He’d scarcely had time to discard his topcoat and pour himself a reviving midday beer when Anne joined him in the kitchen. “I’ve been in the attic bedrooms. Goodness, your uncle kept a lot of rubbish.” She broke off, tilting her head. “What is it? Bad news?”
“Half the fields on the estate are flooded, and repairing the dam is a major undertaking. Some of the tenants have lost livestock too.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus. Perhaps it won’t be so bad once the weather improves.”
“If it ever does. This is England.” He hadn’t yearned for Italian sunshine for weeks, but he might as well since it looked like his only option was to sell Hinton for a pittance and leave the country. With his luck and the activities of the French army he’d end up in Russia.
“Are your tenants safe?”
“No one was hurt, but the Burts’ roof couldn’t handle the torrent and the chimney leaked badly. Even if we repair it, all their coal was soaked, along with much of what they own.”
“You should have brought them to the manor.”
“I offered, but they have animals to care for and prefer to be at home, doing their best to arrange things before it rains again. Or snows hard. I came home to collect food and coal for them, then I’ll go back and help with the roof.” He slumped into a chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Oh Lord, Anne. You should have seen them. Trying so hard to keep up their spirits in an uninhabitable house. The other cottages are at least dry, but not otherwise much better.”
“They sound like good people, prepared to wait and make the best of things until you can make improvements.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a joke that I should even think of running an estate. I’m only used to looking out for myself.”
“You took care of me.”
He shook off the comfort of her hand on his shoulder. He was being whiny and self-indulgent but somehow, now he’d started to confide in her, he couldn’t stop. He had to tell her what was on his mind. “You don’t understand. I don’t have the means and no prospect of gaining them. Quarter day is coming and I don’t see how I can collect even a fraction of the rents with the land unusable. My accounts will be empty.”
“I wish I could help. I’ve never found it so frustrating that I have no control over my own fortune.”
“That’s not what I asked. I shouldn’t burden you with my troubles.”
“I know you didn’t ask and it’s no burden to listen to a friend. Do you remember, once you offered me friendship?”
“I didn’t mean it. I was trying to make you fall in love with me.”
Only the low hiss of the kettle disturbed an atmosphere that had, in a single second, turned thick and charged with uncertainty. Whatever lay between them wasn’t friendship. Or it was, but something more as well. Once again, marriage tantalized him. The arguments against it hadn’t altered, but rather grown stronger. For his newly awakened conscience—if that was the source of his bizarre scruples—told him he had nothing to offer. He couldn’t even consider wooing her unless he had something to bring to the table.
“Mean it now.” She wore her determined look, the one that boded ill for fortune hunters and recalcitrant lumps of antiquity-laden earth. “Be my friend and I shall be yours. And the first thing I’m going to do is come with you to help your people. I found extra blankets and some of your uncle’s clothes.”
“I thought we’d agreed you should stay here.”
“You can’t carry everything by yourself, and no, I’m not wearing my gown. Your uncle’s topcoat will cover me to the ankles.”
Marcus pushed a wheelbarrow over a track whose ruts contained a lethal mixture of water, ice, and slush, while Anne carried the basket of food. The state of the Burts’ cottage appalled her. It didn’t need much knowledge to see that the structure had been in poor condition before the deluge. Now it had been degraded to a hovel. The principal room, serving as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room, was strewn with the family’s meager possessions. Holes in the wooden floor exposed the dirt beneath; a scratched dresser displayed a pathetic collection of battered pots and cracked crockery; such furnishings that could be seen through clothes and blankets spread out to dry were ancient and comfortless. Barely warmer inside than out, the house smelled damp. A rhythmic plop of water leaking from the roof into a bucket completed the depressing picture. Mr. and Mrs. Burt appeared on the edge of desperation.
“This is Miss Brotherton,” Marcus announced. “She was trapped by the flood and is staying at the manor.”
They looked at her without much interest, too absorbed by their own problems to sniff out a potential scandal. The youngsters, two boys and a girl with dirty faces, shivered in their shabby garments.
“I’m sorry for your troubles,” Anne said. “His Lordship has brought food and coal.”
“Much obliged, my lord.” Mr. Burt tipped his cap and his wife showed signs of animation.
“Let’s bring in the things from the barrow,” Marcus said, “then we’ll take a look at the roof and chimney. Do you think it’s safe to light a fire?”
“I reckon it is,” Burt replied. “At the top of the ladder I could reach where the flashing had come loose and fixed it back in place. It should hold till I can get up there with cement. The roof’s another matter. There’s an ice blockage needs to be cleared before we can find the leak.”
“We’d better get up there, then.” The steep slate roof had glistened with ice as they approached. Climbing on it seemed perilous.
Anne hovered near the door, anxious not to get in the way. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked Mrs. Burt as the men and the eldest boy went out.
“Thank you, miss,” the woman replied with precarious dignity, “but there’s not much to be done till we get the fire going and start getting things dried out. I’m sorry to receive you with the house like this. I can’t even offer you a cup of tea.” She appeared on the verge of tears.
