by Carol Arens
By sugar, Victor would enjoy rolling down the grassy bank. As soon as the day warmed he would bring him here and they roll in the grass together.
He was going to enjoy teaching the child things. While he was not Victor’s father, Joe felt a draw to watch out for him—teach him things a boy ought to know.
Must be because the little cowpoke had claimed him.
It occurred to Joe that perhaps the boy did not know how to swim. He was young for the skill. It would be important for him to know how. The river would be a danger if he didn’t.
Joe had fallen in the river, although he did not recall the event. It did not take a vivid memory to know that such an accident would be terrifying. His heart kicked against his ribs at the thought of it happening to Victor.
Looking past acres of pasture land, he saw the mountains—the fells, as folks here called them—coming alive with daylight sliding down from the ridges. They were not nearly as tall as Wyoming’s, but he thought they appeared as rugged.
One day he would like to hike up, look down on everything. Maybe Olivia would go with him. He reckoned she would enjoy the view, seeing all the grandeur below as a soaring bird would.
London was vastly different from Haversmere.
After walking about another half-mile, he came upon a lake, its water deep, clear and reflecting the trees growing on its banks. The images were wavy with the breeze that rippled over the surface of the water.
Pa had talked about this lake, called it a mere because it was small.
Since small did not mean shallow, Victor would certainly need to learn to swim.
Joe bent down to waggle his fingers in the water. It was far too cold for swimming. He figured a stern warning about the danger of both the lake and the river would have to do.
It felt a fatherly thing to do, to warn the boy about the danger the water posed. Funny how it gave his heart a warm turn, knowing it fell to him to protect his young friend.
Not that his mother had not done a fine job of it for five years, it’s just that a boy needed the guidance of a man’s hand.
In the past he hadn’t thought a great deal about fatherhood, except that he’d had a father and loved him. Lately something had changed for him in that regard.
Ever since a blue-eyed package of mischief had wrapped his small arms about Joe’s neck and claimed him, blamed if he did not feel lassoed and branded.
Not only by the boy, but by his mother. From the first he had been attracted to her, who would not have been? She was a lovely woman and any man would seek her company.
Any man who cared to look past her thorny attitude in regards to men.
Joe Steton cared to look—cared to look even more deeply than he already had.
Now that he had something to offer Olivia, he felt free to pursue the intimacy they were both sparring around.
Winning her over to his way of thinking would not be an easy thing to do. He figured it was not her heart he needed to win. The bond between them was already there and for all its fragility was quite genuine.
Rather what he needed to win was her trust.
The breeze stirred the grass and carried another noise with it, so faint he stopped and listened hard.
Bleating. It sounded soft, forlorn and not far distant.
He hurried forward, a bit towards the right, and discovered a pair of black lambs huddled together in the grass.
They were quite young, their umbilical cords still attached. Poor little critters were shivering.
He took off his coat and wrapped them up in it. What had become of their mother? There must have been a predator of some sort. Nothing else could have made her abandon her lambs.
Odd, though—glancing about he saw no signs of a struggle.
‘Don’t worry, small beasties, you will be warm and fed in no time.’
He did not know a great deal about sheep, but he assumed any nursing ewe would take them to suckle.
It was a lucky thing that Sir Bristle had not roused from his spot on the floor beside Victor’s bed when Joe went out. He had never seen a sheep. Joe wondered who would have been more startled, the lambs or the dog.
Victor would not be startled. He would be overjoyed.
‘Will you two help me?’ he asked of the lambs. Fortunately they were no longer quaking. ‘If you cosy up to Victor, make him happy, his mother will be, too. My hope is that in turn she will cosy up to me.’
One of the lambs stuck its dark nose out of the coat and gave a soft bleat.
‘You think I have a chance, then?’ He touched the velvet-like nose. The lamb licked his finger. ‘You must be hungry. How did you end up out here, anyway?’
Mischief, perhaps, as the estate manager’s letter had suggested. But directed at innocent lambs? It didn’t make much sense.
More likely a predator. But one so stealthy that it left no evidence of struggle or a kill?
He had not met any of the shepherds yet, but he would have a lot of questions when he did.
* * *
By the time he made it back to the barn the lambs had fallen asleep. The sun was fully over the horizon now—which was not to say it was warm.
Someone had lit a fire in the stove at the far end of the barn. Joe walked past the long row of sheering stalls, then set the lambs down in front of it to warm.
Footsteps came into the barn, then stopped abruptly.
‘Lord Haversmere!’
Joe glanced up and spotted the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. It was impossible to make out his features until he stepped further into the barn. ‘I offer my heartfelt condolences on the loss of your father. He was a fine man and we are all grieved by his loss.’
It was going to take some time before he became accustomed to being called ‘lord’. In his heart he would always be just plain Joe.
‘Thank you, sir.’ He stood up to shake the man’s hand, but then wondered if it was appropriate since the man nodded his head in deference to the title.
