But the breakfast room was already empty when he returned. Not that Jim had expected anything else, he told himself. It wasn’t as if Lionel would wait around for him, looking dashing in his green coat that matched his eyes, hoping to convince Jim that he really did want to spend the day with him instead of answering business letters. No, he’d said he would go and look at Lionel’s gardens, and that was what he would do. It would be a help to Lionel, and it was something he would enjoy doing. He found the nearest door leading to the gardens.
Jim wandered outside, keeping to the sides of the house so he wouldn’t get lost on his own. He knew he should leave, but he also knew Lionel was right, and it looked like it would rain again that night, and it would look strange if he came back again after leaving. And he’d liked the nice room, the warm bed, and most of all, the company. Sir Lionel really didn’t act like he thought he was a former prostitute. Maybe he hadn’t really believed him when he’d told him.
Jim rounded the corner of the house and saw Mrs. O’Brien was in the kitchen garden pulling weeds. At least he could be useful while he was here. “Like some help?”
She made to get up. “Wouldn’t be proper, sir.”
“I’m not one of Sir Lionel’s fancy friends from town, just someone he met while traveling. I like gardens. In fact, I used to grow some vegetables outside the last place I lived in town.”
“Well if you don’t mind, I suppose it’s all right.”
“If Sir Lionel says anything, just blame me.” Jim draped his overcoat across the fence so it wouldn’t get dirty again and knelt down by the asparagus patch and started working. “Isn’t there a gardener to do this?”
“Not yet. Sir Lionel was going to hire one, but first there were other people to be interviewed. House staff, then the overseer for the farms, and there were three tenant farms that were in disrepair, and four others that he wasn’t pleased with the state they were in, so builders and a mason. It’s been quite a chore getting this place up to snuff. But I think he’s managing it beautifully.”
It sounded like Lionel had his priorities right for the place then. Jim caught a particularly stubborn weed and tugged. “You’ve got a nice garden started here, though.”
“Well, I do try. But I can never get the cucumbers to do what I want them to.”
Jim relaxed. This was a conversation he understood. And no dashing gentlemen to be kind and distract him.
Chapter 10
***
LIONEL TOOK HIS LETTERS TO HIS STUDY and settled in at his desk. He started with the letter from Randall. He’d recognized the writing at once. Apparently, Randall had avoided a duel by the skin of his teeth and needed a loan. Lionel read the letter twice and determined that, while Randall was trying to make the loan sound like a matter of life and death, it had nothing to do with the duel and was most likely related to a gig he mentioned in passing. Lionel put the letter aside and turned to the rest of the post.
Managing the post was usually an easy task, mostly sorting it into stacks by the urgency of response then simply responding, but when he’d finished the sorting, Lionel found himself staring blankly at the resulting stacks. He should have told Jim he’d only be a half hour at most. Really, there was no need to go through all of this right now. Everyone in town knew he was in the country. He’d left the company in Mr. Sanders’s very capable hands, which was proven by the stack of business letters: one lone missive in Mr. Sanders’s writing. Everything else was in the stack of social engagements. He should have told Jim to wait while he sorted the letters, then he could have read Randall’s letter and handled whatever was in the lone packet from Sanders and been free to spend the morning with Jim. The man didn’t know anyone here, not really. And he’d just begun to warm up to Lionel again after the night before. Lionel sighed. After the night before, he really should have made more effort to spend time with Jim, not held Jim out to himself like a prize for work completed. It was a prize for him, but what about Jim?
Lionel tossed the letter from Mr. Sanders back on the desk and started for the staircase. He doubted Jim would still be in the breakfast room, but perhaps someone who was cleaning up would have seen where he went, or if Lionel was particularly lucky, maybe Jim had asked for directions somewhere. He couldn’t have gotten far, especially not on foot. Lionel would have no trouble catching up to him.
As he passed the window, he glanced out to look at the sky. That was becoming a habit with him. The only excuse he’d been able to come up with so far to keep Jim at Hensley House was the threat of another storm, and while the area had plenty of them, it would be just his luck for the weather to turn warm and fair just when he needed a gale. The weather seemed sunny now, but it could always change. It had rained at breakfast, after all. Lionel scanned the grounds, not expecting to see any sign of Jim but hoping all the same. So it was a surprise when he ran his gaze over the kitchen garden and there was Jim, bent over the vegetable marrows. He should have known. Jim hadn’t been pining away for him. He’d been perfectly capable of finding something to do with himself. With Mrs. O’Brien. Lionel was going to go down then thought better of it. Jim seemed to be having a good time, and his presence would make Mrs. O’Brien nervous. He went back to his office and gathered up the post then went to the smaller study. He could work on the post just as well there, and the room did have a view of the grounds.
