, in a tone she’d never heard from him before.

  ‘Alice,’ he started again.

  ‘What’s happenin’?’ she asked when he found himself stuck.

  And then, as if her question finally freed those words, he presented her with his proposal.

  ***

  Time seemed to stretch on. Robert’s possible future fiancée was looking at him in what he could only call dismay, but if it was for herself or for him, he wasn’t sure.

  Was this the most unconventional of matches? Yes. Would his parents—when a message eventually reached them in Cumberland—be shocked and possibly horrified? Undoubtedly. Would the people in town think him odd? Well, of course.

  However, in the trip out that afternoon Robert had found he was fine with all of that. He’d always known he’d marry at some point, and perhaps a wife such as Alice Ryan wouldn’t be frightened off from the country as easily as someone more … well, more delicate and refined.

  ‘It is not such a terrible idea, Alice.’

  ‘Who for!’

  ‘We get on, and we’ve plenty in common.’

  ‘Certainly. I’ve a stash of ball gowns back home, and I know all about afternoon tea.’

  ‘There’s not that much to it. You pour tea; you drink it. There might be a biscuit or two, or something baked if the staff are attentive.’ He smiled. ‘As ours are.’

  She gave him a little shove of protest, just a little nudge, and then snatched her hands back when she realised she’d touched him.

  Robert tried not to grin again and give her the impression she amused him, regardless of the fact she did. Some instinct told him she might not enjoy that information now.

  Instead he reached out for her, taking her hand in his and feeling a little stab of triumph when she let him. Her hand was small, but it was as deceptive as the rest of her; she was strong in ways most women of his acquaintance had never had to be. He knew there were calluses beneath those gloves she wore.

  ‘I’m not saying we must rush to marital bliss. In fact, I assume we’ll have to get our courting done after we’ve exchanged vows, but I can be a patient man when I need to be. We’ve time to muddle through the details.’

  ‘After we’ve rushed into a weddin’, you mean.’

  ‘We are already living under the same roof, Alice. There’s talk we should shut down now, for all our sakes. You will like it here, I think. You like my sister, at least?’

  She scoffed at him.

  ‘She’s a princess next to me.’

  He’d tell her one day about the social cuts and the relentless references to her colonial roots that had made Elizabeth’s visit to England a couple of years earlier a nightmare in many ways. A princess of a rural outpost on the far side of the world she might be, but his sister had been humbled time and again in her life and knew better than to put on airs.

  Was the marriage to be viewed as unbalanced and even scandalous? Of course it was, but he had confidence both that the scandal would pass and that someone as tough as Miss Alice Ryan would overcome it.

  ‘It’s warmer at Endmoor in the winter. You’d not have to chop your own firewood anymore,’ he coaxed, and even though it was the silliest of reasons for a marriage, he didn’t miss the flare in her eyes at his words.

  He’d been to that cottage twice now, and he couldn’t fathom how someone as small and slim as her could survive that bone-chilling air inside when the night took hold. Winter in the region was only at its cusp, and there were months of cool to come before the searing summer heat returned.

  Already, her animals—chickens, a cow—had been moved in with his. The new pecking order had been established in the pens, and in so many little ways their lives were already intertwining.

  ‘That’s not so romantic, Mister Farrer.’

  ‘Robert.’

  A sigh. ‘Robert,’ she repeated obediently.

  He’d tried love once, and it had gone terribly and all come to nothing. He and Miss Ryan suited well enough, God help them, and no matter what she thought of herself she would always stand up to him, always be a match. It was not the worst plan, no matter what outsiders would think.

  ‘What does your sister think about this?’

  It was a fair question, however … ‘I’ve not talked to her about it yet.’

  ‘You ought to have.’

  ‘Would that really be romantic? It’s a decision between us, is it not?’

  On the other hand, if Elizabeth had insisted on accompanying them that afternoon instead of directing knowing looks his way and disappearing inside to ensure they went alone, he would not be in the situation he was now.

  If she’d put up any objections, or perhaps yanked him aside while Alice was removing her apron and searching for gloves that matched to tell him he was a madman, he might have found that excuse he needed to not proceed with his mad plan.

  Alice returned her attention to the flowers—the crowea—that lined the fence.

  ‘You could marry anyone.’

  ‘Well, not quite. I am, however, asking you, Miss Ryan. Alice. What do you think?’

