Thump. Thump. Thump. Rand looked up from his papers. “Rosie, do quit kicking the seat,” he said irritably. “If you thump one more time, I’m apt to tie your feet to your hands and you won’t have anything to thump with.”
Dressed in white dotted muslin with a dark blue sash and matching blue shoes, Rosie was perched on the padded seat of their coach with her hands on either side of her clutching at the leather edge. She grinning happily, showing a row of little white teeth and a dimple in each cheek. “No, you won’t. That would be silly. Will we be there soon?” She swung her legs up and was about to drop them against the bench when Cecelia put a staying hand on her knees and shook her head.
“But I can’t hold still,” Rosie protested. “I’m just so excited.”
Rand lifted his brows and asked dryly, “Would you like us to let you out so that you could trot alongside the coach?”
She pursed her lips until they resembled a little pink bow and frowned at him. “No.”
“Then, I suggest that you hold still. We should stop for lunch soon. You and David can run around then.”
“Why didn’t David ride with us?”
“Because putting the two of you in the same coach is more than anyone could bear and he wanted to ride with Billy and you wanted to ride with us.”
“Oh. I forgot.” She sat quiet for about five seconds and then asked, “When will we be there?”
“I’ve already told you at least three times that we won’t arrive until sometime tomorrow.”
“I forgot that, too. What does it look like?”
Rand ignored her so Cecelia asked, “What does what look like?”
“Where we’re going. What does it look like?”
“It’s a very large castle with a very dark dungeon where I keep little girls who ask too many questions and disturb me while I’m trying to read,” Rand remarked. “And if they continue to be bothersome I feed them to my dragon.”
“Rand!” Cecelia cried. She pressed her lips together tightly trying to squelch her laughter.
Rosie pulled on her sleeve. “Don’t worry,” she whispered loudly. “He won’t really. He’s only teasing me. And there really isn’t such a thing as dragons. They’re only make believe.”
“Are you certain of that?” he mumbled. “I’m not.”
She regarded him with a serious look. “You’re much too old to believe in dragons.”
She squirmed back until her head was resting against the leather squabs and her legs were no longer hanging off the edge and primly smoothed her skirt out. “I mustn’t get my new frock dirty. Lizzy made it.” She plucked at the blue sash. “Isn’t it pretty? One day she’s going to make frocks for rich ladies and we’ll live in a little house of our own ‘cept I think I’d rather live with you and Thomas. Are you going to have babies?”
Rand covered his face with his hand and groaned.
Cecelia tapped her on the knee and shook her head. “It isn’t polite to ask such personal questions, Rosie. It can make others uncomfortable.”
“Better yet,” Rand said. “Don’t ask any questions at all. In fact, I’d like you to go the remainder of the day without asking a single question.”
The little girl scrunched her forehead as she considered this. “But if I can’t ask questions, what will I say?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You’ll say nothing. I had no idea that peace and quiet was such a luxury. We’ve traveled less than two hours today and my head has been so stuffed with needless questions that I feel as if it’s about to explode. If we make it to Devon without my turning into a blithering idiot, it will be a miracle.” Scowling, he snatched up his walking stick and banged it against the ceiling of the coach. It slowed and they rolled to a stop.
When the door swung open, their driver touched a forelock and asked, “What kin I do you fer, milord?”
“Rosie is in need of her nurse maid and Lady Clarendon is in need of her ladies maid,” he said as he gathered up his papers. “I will be switching places with them. And tell Mattie to bring that blasted feline with her.”
The man’s eyes widened briefly. Their second coach was well appointed but for a titled lord to travel in the same coach as the hired help was most unusual. “Very good, milord.”
Cecelia covered her mouth and her eyes brimmed with laughter. Once the driver had lowered the step for Rand she said, “You, sir, are a coward.”
He glared at her. “And you, madam, are in serious trouble. As I recall, this is your doing.”
