Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)
Page 15
“I know it’s very forward of me to say so, m’lady, but you have much more sense than I would have expected of a London lady. It’s clear why the Earl can’t stop looking at you.” Her sigh was almost wistful. “It’s so good to have a Countess at Moorhall again. We haven’t had one since m’lord’s grandmother passed away, when I was a little girl.”
Teresa bit down hard on the questions that threatened to spill out, in part because she didn’t know what to say. The idea that Martin couldn’t stop looking at her was so outlandish that she wanted to laugh and ask what Ruth was thinking. Propriety ruled that out, of course.
More unsettling were the questions that arose from what Ruth didn’t say — what about Martin’s mother? Why hadn’t she taken up the role of Countess for the tenant villages? Just what had happened during his father’s time as Earl? Asking those would only reveal Teresa’s embarrassing lack of knowledge about her husband’s history.
“I hope I can live up to expectations, then.” She hoped that was diplomatic enough not to raise any eyebrows. She sipped her tea and focused on the questions she could ask. “In fact, I was hoping you might be able to tell me what expectations you have — and if there’s anything happening that I should know about.”
Chapter 16
The sun was high when Martin finally emerged from the blacksmith’s shop behind the Robins’ home, satisfied that the leak would be straightforward to fix and — more importantly — unlikely to be repeated when the workmen installed the next one. That project could move ahead then, as soon as the weather permitted.
The blue skies suggested that might be sooner rather than later. Now that the spring plantings were completed, it would be possible to recruit a few laborers from amongst the tenants, which would make the process faster. He made a mental note to speak to David about the scheduling that afternoon.
Teresa was just emerging from the Robins’ house when he turned the corner back to the green, smiling and saying her goodbyes to Ruth. The ease with which she had handled the tenants surprised him. Robins hadn’t been shy about offering his approval while showing him the leak location, for all that their interaction had been brief, and that was another surprise. The man was both a leader and a good judge of character, something Martin had come to rely on to help sort through the tenant concerns from Bramburgh, but he didn’t often offer his opinions unasked.
Teresa nodded her head one last time as Ruth dropped into a last curtsey and then turned to meet him. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” she said as they moved toward the horses. “Ruth shared a number of concerns she hoped I would be able to help with.”
Martin frowned as he led Hestia to the mounting block. “I wasn’t aware there were any.”
“Of course you weren’t.” Teresa gave him a look as she mounted Hestia before turning her attention to arranging her skirts. “The village ladies wouldn’t ask you about organizing the Christmas Fair or the Harvest Festival, or gifts for the less fortunate on Boxing Day.”
Martin didn’t remember ever hearing of a Christmas Fair or Harvest Festival, although that was unsurprising if they were considered the responsibility of the lady of the estate. His grandmother had passed away just before he was born and his mother had never set foot on the estate.
He hadn’t either, not until he’d accompanied his father’s body back to the estate for the burial. If it hadn’t been for the Duke’s instruction, he would have been completely lost when it came to managing the estate, but his grandfather had had no way of knowing the local customs. If some of the older tenants were looking to restore some of the lost traditions, he wouldn’t stand in their way, especially if Teresa was willing to do the work.
Handing her reins up to her, he untethered Ares and swung himself up into the saddle. The crowd from earlier had dispersed, returning back to their daily routines once the show was over and he appreciated the routine sounds of a village going about its daily business. It was a far cry from the chaos he’d encountered on his first visits, when several of the cottages were in danger of collapse and the food stores were dangerously low. Now the village was thriving and healthy.
They rode out of the village in a companionable silence, Teresa seeming content to take in more of the countryside. Spring came later to the hills, but it had finally arrived, the flowers blooming in riots of color over the hillsides. He was pleased to see that the low stone walls running along the road were finally repaired after years of neglect, something he had missed on the ride earlier. They had been low on the list of priorities and their repair indicated just how far the estate had come.
As they neared the hills that surrounded the estate, he nudged Ares off the road and onto the barely visible path that peeled off at the corner of the low stone fence. He didn’t allow the gardeners to work this far out, preferring to spare the expense and allow the hills to reflect the natural beauty that had called to him the first time he’d ridden through the estate. Ares carefully picked his way along the rocky trail, Hestia following along behind.
As the track slowly descended through the hills behind the estate, the glimpses of the gardens surrounding the house slowly became a full vista. There were the formal gardens, looking full rather than overgrown since the gardeners had finally started to take them in hand after years of neglect. A hedge maze separated them from the kitchen gardens, already green with this year’s plantings of herbs and vegetables.
Just past the kitchen gardens, the conservatory glistened in the sunlight. Two stories tall, its glass windows and decorative ironwork drew the eye, even as the glare made it difficult to see much inside beyond the occasional flash of greenery. Teresa’s gasp as she finally spotted it made him smile slightly as he remembered his first glimpse of it, that first winter.
