"He's got a loose tongue,
has Milner," Bessie said.
"Ignore Hendricks,"
Cook said, shooting a glare at the servant across the table. "We do."
An uneasy silence settled around
the small group. It was something Susanna wasn't used to. Her three servants always
got along so well. There were never any harsh words exchanged between them,
never charged silences.
"Is there any more
marmalade?" Holt asked, tearing off another hunk of bread.
"Here you go," Cook
said, passing him the jar. "Eat up. It soothes the stomach, you
know."
"Helps with wind too,"
Bessie said. "Just ask Mr. Hendricks."
Everyone burst into laughter, all
except poor Hendricks, who gave Bessie his most withering scowl.
"Lo! Lady Lynden?"
Farmer Cowdrey's loud, gruff voice came from outside.
"In the kitchen,"
Susanna called back. She rose to greet him but it wasn't just Cowdrey's bulk
that filled the doorway. It was his sister's much more slender form too,
holding a basket.
"What a lovely surprise to
see you both," Susanna said. "Margaret, how are you? Fully recovered
I hope?"
Margaret Cowdrey's pretty
features lifted in an unconvincing smile. "Yes, thank you." She
handed over the basket. "Thank you for the marmalades and bread, but I
assure you, it's not necessary. Unfortunately the bread went stale, but you'll
find your marmalades just the same as when you gave them to Walter."
"Oh, you didn't need to give
them back. They were for you. A get-well gift from Father and I."
"Thank you, but as I
explained to Walter when he brought them home, we didn't need anything."
Her brother blushed to the roots of his red-brown hair and studiously stared
down at his boots. "My servants are capable of making preserves and bread,
and you need them more than us."
Susanna took the basket. It was
indeed still filled with the two jars of marmalade she'd sent to her ill
neighbor. Margaret's pettiness grew worse and worse. Susanna felt a twinge of
guilt at her unkind thoughts toward a woman she'd once called friend. They'd
known each other their entire lives and played together as children, yet
Margaret, the older by a year, had become distant as they grew up. When Susanna
was fifteen, Margaret had gone so far as to turn her back as Susanna approached
her after church. She'd offered no explanation then or since. Susanna had
married and moved away a year later but upon her return, she'd discovered
Margaret's feelings had not changed. Susanna eventually gave up trying to find
out what the problem was and the two women successfully avoided each other most
of the time.
It must gall Margaret that her
brother had asked Susanna to marry him. That's if she knew. When Susanna had
asked Walter what Margaret had thought after his first proposal, he'd simply
shrugged and said he hadn't told her yet. She didn't ask him after the second
and third. It no longer seemed to matter.
"What was your illness
again? Your brother didn't quite know."
Walter Cowdrey shuffled his feet.
"A fever," Margaret said. "I'm still a little weak from it, so
do not expect to see me much." Indeed her face did seem paler than usual,
the freckles more vibrant across her nose. She was a handsome woman with alluring
gray eyes and a neat figure, yet she had failed to secure herself a husband.
Perhaps it was because of all the bitterness running through her. The entire
village knew to watch out if Margaret Cowdrey was in one of her tempers.
"Have you eaten yet?"
Susanna asked.
"Aye," said Walter.
"In The Plough just now, thank you, m'lady."
Out of the corner of her eye,
Susanna saw Margaret wince, but she didn't know why. Perhaps it was because she
hated the way her brother blinked his lashes at Susanna or the way he massaged
the brim of his hat with his big hands as if it were Susanna's hand. Actually,
the thought made her wince too. Having any part of her massaged by Walter made
her want to run in the opposite direction.
Now if it were Holt doing the
massaging...
"Please finish your dinner, Lady
Lynden, and don’t mind us," Walter said. "I'll just wait until you're
done." He nodded at Hendricks, Bessie, and Cook, then his gaze fell on
Holt.
Holt rose and Susanna introduced
them. Holt smiled in greeting and Cowdrey almost did. One side of his mouth
twitched and all! Farmer Cowdrey wasn't known for his joviality. Not that he
was sour like his sister, he simply wasn't one of life's happy souls with a
ready smile. Not like Orlando Holt.
