by Lacey, Lilac
She stole a look at him. ‘You must have been soaked,’ Rodney was saying.
‘We were in the inn for the worst of it,’ Leo replied cheerfully, omitting to describe what had happened under the shelter of his jacket. It was as if they had not just had the most outrageous conversation of her life. But perhaps it hadn’t been that way for Leo. Perhaps he had quizzed women on their affairs before, if so he must have found her answer fearfully dull. Rodney had asked something else and Leo was answering.
He turned and looked at her, ensnaring her eyes and smiling, ‘Certainly,’ he said, addressing his remark to Rodney, ‘if she’ll have me,’ His double entendre could not have been more pointed if he’d tried. Even as she struggled to be shocked by his audacity Tara felt a warm sensation squirming within her at the mere thought of being Leo’s mistress. She knew she could not marry him, but she was very, very tempted to follow the other path.
At dinner Tara found she enjoyed herself immensely. She was sitting next to Leo, but tonight everyone seemed witty and beautiful. Freddie and Antonia gave an account of how they had both tried to row their boat, sitting side by side, one pulling the oar forward and the other pulling it back thus spinning the dingy in uncontrollable circles. Tara laughed uproariously and Freddie and Antonia looked quite pleased with the results of their tale if not of the escapade itself.
‘What about you, Susannah?’ she asked, wanting to include the shyer girl. ‘How did you and Rodney fare. You must have done better than Leo and I, we were soaked to the skin.’
‘We rowed a short way upstream before turning back,’ Susannah said. ‘Rodney is very adept at reading the weather.’
‘As I am not,’ Leo said ruefully, but his dancing eyes in the glance he and Tara shared left her in no doubt that he did not feel a moment’s regret over that.
Behind Leo a door opened and a footman entered the room even though the main course of their meal was not nearly finished. Tara felt a prickle of foreboding which she tried to dismiss and failed, feeling the bubble of laughter inside her subside as the footman went up to Rodney and Rodney glanced involuntarily towards her, his face completely sober.
‘Lady Tara, there is an urgent message for you,’ he said quietly. ‘The messenger is waiting in the drawing room.’
Tara felt the colour drain from her face as she rose. Only her mother or brother would send her such a message, and it could only mean illness, death or disaster. Anything else could have waited until her return home next week. ‘Excuse me,’ she said unsteadily. Then she felt, rather than saw, Leo standing beside her. He took her arm, giving her strength and with a nod to their host, escorted her from to room find out what bad news awaited.
Chapter Nine
Tara didn’t recognize the messenger waiting for her in the drawing room at first. He was a lad a little older than her brother, dressed in worn clothes, looking all the worse for his journey through the dismal weather. But the boy knew her.
‘Lady Tara,’ he said. ‘I have a message from your mother.’
‘Yes?’ Tara asked impatiently, but was felt some small relief, whatever disaster lay in store for her, at least the boy did not bring news of her mother’s death. But his next words left her spirits plunging.
‘She’s real poorly. She wants you to come home straight away and manage things.’ Tara stared at him in consternation. She could not imagine her mother being so ill she could not keep the estate running with the combination of efficiency and sheer determination with which she had kept it going ever since Tara’s father, Lord Penge, had taken his own life.
‘Oh,’ she said faintly, then tried to pull herself together. ‘What ails my mother?’
‘Mam says it’s a summer fever, says she ought to have thrown it off easy, but her ladyship’s been working so hard. The crops are doing so well this year there was that much to do,’ the boy said, and then, almost hearing his mother’s words as he repeated them, Tara recognised him. He was Jed Grayson, the cook’s boy, just a year older than her brother Richard, but he had been apprenticed to the village tanner a year ago and she hadn’t seen him since. Things must be hectic at Penge if her mother had to send out for a messenger instead of using one of the farm workers. Worry gnawed at her, a fever could be dangerous in anyone, but her mother had been worn down by her cares in recent years, taking on the roles of both lord and lady at Penge and it sounded as if this fever may have taken her in a death-grip.
