A Country Affair

by Patricia Wynn

  “Bread? And bacon?” Selina reached quickly to pass the platters. “Augustus, please serve Mr. Lint some bacon."

  In the business of passing the food, she conquered her strange feeling, and their appetites kept them occupied for a while. Selina was relieved to see that their guest appeared to enjoy what she had cooked.

  She knew the fare was simple, but she had learned to cook at her mother's knee, and she was never ashamed of what she served. Of course, she did not often entertain gentlemen, but the vicar had taken an occasional meal with them and always seemed satisfied. Work, she knew, would give men a taste for food they might not otherwise have, and Mr. Lint did seem to be appeasing his hunger as he made short work of the slabs of bacon and thick slices of bread.

  Perhaps, she thought, relaxing for once, he would not regret too much the fare at Mr. Croft's.

  Then, a horrible thought made her throat narrow in panic. Mr. Croft would have offered him wine or, at the very least, a tankard of beer. She had no beer in the house.

  Rising, she felt a lump of shame deep in the pit of her stomach, as she raised her chin and said, “I have to apologize again, Mr. Lint, but we were not expecting a guest for supper. I cannot offer you ale, but my brother and I are quite partial to cherry wine. Perhaps, I could offer you a glass?"

  He looked up and blinked once before his excellent manners took over. “I can think of nothing that I would rather have."

  Her cheeks warming, for she knew he was simply being polite, Selina went to the cellar cupboard and fetched a fresh bottle of her cherry wine. She took their three remaining glasses to the table—only grateful they still had three—and poured them each one.

  “Your good health, Miss—” Mr. Lint seemed to hesitate before he raised his glass to his lips, but then he tasted the wine and complimented her upon it. “Very good. I suppose it was made from your cherries?"

  “Yes, I made it myself.” Selina could breathe again, now that the embarrassing moment was past. She returned to her chair to find their visitor studying her.

  “Forgive me, but—” a frown was on his face—"but surely you do not live alone here? You and your brother?"

  “Oh, no.” Augustus sprang in, before she could respond. “We have Lucas as well."

  “Lucas?"

  “Lucas Jones,” Selina said rapidly. “He is our servant."

  “Oh. I did not see him."

  “Lucas is away delivering trees. He makes all our deliveries,” Selina said, “as he will for Lord Webb, should you decide to buy our trees."

  “Lord Webb?"

  His confusion puzzled her. “Yes, you did come from Lord Webb, did you not?"

  Strangely, he seemed to hesitate over his answer. Then, staring at her fixedly, he said, “No, I came upon my own business. I am not acquainted with Lord Webb."

  “Oh!” Selina put a hand over her lips. “Oh, you must forgive me. We were expecting Lord Webb's—” She nearly said the word, “steward,” before she realized that Mr. Lint must not be anyone's servant. And if he were not, now rude it would sound.

  She amended her phrase “—Lord Webb's representative. And when you came today, we quite naturally assumed—"

  A fear that he might not be a customer at all suddenly assailed her. “But you have come about trees?”

  Again, he paused. “Yes. You needn't apologize. I shall look forward to seeing them tomorrow. And I quite understand how the confusion of the moment led to this misunderstanding, and, also now, why Augustus said that you were expecting me."

  At this surprising statement, Selina turned to question her brother with a look.

  “Mr. Lint gave me a ride home from the village,” he explained.

  “And in Mr. Croft's gig.” Mr. Lint's expression revealed that he had just remembered this important fact. “He will be worried that I have made off with it. And I have not yet bespoken a room, so I should be going."

  “Oh, dear,” Selina said before she could help herself. “And all because of Caesar and my stupidity.” As her visitor stood, she almost felt crushed with blame.

  “You had nothing to do with it,” he said. “I should have had the sense to ask for a room before I left the inn. But the place seemed empty, so I do not doubt there'll be a room for me."

