Anne Barbour (20 page)

David had already managed to mount himself on Barney, and Kate knew a moment of relief that she would not be required to go to his assistance. She could bear no more of his closeness. She flicked a glance at David, but he was busy with bridle and reins.

“Tell me more about your plans for the school,” he said as they cantered toward the house.

“The ... ? Oh. Yes. Well, I have no plans, exactly.” She laughed shakily. “Just a few ideas. Due to the distances involved, we would need two sites, and that, of course, would mean two sets of books and other supplies, and, of course, two teachers.”

She had by now recovered her equilibrium, and went on to speak at some length of her hopes for the tenant children.

“Do you think the money for such a project might be forthcoming?” she asked, finally.

“Not in the near future, I’m afraid.” David sighed heavily. “I am just beginning to set my priorities, and it looks as though new farming equipment is on the top of the list. We can repair some of it, such as plows and scythes, but much must be purchased. There have been no improvements here for a generation, and new methods—which involve seed drills and drainage machinery, for example, will require the outlay of substantial sums of money.”

“And repairs to the tenants’ cottages?”

“That’s next.”

“Well, harvest time is almost upon us,” said Kate tentatively. “It won’t be as bountiful as it should, but, with the curtailment in expenses that you’ve made, perhaps there will be money for some of those things.”

David sighed again, his expression bleak. “That might be so, if we weren’t so heavily in debt. It’s going to take time and more luck than we have any right to expect before we can feel our heads are safely above water.”

“But that time will come, David. You know it will.”

David’s lips curled into a tentative smile.

“I hope you’re right. But, speaking of. curtailments ...” he was shaken by unexpected laughter. “I think I may even have swung Lawrence onto the path of thrift and economy.”

In answer to her expression of astonishment, he continued. “We talked at some length on the way to Bath yesterday. That is, he talked a great deal of his plans for my purchases, and I listened until I couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, with a dismal lack of finesse, I told him again that we are teetering on the edge of poverty and to stop talking nonsense about mother-of-pearl quizzing glasses and emerald stickpins. Oh yes,” he snorted. “Lawrence has taken it into his head that I should adopt the emerald as my ‘signature stone.’ Goes well with my ‘black mop,’ as he put it. He couldn’t understand why I did not make it my immediate priority when we arrived in town to order a couple of rings and several encrusted snuffboxes, besides, of course, two or three stickpins.”

“And you replied?” queried Kate in mirthful fascination.

“I did what I should have done several days ago. I quoted him our debt and our expected income for the year. To my surprise, he was completely shaken. Said he couldn’t understand why he’d never been told. I forbore to say that perhaps it was because he’d never asked. At any rate, he rode in silence for some minutes and then said in a subdued voice, ‘Just as soon not sell anything I’ve already got, old man, but I’ll try to do my part in the future.’“

“No!” cried Kate, a chuckle bubbling from her lips, but impressed in spite of herself.

“Yes, indeed,” answered David. Then, unable to suppress his own laughter, he continued. “He did somewhat mar the effect a few minutes later when he added, ‘You will tell me when the hard times are over, won’t you? Don’t know how long I can stand being poor, after all.’“

At this, Kate dissolved into wails of laughter. David glanced at her quizzically. Her reaction implied that she, too, found Lawrence ridiculous. He knew little of the ways of a woman in love, but could Kate have given her heart to a man she thought ludicrous?

“I suppose I should not speak so,” he said tentatively, “of one you hold in such esteem.”

“What?” Kate’s expression was almost comically blank.

“You flew to his defense like an avenging fury the other day. I must feel myself fortunate that you’re not reaching for the nearest blunt object now.”

“Oh. Well, yes.” Discomfited at the memory of her blind need to shield David from humiliation, she glanced at him from under her lashes. “I do, of course, feel a great deal of—of affection for Lawrence. It was—painful to see him so abused. Tell me,” she continued hastily, “have you any plans for the Far Acreage?” She waved her arm in distraction to indicate a field that lay some distance away.