‘I’ll go to her immediately,’ she said to no one in particular. She took a step towards the drawing room door, but was stopped when a strong hand closed around her arm. It was Leo, she had almost forgotten about him in her fear for her mother.
‘You cannot be thinking of leaving now?’ he demanded.
‘Yes I am,’ Tara said, a little frantically, she dreaded the thought of what she would find when she got home, but she dreaded waiting more. ‘Penge is only four hours from here, I will arrive shortly after midnight and can take over the running of the estate in the morning.’
‘It’ll be more than four hours in the dark and in this weather,’ Leo said grimly, inclining his head towards the window. A splatter of rain sounded clearly on the glass, as if backing him up. Tara was about to protest that she did not care but he must have seen it in her face, for he caught her by the other arm and swung her to face him. ‘What’s more it would be downright dangerous to travel in conditions like this. You would run the risk of not getting to Penge at all - and then how would your mother cope? Wait until morning,’ he said more gently, perhaps sensing her growing acquiescence. ‘We’ll start off at eight and you will be with your mother by lunchtime.’
‘We’ll start at eight?’ Tara echoed. Did Leo mean to come with her? She felt her heart lighten fractionally. She dreaded what she would find when she arrived home, but with Leo with her she knew she would have the strength to face whatever lay ahead.
Leo looked at her with a haughtiness she had not known he possessed. ‘Naturally I shall accompany you. You can’t possibly return home alone under these circumstances.’ Tara looked at him for a long moment. She hadn’t expected such gallantry from a man of his social class, but when she thought about it she couldn’t imagine Rodney or Freddie offering to escort her back to Penge at a moment’s notice. Perhaps being a gentleman did not owe as much to position in society as she had always thought it did.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I had better go and pack. I don’t think I want any more dinner.’
‘I’ll make your excuses for you,’ Leo said softly, seeming to understand that she did not want to go back into the dining room and tell the happy, laughing crowd what had befallen her. Then he turned to Jed. ‘Lady Tara might have lost her appetite, but I expect you are starving. Go down to the kitchen and tell them you need a hot meal and a bed for the night. And please tell the butler I need to speak to him about a carriage for the morning.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Jed sped gratefully away.
‘I’m sure your mother will be much better for seeing you,’ Leo said gently. Tara looked up at him, feeling comforted. She was still desperately worried about her mother but Leo had taken charge of the situation, taking responsibility for Jed, the carriage and informing her host of their imminent departure. All she had to do was instruct her maid to pack, and then she could go to bed. She had a feeling that, with Leo managing everything, their journey would run like clockwork and she would be at her mother’s side by twelve o’clock, just as he promised.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied gravely. She looked at Leo for a moment more, then she gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and without waiting to see his reaction she left the room.
Leo stared at the closing door, deeply touched. Tara was normally so vibrant and strong, and these were the qualities which drew him to her. But this evening he had seen in her a vulnerability which he had not known existed and it had moved him far more than he would have expected. There was obviously a strong bond between Tara and her mother,
and she was consumed with worry for her, yet she had kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, expressing her gratitude for his help, but it told him in a way that words could not, how much she appreciated being able to rely on him. It had been a long time since Leo had been in a position of having anyone dependent on him, his mother had only outlived his father for a short time and after that he had had no one to take care of but himself. By needing him, he felt that Tara had given him back his dignity.
Tara did not see Leo in the breakfast room the next morning, but she ate rapidly, confident that he would have everything ready for their departure at eight o’clock, as he had said the night before. Consequently she and her maid Betty were standing in the front hall, one of the footmen carrying down the last of her luggage when the grandfather clock struck eight and the front door opened to admit Leo. He was dressed for travelling and from the drive outside Tara heard the crunch of gravel under hooves; the carriage was ready.