It had been the one bright spot amid that grim, cold winter.
Two grooms were waiting outside at the conservatory entrance, ready to take Ares and Hestia back to the stable. Russell had clearly understood the instructions he’d rather hastily scribbled down before leaving. Excellent. A short tug on the reins and Ares came to a stop in front of them. Dismounting, Martin handed off his reins and then turned to assist Teresa, only to find that she’d already dismounted. She stood at Hestia’s neck, rubbing her and murmuring thanks for the ride while promising to bring a treat down to the stables later.
“Might I convince you to join me for a late lunch, Teresa?”
She looked up, apparently startled by the question, and their eyes met for a long moment before she looked away, flushing slightly. The added color only made him realize how much being outdoors suited her. Her wind-tossed curls might not meet the approval of a Society matron but he wasn’t about to find any fault with them, not when they conjured images of what she might look like after an hour or two in his bed.
“I would enjoy that.” Her voice pulled him back to reality and he gave himself a mental shake. Much as he might need to have her in his bed, he still had to convince her to join him. Irritating her like he had in the breakfast room this morning wasn’t likely to help achieve that.
He just hoped that between the morning ride and lunch, he’d be able to undo whatever damage he’d already done. It was getting harder and harder to keep the hunger under control. He couldn’t allow it to distract him from what needed to be done here.
Offering Teresa his arm, he led her up the steps and swung open the door to the conservatory. Warm air rushed out, enveloping them in the scent of citrus and jasmine as they stepped inside.
Several citrus trees stood together in large pots, clustered together in small groups. Light filtered through their leaves to create green-tinted patterns on the tile floor. Shelves lined the wall opposite the trees, filled with a wide assortment of potted plants — herb variants and hothouse flowers, tulips and orchids. A large worktable stood beneath the shelves, tools hanging from hooks and empty pots stacked beneath it. More plants sat on stands and hung around the room in baskets, filling the space with life.
“It�
�s beautiful.” Teresa stood in the center, looking around as she soaked in the atmosphere. Martin cleared his throat.
“My grandfather had this built for my grandmother, so she could garden all year. She loved to spend time in here during the winter.” He motioned to the worktable. “I don’t do her passion justice, but I try to spend at least some time in here every year, and the head gardener watches after the plants when I’m in London.”
He stopped at the expression on her face.
“These are yours? You garden?” Her voice was incredulous.
“Yes, when I have time.” He shrugged. “It’s a hobby, most gentlemen have them.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t have guessed it. You don’t seem like the gardening type.” She peered at him, as if re-evaluating her assumptions.
“What do I seem like, then?” he asked, deciding to be amused rather than offended.
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t know. Riding or driving, I suppose, like most of the other gentlemen I’ve met. Especially given your horses.”
“I enjoy those too,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but you seem to have interests beyond them. In my experience, that makes you unique among younger men, at the very least. It’s only the older gentlemen who pursue old manuscripts or collect Greek sculpture. I wouldn’t mind as much except it made for extremely boring conversation, since I couldn’t possibly have an opinion on those things as a woman.” Her voice grew bitter by the end, although it didn’t seem to be directed at him for she flushed and looked back at him. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Martin raised his hand. “Don’t apologize. I too find most of my peers rather dull, although in my experience most of the young women aren’t much better.”
“I would point out that we’re not encouraged to be, or that any sign of intelligence must be hidden else you run the risk of being considered a bluestocking, but that would be silly. It might explain some of them, but certainly not all.” She sighed. “Maybe it will be different, now that I’m a married woman.”
“Perhaps.” Martin judged it unlikely from his experience with Society matrons, but that was limited to the formal dinners where everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior anyway. Turning, he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to a waiting footman. “We’ll have to find out next Season.”
“Do you ever spend time in the city outside of the Season?”
“Not if I can help it.” He moved to the corner, where a table and two chairs were nestled in amongst the orange trees, and pulled out a chair for her. “There’s enough to do here on the estate and I find the summer parties boring.”
Teresa sat after handing her bonnet to the footman who quietly withdrew, leaving them alone in the conservatory. “What about hunting?”
“That’s not in London,” he pointed out. “But I do make exceptions for a hunting party or two each year. It’s an excellent way to show off the horses.” James always hosted at least one small gathering for gentlemen at his hunting box, where he was assured of a mixture of reasonably intelligent company and men who appreciated good horseflesh.
“I suppose those have the advantage of being a much shorter trip than London.”
“Most of them, yes. Winter comes earlier here than it does elsewhere, which makes travel challenging. I choose not to do more than I must, most years.” He motioned at the windows. “I prefer the view here to most others anyhow.”
Teresa looked out, past the leaves and the gardens to the hills beyond and then back to the table. “Do you eat in here often, then?”
Martin shook his head. “I thought we might enjoy a picnic though, and the weather can be unpredictable this time of year.” A glance up showed clouds gathering to the west. “In here, rain doesn’t spoil the meal.”
