“Certainly. I shall have McDonough bring whatever you wish to the drawing room. We have a fine old Manzanilla."
Chapter 6
Established in the gold drawing room, Rushton was hesitant to bring up the subject of the vale. The former restraint between them had been broken down over their shared meal, and it was easier than he had thought to ignore the outlandish clothing she wore and merely enjoy her companionship. There was no artifice to her, no airs of any sort. She did not seem in the least perturbed to have dined along with him; in fact he felt sure that the thought of proper chaperonage had never occurred to her. Accustomed as she was to her life with her cousin, such matters undoubtedly did not arise very often.
Selina watched as he poured himself a glass of Manzanilla, the fine, long hands carelessly accomplishing the simple task while he spoke of his home and the wines his father had laid down. He had a way of meeting her eyes even across the room that was unnerving, as though he could tell what she was thinking or feeling. His black hair gleamed in the candlelight and his height seemed exaggerated as he approached and took a seat near hers. Selina had decided at tea the previous day that if there was an interest between Mr. Rushton and Cassandra, they hid it extremely well. Though he was not perhaps as saturnine as she had originally imagined, she could not think them well suited, and curious as to his intentions in that direction she asked, “Will you be staying with Penrith long?"
“That depends on a number of things.” It was the opening he needed, and reluctantly he took advantage of it. “As I mentioned the other day, I would like to purchase a piece of land in the area and build a hunting-box. I was disappointed to learn that you are not interested in selling the vale, for I had rather set my mind on it. There must be a need for employment in the area, especially for the building crafts, and such a project would probably be welcome."
“I'm sure it would, but there must be other parcels which would take your fancy."
“No, I've seen nothing else. Penrith and I asked in Barton and Mr. Dodge informed us that not a bit of land is currently to be had in the area."
“What a shame. As you say, there is a need for employment, especially in the building crafts. Sir Penrith's stables last summer were a real boon to the neighborhood."
“Yes, and I am sure the building of a house and stable would be even more welcome. I suspect that the hunting season provides miscellaneous jobs for any number of men, and they are thrown on the parish when the warmer weather comes. Has the vale some sentimental attachment for you?” His eyes, earnest and friendly, sought her own.
Selina looked away and shrugged. “Henry and I picnic there by the stream, but, no, there is no tradition attached to the land. It only recently came into the possession of the family, and is surrounded by Lord Benedict's land."
“So Penrith said. He also told me, after I had first talked to you, that Lord Benedict wished to purchase it, but you refused. Had he mentioned that when first I saw the vale I might not have allowed myself to become so enamored of it,” Rushton admitted wryly.
“Oh I doubt it,” Selina retorted. “We always want what we cannot have, and when we get it we find it does not live up to expectation."
“I think you are mistaken in this instance, Miss Easterly-Cummings. The location is ideal, the land itself charming. I have envisioned it at each season of the year, and found nothing lacking. Would you not reconsider? New construction would be most beneficial to the neighborhood, and the permanent employment of a small staff would be an on-going reward."
She found herself not immune to his warm smile or his earnestness. Just so would Henry try to wheedle a treat from her. But this was not her cousin; this was a stranger when all was said and done. Still, Rushton was right about the need for employment in the area. Useful new jobs were hard to come by in the pastoral setting of Leicestershire, and no matter how many she attempted to invent, there were never enough. Too many families were forced to leave the countryside to earn their bread in the mills of Birmingham and Leicester. The new steam factories, brass foundries, iron works and mines sucked in the desolate and drained them of any hope for more than survival. No craft apprenticeship, but an endless, mindless labor. No cottage, but an accumulation of squatters’ dwellings. Selina's heart ached when she journeyed through the industrial towns where the children were soot-covered and sullen, often hungry and almost always illiterate.
“I begin to think there is no possibility of stemming the tide,” she replied, discouraged. “If there is work this year, there will probably be no work next year."