‘Welcome to Haversmere. I am Willie Smythe, the estate manager.’ He glanced at the lambs with a frown. ‘Will you know, sir—did your father receive my letters about the troubles of late?’
‘My mother received them. She delivered them to me. Mr Smythe, is trouble so rare here that a broken plank on the bridge is suspect?’
‘Quite so, at Haversmere this does not happen. I see to the safety of all our bridges myself. In fact, I inspected the damaged bridge the day before the lambs fell in. It was solid.’
‘So you believe someone is sabotaging the estate?’
There was a stack of wood crates close at hand. Joe took two down, sat on one, then offered the other to the overseer.
‘I am that certain of it, sir.’ Mr Smythe tugged on his ear and shook his head. ‘But I’m sure I can’t tell you why.’
‘I found these two about an hour ago.’ He nodded at the lambs. ‘They were alone in the pasture near the lake. Can you tell me what predators might have taken their mother?’
‘Hereabouts, grown sheep have no predators.’ Mr Smythe stood, then went to kneel beside the sleeping lambs. He picked one up, turned it this way and that. ‘Not even a day old, I’d say. I’ve a guess who their mama might be. But as to how she lost them? I fear it is more of the mischief I wrote about.’
He set the lamb beside its twin, then resumed his seat on the crate.
‘I only hope you will remain here until the mystery is solved, my lord.’
‘My family and I are not returning to America. We will be making our home here.’
‘Ach, but the cattle ranch! Your father was devoted to it.’
‘Indeed, he was. But as it turns out, my mother was more devoted to my sister and me than a piece of land and so she sold it.’
‘Ah, well, might I say, sir, all of us will be glad. We have sore missed having our
Baron in residence over the years.’
Mr Smythe was older than Joe was. Could he perhaps remember him from when he was a child here? Did he recall his mother? Perhaps he could unlock some of the memories Joe craved.
‘How long have you been employed here, Mr Smythe?’
‘Near on twenty years, sir. This is home to me, as I hope it will soon feel to you.’
‘Thank you—I only ask because I would like to find someone who knew me when I lived here. I was young and have no memory of any of this. I was hoping there might be someone who might be able to refresh my mind.’
‘Old Widow Shoemaker, she would be the one. She was the cook here in those days and even up until five years ago. She lives by your good graces in a small house between here and Grasmere.’
‘I will pay her a visit.’
‘You won’t need to. She comes every day to sell her eggs.’
Joe stood up. No doubt breakfast was being served and people would wonder where he was. He bent over to stroke each of the lambs.
‘These will be all right?’
‘If Izzy is not their mother, another will take them in. But I will admit it makes me uneasy thinking someone got close enough to the sheepdogs to be able to take them without raising an alarm.’
‘Perhaps it is someone they know.’
‘Aye, my lord, that’s the part that makes my gut crawl.’
‘You may rest easy now, Mr Smythe. I am here and will put the mischief to rest.’
‘I’m that grateful.’ Smythe tipped the brim of his hat when Joe took his leave. ‘And, sir—for all that Haversmere is different than where you came from, I hope that you and your family will be happy here.’
‘Thank you, Mr Smythe.’
Walking from the barn towards the manor house, Joe paused a moment on the bridge. He looked at the large house with its stone walkway, then glanced back at the pastureland surrounded by the fells.
Smythe was correct in saying the Lake District was far different than Wyoming. But the plain fact was, it was no less breathtaking.
Beauty was beauty and came in many forms.
And now Haversmere was his. People depended upon him to make a success of it.
In the beginning, his only obligation had been to learn to dress, walk and speak like a gentleman. And that for only the time it took some fellow to offer for his sister.
Now he was a baron. The weight of his new role did sit heavy on him.
Someone came out the front door and stood on the porch. She waved her hand in greeting.
It was Olivia, dressed in a yellow gown. The way she smiled made his heart leap. How many times could the sun rise in one day?
* * *
Perhaps Olivia ought to have asked her maid to come north, but in the moment and with everything happening so quickly, she had not. It was kind enough that Helmswaddle had packed her trunk in haste. The maid deserved to have a prolonged holiday.
As a result Olivia must now dress herself and arrange her own hair. This was not something she was accustomed to doing. All her life she had had help. Which did not mean she was helpless.
Although Miss Hopp would be willing to assist, Olivia would not ask.
One could only imagine what Victor would be doing while the governess tied a ribbon in Olivia’s hair.
A ribbon? What had made her think of wearing such a frill? Something had because, staring at her open trunk, she saw three of them draped across her petticoats. They had certainly not purchased themselves.
She had worn the yellow lace at breakfast. Perhaps this afternoon called for blue. Indeed, from her second-storey window she could see a small lake and her blue gown was a near match to the water, although the fabric did not glitter or reflect anything.
She removed the blue gown from the wardrobe, spread it across the bed. It was casual and perfect for her walkabout with Joe.