But the view of the grounds proved to be disastrous for the post. Lionel couldn’t help himself and kept going to the window, watching Jim in what appeared to be his element. When Mrs. O’Brien went inside, Jim remained outdoors, clearing part of the kitchen garden farther from the door and doing some things that Lionel had no idea their purpose but seemed to be useful. When Jim took off his coat and hung it on the fence post beside his overcoat, Lionel gave up all pretense of working on the letters and let himself watch the slim, strong back outlined clearly in the sweat-stained shirt as Jim pulled weeds from the muddy soil and stacked rocks away from the area he was preparing. When he straightened and stretched his back, Lionel pulled away from the window. He didn’t want Jim to know he was watching and think—think what? That he found him attractive? That shouldn’t matter. That that was all he saw in him? That was closer to the worry. He went back to the window and was disappointed to see Jim hadn’t removed his shirt then immediately felt guilty for that thought.
Jim worked until Mrs. O’Brien came out with a mug of tea. Lionel watched Jim wipe his muddy hands on his trousers and take the cup with what seemed to be genuine appreciation for the thought. Mrs. O’Brien was smiling and hovering just as she did with the younger members of the staff. Lionel smiled. It would be nice for Jim to be appreciated for his hard work. He had the feeling such praise had been rare in his life. Lionel took a final glance, noting the relaxed way Jim leaned on the fence and the grubby state of his clothes. They were the same ones he’d arrived in, probably the only ones he had with him. Lionel’s first thought was to offer to get him some new ones, but that felt wrong. Jim might think he saw him as needing charity, and that was a quick way to spoil their friendship. He sighed. Maybe Mrs. O’Brien would have some ideas. He’d ask her this evening.
Once Jim stopped imaging Lionel coming out to the garden and watching him work—well not stopped imagining it but stopped thinking it could actually happen—he began to relax and enjoy the day. Mrs. O’Brien had all of the tools and supplies for a very productive kitchen garden, but she hadn’t had the time to set it up properly. As Jim had nothing but time, it seemed a fair trade for his room and board while he stayed, and it was good practice for when he had his own garden. Once he finished tending to what had already been planted, he started clearing ground so Mrs. O’Brien could expand when she was ready to. He kept at it until Mrs. O’Brien brought out a mug of tea for him.
“Really, Mr. Smith, I don’t know how I can thank you. Garrett and Peters have been promising to help with the garden for weeks, but this is the most that’s been done since we arrived.”
Jim grinned. It
was such a change to be appreciated for doing something instead of snapped at for what he hadn’t done. “I love messing around with plants. Think nothing of it.”
“But you’ve gone and spoiled your clothes. And I saw you were traveling light.”
“Don’t trouble yourself.” It would mean that Lionel would see him as a mess, but it couldn’t be helped. If he’d wanted to underscore the difference in their stations, he couldn’t have planned a better way to do it. And that was probably for the best. The sooner Lionel saw him for what he was, the easier it would be to leave him.
“Well, I can’t have you walking about like that. I hope you won’t be offended, but seeing as you were traveling light, and I truly am grateful for the help, we do have some things of Sir Lionel’s in the pantry. I’m afraid they’re old and last year’s cut, but they’re still good. They don’t fit anyone on the staff here, so Mrs. Barton and I were going to bring them to the townhouse and see if some of the footmen could use them. At least take a suit or two from there. You can’t go to dinner covered in grime.”
Jim knew he should protest, should say he would simply eat dinner in the kitchen, or in the yard, or was going back to his campsite, but Mrs. O’Brien seemed so certain he’d take them, and there was another twitch in the curtain of the third window from the left on the first floor. Every time he’d seen it twitch, he’d let himself pretend that Lionel was watching and approved, although whether of the work or of the way he looked doing it, Jim couldn’t say. “It’s very kind of you.”
Mrs. O’Brien looked relieved, and Jim realized that despite his appearance and his willingness to work in the mud, she still thought of him as a friend of Sir Lionel’s and someone who would be offended by the offer. “Then I’ll pick out something that should suit and have Peters bring it up when he draws your bath.”
Jim was going to protest the bath, but he did need it if he was going to see Lionel after his morning spent wrestling the kitchen garden into submission, so he thanked her again and sipped his tea. If he could just find his cottage in the country, he’d have plenty of mornings like this, poking in the dirt until he got something to grow then having a well-deserved rest in the sun. That was what he should be thinking about, not the fact that anyplace else he did this, he couldn’t pretend he was being watched by the handsome master of the house. He’d be master of the house—or the cottage, more properly, he told himself. That should be enough.
--*--
Lionel stood in front of the mirror and tried to decide what to do about dinner. When Harrison had brought him sandwiches at midday, he’d asked after Jim and been told he was having something with Mrs. O’Brien, and when Lionel had gone looking for Jim later, when he’d disappeared from the kitchen garden and hadn’t returned, he’d been told that Jim had gone walking. He hadn’t wanted to seem too concerned, so he hadn’t asked where specifically Jim had gone. So he had no idea what to expect at dinner.
If Jim hadn’t been able to find something else to wear, he would most likely feel self-conscious in the dining room. Perhaps Lionel should say he wanted to work through the meal and not make Jim sit in the dining room. But Jim would see through that. And he would know why if Lionel suggested eating in the study or anywhere else less formal. No, it seemed best to simply pretend he hadn’t noticed anything. And then Jim would think he wasn’t paying attention.
