by June Calvin
“It is not I who keep him here! You do not understand.”
“I think I do. He will not be freed by anything less than your marriage.”
Olivia turned her head away. “I do not intend to marry.”
Edmund watched her expression grow stormy. “Why do you hate the idea so?”
She bristled. “That is none of your business, Lord Edmund.”
“No, of course it isn’t. But I seem to have landed in the midst of your business. I could deal with the situation better if I understood more. Most women are eager to marry. You act as if it is a fate worse than death. Was your parents’ marriage terrible? Have you always disliked the idea of marrying, and dared refuse it only after your father’s death?”
“No, Lord Edmund. I just do not wish to put my fate in the hands of a man.”
Edmund spoke softly, gently. “Your fiancé’s rejection broke your heart. You still love him, don’t you?”
Olivia shook her head. “No, I was well rid of him. His character has become better known to me in the intervening years.”
He studied her face thoughtfully. “Perhaps you no longer trust yourself. Having chosen so badly once, you fear to trust your judgment again.”
Olivia felt as if she had been taken into strong, capable arms for a comforting hug. Not only was Lord Edmund sincerely trying to understand her point of view, but he had succeeded in discovering what she had never been quite able to put into words. She could only nod, her eyes brimming with tears. Determined not to cry in front of him, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She withdrew to her office and busied herself with adding some columns of figures. It was all pretense, of course, for she sat there and fought against the tears that threatened to engulf her. Experience had taught her that once tears had begun, they were almost impossible to shut off. Odd how the understanding and tenderness Lord Edmund had just displayed loosened the spigot in a way that no amount of hurtful comments from her brother could do.
Edmund watched her for a few moments, then turned to survey the vista spread out before him. Beaumont Manor overlooked Norvale, the fertile valley he had surveyed from the road that morning. A variety of grain crops grew there, and along the banks of the small river that meandered through it, rich grass waved in the summer wind.
“Time and past to cut that grass,” he muttered, understanding Miss Ormhill’s anxiety to get on with the harvest. He remembered enough about farming from his childhood to know that grass must be cut while it was still green if it was to retain its nourishment when dried. And once cut, it must be dried in the fields before being stored, which meant the task must be completed before rainy weather brought on mildew. These pleasant late July days were haying time, and the farmer delayed at his—or in this case her—peril.
Edmund vowed silently to see that the tart-tongued but appealing Miss Olivia Ormhill succeeded in bringing in the harvest. My life is in a muddle, and I have no idea how I may come about, but this at least I can do.
That evening Jason seemed to have conquered his bad mood. After dinner he and Edmund had an excellent game of billiards over brandy and cigars. When Edmund had won the third game in a row, and was richer by the possession of Storm and his own waistcoat and riding breeches, Olivia stuck her head in the door. “Six of the clock comes early, gentlemen,” she advised. “You might wish to turn in soon.”
“Six of the . . . !” Jason stared at her, openmouthed. “You cannot be serious.”
“Indeed!”
In spite of her advice to Jason and Lord Edmund, Olivia did not go directly to bed, but returned to her study to go over her accounts. If I sold those three colts Jason wanted to keep, I could afford to offer higher wages to get back some of my workers.
The thought of the howl her brother would set up over that made Olivia shudder. She stood, stretched her back, and walked to the French doors to stare out over the valley. The river blazed with orange fire, giving back the light of the newly risen full moon.
Harvest moon, she thought wryly. If only we actually have a harvest! Her glum mood lifted, though, as she took in the beauty of the scene. The rising moon was hidden by the side of the house. She opened the French doors and stepped quickly along the veranda, determined to drink in the magic of a full moon. As she rounded the corner she crashed into someone. “Unnh,” she groaned as she staggered back. Momentary alarm had her struggling to flee even though she had not yet caught her balance. Strong arms caught her as she swayed dangerously near the edge of the porch.
