Settling his hat on his head, Christopher followed the man through the doorway and crossed the cobbled lane. A large, ornate carriage had halted a short distance from the inn, and the coachmen climbed down to hastily place a small stool before the door, which bore a lavish coat of arms. The decorative elements formed the larger part of the arms, and the shield itself was smallish and confused, thus making the three bars sinister it contained less obvious. The richness of the conveyance might have challenged those of royalty, and when Lord Talbot stepped out, his appearance proved to be just as overwhelming, for he was dressed in the brocades, laces, and silks of a bygone era. He was a man of middling years, yet well preserved. He faced the door and offered up his hand as a slim, dark-haired woman came into view. Her attire was more subdued, and from a distance she bore a striking resemblance to Erienne Fleming, yet on closer inspection Christopher discovered that she fell far short of the other’s beauty. Her dark eyes narrowed too quickly in the outer corners and lacked the heaviness of lashes that fringed the pools of amethyst. Though her features could not be termed coarse, they were not as fine and delicate as those of the mayor’s daughter, nor was her skin as fair. But then, it would be hard for any maid to equal or surpass the comeliness of the one he had already met.
Claudia Talbot paused beside her father, carefully pulling up the velvet hood of her cloak to protect her coiffure from the misting rain before slipping her gloved hand through the arm her father presented. Her eyes measured Christopher in a slow, exacting way that gave him every assurance that she was carefully assessing his physical attributes.
“Why, Allan,” she purred when they neared, “I never thought you’d chase me down the street just to present another man to me. Aren’t you the least bit jealous?”
The sheriff laughed and responded with like flirtation. “Claudia, I have every faith that you’ll remain true to me even though confronting a full regiment of men.” He swept his hand about to indicate the man at his side. “May I present Christopher Seton from Boston? A gentleman by the cut of his clothes, and if he’s not careful, another one to be smitten by your charms.”
“I am honored, Miss Talbot,” Christopher responded, bowing gallantly over her gloved hand.
“My goodness, you are a tall one,” she observed coyly.
Christopher was well acquainted with the antics of forward women and recognized the bold gleam in the dark eyes. If he wanted feminine companionship, then here was an open invitation.
“And this worthy gentleman is Lord Nigel Talbot,” Allan said, concluding the introductions.
“Seton…Seton…” Lord Talbot repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Perhaps you remember it from the misunderstanding I had with your mayor a few weeks ago,” Christopher suggested.
Lord Talbot looked at him curiously. “So you’re the one who dueled with Farrell, eh? Well, I can’t hold that against you. That young whelp brews trouble wherever he goes.”
“Mr. Seton is here in Mawbry on business,” Allan stated. “He might be interested in acquiring a country estate close by.”
Lord Talbot chuckled. “Then I wish you good fortune, sir. ’Tis a great undertaking to establish lands and tenants, but in the long run it does have its rewards if you manage to accumulate the desired power. One must have wealth, however, to proceed.”
Christopher met the man’s deliberate stare. “I was wondering about Saxton Hall.”
“Oh, you don’t want that place,” Claudia advised sweetly. “ ’Tis half burned and full of ghosts. Why, anyone around here can tell you the place has been plagued by disasters.”
“I really can’t imagine the possibility of a foreigner acquiring either the lands or the hall.” Lord Talbot perused the Yankee speculatively. “Are you a man of occupation, or a gentleman of leisure?”
“Actually I’m a little of both.” Christopher flashed white teeth in a quick grin. “I own several vessels that trade in ports around the world, but I’m also very much a man of leisure.”
Claudia’s dark eyes took on a new gleam. “You must be very rich.”
Christopher shrugged casually. “I manage a few creature comforts.”
“Saxton Hall would be a worthy estate with its holdings of lands, but I’m afraid it’s not available.” Lord Talbot gave him a brief smile. “If it were, I would have had it myself some time ago.”
“Papa, you’d own all of England if the King would let you,” Claudia teased, patting his arm.
