Purchases in hand, wrapped up in brown paper and string, Neil returned to the farm. He took the coffee and honey to Mrs. Godwin immediately. She showered him with praise. He left the chalk on the table next to Caroline, who smiled up at him before returning to her sums. He gave her the letter to deliver to her mother, too. But the ribbon stayed in his pocket.
How would he give it to Teresa without seeming to overstep his relationship with her?
The moment the question crossed his mind, Neil kicked a stone across the barnyard. A chicken nearly hit by the stone let loose an awful screech, hurrying away as though under attack. Neil almost smiled at the fretful bird, then sighed.
Muse’s head appeared beneath his hand. Neil looked down into the dog’s large, soulful blue eyes. “It does not matter how I give it to her. It will look like a gift from a lovesick youth.”
The dog appeared sympathetic, then it licked his hand and trotted away to the water trough for a drink. Neil looked back at the house, to Teresa’s window. The ladder was still in place. He needed to put it back in the barn where it belonged.
But he turned and made his way into the orchard instead. He would read Olivia’s note again. And Lady Inglewood’s. They both had said things about the marquess. If he thought on it enough, he might learn the man’s plan behind cutting him out of the family without warning.
Chapter Nineteen
The sun had set, and Teresa lay awake. She had rested throughout the day, and now that the rest of the world slept, she had no inclination to do so herself. The letter from her brother-in-law lay on her table, folded up after she had read through it twice. He had shared information about Neil Duncan. Information that Frederick likely thought would upset her. Yet she found herself almost relieved.
The man who had appeared on the road, wearing clothing more suited to a dinner party than a ride through the countryside, was not a mere gentleman. He was Lord Neil, son of the Marquess of Alderton. Obviously, her brother-in-law informed her, Lord Neil had lied to her to gain her trust.
Lord Neil had not lied about his family situation. Frederick had taken great delight in detailing how the marquess had made it public knowledge that his youngest son had caused “irreparable harm” to the family, and Lord Neil had therefore been cut off. After outlining the importance of the marquess, Frederick urged her to turn Lord Neil out.
Strange, but that made her more determined than ever to keep him.
Teresa rose and lit her lamp. She had half a mind to write Frederick back immediately and profess to have known all along who and what Neil Duncan was, and that she did not care. But it would likely cause her brother-in-law distress, and he may well appear at her door again. She would need to take some time to think on her response.
With her small room glowing with light, Teresa found the book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Caroline had recited three from memory that afternoon, with Teresa following along in the book to make certain each word was correct. She turned the pages and started to read, the words soothing her as well as music once had.
How she missed music.
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humor hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me…
The words of the Bard touched her. She had none of those things in which people gloried. She put her finger beneath her favorite line and repeated it aloud, “‘Thy love is better than high birth to me’.” She sighed, and went on reading the rest of the sonnet. To have such a love, richer than any wealth and worth the cost of giving all such things up, would be a miracle. Especially for her. Given what she now knew of Lord Neil.
A small tap against her window made Teresa pause. She looked up at the glass, considering if she had imagined the sound. Then there was another tap.
She put her book down and went to the window, a bubble of excitement growing in her chest. There was only one person she could think of who would attempt to gain her attention at her window.
Of course, she ought to open her window and tell the man to leave her alone. Remind him of the appropriate boundaries they must keep to, but her brother-in-law’s attempt to turn her against Lord Neil and the poem running through her thoughts made her feel rather bold and young.
Teresa opened the window and leaned out, looking down at Lord Neil in the moonlight. He smiled up at her, the flash of his grin easily seen in the blue shadows.
“Mrs. Clapham. I saw your light,” he said, voice barely loud enough to carry to her. “May I come up and chat with you a moment?” He pointed to the ladder still against the side of the house.
Though she initially hesitated, Teresa gave him permission with a nod. “Yes, but you must be quick. It is late.”
It was not late. Not really. Especially given the fact that she was not tired, having rested the whole day.
Teresa fetched her shawl to wrap about her for modesty, then went back to the window. He had made his way up the ladder to draw even with her. Once there, he relaxed against the ladder, one arm draped through the rungs and the other at his side. Meeting in such a way, allowing him so close when she knew what others would think if someone saw, made the moment more thrilling. When was the last time she had taken such a risk?
Something of her delight must have shown on her face, because Lord Neil wore a secretive smile of his own.
“I take it you are feeling better?” he said, voice soft now that he was near.
“Yes, much better. Whatever it was that plagued me seems to have gone for now.”
“That is good news. But I have no wish to hinder your recovery, so I will not keep you long.” He reached into his coat. “I have something for you. When I went to Dunwich today, I did not want to return empty handed. I brought something back for everyone. I could not think what you would like. I hope this will do.” He withdrew a length of ribbon that appeared like silver in the moonlight.
