by Ella Edon
"Can't run an estate without spending some."
Elam sighed. "I'll explain it to ye this way: He don't mind spending on the farm. But she minds a great deal, when it comes to choosing between new jewels for the next ball or a decent wagon to haul oats for the workhorses."
"Huh. Don't she know her horses got to eat?"
"She knows. She don't care. Difference."
"Huh."
They stopped at the marketplace for five pounds of coffee, a small crate of lavender soap, and a cone of brown sugar – the prices of which never failed to leave Elam shaking his head – and then, there was a stop along the eastern road to pick up a hundred pounds of oats, all in sacks.
Once that was done, Elam sat back and loosened the reins and let Old Crow continue along the eastern road, walking at his own pace towards home. "One thing I know," said Reuben, sitting back and putting his feet up on the low wooden dashboard. "A working man's got to take his rest where he can find it. Like right now." He pushed his cap down on his face, and in a moment, was nodding off.
That was fine with Elam. At least, he wouldn’t have to listen to the man's endless talk. He was worse than any woman when it came to that.
It didn't take Old Crow too long to get near the end of the eastern road. He knew he was going home and walked along at a good pace with his neck outstretched and his head swinging back and forth.
They approached a cottage near the end of the road. Behind it was a very large apple orchard, with enough trees to supply the whole county with apples later in the fall. Elam was rather fond of apples and made a note to remember this place – he might stop and buy a few for himself.
The quiet afternoon was suddenly interrupted by a woman excitedly calling out. "Bring him inside! Bring him inside!"
Elam glanced over. The shouting was coming from the front door of the cottage, which sat in front of the orchard. "Boys! Go and get him and bring him inside. And lock that gate the next time!"
Well, most likely someone's dog, pig, or pony had wandered out and was getting into the garden. Just a typical day on a small farm. Elam was about to sit back again, when he got a look at the woman who had run out of the front door and was dashing around to the back of the cottage.
By Old Crow's tail, he could have sworn that was Patience Miller – one of the kitchen servants at Northcliffe and wife of sacked coachman, Cecil Miller. And the mother of Grace Miller, whom Elam was certain he'd seen at the first assembly ball.
Elam watched closely. The woman hurried out into the orchard, beyond the high stone wall that surrounded the house, running towards two young boys who could only have been Grace's younger brothers. He knew she had brothers, but did not remember their names.
Right now, though, those two nameless boys were leading a man between them – an older man of medium height, rather disheveled clothes, no cap, and a befuddled expression.
A man whose name had to be Cecil Miller.
"Come in, Papa," said one of the boys. "Mama will get your supper." With that, they led him into the walled yard at the back of the cottage.
"I told you that you must be careful!" fretted the woman, as they disappeared inside. "He will get lost – " The tall gate closed and all was silent again.
Well, now, this was something Elam had not expected to see today. It seemed that Patience Miller was no widow at all, but instead was keeping her husband hidden away in order to pass off the lie that her lowly servant daughter came from a respectable family – and was not the disgraced daughter of a man who had been sacked and turned out for drunkenness.
They want that girl to marry well and raise all of them up. That's why they're keeping up this ruse and throwing all they have into her – into Grace. Her brothers wear rags, but she has fine gowns and slippers . . . because the family has put her up for sale to the highest bidder.
As Old Crow got the wagon past the cottage, Elam steered him back to the road that led to Feathering Park. His thoughts remained with what he had just seen. His anger was rising, for it was not just Cecil Miller's own family that he had harmed.
Lost my own position at Northcliff because of him. Lost a quiet job with no one to bother me and no townsfolk to stumble over. Had to carry his work and mine, so his family would not be turned out . . . but they were anyway. Lost my own place since I couldn't do both jobs.
And here they were, about to marry their daughter off to a rich man so they could all live in comfort . . . as long as that rich man never knew the truth about who and what she really was.
It wasn’t fair. Not for one instant. Elam had seen enough unfairness in his life that he was purely fed up with it. Seeing these lying people set up their own daughter as an imposter to trap an unsuspecting man was not something he could let slip past him.
Not if there was anything at all that he could do about it.
"I thank you for the invitation to dinner, Simon . . . but where is your wife this evening?"
"She’s gone to into town to stay overnight at the Robbins Inn. The ladies there are meeting to discuss their plans for the next assembly ball, and so of course, Beatrice wanted to be there."
Thomas merely nodded as he stood on the portico of the house at Feathering Park.
"And, of course, they will be playing cards afterwards. This way, she can stay as late as she likes and I will send the gig for her tomorrow."
"Very wise."
"Follow me, then, and we'll have our supper."
The house was not quite as large or splendid as Worthington, but Thomas cared nothing about that. He always enjoyed spending time with his friend and a quiet evening suited him much better than a noisy gathering.
