John rubbed the back of his head. That was the greater concern indeed. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”
It was a good day to visit. A cloudless, cerulean sky and a coolness to the air which hinted autumn was not far off. Color already inched its way onto a few trees. No wonder William had taken so many trips back here while John studied in London. A restfulness lay here, which meant it might be worth trying to get a handle on the enormity of his inheritance.
Thomas snapped his fingers. “Two of the Apostles.”
“What?”
“I knew our names reminded me of something. I’m not sure how I feel about being the Doubter. At least you’re named after the disciple Christ loved.”
His cautiously happy mood melted away. The disciple Jesus loved. That was his name, but was that how he saw himself? Loved by God? He wasn’t so sure.
Before he left the Hall, Parker had informed him of William’s custom of assembling the servants in the front hall for Scripture reading every morning. He tried to decline, but the butler had already assembled the staff and told him they were waiting. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of them with William’s Bible in his hand. Not knowing what to choose, he’d allowed the book to fall open in his hand and read the first thing his eyes landed on. “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”
He reached up to his neck as if he could already feel the rope there. No. After failing so miserably, how could the Divine Father still love him?
They rode all morning from one tenant to another. All were happy to meet him. Each farm, large or small, was well kept and neat. Wherever someone held a concern, Thomas listened carefully and jotted it down in the small notebook he kept in his breast pocket.
John took note of what he was told of Miss Howard. She was “a dear thing” and “such a kind woman,” but how sad she hadn’t made a good match. The more he heard about her, the more eager he was to meet her. He couldn’t help but admire her kind nature and hard work for his tenants.
But the tenants were eager to see him “settled,” as they put it. Upon discovering he wasn’t married, many of them hinted how the young Abbott girl had come out just last Season and that Hartsbury Manor would one day be hers, there being no entail upon the estate. Hartsbury’s and Ashford’s estates adjoined, making the match even more advantageous in the tenants’ eyes. By the end of the morning, dodging their nudging had become an art form.
And Thomas suffered from their matchmaking efforts too. Several mothers made an effort to have their elder daughters on hand to meet them, and all of them eyed him with undisguised admiration.
By early afternoon, John and Thomas had visited all the largest farms save one. They rode down its manicured lane to find the farmer giving orders to one of his laborers. He gestured at them, and they waved at Thomas, then he took hold of the horses’ bridles as they dismounted.
“Good morning, Mr. Howard.” The farmer pumped his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Good morning, Mr. Cole. I’ve come to introduce Lord Renshaw’s heir, Lord Turner. Lord Turner, may I introduce Fredrick Cole.”
The man’s jovial manner became respectful as he offered a bow. “My lord, welcome to Oak Hill Farm.”
John suppressed a groan. The bows and curtsies were beginning to wear on him. “Good morning, and thank you.” He looked around the courtyard. “You have a fine-looking farm here.”
For the next hour, Mr. Cole showed them the barns and animals, and they also walked out to the edge of the man’s fields. John slowed as they returned, a hand on his left leg. His old war injury always came back to haunt him whenever he walked or rode too long.
Mr. Cole noticed he was lagging behind. “Are you all right, Lord Turner?”
“I’m fine.” He caught up with the two men. “Please, let’s continue.”
Thomas asked Mr. Cole about next year’s planting. John tried to listen, but the dull ache in his thigh began to grow. Not now. His tenants needed to see a healthy, capable man, not a wounded cripple, but he’d need his cane for a few days if he didn’t sit down. He’d hated using the blasted thing after his leg had finally healed. The practical part of him, knowing he’d need it again from time to time, kept him from feeding it to the fire once he could walk without it.
He leaned to rub the point where the stray bullet had entered his leg. Piles of limbs filled his thoughts. His leg should have been among them.
Straightening before the two noticed, he forced himself to ignore the pain and concentrated on the conversation, even adding to it at some points. But by the time he shook hands with Mr. Cole and their horses had been brought out, he felt as if his leg were on fire. Somehow, he managed to swing himself onto his horse and wish the farmer a good day. He followed Thomas until they rounded a corner and the farm was out of sight. Then he reined in and rubbed his thigh.
