by Sahara Kelly
“That would be lovely. My wife would be very pleased, I’m sure,” agreed Richard. “But, if you don’t mind, Mr. Thumbcock…may I ask you to wear a few more clothes near the house? The ladies, you know…seeing your manly appearance unclad, so to speak…”
Richard found himself wondering at the utter rubbish he was spouting, but since Thumbcock’s chest expanded with pride he realized he’d said just the right thing.
“Yer best be sure I’d never shock t’ladies, Mister. Preshus li’l flowers that they are…” He nodded. “Got me a pair o’ trousers somewhere…”
“Where are you living? I believe there’ll be a room in the barn once we’re done if you don’t mind a bit of a wait,” Richard did some rapid mental arithmetic. They had included space for two grooms, so perhaps the smaller tack room could be converted for the gardener.
“No need, Mister. I be ‘appy with t’shed.” He grinned again. “Been there a day or so already. Could use a blanket or two a’cos it’s a bit drafty like, but does me fine. I likes me privacy, see.”
“Well.” Richard blinked. “That’s excellent then. Ask Worsnop for whatever you need to be comfortable. Tell him I said it was all right.”
“I’ll do that, Mister.” He nodded again and walked off.
Richard stared after him, wondering if there were any people around Branscombe Magna that might classify as falling more on the normal side of things and if so whether they needed employment. He wondered what Cressida would make of their new gardener, then smiled. She’d probably laugh and enjoy him enormously.
Thank goodness she wasn’t a starched up London miss who would faint at the idea of an almost-naked man scything the lawns.
“Come on Zizi. Our work here is done.”
Zizi gladly turned tail and headed back along the path toward the house. She was no starchy London lap dog, but she hadn’t really taken to Thumbcock.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Richard mentally checked the job of finding a gardener off his list. It would be a pleasure to have a lawn to walk on, too, he admitted. At the moment, the overgrown tangle of weeds, grass and the occasional fern wasn’t what one would call inviting. So it would be interesting to see what Thumbcock made of it all.
He decided to walk around to the front of Branscombe Magna. The front steps and door were also on his mental list, and he wanted a closer look to see if a stonemason could repair some of the crumbling bricks and mortar, or if it would all need replacing.
He hoped not. The budgetary strains hadn’t been too bad so far, but with more “lads” being taken on and more repairs coming to light…well, he would have to keep a close eye on the financial side of running Branscombe Magna, until he was sure it would turn a profit.
As he let these thoughts run through his mind, he rounded the corner of the house and surveyed the scenery. Since they were on a slight rise, the front view was unimpeded and the hills sprawled away from him like a rumpled quilt of swaying greens. Here and there, the odd farm could be seen and if the wind was right they often caught the sound of cows lowing as the sun set.
The drive wound down from the staircase and then curved to meet the lane leading away from the property. It was the decorative stone mouldings bordering the upper part and the steps that had shown a few cracks.
He saw a flash of golden red, and realized that Cressida had come outside. She was wearing a huge apron and a lace cap that had gone askew and energetically shook a cloud of dust out of a blanket. The vision of his wife at that moment brought a surge of something warm and comforting—and a little arousing at the same time.
Something glittered and caught his eye in the distance, making him turn to look. A carriage, quite a large one, was coming up the lane and headed for Branscombe Magna.
Richard’s spirits sank.
He didn’t want company. He didn’t know who it was and didn’t want to know. He just wished they’d go away and leave him and Cressida in peace.
Because for a certainty it wasn’t anyone he would have welcomed, unless his family had returned. And this was most definitely not the sort of carriage a Ridlington would choose. As it neared, he could see the shining splendor of the brass fittings, the perfection of the four matched horses drawing it, and the crisp blue and gold uniforms of the driver and the two footmen.
“Damn it all to hell,” he cursed.
He had just recognized the crest and it was not good news.
*~~*~~*
“I say, girl. You there.”
An imperious voice emanated from the window of the magnificent carriage which had just drawn up to the steps of Branscombe Magna. Cressida stared, dazzled by the gleam of the gold-finished decorative elements which looked as if they’d been sneezed up by a drunken King Midas.
