An Unsuitable Match

by Sasha Cottman

‘Excuse me,’ she said and hurried to take her seat.

  When the second act began, David took the seat next to her once more. He continued as before, paying close attention to the singers on the stage. Clarice for her part found herself unable to concentrate on the performance.

  The champagne began to make her feel drowsy and she struggled to stay awake. Feeling cold, she unfolded her evening wrap and placed it round her shoulders. Slowly she slid down in the chair and finally her eyes closed.

  As the final act reached its crescendo, the attention of everyone in the Duke of Strathmore’s opera box was riveted to the stage. All except Lady Clarice Langham. She was fast asleep in the second row, her head resting gently on David’s shoulder.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  David left London early the following morning, politely refusing his father’s late offer to accompany him on his first visit to his new estate. With the contract of sale, including a list of household goods and chattels, in his possession, he had a firm idea of what to expect at Sharnbrook Grange.

  ‘Thank you, but no; much as it may make me seem ungrateful, I must do this on my own. If you come with me, then it looks as if I am a spoilt child whose parent has indulged him with a new plaything. I need the people of the estate to understand I am true in my purpose to manage it properly.’

  After leaving London, he headed northwest toward Bedford, stopping twice to stay overnight with friends en route.

  Late in the afternoon of the third day out from London, he crossed the river Ouse and reached the small village of Sharnbrook. A mile and a half east of the village, he turned off the dusty road and passed through the gates of Sharnbrook Grange.

  The long driveway, edged with silver birch trees at either side, created an entrance fit for a more opulent house. As the manor house came into view, he smiled. Many of his friends had their own grand estates; some owned castles, but at that moment he would not have traded his new home for any of them.

  As he drew on the reins of his pair of bays and brought them to a halt out the front of the main house, he sat for a moment surveying what was now his.

  The house, of surprisingly recent origin, was a pale grey wash in colour, almost white. Its roof was well-kept dark-grey slate. Along the front of the house, either side of the main front door, ran a series of large double-hung windows.

  He smiled again; his father had chosen exactly the right house for him. David saw himself as a man of the world. While he loved the Radley ancestral home at Strathmore Castle in Scotland, he was always looking for ways to modernise Strathmore House in London.

  When he had seen the first gas lamps in a theatre earlier in the year, he spent hours extolling their virtues to his father. Finally, his father relented and allowed a gas lamp to be installed out the front of the stables in the rear mews of Strathmore House. The duke had, however, drawn the line at any form of dangerous gas within the house itself.

  He jumped down from the curricle and dusted off his clothes. A bubble of excitement bounced around in his stomach. Beneath his greatcoat the ownership papers crunched. Since his father had handed him the papers, David had slept with them under his pillow. He dreamt of striding up to the front door of his new house, rapping on the wood and, with the papers held high in his hand, demanding his right of entrance.

  He gave a sheepish chuckle.

  He would knock on the door and politely introduce himself.

  After tying the horses’ reins to a nearby tree, he took off his hat and strode toward the house.

  The front door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out. Upon seeing David, and the tethered horses, a broad smile lit up the man’s face. He hastened his step and reached David’s side, a hand held out in greeting.

  ‘Mr Radley?’

  David nodded, a smile finding its way easily to his face. ‘Yes, are you Bannister?’ he replied taking the man’s hand.

  ‘That I am, sir, and most honoured to make your acquaintance. Welcome to Sharnbrook Grange,’ Bannister replied.

  ‘How did you know I was Mr Radley?’ David asked.

  ‘I met Lord Strathmore and Lord Brooke when they came to inspect the property. The familial likeness is obvious, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir. I saw you from the upstairs window as you arrived.’

  David glanced over Bannister’s shoulder and looked at the house once more. From the state of the grounds as he had observed them and the well-maintained gardens around the side of the house, it was obvious Bannister ran a tight ship. He nodded his approval.

  ‘So how many staff do you currently employ here?’ David asked. His father had made mention that the previous owner, having lost interest in the estate, had run the household staff down to a small number. If David was to make a success of the estate, he would need to have it running as efficiently as possible, and that meant ensuring he had the right people.

  ‘Only a handful at the moment, Mr Radley, but on your father’s recommendation I have put together a list of local people who have either worked at Sharnbrook in the past or who would make an excellent addition to the staff.’

  David liked Bannister immediately. He made a mental note to ensure his new steward employed a needy family or two. The Duke of Strathmore had instilled in his sons the concept that aid came in many forms, and that allowing a man to keep his honour as well as feed his family was far better than charity.

  ‘Wonderful; I would like to review that list as soon as possible,’ David replied.

  Bannister took David’s hat and followed him inside the front door. David stopped and looked around. The entrance area was simple, but elegant. The red, grey and white diamond-patterned encaustic tiles created a warm and inviting ambience.

  A thrill ran up his spine. He was going to be happy in this house. Now he just needed someone with whom to share it.

  He looked at the staircase, frowning when he saw the state of the carpet. His father had set aside funds to bring the estate up to scratch, money David had thought to use for livestock. The torn and partly balding fabric of the carpet told him otherwise.