His lordship turned a rueful smile on her. “I need it to keep you in the finery you demand.”
Claudia giggled. “Which reminds me, Papa. I promised the dressmaker that I would come by to select material for a new gown. Since you have business with the mayor, I shall have to find my own escort.” The corners of her lips lifted impishly as she met Christopher’s gaze. “Can I be so bold as to ask you to accompany me, Mr. Seton?”
“Claudia!” Her father spoke in shocked reproof. “You just met the man!”
“Papa, all the eligible young men around here are frightened to death of you,” Claudia protested as if it were an old argument. “If I don’t take the initiative, I’ll die an old spinster.”
Christopher’s lips twitched in amusement as he glanced at her father. The man seemed appalled by his daughter’s gall. “With your permission, sir.”
Lord Talbot reluctantly nodded his head, and a chuckle came from Allan as Christopher decorously presented his arm. With a self-satisfied nod, Claudia took it and strolled along beside him, holding her head high in triumph. With this man as her escort, she would once again enjoy the envy of every woman in Mawbry. When she noticed a lone feminine figure standing at an upper window of the mayor’s cottage, she experienced a special thrill at being spied upon by that one. Claudia loathed the comparisons that were constantly made between the two of them and that left her the one wanting in regard to beauty. Indeed, she felt a delicious glee whenever anyone spoke of the sorry suitors the mayor had enticed to his daughter. Claudia’s fondest wish was to see the other woman bound in wedlock to a horrible beast of a man.
“ ’Twould seem that Claudia has found another one to occupy her for a spell,” Allan observed with humor.
Lord Talbot groaned in mock pain. “I almost find myself wishing her mother might have survived a few years longer. Considering that nagging carp, you know my desperation.”
The sheriff laughed and jerked his head toward the mayor’s cottage. “Claudia said you have business with Avery. Shall I accompany you?”
Lord Talbot declined. “Nay. This matter is of a personal nature.” He gestured toward the departing couple. “What you may do for me is to keep an eye on that brazen twit. I don’t relish the idea of having a Yankee as kin.”
Allan smiled. “I shall try my best, my lord.”
“Then I’ll leave you to be about it.”
Lord Talbot strode purposefully to the mayor’s cottage and rapped on the door with the silver head of his ornate walking stick. His knock was not answered immediately, and he was beginning to wonder if it would be, when the portal was opened a crack. Erienne peered through the opening and might have been relieved to find it was not Silas Chambers if his lordship had been more to her liking. He was not.
Lord Talbot pushed the door wider with his cane, forcing Erienne to retreat a step.
“Don’t peek at me through cracks, Erienne.” He smiled appreciatively as his eyes roamed freely over her. “I like to see people when I talk to them. Is your father home?”
Confused and suddenly nervous, Erienne bobbed a quick curtsy and hastily replied, “Oh, no, sir. He’s abroad in the village somewhere. Though I can’t be sure, I do expect him home any moment.”
“Well then, with your permission I’ll wait inside by the fire. ’Tis a most miserable day.”
Lord Talbot brushed past her and paused to shrug out of his cloak and doff his tricorn, handing both to her before passing on to the parlor and leaving a chagrined Erienne to clo
se the door and hang the dampened garments on a peg. When she entered the parlor, she found him already seated in a tall-backed chair in front of the fireplace. He had crossed his leg and, where the long frock coat fell aside, displayed a masculine length of limb covered with fine gray silk breeches and stockings. His eyes warmed as she came into his vision, and he gave her what he hoped was a most fatherly smile.
“My dear Erienne, you have done a most magnificent task of managing this house since your mother passed on. I trust you have been happy here. Your father certainly seems to have taken well to his duties. Why, just the other day…”
He continued with a stream of chatter, eyeing the girl as she moved about. He rambled on without interruption, not that he was the least bit ill at ease, but seeking rather to allay her tension, for she appeared quite unsettled with his presence. She was, after all, a most desirable wench, and he found it amazing that a man like Avery Fleming could sire such a one.
