by Wilma Counts
“Ah, I see young Ned has proper attire for this outing,” Lord Kenrick observed. Kate suspected that surprised him.
“Yes,” she said. “His father wanted him to have correct riding clothing.” She did not add that Ned had long since outgrown the clothing Captain Lord Arthur Gardiner had provided.
She noted that Lady Cassandra seemed a bit fidgety in a child’s riding outfit of a short skirt over matching pantaloons. The outfit was blue, bringing out the color of the child’s eyes.
“You look very pretty, my lady,” Kate said as she held out a small basket of apples from the cellar. “Here is a treat for your equine friends.”
“Ek-ine?” The little girl wrinkled her brow.
“Horses!” Ned said with true male superiority.
“Come along,” Lord Kenrick said, taking the proffered basket. He looked at Kate. “It will go fine. I promise. If you can get away, you are welcome to come down to the stables to observe.”
“A little later, perhaps,” she replied and bit her lip nervously as she watched Ned leave with the other two. Not since their arrival had Ned been truly out from under his mother’s watchful eye. As the trio made their way to the stables, she noted that Lord Kenrick had a hand on Ned’s shoulder while he and his daughter gripped the handle of the basket of apples on his other side. Both children chattered happily and both kept looking up at the big man between them. It crossed Kate’s mind that Ned was starved for male attention. Now, what in the world was she to do about that problem?
She busied herself for the next half hour in the herb garden. Then she tossed down her trowel and removed her gardening gloves. She instructed the gardener on finishing the task and strolled toward the stables, trying to look unconcerned as she did so. Nearing the stables, she could hear adult cries of encouragement and childish squeals of delight.
She observed Lord Kenrick leaning casually against the arena fence along with two stable hands. As she approached, one of the other men spied her and moved aside to make room for her next to Lord Kenrick. Their arms not quite touching, she could nevertheless feel the warmth of his body. He gave her a rueful smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You gammoned me, Mrs. Arthur,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said young Ned hadn’t much experience. Look at him! Perfect form.”
Ned sat erect in the saddle as an older man put the horse through its paces.
“Let him go! Please,” Ned begged. “Faster!”
The man in the arena looked to Lord Kenrick, who looked questioningly at Kate. She nodded slowly. There were three training jumps set up in the arena and Ned, freed from the restraining hand of the groom, urged his mount to take the jumps. Kate heard Lord Kenrick suck in his breath. She ignored his glance at her. She tried to seem oblivious to any sense of danger. He returned his gaze to the boy and watched with apparent astonishment as the child assumed the position of a champion rider and took each of the jumps smoothly. His lordship let out the breath he had been holding.
“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Arthur, you gammoned me.”
“I did not intend such, my lord,” she said quietly.
Ned rode his mount close to the fence where Kate and Lord Kenrick stood.
“Did you see me, Mama?” he asked excitedly. “Wouldn’t the duke’s grooms be proud of me?”
Kenrick looked at Kate. “ ‘Duke’s grooms’?”
“I—uh—we were in a duke’s household for a while.”
“You worked for a duke?” he asked. “Phillips omitted that bit of information in your references.”
“It—it did not work out—with Ned—you see.”
Kenrick gave her an oblique look. Then he shrugged. “The duke’s loss is my gain, it seems.”
She glanced away, then returned her gaze to his and smiled. “You might say that.”
She thought he would have responded, perhaps to press her for more information, but just then Lady Cassandra called to him.
“Papa! You promised . . .”
“All right, Poppet. Yes, I know.” He motioned to the man in the ring. “Do as she wants.”
To Kate’s surprise, the man lifted the little girl from the child-sized sidesaddle. Lady Cassandra stood impatiently as the groom removed the saddle and handed it to a young man along the fence. Some sort of silent communication must have gone through the stable, for suddenly there were two more stable hands and other outdoor workers hanging over the fence around the arena. The man in the center lifted the child onto the horse’s bare back and gave her the reins.