But the two men had hardly finished the soup course when Simon got straight to the point. "I must ask you, Thomas. The clear attraction that Adam, the coachman, has for a young woman named Grace is very much talked about."
Thomas just shrugged. "Such things do happen at a ball, I have heard."
Simon frowned. "They do. But what is strange about this is that both Adam and Grace are quite new to Birdwell – Adam as a coachman and Grace as a girl who just recently moved to a cottage on the eastern road, with her family. So no one really knows much about what to expect from them."
"Well, let everyone talk. It’ll amuse them. And I myself am not even certain of where it may lead, if it leads anywhere at all."
"Oh, they’re talking. My wife and her friends seem convinced that there was quite a draw between Grace and the coachman. She danced only three times and it seemed she would have been happy to stand at the curb with him for the entire evening."
"I still don’t see why that would cause such a stir. The coachman and the tradesman's daughter would seem perfectly suited to each other."
"Except that you’re not anything close to being a coachman. And this young woman doesn’t know that."
"Of course she doesn’t. That was exactly what I hoped to do: Find a woman who doesn’t know I’m Earl Worthington and see if she might still care for me."
"You seem to have been too successful, Thomas. From what I’m hearing, there was an instant attraction and you seem to be determined to pursue it. Do you really not see how unsuitable she would be for you?"
"Simon, I went to great lengths to find a woman who didn’t know who I was. She seemed to take to me quite well as the coachman."
"But she wouldn’t be marrying a coachman. She would be marrying the Earl Worthington. And she doesn’t know that."
Thomas looked away from him, glancing around the softly lit room. "I saw no sign that she was simply looking for a wealthy man, though it was evident that the other girls were doing exactly that."
Simon sat back from his soup and shook his head. "My friend, it is well known that this young woman's mother is a widow with two other young children. The girl's aunt and uncle run the feather and fabrics shop in Birdwell. If ever a woman was in need of a good match, it’s this one."
"Then – why would she set her cap for a coachman, instead of for a man
better able to provide? A well-to-do farmer's son or one of the younger merchants. Or even the earl himself, if she were really serious about getting a rich husband."
"Was the earl there? At the ball? Has she ever met him before?"
Thomas turned back to his soup. "He was not and she has not."
"Well, there you are. She was described to me as young and plain and terribly reticent. She doesn’t know the earl and I can tell you, Thomas, that to a girl like that even a coachman's lot would be an improvement for her family – and one she is much more likely to be content with herself."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that – " Simon paused. "Suppose you do pursue this girl and decide to marry her. Is she remotely prepared to be the wife of an earl? To carry the title of Lady Worthington and perform all the duties that would be expected of her?"
Thomas blinked. "I’m sure that she could learn, if need be."
"I’m only trying to explain to you that you’re getting into this well over your head. As you said, your ruse has worked too well. Now she thinks she has the eye of a handsome coachman and hasn’t the faintest idea of what would be in store for her should she accept him. Are you sure you want to continue this?"
As much as Thomas hated to admit it, Simon was bringing up some good points – points that he himself had really not considered. "I simply want to find a woman who might improve my life, not drain it away."
"That’s understandable. But – I would say that whether or not she is kind and unselfish is not enough to make her a countess. All we know about her is that she’s a simple country girl whose now-dead father was also a coachman."
"Her name is Grace," Thomas said quietly. "I found her sweet, and helpful, and very pretty without a touch of artifice."
"I’m sure you did," said Simon patiently. "But she was not bred to be the lady of a great house and see to its management day after day. Is it even fair for you to demand such a thing of her? She will know nothing of that, nor of the details of etiquette required of a countess. Is it fair to either Grace, or to your mother, to make a woman like this your wife?"
Slowly, calmly, Thomas got up from the table and began to pace across the room. "I know you’re right," he said quietly. "I will have to decide before long. This game, this ruse, cannot go on forever. But the trouble is – "
He turned and looked at his friend with a little smile. "I like her, Simon. I truly like her. I have never felt so at ease, so comfortable, with any other woman."
"I see. She’s nice. Comfortable."
"Do not misunderstand, my friend: To me, she is a beauty, and if I could, I would have her in my bed this very night. But I have felt that before for others. What I have not felt is this sense of ease and comfort that accompanies it. And I am not ready to turn away from that – from her."
"I know the feeling, Thomas. And I can only warn you that that is exactly how I myself was trapped by Beatrice. She, too, was a poor girl who made me feel as though I were the king of the entire world. Yet it turned out that she had eyes for naught but fortune and jewels, and her entire demeanor changed the moment we left the church after the wedding ceremony."
"I just do not think – "
"One more question, Thomas, and I know it’s hardly a fair one – but it must be considered nonetheless. Do you think your mother would approve of a girl like Grace Miller?"