Teresa leaned out a little more, though her feet remained safely on the floor of her room, and accepted the ribbon from his hand. Their fingers brushed, and she smiled at the bit of satin. “It is lovely. Thank you. I will wear it in my hair on Sunday.” The gift, though simple, reminded her of the lover’s tokens she and her husband had once exchanged. Surely, Lord Neil did not mean for her to see the gift in such a light.
Though he had said he would not stay long, he did not immediately appear ready to leave her, either. “You had a letter today. I hope it was good news.”
That made her sigh. She laced the ribbon through her fingers, looking at her hand rather than at him. Perhaps she would not reveal that she knew his secret. It might change things between them. That ridiculous thought brought a laugh, small and without much humor, from her. Nothing would change. She knew better now than ever that there could be nothing more than friendship between them, for more reasons than she had supposed.
“It was news. I am not sure if it is good or bad. But it is interesting.”
“Are you attempting to keep me in suspense?” he asked, and when she looked up, she saw a light in his eyes. He did not flirt. He teased. Perhaps he always had been playful rather than amorous.
“It is news you already know,” she said lightly. “My brother-in-law wrote to me. I suspect he meant to shock me, but I must confess that I am only relieved.”
His expression changed, darkening and becoming cautious. “Relieved? I cannot think what he might tell you that I already know.”
Teresa shifted, resting her elbows on the window, her wrists crossed. If he leaned closer, she would easily be able to touch him. “He has told me who you are. Who you really are, my lord.” The man outside her window stilled,
though she felt his stare upon her. “I think he hoped the revelation would cause me to send you away. But the man he describes in his letter, I have seen no evidence of during your time here with us.”
Lord Neil sounded almost hoarse. “What do you mean? You do not think I am a lord?”
“I know you must be. It explains so much about you, and your education. And Frederick’s letter confirms that you have been cut off from your rather powerful family.” Teresa lifted her gaze to meet his at last, that familiar warmth stirring in her chest. “But he describes a selfish man. A lord so wrapped up in himself that his own family had grown to despise him. Yet every moment that you have been here, with us, you have conducted yourself with honor and generosity. Lord Neil.”
He winced at the title and averted his eyes. “I wish you would not call me that.”
“It is truer to who you are than Mr. Duncan, though I have grown rather fond of that name.”
The man looked sideways at her, cautiously. “You have?”
Teresa nodded. “You have been kind to us, my lord—”
“Please,” he interrupted, his eyebrows drawn together. He swallowed. “Do not call me that. Not here. I am not a lord here. And if Mr. Duncan will no longer do, would you consider calling me only Neil? We are friends enough for that, are we not?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You have called me Teresa once before. I took you to task for it.”
His shoulders dropped. “So you did.”
“Perhaps you ought to try it again.” Was it her recovery from illness that made her bold? The fever had likely addled her brain for her to suggest such a thing. Yet she had been told of the gifts he brought back from the village. She had seen him work in her fields, orchards, and in her barn. Caroline adored him. Mother had made it clear that she thought highly of him, too. And Teresa had found him handsome from the first moment they met.
Knowing his true identity did not scare her. It soothed her. Not because it changed anything between them. They were as unlikely friends as ever. Yet it confirmed the good opinion of him that had already formed.
“Teresa,” he said, his silky tone making her name a caress.
She closed her eyes and released a sigh. “That was not terrible.”
He chuckled. The ladder creaked as he adjusted his hold upon it. “Not at all. It is a lovely name, so it suits you.”
“No one else can hear you use it,” she said quickly, rushing to cover her delight. “They will form the wrong impression.”
“And what is the right impression?” His grin turned sly as he watched her. “We are naught but friends.”
“I am well aware of that.” And disappointed by it, though she knew it was all that could be between them. The son of a marquess could never be more to a poor widow such as she. The nobility of England did as they wished, but rarely turned upon one of their own. His father would reinstate him, she had no doubt, and Neil would leave her behind for good.
The knowledge that he would take a piece of her heart with him when he did made her ache. But she would keep that secret from him. He need not know that every moment of her waking hours she must remind herself not to care for him. Not to see the tenderness with which he spoke to the animals, or the gentleness with her daughter. She had tried to ignore him. To pretend there was nothing for her to admire, that he was the same as any other man.
But he was not. He had lowered himself to the position of a farm worker. He had done every task she presented him, and others she had not, to the best of his ability, with humility.
“Teresa,” he said when the silence stretched long between them. “You are not upset with who I am?”
She shook her head, feeling tears burn at her eyes. She swallowed them away, her sore throat aching. “I am not. Truly. It did not even surprise me as much as you might think. It matters little to me who you are, Neil. All that I have cared about is how you have behaved while here.”
“Ah, so you will always think of me as an inept laborer who falls from trees and cleans out chicken houses.” He tipped his head back, sighing dramatically. “I suppose that is not an intimidating or frightful person to have about.”
Teresa laughed unexpectedly, then hastily covered her mouth. She had no wish to wake her mother or daughter with their conversation. That might cause questions later. “You are a good man, Neil. That is all that matters.”
