Lord Carswell considered St. John’s outlandish words before responding.
“I wish to be respectful of your decision to marry a lady from the future, St. John. I do not forget my sentiments for Clara, though she chose another. Rachel Halwell is a delightful creature—no one could describe her as anything but pleasant. Beyond that though, I do not feel this Miss Ferguson was created in their mold. I could not imagine a gentleman choosing to marry such a woman, certainly not a member of the nobility. She seems more suitable to becoming the wife of a sheepherder. It is just as well that she plans to return to her own, more ‘easier’ time then.”
St. John rose, still wearing a broad smile. “I see that I cannot change your mind. I must attend to some matters in my office for several hours. Do you care to read?”
“No, I think I shall stroll out.”
St. John nodded and held the door. Lord Carswell left the drawing room and collected his hat from the footman at the door. Desirous of stretching his legs, he set off down the drive, finding himself striding over the parkland and turning toward the river. Lost in thought, he crossed over the bridge and found himself standing in the meadow where only hours before he had seen Miss Ferguson and Miss Hickstrom conversing near the sheep.
Upon approaching the pair, Lord Carswell had observed that Miss Hickstrom, dressed in her usual finery, appeared somewhat revolted at her proximity to the livestock. Miss Ferguson, on the other hand, seemed to be quite at home amongst the sheep. It was no wonder he supposed she might be more suited to the life of a sheepherder’s wife.
But that was not his concern. He was staying no more than a week on his way to London to attend to some affairs, following which he would return to his home in Bedfordshire. During his brief sojourn at Alvord Castle, he would be required to see Miss Ferguson only briefly.
He did wish to see more of the mysterious Miss Hickstrom though. If she were indeed some sort of magical creature, he wished to know more. He thanked his lucky stars that as a widower, he was not in need of her purported matchmaking services, but her skills interested him nonetheless.
That the lady always appeared dressed in elaborate gowns suitable for balls in the prior century was not the least of her eccentricities. Her mysterious control over Miss Clara Bell in guiding her into marriage with Roger Phelps puzzled him, and if truth were told, still angered him. Perhaps humiliation might be a better description. He had offered Miss Bell his protection and his heart, and she had spurned him, on advice of Miss Hickstrom, for the upstart estate manager, the new Baron Rowe.
A bristled head butted his hand, and Lord Carswell looked down in surprise to see a sheep nuzzling his leg. He could not help but smile at the foolishness of the animal, and he scratched it behind the ears as it bleated. Several more sheep joined the original, and with a laugh, he petted them all.
“Patience, creatures! I shall see to you all! What friendly animals you are, to be sure. Have you always been this demonstrative, or has that odd woman, Miss Ferguson, trained you to become so affectionate?”
Lord Carswell petted one last head before retreating from the flock.
“Good day, animals! I must away, but I wish you well! Perhaps I shall see you again another day.”
Chapter Three
For supper that evening, Janie dressed with care, slipping into a simple silk teal-blue dress that Mary had the village seamstress make up for her. Mary had developed a habit of coming to get her when she went downstairs, so Janie sat down at her dressing table and tucked a few wayward blonde curls into her chignon. They slipped down to her shoulders again right away, and she shrugged.
Leaning forward, she noted that her eyes seemed particularly bright that evening, and she assumed it was from the color of the dress reflecting in her eyes. Her cheeks seemed rosier than normal, which she attributed to sunshine from days of walking outside. Cleaning houses did not give a person much time outdoors. She grinned. Who knew she would need to go to England to get some sun?
She rotated on her dressing table bench to wait for Mary’s arrival. Lord Carswell’s face materialized before her, and Janie rolled her eyes. Detestable man! Tall and slender with well-groomed silvered hair that curled just under his ears, he appeared to be in his late forties. His bright-blue eyes seemed particularly youthful given the silvering of his hair, but she didn’t care. Good for him. Great genes. Whatever.
