Reforming Lord Neil: A Regency Romance (Inglewood Book 5)

by Sally Britton

  Muse followed him all the way to the kitchen door, then sat politely. Such an intelligent creature. He gave her a smile and determined to bring her out a portion of his dinner when he had finished.

  He entered the kitchen with a ready smile for Caroline, but he immediately saw the girl sitting with slumped shoulders at the table. Her grandmother and mother were not in the room, despite the hour.

  “Is something wrong?” Neil looked to the stove, but nothing but a stew pot and kettle were upon it.

  Caroline sat up, and when he met her gaze, he could see the worry in her eyes. Her lower lip protruded slightly. “Mama is ill. Grandmama is looking in on her with tea and broth.”

  Neil’s stomach twisted. “How ill is she?”

  A creak on the stairs alerted him to Mrs. Godwin’s return, and she had apparently heard his inquiry. The first thing she said upon entering the kitchen, looking directly at him, was: “Teresa is quite poorly, Mr. Duncan. We are not certain yet what the illness is, only that it came on suddenly. She has caught a chill only, perhaps, though it is somewhat unusual a time of year for it. She has a fever, headache, and cough.”

  “What can I do?” Neil closed his hands into fists, though he was helpless to fight an illness. His mind running through tasks he might attempt. “There is no apothecary in Dunwich, though I know there is one in Westfold. I could start on my way there now. On horseback, I could return soon.”

  He stopped talking when Mrs. Godwin, who had appeared rather tired at first, started to laugh.

  “You are a darling, Mr. Duncan, but that is not necessary. We know precisely the powders and potions an apothecary would advise us to use. We already have everything we need, thanks to Teresa’s herbal garden.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Oh. That is…very good news.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, clearing the way for Mrs. Godwin to step around him to the stove. “Mrs. Godwin, are you sure there is not anything I might do?”

  “You already do so much for us, Mr. Duncan.” The woman looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes flashing in a manner similar to her daughter’s. Mrs. Godwin apparently found his concern amusing.

  Neil went to the table and took his usual chair across from Caroline. The girl sighed.

  “I suppose you will milk the cow tonight, Miss Caroline?” he said, bending his head in an effort to catch her eye.

  She lifted one shoulder. “Yes.”

  “Good. Muse and Cider will be happy to see you.”

  Her gaze came up, one corner of her mouth lifting. “I do enjoy playing with them.”

  Mrs. Godwin brought two bowls of stew to the table. “Our meal is simple tonight, as I have been looking after Teresa the last few hours. I hope you do not mind, Mr. Duncan.”

  “I eat like a king at this table every night, Mrs. Godwin. The food is always delicious and filling. What more does a man need?” Even as the words left his lips, it startled him how much he meant them.

  What more did he need? Countless courses had passed before him throughout the years of his life. He had eaten at tables filled with the richest dishes. Stuffed swan, gold-leafed and sugared fruits, puddings, cakes, pastries as light as a feather, with all manner of spices to delight the palate.

  But with spoon in hand and the stew before him, consisting of more vegetables than meat and only salt, garlic, and onion to enhance the flavors, he found himself content. The one thing he had missed was tea. Real, dark, soothing tea. The coffee was almost an acceptable replacement, but the ladies drank it on rare occasions.

  Mrs. Godwin sat and began asking questions about the roof repair, pulling Neil from his thoughts. They spoke for some time, then he escorted Caroline to the barn to milk Abigail. The little girl’s spirits brightened when she successfully sent an arc of milk into her kitten’s open mouth. Muse did not understand how to take part in the trick and ended up with milk dripping from one ear.

  Neil carried the pail for Caroline, while she carried the lantern, back into the house. When he left, he looked up at the windows. He knew Teresa’s room by the worn-out corner of the roof directly above it. There was no light inside. It seemed she had already gone to sleep.

  Though Neil had not uttered a prayer since childhood, and seldom turned his thoughts heavenward, he thought a plea that night. A plea that nothing would be seriously wrong with Teresa, and her health would return as strong as ever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Teresa woke late, her head pounding less than it had the previous evening. She groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling her quilt up to her chin. The sun already streamed through the window on one side of the house.