  ***

  What did she think? Alice stared at the man in front of her and wondered why she hadn’t yet burst out laughing. She was certain she wasn’t dreaming, but none of it made any sense.

  The man was loony, and that was one thing about him she hadn�
�t realised before. She shouldn’t marry a loony, no matter how much money he had.

  Could she …?

  Maybe he was the sort of man who was only a lunatic sometimes. Perhaps it was a manageable type of madness. Realising she was crushing the petals of a flower in her agitation, she pulled her hands back and pressed them against her belly, wishing it would stop churning quite so much so that she might concentrate on the bigger problem in front of her.

  Studying him closely, she wondered if he’d taken more than a little wine with his most recent meal. She surreptitiously leaned in a bit to study his eyes more closely. It was too sunny for her to be fully sure, but she didn’t think they were red-rimmed.

  Sober. He was sober, she was almost certain.

  ‘What do I think?’ she parroted absently.

  It made her mercenary, to be sure, but there were advantages to this madness of a marriage. Waking up to fresh water, waiting for her in her room. No more frosty mornings hauling it up from the river, trip after trip after trip.

  And the food. The warmth. The help.

  The company—that was most important of all things to her. She wasn’t designed to be a solitary person, and she’d known that about herself long before the Farrers had presented her with a solution to her loneliness.

  ‘You know all you have to do is say yes, and it will be settled.’

  It wasn’t a grand romance, this craziness between them, but Alice had never thought her chances of a grand romance were all that high. She’d never counted on having one herself, and she’d not miss something she’d never dreamt of in the first place.

  ‘Are you drunk?’ It had to be asked.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Drunk. What’d you sneak into your teacup this afternoon?’

  His eyes took on a glint of amusement.

  ‘A great deal of whiskey. And of course there was the gallon of ale I drank before coming to collect you for this outing.’

  ‘Robert!’ she thumped him lightly on the chest—again. Any intention to not use his Christian name had disappeared the moment she realised he was at least as daft as her brother. ‘I’m bein’ serious here!’

  Somehow that hand of hers stayed where she’d put it, and he raised his own to cover it. It felt … nice, actually. A little thrill went through her. Even though she’d had her hand held a time or two in the past, this was different.

  Staring at their hands then, because the new sensations made it hard to meet his eyes, she thought about that big, beautiful garden, hers to do whatever she wanted with.

  ‘You think I have to be drunk in order to propose to you?’ His voice had lowered to a murmur. Even though they were completely alone out there on the road, the tone made her feel even more like this was a time and place just for them.

  They’d be linked forever if she agreed, and that implied all sorts of intimacies she didn’t yet understand.

  ‘Of course I think that,’ she told the buttons on his waistcoat.

  ‘Well, I’m not drunk, and you’re undervaluing yourself, but that can be remedied later. If you say yes, that is.’

  Her fingers flexed under his touch, and he squeezed them and then turned her hand so she clasped him back. Hand-holding was pretty nice actually, but in summer it would probably be hot and sticky.

  Maybe if they got married they would do other things on hot days.

  ‘But won’t folks laugh at you?’ And at me?

  ‘There’re plenty of people around here who could do with being laughed at. The two of us would have to do something more scandalous than get married to deserve that honour.’

  Sometimes he spoke in words she never used. Which meant sometimes it took her a second or two to figure him out. That was fine, though, because Alice thought she was a pretty good learner. If Elizabeth Farrer and her friends could learn to use big words, then Alice Ryan could too.

  She’d have a lot to learn in this new life, but they were living in the country, not in a big city with a big society.

  ‘I’d need some time. To learn, I mean. I don’t want to go to parties with elegant people right away. I’d embarrass you.’ And myself.

  ‘Time is something we have plenty of.’

  ‘Don’t really seem that way when you’re in a rush to wed.’

  ‘Call me an opportunist. I don’t want you escaping back home and forgetting about me.’

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ she said under her breath, but the look on his face said he’d heard.

  Robert leaned down, his scent special. It was something she’d noticed even that first horrid morning when he’d carried her inside, her foot ruined by that spider. He’d shaved that day, but even so a stray strand of her hair had caught in his whiskers. If she was a little braver, she’d touch him there now, to properly tell what it felt like.

  ‘All you have to do is say yes,’ he whispered, and she tilted her head enough so she could look into his eyes. Brown, they were, but there were flecks of gold there too. So different to hers, just like she was different in every other way.