She blinked when she realized the mistake made by one of the occupants. And found a small flicker of anger at being thus addressed, no matter what her status in the house. “Yes, sir?” She opened her eyes wide and dropped a meek curtsey.
“Fetch your master. He will want to know that Lady Harewood-Lloyd and her family have arrived.” He frowned at her. “Quick now. You will not want to keep her Ladyship waiting.”
“Sir.” Cressida dropped another curtsey, picked up the blanket from the library she’d been airing out, and walked back into the house. Taking her own sweet time about it.
“Worsnop,” she called.
“I ‘eared it comin’ up drive.” Worsnop appeared, wiping his hands on his breeches. “‘Ooo is it then? Friends of your’n?”
“Not mine,” she muttered. “I’ve never heard of them. Must be my husband’s.” She removed her apron and cap. “Can you put these in the hall cupboard for me? And then let Mrs. Parsnip know we’ll need tea…” She glanced at the old clock, “No, make that lunch in an hour?”
“Yes, Missus.” Worsnop picked up his pace and hurried off.
She returned to the door just as Richard walked in front of it. He gave her a quick look and a shrug.
“I didn’t invite them, Cressy.” His expression was blank. “But I know them.”
“Ah. Friends of yours?”
“Not exactly.”
He didn’t have time to expound on that cryptic comment, since a tall figure was now blocking the sunlight. “Richard, old chap. There you are. I see the maid found you at last.” The drawled words came from a gentleman betraying his height of elegance by the height of his collar and the amazing intricacy of his cravat. “Our second carriage will be arriving shortly. Have her show the servants where to go, would you?”
Richard raised an eyebrow and stared at the man.
In that moment, Cressida barely recognized him. This was a cold, arrogant Richard, one she’d never set eyes on before. Given his expression and the shiver she felt slide up her spine, it was probably a good thing.
“I don’t recall an invitation desiring your presence, Harewood.” Richard’s voice was cool.
Harewood snorted. “You, of all people, should know we don’t require such formalities, dear man.” He turned a little as a couple walked through the door. “You’ve always made the Harewoods welcome. Hasn’t he, Delphine?”
A woman strolled up to him and laid a gloved hand on his sleeve. “Indeed he has, brother dear.” She turned to Richard. “Indeed he has.”
A smile began to curve the full lips and her eyes rested on Richard, her expression unmistakeable. She was tall, blonde and everything a Society beauty should be. And when she ran her tongue over those ripe lips, Cressida realized something.
She had slept with Richard. The intimacy was all but shooting off her lush body in waves.
“Lady Harewood-Lloyd. How kind of you to visit.” Once again, Richard’s voice betrayed nothing of what he was feeling. “And how is your husband?”
“Oh pish tosh,” she gestured elegantly, waving away the question. “It would be too déclassé of me if I knew the answer to that.”
“Hallo, Richard.” A third gentleman sauntered in. “Devilishly hard to find you, old la
d. Bit out in the wilds here, aren’t you?”
Cressida watched her husband unbend briefly. “Pendrick. I might have known you’d be with your cousins.” A brief grin flickered over his visage. “Pockets to let again?”
Pendrick Harewood shrugged. “A momentary difficulty. I shall rebound, of course. I always do.” He smiled at Cressida. “And who do we have here?”
“This girl is supposed to be arranging for our rooms,” said Harewood harshly. “Richard, I suggest you discipline your servants better. Standing around as if she owns the place…”
“Actually, I do.”
Cressida spoke for the first time, and walked over to her husband, taking his arm. “I am Cressida Ridlington. I’d bid you welcome to Branscombe Magna, our home…” she shot Richard a quick look, “but I’m not quite sure I’d be telling the truth.”
“By God, you’re quite right. And also quite lovely, my dear.” Pendrick chuckled aloud. “We’re terrible people and you should shoo us away immediately.” He took her free hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Such fire…” He looked at her hair. “Richard, you lucky dog. If this is what Brussels has to offer, demmed if I won’t go over myself.”