“Are you all right?” Thomas’ voice rang with concern. “Did you take a bad step back there?”
“I’m fine.” He tried to shift himself in the saddle to make his leg ache less, but his movements didn’t sit well with the animal beneath him. His horse sidestepped, and he gritted his teeth. “I injured my leg in the war. It’s healed, but if I ride or walk too much, it acts up.”
“And we’ve done a good deal of both today,” Thomas replied. “We’re quite close to the Home Farm. Why don’t we stop? We can have tea, and you can go on to the Hall from there.”
Within a few minutes, they were riding up to Fairview’s door. John’s leg protested as he slid to the ground, but the pain had eased somewhat. If he could just sit down. He made his way over to the benches on either side of the front door.
Thomas took charge of his horse. “There’s no place to leave the horses, and our stable boy seems to be missing. I’ll lead them back and send someone to the kitchen to fetch Hannah, our housekeeper. She’ll be at the door shortly.”
John didn’t mind waiting as long as he could sit.
A minute or two after Thomas left, the door opened. “Lord Turner! We were told you’d injured your leg. Can you walk, sir?”
John stared. This was Thomas’ housekeeper? The woman he’d tried to help yesterday? Her bonnet had hidden her youth. And her beauty. No, it had to be his maid. Did they have one? She wore an apron but no cap on her burnished gold hair, and her brows constricted over summer blue eyes. Most likely she wondered why he hadn’t said anything yet. Whoever she was, he needed to stop his gaping and stand up.
“Certainly, I—” He took a step and stumbled.
She slipped her arm around his waist and splayed her fingers across his lower chest, supporting him. How, he couldn’t explain. She was the size of a pixie, and he towered over her.
A warmth spread through his chest at her touch, like a cup of his mother’s tea on a cold day. No, it was a purely physical reaction to not being near a woman since Maggie. Yet, the warmth spread to his cheeks as he grasped the hand that burned into his chest. What on earth was wrong with him? She was just trying to help him. That shouldn’t affect him at all. Except it did.
“Please, I can manage. I—”
“Nonsense. I’ve managed taller and heavier men than you, my lord.” Her hands remained locked in place as she opened the door wider with her foot. The ease with which she supported him into the house spoke of nursing skill. Was that sort of training normal for English housekeepers?
They made their way into a parlor, and soon she had him settled into a chair. She tucked a pillow behind his back. “Shall I get a hot compress, sir?”
He stretched out his aching leg. “No, thank you. It simply needs rest.”
She brought a side table closer to his high-backed chair. As she did so, an older woman entered, scanning the room. “Where did that little stool get off to?”
The housekeeper said, “Oh, of course. The cushion tore, and I took it
to my room to mend it. I’ll go get it. We must elevate that leg.”
She left before he could protest. All his leg needed was a few minutes rest. That would be enough to get him back to the Hall. Once there, he could keep off it for the rest of the day and not have to resort to that ridiculous cane.
The other woman had stayed behind and managed a stiff curtsy.
This was Thomas’ sister? She had to be, with her officious manner and her age. And Thomas constantly referred to her as “old girl.” She was much older than John had imagined, too old to be running all over the countryside and Woodley on a regular basis. No wonder Mrs. Baines complained. What could Thomas be thinking?
“You must excuse us, my lord. My hip isn’t what it used to be, and I’m afraid I wrenched it recently.” She limped over to him.
If it weren’t for his own leg, he would have jumped up and helped her. No, she shouldn’t continue doing rounds for Ashford Hall. If Thomas wouldn’t curb her other activities, he could at least put a stop to that. Surely Thomas could find someone to replace her if needed. And the sooner, the better.
“Is there anything else I can get you, my lord? Tea?”
