by Jo Barrett
"I'd like to walk for a bit,” she said. “Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
He dismounted and moved to assist her from her horse, but she easily slid down. He tried not to take her actions as a slight, she did seem to be a bit of an independent sort, yet it rankled just the same. He took the reins of their mounts and they began to walk, the horses lumbering along behind them.
She pulled a notebook from her bag and scratched something inside, but he refrained from asking what she was writing. If she wanted to tell him, he had no doubt she would. She voiced her opinions when she liked, he'd had firsthand experience of that at Crittenden's ball. And yet, she'd kept quiet for the majority of their ride and was a bit tentative at breakfast. Perhaps his snipe at her regarding her duties had stolen her tongue. If only he could retract his words, but her question had struck him deeply. Innocent though it was, he knew why she'd asked about her duties. They were not a typical pair in a typical marriage, not even by the ton's standards.
She bent to the ground and dug at the dirt.
He moved closer. “Did you lose something?"
"Oh, no. I was just—curious,” she said, her face warming.
"About dirt."
"Um, yes. It's, um, rather dry. We've not had much rain in the area.” She rose, putting her notebook away, and dusted off her hands. “I enjoy gardening and was, um, curious as to the condition of the soil."
"I see,” he said, but in truth did not. The soil in the fields would be vastly different than the enriched soil in the gardens near the house. But so as not to hurt her feelings, he didn't mention it.
They returned to their horses and she allowed him to give her a hand up without recoiling, but he'd noted her shaking. There was no doubt she was still afraid of him, but at least she was attempting to endure his presence. He was grateful for that, and yet hated himself for putting her in such an uncomfortable position in the first place.
He directed them toward one of the crofts, and a family who'd had rough goings. Although the children were afraid of him, Alvin Spry and his wife were congenial.
"Who lives here?” she asked as they came to a stop in the small yard.
"The Sprys.” He dismounted and said, “I'll not be but a moment."
"Might I join you? I'd like to meet the people who work the land."
"I'm afraid Mrs. Spry will not be up to receiving visitors. She has been ill of late. She lost a babe some weeks ago."
"Oh, the poor dear. In that case, I insist.” She turned to slide from her mount and this time he caught her about the waist.
The shock on her face had him pulling back quickly. “You shouldn't jump down like that. You're liable to twist your ankle,” he grumbled.
"I am not fragile, my lord."
He noted the flush of her cheeks and the faint trembling of her hand as she adjusted her spectacles, and sighed. He shouldn't have touched her.
She glanced away and tugged firmly on her gloves, her lips pulled tight. “I am rather—sturdy and have perfectly good ankles."
He wasn't quite sure if the remark was meant to keep him from assisting her again, or merely a bit of female modesty. Although she was not fragile, she was a woman with succulent curves he longed to explore.
"I would never describe you as sturdy,” he said.
"Why not? It is the truth, after all."
"Not my truth."
She lifted her gaze to his and his heart lurched at the hopeful warmth pouring from the depths of her eyes.
Daft. He had to be if he believed that is what he saw. He spun on his heels and strode toward the cottage before he acted on his imaginings and did the unthinkable.
Like kiss her.
Alvin Spry opened the door before he could knock. The older gentleman's features were worn, but more with worry over his wife than the years of hard work. Magnus noted the children huddled across the small cottage, as far from his as could be. They'd no doubt watched him arrive through the window.
"How is your wife?” Magnus asked without preamble.
"Not much better, your lordship, but I thank you for asking."
Agatha appeared at his elbow. “My wife, Mr. Spry, Lady Leighton."
"Good morning, your ladyship."
Magnus noted her gaze dart around the small cottage. “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Spry. I understand your wife is in poor health."
"Yes, your ladyship. She lost a babe a few weeks past.” The man blinked away the sudden damp from his eyes.
Agatha reached out to clasp Spry by the arm. “I am truly sorry for your loss. If you would allow me, I would like to help."
"Help, your ladyship?"
She glanced up at Magnus and made some sort of decision, he could see it in her eyes.
She jerked off her gloves and crossed into the house, a determined stride in her step. “Help, Mr. Spry. To begin with, this house needs a good scrubbing from top to bottom. And you lot,” she said, grinning at the children easing out of the corner. “You each look to me like you could use a bath."
All four pairs of eyes widened in terror and Agatha giggled. “And directly after, a large slice of cake. No bath, no cake."
"But your ladyship—” Mr. Spry said, his voice barely a squeak.
She clasped her hands together and looked about the room. “Now children, we shall need brushes, rags, and a bucket of soapy water to start with."
Magnus blinked for several seconds before realizing what a unique woman he'd married. She was kind, caring, and considerate. And yet she would never abide his touch.
Forcing his ever present problem from his mind, he signaled at the oldest of the children. “You there."
The boy snapped up straight, fear in his eyes, but determined to not show any sign of weakness in front of his father or siblings.
"Go to the house and tell Cook to send a few maids to assist Lady Leighton,” Magnus ordered.
Agatha spun and looked at him, her gaze searching.
The boy scrambled to the door and Magnus caught him by the arm. “And a large basket of food...including cake,” he added.