Janie preferred tall, slender men, but definitely not that one. She liked them closer to her age as well, in their thirties. Blue eyes were a plus, but then again, she didn’t care what color Lord Carswell’s eyes were. What had St. John said his first name was?
James! That was it. The name suited him. He didn’t look like a Jim or a Jimmy, but he did look like a James. His black cutaway coat and dark-gray breeches seemed a little conservative. She preferred softer colors like blue or silver.
The black coat had set the silver in his dark hair off to perfection...if one liked that sort of thing. Janie looked over her shoulder at her blonde hair. She had some silver strands herself. They’d been coming in since she was twenty-five. She shrugged again. What did it matter? She had contemplated coloring her hair, but she’d heard that silver was hard to color. She was already blonde. What color would she have used to color the silver? Blonde.
A tap on the door brought Mary into the room.
“Are you ready for dinner?” she asked.
“That’s a beautiful dress,” Janie said with appreciation.
Mary wore a silk rose dress that went well with her caramel-colored hair. Pale skin enhanced big brown eyes, and Janie envied Mary her autumn coloring. She disliked her own Nordic complexion, finding herself too “pastel.”
“This old thing?” Mary laughed, fingering an ivory lace overskirt. “It helps to marry a wealthy man. Before I came here, all I ever wore was jeans and T-shirts.”
“I know what you mean.” Janie thought about the dark-blue polo shirt and tan corduroy slacks that she and Clara had worn to work. Hers were safely tucked away in the wardrobe. She knew Clara had kept hers as well.
“That dress looks great on you!” Mary said. “It matches your eyes perfectly. I thought it would.”
Janie blushed. “Thank you.”
She rose, and Mary approached, reaching to tuck the dangling curls up into Janie’s bun. They slipped out again.
“I tried. They won’t stay,” Janie said. “I give up.”
“That’s okay,” Mary said. “I was just fussing. They look great the way they are.”
Janie wanted to hold her tongue, but she couldn’t. “I don’t suppose the ‘friend of the family’ Lord Carswell left early or something, did he?”
Mary tilted her head and looked at Janie. “You don’t like him?”
Janie shook her head. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Why?”
“You may not have noticed, but he’s kind of contemptuous of me. In fact, he looks right through me as if I don’t exist. I’m not sure why. Probably because I clean for a living.”
“Oh no! I don’t know him well, but he never seemed particularly arrogant to me.”
“Well, he does come from the nobility, right? It’s kind of inbred, isn’t it?”
Mary appeared to think about it. “St. John isn’t arrogant, at least not about his title. I never noticed that Lord Carswell is either. No, I’m sure he’s not. He was just about halfway in love with Clara. You knew that, right?”
“Hickstrom said something about that. How strange. I mean, she was in love with Roger, right?”
“She was, but Lord Carswell misunderstood everything and thought he was trying to rescue her from a forced marriage. It’s a long story. Anyway, my point is that Clara cleaned houses for a living too, and he had a crush on her. So it’s probably not the matter of employment. Are you sure you’re not just imagining that he dislikes you?”
“No, he does, and I don’t like him either.”
“That’s so odd. I’m sorry. How awkward for you. Now I wish that
he hadn’t come to stay. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Janie said, slipping her arm through Mary’s. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. He’s your guest, and I just got dumped on your lap. I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”
“It’s been my pleasure. I’m grateful to have you here. I know I can’t spend much time with you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Thank you. Come on. Let’s go eat some of that delicious food your cook makes.”
Mary laughed, and they left the room and descended the stairs. St. John and Lord Carswell awaited them in the drawing room, bowing as the women entered. St. John looked stunning as usual in a royal-blue cutaway coat, pearl-gray waistcoat and black breeches. Lord Carswell wore his usual black cutaway coat, a silver waistcoat and pale-yellow breeches. Janie did a double take on the breeches. They seemed a little festive for his rigid demeanor.
