‘Shall I pour?’ Jane asked, reaching for the teapot. ‘I fear I don’t remember much about your mother, Harry, but my parents always said she used to give such lovely parties here. She was obviously a lady of fine taste.’
‘Indeed she was,’ Harry answered. ‘Hilltop hasn’t been the same since we lost her.’
Jane passed around the cups. ‘They did say Hilltop was once quite the social centre of the neighbourhood! My mother said artists, politicians and leaders of fashion of all sorts came here. It must have been extraordinary.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘Everyone loved my mother. My father could not do without her.’
‘Such a sad and romantic tale,’ Jane said. ‘But Hilltop still has such potential. It could be that way again!’
‘I fear I don’t have such a social disposition, my dear Jane,’ Harry said. He laughed, but Rose could sense something lurking just beneath, a tension, a discomfort. She wanted to soothe it, to tell him his home would be again as it was with his mother, but she didn’t know how. Except for that wealthy heiress. She couldn’t be that. Only the beautiful Helen Fallon could.
‘Oh, Harry, no one expects the man to make a house a real home,’ Jane said. ‘That is the wife’s job. I am sure your mother would agree.’ She nodded towards the smiling, beautiful woman in the portrait.
‘I am sure she would,’ Harry said. ‘But you must talk to Charlie about such matters, he is far more handsome and cosmopolitan than me. No fine lady would look twice at a battle-scarred old man like myself. Would you care for a sandwich?’
He passed around the plates of delicacies and the talk turned to lighter matters, Jane’s plans for a Christmas ball, the cold weather. The hour passed most pleasantly and, as the fire died down, Harry knelt down to build it up again.
‘Oh, Harry, surely that is not your job,’ Jane said with a laugh.
Harry tossed her a grin over his shoulder as he bent over the hearth stones, a wonderful, lighthearted smile Rose wanted to see again. ‘I did learn one or two things in the army. I can’t let my skills go rusty now.’
Rose sat back and watched as he rebuilt the fire in the grate and he soon had it roaring high enough to warm three rooms. The long, lean muscles of his back and broad shoulders shifted and flexed against his fine tweed coat and she remembered how those shoulders felt under her touch as they danced. The heat and strength of him, the way he made her feel so safe.
And she was not the only one he kept safe. He spent his life doing just that, looking after others, in the army and now at his family home. She knew he would never turn away from that duty.
She remembered his story of the young farmer he knew in the army, the one who had died and left his family behind, and Harry’s longing for home, his need to do the right thing by his people. She knew those things would never change about him.
‘Would you like to see more of the house?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes!’ Jane answered eagerly. ‘I remember it in your mother’s time, it was so lovely.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have my mother’s fine taste,’ Harry said. ‘But maybe you and Miss Parker could offer some female advice?’
Jane laughed, and took her husband’s arm. ‘Lead on, Harry!’
He took them through a series of rooms, most of them sparsely furnished or with canvas covers over chairs and tables, but it was still an intriguing house indeed, with old linenfold panelling on the walls, doors that led on to mysterious passages, vaulted ceilings with fading paintings of knights and ladies.
Jane and Hayden drifted away into another room, their voices echoing back to them, but Rose was enchanted by the paintings high above her head.
‘How lovely they are,’ she murmured.
‘My mother commissioned an artist to make them when she first moved here,’ he said. ‘They are rather faded now, but I think they suit the house. The fair maidens and the castles...’
‘It’s so enchanting,’ she said, spinning towards him. ‘Just like—like you, Harry.’
He took her hand and spun her in a dancing circle. ‘It suits you, Rose.’ Something in his hoarse voice caught her, held her, and she looked up at him in a haze.
He turned his face to kiss the inside of her wrist, the pulse that beat there so frantically at the nearness of him. His breath was so warm and vital and delicious on her bare skin, a fantasy she could hardly have dared dream could come true. If only she could do the same for him, could make him feel safe. Help him.
But she was poor and he had to protect his home now. She couldn’t do all she wanted for him.