Rodney appeared on the front steps just as Leo was securing the last case onto the luggage rack, while Tara and Betty watched and Jed held the horses. ‘Tara,’ he said. ‘So sorry to hear about your mother. Best of health and Godspeed and all that.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Please say goodbye to your father for me.’ A moment later they were off in the hired carriage, Leo driving, with Jed riding pillion and Tara and her maid Betty safely inside.
At first Tara was content to look out of the window and see the country lanes eaten up as the carriage spun rapidly along, glad that every minute brought her nearer to home. But after about an hour her thoughts started to chase themselves in circles. How ill was her mother? Would she be able to nurse her back to strength? She tried to recall the content of her mother’s letters over the past few months to see if there had been any hint of the strain she had been under while Tara was away in London. Should she have anticipated her mother’s collapse and cut her season short - or have forgone it altogether and stayed at home where duty dictated she should be? But much as she loved Penge she felt that she would have been suffocated, trapped in the country all year round; she needed her three months a year in town, that was when she most truly felt alive. Then she chided herself for being so selfish. Her mother had not been to London for five years, she had been far too busy running the estate, taking on her father’s role, financing Tara’s seasons and making sure there would be something left worth inheriting once her brother Richard came of age. She, Tara, would have to be prepared to take on that role herself and she should be grateful for the five seasons she had had.
A cluster of whitewashed cottages caught her eye and the carriage slowed as they entered a village and came to a halt by the well. Tara heard Leo spring from the driving box and the next minute her door was opened. ‘We’ll water the horses here,’ he said, and she could see that Jed was already hauling water from the well to fill the trough. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
Suddenly Tara felt her eyes fill with tears. Leo’s gallantry in escorting her home and his efficiency in organizing the journey she could accept with gratitude, but she felt completely undone by his kindness. ‘Oh, my poor darling,’ Leo said. He stepped into the carriage, shooed Betty out and took her in his arms. He did not say anything more, just held her and gradually Tara felt her fortitude returning.
‘It’s a lovely day,’ Leo said, when she raised her eyes to look at him. ‘Come and sit with me when we set off, the fresh air will do you good. The boy can keep your maid company, I’m sure they’d both appreciate that.’
Up high with Leo on the driving box, the sun shining down as if yesterday’s rainstorm had cleaned the sky, and with the wind in her hair, Tara found her spirits returning. True, her mother was ill, but summer was the best time to take a fever, the balmy weather should soon restore a patient to health unlike the cold of winter which stole heat and life from the sick. Furthermore, Leo was beside her, and with him there she felt she could face anything.
As Leo had promised they arrived at Penge just before noon. Tara climbed down from the carriage and rushed inside the yellow stone house which stood warm and inviting in the midday sun. She knew she should have waited for Leo, but she was sure he would have no difficulty finding his way about and that he would not resent her inconsideration for a second.
Tara stopped at the threshold of her mother’s bedroom, wondering if her mother would be awake or asleep, or if she would find something far, far worse. Then she heard a restless sigh from within the room and she pushed the door open with relief.
‘Mama, I’m here!’ she flew to her mother’s bedside and took her mother’s hand in her own. It was warm and clammy, but to Tara it did not feel dangerously hot.
Her mother opened her eyes. ‘Thank goodness,’ she said, and smiled at her only daughter. ‘I am sorry to have had to drag you away from the Hulmes, but I…I need you here.’ Lady Penge’s eyes filled with tears and Tara was shaken. Her mother was not given to tears, she had cried, of course, when Lord Penge had killed himself, but in all the years after, despite the exhausting demands of running the estate, Tara had never seen her give in to tears. She wrapped her arms around her mother.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m back now. I’ll look after you.’
‘Jennings said he thought one of the cows might have milk fever…’ Lady Penge began but Tara hushed her.
