Mrs. Callen arrived, huffing like she’d run full tilt from the cellars.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Bethany said, “but I want to look over the manor. To get the renovations under way.”
“Certainly, my lady. I’m at your service. Melissa, what have you there?”
Melissa handed Bethany’s riding habit to the housekeeper, who clucked over the damaged hem. Melissa told her Lady Bethany’s request and how she planned to repair it, and Mrs. Callen raised her brows in surprise but gave her encouragement.
“Well, Lady Locke, the easiest approach to seeing this place,” the housekeeper said, fishing a large ring of keys from her apron pocket, “is to begin at the top and work our way down.”
And so they did, Bethany soon realizing this vast project would require significantly more than a cursory appraisal to organize it. She’d need to make several trips, along with paper and pen for notes on her stratagem. She also had to allow inspiration to take its course. Now more than ever she wondered why anyone, especially her mother, considered her up to this task. She possessed a decent sense of color and design, and she knew a lovely room when she saw one; but matching fabrics and décor to existing architecture? Coordinating furnishings and trappings? Preparing more than thirty chambers for future guests? The endeavor overwhelmed her.
By the time they’d seen the guest rooms, the various parlors, the morning room, the sitting room, the dining room and kitchen, the spacious sitting areas on the landings of each floor, and the library, Bethany anxiously anticipated Lady Camille’s arrival. No one had a keener mind for making a space stunning than her cousin, and Lady Camille loved the challenge. Beyond that, Lady Katherine was acquainted with the best decorators and designers in London, and would at this very moment be making plans for Whitton’s resurrection. In the library, Bethany wrote a missive to her mother, asking who to hire for the project, sealed it and turned it over to Mrs. Callen to have it franked for delivery to Whitton.
Left to herself in the library’s solitude, Bethany roamed its spaces. It was immense, and heavy with the scent of books, of paper, ink, and leather, a smell Bethany adored almost as much as that of horses. Browsing shelf after shelf and then standing back to scrutinize the catwalk and rolling ladder that reached the highest levels, she couldn’t imagine someone reading so many books in a lifetime. She could choose between Chaucer and Lord Byron. Or Milton’s Paradise Lost and Shakespeare’s plays, or even Pride and Prejudice.
On the other hand, surveying a handful of the titles, she wouldn’t want to read them all. Many still considered The Monk, by M. G. Lewis, and Daniel Defoe’s Roxana vulgar. Why would Lord Locke have them in his possession? And she had no interest in the history of tanning hides or the foremost methods for indigo farming.
The library was in better condition than most of the manor, and although it, too, could use paint and new carpets and furniture, she would spend little time or funds here.
Tired from her travels and the anxiety of the last two weeks, Bethany carried a book to a chair by the window, grateful that Kent’s early summer days were so pleasant. Sunlight filtered through the window between the aging but diaphanous draperies, casting a golden glow across the room.
Fatigue brought melancholy with it. She pushed aside the homesickness and convinced herself that she’d misinterpreted what happened at the stable. After all, she had no right to want Lord Locke to hold and kiss her, and the Earl of Locke had made it quite plain he wanted nothing from her. She needed to appreciate his generosity in giving her a position that would both entertain her and keep her out of his way, and protect that part of her that couldn’t bear the test.
Again she sighed, opened the cover of Pride and Prejudice and let reading relieve her of her mental maundering.
CHAPTER 7
The noon meal felt awkward, with Bethany embarrassed and the earl withdrawn. He hurried to his upstairs study immediately after and left Bethany to entertain herself. Then, later that evening, Lord Locke sent Bethany a message that unexpected matters would make him late for supper. He appeared moments before she finished the last of her meal, begging her forgiveness but tired and distracted. When he cited a headache as a reason to put off their work with the estate’s books until tomorrow, she suspected the Earl of Locke’s true intent was to avoid her.
It was an odd, lonely end to Bethany’s first full day of marriage, although she admitted that being in the company of the earl too much did not bode well. Heading for her room, heartfelt prayers, and a night’s sleep seemed the appropriate conclusion.