“No,” replied David hollowly. This was not the answer he had hoped to hear. Indeed, he felt as though he had caught a load of grapeshot in his stomach. He nearly grunted with the effort it took to regroup his emotions. “At least, not at the present,” he continued. “Later, perhaps, when ...” His voice trailed off into a chill silence unnoticed by Kate, who was preoccupied with her own thoughts.

“... And he hardly had two more words to say for the rest of the time until we got back home,” Kate related to Aunt Fred an hour or so later as she sat in that lady’s chambers, up to her knees in green wool. “Honestly, he can be so moody sometimes. But the main thing is”—she lifted her head in relieved laughter—”he’s speaking to me again. Although,” she added in some irritation, “I fail to see why I spend so much of my time waiting around like an anxious puppy for a pat on the head.”

“Because you love him—like a brother,” replied Lady Frederica placidly, herself virtually swathed in strands ranging from the color of spring grass to that of a deep forest. “But I wonder if slogging around in that damp cave of yours can do him any good. Oh! Perhaps he could consult Dr. Craven tonight.”

“Tonight?” questioned Kate.

“Yes, didn’t you know? Regina has invited a group of our neighbors for dinner tonight.”

“But, we’re in mourning.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s anything in the way of a party. ‘Just a small gathering of friends’ is the way she put it. What I think,” said Aunt Fred judiciously, “is that she’s trying to ease David into the county gentry without causing too much fuss. Squire Davenport will be here, as well as Sir Peter Bantram and Lady B., and I don’t know who else.”

“Does David know of this?” He so far had shown no inclination to become part of the county social scene, nor could she foresee him doing so in the immediate future. She wondered how he would feel about Regina’s plans.

“Absolutely not, madam,” David was saying to Regina, who confronted him nearly nose to nose in the manor’s great dining parlor. He had wandered in to find her in consultation with the butler and housekeeper regarding arrangements for the evening. “If you choose to give a party, you are welcome to do so,” he continued firmly. “But I fear I shall have to decline to appear.”

“It is not a party, David,” replied Regina in the voice of controlled calm that she was beginning to use in all her conversations with the new earl. “It is merely a small gathering of friends, and I have invited these people solely for your benefit.”

David’s mobile brows flew upward.

“Yes,” continued Regina smoothly. “Because of the, er, unusual aspect of your accession to the title, it behooves us to behave with great circumspection. I’m sure the Merritt family is already the subject of much unpleasant gossip in the neighborhood. If you hide away in your study like a beast in his lair, you will never be accepted.”

“Madam, the opinion of a parcel of gabble-mongers ...”

“If you do not care for yourself, my boy,” continued Regina, still in that tone of sweet reason that made David’s fingers twitch to be around her throat, “think of the family. Cilia has just made her come out. Surely, you will not wish to inhibit her chances of a successful
parti
by a display of boorish behavior on your part.”

David was brought up short. Regina was insufferable, but she was right. He could just imagine the rumors swirling through the drawing rooms of London of a half-breed islander installed as the Earl of Falworth, to say nothing of the sanctity of Almack’s. Not only would Cilia’s marriage prospects be ruined, but so would Kate’s. The thought of her marriage to another man was almost more than he could bear, but he could not jeopardize her happiness.

“All right,” he agreed shortly. “I shall be there.”

He turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Regina to smile after him.

The gathering proved to be not so small after all, for along with the full complement of family members, and Lucius, ten other persons lined the huge dining table. From his vantage point at its head, David looked about him in wonderment. Regina had outdone herself, he thought amusedly. The furniture had been polished until it glowed like old jewelry. Chandelier lustres sparkled in the candlelight, and snowy napery provided a background for gleaming silver.

Regina had removed the formal centerpiece from the table, with its huge candelabra and epergnes, replacing it with a low arrangement of flowers, thus providing a casual atmosphere in which cross-table conversation would be permitted. He glanced down the length of the board, noting that Cilia had been placed next to Lucius, and Kate next to Lawrence. At David’s right was ensconced Lady Bantram, her small eyes greedily absorbing every nuance of his behavior. For a moment, he knew an insane urge to pick up his soup bowl and down its contents in one, noisy gulp. Involuntarily, his glance swung to Kate, and, as though she had been reading his thoughts, her returning gaze held an expression of mischievous admonition.