“Miss Ormhill.” Lord Edmund pulled her sharply toward him, dragging her against his chest and holding her there to steady her.
“Lord Edmund. You startled me!” She pushed against him. “What do you mean, sneaking around my office like that?”
“I stepped out to admire the moon. As you did, I don’t doubt. But I have found something even more magnificent to admire.”
His eyes swept her face with wonder. “Tomorrow will decide my fate, Miss Ormhill. I will become your employee, or be on my way. One way or another, everything will change.”
“You don’t mention the third possibility,” she said, tilting her head and looking up at this handsome man, fascinated against her will by what she saw in his eyes.
“That Jason will also manage to fill his wagon and get it to the barn? I think that as unlikely as you do.” He grinned, and she felt her lips turning up in an answering smile.
She had apologized for her insults, soothing his raw pride. Now she stood smiling up at him in a beguiling way. Edmund felt again the attraction that had swept over him upon first catching sight of her.
“Will you grant me something I’ve wanted all the long years of soldiering, something I could obtain only in England?”
“What might that be, Lord Edmund?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows disingenuously, for she had a good idea what it was he wanted.
“To hold a lovely English miss in my arms and give her just . . . one . . .” He lowered his head slowly, giving her time to evade him if she wished. When she held still, he pressed his mouth to hers, breathing out the word kiss on a long sigh as he buried his lips in the soft pillows of her own.
For a long, enchanted moment Olivia let him press his lips to hers in a kiss so gentle and yet so fiery she felt longing spread throughout her body. It was he, in fact, who broke off the kiss. Their lips clung for a moment as he pulled away, and she lifted her hand to touch her mouth with wondering fingers.
“Magic,” he proclaimed. “Everything I yearned for as I fought.” He pulled her close once again, and bent for another kiss.
She pressed against his chest, though, stopping him. “You said one kiss,” she reminded him. The pounding of her heart and the sweet yearning in her body told her she must deny him what she herself wanted far too much.
“But I didn’t say I’d not ask for another.”
“I, however, think one was entirely too many.” She broke away, determination to resist him giving strength to her shove. “You think to take by seduction what you could not accomplish by wager. But I’ll not wed you, so you may as well desist.”
He drew back as if slapped. “So our bet is off?”
She hesitated a moment. “No, but as you said, that particular outcome is extremely unlikely.” She turned her back on him and virtually raced through her study and upstairs to her room, where she forced herself to read a boring treatise on drainage until the urge to return to him for the second kiss was overcome by sleep.
Edmund remained a while, staring out over the countryside, struggling against bitterness over his situation. Never had he yearned so much for a woman, and never had he been less likely to win her over. It wasn’t just his lack of fortune that put her out of his reach. He had forfeited hope of her respect last night when he had made that foolish wager.
When Edmund joined Jason at the breakfast table, he laughed at his host’s reaction to his clothing. “I asked Morton to bring me some workmen’s garments, rather than ruin my own clothes.�
�� He modeled the old leather breeches and smock shirt. “These will be more comfortable, too. You’d best do the same.”
“Rot! I can’t appear dressed like that among my own workers. I would look and feel a right fool. I will anyway, you know. Me, the squire, on a hay wain.”
Edmund grinned. “You’ll get a nice view of the countryside from up there.”
“Yes, and that’s another thing. Been thinking about that. Why do they stack the hay so high? Just bound to tumble off, isn’t it?” Jason looked a little uneasy.
“Your sister explained yesterday. Unless you have a fleet of wagons and battalions of workers, it would take too long to carry the hay to the barn if the wagons were not loaded to the skies.”
“Well, it seems to me it would be better to make a number of trips than to risk dumping a load of hay on the way.”
“And she also explained that a good worker can load a wagon in such a way that that doesn’t happen.” He studied Jason’s expression. “What is it, lad? Don’t like heights?” Edmund challenged as he loaded his plate with ham slices and coddled eggs.