Kate was astonished as Lady Cassandra gave a loud whoop and began to race her horse around the arena, kicking her heels into the horse’s side. Kate noted with no small degree of pride that Ned easily controlled his startled mount near the fence.
“Good heavens!” Kate exclaimed softly.
The child had magically leapt to a standing position on the back of the galloping horse.
“See, Papa?” she called to her father, who seemed totally unconcerned for her safety.
“I see,” he called back. “Now, do stop showing off, Cassie.”
Kate became aware of another presence. Nurse Cranstan stood on the other side of Lord Kenrick.
“Really, my lord!” the nurse admonished. “Such behavior is most unseemly, most unladylike. How will she learn to ride as ladies do if you encourage these Indian ways?”
Lord Kenrick looked chagrined. “You’re right, of course. But Cassie needs to be free—just free—at times.”
“You hired me to teach her ladylike behavior and I do my best,” the woman complained. “This—” She gestured to the child still in the arena. “This surely undermines much of my work.”
“It’s all right, Miss Cranstan,” Lord Kenrick said firmly. “My daughter will certainly learn the lessons needed by a proper young Englishwoman. But she needs freedom to be herself too.”
The nurse said nothing in response, though she seemed to give a small sniff of disapproval. Kate was mildly surprised at the depth of understanding shown by the father. Well. Perhaps he understood more than Kate had thought he did.
“Lady Cassandra is already quite a skilled horsewoman,” Kate observed quietly.
“Arapaho children learn to ride almost before they walk,” Lord Kenrick said. “But Miss Cranstan is right—my daughter needs to learn to ride as an English lady. That is, of course, what we are about with these lessons.”
“Of course,” Kate murmured.
“I hope you are reassured about allowing young Ned to join the lessons.” He waved toward the groom still in the arena. “Jack here is an excellent rider and teacher. He will oversee the children at all times.”
Kate agreed to continuing the lessons, in part because she had seen the sparkle return to Ned’s eyes as he rode. He’d not been so carefree and happy in months! His mentioning “the duke’s grooms” alarmed her, though. What else might he let slip? She did not want to quash his joy or frighten him, but she had to make him aware of the need for secrecy.
He was excited and bubbly that evening over his supper. Full of details about the ride and the horses, he even accorded Lady Cassandra a measure of admiration. “She’s just a girl, o’course, but she knows lots of tricks.”
“Is that so?” Kate sat down in the chair next to him.
“Oh, yes,” said, very serious. “She’s going to show me some.”
“Well, you be careful, Ned. You must mind what Jack or his lordship tells you.”
“Yes, Mama.” He concentrated on his plate for a moment, then asked in a wistful tone, “Mama, do you think I’ll ever have a horse of my very own?”
“Of course, my dear. When you grow up, you’ll have a whole stable of horses!”
“When I’m a duke, you mean?”
Instinctively, Kate glanced at the door to be sure it was closed. It was. She spoke quietly, “Yes, some day. But you must remember not to talk about that to anyone. Not to anyone.”
He nodded. “I
t’s a secret, huh?”
“Yes. A very, very important secret. We don’t want to go back to Wynstan, do we?”
“No!”
“So you must be careful and not mention your grandfather, or the castle, or the stables. Can you do that?”
He turned a searching gaze on her. “Is it all right to talk about Papa?”
“Yes, love.” She quelled threatening tears and hugged him hard.
Just when he thought life could not be more hectic, Jeremy found himself busier than ever. Several herds of sheep, augmented since the new lord’s return with prize rams and ewes, roamed Kenrick fields. Tenant farmers and shepherds and their dogs watched over the flocks closely. As he rode from farm to farm, field to field, Jeremy’s heart swelled with pride and humility. Large sections of green separated by stone fences gave witness to organization on Kenrick lands. Some fields had sheep grazing; some showed new growth of hay that would be harvested later; others were fallow—given over to a profusion of yellow, white, and purple—wild crocus in bloom. The landscape was dotted with stone barns here and there for storing hay and sheltering animals from the extremes of Yorkshire winters.