She looked up from her curtsey to see Lord Carswell scanning her from head to toe. She resented the inspection, as if she were some sort of farm animal to be assessed. She half turned, showing him her back, and faced Mary and St. John.
“Are we ready?” Mary asked.
To Janie’s surprise, St. John offered her his arm. Over her shoulder, she saw Lord Carswell do the same for Mary. They had not been so formal in the past when dining at the castle, instead wandering into the dining room as a threesome. She assumed Lord Carswell’s presence was the catalyst for the formality.
“Shall we, Janie?” St. John said with a kind smile. She looked up at him gratefully, thinking once again what a lucky woman Mary was. He led her into the dining room and seated her next to him. Mary took the opposite seat, and Lord Carswell sat next to her and across from Janie.
Janie looked everywhere but at Lord Carswell. Feeling repressed, she remained silent as the St. Johns and Lord Carswell talked, answering only when required. Both Mary and St. John tried to draw her out, but she couldn’t relax enough to chat.
“Do you have sheep near your home, Miss Ferguson?” Lord Carswell asked, startling Janie. “You seemed very familiar with the livestock when we saw you this morning.”
“Carswell,” St. John said in a dark voice.
Janie looked from Lord Carswell to St. John’s angry face, unclear about what was going on.
The older man smiled and lifted his hands, as if to calm the earl.
“Come now, St. John. I seek only to engage Miss Ferguson in conversation. She has been largely silent this evening, and since I know so little of her, I thought to inquire about her home.”
Janie wasn’t sure she understood what was happening, but she forced herself to answer.
“No, I don’t have any sheep near my home, that I know about. I live in a city called Mt. Vernon, Washington, in the Pacific Northwest. I clean houses for a living. I have my own business. Well, I owned it with Clara, but now it’s mine. I’m an only child, and my parents passed away, my mother several years ago. I miss her dearly. Clara is my best friend. I have dated a few men but have never married. I have no children. Is there anything else you’d like to know about me?”
“Oh, Janie,” Mary said, hiding her mouth behind a linen napkin. From the crinkling of her brown eyes, Janie suspected she was laughing.
“That soliloquy should satisfy the curiosity of anyone, I should think,” St. John said, a satisfied smile replacing his stern expression.
Janie watched Lord Carswell’s face redden then pale. “Yes, I do believe I know everything I need to know about you, Miss Ferguson. Forgive my impertinence. I meant no offense.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” Janie said with a bit of sarcasm. “How about you? Do you have sheep near your home?”
St. John pressed his own napkin to his lips. Mary’s eyes watered. Lord Carswell pressed his lips together as if he wouldn’t answer. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Yes, I do, as it happens. I have many sheep on my estate, Wayburn Hall, in Bedfordshire. My steward will know how many. I do not. If he does not, then I have sheepherders who do. I too am unmarried, my late wife having passed on some years ago. I have no children. I have no best friend, and I could be said to own a business as well since I own my estate, which provides income for myself and my tenants.”
Janie’s cheeks blazed. His poor late wife.
“How nice for you,” she said, spooning her soup. “Who cleans your house?”
A chuckle-cough from St. John elicited a sharp glance from Lord Carswell.
“My housekeeper oversees a bevy of maids. I do not know how many.”
“I know how many maids I have. Just saying.”
“How nice for you,” Lord Carswell said.
Mary erupted into laughter.
“Okay, you two! We get it! You’re not going to get along.” She waved her hands in supplication. “But please at least be polite to each other while you’re both here.”
“Forgive me, Mary, St. John, Miss Ferguson,” Lord Carswell said, rising from his chair. He executed a deep bow. “My behavior has been appalling. I can offer no excuse for such incivility.”
“Sit down, Lord Carswell,” St. John said with a broad smile. “I accept your apology. I am certain that Mary does as well. Miss Ferguson is another matter. She did give as good as she got.”
Lord Carswell lowered himself into his chair, his back ramrod straight. He inclined his head toward Janie, who was at that moment wondering if she was supposed to jump up, curtsey and apologize to her hosts and Lord Carswell as well. She thought better of it.