‘I—we should find Jane,’ she said and broke away from him to hurry away. She felt so foolish, running away like that, but she didn’t know what else to do. She needed to be near other people, to find shelter in the decorum of a group.
But she found there wouldn’t be much ‘decorum’, for Jane and Hayden were kissing in the pale sunlight that drifted from the windows of the drawing room. They broke apart guiltily, and Rose had to laugh at the blush on her cousin’s cheeks, as if they were naughty newlyweds.
Harry came up behind her and he laughed, too, putting her at ease once more. She would have to forsake his company soon enough. Surely she could enjoy that one afternoon with him?
‘It looks like the sun is out now,’ Harry said. ‘We should take advantage of it. I was just going to ask Miss Parker if she would like to ride out with me to meet some of my tenants.’
‘To visit your tenants? Really?’ Rose said in surprise, feeling suddenly shy after what had happened upstairs. What might they think of her?
‘I can hardly leave you to wander alone on my estate, especially you, Jane,’ he said. ‘I remember what a troublemaker you were in our youth.’
‘Me?’ Jane cried. ‘Such calumny. It was always Emma and Charlie climbing trees and scaring the grouse. Hayden, you should call him out!’
Hayden laughed. ‘I can’t duel with a man for telling the truth, my love.’
Jane sighed. ‘I suppose not. And we are fortunate to have such lovely, quiet neighbours. Very well, Harry, you may live.’
Harry laughed. ‘Thank you, Jane.’
‘I wouldn’t mind calling on some tenants of my own,’ Jane said. ‘Rose, why don’t you go with Harry and we shall meet back at Barton?’
‘Are you sure?’ Rose asked in surprise. Alone, with Harry? It sounded quite thrilling.
‘Of course. Someone must add a kind, tender touch for Harry’s poor tenants. He must scare them to pieces with his military ways,’ Jane said.
‘I will take care of her,’ Harry said. And she was quite sure he would.
* * *
‘Jane, my darling,’ Hayden said. ‘What are you thinking now?’
Jane gave him an innocent smile and he quirked a dark brow. She feared she could seldom fool him after all the years of their marriage, all they had been through. ‘I am merely thinking we really should call on the Porters while we are so near, since Mrs P. has the new baby. And Harry is quite likely to frighten someone, he does glower so since he came home.’ But then again, she thought, he had not really glowered much in the last couple of days and not at all on this day.
‘But that is not all you are thinking. I know you were thinking of matchmaking for poor Harry before this party began.’
‘Perhaps I was,’ Jane admitted. ‘I just can’t help it, darling. I do want all our friends to be as happy as we are.’
‘And your kind heart is why I love you so much. You never give up on anyone, even on me. Harry St George is a good man and has certainly been through a great deal, war and wounds, his father dying so suddenly, the responsibilities of a place like Hilltop. More than any man should have to at once. But you and I both know a lady like Miss Parker can’t help him now.’
Jane frowned. ‘Rose is a lovely girl, even th
ough she doesn’t realise it.’
‘She is lovely. And kind, calm and sensible. She rather reminds me of someone.’
‘Really?’ Jane said with a pang of jealousy. ‘Who?’
Hayden laughed. ‘You, of course.’
‘Then why should I not try to help them along? I know I did think of him and Lady Fallon at first, but...’
‘There is just one flaw in your plan, my dear, and I fear it’s a large one.’
‘What is that?’
‘Miss Parker has no money. And Hilltop is falling down.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ Jane sighed, wishing she had a different, more romantic argument to make, but she couldn’t find one. She glanced back at the crumbling chimneys of Hilltop and frowned. Harry St George was indeed a man who took his responsibilities seriously and his old family home was a large responsibility indeed. She knew that all too well, remembering the days when her beloved Barton was also crumbling. ‘Perhaps Lady Fallon will have to be it, then.’
Still—most problems did have a solution, Jane told herself, if one could only think hard enough.