“Don’t call me lad! And I’m not afraid of anything,” Jason snapped.
“Nonsense. Everyone’s afraid of something. The bravest man I ever saw in battle was terrified of mice. Jumped up on a chair like a girl whenever one came near.”
“Like a girl?” Olivia Ormhill swept into the room, her voice chiding. “I never mind mice, nor snakes, nor bugs. Not all females are so hen-hearted, my lord.”
“I daresay they are not.” Edmund looked at her appreciatively. Miss Ormhill looked a treat in a green riding habit and a gleaming white habit shirt. She carried the train looped over her wrist with an ease that was obviously second nature to her as she stepped briskly up to the buffet. She filled her plate, then sat next to her brother.
“Well, at any rate, I’m not afraid of heights.” Jason returned to his original topic. “I’m afraid of not being able to keep the hay on that wagon. I want to win this bet!”
Olivia grinned wickedly. “You have good reason, brother! Yesterday my newly recruited crew dumped their loads as they climbed the hill to the barn. If it had not been so inconvenient it would have been quite amusing.”
Jason did not find this information humorous. But before he could voice his feelings, Edmund interrupted him.
“Where are we going to be working? I did not see any cut fields yesterday.”
“On my farm, near the river. When it begins raining, that area will become damp, possibly even flood, so we must get the hay made there first. ’Tis a half hour’s ride, no more. We have a lovely day, so we’d best finish our breakfast and be off. Forgive the truism, but we must make hay while the sun shines.” She then focused single-mindedly on demolishing the hearty plateful of food in front of her.
When the elder Miss Ormhill entered the room a few minutes later, she looked puffy-eyed and out of sorts. “I don’t see why you could not have held this event later in the day,” she groused as she took a cup of coffee and a plate of buttered toast from the servant.
“Oh, Aunt, you had no need to get up for this.” Olivia stopped eating to look pityingly at Lavinia. “I know how you hate to be up before ten of the clock.”
“As if I would not be there to observe what very well could determine the fates of my niece and my nephew.” Aunt Lavinia nibbled uneasily at the toast before pushing it away.
Both the Ormhill siblings stiffened at this reminder of the importance of the wager. Jason scowled at his plate; Olivia gnawed at her lower lip.
Edmund made himself look away. He had realized last night how hopeless his situation was. So why was he thinking only of again kissing that full lower lip, of gently nipping with his own teeth where Olivia’s white eyetooth indented her pink flesh?
Chapter Six
By the time they left their breakfast, the sun was up and the day already promised to be warm. Edmund mounted Storm and rode alongside Jason and Olivia. They were followed by a gig driven by Lavinia Ormhill, and a farm wagon loaded with provender for the midday meal. When they reached the field where they were to work, Edmund stood in the stirrups and looked around, wondering how extensive Miss Ormhill’s holdings were. No fences showed where Jason’s lands ended and Olivia’s began.
As if in answer to his thoughts, Jason pointed to a large stone marker. “From here to the woods at the head of the valley,” he said, sweeping his arm in a wide arc, “is Olivia’s property. That is her manor house, Wren Hall. It has a fine view of Norvale.” He leaned toward Edmund and whispered hoarsely, “The hall and grounds are rented to some friends of ours, but, coincidentally, they are vacating at Michaelmas. You newlyweds can live at Melmont till then; I plan to be on my way to France as soon as your vows are said.” He winked at Edmund, for Olivia had heard every word and was glaring at him.
She wagged her finger at him. “I’m not ready to cancel my search for new tenants just yet.” She urged her horse toward the knot of workers ahead.
He was amazed at the small number of people awaiting them, rakes and pitchforks at the ready. She really is hard up for workers! She never will get all of these fine meadows cut and stored if this is all she has to help her.
Two hay wains stood empty, and a murmur of surprise swept through the workers as they watched the young squire and his friend climb into them. But when Olivia told them to begin loading the wagons, they fell to with a will, and soon a veritable blizzard of fragrant dried meadow grass flew at the men in the wagons.