Wishing she hadn’t come, Anne cast about for something to say. Meaningless remarks about the weather were hardly appropriate for this woman beset by the elements. She felt overwhelmed in the face of such distress and genuine need. At Camber the land steward would see to everything. But at Camber things would not have been allowed to decline so. Her tenants would have ridden out the storm, warm and dry. “Thank you, but I don’t need anything,” she said. “Where shall I put this?” Her hostess’s patent inability to make a decision amid the chaos dissolved Anne’s hesitation. She placed the heavy basket in a safe corner.
“What’s in there?” asked the smallest child, a boy of perhaps five or six years old.
“Hush, Johnny,” said his mother. “Don’t bother the lady.”
“It’s no bother. All sorts of good things to eat. Why don’t you wait and find out when your mother unpacks it. It’ll be a surprise. Perhaps she’ll let you help.”
“I helped clean the wet coals out of the fireplace,” he said.
“That’s excellent. What a good boy.”
“And I spread the blankets out to dry,” boasted his sister.
“Fancy that. What’s your name?”
“Anne.”
“Good gracious! That’s mine too. What a coincidence!”
“Mam!” young Anne called. “Dad!” she added as the male party came in with the coal. “This lady’s called Anne too. She says it’s a con-si-dence.”
“I’m not surprised. All the prettiest girls are named Anne,” Marcus said.
Her new young friend would never be a beauty by any standards. The girl raised her eyes warily, both pleased and skeptical. Anne knew exactly how she felt. The Lithgow charm was in full working condition. A tiny shy smile stretched to a huge grin, revealing crooked teeth in her long, sallow face. Marcus turned to Anne and gave her a little wink that disordered her insides.
Full working condition indeed.
“You’ve done wonders since I called this morning, Mrs. Burt,” he said. “We’ll have the roof sound in no time.
”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Don’t thank me. Burt’s the expert. I’ll just hold the hammer and hand him nails.”
“We’re glad to get help from the manor, Your Lordship.”
“Why don’t you see to that fire?” Marcus said gently. “He’ll be ready for something hot when he’s finished.”
Simple words, but they dispersed Mrs. Burt’s paralysis. “Things are going to be better in the future,” she said.
“That’s the spirit.”
The atmosphere in the room grew warmer, less desperate. Marcus had the ability to set people at ease. Knowing how much he feared for the future of the estate, he couldn’t be as cheerful as he sounded, but in this case deception was a virtue. The concern and reassurance on his handsome face made the Burts feel better. In Anne it provoked a warmer reaction. Gazing at Marcus made her dwell on kissing again, not suitable thoughts when calling on a family in distress. She dragged away her gaze and imitated his bracing tone. “You must be proud to have such helpful children, Mrs. Burt,” she said.
“They’re good little ones. Having them in the house for two days of rain has been hard, and I can’t send them out to play because they’ll catch their deaths in damp clothes. They’re used to running around all day and they’re getting fidgety.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll move these blankets from the settle. Anne and Johnny can sit down out of your way. I’ll find something to entertain them.”
The harassed mother accepted gratefully and commenced the tricky business of starting a fire with very little dry kindling. The men went outside, and indoor activities became punctuated by sounds of banging on the roof. Anne wrapped each of the small children in a dry blanket from the Hinton attic. They sat on either side of her, fixing her with huge, expectant eyes.
She had no idea how to entertain children.
She cleared her throat. “How old are you?”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
What now? She needed a question that couldn’t be answered in monosyllables. Should she inquire about their schooling, or would it shame their mother if they had none?
“Do you like cats?” young Anne asked, apparently possessed of better social instincts than the heiress of Camber.
“I do. My cousin Caro has a cat named Tish. He’s yellow.”
“Ours is called Blackie.”
“He’s black,” added Johnny.
“In that case, he has a very good name. I should be honored to make his acquaintance.”
The little girl giggled. “He’s gone hunting.”
So much for that promising line of conversation.
“Why are you wearing breeches?” the boy asked. “Aren’t you a lady?”
The front of her coat had fallen open, revealing her knees. Too late now. “My gown was wet.”
“Were you out in the storm?”
“Not just out. I was trapped in a big hole in the ground until Lord Lithgow found me.”
The children nodded, unsurprised that His Superb Lordship had come to the rescue. “He’s the bravest man in the world except my dad,” Johnny said.
“Are you the lady who’s been digging?” the girl asked. “Dad says Mr. Hooke used to do it a long time ago. It’s a house from the olden days.”
“A villa, built by the Romans nearly two thousand years ago. A Roman house is called a villa.”
“Tell us a story about these Romans,” Johnny begged.
“Well, I don’t know anything about the specific people who lived here. We can only find clues about how they lived by finding things that were buried when they left.”
“Treasures? Are they made of gold?” His eyes gleamed.
“I haven’t found anything like that. Mostly broken bits of pots and metal.” And the occasional belt buckle.
Little Anne was unimpressed. “It sounds dull.”
Wracking her brain for a tale with a bit more dramatic potential, Anne came up with the tale of Horatius, who saved Rome from the advancing Etruscans by holding the bridge over the Tiber while the outnumbered Roman army escaped. It was a big success. Apart from dodging impossible questions about weaponry from Johnny, she managed to hold them enthralled. “And then,” she concluded, “once they’d torn down the bridge so the Etruscans couldn’t cross, Horatius jumped in the river and swam home.”
