An Earl for the Shy Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘He was a very distant cousin. I had never even heard of the man until the lawyers contacted me.’

  Startled, she gazed up at him. His expression was grim. ‘You did not know you were the heir?’

  ‘No. I was unaware of the connection until I received a letter from a lawyer two years ago. They traced back three generations to find me apparently. The task was made more difficult by one of my great-great-grandfather’s younger sons taking his wife’s name and breaking all connection with his family.’

  ‘But you did not return the moment you knew you had inherited.’

  He shrugged. ‘I saw no need to leave my duties until another person of whom I was not aware, a third cousin or some such, wrote to the General demanding my immediate release.’ The disappointment in his voice was palpable.

  ‘It is hard to imagine that someone would prefer the battlefield to the peace and quiet of the English countryside.’ The very idea made her shudder inwardly.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Many families have lost sons and husbands in this dreadful war. Why do men have to fight and seemingly take pleasure in it?’ The bitter edge to her tone came as a shock to her. ‘I have to beg your pardon once again, my lord. I do not have the right to criticise. I am sure there is good reason for it, but—’

  ‘You lost a husband to the war. Who better to criticise? I must also admit to having the occasional doubt. A man who does not is not using his brain. But I believe the freedom of our country is quite possibly at stake.’

  Unfortunately, it was true. Still, she had the feeling that some men went off to war for the sake of glory and honour, without a thought for those left behind, rather than because they felt it was the right thing to do for King and country.

  They walked in silence while he carefully guided her around knots of people chatting between the stalls.’

  ‘I believe I see Lady Marguerite,’ he announced.

  Petra envied him his height. She could see nothing past the shoulders of people around her. Yet despite his height, he had managed to adapt his long stride to her exceedingly short one, when most men had her trotting to keep up. Indeed, it had been a most pleasant stroll and he hadn’t once treated her like an ornament to be seen and not heard. Instead he had listened to her opinions as well as giving his own.

  Harry had been charming and fun when he was in the mood, but often acted upon a whim and only asked her opinion when it was too late. Unfortunately, as a schoolgirl, his charming smile, teasing ways and seemingly undivided attention had completely blinded her to his true character. She had learned the hard way that one could not judge a book by its cover.

  ‘Is something wrong,’ Lord Longhurst asked, leaning closer. ‘You look distressed.’

  Oh, dear. Her thoughts were showing yet again. ‘Not at all.’ She forced her thoughts to take a more pleasant direction. ‘I see you have made a good start with the haying.’

  ‘I took your advice and visited the gypsy encampment. They were pleased to be offered work and got started right away. I also visited Lord Compton and he said I should come here today to look for horses. Thank you for the suggestions.’

  Surprised by his open admission that she had been helpful, she gazed at him open-mouthed. The men in her family had always dismissed her ideas out of hand. They always thought of her as little more than a baby. Sometimes they had even used her ideas as if they were their own. ‘You are most welcome,’ she said, beaming at him.

  He frowned slightly.

  ‘There you are,’ Marguerite said at their approach. She looked relieved. ‘I could not think where you had got to.’

  Petra waited for Lord Longhurst to inform on her, but he said nothing, although he was regarding her with a rather cynical light in his eye, as if he expected her to lie.

  ‘I went to see if there were any possible housekeepers at the hiring fair. Lord Longhurst needs one, but there was no one suitable.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And then I stopped at Madame Rose’s caravan.’

  ‘Madame Rose?’ Marguerite echoed, looking puzzled.

  ‘A housekeeper?’ Lord Longhurst said, sounding surprised.

  ‘You had your fortune told?’ Marguerite asked.

  ‘Yes, Marguerite. Yes, Lord Longhurst, a housekeeper. I will continue to ask around.’

  ‘Thank you. I do not believe I deserve such kindness.’ He looked a little bemused. Oh, dear, did he think she was interfering? Before she could ask him, he bowed. ‘Ladies, may I leave you to your errands? I have some horses to collect.’

  She and Marguerite dipped curtsies. ‘Good day, Your Lordship,’ they chorused.

  ‘Madame Rose!’ Marguerite said again, turning back to Petra. ‘What, pray, were you thinking?’

  Blast it. Now Marguerite would not let the matter rest. Yet what else could she have done with His Lordship standing there looking at her as if he expected her to prevaricate.

  Yet she felt better about it than she would have if she had kept the truth from her sister. ‘I’ll tell you all about it on the way home. Not that there is much to tell.’ She certainly wasn’t going to mention what Madame Rose had said about her finding a second husband. Because nothing like that was ever going to happen.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Where are you going, dearest?’ Marguerite asked in an absent voice as Petra glided along the hall to the front door.

  Blast. Petra should have known the slightest sound would alert Marguerite to her presence, although Petra had hoped to slip away unnoticed. ‘Gathering chestnuts.’ She held up her basket. ‘There should be plenty on the ground by now.’ Chestnuts were a treat eaten hot from the fire and would keep until Christmas in the pantry.

  Marguerite closed her sketchbook and turned to face her. She frowned. ‘Not from the tree on the village green, I hope. Mrs Beckridge would dine out on that for weeks.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Then where?’