Tea sounded wonderful, but it would be best if this were dealt with first. He took a deep breath. “In a moment. Won’t you please sit down?”
“You want me to sit down?” The uncertainty in her voice was unmistakable.
“Yes, please. We need to talk.”
She lowered herself onto a sofa across from him and perched on the very edge.
He clasped his hands, gathering the right words. “I understand you are a hard worker, and I admire everything you do for my tenants and in Woodley. Everyone speaks very highly of you.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Her voice sharpened.
Of course, the matter must have been approached before. “I hope you won’t see me as some ignorant American riding in to change everything just to change it. But I truly feel this particular change would be for the best.”
Her mouth twitched. “My lord—”
“This is as hard for me to say as it is for you to hear.” He laid his hand over her folded ones. “I’m worried you may be spreading yourself too thin, Miss Howard, and in light of your injury, I think it would be better if you stopped your visits to the tenants.” She slipped one hand from his grasp and covered her mouth. He grimaced, wanting to take back what he said. But how could he? “I’m very sorry.”
Miss Howard’s large form shook and her face glowed red— with barely suppressed laughter.
What on earth was the matter? He had imagined disappointment or even tears, but not this.
The woman pressed her lips together and tried to compose herself by flapping the edge of her apron like a fan across her face.
“Miss Howard?”
A peal of laughter was her only response.
“Oh dear!” The young housekeeper stood in the doorway, her brow creased with consternation. “My lord, I am so sorry, I should have made the introductions before I left the room.”
She strode forward and set the stool down. “Hannah, please, compose yourself.” Hannah nodded and, with a deep breath, covered her mouth with her hand. She managed to school her features, although her eyes still twinkled.
The younger woman grasped the skirts of her now apronless dress, bowed her head, and curtsied. “My lord, if I may be so bold, I am Penelope Howard.”
CHAPTER 6
Which was worse? Meeting him disheveled and muddy on the side of the road, or meeting him like this? Etiquette demanded Penelope be introduced to him by her brother, but the need to rectify the current situation was far greater. She laid a hand on her housekeeper’s shoulder. “This is Hannah Trull, our housekeeper and cook.”
The new lord of Ashford Hall shifted in his seat. “Mrs. Trull, I apologize—”
“Please do not apologize, Lord Turner. In light of the unusual circumstances, I should have introduced myself as soon as I opened the front door.” Why hadn’t Thomas sent for someone to take the horses and waited to make the introductions? Then again why had she gone to the door in the first place? She hadn’t thought. All she’d heard was Lord Turner was injured, and off she went.
She turned to Hannah. “Why don’t you rest your hip and keep Lord Turner company while I help Fanny prepare the luncheon?”
Hannah rose, albeit stiffly. “With all due respect, I’ve rested enough for one day. I didn’t wrench it that bad. You, literally on the other hand . . .”
She took hold of Penelope by her bandaged wrist and pulled her toward Lord Turner. “You’re a doctor, my lord. Look at the state of her hand. Sprained this only yesterday. Had no business helping you into the house, but would she send Fanny or let me do it? No! Shot straight to the front door.” She extended Penelope’s hand toward him for his inspection.
Now less than two feet away, Penelope was forced to do what she’d been avoiding the instant she’d first seen him at the side of the road. She looked at Lord Turner full in the face. Her heart began to run races around her flip-flopping insides.
His slender face colored as his strong, capable hands grasped her wrist. He turned it from side to side before letting it go, embarrassed by Hannah’s forthrightness. “It does look swollen, Miss Howard.”
She nodded as she drew her hand back to her chest. Why on earth had Hannah put both of them in such an awkward position? She sought her head for something to stop her thumping heart and found it. Handsome faces seldom are. Yes, she should know that well enough by now. Her heart slowed, and she prayed it would be easier to look at him with that maxim—as well as the memories behind it—in place.