  “If there is not,” Selina said, following him to the door with a lantern to light his way, “then you must come back here for the night."

  Her sense of what was due for his inconvenience had caused her to make the offer, but his reaction surprised her.

  Throughout the evening, Mr. Lint had been calm and self-possessed, but now a warm color rose to his face, and a look of something—like shame—touched his blue eyes.

  “You are very kind, Miss—” Again he paused over her name, and instead of finishing, took her hand and raised it to his lips. “But Mr. Croft is certain to have a room for me. I shall see you both in the morning."

  While Selina held the hand he had kissed pressed to her waist, he turned to Augustus and bid him goodnight. Then, he passed through the door.

  Selina thought it only right that she should light his way while he harnessed the horse to the gig, so she followed him on his way to the barn. When he heard her, he looked back and slowed his steps. Unable to think of anything to say, she kept silent while, side by side, they covered the short distance from the house.

  In the barn Mr. Lint worked quickly and quietly, and soon he was leading the horse outside. Eager to get home, Mr. Croft's horse backed willingly into its traces. Selina held the lantern high, while Mr. Lint attached the various pieces of harness. When he was done, he thanked her for her help.

  “You should be getting to your bed,” he told her, “or Clarissa will have to wake you herself."

  “Oh.” Selina laughed. “Augustus will milk her. That is his chore, not mine.” Something in his tone had started a melting feeling, like wine deep in the pit of her stomach.

  “In that case,” he said before leaving, “if I were you, I should have him turn Caesar out again."

  “Oh? And why is that?"

  He took her hand, and his lips brushed her fingertips again. “If I am not mistaken—” he released her hand to climb up into the gig—"and mind you, I am only judging by the gleam I saw in Caesar's eye—I think he does mean to have his way with Clarissa sooner than you think."

  Before she could react with a startled “Oh!” and a touch to her lips, he had flicked the horse with the reins and started forward.

  Selina wanted to bite her tongue right out of her mouth. She had to remember to keep her mouth shut, to remember all those things her mother had taught her, and not to give up on being a lady no matter how low they had sunk.

  But to think that Mr. Lint had heard her say such an indelicate thing!

  She hurried back into the house, wondering how she would face him on the morrow.

  * * * *

  She would have been comforted, perhaps, to know that Richard was cursing himself at that moment for giving in to the urge to dally with her. How could he have been so unprincipled?

  To flirt with a girl—an unprotected girl, no matter what they said about this Lucas fellow—and especially a girl he had come to harass was an unpardonable liberty. He could only plead the light from a full moon in his defense. It had shone down so brightly upon her hair and those simple yellow ribbons. He did not think he had ever seen anything as lovely as those inexpensive bits of golden satin against the brown satin of her hair.

  He could not deny that he found her attractive. She was what one might have called in an older and far less delicate age “a strapping wench.” But a wench with the carriage and curves of a goddess. That proud little lift of her chin, her air of command, and her gracious manners when she wasn't cursing at her bull—and even her cursing he had found appealing—all combined to make her a very attractive woman indeed. There was no question that he found her desirable, but that was no excuse for his self-indulgence.

  He had come to read her brother a lecture upon the dign
ity of his ancient family. Then, finding Augustus blameless, he had searched for a different object for his ire. After spending the entire evening at The Grange, he was no closer to knowing who had trespassed upon his name than he had been before. He only knew that Selina had used it shamelessly and freely. The anger he had felt when he had read the Garter's letter had long since dissipated, and now he found himself more curious than mad.

  Although ... The more Richard reflected upon the evening, the more certain he was that there had been a touch of defensiveness in Selina's manner when she had introduced herself. Perhaps Miss Payley was not so innocent as she seemed.

  Tomorrow, he would have to confront her. The confusion this evening had served to put him off. That, and the distress Selina had shown over Caesar's eating her trees. Richard could not have brought himself to add to it at that moment, not when he had detected the fragility beneath her intrepid demeanor.

