Hadrian (18 page)

“If you start attracting all the fillies, you can blame me.”

“Let’s eat outside,” Hadrian suggested, wondering where Fen found the energy for his humor. “There’s a breeze and the night should be clear.”

“Your flowing tresses will dry more quickly.”

Fen’s dark hair was nearly as long.

“I could use a trim, but when I was at university, I let it grow past my shoulders.”

“A Viking vicar?” Fen disappeared into the pantry and emerged bearing their trays. “I’ll bet the bishops had something to say about that.”

“I cut it before I was ordained,” Hadrian said, fingering his hair. Avie had loved playing with his longer hair.

“Like a sheep, shorn before being turned out to fatten in high pasture.” Fen handed him a tray. “Stop complaining and start eating.”

They sat on Fen’s porch and demolished substantial trays as the sun faded to pink, then orange, then blue and indigo.

“You asleep?” Fenwick asked when they’d been sitting in silence for some time.

“Almost. Lest I stiffen up and be mistaken for a handsome corpse, I’ll take a short constitutional.”

“Bang the door on your way in, else I’ll fret you’ve been set upon by highwaymen.” Fenwick gave Hadrian’s arm a gentle avuncular pat, stacked their trays, and disappeared into the house.

Fenwick’s company was by turns gruff, merry, insightful, taciturn, protective, and irreverent, but he was ferociously competent at his job, and a good friend. Hadrian had learned much from him and hoped Fen derived some benefit from their association as well.

It had been a year for friendships, Hadrian reflected as he made his way to the back gardens. Harold had become more of a friend and less of an older brother, Devlin St. Just had become a friend, and Hadrian had renewed his friendship with Avis.

St. Just had threatened by letter to come for a visit, and Emmie would want her husband kept busy before the baby came. The thought was purely sweet, and a bit surprising, given that Hadrian had at one time envisioned himself as the father of Emmie Farnum St. Just’s babies.

He chose a bench bordered by blooming honeysuckle from which to watch the rising moon, though he’d no sooner taken his seat than a shadow detached itself from the house. A woman, based on the white shawl visible in the gloom, and not in any hurry.

He hoped it was Avis, but the gait was off as she came down the path, and she wasn’t tall enough.

“Good evening, Miss Prentiss.” Though if Hadrian had foiled a tryst between Miss Prentiss and, say, Ashton Fenwick, she might not regard it as a good evening after all.

“Mr. Bothwell!” The lady’s hand went to her throat. “You startled me, sir.”

“My apologies.” Hadrian ambled toward her. “It’s a pretty night, though, isn’t it?”

She took a step back, as if Hadrian might intend something other than an exchange of pleasantries.

Which, in a sense, he did.

“The evening is pleasant enough,” she said. “You’re taking the air?”

“As are you.” He offered his arm, curious to see what reasons Miss Prentiss might give for her nocturnal constitutional. “The moon will be up soon. Shall we keep each other company?”

Her hand on his arm communicated caution, but she fell in step beside him, suggesting the oh-so-proper Lily Prentiss could wander off the path of propriety in the company of a chance-met former vicar.

“I suppose haying makes a lot of work for the house staff?”

“Oh, my goodness, yes,” Lily replied, apparently relieved to have a safe topic. “The kitchens are going round the clock, and Cook gets quite short-tempered if I don’t have the menus to her almost before the ink is dry. Then too, the laundresses have extra duty. Haying is untidy business, and the laundresses require careful direction lest they get to squabbling over their beer.

“The footmen and maids are stepping and fetching for the kitchens the whole day and half the night, and that must be kept organized,” Lily went on, as if this household bustle were the very lifeblood of the realm, “and the stables are busy, for every plough horse and mule on the property must be pressed into use. But you know all of this.”

“I do not,” Hadrian assured her. “As a child, haying meant riding around in the wagons, or on the backs of the plough horses, sneaking lemonade or cider or ale, and so on. I didn’t pay attention to the work involved.”

“Children have that luxury. We adults must see to our appointed tasks and hope the yield is adequate.”

“We’re lucky so far this year. The crop is good, and hasn’t been rained on,” Hadrian replied, but something in Lily’s recitation struck him as off. She was the lady’s companion, and none of the tasks she’d listed fell into her ambit. The work she’d described was for Avis to direct and the staff to carry out. From what Hadrian had observed, Avis saw to the lot cheerfully and competently.