A few years older than Margaret, Walter
and his father before him were good neighbors. The Cowdreys had been luckier
than her father and not lost their entire harvest to bad weather several years
in a row. Or perhaps it wasn't luck but better management. Susanna was under no
illusion that her father made a good farmer. A good gentleman perhaps, but he'd
been sent away to live with his aunt in London at an early age and so had not
received the same farm education that his older brother, the heir, had. He
wasn't supposed to have inherited Stoneleigh at all.
"Sit. Eat," Walter
said.
"I'm finished," Susanna
said. She wasn't, but she couldn't eat while guests in her house did not, and
especially with Margaret looking down her snub nose at the servants. "Is
something the matter?"
"No." Walter's hands worked
harder on his hat, crushing it even more. There was dirt under his overlong
fingernails, and the skin around the knuckles looked dry and worn, much like
his face. While not as haggard as Hendricks, Farmer Cowdrey had a comfortable
face, rather like a well-worn pair of gloves. Permanent wrinkles fanned out
from the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth. He didn't need to smile
to make them appear. He looked far older than his thirty years. "I heard
in the village that you'd hired a gardener." His gaze traveled to Holt and
Holt nodded once more. He was still standing. "I told Margaret we had to
come and find out more. Can't have you being taken advantage of, Susanna."
The use of her name caught her
unawares, and the soft way in which he spoke it made her face redden. He almost
always used the more formal Lady Lynden, unlike Margaret, and this new intimacy
worried her. Could he possibly be working up to another proposal?
"I have, on a temporary
basis only," Susanna said. "Mr. Holt is passing through and needed
the work. Since I needed help, we came to a mutual arrangement." She saw
no reason to discuss the particulars with Walter and Margaret. The entire
parish didn't need to know how dire her father's financial situation was,
although everyone had to know by now. Her lack of staff, horses, and land were
a sign even the most dull-witted could see.
Walter took a step closer to her
and lowered his head. Dark red strands of hair flopped over his face. "You
could have asked me, Susanna. I would have spared a man for you at no cost.
Still can."
"Walter!" Margaret said
through a jaw so tight it must ache. "You're very noble, but have you
forgotten how hard everyone is working at this time of year? I'm sure Susanna
understands that we simply cannot spare anyone."
"Thank you anyway,"
Susanna said, giving Walter a sympathetic smile, "but I'm happy with
Holt."
Margaret cleared her throat but
said nothing. She clasped her hands in front of her skirts and tilted her chin,
a rather insidious smile on her lips. There was no doubt in Susanna's mind what
she was implying, but her brother seemed not to understand. He simply shifted
his weight and watched Holt from beneath the curtain of hair. "Milner at
The Plough said he's a stranger to these parts." He spoke quietly, but
everyone in the kitchen would have heard.
Holt had still not sat down.
There was no smile on his lips now, no friendly greeting in his eyes. He stood
like a tightly coiled rope.
"He is," she said. "As
I said, he's passing through."
"Where you from?" Walter
asked Holt.
"Sussex."
"Where in Sussex?"
"A manor called Collier
Dean."
"Never heard of it."
Holt shrugged. "I'd never
heard of Stoneleigh, Sutton Hall, or Cowdrey Farm until I passed through the
village. Doesn't mean they don't exist." He smiled, but it lacked the
brightness Susanna had come to expect.
Walter's mouth worked as if he
were chewing an invisible piece of straw. "You should have come to me,
Susanna," he said, low. "We're neighbors. I don't like strangers here
in our valley. Too many of them lately." He slapped his hat on his head,
nodded at Susanna, and stormed out.
Margaret stared after him, her
mouth agape like a dead fish. Slowly, a blush crept up her throat, over her
cheeks to her hairline. "I, uh... Farewell." She left without a
glance back.