  It had taken no more than one look at that kitchen and the modesty of their meal for him to realize what sort of life they led. He ought not to have accepted her invitation to sup, but something had told him her pride would be wounded if he did not. He had meant to tell her the truth at table, and the perfect opportunity had offered itself. But, again, for her distress.

  When she discovered he was not the customer she had expected, her alarm had deflected him from his purpose again. He knew it was due to a financial disappointment. His natural reaction had been to promise to look at her trees, and presumably to buy some. He would make good on that promise. Tomorrow, however, and without fail, he would discover why she was using his name and upon whose authority. He would tell her who he was and why he had come before the situation became even more tangled.

  Having made this decision, Richard arrived at Mr. Croft's inn and was fortunate enough to find a room for the night. The innkeeper's relief upon having his gig returned to him amused Richard, for he was not often suspected of being a thief.

  When Mr. Croft asked his name, however, he hesitated, then gave the name Lint. If he divulged his title, and the news preceded him to The Grange next morning, he had no doubt he would be treated to quite a different reception from the one he had been given today. Besides, it was not at all unusual for aristocrats to travel incognito. And Mr. Croft would be likely to become anxious, and more than a little curious as to Richard's mission, if he knew he was entertaining the Earl of Linton.

  The room Richard was shown was more modest than any he had ever had the privilege to sleep in, but it was clean and the sheets were well aired. Mrs. Croft, who acted as chambermaid, seemed a tidy person, so he did not fear the possibility of lice.

  After an hour of hard labor, to which he was not in the least accustomed, Richard felt more than ready to retire. When he looked at his timepiece, he laughed to realize that the hour was no more advanced than eight o'clock. The short winter day and country hours had conspired to make him think it quite late, when if he were in London, he would just then be leaving his house for the evening's enjoyment.

  The remarkable thing was how good it felt to be physically tired, as if he had just completed an all day hunt. He would sleep well tonight. If he had wished for a change from his London rounds, he had certainly found it here in Uckfield.

  The only things he missed were his valet's attentions and his evening drink. His valet could not be conjured up, but the drink surely could. Richard asked Mr. Croft to draw him a pint of his best beer, which Richard savored with his feet propped before the fire as he shuddered at the thought of that cherry wine.

  Ye gods! He had never tasted anything so foul. Good manners had forced him to drink it, but he had been taken aback—much more than aback—by Selina's offer of it.

  Again, the thought of wounding her pride had governed him. He knew the signs by then: her nose held high in the air, her shoulders straightened, an unconscious toss of her head. As he set his tankard down, that memory made him smile. He hoped to be spared any more of her wine. As far as he was concerned, the only good thing about it had been the way it had colored Selina's lips a deep cherry red. They had looked as plump and ripe and luscious as the cherry itself.

  With the thought of those tempting lips, and Selina's ripeness, Richard dozed off in his chair, Mr. Croft's excellent porter forgotten at his side.

  Chapter Four

  Long before Richard had finished dressing for breakfast, Selina was up and working. While Augustus milked the cow, she fed the chickens and collected the eggs. Then, after making breakfast for the two of them, she hurriedly tidied up their dishes before going into the garden to pull up turnips and greens for the hog.

  Once these were boiled and cooled, she mixed them in a bucket with a share of Clarissa's milk, and the leavings from breakfast and last night's supper. Wrapped up against the cold, she made her way to the pig's pen, hoping to finish this most undignified of her chores before Mr. Lint could catch her at it. She would have asked Augustus to feed the pig, but because of last night's debacle, he had not been able to clean out the stalls, and that absolutely had to be done before Clarissa risked hoof rot.

  All the same, today of all days, Selina wished she did not have to feed the hog. Say what one would about the charm of pigs, their undoubted intelligence and the undeniable appeal of piglets, Selina did not think any gentleman would see treating the hog to a bucket of slops as a proper chore for a lady. Keeping company with swine did not show one to best advantage.

