“The House of Lords should be abolished. Half those fat and happy lords don’t even show up to take their seats during the session. It’s a crime we pay for those wastrels while the real work is being done by the common man.” Hanson punctuated his words by pounding his fist against the side of the wagon. “Look at Woodruff or Tyndale. They don’t care about us. All they want is their rent money.”
He talked in that vein until they dropped him off at his door. John waited until they were well away before saying, “What do you think he’d say if he found out I was one of those he’d ranted and raved about?” He shot a sidelong glance at Mallory. “In the six months since I’ve inherited my seat in the House of Lords, I haven’t stepped through the doorway once. I doubt I would know what they were talking about if I did. And I’m not alone. I can’t imagine any members of my old set of friends listening to Freddie Hanson and taking his complaints seriously.”
Unfortunately, that’s what this country needs,” Mallory answered. “I agree with much of what he said. We do need men in power who understand the plight of the farmer and the yeoman. But so few in the House of Lords realize what those needs are.”
John grew very quiet after that.
They shared a simple supper. John brought the mattress inside and they made up the bed together. He gave her a few moments of privacy.
Mallory climbed in the bed between the sheets, so tired she anticipated falling asleep before he returned. She was wrong. She lay awake waiting for him, certain that he would stretch out beside her, but uncertain how she’d react.
In the end, she was surprised when he lay down on top of the covers. He pulled her close, draping his arm over her body.
Mallory tensed. She waited.
John didn’t move. His relaxed fingers were very close to her breast. If she took a deep breath, she could push herself out to touch him.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she held herself rigid, ready to snap in outrage if he should attempt to seduce her—while another part of her waited in the hopeful anticipation of a bit of seduction.
To confuse her feelings even more, he fell right asleep, as if being this physically close to her didn’t bother him at all.
It was a long time before she also fell asleep.
There was much work to do around Cardiff Hall to prepare for the harvest. Each day, after another restless night, Mallory would rise and work by John’s side. She learned to value and trust his judgment. She also enjoyed sharing the work with someone who knew how to laugh and lighten the load.
Evening and the very early hours of dawn became her favorite time because that was when they could talk in private. They didn’t speak just about the harvest. Mallory questioned him about the war, his school years, and the places he’d traveled.
He asked her about her childhood and remembered enough details to tease her later. She started to look forward to his teasing—and to his touch.
John touched her often. His hand would rest on her waist while they listened to one of the farmers talk about his crop, or would brush loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid from her face, or would take her hand as they walked side by side.
A sense of longing and frustration began building inside her. She caught herself wishing that he wasn’t such a gentleman, that he would sweep her off her feet and not give her any choices—and yet she understood that John was leaving the decision concerning the next step in their relationship up to her. Unfortunately, she still feared taking that step.
Sunday was usually a day of rest, but not during a harvest. John gave the other farm servants the afternoon off while he and Mallory prepared for the harvest crew that would arrive in the morning. The crew would live in the barn until all the crops were in.
It was a hot, busy day. Furthermore, they were both disappointed when messages arrived with young Roger. Peterson’s message was the same as the week before: Louis Barron still had not been found.
There was also a letter from Mallory’s mother and another from Hal.
Her mother was frantic with worry and insisted Mallory leave John immediately:
I have finally come to realize you were right in wishing a divorce from John Barron! It tears at my heart to see our beautiful home in the hands of a stranger. He has let all the servants go, and no one from the village is allowed to work there. They say he wears the strangest clothes and smokes tobacco and takes snuff. I cry when I think of my furniture.
Hal’s letter was to the point:
My dear Mallory,
Tell me where you are and I will rescue you. Your husband is beyond redemption. Save yourself. All that I have is yours. I pray you wan’t forget the promises We’ve made to each other.
Fondly,
Hal
She folded both letters and put them in the pocket of her brown dress. “I have no response,” she told Roger.
John didn’t ask her about the letters, although she was certain he was curious.
That evening they sat on the grassy bank of the bathing pond, watching the fireflies flit in and out of the shadows.
“You’ve been quiet ever since the messenger left,” Mallory said. “Are you thinking about Louis?”
John leaned back in the grass and looked up at the stars. “He’s one of the things I’m thinking about.”
“What is the other?”
“The letter you received from your lovestruck squire.”
She couldn’t stop herself from answering as he’d answered her once, “Jealous?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yes.”
His blunt honestly took her aback. Mallory decided to change the subject to one they could agree upon. “I wish I could be more help in finding Louis Barron. We passed letters back and forth for years, but I don’t know the man at all.”
John leaned upon one elbow. “Please think, Mallory. Did he ever mention anything personal about himself in any of his letters?”