Lionel pulled off his cravat and took a newly starched one from the drawer. He would do the same as he had the night before; not dress for dinner, merely tidy up a bit. He’d ask Jim how his day had been, and if he didn’t bring up the garden himself, Lionel would make sure to thank him for helping Mrs. O’Brien. That was simple enough. Baxter was used to him being less formal about meals in the country. Anything else was silly when he was the only one there. It wouldn’t cause any comment at all.
But when he entered the study, Lionel realized he hadn’t needed to worry at all. Jim was standing by the fireplace dressed in a dark-blue wool coat and buff trousers that were a bit loose on him but still fit well enough to show the line of his leg. Jim heard him come in and turned. When he saw Lionel’s expression, he struck a pose similar to the ones in the paintings of anonymous lords Lionel had used to decorate the walls, and Lionel had to remind himself not to stare, although he wasn’t sure he was listening to himself. Jim was quite elegant, with the slightly tousled look of an artist or a nonpareil just back from a gallop. The suit was clearly Savile Row. It looked like Schweitzer & Davison to Lionel’s eye. And then he realized why. He’d had it made there himself a couple of years before. “I take it Mrs. O’Brien is to thank for that then?”
Jim nodded. “She was very nice about it.”
“I’m sure she was grateful for all the help in the garden. And I hope she told you to keep that. I’m afraid it doesn’t fit me any longer, and I hate to think of it going to waste.” That was partly true at least. The suit fit well enough, but it was almost two years out of date, and he had clients who worried about such things.
“I couldn’t...”
“I can’t wear it, and it suits you well.”
There was an awkward silence as Lionel watched Jim form another protest. Lionel realized Jim was stroking the sleeve almost lovingly; he actually wanted to keep the suit but felt he should protest, so Lionel changed the subject quickly. “Now that that’s settled, what do you think of the garden? I saw you helping Mrs. O’Brien. Is there any hope for it?”
Jim leaned against the fireplace again. “I think so. The soil seems good, and the sun hits it well. I walked around the folly and down by the ha-ha this afternoon. Your main problem is neglect. The weeds need to be cleared. There are more rocks than plants at the moment. The ground needs to be broken up. But I think it could be very nice, if the rest of the soil is like the kitchen gardens, at least.”
“We could take the carriage out tomorrow, and you could have a better look at it, if you don’t mind.”
Jim brightened up. “Of course. And I’d be more than happy to help get it started. I mean, I should do something since I’m staying here and all.”
“You don’t need to. I mean, you’re a guest. I mean...” What did he mean? That he was lonely and Jim made him less so? But he couldn’t really say that, could he? It made him sound a bit pathetic. But Jim was looking at him, waiting for him to go on. “There aren’t that many people here to talk to, that I like talking to. It’s nice to have you here.” And that made him sound even worse, but Jim didn’t look like he was judging. That was something.
“I’d still like to do something.”
“You did. I’m sure Mrs. O’Brien will be very pleased with the kitchen garden, and any advice you can give me will be appreciated, and needed, for that matter.” He was going to say more, but the door opened and Harrison was there, waiting to be acknowledged. “Come along. We don’t want dinner to get cold.” Although how he was going to concentrate on his food with Jim looking so elegant, he had no idea.
Jim laughed. “No, we wouldn’t want that. Not with Mrs. O’Brien’s cooking.”
Lionel needn’t have worried about dinner. Jim was his normal, cheerful self, which made it easy to talk to him, and they spent the meal discussing Jim’s ideas for the garden, and continued to discuss them when they went to the study for drinks after dinner. Jim even sketched him plans of what could be done with the parts he’d seen already, plans that Lionel was certain were as good as anything a London designer could bring him, not that he was biased at all. And then it was time to go upstairs and prepare for bed. And Lionel couldn’t help glancing at Jim’s trim form in the elegant suit and remember what had happened the night before. Would that happen again? Could that happen again?
The second question suddenly took two meanings in his mind—was it possible that Jim might want that to happen again, and was it logistically possible for it to happen again? Not with Baxter in the next room, obviously. So was there a way to get Baxter out of the next room without offending his valet? As he watched Jim go into the room a
cross the hall from him, he knew he had to at least try.
Baxter was already in the room when he entered, with hot water for washing up and his nightshirt draped over the end of the bed. He greeted Lionel as he entered and began to help him remove his coat as soon as the door closed, efficient as always. Baxter was good at his job, and the last thing Lionel wanted was to make Baxter think he was displeased with his work. But the thought of Jim just across the hall kept distracting him.
Lionel waited until he’d finished undressing and Baxter was folding his clothes and sorting what needed to be taken away for cleaning. This would have to be approached carefully. He went to the wash basin and poured some of the hot water in the bowl. He tried to sound nonchalant as he asked, “Baxter, how did you sleep last night?”
“Quite well, sir, thank you for asking.”
“So the distance from the forest helped?”
“It did, sir.” Baxter held out a towel for Lionel, then his nightshirt.
“Then would you rather sleep there? I rarely wake at night, and if I need something, I can always ring to the kitchen. It isn’t like the city here.”
Baxter looked surprised but not displeased. “You’re certain it would not inconvenience you?”
“Not at all. You’d only be in the servants’ wing, not the village. You’d still be here to help me dress, and I don’t need you while I sleep.”
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