  But she thought about those meals, and the way a physician just came when he was needed. She hadn’t had to treat the bite herself, nor the illness that came afterwards. It was such a luxury.

  She thought about how pretty her new frocks were, those that Elizabeth had talked her into trying.

  She thought about that funny way her stomach now turned when she was near this man. And she thought about how when she was younger she couldn’t help but steal glimpses of him from afar as he rode along the town road with a strength and grace that snagged her attention and wouldn’t let go.

  And then she thought about her little house that was running low on firewood.

  And—God help her—she did say yes.

  Chapter 9

  Robert’s fiancée of twenty seconds looked like she was going to cry. This was not the beginning anyone would envision for a betrothed couple, but before acting on impulse he searched for some sense.

  ‘You’re not jokin’, are you?’ she asked rather belatedly.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that.’ He grappled. ‘This is a good thing, Alice.’

  She nodded jerkily, lips pressed tightly together, which was hardly any more convincing than the expression on her face moments earlier. Robert gave her the time she needed to recover her wits. It was only seconds but seemed an age, and he devoted that time to swatting at a fly that’d taken a liking to the dark fabric of his coat.

  ‘Tell me what upsets you,’ he coaxed, which earned him a look so baleful it was nearly comical.

  ‘Won’t it embarrass you though, bein’ married to me?’

  She’d already asked that, but he was pretty sure she’d ask it again, and again. ‘Should it?’

  ‘Well, yes!’

  He should kiss her, he thought. Betrothed people tended to do such things. However, he didn’t think it would be particularly welcome yet, so instead he offered her a hand again, and helped her up into the gig. She devoted plenty of time to arranging the flowers in her lap while he gathered the reins.

  By silent mutual agreement, they turned for home.

  The vehicle rocked and wobbled along, occasionally kicking up a spatter of mud on either side of them from a new puddle below. Robert checked to see if it bothered Alice, but she seemed more concerned with her flowers, her grip on their stems tighter than strictly necessary.

  Since his proposal the light had altered again. It was time to be home. They came over a rise long enough to spy one of the small shacks dotting the land, but there was another rise ahead, blocking their view of any of the buildings scattered across the station. Though they were drawing nearer and nearer to civilisation, the landscape helped to create a cocoon around the two of them.

  ‘Robert?’

  The sound of his Christian name coming so easily from her lips this time drew his gaze to her face.

  She’d been thinking again—that was plain to see. He’d not known many, if any, people whose head was always so full of t
houghts, but whatever was on her mind now had swiped the dismay she’d worn earlier from her face.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are there really pirates in Penzance? It’s in England, isn’t it?’

  A huff of laughter escaped him at the unexpected question. The girl had knowledge of the obscurest of things.

  ‘Penzance is on the English coast, yes. I’ve never heard any stories of pirates rampaging through the streets in recent years, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t.’

  He ducked his head to study her face briefly before turning his focus back to steering the horse over the next little hill.

  ‘What makes you ask?’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked a little embarrassed all of a sudden. Flustered.

  She shrugged. ‘Mrs Hobson’s son married a—well, it’s not important. But they went to Sydney for their honeymoon and they went to the theatre, and—’

  ‘Saw The Pirates of Penzance?’

  ‘Actually, don’t know if they did, but they told me the story afterwards. Is Penzance near where you’re from?’

  Only the whole length of England away. He’d show her on a map that evening; he suspected she’d enjoy studying the thing.

  ‘It’s in the same country, at least. A long journey, though nothing to travel in Australia.’

  ‘Is Sydney terribly busy? Have you been to the theatre there?’

  ‘It’s much busier than here, that’s to be sure. As for the theatre, yes, I’ve been. But never to a comic opera like Pirates.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said again, sounding astonished by the possibility he’d not had every experience in the world already.

  ‘I doubt the show is an accurate depiction of daily life in Penzance,’ he said a little apologetically.

  She considered that. A breeze picked up loose strands of her fair hair, and she brushed at them absently, one hand still clutching the crowea.

  ‘Ah, well. I won’t ever know the difference.’

  ‘And in reality there’s considerably less singing,’ he admitted.

  Robert was aware that there were many lives in New South Wales much smaller than his, but never before had it been so keenly illustrated. He almost asked her where she had been, but the chances of her answer putting even more distance between them seemed high.