  Not—Selina reminded herself as she rounded the barn—not that she had any foolish designs upon Mr. Lint. Why, she hardly knew him! It was simply not that often that a strange gentleman—especially one with such urbane manners—was expected to call. Such a thing, in fact, had never happened in all her nineteen years. Mr. Lint's appearance had something of a mystery about it. Now that she thought it over, he never had mentioned precisely what his business was. Or why he had come. Or from where.

  But—Selina dismissed these facts as the result of last night's circumstances. They had been too busy, all of them, to engage in idle chatter. It had taken her half way through dinner just to discover that he was not who she thought he was.

  And then he had left so suddenly. She might not have believed he had come if it were not for the mended fence and the memory of her blushes.

  Anxiously switching her bucket from one hand to the next, Selina worried that something in her manner might have led Mr. Lint to flirt with her. Something unladylike, perhaps, such as her swearing. Or worse—she faltered in her stride—that invitation to sleep at The Grange, which had made him so uncomfortable. Convinced that was it, she determined today to give him no such cause to think her vulnerable to his charm. Nothing would be more fatal to her true design, which was selling him cart loads of trees, than to appear to be weak. That would indicate she was a poor man of business.

  Poor woman, that was.

  She could never let it be said that she had seduced a potential customer, nor could she open herself to a rumor that she had been seduced. Augustus, and this place, were depending upon her, and unmarried women in her position would always be seen as fair game. She had to watch her every step.

  And ... even more important to Selina, she would not have Mr. Lint thinking her so desperate that she would fling herself at the first available gentleman to stroll by.

  With this resolve firmly tacked in place, she arrived at the pen to find that Nero was in trouble. A vast, black hog of some fifty stone, he had backed himself into a corner, dislodged a rotten board from the fence, and stuck his hoof right through it. He did not seem to have noticed that the board was still affixed to his leg, since he was rooting quite peacefully. Then, in his clever way, he greeted her with a grunt. He started forward much too fast in anticipation of his breakfast—

  With a clunk, the board, which he had dragged along, struck the corner of his water trough. Nero stumbled with a squeal. The board dug into his leg. It must have pained him for he began to back, then go forward, then back, then forward, faster and faster, all the while sq
uealing as if he were being roasted on a spit.

  The noise was so strident, Selina wanted nothing more than to run and cover her ears, but she could not let his leg be broken. She dropped her bucket, then swooped up her skirts and tried to reach inside the pen for the board.

  “Oh, you stupid—” as he turned his snout towards her to defend himself from her ministrations, she minded her language—"you stupid swine! Why do I bother with you? You have been nothing but a trial!"

  Nero's squeals brought Augustus running. “What's he done this time?” At a glance, the boy saw what was wrong and leapt into the pen.

  His presence, and the threat now of two people bearing down upon him, only added to Nero's panic. He ran madly about the pen, splattering Selina's face and dress with cold mud.

  She could hardly keep herself from cursing. “I'll turn you into bacon, you—you— I'll—"

  “—string him up and make a ham out of him?” An amused voice cut calmly through the din.

  In anguish, Selina whirled to see Mr. Lint rolling up his sleeves behind her. He had already removed his tight-fitting coat to reveal another spotless white shirt.

  “No, you must not!” she warned him, waving him off. “You must not get soiled again on our account."

  “Nonsense,” he answered coolly, stepping into the fray. “Do you think I would just watch while you brave this angry glutton? More importantly, should I stand by while a poor afflicted beast is treated to threat upon threat? What is his name, by the way?” He asked this casually, as he picked up a stout stick to back the pig into a corner.

  “Nero,” Selina supplied, laughing helplessly at his sally, though she felt as close to tears.

  “Then, Nero, I must warn you that Miss Selina will have you tied and packed in brine before you can count to three if you do not cooperate. Be ready to grab the board,” Mr. Lint said to Augustus, rather in the manner of a knight commanding his squire.