Richard took a breath. “Cressida and I met in Brussels, and I’m sure you saw the notice of our marriage.”
“Seeing is not always believing, darling,” Delphine purred.
A rattle outside heralded the arrival of the second carriage, and Cressida moved away from her husband. “I will direct our maids to help your servants,” she said to nobody in particular. “But as I’m sure you can see, we’re not yet ready to receive guests for more than a night or two.”
Head held high, she walked away from the group in the hall.
Damn them all. She prayed Richard would send them on their immediately, if not sooner.
She also prayed he’d not suddenly realize what a real beauty should look like, because compared to Lady Harewood-Lloyd…well, no one could compare to Lady Harewood-Lloyd. Certainly not his wife.
Chapter Eighteen
Richard was, to put it bluntly, furious.
The Harewoods had a well-deserved reputation for being troublemakers, and he’d known it even as he’d let Delphine lure him into an affair that had lasted several months.
It had been well over a year now, though. Surely she had moved on to other victims.
As he watched the flurry of activity in the hall, the carrying-in of bandboxes, the removing of gloves and jackets, he realized how little he’d missed London.
And how little he’d missed the overwhelming arrogance of the Ton.
To arrive uninvited, unannounced and unwelcomed, and then walk in as if they were granting him a huge favour…well it took a certain kind of person to do that. And Richard found he didn’t like that kind of person at all.
“Darling, do show me around.”
A soft voice in his ear and a well-remembered fragrance of musky rose alerted him to her presence even before she spoke. Her arm twined through his, trapping him.
“There is little to see at present, Delphine. As I’m sure you gathered as you arrived.” He disentangled himself and took a step away. “What are you doing here?”
His blunt question made her blink. “Goodness, you’ve certainly changed since London…” Her lips parted. “There was a time when you couldn’t wait to see me. When you couldn’t wait to get me alone…” She neared him once more, her expression sultry, her eyes roaming over his body.
“That time has passed.” Richard walked away without a second thought, entering the small parlor and holding the door open for her. Thankfully, her brother and cousin joined them, putting an end to Delphine’s little games.
“You know,” said Pendrick, moving to the window. “There’s a lot to be said for the country. Views like this? Hard to come by in Mayfair.” He gazed at the sunlit hills and the distant strip of blue water.
“We like it,” said Richard.
“Lunch will be served shortly,” said Cressida from the door, making everyone turn their heads. “I would apologise for the simple fare, but since you risked arriving without prior notice, I refuse to allow Branscombe Magna to be held responsible.”
She managed a smile as she walked to Richard’s side. “I trust my husband has made you welcome?”
Harewood’s eyes narrowed. “I do believe I owe you an apology, Mrs. Ridlington.” He sauntered over and took her hand, bending to kiss her knuckles with great flair. “My confusion over your status must have arisen from the sweet innocence in your eyes.” He shot a look at Richard. “Which I find quite astonishing given your current position as Richard’s wife…”
“What brought you so far from your London haunts, Harewood?” Richard led Cressida to a chair by the window and seated her, remaining close, standing protectively between her and the other man.
“Things are quite chaotic there at the moment, old chap,” he answered, taking a corner of the sofa and stretching out his elegantly booted legs in front of him. “The celebrations, don’t you know. Still ongoing.”
“Waterloo,” added Pendrick. “You heard?”
Richard nodded. “We did. A great victory indeed.”
Harewood’s face lost its arrogance for a few moments. “Great losses too, though.” He stared out the window. “Wellington wrote from the field. He said ‘Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won.’”
“Over twenty thousand allied troops lost,” added Pendrick quietly. “Not all of London is celebrating.”
Cressida made a slight sound. “The Casualty lists? Have they been released?”
Pendrick nodded. “We have some of the latest. Would you like to see them?”
“Yes please.”
“Then you shall. But prepare to be horrified. ’Tis a huge toll we paid for victory. Pray God it will be the last for some time to come.”