Erienne listened with half an ear as his voice droned on. She was well aware of the reputation of Nigel Talbot. His exploits had been bantered among the gossips several times since the Flemings had moved to Mawbry. Thus she made a point to pass the front windows often so that any watchers (and she knew there would be at least several) could see and be witness to her continued innocence.
“I’ll make some tea while we wait,” she said hesitantly. She stirred the fire, placing a fresh block of peat on it, then hung a kettle of water on the hook above it.
Nigel Talbot regarded Erienne with growing ardor. Several weeks had passed since he had been to London and there was entertained by some rather lusty, lace-bedecked acquaintances in their richly appointed apartments. It was truly amazing that he had overlooked such rare fine fruit in his own orchard, but considering Erienne’s subdued, ladylike composure, it was easy to understand why he had not really noticed her before. The bold ones drew immediate attention, yet it was not always the case that they were also the choice ones. Erienne Fleming was of prime quality and no doubt unspoiled.
His mind formed a vision of her in petticoats and stays, with bosom overflowing and tiny waist cinched to fit a man’s hands. He imagined her black hair flowing loosely about her creamy soft shoulders, and his eyes widened as he realized the possibilities before him. Of course, this was delicate and must be broached with care. He did not intend to offer marriage, but surely Avery would not be foolish enough to turn down a substantial sum for her.
Lord Talbot rose to his feet and assumed his best heroic pose, his left hand on the casually braced cane, his right clasping the lapel of his brocaded coat so she might admire his manly form. A more experienced wench might have stared openly at what he was eager to display instead of trying to keep busy with inconsequential matters.
“My dear, dear Erienne…”
His wakening passion made his voice more forceful than he intended, and the suddenness and volume of his address made Erienne start. The cup and saucer she was placing on the sideboard rattled in her fingers, almost falling to the floor. Nervously she set them down and, clasping her still trembling hands together, faced him.
Nigel Talbot was a wise man beyond the impetuous years of youth. He retreated and tried again, this time more cordially. “My apologies, Erienne. I did not mean to startle you. ’Tis just that it comes to me that I have never really looked at you before.” As he spoke, he closed the distance to her. “Never really seen your beauty.”
He laid a long, slim, well-manicured hand upon her lower arm, and Erienne found no retreat with the sideboard to her back.
“Why, my dear, you’re trembling.” He looked down in the wide, frightened eyes and smiled tenderly. “Poor Erienne. Do not be afraid, my dear. I would not harm you for the world. Indeed, ’tis my fondest wish that we should come to know each other…much…much better.” His fingers lightly squeezed her arm in gentle reassurance.
Suddenly a loud curse from the upper floor interrupted, and an uneven thumping and pounding was heard on the stairs. Lord Talbot stepped away from Erienne just as Farrell came stumbling past the open doorway. He almost went to his knees but managed to teeter to a halt. His eyes rolled several times past comprehensive vision as he straightened. He had managed to don a shirt, which now hung open to the waist. The breeches were loose almost to the point of embarrassment, and his stockinged toes curled away from the cold boards of the floor. When he managed to focus on the occupants of the parlor, his jaw dropped in surprise.
“Lor! Lord Talbot!” He rubbed his good hand against his temple as if to still a pounding there and raked his fingers through his tumbled mop of hair. “Yer lordship…” The “p” was oddly stressed. He mumbled an unsure apology and began to fumble with the buttons of his breeches. “I didn’ know you were here…”
Lord Talbot struggled to appear an understanding guest. A slight tic at the corner of his moustache was the only betrayal of his true feelings. “I trust you are feeling well, Farrell.”
The young man licked his lips as if an abiding dryness burned his mouth, and he grasped his shirt together over his sagging breeches when he caught Erienne’s glare. “I just came down for a drink…” He cleared his throat as her eyes narrowed warningly and added, “of water.” He saw the steaming pot in the fireplace. “Or maybe some tea.”