“Will you forgive my impertinence, Miss Ferguson?” Lord Carswell addressed her directly.
“Sure,” Janie said. “I’m sorry too.” She didn’t really mean her apology any more than she sensed Lord Carswell meant his, but she knew from dealing with customers that apologizing went a long way toward easing tensions.
She turned from him and threw Mary a genuinely apologetic look and a shrug. Mary smiled her forgiveness and directed Cedric, the footman, to clear the soup and bring in the next course.
Janie and Lord Carswell did not address each other again during dinner. Despite the awkwardness, Janie enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of dining with an earl and a countess in a medieval castle, the myriad courses, the glittering place settings and romantic candles, the presence of liveried footmen. She had promised herself to commit as much as she could to memory in the absence of a camera. She would never forget her visit to the nineteenth century. How could she?
Chapter Four
The following morning, Janie managed to get in and out of the breakfast room without seeing Lord Carswell. She had just returned to her room to grab a bonnet for a solitary walk, when she heard a tap on the door. Knowing Mary was feeding the baby, she wondered who was on the other side.
“Come in,” she called.
A vision with blue hair in a matching royal-blue silk gown slipped into the room.
“Good morning, my dear,” Hickstrom said. “I wanted to catch you alone. I do not mind conversing with Mary, but could do without St. John’s dour countenance.”
Janie moved forward to hug the fairy godmother, though she knew Hickstrom was uncomfortable with the gesture.
She patted Janie and sidestepped her. “Yes, quite, my dear. There’s a pet. Shall we have some tea here in your delightful room?”
“I was just about to go for a walk. Do you want to come with me? I could use the company.”
“Must we, dear? My slippers are simply not suitable for strolling about in the meadows. Surely you do not go to visit the sheep again, do you?”
“Yes, I was, actually, but I’ll ring for some tea if you want.”
“Yes, I do want. Some biscuits would be lovely as well. But there is no need to ring. I believe the young maid, Sarah, comes soon with tea.”
Janie narrowed her eyes. “How—” She was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called out again
.
Sarah opened the door with one hand and balanced a tea tray on the other.
Janie threw Hickstrom a look.
“How did you know I wanted tea, Sarah?”
“Miss?” Sarah asked, setting the tea on an oval table in front of the sofa facing the fireplace. “Cook said to bring you tea.”
“Well, I wonder how she knew,” Janie murmured. She looked at Hickstrom, who was affecting an innocent face. “Oh, okay, I get it.”
“I am sure I don’t know, miss,” Sarah said. She eyed Hickstrom for a moment, curtsied and left the room.
Hickstrom lowered her ample panniers to the sofa, taking up three feet of cushion. Janie sat down on whatever was left of the sofa.
“Will you pour, dear?” Hickstrom asked. “I will just have four of those lovely biscuits. Thank you. I do so enjoy Mrs. Brenton’s culinary delights.”
“I do too. Cook is great!”
Janie poured and handed Hickstrom a cup of tea and the four shortbread cookies she had requested. Still full from breakfast, Janie satisfied herself with tea.
“So what brings you by today, Hickstrom?”
“Cannot a fairy godmother simply drop by for tea?” Hickstrom munched on a cookie.
Janie did not have a particularly inflated ego, and she responded accordingly. “Not really. You always say you’re so busy. Why are you here in my room exactly? Are you here specifically to talk about my return? I hope I don’t have to go back before Clara comes home.”
“No, no, of course not. You must stay as long as you like.”
“Sooooo...” Janie lifted an expectant eyebrow.
“Yes, dear?” Hickstrom sipped and munched.
“What’s up?”
“How delightfully idiomatic!”
“Hickstrom, what aren’t you saying?” Janie asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Nothing, dear. I recalled that you mentioned loneliness yesterday, and I thought I might pop in for a visit.”
The Marquess Finds Romance Page 3