Richard looked at Pendrick Harewood. For once, he was revealing something of himself—a rare occurrence indeed. Perhaps there was more to him than the fop-like attitudes he presented to the world.
The door opened and Worsnop poked his face around it. “If’n yer want ter eat, Mister and Missus, take them there folks ter dining room.”
Cressida stifled a laugh and stood. “I believe that means lunch is served.”
“The dining room is ready?” Richard bent toward her ear under cover of assisting her from her chair.
“I hope so,” she whispered back. “Let’s go and see.”
*~~*~~*
Lunch was an exhausting blend of civilized conversation, political observations and savage gossip, laid on a foundation of curiosity and a desire to incite chaos.
Cressida struggled to keep up; she was by no means inadequate to the task, but this was the first time she found herself exposed to such dialogue as the mistress of her own house.
She could not, as she very much wanted to, get up and leave the room.
The Harewoods pronounced themselves amused by Worsnop, intrigued by the simple rabbit stew and vegetables, and delighted with the raspberry tartlets.
That last was visibly true, since both the Harewood men polished off the plate of pastries between them.
Lady Harewood-Lloyd ate little, but drank enthusiastically of the wine Richard had requested to accompany their meal.
In the normal course of things, he and Cressida would have had water, tea or perhaps a mug of ale. But since there were glasses on the table, he had spoken quietly to Worsnop, who shot him a look of disgust, but returned with the required bottles.
Lady Delphine indulged with enthusiasm, it would seem.
As lunch wore on and her third glass almost emptied, she leaned back and let her hand drift down Richard’s arm. Even though Cressida sat at the other end of the table.
The expression shameless bitch popped into Cressida’s mind, and she had to physically restrain herself from uttering the words aloud.
Richard was polite, but she noticed he did manage to remove himself from
touching distance. Perhaps he found it uncomfortable. Cressida hoped so.
“I haven’t had chance, yet.” Richard responded to Pendrick Harewood’s question about hunting. “There has been much to do in the way of setting the house to rights.”
“Poor Richard,” cooed Lady Delphine. “You must be so very tired at night.” She turned her sparkling blue eyes toward Cressida. “I pity you, my dear. How hard it must be for a newlywed to be cursed with a tired groom every night…” Her voice tapered off, leaving no doubt as to the meaning of her statement.
And the insincerity of her sympathy.
Cressida merely smiled. “Ah, but being so newly wed, and alone here at Branscombe Magna, we can enjoy a solid night’s sleep—knowing that the morning to follow is ours and ours alone.” She managed a blush. “As is the noontime hour, the early afternoon, the late afternoon…ah, well, I see I need not say more.” She flashed a look of pity at Lady Delphine. “I’m sure you must still remember how it was when you were first married, no matter how long ago that was.”
Harewood applauded. “Bravo, Mrs. Ridlington. A true wit.” He looked at Richard. “You have succeeded where so many others have failed. You have found yourself a wife that you simply must keep to yourself.”
“Don’t be pretentious, Ashton,” sneered his sister. “You rid yourself of yours quickly enough.”
“Just because yours was wise enough to seek his just rewards before you spent all of his money, doesn’t give you the right to pick at me, darling.”
“Yes it does, darling…” She gave up on her brother and turned back to Cressida. “How did you meet Richard, Mrs. Ridlington? Was it at some London affair?”
Richard spoke before Cressida could answer. “We met in Brussels, actually. And our marriage was quite special…we wed aboard ship, sailing to England.” He smiled at his wife. “It was most romantic.”
“Indeed,” she smiled back “Something I shall remember all my life.”
“Well, how delightfully charming. Having a bosun’s mate hold your bouquet…” The sneer was quite obvious.
Cressida rose, her chair scraping loudly over the parquet flooring. “I’m sure you will all forgive my husband and I for not prolonging this delightful conversation, but we are still in the midst of so many renovations that such times must be sacrificed to a greater need.” She nodded at Richard as he too, stood. “Your rooms will be prepared by now, so if you would like to follow me, I will ensure you are settled.”