  A knock on the door reminded her what had woken her. She tried to call out, but had to clear her throat and make a second attempt. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Caroline came in, her curls in disarray and a brush in hand. “Good morning, Mama. Are you feeling better? Grandmama sent me upstairs to fetch my school things. She told me to check and see if you were ready for breakfast.” The words flew from her daughter with speed.

  Teresa smiled and pushed herself up in her bed. “I am a touch better. Here, let me brush your hair. Then you can bring me breakfast.”

  Caroline did not argue. Though she was certainly old enough to brush her own hair, and she usually did, Teresa still enjoyed giving her daughter the attention. It gave them time to sit quietly and talk, without worrying over lessons or chores.

  “Did you milk Abigail last night?” Teresa asked as her daughter perched on the edge of the bed, back to her mother.

  “I did. And I played with Cider and Muse. Mr. Duncan laughed when I showed him how to squeeze milk into a cat’s mouth. He laughed even more when Muse didn’t know the trick.”

  The mention of their gentleman-hireling made Teresa smile more than the story did. “I imagine Mr. Duncan did not know the trick either.”

  “He said he had never seen it before.” Caroline fidgeted. Something in the way Caroline spoke made Teresa curious. The girl sounded as though she attempted to speak well of Mr. Duncan for a purpose. “I hadn’t either, before we came here. Mr. Duncan said that I know a lot more about living on a farm than he does. I think he is learning rather quickly.”

  She pulled the brush gently through Caroline’s black locks, so like her own. “I agree. He has accomplished more in this last month than I thought he would. He did not seem like a man used to physical labor when we met.”

  The girl’s nod was slight, then she shifted just enough to look over her shoulder at Teresa. “He was anxious about your illness. Last night, he even offered to ride to the apothecary in Westfold.” The girl’s eyes were comically wide, her words spoken with an air of innocence. Yes, she was certainly trying to hint at something.

  As her mother, Teresa refused to rise to the bait. She kept her own tone disinterested. “Did he? How kind of him.”

  “Mr. Duncan asked if I would tell him when you woke, so he can begin the roof repair. He said the hammering would wake you up. Should I go tell him that he can start working? After I tell Grandmama, of course.” She faced forward, shoulders squared. “He is looking for weeds in the garden today, since you cannot.”

  “You may tell him I am awake.”

  Though she would not allow her pleasure to show to her fanciful daughter, her gratitude for Mr. Duncan grew at his thoughtfulness. She finished brushing Caroline’s hair, tying it back from her daughter’s face with a ribbon.

  “Thank you, Mama.” Caroline kissed Teresa on the cheek. “Would you like me to come read to you?”

  “After you have done your chores and helped your grandmother.” Teresa leaned back against her pillows, surprised that she already felt tired again. Perhaps she had not recovered as much as she had thought upon waking.

  Caroline disappeared out the door as quickly as she had entered.

  Mother appeared moments later with a tray made weighty by tea, ginger biscuits, and a bowl of hot cereal. She put everything on the small table near Teresa’s bed.
“How are you, dearest?”

  “I think better.” Teresa leaned forward when her mother put out her hand. Her mother’s frown was not at all reassuring.

  “Your fever seems to be gone, but your voice would indicate you still have a sore throat. The tea will help, and there is honey in your porridge.” Her mother sat on the end of the bed, hands folded in her lap. “You know, Mr. Duncan was most concerned for you last evening.”

  “Yes, so Caroline said.” Teresa attempted to keep her voice light, but apparently that trick worked no better on her mother than it did when Caroline tried it on Teresa.

  “He asked again at breakfast if he might do anything to help. I suggested he take on some of your usual tasks.” Mother’s eyebrows raised. “He is such a good sort. I often wonder about his history; if his family has truly cut him off, what will become of him?”

  “I do not suppose it’s our business.” Teresa found a thread loose at the edge of the quilt. She tugged it gently and told herself to mend it as soon as she felt better.