A slow grin spread over the lad's face then he darted out the door, his fear gone.
Magnus met Agatha's smile with a small grin.
"Well,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “If you gentlemen will assist us in removing the furniture so we may scrub down the floors, it would be a great help.
"Your lordship, I cannot allow you and Lady Leighton to do such a thing. The children and I'll manage,” Mr. Spry said, hurrying to help one of the boys move a chair to the far corner.
"Nonsense,” Agatha said, and hefted a footstool. “All of us working will have this room cleared in no time."
Magnus choked back his chuckle. “I'm afraid the lady has her mind set, Spry."
"But your lordship—"
He moved to step in Agatha's way and took the footstool from her hands. “However, she will leave the heavy lifting to the men.” She looked up at him as he took the burden, their fingers brushing.
"If you insist, my lord,” she said.
He nodded and turned away with the stool, relieved she'd not flinched in front of the children. He set the stool aside then began removing his coat.
Hands, somewhat tentative, eased his jacket down his arms and he almost leapt away in surprise. His wife's tremulous smile and look of adoration nearly brought him to his knees.
She spun away and went to hang his coat on a peg by the door. The smallest child, not yet five, appeared at his feet, pulling his gaze from his wife's retreating form. He looked down at the tawny haired girl with smudges on her face.
Her little hand lifted up and pointed at his scarred face. “Does it hurt?"
The house fell silent, all movement stopped.
"Gracie,” Spry hissed.
"No, it's all right,” Magnus said, and held up his hand at the father's rush to snatch her back and scold her.
Magnus crouched down at the child's level. “It doesn't hurt now, but it did
when it happened."
Her face puckered into a frown. “Your mommy's kisses didn't make it feel better? My mommy's always do."
"No, I'm afraid I don't have a mommy."
"If it hurts again, then maybe her kisses can make it better,” she said, pointing at Agatha, who'd fallen still.
He looked at his wife. “I've no doubt they would."
The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they were the wrong thing to say, for her eyes widened and she blushed bright red, appalled and frightened that he might actually request a kiss from her.
A small dirty hand touched his scarred cheek, and he slowly turned his head, a lump in his throat. No one had touched him, touched his face in years.
"I'm glad it doesn't hurt anymore,” the child said.
Magnus grinned at the child. “So am I,” he choked out, then cleared his throat. “Now, what say we get to work?"
She smiled with a vigorous nod, then skipped across the cottage to help her sister roll up a rug.
He rose to his feet, thankful the room had returned to its hectic bustle, and turned to find Agatha staring at him. The blush gone, her eyes no longer wide but filled with an emotion he could not name.
The maids arrived, breaking the tense connection, leaving him more perplexed by her than ever. He didn't wish to dwell on her reaction, afraid it would feed his hopes far too much, and turned to move more of the furnishings.
With a word here and there, they managed to clear the floor to Agatha's satisfaction. He and Spry were then shooed out the door as the women took over the chore of cleaning the house and its occupants.
Nearly an hour later, Agatha emerged from the cottage with a clean Gracie on her heels. She squatted down and hugged the child and received a peck on the cheek in return. Gracie darted back into the house, and with a bright smile Agatha strolled to her horse.
"I've instructed Mary and Dorcas to stay a while longer, Mr. Spry. They're not to return until everyone is fed and all is set to rights."
"Thank you, your ladyship."
"You're quite welcome, and one of them shall return each day to assist with the children until Mrs. Spry is once again on her feet."
"Oh, but your ladyship, I can't ask you to—"
"Nonsense. Mrs. Spry needs to heal and that cannot possibly be accomplished by worrying over her family's welfare.” She tugged on her gloves and gave Spry a firm look.
"No, your ladyship,” he said with a worried frown.
She smiled softly at the man. “All will be well. I spoke to her, and I believe she is in better spirits now. Just give her some time."
"Thank you, your ladyship. Thank you,” he said, his eyes watery.
She gave the man a pat on the arm and turned to her husband. “Shall we return home, my lord? I have kept you from your business quite long enough, I believe."
He nodded and she stepped closer for him to assist her onto her horse. Taking her by the waist, he paused only a moment before lifting her up onto her horse.
What fool had ever given her the idea she was sturdy? Capable, intelligent...womanly, but never sturdy, and yet still afraid of him, as she trembled beneath his touch.
They remained silent as they rode. What more was there to say? She tolerated his touch, and although she did so valiantly, he detested the fact that she feared him so.
Upon their arrival back at the house, Skylar helped her down from her horse, as he'd purposely managed to linger overlong atop his own. With a brisk thank you for the ride, she disappeared into the house.
Grumbling at his fate, he went to his study and concentrated on his work—after vowing to keep out of her way and let her live this life he'd imposed upon her in whatever manner she wished.
One that excluded him.
Agatha was bemused to say the least. They'd started out well, she thought, getting to know one another during their ride about the estate, but something changed after their visit to the Sprys. He'd fallen silent on the ride back, and she'd not seen him since. He took luncheon in his study with orders to be left alone, and again that night at dinner. Had she said or done something so disagreeable that he wished her out of his sight?