Thomas glanced at him, and then walked over to a window. He simply stood there gazing out into the darkness.
"I know that your mother cherishes the memory of your late father. He made Worthington into what it is today. How would she feel about seeing so much of it placed into the hands of this completely unprepared young woman?"
Thomas remained silent. Simon stood up and walked over to the window, standing near his friend. "Is there any chance that your mother, or any of her brothers still living, would go so far as to disinherit you if you married a woman like Grace? I know your mother adores you, but other young men have lost their inheritance for less."
"I do not – I don't think – " Thomas paused, and tried again. "My mother wouldn’t do such a thing."
"Are you certain? I know you’re the last of her children, but there are other relatives. She loves the land, the estate, nearly as much as she loves you, for it was your father's land when she married him. She will be fiercely protective regarding the next female to take charge of it."
"I suppose you’re right. Yet my mother was not, herself, from a noble family. I think she might understand – "
"Yes, Thomas, your mother was raised in the country. But it was still in a well-to-do house where she was brought up from infancy to be the wife of a nobleman. She was no farm daughter from a tiny cottage, the way Grace Miller is."
Thomas stalked back to the table. "All right, Simon. I think you’ve won this round. I promise you – the ruse will only go on for a little while longer. I’ll keep it up just long enough to be sure that Grace can be trusted. Just long enough that I am sure she might love me for myself alone."
Simon nodded and rejoined him at the table, but still looked doubtful. "I only hope you will consider what you could be risking, in the end . . . your name, your title, your fortune . . . everything you have. I only hope, my good friend, that this Grace Miller is truly worth all of that."
Chapter Twenty
The Dorking Hen And The Banty Rooster
"Grace, come in, come in! Hurry! It's about time you got here!"
Aunt Betsey was frantically searching through the shelves and cubbyholes of the shop, trying to find anything left that she might be able to use to create a mask for Grace. "Oh, I don't know what we’ll use. It was only announced a fortnight ago that this next ball was to be masks and fancy dress! And now we barely have any time to make something for you!"
"I'm afraid there isn't much left," said Uncle Leonard. "Mrs. Robbins and the other ladies wanted to encourage more people to attend the next ball, and they seem to have found the way to do that."
Grace smiled as she watched them searching through all the scraps of fabric and pieces of ribbon and gauze that they still had. "It sounds like such a wonderful plan! Wearing masks and dressing up as fairies and creatures and kings and queens. And it's going to be held outside, at the marketplace field! Of course, everyone wants to be there!"
"All the more reason for you to stand out," said Aunt Betsey sternly. "But ever since the announcement was made, we have been working all hours of every day to create masks and fancy-dress items for virtually every man and woman in the county. It’s good for the business, but leaves little for you, I am afraid."
"I’m not worried," said Grace. "It will be wonderful no matter what I wear. I’m greatly looking forward to it."
"Grace! You’re forgetting, again, that you are not going to this ball simply for your own amusement. The gossip is flying that the earl himself will attend this time. Mrs. Robbins is hopeful that requiring a mask will entice him out, since the novelty might make it more interesting. But that is all the more reason to make sure you stand out! You must catch the eye of the earl and have him notice you, out of all the young women who will be there!"
"Most of whom, it seems, will be dressed as birds," noted Uncle Leonard. "Perhaps we can find something a bit different for you."
"Well, let's hope so, for I have no more materials for masks anyway," fretted Aunt Betsey. "The feathers and the glass jewels are nearly all gone. The ribbon is running out. And we can get no more before the ball, which is only in a week!"
"I believe our plan was for me to wear the pale green muslin dress. The same one I wore to town on the first day that I walked into Birdwell," said Grace.
"Yes. I have it right here," said Aunt Betsey, hurrying over with the dress.
Grace took it from her. "Though it is a lovely gown, I’m not sure how I can make a fancy dress outfit from it. Are there any green birds?"
"A parrot, perhaps," said Uncle Leonard, frowning. "But you are no squawking parrot, Grace. We'll have to do better tha
n that."
"Indeed," muttered Aunt Betsey, and went back to searching the shelves and drawers. "With the rumor that the earl himself will be behind one of those masks, the excitement among the other young women is nearly unmanageable!"
"Your aunt is right, Grace," said Uncle Leonard. "They are all putting on their very best turnout for this event. You will be able to see where our every last feather and glass jewel and ribbon and plume in this shop has gone – right onto their faces! You yourself must not let them outshine you. You, too, must be just as striking, so that you will be the one to draw his gaze – not anyone else."
Finally, thoroughly exasperated, Aunt Betsey threw up her hands in surrender. "I have nothing that I can use to make another mask. All we can do is cut two holes in piece of gauze and tie it over her eyes."