Saturday morning dawned with a scattering of clouds and a hint of rain. Still, at the appointed hour Bethany donned her gray riding habit and joined Locke in riding out to meet with some of Moorewood’s tenants. The earl’s strained smile reminded Bethany that his time with her was most likely a trial of which he’d soon be glad to rid himself.
Polly and Raven, both meticulously trained for good behavior in the presence of another stallion, pranced their way from Moorewood’s stable yard, the dew sparkling like emeralds and diamonds as they cantered over the fields.
Not knowing what to expect, Bethany felt on edge when they jogged into the farmyard of the first tenancy. The farmwife who met them did so with head bowed and hands clenched tight. Locke greeted the woman with deference, asking about her health and that of her family. One of her three children had been ill, she admitted, but otherwise they were good enough. Her husband was presently in the barn milking their half dozen goats.
“I’ll fetch him, so’s you can take what you want of the milk, m’lord,” she said in resignation.
“I’m not here for milk, Mrs. Elway,” Locke said. “I just need to speak with your husband.”
Anxiety creased the woman’s features and she bobbed a curtsy and hurried off to collect the man. When he came, wiry and thick-whiskered, he regarded them with mistrust.
“Morning, Elway,” Locke said. “I bear important news.” After explaining Matheson’s schemes, he said, “When I lay hands on him, he’ll rue the day he was born, but whether I do or not, I commit to setting everything straight as soon as I can with all of you. Should my efforts not suffice, I’ll relieve you of your contract without penalty and help you find service elsewhere. I’d as soon you stay, but only if you’re satisfied.”
Elway’s eyes widened in surprise and his gaze met Mrs. Elway’s. To Bethany the farmwife seemed terrified, as if she expected her husband to insist on leaving the home—and farm—they’d occupied for nearly a decade.
Locke continued. “I regret that I won’t remain in residence long enough to see everything rectified myself, but this, good people, is Lady Locke, my new wife and Countess. She will visit you again soon, to collect a thorough list of Matheson’s offenses. For now, I want to address your most pressing concerns.”
Pride held Elway’s spine straight and his mouth shut, but his wife divulged a number of Matheson’s abuses, including striking Elway when he tried to stop the steward from taking their chickens and rooster.
Bethany was horrified, but Locke’s promise to replace both hens and cock on the morrow had surprise replacing the anger on the farmer’s and his wife’s faces and relief on Bethany’s.
The visits throughout the morning mirrored this one. Some of the tenants became substantially more vocal, others remained sullen. All expressed pleasant surprise at Bethany’s arrival, probably indicating their hope that as a married man, their master would better understand their needs.
At the last farm they visited, the wife, a comely younger woman, kindly offered to water them and their horses. While they quenched their thirst, Mrs. Hedley went for her husband.
Locke murmured that these people were his newest tenants and had no idea how Matheson had managed Moorewood before he turned corrupt.
“I doubt they can afford to leave,” he said, “but I won’t have disgruntled people on my property. Revenge comes in many forms. Hedley adores his wife and would do anything for her, so if you win her over,
he’ll follow suit.”
Bethany looked at him askance, wondering exactly how she’d do that.
The cottage’s crude front door squeaked open and a young girl ventured timidly onto the stoop. Bethany’s heart went out to her, seeing her thin dress and bare, grimy feet. Her waist-length blond hair hung dirty and straggly, although her face was recently given a cursory wash.
“Hello,” Bethany said, smiling when the girl tiptoed down the steps and came to stand close.
“You’re pretty,” the little one replied, giggling.
“That’s very kind of you,” Bethany replied, stooping to meet the girl’s pale brown eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Beebee,” the girl replied.
“No, it’s not” came a slightly older voice, and Bethany glanced up to see a second girl sidling onto the stoop.
“Hello,” Bethany said. “What’s your name? How old are you?”
“Laura. Be turnin’ six in August. M’ sister’s name’s Beatrice, but we call her Bea. She’s almost four, calls herself Beebee. My brother Rob, he’s but a babe. He’s inside sleepin’.”