“But you can never tell, can you? There would have been no work last year if Penrith had not rebuilt the stables. It is not inconceivable that next year one of the landowners will have a project. One year at a time, Miss Easterly-Cummings, is all anyone can hope for.” The intense blue eyes studied her gravely.
Selina nodded as she tugged the shawl closer about her shoulders. For the first time she became conscious that her being alone with a strange man might not be altogether proper. Not that she cared for such things, she scolded herself. After all, it was her own home and she might entertain whom she pleased. Well, not entertain, perhaps, but repay him for his kindness in restoring Henry to her. This was, as it were, an obligation. Selina stole a quick glance at her companion under the pretext of plumping up one of the pillows on the sofa where she sat. He rested casually in his chair, his eyes thoughtful and the black brows drawn into a slight frown, his fingers tapping lightly on his wineglass.
At length she said hesitantly, “I have never wished to sell the vale to Lord Benedict. My father would not sell it to his father, though he risked the loss of it on the turn of a card to spare himself a fight in the courts. If I were to sell the land to you, I would have to be offered first refusal in the event you were to resell it for any reason."
Surprised, Rushton stared at her for a moment. “Of course I would offer you first refusal. Do you mean you will sell?"
“I suppose there is really no reason not to. Would you give me your word to employ men from the area, and not to import your own workers or craftsmen?"
“Wherever feasible, Miss Easterly-Cummings. You may not have all the necessary trades represented right here."
“Possibly, but I would expect you to do your utmost before going elsewhere."
“I have said I would.” He watched her warily now, afraid any misstep would unbalance their negotiations. “Had you given any thought to what the land is worth?"
“Lord Benedict has offered me, at various times, seven, eight and nine hundred pounds. There are only thirty acres, and a fair amount of it is wooded."
“Would a thousand pounds be adequate?"
“You misunderstand me, Mr. Rushton. I thought Lord Benedict's offers were high for such a small piece of land."
“To me the land is worth a thousand pounds. I could spend more on a hunter, Miss Easterly-Cummings. Have we a bargain?” He watched her finger the shawl nervously, perplexed by her agitation. Was he harassing her, after all? She seemed unusually vulnerable. “There is no need to decide right now. I would be grateful if you would think over my offer."
“Yes, I ... I should like to do that. I don't mean to be contrary; it is just that until this evening I had not really thought of selling it, and I should not like to make a hasty decision. May I send you word in a day or so?"
Selina was not in the habit of hesitating over business decisions. When she had all the facts at her fingertips, she saw no reason to mull over a decision interminably, for it did not make the problem appear any clearer, but often the reverse. There was no reason to withhold her agreement now, but she felt strongly affected by his presence and could not be sure that she would feel the same when he had left. No use pretending that when he fixed one with that compelling gaze it had no influence. Selina decided that he was used to getting his own way, and that rankled, for she would not let him twist her round his thumb, but she would not refuse to sell to him for that reason, either. It was a business m
atter, and her grasping at time to decide was an effort to keep any extraneous issues from coloring her decision.
Unaware that he had risen, Selina found him standing over her and started to her feet. “Forgive me, I have been lost in thought. How very rude of me."
Rushton found her delightful in her confusion, and smiled. “Think nothing of it, Miss Easterly-Cummings. I had just said that I will look forward to hearing from you, and that I thought it time I took my leave. Thank you for a delicious meal. I hope your dog has enjoyed those dishes we did not."
“Oh Scamp will eat anything, the graceless pup. Henry even feeds her turnips. I appreciate your bringing him home, Mr. Rushton, and for keeping an eye on him today."
“I only wish we might have prevented the accident, but these things do happen."
Her face clouded and the brown eyes grew troubled once more. “Yes, of course.” She gave a firm tug to the bellpull. “Did he have so much brandy that he will feel wretched tomorrow?"
“I doubt it, though if he is totally unfamiliar with such strong spirits...” He eyed her questioningly.