But, then, Avis would likely delegate to any willing underling, and Lily was that.

“Do you enjoy the midsummer celebration to follow the haying?” he asked.

“I most assuredly do not. Not after Vicar Chadwick has blessed the crop, at least.”

Hadrian had blessed the crops, the hounds, the occasional tartan, and more than a few ailing beasts. “A prudent man then, who knows how to blend the old ways with the new. I’m rather looking forward to a little relaxation.”

She was silent, her disapproval as tangible as the scent of honeysuckle on the evening air.

“Miss Prentiss, you don’t truly begrudge the local folk their gatherings, do you?”

“Of course not, but these gatherings you refer to include not only the help, but their betters as well.”

“You refer to your employer, Lady Avis?”

“I do, and I consider her not my employer, for her brother is that, but my charge, and it is trying in the extreme to stand by while she struggles with these social occasions.”

Hadrian borrowed a tactic from his church days and held his peace. Silence could encourage confidences more than sermons or small talk would, and pointing out to Lily that Avis was less than ten years her junior—and by no means her
charge
—was not Hadrian’s place.

“She means well,” Lily went on, her tone earnest, “and for a while I thought she was getting better, but lately, Lady Avis has forgotten her place.”

Wonderfully so
. “In what regard?”

“She doesn’t understand how she’ll be perceived,” Lily expostulated. “She smiles at all the young fellows, and this is seen as flirting. She danced with Mr. Fenwick, who is not a gentleman, not by any lights. She serves ale in public and lets old Sully share her mug and sits on the same blanket with Young Deal, and it’s all very improper, but she forgets her upbringing when the men are around.”

Lily was fairly charging down the path, so impassioned was she. “I know she misses her brothers, Mr. Bothwell, but others aren’t so charitable. The neighbors have long memories and will not forget the unfortunate missteps of her youth. I hope you will be charitable toward her, sir. You are her neighbor, too.”

“I am,” Hadrian said mildly, though Miss Prentiss’s hope had the quality of a scold. “I am also her friend.”

“As I am,” Lily said, her pace moderating. “As her friend, I have to tell you that little picnics by the pond will not aid her reputation one bit.”

Lily Prentiss enjoyed absolute certainty about her conclusions “She told you about that?”

“We have no secrets. She trusts me implicitly, as she should.”

“Then you know that was a simple meal in the fresh air and my effort to see that Lady Avis has some enjoyment in her day, nothing more.”

“Of course it wasn’t meant to be anything more, and you can trust my discretion, Mr. Bothwell. I know a man of the church would be inclined to kindness and generosity with his company, but you must have a care for the lady’s well-being.”

“The very point of the outing,” Hadrian murmured. Was this how his more admonitory sermons had come off, as so much bleating and condescension?

Lily patted his arm. “You mean well, but the subtleties often elude you fellows. I’m glad we’ve cleared the air, though, and I thank you for your escort. I would have missed the moonrise had you not been willing to share the night air with me.”

“May I leave you with a question, Miss Prentiss?” He dropped her arm and regarded the pale sphere ascending into the night sky.

“Of course.”

“How is it a picnic in the broad light of day between people who’ve known each other their entire lives is somehow the very essence of inchoate scandal, but strolling alone in the moonlight with a man you hardly know is not?”

He bowed and took his leave, lest his question give her grist for another half-hour of lecturing and instructing. Miss Prentiss took her position seriously, which was a fine quality, except she did not, apparently, have a firm grasp of what that position was.

Her charge, indeed.

Hadrian understood protectiveness, though, and thus, when he returned to Fenwick’s little house, he banged the back door loudly before he sought his bed.

Haying, by its nature, best happened when the sun was at its strongest, the days longest, unlike shearing or the grain, vegetable, or fruit harvests. For that reason, Avis had always found a grueling aspect to haying, a brutish, dragging interminability and a burning exhaustion.

And an urgency, for a passing shower could ruin an entire winter’s fodder. If the rain hit before the scything, then the crop grew coarse and overripe and lost much of its nutritional value. If the rain hit when the fodder was scythed and drying on the ground, then the entire field had to be raked over, or tedded, to spend more days drying. If the rain came as the crop was brought in, then the risk of fire from moldy hay in the barn increased dramatically.