  The faded green curtains that hung in the front windows reflected the tired state of the house’s interior. He swore silently. All his personal savings would have to be spent getting the house into suitable condition for a future wife. Much as Sharnbrook Grange had potential, he would be ashamed to show it to Clarice in its current state.

  Clarice.

  Their private discussion at the opera had been all too brief, but his instincts told him he was making progress. The moment she had fallen asleep, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, the longing had stirred once more within him. He had lain awake late into the night thinking of the little catches her breath made while she slept.

  He smiled, remembering when the opera ended and Clarice woke to discover she was all but sleeping in his arms. The blush that raced to her face when she had looked down and seen her hand was merely an inch from his lap had been beyond price.

  Some day you will sleep exhausted and sated in my arms, and it won’t be the bloody opera that tires you out.

  ‘Cook has gone to the village to get some provisions, so I am afraid you will have to make do with coffee if you require sustenance, Mr Radley,’ Bannister offered.

  Roused from his private thoughts, David put his hands behind his back and sagely nodded. ‘Very good, Bannister,’ he replied. He was not in need of refreshment, but the temptation to play lord of the manor was too strong to resist.

  Half an hour later and with a cup of lukewarm, bitter brew in his hand, David vowed never to ask Bannister to make him a cup of anything ever again. He was sitting at the long wooden table in the kitchen, legs stretched out in front of him. Bannister had offered to serve him his drink in one of the sitting rooms upstairs, but true to family form, David had preferred to sit downstairs in the warmth of the kitchen.

  ‘So has the cook been with the estate long?’ he asked. If she was anything like Bannister when it came to matters in the kitchen, he would have to find a ne
w one. The coffee was liquid mud.

  A sly smile appeared on the corner of Bannister’s mouth. ‘You mean can she make a palatable cup of coffee?’ he replied.

  David laughed and put the unfinished cup of coffee down.

  ‘Rest assured, Mr Radley, Cook knows her way around the kitchen. She used to work in one of the big houses in London, but her sister got sick and she had to return to Sharnbrook to help her family. I am sure, with a sensible kitchen allowance, she can bring things back up to a suitable standard. Bedford has an excellent town market at which to procure supplies. We travel downriver and back every week.’

  David pushed the bench back from the table and got to his feet. He buttoned his greatcoat and picked up his hat and gloves.

  ‘Thank you, Bannister; the finances are something you and I need to attend to at our earliest convenience. Now, I would like to take a tour of the grounds if that is convenient.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Radley.’

  He followed his steward outside and into the rear yard. His carriage and horses had been brought around to the stables and a large middle-aged man was busy unhitching the horses from the curricle.

  As soon as he saw David, the man stopped. His gaze ran down from the top of David’s hat and stopped at his highly polished hessian boots. The merest shift in the man’s eyebrows signalled his disapproval.

  While it was not the first time a stranger had sized him up in such a way, David felt an unexpected twinge of discomfort. If he was to be accepted as master of this estate he needed to gain the workers’ respect.

  Judge me at your peril.

  ‘Mr Radley, this is Mitchell, the estate stablemaster,’ Bannister said.

  David offered Mitchell his hand. Mitchell stared at it, and then blinked. A flush of red appeared on his already ruddy cheeks.

  You weren’t expecting that now, were you?

  Mitchell raised his hand to his head and pulled on the edge of his cap. Then he took hold of David’s still-proffered hand and gave it a solid shake.

  ‘Mr Radley, welcome to Sharnbrook Grange,’ he replied. He turned and stroked the head of the nearest horse. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, this is a fine pair of animals. Beautiful legs and very strong necks.’

  David smiled, recalling that his father had been less than impressed to discover David had bought the horses with winnings from the cards table. He stepped forward and gave the closest horse a friendly pat on the rump.

  ‘Thank you, Mitchell; they were a prudent purchase, if I do say so myself. Cost me a pretty penny, but you can never underestimate the value of good bloodlines.’

  He gestured toward a large stone barn nearby. ‘What other livestock do you have in the stables?’

  Mitchell screwed up his nose.

  ‘Nothing in the stables here, Mr Radley; there is a milking cow in the barn over yonder and some chickens, but that is all Sharnbrook has at the moment. The previous owner sold off all the horses last winter.’

  David slowly nodded and tried to think. ‘What about sheep? I know the area around here is famous for breeding Southdowns. Last time I passed the estate it had quite a sizeable head of sheep.’

  Mitchell and Bannister both shook their heads.

  ‘The last of the sheep were sold off in the spring after the ram died,’ Bannister replied.

  Without breeding livestock, David’s plans for making Sharnbrook pay its way were merely a dream. He dragged his boot across the loose stones in the yard and pondered his predicament.

  ‘I see. Thank you, gentlemen. Bannister, how long have you worked at Sharnbrook?’

  The steward scowled. ‘Fifteen years, Mr Radley, the last five as steward,’ he replied.

  ‘Good, then you should know how many head of sheep this farm can run. First order of business will be for you to locate me some breeding Southdowns. The price and the quality of the flock you put together will have a major bearing on whether you make it to sixteen years at Sharnbrook.’

  The steward’s face turned pale, but to his credit his back remained straight.