  ‘There is a huge tree in Crabb’s Wood.’

  ‘Isn’t that part of Lord Longhurst’s property? If so, that would be stealing.’

  ‘It is not stealing if one has permission.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. She did have permission of a sorts. He might not have included chestnuts specifically but he had said she was welcome to purloin his blackberries. She hardly thought he would have a different reaction in the matter of chestnuts.

  Marguerite nodded. ‘Don’t be late for tea.’

  Petra let go a sigh of relief. She’d half expected her sister to ask her not to go.

  ‘Ask Jeb to go with you,’ Marguerite added. ‘He can pull down the lower branches for you.’

  Dash it. Exactly what she needed. A nursemaid. ‘Very well.’

  She made good her escape and went in search of Jeb. He was mucking out. ‘Want to go for a walk?’ she asked.

  He frowned. ‘I have to finish this, Lady Petra. After that, I have windows to clean. Perhaps afterwards...’

  She had done what Marguerite required, in fact at least, if not in spirit. ‘Never mind. I will ask you another time.’

  Duty done, she set off for Crabb’s Wood with her basket over her arm. It had been a few days since she had been able to provide anything for their dinner table. Chestnuts weren’t exactly a staple food, but they could help stretch a meal or make an evening fun.

  A glance at the sky had her wincing. The weather had been fair for the past few days, but today’s clouds had dark hearts and a less-than-friendly look about them. Hopefully she could gather enough nuts to make the outing worthwhile before it rained.

  Instead of taking the winding lane, she took a shortcut across the corner of Lord Longhurst’s land to where the river took a sweeping curve into Crabb’s Wood, a copse mostly made up of ash and hazel and the odd oak. The ancient sweet chestnut trees were foreigners and had arrived in England with the Romans.

  She follow
ed the track along the river’s edge for a while and then moved deeper into the woods. The woods had been ill tended for several years and she had to pick her way over fallen tree trunks and push through undergrowth. As she walked, she kept an eye out for distinctive spear-shaped leaves among the detritus.

  She had a rough idea of the location of the tree she had spotted on one of her many walks, but it took a while to find it. After stopping to get her bearings a couple of times, she finally found herself standing in a golden carpet of leaves. She scuffed around with her feet to expose the spiny-skinned fruit. A few of them had turned yellowish brown and had burst open, making it easy to pick out the shiny brown nuts cupped inside. Most of the shells were still green and she carefully rolled them beneath her foot to break open the prickly casing. The thorns were so wickedly sharp they would easily pierce her gloves and did so when she extracted the exposed nuts if she wasn’t careful.

  * * *

  After a half hour of shelling and picking up the glossy brown nuts, she had gathered what had fallen and looked up into the tree. There were still plenty of chestnuts on the branches. One of the branches was barely out of reach and her basket was nowhere near full yet. If only she could reach...

  A thick branch the wind had brought down caught her eye. It might give her the two or three inches she needed. She dragged it over and stepped up. The branch rolled, she teetered and fell backwards, managing to land on her feet. ‘Bother.’

  This time she took more care, got her balance just right and reached upwards. She could touch one of the leaves with her fingertips but could not quite...get hold of it.

  ‘Lady Petra! What are you doing?’

  She fell backwards and was caught in strong arms and held against a hard, warm chest. The owner of the chest helped her get her balance and immediately stepped back.

  She spun around. ‘Lord Longhurst!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ His voice held curiosity, not anger.

  ‘Gathering chestnuts. I was trying to reach that branch.’ She pointed upwards.

  He glanced up at the tree. ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘I have gathered all I can from the ground, but not as many as I hoped.’

  ‘Let me help you.’ He easily reached up and brought the branch down to eye level. She could not help watching the ease with which he forced the branches to bend to his will. How she envied him his height and his strength, but when he grabbed for a cluster of nuts, he hissed in a breath and shook his hand. ‘Why does anything tasty have to have thorns?’

  She laughed, knowing he was also thinking of the blackberries. ‘I suppose it is the tree’s way of protecting its babies.’

  He grinned. ‘I suppose it is.’

  ‘Pick them at the stem and drop them. I will peel them.’

  He threw down several bunches before letting the branch go with a swish. He pulled down another branch and another, until he could reach no more, while Petra expertly stepped on the green prickly shells and rolled the nuts free.

  ‘So that is how it is done, is it?’ he said, standing back and watching her. ‘There were sweet chestnuts in Spain and Portugal, but I only ever saw the nuts themselves. The camp women gathered them. They gathered beechnuts as well, when they could, and turned them into flour and a concoction that tasted a bit like coffee.’

  ‘I haven’t seen any beech trees in these woods, have you?’

  ‘There is one on the far side, closer to the house.’

  Was he offering her the fruits of that tree, too? If so, he was a kind and generous man.

  His big riding boots made short work of the rest of the chestnuts and now her basket looked invitingly full and was becoming heavy.

  ‘I think that will do for now,’ she said. ‘It is time to head for home.’

  ‘Let me escort you. Which way do you go?’ He took the basket from her hand, not giving her an option to say no.