Make hay while the sun shines
.

Avis arched her back against an ache that had deepened as the week progressed. Arching one’s back was not ladylike. Thank heavens Lily hadn’t set foot out of the house since mid-day, or Avis might have had some unladylike words to go with her sore back.

She hefted one of the few remaining full small kegs stacked at the back of a donkey cart, but had to set the barrel back down on the ground, for the effort nearly overbalanced her.

“Give me that.” Hadrian Bothwell snatched up the keg as if it were so much laundry and set it on the cart. “I cannot believe you were left to pack up the ale on your own. Where is Young Deal when there’s manual labor to be done?”

“He took the last load to the tithe barn,” Avis said, for finally, finally, the haying was over for another year.

Hadrian had worn a straw hat when working in the fields, its distinctive floppy shape making him easier for Avis to keep track of. His hat was off now, and his complexion had a ruddy quality suggesting he’d taken some sun.

“Thank you,” Avis said, as Hadrian tossed another keg into the cart. She perched her backside on the tailgate of the cart, took out her much abused handkerchief and patted her temples and throat.

“You look pale, my lady. Fenwick and I will finish loading this wagon while you sit.”

“Best heed him, Lady Avie,” Fenwick advised, striding up the hedgerow. “Man has a stubborn streak.”

One of Hadrian’s many fine qualities, else he would have faded with the heat of the day, as Lily had.

As Avis should have. She was sticky, hot, dirty, and probably sporting more than a few bits of hay on her person. That Hadrian should see her thus—

“What are you thinking?” Hadrian asked, as he passed Fenwick another keg.

She was thinking she’d liked the look of him, wielding his rake, cantering from one field to the next, sleeves turned back, collar open, not so much the proper gentleman.

“I’m glad this is over for another year and glad the crop is in.”

He passed her a flask, which turned out to contain sweet, tepid tea.

“Fen, can you drive the cart in? I’ll walk her ladyship up to the house.”

Fen climbed onto the cart and unwrapped the reins. “I get the donkey. You get the lovely filly.”

Hadrian pulled Avis to her feet, which was fortunate, or she would have taken her first ride in the back of a donkey cart—she was that tired.

“You will accept my escort, madam, and we will embark on a stately turn toward the house.”

“Slow it shall be. Gran Carruthers could beat me in a foot-race about now.”

“She had the sense to quit after nooning. Where is your companion?”

Right where she should be—anywhere else. “Lily’s fair coloring doesn’t tolerate the heat well.” Lily had convenient, if hidden, reserves of intolerance for all manner of trials.

“So she should wear a hat rather than leave you to suffer by yourself.”

“I had help.”

“Which you shooed away at every opportunity.”

“Don’t fuss at me, Hadrian.” They were making slow progress, in part because Hadrian led her around the edge of the garden, keeping to the shaded paths. “It’s late enough you don’t have to keep me from the sun.”

“I’m keeping you from the house,” Hadrian said, turning her up the hill.

“You expect me to climb the hill to view the sunset with you? I’ll fall asleep before we reach the top.”

“We’re going only as far as the pond, and I’ll carry you if I have to.”

She was too tired to argue with him, though the idea of him carrying her was appealing. “You probably could too. I saw you without your shirt, Hadrian Bothwell.”

“Then you saw Fen and every man under fifty in the same state. How did I measure up?”

Avis had stared until Gran Carruthers had caught her at it. Gran, oddly enough, hadn’t made a single teasing remark, but had muttered something wistful about youth being wasted on the young.

“You’re beautiful. So is Fen, of course. Young Deal cuts quite a figure for a man of his mature years.”

“Oh, of course.”

“And the two of you together make a nice contrast.” Fen, for example, was probably at the stables by now, while Hadrian had taken Avis’s hand to help her up the hill. “Are you as relieved as I am to get the haying over with?”

“I am. I never realized what a chancy business it is, deciding when to cut, whether and when to sheave, whether to send the first or the last wagons to the tithe barn. When I wore a collar, I watched it all progress and saw the relief on the small holders’ faces when it was done, and the strain when it had gone badly.”