The farmers and herdsmen themselves, along with other workers, lived in two small villages, Upper Kendale and Lower Kendale, as well as the larger town of Kenrick. This was Kenrick land. These were Kenrick people. And he was damned if he would turn them over to the likes of one Eldridge Mortimer without a fight.
It was only mid-afternoon, but Jeremy and Thomas Porter, who managed the home farm, had already put in several tiring hours, struggling with a ewe attempting to birth twin lambs the wrong way. As sometimes happened, the new mother simply rejected one of her offspring.
“I’ll take ’im in, my lord,” Porter said. “Me wife and daughter are already hand-feeding one from last week. Another’n won’t make much difference.”
“Thank you, Porter. These two little fellows are important to improving our flocks. Though why they all have to arrive at the same time is beyond me!”
Porter chuckled. “That’s sheep tendin’ fer ye. First the lambin’ and then the shearin’ makes springtime real busy. Hard work, it is.”
“That’s next, isn’t it—shearing,” Jeremy said. “Looks like we’ll have a good return, though, on the animals we added last year.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Jeremy enjoyed working with men like Porter. They were honest, hardworking, and proud. But, not unlike men he had known on the American frontier, one had to earn their respect. The new earl was not at all sure he had achieved that goal yet. However, he knew Porter and others appreciated his asking—and often taking—their advice on matters.
As he rode home, his mind drifted again to that silent vow to thwart the plans of his chief creditor. Now that Kenrick was his, he wanted to keep it. For himself, yes, but also for Porter and others like him. And for Cassie. A legacy for Cassie.
Cassie. Had he made a serious mistake in uprooting her from America? He had anticipated a period of adjustment. That was to be expected. He had tried to ease her transition by hiring an Englishwoman to school her in the ways of her new life. But now, a year later, she was still too quiet, too withdrawn. The other day in the arena, he’d seen a spark of the old Cassie—of his Little Willow. Maybe she was coming around....
Coming in from the stables, he entered the main house through an outer room that had two doors, one leading to the kitchen, the other to a hallway that allowed access to living quarters of upper servants: the cook, the butler, and the housekeeper. Beyond those rooms the hall led to a stairway, giving servants access to chambers for the family and, above those, the attic rooms for maids and footmen. Beyond the stairway was a wider door, padded against noise, leading to the family living areas.
Hearing laughter and childish giggles coming from the kitchen, he opened that door and beheld his daughter kneeling on a stool at one of the worktables. She and Ned were cutting out figures from rolled dough. Both children wore outsized aprons and judging by the amount of flour on their hands and faces and on the floor, they had been at this task for some time. The kitchen staff were enjoying the show even as they tended their own chores. Jeremy paused, feeling like an intruder as he watched and listened.
“See?” Ned was saying. “My man is a soldier. I’m putting a sword in his hand.”
“He’s a fine soldier,” Mrs. Arthur said. “What are those raisins on his chest?”
“Mama! Those are medals.”
“Oh. How many medals did Ned give his soldier, Lady Cassandra?” the housekeeper asked.
The child counted slowly, pointing to each one, then said tentatively, “Five?”
“Yes. Five. A brave soldier, indeed.”
“I want to make a gingerbread lady.” Cassie looked at the housekeeper with an expression that was at once imploring and adoring. “Can I make a lady?”
“Of course you may,” Mrs. Arthur said. “See? We’ll just cut her a skirt—like this—then you can decorate it.”
One of the kitchen maids glanced up and saw Jeremy. “Oh, my lord.” Everyone paused as in a tableau.
Then Cassie called, “Papa!” She scrambled down from her stool and flung her flour-dusted arms around his legs. “We’re making gingerbread!”
He laughed. “I see that. Looks like you are wearing half your flour.”
