The Arrangement

by Joan Wolf

  I considered trying to explain to Savile that Nicky and I did not have an ordinary kind of mother-son relationship. When Tommy died, all of my communication with the world of our mutual childhood had died with him. Lady Saunders disliked me, and she disliked my son as well, so Nicky had grown up with no contact with any of the members of his father’s family. My parents and my sister, Deborah, were dead; the only remaining member of my family was Aunt Margaret. As Aunt Margaret had never once, in all the years that Deborah and I had lived with her, set foot outside the confines of her house and garden, she was incapable of coming to Deepcote to visit me. And my returning to Hatfield had simply been out of the question.

  This lack of family had caused Nicky and me to bond together in a way that parents and children in ordinary families, who shared their affections with a number of other people, did not. To put it simply, Nicky was everything to me—as I was to him.

  It was impossible to express all this to the Earl of Savile.

  I said, “It is a good suggestion, my lord, and if you don’t mind, I will make use of it.”

  He put down the poker, returned to his seat, and said mildly, “I do have a stallion, you know. Actually, I have several of them. They are standing at my stud near Epsom. Come spring, you are more than welcome to breed Maria to any one of them, Mrs. Saunders.”

  I felt the color burning my cheeks. I raised my chin. “I am not an object of charity, my lord,” I said fiercely. “I do not accept what I cannot pay for.”

  “My dear girl,” he returned in the same mild voice, “I was only suggesting a loan. You can easily repay me the stud fee when you sell Maria’s foal.”

  My heart jumped. It was true that I didn’t want charity, but an offer like this was manna from heaven. I said carefully, “I shall have to wait until the foal is a yearling if I want to realize a decent sum.”

  “I would be in no hurry to be repaid, I assure you.”

  Thankfully, there was no amusement in his voice when he said this.

  “Well…” I drew a deep breath. “If that is indeed the case, I should be very happy to accept your offer, my lord.”

  “Good.” He smiled at me. “I should hate for Nicky to think you had found my stallion wanting, you know.”

  That beguiling smile caught me at a weak moment, and I smiled back.

  Something leaped in the air between us, and suddenly my heart began to hammer so hard that it felt as if it were going to break through my rib cage. The smile left his face, his expression hardened, his eyes narrowed.

  Oh no! The thought was sheer panic. No, no, no, no, no.

  I jumped up, my only thought to get away from him, away from the dangerous look I saw in his eyes, away from the dangerous feeling I had in my stomach.

  I stammered, “If you will excuse me, my lord, I must find Nicky.” And heedless of how rude or stupid I might appear, I fled the room.

  * * * *

  There was no fire in my bedroom during the middle of the day, so I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat staring into the cold grate.

  I had been a widow for six years now, and during that time there had been a number of men who wanted to warm what they imagined must be my cold and lonely bed. There had even been two men who wanted to lie with me so badly that they had offered to marry me.

  So I understood very well what I had seen in the Earl of Savile’s face.

  It wasn’t Savile who was worrying me, however. I was perfectly capable of handling unwelcome male ardor. What worried me was the response I had felt in myself. That was something altogether new.

  Don’t be a fool, Gail! I thought. Just because the man looks like some kind of a god doesn’t mean you have to play the role of a smitten Greek maiden.

  I gripped my hands together under my ancient warm wool blanket.

  Just because the man painted a few walls for you doesn’t mean he is entitled to jump into your bed.

  I breathed deeply, drawing the cold, damp air of the bedroom into my lungs.

  Just because the man has a smile that could melt ice in the arctic doesn’t mean you have to fall into his arms like a love-starved widow.

  I had never felt like a love-starved widow before.

  I shut my eyes and rocked the chair back and forth.

  Perhaps I had imagined it all, I thought. Perhaps nothing had happened between us. Perhaps he was wondering what in the name of heaven had caused me to bolt from the room like that.