His eyes focused on hers and he leaned closer, nearly to her window. “Is that all that matters, Teresa?”
She swallowed back the emotion again. “Of course. A person’s actions are more important than their birthright.”
“That is not what I meant.” He somehow came closer.
If she leaned forward, just a touch, she could kiss him. And oh, how she wanted to. But her heart already ached, knowing she must lose him eventually. Teresa withdrew, clutching the ribbon between her fingers. “I had better turn in. I am afraid I am not fully recovered yet, and I need my rest.”
He considered her a moment, not withdrawing. “What keeps you from me, Teresa?” Her name was a purr, a gentle touch upon her heart.
Her lips parted in her surprise, but she hastily closed her mouth. This was the moment she should close the window, blow out the lamp, and go to sleep. Or tell him to leave. Perhaps feign offence.
Yet his expression was open and curious. Not hurt or sly. Neil’s honesty was plainly written upon his face. How could he not know, not understand, all that separated them?
“Neil.” She savored his name a moment before she continued, hearing the disappointment in her voice and not bothering to hide it. “I am an honorable woman. I cannot pretend, not even for a moment, that more than friendship could ever grow between us. I am a poor widow, reduced to circumstances so beneath my station that none who knew me in the past would admit to knowing me now. You are a lord, the son of a powerful nobleman. The time you have had here, with us, has been a blessing. But it has also been something of a dream.”
Neil averted his eyes, his expression closing. She saw the denial of her words in the way he tightened his jaw, and heard it as he spoke. “A dream? To work alongside you in your fields, to clean up after animals? That is not a dream. It is more real, of more substance, than any other part of my life. I feel as though I have been an actor on a stage until now. I have played my part to the best of my ability. I have been the nobleman’s son, the arrogant lord, as shallow in my feelings as in my relationships.”
“This has been the act, Neil,” she told him firmly. “You are not a farmer. You could not live this way forever.”
“Perhaps I could.” He faced her again, nothing wavering in the strength of his gaze. “If I am with you.”
It was the closest he had come to a declaration, and Teresa wondered if he had ever laid himself so bare before another in his life. She saw it all. His determination, of course. His earnestness. But she saw something else that made her heart hurt for him, something in his eyes that revealed how easily she might damage him should she turn him away. Yet it would be the right thing to do, to give pain where he had looked for hope.
Teresa put her hand to her forehead. “Neil. I am tired, and overwhelmed, and—and ill. I know you mean the things you say, but I cannot let myself believe them. I have nothing to offer. If you tried to stay here, your family would not allow it. Please. I am asking you to speak no more of this. It will only hurt us both.”
He withdrew, standing straight upon the ladder again. “If that is truly what you wish,” he murmured, “I will not say anything more. For now.”
It would be easy to let him in, not just into her heart but into her home. Her loneliness, her longing to be held and cared for, had not abated. But it would hurt all the worse when he left, because she knew she could not stop herself from falling in love with him.
But her life was not his. He would leave, and return to the world of ballrooms and perfumed ladies. Wealth and prestige were his birthright.
“Good night, Neil.”
“Good night, Ter
esa.” He went down the ladder, and she watched him stand at the bottom and lift it free of the roof. She leaned out and took hold of the window latch, pulling it closed.
Going to her lamp on the table, she put the ribbon upon its surface. She glanced at the slim volume of sonnets. “‘Thy love is better than high birth to me.’” Teresa blew out her lamp and crawled into bed.
Though the poem was beautiful, the sentiments perhaps real enough, there was nothing to be done about her situation. Nothing to be done about her growing love for Neil Duncan.
Chapter Twenty
Another week passed, and Neil received a letter from Lady Fox. The woman had formerly been one Miss Millicent Wedgewood, a guest in his family’s home. It was while visiting with them earlier that summer that she had met and fallen in love with Sir Isaac Fox, a baronet. They had wed recently. Lady Fox had received his letter, and promised as Lady Inglewood had to look into the matter with her husband’s assistance. She also assured him that he was welcome, whenever he wished, in her home.
Fox Hall, as the baronet’s home had recently been renamed, sat far too near his father’s country estate for Neil to even consider staying there. But the offer was kind, as was the lady who made it.
Neil kept his hands busy, and his mind with them, and avoided more than brief conversations with Teresa. She was the same as ever, once recovered from her brief illness. No one watching the two of them could possibly suspect how much his arms had begun to ache for want of holding her, nor how his heart leaped for joy every time she came within sight. He was a lovesick fool, of the very worst sort, and could do nothing about it.
Not once since that single Season when he had tried to open his heart to another had Neil felt such things. And those feelings in his youth were nothing compared to the transformation his heart underwent now. At five and thirty, he had seen enough of life’s pain, misery, and foolishness to give him a greater depth for more tender feelings.
Reforming Lord Neil: A Regency Romance, Inglewood Book 5 Page 16