“You’re a fine family,” Bethany said, seeing that the two girls were very pretty albeit uncomfortably lean. Had Mr. Matheson’s underhandedness had something to do with this, too? “Do you like living at Moorewood?”
“‘S’alright,” Laura said. “Pretty enough, but Pa says we starve so’s the lord’s house is all fancy.”
Bethany glanced at Locke, who came close to glowering. Then she asked Laura, “What is it that you need?”
The girl frowned thoughtfully then shrugged. “Pa says we’d have enough if it wasn’t taken from us,” she replied, leaning into the rickety handrail and easing down the steps. “Can’t eat it if ’n we don’t have it.” The girl’s eyes reflected her hunger and her already jaded soul.
“Well, today we hope to make sure your situation improves,” she told the child. “Have you vegetables and fruit, and flour for bread? Oats and corn meal?”
Before Laura could answer, bustling footsteps heralded the arrival of the Hedleys, and Bethany stepped away from Bea. Mrs. Hedley’s eyes rounded with a mother’s worry, and Mr. Hedley’s jaw set in irritation.
“Hedley,” Locke said. “We must talk.”
Hedley’s gaze, stained with fearful skepticism, slid coldly over Bethany as Locke introduced the farmer to her and once again revealed the story of Matheson’s offenses and escape. Hedley admitted they’d had difficulty and gave cautious account of their circumstances.
Locke said, “By sunrise tomorrow morning, I’ll have half-bushels each of potatoes, carrots, onions and cabbage delivered to you, along with forty kilos of flour and twenty each of oats and corn meal. Are you short on tools, or did Matheson deny you the equipment you needed as well?”
A lengthy pause was followed by Hedley’s bitter account of these things and more, the farmer pale with anger. “He ran his hands o’er my wife, said she was too pretty for the likes of me. Said he might give allowances to a man who’d be willin’ to share. I raised a fist to him, and the men with him, they beat me. Knocked out a tooth, they did.” He tugged his lip aside to show a gap between two back teeth.
Bethany gasped, hands to her mouth. She didn’t like what she’d learned of Mr. Matheson thus far, but hearing this infuriated her.
“What other men?” Locke demanded. “Describe them, if you can. None of the other tenants has mentioned them, and I hired no one but Matheson to manage Moorewood.”
Hedley gave thorough descriptions, but Locke conceded he didn’t recognize them. Strangers they were—henchmen hired to do a vile man’s vile work for him? No wonder the tenants were both so incensed and fearful. Repercussions for resistance had been violent.
“Your dress is shiny,” Bea interjected, nearing Bethany. “Is it soft?”
“La, come away, girl!” Mrs. Hedley snapped, reaching for the child.
“It’s alright, Mrs. Hedley,” Bethany said. To the girl she added, “It is shiny, isn’t it? I’ll tell you a secret. I like it, but it’s hot.” The girl stroked the hem of the riding skirt that Bethany held out for her, her eyes wide with awe.
“You’re hair’s really long,” Laura said, stealing past her mother and joining her sister. She dared rest a hand on the skirt’s silk fabric, too, but snatched it back as if it burned her. “You’ve lots of curls and a pretty hat,” she added.
“Thank you, Laura.” Bethany self-consciously touched the lovelock she’d let Melissa leave free again today. “I think your hair is a lovely shade of blonde. I’ve always wanted blonde hair, but we have what we have, don’t we? See your mother? She’s a very pretty woman, and you’ll both look a lot like her when you’re young ladies.” She tried to comfort herself with the realization that beyond good food, liberal use of soap—did they have any?—and water could do much for these children.
The girls giggled and batted their eyelashes bashfully, but Bethany sensed the exchange had touched Mrs. Hedley’s heart and softened Mr. Hedley’s scowl a fraction. She was glad to see a bit of hope in their eyes.
“I’ll set the order for your provisions in motion as soon as we reach the manor,” Locke said before they departed. “Remember, Lady Bethany will visit you again in the next few days to discover what else you need.”