  Mentally she shrugged. If he wanted to assist her, why not? ‘Back to the riverbank, where the walking is easier, then to where the lane crosses the bridge.’

  ‘Ah, so that is where the river goes.’ He held back a branch so she could pass.

  ‘What were you doing in this part of the woods?’

  ‘I was following the river along to see where it went after it left my lake. I heard noises in the undergrowth and was wondering what sort of wild animal I would find.’

  ‘Instead you found me.’

  ‘And glad to do so. I was wondering if you might be a bear or a wolf.’

  She laughed. ‘In England?’

  He grinned. ‘Not really. I thought of a deer, actually.’

  ‘Yes, there is the occasional deer. Are there wolves and bears in Europe?’

  ‘There are.’

  ‘And you slept in tents there?’

  ‘Sometimes. But they don’t come near the campfires and we would keep them going all night.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  At last they were back to the river and they could walk side by side in relative comfort. ‘People must walk along here frequently,’ Longhurst observed.

  ‘I expect some of the villagers fish here.’

  ‘Oh, so the villagers also poach on my land, do they?’

  ‘I would not be surprised, since you do not have a gamekeeper. Despite their claims otherwise, they are no different from the gypsies when there is a chance of some free fresh food.’

  ‘Not unlike you.’

  She laughed and he joined in. ‘Touché, my lord.’

  They rounded the curve. A figure lay face down on the track ahead of them, face almost touching the water, one arm dangling in the river up to the elbow.

  Longhurst dashed forward with a cry of alarm before Petra could stop him.

  The lad leaped to his feet. One of the gypsy children. He looked terrified. He snatched up his jacket, dived past Longhurst, flew past Petra with his bare feet stirring up leaves and disappeared into the trees.

  Longhurst stood, arms folded, watching him go. He shook his head ruefully. ‘I thought he was injured.’

  ‘Just another poacher, I am afraid,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Poaching what? Frogs? If so, he’s welcome to them.’

  She winced. ‘No, not frogs. If I am not mistaken he was guddling for fish.’

  ‘Why would he cuddle a fish?’

  She chuckled. ‘Not cuddle. Guddle. Catching fish with his hands.’

  ‘Not possible,’ he declared.

  ‘It most certainly is. I have done it myself. Did you learn nothing as a boy?’

  ‘I didn’t learn that. And how did a lady like yourself learn the way of it anyway?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I had two older brothers and a gamekeeper who didn’t mind showing things to a mere girl, as it happens.’

  ‘I had neither siblings, nor gamekeepers. I grew up in Bristol. All the fish I ever ate appeared on our table by way of the fishmonger.’

  Clearly, his education had been sadly lacking. She glanced in the direction the boy had fled. ‘Well, if you wanted evidence of the gypsies poaching, you have it now.’

  ‘Never mind that. I want to learn how to guddle a fish. Can you teach me?’

  A drop of rain hit her cheek.

  She glanced up. ‘Another day, perhaps. Apparently, it is about to rain.’

  He glanced up, too. ‘Dash it, you will get wet.’

  ‘Rain is good for the complexion, so they say.’ She picked up her basket. ‘Good day, my lord.’

  * * *

  To Ethan, rain pattering on leaves had its own special sound. He’d grown up in a bustling city where the noise of wheels grinding on cobbles and the strident shouts of costermongers were constant. When he’d joined his regiment on its first march in Portugal, he’d been amazed by the different sounds and smells he’d encountered while sleeping rough.


  The loamy smell of the earth beneath his feet intensified. Soon the trees would not protect them from the falling raindrops. He also knew all about the unpleasant sensation of being soaked to the skin. He really ought to find them some shelter. If she would accept it.

  Never had Ethan met a woman quite like this one. She irritated and amazed him at one and the same time. Every word out of her mouth was designed to establish her independence. Since leaving home, he’d become quite accustomed to meeting strong-minded women, having met a good few of them during his time in the army. Even so, most of them were more likely to seek his help than rebuff an offer of aid.

  Not to mention their attempts to attract his attention in other ways. Those sorts of entanglements he’d avoided like the plague. Other men’s wives, no thank you. For some reason that seemed to make them chase him all the more. It seemed now this youthful and exceedingly attractive widow was turning the tables on him. She wanted nothing to do with him, which seemed to pique his interest all the more. It really was annoying to say the least.

  Unfortunately, he could not allow her to walk home in a downpour unescorted and call himself a gentleman. He lengthened his stride, caught up to her and held out his arm. ‘Allow me, Lady Petra.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I told you before I am quite used to walking by myself. Indeed, I enjoy it.’

  Could she be any more brutally honest about her lack of interest in his company? Likely so, given the opportunity. He simply continued to hold out his arm as he walked beside her. One did not argue with a lady.

  Her foot must have caught in a tree root because she stumbled and grabbed for his forearm. Hmm, he hadn’t noticed anything projecting from the dirt. Indeed, the path looked remarkably smooth and well worn. Perhaps she had manufactured a stumble, to take advantage of his arm without seeming to give in? Interesting.

  ‘I must say I am impressed with your knowledge of agricultural matters,’ he said. ‘I have a great deal to learn.’