“Let’s set ourselves back to our proper places, shall we?” Hannah took her by the arms and pushed her into her seat on the couch. “I’ll go to the kitchen, and you see to Lord Turner. Master Thomas will be joining you shortly, I imagine.” She placed the stool where Lord Turner could make use of it. “My lord, she is the one you want to speak to about spreading herself too thin.”
She dipped her head and made her way out the door.
Penelope smoothed her skirt. “I hope you will excuse Hannah, Lord Turner. She has a tendency to be a little brusque.” She tipped her head up. There, that was better. Her insides were settled. Until his face relaxed somewhat and he swept a few loose strands of cinnamon spice hair away from his forehead.
“Don’t worry about it. I used to know a woman a lot like her back in Philadelphia.” He directed his attention to her wrist. “Unless you’re in more pain than you’re letting on, it doesn’t look that bad.”
“It’s not bothering me, my lord.” And it wasn’t. She had only mildly strained it.
“I take it Miss Trull was your traveling companion yesterday?”
“Mrs. Trull, and yes, she was.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”
Her face warmed. “I hoped to be formally introduced to you under better circumstances.” How ridiculous. Better circumstances? She raised a hand to her mouth, but Lord Turner laughed, and she joined him.
“Thank you, Miss Howard,” he said. “I haven’t had a hearty laugh in a long time.”
Penelope dabbed at her eye with her knuckle. “I’m sorry to hear that, my lord.”
“That’s all right.” His expression cooled. “War isn’t very cheerful.”
“Of course. You served, did you not?”
“Yes.” He entwined his fingers, and his attention drifted somewhere far away from her parlor.
She rose and stepped over to the tea service. How foolish to have mentioned the war. And he’d already somehow hurt himself. A cup of tea seemed like a small thing, and as an American, he probably preferred a strong cup of coffee, but perhaps it would help ease his melancholy.
She poured him a generous cup, added milk and sugar, and took it over to him. “Here, my lord.”
He looked at her, then at the cup and saucer she offered him. A light came to his eyes that she wasn’t sure how to place. He accepted
the cup, and she resumed her seat. After taking a sip, the glint in his eyes intensified.
She shifted in her seat. Had she made it wrong? “I’m sorry, my lord. Would you prefer it different?”
“Not at all. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say my mother had made this herself.” He lifted the cup and breathed in the scent of the brew, then released his breath with a sigh. “This is the first cup of tea I’ve been offered since arriving in England. People think I want coffee since I’m American, but my parents were English and raised me on tea. I don’t even like coffee.”
“That is a blend from a company in Andover, not far from here.” She would send a supply over to the Hall the next time she ordered some for the farm.
“It’s wonderful. Thank you.” He took another sip, and his light mood restored. He asked about her wrist. “How did it happen?”
“It’s rather silly, I’m afraid. I was rescuing a trapped kitten.”
“Trapped?”
“Perhaps your lordship passed by ruins on the way to the Hall yesterday?” They were visible from the road that led to the Hall’s main drive.
“Yes, I did see those. I meant to ask Parker about them, but I didn’t have the chance. What are they? An old abbey?”
“No, the remains of the original Hall, known as the Castle. It was built by the first Baron but destroyed during our own civil war. A few of the towers are still standing, and the kitten was trapped in one of them.” She related the rest of the story to him. “It was a silly thing to do.”
“Why would you call that silly?”
“It is, isn’t it?” Hannah had said so yet again while Penelope soaked her hand.
“Rescuing something small and helpless? I think it’s admirable. Not silly.”
Penelope tidied the lightly soiled strips of cloths covering her wrist. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“I mean it.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Admirable. As if yesterday’s compliment hadn’t been bad enough. What could she do with those words and the danger they posed? They needed to be buried so there would be no lasting harm. But already, more than just her cheeks were warm. His praise had slipped past her defenses and begun to kindle a cold place in her heart. It had been an age since anyone spoke to her like that or had seemed so pleased with her. Not since Mama passed. Oh, Thomas had faith in her and Hannah fussed, but to hear a simple, kind word?
A Perfect Weakness Page 4