She thought a moment and then said sadly, “No, it was as I told you. His letters were always vague responses to my questions or complaints. If he ever initiated a letter, it was only to ask questions after some major repair had been performed around the castle. Sometimes, he’d hire workmen who would show up to do things I hadn’t authorized or felt were important.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, the brick walkway that led to a new grape arbor he had built. Only three months ago, he put in a new pond and had it freshly stocked with trout. Meanwhile, he refused to send a decent allowance for our day-to-day expenses. And anytime I talked about the needs of the farm, he ignored my requests.”
John lay back down. He was quiet for several minutes.
She placed her hand on his arm. “John, we’ll find him.”
“I want to think so, Mallory, but the more time elapses, the stronger my doubts grow.” His next words shocked her: “I’m beginning to realize I may not get Craige Castle back for you.”
Before she could answer him, he got to his feet. “Come. I’m ready to go back to the cottage.” He offered her his hand.
Mallory placed her hand in his and he pulled her up. But he pulled her too hard and the bottoms of her new shoes were slick. Her feet went out from underneath her and John barely caught her in time before she fell into the pond.
He hugged her close and Mallory felt his swift, almost immediate reaction to her. She also discovered an answering response inside herself and pressed closer.
“Do you know what you are doing?” His raspy voice sounded hoarser than usual.
Mallory lifted her gaze to meet his and then had to turn away from the intensity of his too-knowing eyes.
“Do you want me, Mallory?”
Yes. One word, that’s all she had to say—but she couldn’t say it. She had to be careful. She had to protect herself.
“You still don’t know, do you?” he whispered. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’ll ever forgive me. Meanwhile, I’d like nothing better than to lay you down on the grass b
eside the pond and make love to you. I want to take you and fill you until you can think of no other man but me.”
His hands gently pushed her away. “But I won’t. You must come to me freely.”
“You may be asking too much.”
The intense light in his eyes faded. “I know.”
Without another word, he turned, took her hand, and walked with her back to the cottage.
Mallory wondered if he noticed that her hands were shaking.
Inside the cottage, he pulled the coverlet off the bed. “We can’t go on this way, Mallory. I think it would be best if I started sleeping in the barn again.” Without waiting for her reply, he left.
She watched him until he’d climbed the path and disappeared into the gathering darkness. Slowly she closed the door and lowered the bar.
She was alone. It had been some time since she’d been alone in the cottage. She stretched. “Well, at least I’ll get a good night’s sleep.” Her voice sounded lonely in the empty room.
Having nothing else to do, she undressed and went to bed…but sleep eluded her.
Would she be stupid to give John one more chance? Or would it be even worse if she didn’t?
The questions chased around and around each other. It wasn’t until past midnight that she finally realized what her heart had been trying to tell her.
She made her choice, and once it was made, fell into a sound, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, before dawn, she woke rested for the first time in weeks. She knew then that she’d made the right decision. She dressed quickly in her gray dress and hurried up to the barn.
John was already too busy organizing the harvest workers to exchange more than a few words of greeting. Mallory went to work. The harvest had begun.
Mallory worked as hard as anyone, but at one point, she managed to slip away. She found the Reverend Luridge sitting with Lord Woodruff in Cardiff Hall’s dinning room chairs. The chairs and a small table had been set up on a small knoll overlooking the fields. His lordship had brought out ink and paper and was already busily scribbling away.
“Reverend, may have a moment in private with you, please?”
“Why certainly, Mrs. Dawson,” he said, coming to his feet.
Mallory led him several feet away from Lord Woodruff. “Reverend, I would like to surprise my husband during the harvest home and I need your help.”
Chapter 17
They grew till they reached the church tip top,
When they could grow no higher;
And then they entwined like
a true lover’s knot,
For all true lovers to admire.
“Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor”
Harvesting fields is hard, back-breaking work.
A team of five men could expect to do two acres of fields a day. With the sixty men from the shire and the twenty-five men on the harvesting crew, John hoped to have the harvest done in ten days. Often, the men would break into song to relieve the tedium and strain of using the hand sickle row after endless row.
The women and children worked as hard as the men. Mallory divided her time between helping with the meals to feed such a large crowd and going out in the fields to tie off the sheaves of wheat after they’d been cut and gathered.
Her fingers ached from pulling at the stalks and twisting the ties. Her shoulders were sore from lifting, bending, and carrying. Each night she fell into bed exhausted.
John did not join her in the bed. He slept in the barn with the harvest crew. When the two of them did see each other, they rarely had time or energy to say more than a few words in passing, but no one from Cardiff Hall or the village noticed or made comment of their estrangement. Everyone, including Lord Woodruff, who wrote furiously while sitting at his desk beside the fields every day, was worn out.
Reverend Luridge insisted Sunday should be a day of rest. Most of his parishioners slept through his sermon. Then, that same Sunday afternoon, Evie had her baby. The people of Tunleah Mews considered the birth a good omen. Lord Woodruff practically danced for joy, declaring that the baby would be a harvest metaphor for his great “epic.” Many people wondered what he meant.
Roger, the messenger, arrived late in the afternoon. Again, Peterson had nothing new to report and wanted to know what John wished to do. John sent back a message asking him to continue stationing men at all the ports and at the shops and places Louis had been known to patronize.