  Mother stood and smoothed the blanket. Her tone became far too innocent. “That might be true. But if he has nowhere else to go, perhaps he could stay here.”

  Teresa groaned and slid down onto her pillow, pulling her quilt up over her head. “Whether he stays or goes, I do not care.” She had absolutely no intention of discussing Mr. Duncan’s future with her mother.

  At that, her mother laughed. “Oh, I very much doubt that, daughter. Now, eat your breakfast before it turns cold. I will come and look in on you in a little while.”

  When her mother left, Teresa took the blanket off her head. Her mother did not fool Teresa at all. She wanted to determine if Teresa had any intention of trying to keep Mr. Duncan with them. Well, the answer was a resounding “no.” For one thing, the man could hardly spend the rest of his life in their barn. And Teresa absolutely would not imagine any circumstance which might allow him to live inside her house. How could she?

  The very idea was preposterous, really. She had told him no flirting, and she meant it. No kisses beneath trees, or in the dark of night. No affections or tokens traded. It made no sense for her to open her heart to him when he had plans to leave.

  No matter how easy it would be for her to care for him.

  Teresa drank her tea, hoping it would soothe her throat enough to make the porridge easier to eat. She was nearly finished with her breakfast when a loud thump against the wall of her room made her jump.

  She stared at the window, then rose and went to look out. A ladder was propped against the house. Mr. Duncan climbed it.

  Teresa hastily stepped away from the window and took up her shawl, wrapping it about her shoulders. Then she went back, just as he prepared to pass her on his way to the top of the house.

  He paused, right there, looking straight through the glass at her. His hat was on at its usual jaunty angle, his coat was nowhere in sight, and his shirtsleeves were pushed up and secured above his elbows.

  She swallowed, then winced. Mr. Duncan’s expression changed from one of surprise to concern.

  “Are you feeling any better?” he asked through the glass.

  Shouting through even the thin pane would prove too much for her. Teresa unlatched the window and swung it open, allowing the room to immediately fill with fresh air. Her face, when she leaned out, was less than a foot away from his.

  “I am somewhat improved, sir. Thank you for asking.” She looked down, and when she did not see her daughter or mother upon the ground, decided she might continue the conversation. “And thank you for all your assistance. My mother and Caroline told me that you have been most attentive.”

  His smile returned, broader than before. “I wish there was more I might do. I intend to have your roof patched up in short order, then I am to go to Dunwich. Might I fetch anything back for you?” The incongruity of his fine mannerisms and rough style of dress still amused her, and all the more when he made such a dashing figure on a ladder offering her assistance.

  “I cannot think of anything I might require. Thank you.” She looked upward, at the protruding corner of the roof. “Are you quite safe? Do you need someone out there with you to hold the ladder, or anything at all?”

  Mr. Duncan shook his head, still looking at her. “The ladder has a hook at the top, to keep it in place in the thatch. I had wondered about it when I saw this ladder in the barn. It is made especially for your house and outbuildings. It is sturdy enough, and I will be careful.”

  “Good. It would distress me if you came to any harm.” She had meant to say those words lightly, but they came out far too serious, too honest and earnest. Teresa felt her cheeks warm when his eyes darkened.

  When he spoke, it was also without levity. “I feel much the same about you, Mrs. Clapham. Please, tuck yourself back up in bed and try to rest.” His smile returned. “As much as you can with me at work.”

  Hesitantly, she reached out to grasp the latch and pulled the window closed again. Only after it was shut did he continue on his way upward. Teresa went back to bed, as ordered, her shawl pulled tightly around her.

  What if Mr. Duncan never left? The question her mother had put to her, that she had avoided until that moment, seized her imagination fully, and her lips tingled when her daydreams led her back to his kiss.

  Teresa had come to the cottage with no other options. She had to support her mother and daughter and needed to get far away from the poisonous fumes of her brother-in-law’s home. But nothing would keep someone like Mr. Duncan on a tiny farm. There was no fortune to be made, no opportunities to turn the dirt into gold. Even she had not found full contentment in her new station, though she had happiness with her family.