Her laughter spilled over. “Then I will await my punishment, my lord. I trust you will have decided my fate by this evening.”
Her comment seemed to lessen his ill temper because a smile slowly crossed his face. “You may depend on it.”
Her brow furrowed, Rosie looked at Cecelia. “I didn’t know grownups got into trouble. Will Thomas make you go without your dessert or sit in the corner?”
At that, Rand burst into laughter. “I’d much rather take her to the woodshed.”
“Oh, just go before you say anything else that will encourage more questions,” Cecelia retorted.
He jumped to the ground and then swept them an elegant bow. “Enjoy the scenery. I’ll see you ladies at lunch.”
Clarendon land began just outside of Devon and from there on, it seemed to stretch on forever. Rand had to admit that Mansfield had been right. It was a beautiful sweep of landscape thus far, rolling hills of green studded with jutting gray boulders and banks of white clover and sage. He hadn’t seen a single sheep, but by this time next year, the pastures would be teaming with the creatures. And with a bit of good fortune and some renovations the pottery and textile mills would be up and running. He felt an unexpected surge of excitement and realized how much he was looking forward to the challenge. There was never any doubt that he would take on the job of bringing the land to its full potential. That was who he was.
He had successfully run the Danfield Empire for the past eleven years. He had expanded their ventures and made them more profitable, but the business hadn’t needed him to survive. It had been thriving since the days of his great-grandsire. His grandsire, knowing of his only son’s wastrel habits, had set up a trustee to manage the company if he were to die before Rand came of age. In the meantime, he had made certain that his grandson had learned Danfield Shipping from top to bottom. The reins were handed over bit by bit. This was far different. Clarendon needed him to bring it back to where it had once been. It would be damned difficult, but he knew he could do it.
“What are you smiling about?” Cecelia asked. She looked very fetching in a cinnamon brown muslin gown, burgundy pelisse and straw hat trimmed in brown velvet ribbons. She had come to sit beside him, leaving the opposite bench to Rosie and David who were both curled up and fast asleep.
“This.” He gestured out the window. “I’m looking forward to this new challenge.”
“I like it. But I’ve always preferred the country to London.”
Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed with excitement, but he was concerned that once the novelty wore off she might find it difficult living so far from Reston and the familiar faces that went with it. “I’m afraid you may become homesick.”
She tipped her head to the side and made a face at him. “Don’t be silly. It’s no great problem if I do. It’s only a three day journey to Surrey. And Mama and Papa will likely come to stay with us awhile.” Then she added, “They may even bring Aunt Mirabella with them.”
“And her dogs?”
“Of course.”
“Only if they can be trained to herd sheep,” he said wryly. “Good God, how does she transport the little beasts? I’d never thought about it. Do they have their own miniature carriages pulled by grumbling servants? I’ve never seen such spoiled animals.”
She laughed at the mental image he painted. “She does submit to putting them in traveling cages, but I’ve never known her to travel further than half a day’s journey.”
“Mmm. Traveling
cages.” He looked over to where Rosie and David lay sleeping. “You don’t suppose they make them for children?”
She punched him in the arm. “You are horrible.”
“Wait two weeks and see how you feel,” he said. “I’d be willing to bet you’ll agree with me.”
She drew back her arm as if to punch him again but he caught both wrists.
“Behave yourself,” he scolded. “A marchioness does not punch her husband.”
“I believe one just did,” she answered as she twisted her wrists slightly back and forth, attempting to see whether or not she could free herself.
“A marchioness does not punch her husband twice,” he amended. “I’ve decided that these two can wait a few days to begin their lessons,” he added calmly as he continued to hold her captive. “You and I will spend tomorrow riding the estate and seeing what we can see. Not that you deserve it after such flagrant abuse of your husband.”
“Oh, I would love that,” she said happily, “as I am sick to death of being confined to this coach.” She glanced over at the sleeping pair. “Do the children ride?”