“No. No, he has had brandy any number of times before.” Selina turned to McDonough as he entered. “If you would show Mr. Rushton out, please."
When Selina offered Mr. Rushton her hand, he had an unaccountable desire to lift it to his lips, but satisfied himself with pressing it gently before he reluctantly let it go, only to watch it flutter nervously to tug the shawl tightly about her.
Selina looked up from the breakfast table to survey her cousin. “How are you feeling this morning, Henry?"
He screwed his face into a grimace. “I've been better, but I'll live. My arm aches like the devil.” A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes. “Do you think I could convince Dr. Davenport that I was unable to do my lessons because of it?"
“No, I don't. It's not even your writing hand."
“True, but I could tell him that the agony of it distracted me too much."
“Henry, he has already cut your lessons in half. Have you written to Lord Leyburn?"
“Not yet.” When she frowned, he hastened to add, “I have not found the best way to phrase my wishes as yet. I've tossed a dozen sheets on the fire."
“Perhaps I could help you later.” Her eyes wandered toward the window where a warm sun was at work melting the snow. “Do you think I should sell the vale to Mr. Rushton?"
Henry lifted his brows comically. “Never say you have reconsidered! I thought your word in business matters was law."
“Mr. Rushton pointed out that his construction project would provide numerous jobs for the men hereabouts. You know that has no little influence with me, Henry. I really have no use for the vale, except for walks and picnics, and as you said, there are other places for that. I have never wished to sell the vale to Lord Benedict because ... I just never have,” she said abruptly. “The case is different with Mr. Rushton. Lord Benedict would not build anything there, but would likely clear it and use it for grazing land as he does the areas around it."
“And Rushton would build a hunting-box? Lord, you should see him in the field, Selina. Even Sir Penrith can't top a flight of rails with such ease. And almost no one else even tried to jump the brook. I know I didn't. Perhaps when I have had more experience, but not now."
Delighted to learn that her cousin had shown some caution the preceding day, Selina smiled. “I'm pleased that you enjoyed yourself. If you take care of your arm, I imagine it won't be so very long before you'll be able to repeat the experience."
“And you won't mind? Even after what happened this time?” he asked incredulously, his toast suspended half way to his mouth.
“I will become accustomed, I feel sure,” she returned ruefully. “About the land, Henry. You see no objection to my selling it?"
“No, how could I? It's a lovely spot, but entirely cut off from the rest of Shalbrook. Might as well let someone have the use of it, and if you don't want to sell it to Lord Benedict, why not Rushton? He's a good chap."
“Is he? I suppose so. He has made a generous offer for the land, and I have a mind to accept it. There are several projects which I had been contemplating, and I would not give a second thought to starting them with the additional funds. Some charities further from home than usual. I have a mind to drive over to have a look at the vale before I decide. Would you like to come?"
“In the sledge?"
“Yes, for the way the sun is shining, we won't have the use of it very long. Perhaps it would be too rough on your arm, though."
“A sight more comfortable than the phaeton in this weather, but the road is likely to be unfit for it."
“We'll drive across the fields and look at it from our side of the road."
After their easy-paced drive, however, Selina found she was not content to view the land from a distance. “Would you walk the horses a minute while I have a look?"
“Dash it, Selina, you can't go climbing over that fence. You'll break your neck."
“Now look who's being the mother hen!” she taunted and flounced out of the sledge. Her boots sunk into the mushy snow, and she squealed as the wetness assailed her legs.
“I told you so,” Henry mocked.
“No, you didn't. You said I would break my neck climbing over the fence.” She stomped away from him to the whitethorn fence with its shallow ditch. The binding was done with brambles, and though the fence was now more than ten years old, it was not really fully grown, though it was very nearly cattle-proof. Some of the shoots of the bullfinch were eight or nine feet high, and they were protected by a rail on both sides. Having no wish to scratch herself needlessly, Selina pulled herself onto the rail before attempting to ease through the shoots, which were further apart at that height. When she could tentatively place a foot on the further rail, she ducked her head and made the plunge. Unfortunately, her cloak became hopelessly entangled in the brambles, and in attempting to free it, she tumbled off the further rail into the snowy road, the cloak hideously snagged.