* * *
Rose followed Harry down the slope of a hill and along a path, narrow enough only for their horses to walk single file. Beyond the thicket of trees and out of sight of the main house, a row of cottages was laid out, near to the fields, but not as far out as the larger farms. Unlike the main house, they looked snug and tidy and recently repaired, their walls freshly whitewashed. She could hear laughter through the new windows and the timbered doors were decorated with greenery wreaths.
Harry led her past more cottages, including one that seemed to be a small shop with holiday sweets decorating the front bow window. Just beyond, in a thicket of tall trees, was a brick building. Unlike the cottages, it had no windows and the splintered door hung loose on its hinges.
‘The school,’ Harry said simply, solemnly, as he gestured at the building. ‘My mother had it built for the tenants’ children, but after she died my father closed it and it fell into disrepair.’
‘Did it have many pupils?’
‘A fair number. My mother thought the estate children should know reading, writing and sums, things to help them run prosperous farms and homes later.’
‘She was quite right,’ Rose answered, thinking of her own youthful lessons of sewing and dancing, and how little use they were. ‘What of trades, such as sewing and cooking for the girls? Perhaps even training as ladies’ maids or milliners?’
‘That is a fine idea indeed,’ Harry said, smiling as he examined the old building. ‘I should very much like to repair this place and re-open the school. But such things can be—well...’
‘Expensive. Yes,’ Rose said ruefully. She glanced back at the half-hidden cottages, with their snug roofs and walls. ‘Yet you have done so much just in the short time since you returned. The tenants’ homes look so well tended. And the fields look as if they can be good producers in the summer. Jane says the soil is fine in this area. The price of corn has gone up since the end of the war and the weather this winter has been mild enough until this week.’
He gave her a surprised-looking smile. ‘You’re very well informed.’
Rose laughed. ‘I know. Most unladylike. But part of my job is to read to Aunt Sylvia. She mostly prefers sermons and a few novels, but she does take many of the newspapers and I like to glance at them when I have the chance. Hilltop could do very well, I think, with just a bit of care.’
‘Which is what I hope to give.’ He gestured with his riding crop down a wider lane. ‘The Perkins’s farm is just this way, follow me.’
He led her down a path lined with thick hedges to a two-storey farmhouse, also whitewashed and with a thatched roof, but the paint was fresh and the thatch new, with a neat little vegetable garden enclosed by a low fence. Chickens peeked around the doorstep and the door was painted a dark green and hung with a holly wreath. Rose could feel someone watching them from the windows, studying them, her—the woman with Hilltop’s master. Surely they were curious. Rose just wished she could be more than a visitor.
‘I—perhaps I should wait for you here,’ she said.
‘It’s much too cold for that, Rose! Besides, I assure you the Perkins family are the kindest of people. Their family has been at Hilltop for years and I know how much they love company.’
‘I...’ But she could make no more protests, as the door swung open. A man stood there, tall with a farmer’s broad shoulders, a little girl with long, blond braids holding his hand. The man smiled and waved, and the girl practically jumped up and down in excitement. The warmth of their greeting seemed to spill right out of the cottage and wrapped around Rose like the lantern light and the scent of fresh-baked bread.
‘Captain St George!’ the man said. ‘We didn’t expect to see you here on such a cold day.’
‘I got your message about the roof,’ Harry said as he swung down from his saddle. He reached up to help Rose and she again seized the moment of his touch and stored it up in her memory. ‘And I heard your mother was ailing. I hope she has recovered.’
‘Aye, thanks to the doctor you sent to see her last week. She’s doing better than she has in an age.’
‘You send a doctor to your tenants?’ Rose whispered to Harry, though she was not surprised at all. Being the most dutiful landlord seemed entirely like him.
‘Of course. Since I’ve returned, it’s my job. Not that there is much any doctor can do for old Mrs Perkins, I fear. She is usually much too feisty to follow his advice.’
Rose laughed, thinking of Aunt Sylvia and all the fine London physicians she had thrown out on their ears. ‘I know the sort very well.’
‘Captain, Captain!’ the little girl cried and came skipping down the garden pathway to tug at Harry’s coat-tails. ‘I’m getting a new doll for Christmas.’