  I rocked back and forth, back and forth, until gradually the rhythm soothed my jangled nerves. I let my head rest against the back of the chair and closed my eyes. I would just sit here for a few more minutes, I thought, and then…

  “Mama!”

  I opened my eyes and sat up abruptly, feeling the chill in my bones, the stiffness in my neck.

  “Mama, you fell asleep!”

  I blinked and looked into Nicky’s blue eyes, which were but inches from mine.

  “I must have,” I said in surprise.

  “It has stopped snowing,” Nicky said, straightening away from me. “Lord Savile put his chestnuts out in the paddock an hour ago, Mama, and he is bringing them in now. He wanted to know if you wished him to put Elijah and Noah out for a while.”

  I unwound myself from my blanket. “What in God’s name is Savile doing in the stable?” I asked. “Where is Grove?”

  “Mr. Grove rode Sampson into the village to see if he could get any news of the Brighton Mail.”

  I had said that I would ride into the village, but then I had fallen asleep. I was furious with myself.

  I struggled to my feet. “What time is it, Nicky?”

  “It is after four o’clock, Mama.”

  I had been asleep for almost an hour! I never slept in the afternoon. Perhaps that was why my brain felt so fuzzy.

  “Certainly Elijah and Noah may go out for a while,” I said, “but I will do it. His lordship does not have to attend to our horses, Nicky.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t mind,” my son assured me blithely. “He’s a great gun, Mama. Do you know he has two nephews who are my age and a niece who is still a baby?”

  “Does he?”

  “Yes. Charles and Theodore are the ones my age. They are up at Eton at present.”

  “Fortunate boys,” I said lightly. I had more chance of flying to the moon than I had of sending Nicky to Eton.

  “I don’t think they’re fortunate, Mama,” Nicky said. “I would hate to go to school away from home. It is much nicer studying with Mr. Ludgate.”

  I hugged him and said, “Go tell his lordship that I will be down to the stable in a trice.”

  Nicky raced from the room, and I went to fetch Tommy’s old coat.

  * * * *

  Mrs. Macintosh caught me as I was going out the door, and by the time I reached the stable the geldings were already out in the front paddock. The day was growing dark but the wind had ceased along with the snow. Savile had left the stable door open to let in some fresh air, and the first thing I heard as I stepped inside was Nicky’s delightful peel of merriment.

  “Cleverest horse I ever knew,” the earl said with a chuckle.

  He emerged from one of his horses’ stalls with a pitchfork full of manure. “Ah, here you are, Mrs. Saunders,” he said cheerfully.

  He was wearing his extremely expensive caped driving coat, which made him look enormous. I decided not to apologize for my absence; I most certainly did not want him to know that I had been napping while he had been doing my chores.

  “Hasn’t Grove returned yet?” I said a little stiffly. “It will be dark very shortly.”

  Savile tilted his head, as if he had heard something. Then I heard it too: the sound of a horse’s hooves muffled by the snow.

  “I believe he has arrived,” said the Earl of Savile.

  Grove brought the news that the Brighton Mail had gone through Highgate at two-thirty in the afternoon. “The storm is clearing from the west to the east, my lord,” Grove reported. “The mail’s driver is a friend of t
he local blacksmith, and he stopped long enough to tell him that while they hit some pretty heavy drifts, the horses had been able to get through without too great a struggle.”

  “That answers our question, then,” Savile said. “We shall set out ourselves directly after breakfast.”

  His eyes met mine over Nicky’s head, and he quirked an eyebrow in inquiry. I shook my head slightly.

  “Nicholas, my lad,” Savile said cheerfully, “I have persuaded your mama to come to Kent with me for a few days to take a look at a stallion I own. I have told her that I would be honored if she found him worthy to breed to her beautiful Maria.”

  It was growing quite dark inside the stable, but I could see the quick eagerness that lighted Nicky’s face. “Do you really have a Thoroughbred stallion, sir?”

  “I do.”

  “That is wonderful!” Nicky enthused. “Mama has wanted to breed Maria for years, but…” His voice died away as he remembered the reason why I had been unable to fulfill this longtime dream of mine. His eyes flew to mine.