He'd explained and expounded on the estate during their ride as if he were speaking to another man, and she'd adored him for it. And at the Spry's cottage she'd seen glimpses of the gentleman she'd met at Lord Crittenden's ball. A kind and caring man, but what had changed? Why was he now avoiding her?
She supposed it could have been her odd behavior, digging in the dirt and scratching notes. But how else was she to get a few samples of the fields without getting her hands dirty? At least she'd managed to hide her sample away without him noticing. Or perhaps her tendency to take charge, as she did at the cottage was an embarrassment to him.
"Oh dear,” she whispered.
They'd started off well, then she'd ruined it by not behaving like a proper lady, moving furniture, scrubbing floors. She held her heated cheeks and groaned down at her breakfast plate. When would she ever learn to hold her tongue and behave as a lady should?
She straightened in her chair and sighed. But the way he'd looked at her when Gracie spoke of kisses, had that not been the look of a man attracted to her in some small way?
After picking at her plate, she gave up on feeding her body and went to feed her mind. The puzzle of her marriage would win her nothing but a headache.
Almost two weeks passed, and although Magnus had finally returned to the dining table, there was barely a word spoken. At least he could bear the sight of her once more, and while the stony silence hurt, Agatha refused to prod him for any attention. Regardless of how badly she wished he would talk to her, touch her...kiss her. His comment to Gracie echoed in her ears night after night. Did he or did he not wish to kiss her?
"Blasted puzzle,” she grumbled around a nibble of her dinner.
"I beg your pardon?” he asked.
"Oh, um, nothing."
He returned to his dinner, but she caught him watching her several times. Should she speak, try and start some sort of conversation?
This is absolutely ridiculous! Her fork clattered to her plate. If he wants silence, he can bloody well eat alone!
"I've word that Mrs. Spry is up and about once again, and no longer needs any assistance,” she said, not daring to look at him, but from the corner of her eye she saw his hand still, his glass poised half-way to his mouth.
"That is good news."
She heard the hesitance in his voice, but once she met his gaze she noted his eyes held no annoyance.
Determined to forge ahead, she said, “Yes, it is. Of course, I suspect, you were already aware, since you take your morning rides about the estate."
"Um, yes, Spry had mentioned her improvement. He—"
"Yes?"
"He thanked me—you again for your assistance."
She nibbled the edge of her lip and dared ask what had been plaguing her for days. “Are you still terribly disappointed in my behavior then? She has improved, and I could not, in good conscience, sit idly by and do nothing."
"Disappointed?” He set his glass down, his brow furrowed.
"I know a lady doesn't normally move furniture or scrub floors...” she trailed off at his bemused stare as he sat back and studied her.
"You think that I was displeased by your actions?"
She nodded vaguely. “Weren't you?"
He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to dispel a thought before focusing on her once again. “Your behavior at the Spry's was above reproach. Truth to tell, it was I who behaved poorly."
"But—"
He shook his head. “No, I should have realized that Spry needed assistance. I should have done more than merely inquire about his wife's health."
"Oh, well, I suppose men don't see things the way women do."
He grinned with a soft chuckle, and although it was crooked due to his scars, it made her smile.
"An understatement, madam."
With no other topics to
discuss, they finished their dinner in relative silence, but Agatha felt a distinct difference in the very air of the room. They'd made positive progress, not much, but every inch forward was an improvement.
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Chapter Four
"Where ye be wantin’ this, yer ladyship?” Mr. Roberts, the gardener, asked a barrow full of manure in his grip.
Shaking off the previous night's unusual dinner conversation, Agatha stepped out of the little potting shed. “Next to the pile I've marked ‘A', Mr. Roberts."
She'd managed to secretly set up her laboratory, and had been quite content to spend her days working on her experiments, as her husband had no need of her otherwise. And yet last night at dinner had been a beginning, of a sort, and had her hoping beyond hope that she would one day be able to tell him about her work.
She followed Mr. Roberts around to the back of the shed, another sign in her hand labeled ‘B'. She'd made a good deal of progress in her work, considering she had to start from scratch due to the fact that manure in the countryside was vastly different than that of what she'd accrued in the city. Not to the naked eye, of course, but to the trained eye of a scientist. Free grazing livestock versus stabled pleasure horses produced a different affect, one she hoped would bring her closer to her goal. And of course, she had to start with new seedlings.
"I don't begin ta understand yer work, ma'am, but I have ta say, by the looks of them plants, ye know what yer about,” Mr. Roberts said.
The wheat and corn, crops commonly grown on the estate, were her test subjects, and even she had to admit all were showing signs of improvement over the specimens she'd not used her latest formula on.
"Why thank you, Mr. Roberts. I will admit they're coming along nicely, better than I'd hoped for in so short a period."
Magnus watched from a secluded spot amid the bordering gardens as her face lit up with a beaming smile. He wanted to share in their conversation, to learn more about his wife's work, but kept his distance.
He'd learned directly from Roberts what she was doing. The man was near to beside himself with anxiety. A proper miss working with manure was wrong. Plain and simple.