  There was a noise above her head. The clatter of wood. Before long, the pounding of a hammer. She released a sigh and snuggled deeper into her blankets. Her bed creaked again. It was time to tighten the ropes with a bed wrench. She could put it off no longer.

  Despite the noise of Mr. Duncan’s repair, she drifted back to sleep and into troubled dreams.

  After some trial and error with the thatch, Neil took himself to Dunwich. He rode the horse, and went straight to the Lost Mermaid to inquire after the post.

  “Aye, sir. You have two letters.” Mr. Jones went to his sorting boxes. “And one for Mrs. Clapham, if you would be so kind as to take it to her.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” Neil accepted the folded papers and went outside, tearing the seal off one addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting, though he had seen it only once before. It was from Lady Inglewood, which somewhat surprised him. True, he had written to her, but he had not held much hope for an answer, let alone one that had to have been penned and sent the same day she received his letter.

  To Mister Neil Duncan,

  How strange to address you thus. I have heard of your father’s actions. He wasted no time in spreading the news throughout all our acquaintances. The whole county must know of your dismissal. One does wonder why. My husband believes the marquess intends to make a bid for a more important role within their political party. All that is supposition, however.

  I gave your letter to Lord Inglewood, and he has promised to forward your inquiries to his solicitor. They will look into Mrs. Clapham’s circumstances. I will write as soon as we have news.

  Nothing else in her letter was of interest. There were only a few lines asking him about his circumstances. He had to smile over that. Lady Inglewood had a kind and forgiving nature. Much unlike her husband. Flirt with the man’s wife and he never forgave you, it would seem.

  Neil smirked and leaned back against the sun-warmed wall of the public house. A year ago, he had sought out a woman he had thought as lonely as he. The fact that he could humble the self-righteous and morally strict Lord Inglewood with that flirtation had made the idea even sweeter. But Lady Inglewood was loyal to her husband. Loved him, even. Which meant Neil envied Silas Riley, Lord Inglewood, all the more.

  It had been foolish, of course, to attempt suc
h a flirtation and affair. But Neil had never claimed any sort of wisdom beyond what was necessary to survive in the British peerage.

  He opened the other letter, from his sister.

  The first portion of her letter detailed her plans for the coming fall. Nothing of note. The latter assured him that the marquess had not relented, though their mother had started a domestic war with his lordship. She had dismissed his favorite servants, sold a prized hunter without his knowledge, invited several guests to their home whom he detested, and served nothing but the foods to which he had a personal aversion.

  Neil smirked. They might seem like little things, but some wars were won with subtle tactics rather than sweeping battles.

  Then he read the last lines of his sister’s letter.

  “Mother has told me our secret. I hope you have not let it bother you, Neil. No one need know outside the three of us. At least you and I are fully brother and sister. But this explains why we have far better taste than our elder brothers.”

  His smiled faded, as did his mood. He tucked the letters, along with the unopened letter for Teresa, into his coat pocket. Then he strode down the road to the dry good store that sold most things a person needed in a pinch.

  He bought chalk for Caroline. He had noticed her supply running low. Honey for Mrs. Godwin. Coffee measured out into a tin, for all of them. He stared at the other wares. There were pencils, bottled fruits, but nothing that seemed necessary. The store clerk let Neil look, with complete patience.

  “Have you anything a lady might like,” Neil asked at last, hardly believing himself. “Something pretty to look at, or use.”

  The clerk, a Mr. Lane, considered the question. “There are some ribbons, just here.” He walked down his side of the counter and pulled a box of ribbons from beneath. They were brightly colored, on spools. He chose two lengths of the silvery-blue ribbon that reminded him of the shawl Teresa wore most often.

  Purchases in hand, wrapped up in brown paper and string, Neil returned to the farm. He took the coffee and honey to Mrs. Godwin immediately. She showered him with praise. He left the chalk on the table next to Caroline, who smiled up at him before returning to her sums. He gave her the letter to deliver to her mother, too. But the ribbon stayed in his pocket.