The picnic basket was tucked next to his chair, just as he had instructed, and he pulled it up and set it on the table. Teresa’s eyes caught on the basket and she lost the half-smile she’d worn since they’d come in from the ride. Martin frowned internally. That wasn’t the effect he had been hoping for when he’d arranged this.
“Is something wrong?”
She blinked and looked back up to meet his gaze, her expression wistful before she blinked again and it disappeared. “It was nothing. Just memories.”
“I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories.”
Teresa shook her head. “They’re not bad memories. My parents used to take me for picnics when I was younger, during the summer months. They had a basket very much like that one. My mother would sketch while my father taught me the names of the different wildflowers and birds we could find.” She sighed. “They were going to publish a field guide to the local flora and fauna of our estate.”
There was sorrow in her eyes and he realized he had seen it several times before, whenever the conversation had turned in the direction of her parents. On the other hand, her uncle had hardly mentioned them except in passing at the wedding, a short reference to his dear sister and her husband during the marriage toast. “What happened?”
“It was a carriage accident.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she looked away. “They were traveling to London for the first time since I’d been born, to meet up with some of their old acquaintances and see what had changed around town so they were ready to make arrangements for the Season. For my debut. But it was raining and one of the axles on the carriage broke on the turn, right as the stage was coming the other way.”
She didn’t say more but he could already picture the aftermath, ugly as it must have been. “So you went to live with your aunt and uncle.”
She nodded. “The title and the estate went to a distant cousin who was quite happy to remain in the countryside. My parents’ will named my uncle guardian so that I could still have a chance at a London Season and I moved to London with them right after the funeral. They decided it would be best if I waited a year for my debut.”
The answer was clearly a practiced one, probably one she’d given many times that first Season. She would have been young enough that it had made sense to delay her debut until the end of her mourning period, rather than waste the expense of a Season on a girl who would have been unable to dance for the whole of it.
Looking back at him, Teresa leaned forward, her face intent. “What about your parents, Martin? Do you miss them?”
The old rage boiled up immediately and only long practice helped him clamp it back down, reminding himself she didn’t know his family history. Indeed, that she didn’t know meant his efforts at keeping the whole sordid story under wraps continued to be successful — an accomplishment, given the ton’s incessant thirst for gossip. Keeping his voice level, he began unpacking the picnic basket. “Neither my father nor my mother were terribly interested in dealing with the result of their union. I was raised by my grandfather, the Duke of Debenford.”
He was nearly done unpacking the picnic basket when she asked, “I thought I read in the papers two months ago that the Duke of Debenford passed away. Was he your mother’s father?”
Martin nodded. “He was.”
She reached out a hand to touch his. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” He never understood the expressions of sympathy that followed a funeral. “He lived a long and productive life and died knowing his heir is a solid man who will continue his legacy, not squander it. I hope to be equally blessed.”
Teresa blinked. “I meant for you. He must have meant something to you, to have raised you as a child. That kind of loss hurts.”
“Nonsense.” Martin set down the last of the sandwiches on his plate. “I’m grateful to him for what he did for me. Without his tutelage, I wouldn’t have had a chance of managing the estate. I offered him the respect he deserved and he expected nothing more from me.”
“But didn’t you love him?”
“Love? Of course not.” He sat back in his chair, looking at Teresa incredulously. “He took me in out of duty, not love. He was very clear about that.”
“But…” Teresa sounded shocked. On reflection, given what she had said about her relationship with her parents, it likely was a shock for her to discover that most members of the ton felt little more than mild affection for their parents, if that. For all her observational skills, Teresa could still be incredibly naive. Still, she seemed undaunted. “Surely you must have felt something for your parents.”
Martin let out a short, harsh laugh. “My mother died after a short illness when I was six, in London, where she had chosen to set up residence shortly after my birth. She never once acknowledged my existence after leaving me with her father. As for my father, he was so foxed when he showed up for her funeral that my grandfather forbid him from seeing me. The only time I can remember meeting him is when I was twenty-one and off at Oxford. I doubt he ever remembered it, drunk as he was. He rambled on and on about some complete nonsense, none of which had anything to do with me. Died about two weeks later. If I feel anything towards them, it’s a sense of relief that my grandfather raised me and not them.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain some level of control over his emotions. His plan for the lunch had involved a romantic interlude after the morning ride, not an attempt to dance around family history he preferred to forget.
“Enough about my parents.” He silenced Teresa with a quelling look. “They made their choices and stood by them. Things worked out for the best.”
Chapter 17
Teresa bit her tongue hard. Martin’s tone made it very clear that he considered the matter closed and off-limits. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to push on it, but she had learned a few things during her time with her aunt and uncle. One of them was that sometimes, a strategic retreat and regroup for later would be much more effective than continuing a frontal assault.