It wasn’t the way a countess should behave, but Bethany couldn’t help waving goodbye to the two grinning little girls as they set off.
* * *
“Thank you, Lady Bethany,” Locke said, his bravado slipping once they’d left Hedley’s place. “You handled all of that admirably. The situation’s much worse than I imagined.”
“I feel terrible for them. And for you.” These people were servants, little elevated above the serfdom of centuries past or the slavery that infected many of the world’s nations today. Nonetheless, she believed they were just as much children of the God she worshipped as was she. They hadn’t deserved Matheson’s mistreatment. No one did.
In contrast to the tenants, Bethany recognized the privilege her station provided her when she returned to the manor to don a clean day dress and take a wholesome lunch. Locke appeared pensive, and she knew he must still be pondering what they’d learned today. She at least hoped he wasn’t overly worried about her managing everything in his absence. It was her responsibility to ease his burdens, not the other way around.
Locke escorted Bethany to his study after lunch and presented the records he’d put off showing her last night. As a door connected his bedchamber to Bethany’s, so one on the other side connected it to his study. The desk, a monstrous thing, held a plethora of drawers, each of them locked. Bethany wondered what he hid there that was so important it needed locks.
The afternoon’s work grew tedious, Bethany believing she was far from gifted in anything that involved money, inventory, or record-keeping. It reminded herself that she was far less a wife to this man than a glorified but less-than-ideal steward.
When they were finished, the earl handed her a key and said he’d lock the records in the desk drawer in the library when he departed, where she’d have easy access to them. They rose stiffly from their chairs, Bethany sighing in relief.
“You’ve been a champion,” Locke praised her. “I’m not sure I sat that still or showed half your astuteness when my father turned these things over to me, and I’d been groomed for it my entire life. I had the feeling, and the reassurance of the twins, that you’re capable, and I’m grateful I’m leaving Moorewood in good hands, my lady.”
Bethany appreciated the compliments but disliked the reminder that Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas had discussed her with Marcus Ashburn. What else had they told him about her? What could she possibly get them to tell her about Lord Locke?
CHAPTER 8
After they finished supper that night, Locke folded his serviette and set it beside his plate. It was their last night together, and he couldn’t make up his mind whether he was glad or regretful. Mostly, he’d racked his brain for someth
ing safe to do with Lady Bethany, rather than rudely abandoning her, as he’d done several times since her arrival.
“Your mother told me you play the piano,” he managed at last. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind joining me in the downstairs gold parlor and playing for a while?”
Lady Bethany’s emerald eyes widened in surprise. He sensed she truly wanted to use the exceptional instrument but perhaps not in front of him.
“I don’t play all that well,” she demurred. “And I need music.”
He raised one corner of his mouth in amusement. “I’ve plenty of music. Believe it or not, I can play, but I haven’t set my fingers to the ivories in at least a year.” He signaled Mr. Treadwell, who came to pull her chair out for her. “Which means you’ll be providing entertainment for both of us.”
“You play?” she asked, bewildered.
“Yes. I know, not something to which a male peer of the realm should admit.”
“The twins play. And I believe Scarbreigh does as well. My brothers wouldn’t have been caught dead.”
Locke chuckled. “My mother played well and I loved it, badgered her into teaching me. It’s not something I make public, but I enjoy good music whoever plays it.”
She sighed and took his offered arm.
* * *
Bethany’s heart tried to pound itself through her breastbone. She could not have foreseen this. Play the piano for the Earl of Locke? Considering their awkward moments since arriving at Moorewood, she’d understood that Lord Locke had no obligation to entertain her and she’d had no expectations he would do so. It had never dawned on her that he might want her to entertain him.
She’d seen the exquisite pianoforte in the gold parlor during her tour of the manor. Mrs. Callen had told her Locke’s father bought it for his mother right after they married. Bethany had longed to try her hand at it, but those hands were now shaking when she sat down to it. Amazingly, her dread at making mistakes fled the minute she heard the instrument’s singular voice.
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