“I see you have not changed, Selina,” remarked the horseman who leaped down to assist her to her feet. “If I am not mistaken, Shalbrook is provided with a very wide gate through which most people gain the road."
There was no need to look up into the sardonic face; Selina would have known the voice anywhere. “Well, Frank, you know I am not like most people,” she replied as she inspected the ruination of her cloak. “Though I would not have done it if I had thought to sustain such a catastrophe, you understand. This is the only really warm covering I own."
“I should think you would own a dozen just to sit around your medieval fortress,” Lord Benedict rejoined. “Whatever were you trying to prove?"
At last she looked at him, noting the fair hair escaping from under his curly-brimmed beaver. “I had a desire to have a look at the vale before I sold it."
His hazel eyes sharpened with interest. “You have finally decided to accord me my fondest wish then?"
“No, Frank. I plan to sell it to a friend of Sir Penrith's."
An angry glitter shone in his eyes. “You are doing this to annoy me."
“Am I? I wonder. No. I cannot think so, for when the gentleman first asked, I did not agree. But you see, he intends to build a hunting-box which will provide some much-needed employment in the neighborhood."
Lord Benedict gripped her arm ungently. “You know I am willing to pay more for it than some crazy foxhunter, Selina. That vale belongs with my land."
“We have been over this a dozen times, Frank,” she said wearily, shaking off his hand. “I won't sell the land to you."
"You are a stubborn, capricious, self-willed woman!” he cried, slapping his whip against his leg. “Thank God you broke our engagement, or we might at this very moment be married."
“But then the vale would be yours,” she said sweetly, as she stooped to retrieve her cap from the road.
“That would have been too great a price to pay,” he returned coldly, his eyes raking her as she put
the nun-like cap on her curls.
“I know. Do not let me detain you longer, Frank. I know you are a busy man.” She offered her hand and a patently insincere smile.
He accepted neither, but stood scowling at her. “How much did he offer you? I will pay double the figure to save myself the bother of tearing his house down when he finally agrees to sell to me."
“Ah, but, Frank, a condition of the sale is that I have first refusal should he ever decide to sell."
“This is your idea of revenge, I suppose,” he grated, the hazel eyes blazing. “Hell hath no fury..."
“Like a woman scorned."
“I did not scorn you. It was you who refused me."
“Do you still tell yourself that?” she asked softly. “It must be quite a salve to your conscience. Good day, Frank.” Without a backward glance, she crossed the road and climbed the flight of rails into her property, where she stood with her rigid back to him until at last she heard the sound of his horse moving forward. Not until she was sure, from the quiet that descended on the scene, that he was gone did she turn to gaze in the direction taken. Dry-eyed but shaken, she wondered how she could still be so easily discomposed by him. It was years since they had parted. And was it true what he said: that she would sell the land to Rushton as a means to hurt her former fiancé. Thirty stupid acres of no great value were turning into a wretched strain on her emotions. Why had her peaceful life suddenly been turned into upheaval, first by Henry, and then Rushton and now Frank? The lesson to be learned from it, she thought bitterly, was that men were the very devil of a nuisance.
Her gaze wandered over the vale and she could hear the sound of the stream and the dripping from the trees as the snow melted. It was a lovely sight, and it entirely failed to soothe her. Remembering that poor Henry was walking the horses on the other side of the obscuring fence, she determinedly made her way back over the rails and across the road. The scramble through the briars did nothing to improve her temper; she got a nasty scratch across her chin, and she knew the moment she saw his face that Henry had heard every word of her conversation with Lord Benedict.
A Curious Courting Page 6