  ‘Very good, Mr Radley, I shall see to it right away.’

  In his boots David quietly wriggled his toes as he forced himself to hide his bitter disappointment at this unexpected development. He had hoped that at least some animals had come with the estate when it was sold.

  Fool! How did I miss that in the contract?

  He had been so concerned with enjoying the view of the countryside as he drove down the long entrance that he had missed the absence of sheep in the nearby fields. He dampened down his anger, forcing himself to contemplate a solution.

  If he was going to be real gentleman farmer, he needed a viable flock of sheep. This coming year would be the first real test as to how well he could run his own estate.

  A list of matters to attend to once he returned to London began to form in his head. First order of business would be to give up the monthly lease on his rooms in George Street. Every spare coin he could save would have to go into the estate. He pursed his lips together, not relishing the prospect of having to ask his father’s permission to move back to Strathmore House. At least he had a month to get used to the idea.

  Needs must.

  The horrid brew of coffee was not the only sour taste currently in his mouth.

  ‘Let us review the rest of the estate, Bannister, and with any luck by the time we return to the house, Cook will have something prepared. Good day to you, Mitchell,’ he said.

  He turned and followed Bannister out of the yard and down the narrow path that ran between the stables and the barn. A wry smile slowly found its way to his lips. True to Ewan Radley’s nature, he had not simply handed his eldest son a fully working estate. If Sharnbrook was going to be a success under David’s ownership, he was going to have to work for it.

  Once clear of the buildings, he got his first glimpse of the open fields and his dark mood immediately lifted. He clapped his hands together with delight.

  Huzzah!

  His father and Alex could not have chosen a better place. While there was a complete dearth of animals in the fields, he could see that the fences were all in good repair. The grass, lush and green, was ready-made for a new influx of sheep. What Bannister lacked in coffee-making skills, he clearly made up for in his management of the most precious commodity of all: land. David’s estimation of his steward rose quickly in his mind.

  ‘Bannister, I think you and I shall do well together,’ he said. The steward gave him a respectful nod of the head.

  After another hour walking the boundary line of the estate, David was convinced he could make Sharnbrook a success. He returned to the manor house, his head full of plans.

  By evening’s end he and Bannister had put together a list of matters that required urgent attention, coupled with an estimate of costs.

  As he lay awake in the master bedroom later that night, he pondered how quickly things had moved in his life during the past weeks. He had seen his brother happily married and now he, the bastard son, had his own estate.

  Marvellous though these developments were, they only served to make him more acutely aware of what he lacked in his life. He reached over and pulled a pillow into his arms, holding it tightly to himself. His last thoughts before he slipped into a deep sleep were of Clarice and how she would feel when he held her in his arms in this bed.

  He dreamt a deeply satisfying dream in which he took a pair of scissors and slowly cut away her long, dark, shapeless gown. Finally, when she stood before him in all her naked glory, she offered him her hand and begged him to make love to her.

  David slept late the following morning.

  On the afternoon of his third day at Sharnbrook Grange, and following a hearty midday meal, David and Bannister rode into Sharnbrook village and set themselves up at a table in the village inn. One after another of the former staff from Sharnbrook Grange sat in front of them and made their case for employment. As the new master of Sharnbrook, David was at pains to be seen as a fair an
d good employer.

  By afternoon’s end, they had a full household complement and enough farm workers to get things moving again at the estate.

  After a visit to the local vicar at the old Norman-era church, David had a list of families in desperate need and who could take up residence in the many empty estate cottages.

  Back in the yard at the manor house, David climbed down from his horse. Satisfaction at a job well done warmed his veins. He was kicking the mud from his boots against a tethering post when he spied a small girl, aged about ten, out the corner of his eye.

  She was standing several yards away, hands on hips, studying him. Loosening the last of the mud from the bottom of his boots, he gave her a friendly wave. With her long golden hair tied in up in a pretty blue ribbon, she reminded him of Emma, his youngest sister.

  Her hands slipped from her hips and she took a few hesitant steps toward him. Then she stopped and dipped deep into a curtsy.

  ‘My Lord,’ she said solemnly.

  David, frowned and then, seeing how much effort the young girl had put into her greeting, he smiled. He pushed away from the wooden post and walked over to her. Giving her a deep bow, he replied.

  ‘My Lady.’

  Her bended knee wobbled and the young girl looked up at him with serious intent.

  ‘I ain’t no lady, I’m Tunia,’ she stated firmly.

  At the stable door, Mitchell coughed. David gave him a sideways glance and saw the stable master stifling a grin.

  ‘Petunia,’ her father corrected her.

  Petunia screwed up her nose in disgust. ‘No one but me ma calls me that, and only when she’s cross.’

  A gasp of mock indignation escaped David’s lips. ‘No. I cannot believe that such a graceful and beautiful young lady as yourself would ever be in trouble with her mama.’

  The stable master turned away, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

  David knelt down on his haunches and took hold of Tunia’s hand.

  ‘Lady Tunia, I think you are the loveliest lady I have seen since last week.’ He kissed her sun-freckled hand and watched as a tear came to Tunia’s eye.