Susanna watched them go,
bewildered and a little annoyed. Like Jeffrey, Walter Cowdrey thought she was
incapable of managing Stoneleigh on her own. It was nice of them to be
concerned but honestly! She wasn't a child anymore and she had a father still
living. She didn't need another parental figure, or another husband for that
matter. How many times would she have to say no to their marriage proposals and
offers of help before it would sink into their thick-headed male skulls?
"Please continue eating,"
she said to Holt and the others.
"Odd man," Cook muttered,
slathering marmalade over her bread. "Always thought that."
"He's not odd," Bessie
said. "He's just not as comfortable around people as most."
"Not as odd as his
sister."
"At least they're locals,"
Hendricks said, saluting his cup at Holt. "We've known the Cowdreys
forever, and they've always come to Stoneleigh's aid when we needed them."
Susanna had always been happy to
accept their offers, but not now. Not since she'd turned down Walter's
proposals. Any dealings she now had with him had become too awkward to endure.
This was simply the latest, and the oddest.
***
Susanna lay in bed and stared up at
the tester, her mind awhirl. Usually she fell asleep as soon as her head hit
the pillow, but not tonight. Tonight she couldn't stop marveling at how much
work Orlando Holt had achieved in such a short time. The trees were pruned and
the stakes in place for the canvas covering. He was a good worker, he never
complained, and he rarely stopped, despite her insistence that he ought to. Indeed,
the man always seemed to be smiling or jesting or flirting. She found herself
liking him despite her instincts screaming at her to be wary, to not trust him.
She sighed and rolled over, pulling
the blanket up to her chin, but still she couldn't sleep. Her stomach rumbled,
a sure sign sleep wasn't going to claim her. She got out of bed and put on a
warm housecoat and soft slippers then grabbed the candle and used the embers in
the fireplace to light it.
She crept quietly out to the
landing, not wanting to wake her father, and down the stairs. Halfway down, she
stopped. Listened. All was silent. Yet she was sure she'd heard something. The
click of a door opening or closing perhaps.
"Father?" she whispered
loudly. "Is that you?"
Nothing. She went back up to the
first floor and opened her father's study door. "Father?" Nothing,
and the door to his bedchamber beyond was closed. She checked the other
unoccupied chambers, but they too were empty, silent.
With a shrug, she returned to the
stairs and went down to the kitchen. It was still warm thanks to the glowing
logs in the fireplace and she stood at the big hearth for a moment until the
chill had left her bones. Another growl of her stomach forced her to investigate
the pantry. She found bread and cheese and set them on the table. She was about
to sit when Holt wandered in, yawning.
He smothered it when he saw her.
"I didn't know you were in here, m'lady. My apologies for disturbing your
late night supper."
"No need to apologize, Mr.
Holt. I assume you couldn't sleep either, and your stomach led you here."
He slid onto the bench seat at
the table and chuckled. The flame on her candle wobbled before straightening
again. It wasn't until that moment that she realized he didn't have a light of
his own. How had he seen his way in the dark?
"You have my measure, m'lady.
I often wake with hunger in the middle of the night and can't sleep until I
eat. You may soon regret your offer of board
and
food."
She slid the bread across to him.
"A body as big as yours must take some fueling."
He looked down at himself. He was
dressed in breeches and a shirt but not shoes. His feet must be freezing on the
cold flagstone floor. "I am not
that
big."
"You certainly are, Mr.
Holt. Not fat, mind, just tall and strongly built."
"Made for gardening,"
he said and laughed.
"You achieved a lot today.
Thank you," she added and meant it. She may not like the man, but he'd
worked hard for little reward and deserved some thanks.
He lifted one shoulder. "I
did no more than any other gardener would."
She shook her head. "I've
had gardeners before and they weren't nearly as hard-working as you."
He balanced a slice of cheese on
the top of his bread and regarded her. "So you don't regret refusing Lord
Lynden's and Farmer Cowdrey's offers?"
"Not in the least. Their
offers are not unconditional," she said without thinking. Perhaps she
should be more careful—Holt was a stranger after all, and her business was none
of his.
He was also just a gardener and
she the mistress of the house. The likes of Jeffrey would be shocked to learn
she and Holt shared a meal in the kitchen late at night.