Edmund had reviewed over and over in his mind the few times he had actually assisted in loading a hay wain. It began that magic summer of his thirteenth year, when his father gave up trying to make a scholar of him and turned him loose with the admonition to learn how to do every task on the farm, however unpleasant. Bartlett, the manager of the home farm, had grinned mischievously when told what Edmund’s plans were. “I’ll take him in hand, m’lord. I don’t doubt he’ll be a-wishin’ to be back at his books before the summer ends.”
But Edmund hadn’t. He took mucking out stalls philosophically, thinking that even that was better than struggling to decline Latin verbs. He learned how to curry, comb, saddle, hitch up, and doctor horses, and then moved on to fieldwork just as the haymaking began. He had sweated gleefully while wielding a scythe, earning the grudging respect of the farm workers. Then he had stood side by side with doughty old Chester Crabton, an aptly named man in his seventies who seldom had a good word for anyone, but who yielded to none in his ability to load a hay wain so high he had to lie flat as it passed under the huge barn doors to be unloaded.
He remembered thinking that in a way the loading resembled weaving, with swathes of hay lain crosswise of one another in a spiral around the wagon, narrowing ever so little with each layer. Now he followed this long-ago learned pattern, sweat pouring from him as he labored to keep up with Miss Ormhill’s workers while stacking the hay so that it would hang together once it rose past the high sides of the wagon. He had little chance to observe Jason’s struggles, but could not forbear to grin as he heard the youth crowing, “Nothing to it,” when they began.
He’ll sing another tune once the mound rises high, Edmund thought. Sure enough, after they had been at it for almost an hour, he heard Jason’s voice, loud and furious, using extremely impolite language. He paused in his task long enough to watch as the boy followed a sliding avalanche of hay over the side of the wagon. What was left of the pile unceremoniously followed, covering him entirely.
The workers laughed as they dug him out, spluttering with frustration. “Leave me be,” he growled, shaking them and a quantity of hay off and stalking up to his sister. “You think you’ve beaten me, don’t you? Well, I’m not done yet!”
Edmund nodded in approbation of the lad’s determination before returning to his task. He tested the load with his feet to see if there was any tendency to move in one particular direction. If so, he knew he had to alter the pattern of the next layer to knit the growing tower of hay m
ore firmly together.
At last he stood atop a veritable mountain of hay, too high to receive any more from the workers so far below. He put his rake carefully in the center and used it to brace himself as he tested the load all around. Then he looked around to see how Jason was doing. His stack was only half as high, and leaning to one side, for which reason Jason was desperately adding new bundles of hay to the other side. Edmund had mixed emotions as he watched the youth struggle to balance the load.
It will never make it to the barn, particularly as it must go up an incline to do so, he concluded. That thought should have given him pleasure, for it meant he could learn about agricultural management from Miss Ormhill, and would have a roof over his head for a year.
This practical point of view did not keep him from regretting, when he looked at the lovely Miss Olivia Ormhill, that she would not be his bride. So he reminded himself of her tart tongue and low opinion of him.
He looked around, and found that she had ridden near and was looking up at him. “You still have to get it into the barn, you know,” she said, her eyes flashing a challenge.
“True enough! Lead on,” he commanded the boy who had been entrusted with keeping the pair of oxen from wandering, not that they had any interest in doing so, with all of the sweet fresh hay they could ever desire right beneath their noses.
“No, not yet,” Olivia said, stopping the boy with a gesture. “I want to wait until Jason’s wagon is ready to move, too.” She didn’t want any of the workers coaching him while she followed Edmund up the hill.
Edmund leaned on his rake and watched as Jason stacked the hay higher and higher. Perhaps the boy had caught on. He glanced down to see Olivia looking up at him, a frown on her face, and her lip caught by one eyetooth again. He smiled slowly, and gave her an elaborate bow.