‘I’ll talk to him. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.’ As she said it she saw the worry lines smooth from her mother’s brow and the next moment Lady Penge was asleep, breathing lightly. So it hadn’t been a deathbed summons. Tara offered up a silent prayer of thanks that she had found her mother still fit enough to recover. Then the weight of Penge seemed to settle round her heart. It was obvious that her mother needed her to take over full management of the estate, but it was a heavy and time-consuming burden. Briefly Tara considered ordering lunch, but she was still dressed in her outdoor clothes and she had a dairyman to speak to. Now was probably the best time to do that.
‘The problem is it might be milk-fever and it might not,’ Jennings said.
‘What does the vetinary surgeon say?’ Tara asked, trying to conceal her impatience. If Jennings thought the cow had something contagious he should have sent for the vet immediately, rather than risking the disease spreading though the whole herd.
Jennings took a long time in answering. He looked up at the clouds as if reading them might tell him what to say, and twisted a piece of straw with one hand. ‘Thing is, I haven’t sent for him,’ he said at last.
‘Why not?’ Tara demanded in astonishment. Jennings had been their dairyman for a long time, but she hadn’t thought him old enough to start going senile yet. Then when Jennings met her eyes she saw that he still just as astute as she remembered.
‘Since your mother’s been sick, there’s been a bit of trouble with the money,’ he said. ‘The lads haven’t had their proper wages and I don’t want to embarrass the family by sending for a vet that can’t be paid.’
‘I see!’ Tara said, shocked. She did a brief reckoning of what cash she had in her reticule. ‘Send for the vet, I shall pay him personally, and I shall look into the other matter at once. Men can’t work for short pay. I will take care of it.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ Jennings said. ‘I know young Edgar wants a word with you too. You’ll find him fixing the hen coops.’
Edgar wanted to know how she wanted to settle the problem of foxes and after that Tara found herself discussing the need for repairs to dry stone walls with another farmhand. The hay, she thought, as she strode past a field of golden blades of grass swishing in the sun, looked more than ready to cut. She wondered if that were waiting on a decision from her as well.
Edgar had mentioned something about the apple trees in the small orchard. Tara thought she’d better take a look right away, she cut across the back lawn of the house, noting absently that the lawn needed mowing and the roses were in dire need of dead-heading.
‘Stop!’ The French doo
r she was passing flew open and the next moment Leo was on the path in front of her. Unbelievably she had almost forgotten he was there, she had been so taken up with the concerns of running Penge.
‘I can’t stop,’ she said, ‘I have to look at some apple trees.’
He laid a hand lightly on her arm, not restraining her, simply asking her to pause. ‘You need some food,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to collapse from overwork like your mother. I gather that is the main thing she is suffering from. I have taken the liberty of ordering some lunch. Come with me, the apple trees will still be there after you have eaten.’
‘I can’t,’ Tara said. ‘After I have been to the orchard I must look at the books. Urgently.’ She dropped her eyes, reluctant to confess the reason. ‘The farm workers have not been paid properly, I must rectify that at once.’
To her surprise Leo did not try to argue with her. ‘I shall have the lunch sent to your mother’s study, or wherever she does her accounting,’ he said. ‘You can eat and work at the same time.’ He was right, she realized, and the orchard could wait, she didn’t know anything about apple trees anyway. Meekly she followed Leo inside.
The accounts, Tara saw at once as she simultaneously bit into a piece of cold chicken pie and leafed her way through this year’s half-filled ledger, were as much neglected as the estate. Her mother had made some attempt to record bills and sales, but most of the payments to staff, both house and otherwise, were scrawled on bits of paper floating among the pages of the book. As far as she could tell it had all started getting too much for her mother about six weeks ago, clearly she had intended to transfer the information into her accounts book properly, but had run out of time or energy. It was going to take a lot of careful work to sort out, and she would have to be painstakingly accurate in finding out what each employee was owed. Then there was the actual work of overseeing the estate. As well as not knowing how she would make time to do everything she had to do, Tara also had to admit that she was not qualified to make many of the decisions about the farm. She thought it was time the hay was made, but it was an assumption, not a certainty. But if she didn’t make these decisions, who would?