“Helen and the older boys do. But neither Elizabeth nor Marianne much care for it, though they’ll ride if there’s no alternative. And the idea of David and Rosie atop four legged creatures makes me fear for the world at large. Attila the Hun comes to mind as does Genghis Kahn.”
She frowned with concentration as she attempted to pull her hands free, but he held her wrists fast. “Are you planning to let me go?” she asked.
“Are you planning to punch me?”
“No,” she said grudgingly.
He held her gaze as he rubbed his thumbs over the palms of her hands waiting until she gave a telltale shiver before he released her wrists. “I suppose I should see about buying ponies for the two,” he said nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just deliberately coaxed a sexual response from her. “But next year should be soon enough.”
She put her hands in her lap and looked down at them a moment, annoyed that he could make her shiver and then completely ignore it. She would ignore it as well. “I don’t see the point in waiting. And I would like to give their riding lessons if you don’t mind.”
“Rosie’s too headstrong by half, but I suppose if anyone’s a match for her, you are.”
She furrowed her brow as she considered his remark. “I’m not certain if that was a compliment or an insult.”
He chuckled. “Neither am I.”
They sat in silence a while, enjoying the landscape. The pastures eventually gave way to farm land. They passed a small farm that had obviously been abandoned. The windows were boarded up and the surrounding fields were choked with grass and weeds.
“Why do you suppose the tenants left?” Cecelia commented.
“A number of the farms have been abandoned,” he replied grimly as he settled back in his seat. “Augustus Wilkes, the ninth Marquis of Clarendon, was a very foolish man. He raised rents to the point the tenants were unable to make a profit. After several years, most owed more money at the end of harvest than they were able to make. A handful of families stayed, but the rest moved on.” He let out a long sigh. “The title and land has bounced around sporadically over the past few years and the reports that I did see were little more than a jumbled mess. The new overseer has begun making inroads, but it’s apt to take a while.” He paused. “You know, it occurs to me that you probably know more about this than I do. I understand shipping, mining and investing. And I even have a smattering of knowledge as to the running of a pottery mill but raising crops and livestock other than my stables, are new to me.”
She smoothed out her skirts. “Papa can talk endlessly about plowing, planting, harvesting, repairing fences, and shearing. I grew up with it but I can’t say that I paid much attention. Though, I was fascinated when Papa and Mr. Martin were horse breeding. Sable, Mr. Martin’s stallion is a magnificent creature,” she said with a touch of awe in her voice. “But he’s also arrogant and ill-tempered. If he doesn’t care for you he pokes his nose in your back and tries to knock you over. If that doesn’t work he bites your shoulder. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard Papa curse him to perdition. Sable is Penny’s sire. I actually sat up in a tree and watched her conception.” She laughed. “Mama would have been horrified had she known.”
“What’s conception?” a sleepy voice asked. Rosie sat up slowly then rubbed her eyes and yawned.
Instead of answering the question, Cecelia smiled and said, “Good afternoon, Rosie. Did you have a nice nap?”
She nodded her head. “What’s conception?”
Rand reached for his walking stick and Cecelia squealed, “No, you don’t. You’re not going anywhere. I don’t need Mattie and you don’t need to change coaches.”
He laid the stick down, folded his arms and gazed at her. “Very well. Then you answer her question.”
“I have no problem with that.” She looked at Rosie. “It’s the beginning of an idea or the first part of making something. I was speaking of horses. Of how they are made.” She heard Rand groan at that last part.
“Oh.” Rosie yawned again and blinked.
Thinking that the child was satisfied with her answer Cecelia turned to her husband and said, “That wasn’t so difficult was it? A simple question received a simple answer.”
“Don’t be so certain,” he warned.
“How are horses made?” Rosie’s little voice piped up.
“Excuse me.” Rand put his hand to his ear. “What was that, Rosie? I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
“How are horses made?” She uttered the words slowly as if he were an imbecile.