“Oh, dear. I fear you are now wearing some of it too, my lord,” Mrs. Arthur said with a smile. “Rosie, do hand his lordship a towel to brush that off.”
“ ’Tis nothing.” He set his daughter back on her stool, then dutifully brushed the flour off his breeches. He murmured admiring words over the efforts of both children and was about to leave when Nurse Cranstan burst into the kitchen.
“Ah, there you are, Lady Cassandra. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Her voice was stern and accusing, and had an immediate effect on her charge, who went very still and seemed to shrink within herself. Then Miss Cranstan noticed her employer and modified her tone. “My lord.”
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Arthur said. “I sent Nell to tell you that her ladyship was being looked after. Did she not tell you?”
“She told me. But that was over an hour ago. You are disrupting the child’s schedule.”
“I apologize,” the housekeeper said. “The children were having such fun—”
The nurse wore the same forbidding expression she’d had the other day at the arena. “Yes. Well. I hardly think a female of Lady Cassandra’s station needs to concern herself with cookery.” She glanced at Kenrick, apparently seeking his confirmation.
“No harm was done,” he said. “Sometimes flexibility is a welcome thing in a schedule. Let her finish here and she will rejoin you in—say—an hour?” He looked at the housekeeper, who nodded.
“Children need the discipline of a firm schedule,” the nurse declared even as Jeremy held the door for her, then followed her out with a parting word of, “Carry on, then.” He smiled and winked at Cassie and saw some of her sparkle return.
“A word, Miss Cranstan,” Jeremy said as the kitchen door closed behind them.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Perhaps you should relax your schedule somewhat.”
“As you wish, my lord. But, frankly, I believe that would be a mistake. As I said, children need discipline. Lady Cassandra scarcely knows her letters and numbers. Her needlework is a disgrace.”
“In my view, children also need to feel carefree and happy—which my daughter is at the moment. Having a playmate has been good for her.”
“If I may say so, my lord, this association with the lower orders is not quite the thing for the child of a peer.”
“Nevertheless, you will build some flexibility into your schedule to allow her more time with her new friend.”
“Yes, my lord.” Her disapproval plain, she nodded curtly. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“For now.”
He watched her stride down the hall, her posture stiff. He sighed. That had not gone wel
l. Thinking to get some paperwork done before supper, he went to the library. Among the items of mail on his desk were two missives of special interest.
He eyed ruefully an invitation from the Mortimers to a dinner party next week. He wondered if there were any excuse short of an attack of the plague that he could offer as a polite refusal.
A letter from his younger brother brought forth a far more joyous response. Robert would arrive in June for a prolonged visit!
CHAPTER 8
Lambing season was scarcely over when Jeremy found himself thrust into the organized chaos of shearing adult sheep. Clipping the fleece from a squirming, bleating full-grown animal was no easy task. After trying it himself, he readily left that job to men who knew what they were doing. He marveled at the friendly competition among those shearing: who could shear an animal fastest; who produced the most complete fleeces in one piece.
“That’s some mighty fine wool we be gettin’,” the farmer Porter commented.
“Yep. It’s real fine all right,” one of the shearers said, “but the market ain’t so good right now.”
“Maybe wait a month or two to sell it,” Porter suggested.
“Good idea,” Jeremy said. “We have storage available—at least until the haying season is upon us. We’ll put the bulk of our wool in the north barn on the home farm.”
“Be easier to ship from there,” Porter agreed. “An’ who knows? Might get a better price later on.”
“I hope so,” Jeremy said. “I do hope so.” What he did not say was that the future of the entire earldom might well depend on the sale of a barn full of stored wool.
This grim thought stayed with him as he rode home and then dressed for the Mortimers’ dinner party. He tied and retied his cravat for the formal evening attire, annoyed that he had not come up with a viable excuse for avoiding this engagement. But he was sure any refusal would be taken as an affront, and he saw no reason to deliberately antagonize a neighbor. Or a creditor.