After putting it on, which was a bit of a challenge without the help of her maid, she looked in the mirror.
Oh, dear. By no means could she style her hair the way Helmswaddle did, even if she had the time.
As it was she was nearly late.
A blue satin ribbon would simply have to do. She tied her hair in the ribbon and let it fall where it would.
She closed the door on her small but pretty room, then walked down the hallway towards the stairs.
The staff at Haversmere took dutiful care of the house. Even though Joe and his party had not been expected, everything was in order as if they had been.
Fresh flowers filled vases on glossy tables along the hallway. The scent of polished wood was as pungent as the flowers were.
In all, the house was comfortable more than formal, made all the cosier because of the smell of bread baking in the kitchen.
She walked past a library with the doors standing open. A small fire in the hearth would make it a welcome spot to read a book.
But then, she was not here to indulge in reading, but to further instruct Joe in the art of gentlemanly posturing. Now that he was Haversmere, a genteel appearance was all the more crucial.
Not that he wasn’t already a gentleman, he was to the bone. All he required was a spit of polish. That and to learn to dance.
Clearly the manor house, while grand enough, was not intended to host grand balls. In the process of exploring this morning she noticed a room that would serve for an evening soirée which, unless you were the Duchess, was quite adequate.
No doubt the room had gone unused for a very long time. From what she understood, Joe’s father had conducted his business without social fanfare, his wife and hostess living across the ocean.
For not having a mistress, the manor house seemed to be running efficiently. It was apparent that the staff treated the place with care and respect.
If there was a prettier place on earth than Haversmere, she could not imagine where. The home was both grand and inviting—the grounds pastoral.
She had heard the area’s praises described by poets and travellers and now knew the words to be well deserved. Joe could not help but find his home here.
Surely in time he would come to love it as much as he had loved the ranch.
Even she, having been here not even a full day, was wishing she never had to leave.
Olivia rounded a corner on the way to the hall and nearly collided with Joe’s mother, who balanced a cup of tea on a book she was carrying. The fire set in the library hearth must have been meant for her.
‘Good day, my lady,’ Olivia said, putting out a hand to steady the tea.
‘Why, hello, Olivia. I trust you are finding your way about?’
‘I’ve only become lost once or twice.’
‘Only three times for me. But isn’t this a lovely house? It is my first time seeing it with my own eyes. My husband described it to me and I half-feel I know everyone, but to see it first hand is a grand thing.’ A shadow muddied the rich brown shade of her eyes. ‘Looking back, I wish I had come with him on occasion. Of course I could never have put an ocean between me and my children. As you can see, I still cannot. But you are a mother so you will understand.’
‘Completely, Lady Haversmere. And am I correct in assuming the need to be near them does not change because our children are grown?’
‘It only gets worse, my dear. They go where they will and not where you direct them to.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t tell you how odd it feels to be called Lady Haversmere rather than Mrs Steton.’
‘I hope you do not mind.’
‘It makes me feel rather high-hat.’ She smiled, winked. So that was where Joe learned the gesture. ‘And something of an imposter.’
‘You should not. I suspect that Haversmere has dearly missed having a mistress to fuss over. From what I can tell, the staff is delighted to have you.’
‘As I am delighted to be here, the title notwiths
tanding. I’d act like a loon in a swamp if that is what it took to be with my babies.’ She blew on the tea, took a delicate sip. ‘Ah, there is one of them now. Unless I miss my guess he is looking for you. Enjoy your outing.’
With a nod and a smile Lady Haversmere made her way to the library.
Olivia stepped out on to the porch, securing the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin.
Her hair felt oddly wonderful blowing out from under it in the fresh cool air.
Joe met her at the foot of the banister. He had plucked a rose from one of the many bushes growing beside the porch.
‘Good afternoon, Joe.’
‘It is a good afternoon.’ He winked then tucked the rose into the brim of her hat. ‘I think it’s the same colour as the gown you wore this morning. I’d have picked something the colour of your eyes, but I’d have had to pull down the sky to do it.’
She smiled at the outrageous compliment as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.
For some women it would be, but for her it was the most unnatural thing.
‘Are you always such a flirt?’
‘That wasn’t flirting, just observing a fact.’
Whatever he chose to call it, she liked it in a way she had not done in a very long time. The teasing expression warming his gaze gave her the flutters.
One thing was certain, no other man had ever—or would ever—give her the sensation of a feather born along on the breath of—of a kiss.
What a fancy thought. If she was not careful, she would write it down and become a silly poet.
He caught her hand, tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Life seemed more casual at Haversmere. Perhaps she could have come out without gloves. If she had, she would have felt the warmth of his fingers curl around hers. But, no, touching him skin to skin was a bit much to think of right at the moment.
Given that she was already a fluttering feather afloat and within a breath of becoming a sonneteer—well, it was enough to deal with right now.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, looking about. It could only be to somewhere green and lush.
‘There’s a small lake past the shearing barn. Would you like to see it?’