He turned hastily to Hector Davenport, seated on his left. This gentleman, balding, portly, and russet-faced, was the embodiment of the hearty English squire, and he expounded to David his theories on the proper management of an acceptable pack of hunting hounds.

“Breeding is everything, of course,” he barked genially. “I’ve got sixteen couple of the finest hounds you’ll find in the country. Now, you take my little bitch, Sally. To look at her— eh, what?”

“I said, perhaps his lordship is not interested in hunting at this point in his life, Davenport.”

The words came from a spare gentleman seated halfway down the table. David smiled gratefully. He had known Dr. Craven for some years, and had always appreciated his wry good sense.

“It’s not so much a lack of interest,” he replied good-humoredly. “Rather a lack of time, and the inability to ride at a pace faster than a sedate walk.”

The squire flushed. Like many others of his type, he was uncomfortable with physical deformity. “Ah. Well, then,” he began. “Didn’t mean ...”

“You seem to be getting about all right, though,” interrupted the doctor once more. “Had some surgery, did you?”

“Some surgery!” contributed Lucius. “He spent more time under the knife than a Christmas goose.”

“And the results were very little better, I’m afraid,” David added with a rueful smile.

“Well, at the time, perhaps they felt the removal of necrotic tissue was all they should attempt. I’ve heard some of the chaps over in the Peninsula are recommending exercise as a method of strengthening weakened muscle and tissue. Have you tried any such? The swelling will probably have gone down, so perhaps more surgery is called for.”

David felt a stirring of unexplained anger, and his lips tightened.

“I think not, Doctor. I have no intention of contorting my frame into the ridiculous positions the sawbones in Spain suggested. Nor do I intend to permit any more whittling away at my bones.”

The doctor raised his brows, but replied placidly, “Well, perhaps when you’ve had a little more time to recuperate. I’ll be glad to help in any way I can, of course.”

Ashamed of his churlish behavior, David smiled and nodded.

At the squire’s left, his daughter Lucinda simpered worship-fy. She was an attractive young miss of some eighteen summers, and was obviously bosom bows with Cilia. The two had giggled together at some length in the drawing room before dinner. Now, her glance slid continually in David’s direction. She laughed in almost fevered appreciation at his pleasantries, and fluttered her lashes in abandoned beguilement when he so much as looked in her direction. David could only laugh inwardly, wondering if she would display such eagerness if he were still David Merritt, bastard son of the Earl of Falworth. He shrugged, knowing the answer full well.

From her seat on the other side of the table, Kate watched the antics of Miss Davenport in growing irritation. Good heavens, had the chit no sense of decorum? Just look at her, wriggling her shoulders in that brazen manner. And how could her mother let her out of the house in that tastelessly revealing neckline. If she leaned any farther toward David, her plump little bosom would surely fall into the dish of tenderones of beef before her.

Up to this point in the meal, in an effort to avoid conversation with Lawrence, Kate had confined most of her conversation to Crawford, who sat on her left. Now, however, she resolutely turned away from the charming scene of flirtation and devoted her attention to Crawford’s older brother.

At the foot of the table, Regina watched and smiled. She swung her gaze to observe Lucius in oblivious conversation with Cilia, and the smile broadened.

David, too, watched Kate’s animated chatter with Lawrence, and the sight of that bright head turned so studiously away from his effectively turned his own dinner to ashes.

It seemed hours later when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the music room after brandy and port. The countess confided in her guests that her famous African acidanthera appeared to be on the point of blooming, and the ladies present commented in suitably admiring phrases, begging her ladyship to send word as soon as the blossoms might be viewed. Those present were then treated in turn to Cilia on the harp, Miss Davenport on the pianoforte, and Kate in what David could only consider an insipid duet with Lawrence. Lucinda continued in her determined flirtation with the earl, and Lucinda’s mama watched her progress with complacency. Kate spent most of the rest of the evening in conversation with Aunt Fred, while David’s mood grew more and more bleak. It was only after Lucius had been prevailed upon to join with Cilia in a duet that the guests at long last began to take their departure.