  I said calmly, “Lord Savile has offered to let me defer payment of the stud fee until after Maria’s foal is sold, Nicky.”

  “Oh,” said Nicky. He turned back to Savile with a big smile. “I say, that is kind of you, sir.”

  I had never had to teach Nicky manners. Courtesy came to him as naturally as breathing.

  Savile ruffled Nicky’s hair, a casual gesture that looked as if he had performed it many times. I remembered that he had told Nicky he had nephews.

  The earl said to his groom, “Did you find Tim Haines?”

  “Yes, my lord, I did. He said he would be happy to come and stay with Master Nicholas and the Macintoshes until Mrs. Saunders returns home.”

  “Good,” said the earl. He turned to me. “Now you won’t need to fret about who is taking care of your horses, ma’am.”

  The nerve of the man!

  I believe my mouth might have been open as I stared at him. I finally managed to say, with biting sarcasm, “Thank you so much for attending to my business, my lord.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied with imperturbable good humor.

  “But, Mama,” Nicky said in a small, puzzled voice, “aren’t I coming with you?”

  My heart ached. I had not informed the earl that I had never before spent even one night away from Nicky. It was only my horror at what would happen if Nicky found out about George that gave me the strength to say, “I will only be gone for a few days, sweetheart, and you ought not to miss your lessons with Mr. Ludgate.”

  “I’m afraid that I am the ogre who has insisted that you remain behind with your schoolwork, Nicky,” Savile said. “If either of my nephews ever learned that I had entertained a boy of their age during the school term, I should never hear the end of it. They are constantly trying to find reasons to come to Savile Castle, you see, and so far I have been very good about holding firm. I most certainly do not wish to give them any kind of a lever to use against me.”

  I saw Nicky duck his head quickly, a little gesture that wrung my heart even more.

  “You can come and see my stallion in the spring, when your mother brings Maria to be bred,” Savile said kindly.

  Nicky straightened up a little in the gloom. “That would be nice.” His voice was still very small.

  I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat, then said, “Have you finished mucking out your horses, my lord?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Saunders. I might add that I have mucked out yours as well.”

  “Then I shall throw them down some hay.”

  I marched stiff-backed to the ladder to the hayloft, put a foot on the first rung, and stopped as I realized that I could scarcely climb the ladder in a skirt with Savile and Grove standing there below me.

  I turned around, a scowl on my face.

  Savile was grinning.

  I clenched my fists.

  Grove stepped forward. “Let me drop the hay, Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “You and the lad and his lordship go on back to the house and get ready for your dinner.”

  In fuming silence I trudged back through the snow, with Savile on one side of me and Nicky on the other.

  I was growing very tired of being ordered about by the Earl of Savile.

  Chapter Five

  For dinner Mr. Macintosh served potted chicken stuffed with herbs, and I realized that Mrs. Macintosh had sacrificed one of her hens to the necessity of feeding a man the size of the Earl of Savile. There was a fragrant potato casserole to go along with the chicken and a large loaf of delicious crusty bread. I gave a big helping of chicken to Savile, a smaller one to Nicky, and served myself just the potato casserole.

  Nicky was very quiet as he ate his chicken. I kept shooting worried glances in his direction as I made halfhearted conversation with the earl.

  “Do you know, Nicky, I suspect that your mama is worried about leaving you here with the Macintoshes,” Savile surprised me by saying suddenly. “I have tried to reassure her that an eight-year-old boy can survive for a few days without his mother, but I do not think she is convinced.”

  The earl’s tone was humorous and colored with just the sort of odious “we males together” condescension that a young boy was guaranteed to find flattering.

  Sure enough, Nicky lifted his chin and, for the first time since we had sat down, looked at me directly. “I shall be perfectly fine, Mama,” he said. “I’m not a baby anymore, you know.”

  “Those were my exact words,” Savile said in the same odious tone he had just used.