Harry laughed and swung the child up into his arms, twirling her around until she shrieked with giggles. ‘Are you indeed, Peggy? A fine gift for a fine girl!’
‘But Papa doesn’t know I know, so it’s a secret.’ She peeked curiously over his shoulder at Rose. ‘Who is this?’
Harry gave her another twirl, and Rose laughed along with her, enchanted by this glimpse of a light-hearted Harry. He so rarely made an appearance. ‘This is Miss Rose Parker, a guest at Barton Park,’ he said. ‘Miss Parker, this is Miss Peggy Perkins.’
Rose gave a little curtsy. ‘How do you do, Miss Perkins? I am very pleased to meet you.’
Peggy studied her closely. ‘You’re very pretty.’
‘Indeed she is,’ Harry said, smiling at Rose over Peggy’s head.
Rose felt her cheeks turning warm again and looked away with a nervous laugh.
‘Peggy, stop chattering to the Captain and let him come inside where it’s warm,’ her father called.
Harry set Peggy on her feet and she led them through the doorway. ‘Oscar Perkins, this is Miss Parker, one of the guests at Barton for the holiday.’
Mr Perkins didn’t seem at all surprised his landlord would bring a strange lady into his house at Christmas, or if he was his wide smile didn’t show it. He gave her a bow. ‘You’re most welcome, Miss Parker, as would be any friend of the Captain. I only wish we had a grander reception to offer you!’
Rose glanced around at the neatly swept stone floor, the dried bundles of herbs hung from the smoke-darkened rafters that perfumed the air with lavender and rosemary, the whitewashed walls. It all reminded her of her mother’s cosy cottage, the cottage that meant Rose had to work for Aunt Sylvia to make sure it was affordable.
She felt suddenly a bit sad and wistful, and silly for forgetting the real world outside even for a moment.
‘Your home is lovely, Mr Perkins,’ she said. ‘And so kind of you to receive me so close to Christmas. You must be busy.’
‘Offer the la
dy some tea, Oscar!’ a querulous old voice called from beyond an open door. ‘Show the manners I taught you.’
Mr Perkins flushed. ‘My mother. She does like to, er, express herself.’
Rose laughed, again thinking old Mrs Perkins must be a lot like Aunt Sylvia. ‘Some tea would be most welcome.’
‘There are cakes, too,’ little Peggy said. ‘I helped to make them.’
‘Then they must be delicious,’ Rose answered. She studied the bright-eyed girl and remembered the abandoned school. How much good such a place could do for girls like Peggy! If teachers and books could be paid for and the building repaired.
‘Peggy, why don’t you take Miss Parker to see your grandmother while I show the Captain the roof?’ Mr Perkins said.
Peggy took Rose’s hand to lead her towards the open door. Rose glanced back to see Harry talking to his tenant in a low, serious voice, the two of them nodding. The light-hearted man who had swung Peggy into the air was gone again.
The sitting room was a most cosy space, small but comfortable with well-worn, shabby furnishings brightened with pretty yellow cushions and the walls painted a summery blue. A tiny, grey-haired lady sat by the fire wrapped in shawls, a white cap perched on her head. Mrs Perkins did indeed look much like a less fancy version of Aunt Sylvia, right down to her bright blue, all-seeing eyes. Rose hovered uncertainly in the doorway.
‘Granny, Captain St George brought a lady to visit us,’ Peggy announced. ‘Her name is Miss Parker.’
‘A lady?’ the elder Mrs Perkins said, those perceptive eyes sweeping over Rose, taking in her plain hat and outdated riding habit. ‘It’s about time he did that. Past time he got himself engaged. Hilltop has been too long without a proper mistress.’
Rose laughed nervously. ‘I fear I am only a guest at Barton Park, Mrs Perkins. I teach music to the Fitzwalters’ children.’
‘Oh. Well. That is a disappointment. But I suppose you had better sit down, anyway. Peggy, dear, go fetch the tea, will you?’
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