He was gaining some degree of control and knew full well the duties of a host. “Erienne,” he assumed an instructive tone, “would you be so kind as to pour us some tea? I’m sure Lord Talbot has been dying of thirst.” His own thick swallow added his unspoken endorsement to the statement. He started to clear his throat but ended in a hacking cough. “A man needs a good warm brew to clear his gullet on a cold morning.”
For once the sister was grateful for her brother’s presence. “Farrell,” Erienne said, smiling sweetly as she obeyed, “ ’tis well past the noon hour.”
Lord Talbot’s irritation with Farrell was supreme, but he could hardly order the young man from the room so he could feast his eyes on the sister. It was obvious the brother intended to stay and impress his guest with his manners, but knowing the limits of his temper, Lord Talbot decided a tactful retreat at the present moment would be wise. After all, he had a great deal of thinking to do about the mayor’s daughter before he launched into any positive action.
“I shan’t be staying for tea,” he announced, his voice curt and agitated. “My daughter will no doubt be wondering what is keeping me. Since I must leave for London in the morning, I will see your father when I return. I’m sure the matter will keep.”
Chapter Three
FODDER would be anything but plentiful in the approaching months of winter, thus herds and flocks of sheep, pigs, geese, and the like began to flow into the cities and hamlets, where they would be sold at markets or fairs. Drovers prodded the animals onward, while dust roiled up in clouds around them. Though on a considerably lesser scale, the sight was as familiar in Mawbry as it was in York or London, for only a fool ignored the need for storing provender for the frigid weather ahead.
Erienne sought to bolster the family larder with the purchase of a small pig, the best her meager coins would buy. She could not bring herself to slaughter it, but she scratched out a few more shillings for the wandering pigsticker. The evening before he came, Avery grumpily declared the preparation of food to be woman’s work and, fearful that his lot might fall to labor, took himself and Farrell off to Wirkinton for a day of “meetings,” as Avery put it.
The busy butcher arrived with the dawn, and Erienne fled into the house until he had accomplished his work. She had readied the hot grains to make black pudding, but since it was not one of her favorite dishes, it was a laborious task requiring a stern stomach. She found stripping the intestine for sausage casings no less trying. Long slabs and larger portions of meat were packed in a barrel with layers of salt while she continued to cut away the fat from other pieces. Once the meat was trimmed, it was weighted down in the barrel with a stone, and the whole filled to the brim with a salty brine for the curing.
Behind the cottage in an open-sided hut used for like purposes, she built a fire, hung a kettle, and began trying down the fat for lard. The tiny bits of meat that clung to the chunks of fat floated to the top and had to be skimmed off, lest a scum form with them and spoil the lard. But when cooled on a cloth, the cracklings provided a tasty, crunchy tidbit to chew.
The hound from the neighboring cottage eyed her wistfully and, when her back was turned, wiggled under the fence and boldly approached. Flopping down close by, he raised his wet nose high in the air to sample the wafting aroma and then lowered his massive head until it rested forlornly on his paws. His brows twitched as his eyes followed her every movement. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he’d sneak forward and grab a scrap in his large jowls, then take off like a shot when she ran after him with a broom, threatening to fetch the pigsticker after him. Undoubtedly he was not intimidated by her warning, for soon he came lumbering back to a spot where he could watch her again and sniff the tantalizing odors.
The air was crisp, but Erienne hardly felt its chill as she worked. Indeed, she had rolled up the sleeves of her faded dress, and with only a light chemise beneath her gown, she gave welcome to the cool breezes that now and then stirred the curling tendrils of hair escaping from beneath her kerchief. She was in a frenzy to have the task done before nightfall, and she wanted nothing to distract her or set her from her purpose. Intent on her labors and with watching the sizzling fat and the encroaching dog, she failed to notice that in the shadows near the corner of the house a man had come to stand and observe.
A Rose in Winter Page 6