  Nicky basked in the light of the earl’s approval. He sat up taller in his seat.

  “You will have plenty to keep you busy,” I said. “I’ll want you to keep an eye on Tim to make certain he does what he’s supposed to do with the horses. And you have your schoolwork for Mr. Ludgate as well.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Nicky said with commendably superior male patience.

  I forced myself to smile at him as I said, “I suppose you are growing up.”

  He looked so small and slight as he sat between Savile and me at the large dining-room table. My heart shivered with love and fear as I met his innocent blue gaze across the dinner plates.

  “Yes,” he returned with surprised pleasure. “I rather believe that I am.”

  * * * *

  I left Savile with the dregs of the sherry bottle and went upstairs to pack. The will was scheduled to be read on the nineteenth, which was the day after next. I reckoned that I would arrive at Savile Castle on the afternoon of the eighteenth, hear the will read sometime on the nineteenth, and depart on the morning of the twentieth. This meant that I would be eating two dinners at the castle, and, unfortunately, I owned only one decent evening dress. This was the gown I had purchased in December to wear to the annual Christmas party the squire always hosted for the neighborhood.

  I removed the gown from my closet and laid it out on my bed. It was made of celestial-blue silk, the exact same color as Nicky’s eyes, and it had a fashionably deep, square-cut neckline, short, puffed sleeves, and a scalloped flounce along the hem. The dressmaker in the village had copied it from a picture I had picked out in the Ladies Magazine. It was the first new evening dress I had purchased since Tommy’s death, and I loved it.

  The blue silk would not be an embarrassment at the table of an earl. The same could not be said for my two other evening dresses, however. I took out the better of them, a yellow muslin done in the plain empire style that had been popular during the war, and laid it on the bed next to the blue.

  In addition to its being a dress for a very young girl, the yellow looked tired and dowdy and out of fashion. I decided it would be better to wear the same gown twice than to make an appearance in the pathetic yellow. I picked up the blue, held it up against myself, and looked in the mirror that hung over the old walnut dressing table next to the window.

  Except for the short feathery hair that had once been a long ripple of ebony, and an expression of gravity in the dark blue eyes, the gi
rl who looked back at me did not appear very different from the “witch’s brat” who had married Lady Saunders’s youngest son nine years ago.

  “Witch’s brat” was the name that had been bestowed upon Deborah and me by some of the more unkind denizens of Hatfield. It had not been earned by any activities of our own, but was due to Aunt Margaret, who was famous throughout our part of Sussex for her many herbal concoctions.

  Let me hasten to assure you that Aunt Margaret was not a witch. She never cast spells or foretold the future or any of the other silly activities one associates with the witches in Macbeth. Aunt Margaret was an herbal healer, which is a different thing altogether.

  About some things, however, I have to admit that Aunt Margaret was very peculiar. For example, she was incapable of leaving her house and garden. I do not mean that she didn’t wish to leave; I mean that she could not leave. It made her physically ill to attempt to do so.

  As we grew up, this infirmity proved to be a serious problem for Deborah and me. All of the other Hatfield girls had mamas to chaperon them, but Deborah and I had nobody. Deborah, who was by nature a serious and dignified person, managed to rise above this social handicap, but I freely confess that I was something of a hoyden.

  In my more honest moments, I also have to confess that Lady Saunders had reason to object to Tommy’s and my marriage. There was nothing she could do about it, however, as Tommy was twenty-one and I had the approval of Aunt Margaret.

  I stood in front of my mirror now, contemplating the twenty-seven-year-old woman who was reflected in the rather tarnished glass. A short lock of black hair had fallen across my brow and I tossed my head to flick it away.

  I love this dress, I thought, as I turned this way and that, holding the gown up against me. The blue of the dress picked up the blue of my eyes, which were so dark that they often looked black.

  I was profoundly grateful that I had decided that this was the year I absolutely had to have a new dress. The thought of appearing at Savile Castle in the old yellow was appalling.