“Of course. How are horses made,” he repeated. “Cecelia grew up on a farm. She knows all about horses. She’ll be glad to tell you how horses are made.”
Cecelia fixed a smile on her face as she tuned to Rosie. “God makes baby horses and gives them to their mamas as a gift.”
“They aren’t called baby horses,” Rosie corrected. “They’re called colts.” She puckered her brow. “Are people babies, gifts from God, too?”
Cecelia nodded.
Rosie frowned thoughtfully. “Is Mrs. Jennings baby a gift from God?”
Cecelia didn’t know Mrs. Jennings but assumed it was safe to answer in the affirmative. “Yes.”
“But all he does is cry and drool and turn red,” Rosie said disparagingly. “He isn’t any fun at all. If you don’t like the baby you get can you give it back?”
Cecelia shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
Rosie chewed on her lip as she thought. “If I ask God to give me a horse instead of a baby when I say my prayers at night, do you think He might?”
A strangled sound erupted from Rand’s chest. His lips were quivering.
“If you are very good, you may be lucky enough to have a pony,” Cecelia told her.
“How good must I be?”
“Very good.”
Rosie sighed heavily. “It won’t be easy, but I suppose I’ll try.” She scooted back, leaned over and patted David on the cheek. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up,” she chanted in a sing song voice. The corners of David’s mouth turned up, but other than that he didn’t respond. She shook his shoulder. “Get up,” she said loudly in his ear.
He bounded up, clawed at the air and between giggles roared at her. Her hands flew to her cheeks and she wailed piercingly, “Save me! Save me my brave knight! I’m about to be eaten by this horrible dragon!”
David pounced on her and Rand calmly leaned over and pulled him off. “If you want to remain in this coach there will be no horse play.” He pointed at David and said, “You will sit in that corner. And Rosie you will sit in the other. Do not touch each other. Do not speak to each other. Do you understand me?”
They both nodded but neither could keep from giggling.
Rand lift a sandy brow and murmured, “Remind me why I thought to put them both in the same coach for this last leg of our journey.”
�
�They begged and pleaded until in a moment of weakness you gave in.” She grinned at him. “Much like you did with me.”
“Dashed foolish of me, wasn’t it?” he said blandly. “On both counts.”
Happily, it wasn’t much longer before they reached massive iron gates bearing the name Fenton Abbey. A lad of about fifteen or so opened the gates, respectfully touching a forelock as they drove through. The wide gravel drive wound through a small copse of trees before reaching the expanse of rolling parkland and formal terraced gardens that led to the house. Like Reston, the manor was built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth and conformed to the popular E shaped design with three wings perpendicular to a long gallery that ran the width of the back of the house. Two low walls connected the three wings in front forming an enclosed courtyard on either side of the center wing. A circular drive curved around a large tiered fountain and colorful flower beds graced the front of the manor. Rectangular mullioned windows caught the sunlight. The stone structure had mellowed to a pale gold and outlined against the blue sky it was impressive. Unlike the land, it was clear that the estate had been well taken care of.
“Good heavens,” Cecelia exclaimed as she peered out the window. “It’s larger than Reston.”
By the time the traveling party, two coaches and the baggage coach, three drivers, six outriders, two grooms had pulled to a halt, the butler and a long line of servants were waiting on the front steps. A footman in royal blue and gold livery opened the coach door. Rand stepped down and as he helped Cecelia and the children to the ground, he admonished Rosie and David to be still and be quiet. And for once Rosie was silent, too awe-struck to do anything but stare wide-eyed at the grand house and its staff of servants. Cecelia took both children by the hand. She was accustomed to the luxurious life of an aristocratic family, but the thought that she was mistress of this grand mansion very nearly overwhelmed her. But this was not the time to let her scant eighteen years show. She was a marchioness. She was raised to be the mistress of a grand household. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and pulled herself to her full height.
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 16