Mallory thought John might come to her Sunday evening, but he did not.
Finally, by midday of the following Friday, the last field was cut. When John took the last sheaf in his hand and held it high over his head, everyone cheered.
Tears came to Mallory’s eyes. John had done it—but more than the harvest, John had given this village a sense of community which, according to Sylvie Hanson and Mrs. Irongate, had not existed before.
In the middle of all the cheering, John and Mallory’s gazes met. He walked over to her and offered her the sheaf of wheat. “We did it,” he said.
“No, you did it.”
“I wouldn’t have attempted it without you.”
No words of praise had ever sounded sweeter to her. “You’re a very special man, John Barron.”
“And are you glad you married me?” he prodded.
Mallory just smiled and walked away, pleased at this sign that his heart remained true.
That night the men dug two pits and started roasting the meat. A keg of ale kept them company. Mallory sat at the table beside the cottage window listening to them laugh, joke, and sing.
She was about ready to go to bed when she saw John approaching the cottage. His neck cloth was untied and hanging around his throat. He’d rolled up his sleeves, and he moved with a loose-limbed gait. She hurried to open the door, happy to see him. “John, come in.”
He ducked his head under the low threshold and entered. This was the first time he’d been in the cottage since he’d left the night before the harvest. For a second, Mallory was tempted to run her hand across his strong, broad back…but then she noticed he was weaving slightly and the expression in his eyes was slightly glazed.
He said her name with a soft sigh. “Mallory.”
The fumes on his breath almost knocked her backward. “John, you’ve been sampling the brew!”
“Someone had to do it,” he confessed almost regretfully, as his tall form started to list to the right.
Mallory propped him up and walked them both over to the bed where she sat him down. He grinned up at her, his smile slightly silly. “Are you happy to see me?”
“Yes, very.”
With the playfulness of a very large puppy, he put his arms around her waist and fell over onto his back, pulling her with him.
Mallory lay on top of him, held firmly by his iron embrace. It felt good to be this close to him. She rested her head against his chest. His fingers stroked her hair.
John yawned, then whispered, “I missed you, Mallory.”
She rubbed his whisker-rough jaw with the back of hand. “I missed you, too.”
“Enough to let me be your husband?” he asked, snuggling into the mattress.
“Oh, John, more than enough.” She reached up to place a kiss on his lips—and then discovered he’d passed out cold. For a second, she stared, certain he must be playing a trick on her.
When he snored, she knew it was no game.
Smiling, she rose and with a great deal of effort removed his boots and tucked him in under the covers. She then undressed down to her petticoats and crawled happily in beside him.
The next morning a pounding on the door woke them both. John sat up and immediately groaned, grabbing his head.
Mallory slipped on her brown dress and answered the door. It was Wadham. He nodded a greeting. “We need Mr. Dawson. I arrived this morning to find one ale keg empty. We’ll need another for the feast.”
Mallory looked over her shoulder at John, whose face was very pale. “John, he says the men have already finish
ed one keg. Would you know anything about it?”
John rose stiffly to his feet, pulled on his boots, and made his way to the door. “I know about it intimately.” He pressed a small kiss to her brow and followed Wadham, who was declaring they had to get busy and clean out the barn for the party.
Mallory quickly dressed and joined the men and women cleaning the barn. Even with the help of Mrs. Irongate and the women from the harvesting crew, setting up for the feast required as much hard work as the harvest had. Furthermore, Mallory wanted this day to be extra special.
By four in the afternoon, all was ready and the first families had started to arrive. Every family brought at least one dish of food to share with the others. Soon the buffet tables were filled with every form of vegetable known to a farmer’s garden. There were potatoes, cabbages, turnips, and carrots. Blood sausages and cheese were laid out on cutting boards, baskets of bread placed beside them. The highlight of the meal would be the desserts. The children couldn’t stop eyeing the cherry and apple pies set out on a separate table. When Mrs. Watkins and Lucy walked in with their contributions, three large puddings and a bowl of rich custard, the children clapped, “oohing” and “ahing” with anticipation.
Mallory smiled at the children’s excited expressions. Many had tasted pudding before, but few had sampled a custard. Mrs. Watkins beamed with well-deserved pride.
Lord Woodruff sat at his writing table, engrossed in finding words to describe the children’s reaction to the custard. Over the last week, he’d written constantly, and Mallory sensed he seemed happier with his work. Certainly, she reflected, there were fewer wadded-up balls of paper at his feet. Furthermore, the villagers displayed more tolerance for his oddities.
Mallory suddenly realized the feast was about to begin and she wasn’t ready. Begging Mrs. Irongate to supervise the carving of the meat, Mallory headed for the cottage at a run.
She practically bowled John over coming around the bend in the path. He caught her by the arms and steadied her. “You’re going the wrong way.”
Falling in Love Again Page 26