“Why couldn’t the ’Truscans jump in the river and swim across too?” Her namesake might not be pretty but she was sharp.
“That’s a very good question, Anne. It was because their armor was too heavy.”
“Didn’t Horatius have armor too?”
She’d wondered the same thing herself. An explanation of how historical accounts differed as to whether Horatius survived the river would, she felt, spoil the story.
Little Johnny had the answer. “Horatius was stronger than all the ’Truscans,” he said scornfully. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to fight so many. ’Course he could swim wearing armor.”
Apparently it took the male mind to appreciate a good war story.
A huge crash outside and a shouted oath made her leap up, heart in her mouth. Marcus! He wasn’t used to this kind of work. Supposing he’d fallen off the slippery roof and broken a bone? Or worse? She reached the door just ahead of Mrs. Burt and both women burst out, regardless of the chill.
Anne thrust aside the other woman and fell to her knees beside Marcus, who lay flat on his back with his eyes closed, horribly still. “Oh God.” Her eyes blurred and her hand shook as she stroked his forehead. “Marcus, wake up!”
He opened his eyes, and something inside her that had sunk to the pit of her stomach rushed upward to her heart.
“Are you injured? Where?”
“Only my pride. What a damn fool thing to do, falling off the ladder. Knocked poor Joe down too. I’ve had a nice little rest and now I must get back to work.”
The elder Burt boy was also on the ground, being fussed over by his mother. Mr. Burt peered anxiously from his perch on the roof. “Are you all right, my lord? My fault. My foot slipped and knocked the top of the ladder.”
Marcus clambered gingerly to his feet. “No harm done, except a slight pain in a place I’d better not mention. How are you, Joe?”
The boy was fine too. The alarm over, the women went back inside, delivering dire injunctions to the roofing party to be more careful. “I don’t like this, miss,” Mrs. Burt said. “I was that worried that Burt or Joe was hurt. And His Lordship too.”
Anne felt a little guilty that she hadn’t given much thought to the possible injury of Burt or his son. What would happen to this family if the father was killed, or even seriously injured? How would they survive? Seeing Marcus stretched out was the most terrifying sight in all her experience. Supposing he’d died?
Johnny tugged at her sleeve. “Tell us more about the Romans, miss.”
A couple of stories later Anne had little voice left and fewer ideas. The men returned and pronounced the roof airtight. Hungry eyes surveyed the food basket. It was time to leave the Burts to their own devices.
She clutched Marcus’s arm as they stumbled home in the fading twilight, relishing his warm living body.
“I feel small in the face of such hardship,” she said.
“Don’t. Mrs. Burt was grateful to you for distracting the children. You have a talent for it.”
She’d enjoyed the youngsters, she realized. They were much easier to amuse than adults. When she thought of motherhood at all, it was in terms of duty, the provision of another heir, preferably male, for her heritage. Marcus would be a good father. The direction of her thoughts scared and thrilled her.
“At least you were doing something practical,” she said.
“It’s my responsibility. I don’t imagine any of your tenants live like that.”
“The Camber lands have always been well managed. You inherited a neglected estate and you’re doing your best. And you did not order the weather.”
She sens
ed his muscles stiffen and the chasm widen between them. He must surely resent her abundant fortune when he had so little, especially now she knew how poor his options were.
“You know,” she said, tightening her grip on his arm lest he slip away. “I have no control over my estates. Nothing can be done without the consent of Morrissey and the other trustees. Did you know that I cannot wed without their permission?”
“You are almost of age.”
“In February, but it doesn’t matter. If I marry with Morrissey’s approval my husband will take over. If not, the trustees remain in charge.”
“I’m not surprised. Heiresses to great fortunes are usually well protected.”
It was too dark to see his face, not that his expression would tell her anything. From his curt tone of voice she guessed he’d favor her with that bland look that disguised every thought and emotion. She opened her mouth to ask this rogue, this fortune hunter, what he meant by pursuing her if he knew it might get him nothing. He might tell her he didn’t care for her fortune, that he wanted her without it. If he said that she would surely die of joy because she was in love with him. She loved Marcus Lithgow.
She didn’t ask the question because she knew he’d tell her the truth and if it wasn’t the right answer she couldn’t bear it. She preferred to revel in a state of hopeful ignorance, at least for a while.
Chapter 20
Another evening of tea in the drawing room. It would have been wiser for him to send Anne to bed after dinner and to go for a long walk or take a cold bath. His resistance was low.
They took their places in front of the fire in a silence fraught with unspoken thoughts and repressed desires. She hooked one calf over her knee in a masculine pose that displayed the long limbs and slender thighs and drew attention to the buttoned fall of the breeches. The area looked wrong on a woman, without male equipment to disturb the line. The line of his own breeches was becoming more disturbed by the second.
She regarded him with a less guarded expression than he’d ever seen her wear, as though something had shifted in her view of him. He still couldn’t read her face with any certainty, but he both yearned to know and dreaded what her new softness might mean.
Miranda Neville Page 19