After a moment, Callie tilted her head and looked thoughtfully into space. “Too tall? I should think you liked being able to look a man in the eye for once.”
“If you fancy him so much,” she retorted, “by all means, try to attach his interest.”
“I am done with men,” Callie said with quiet dignity. “But you—”
“Oh, stop! I would rather have Tom any day!”
The humor, and the light, vanished from her sister’s face. “I’m sorry, Cressida. I should not have teased you so. Forgive me.”
Cressida felt utterly wretched as Callie walked from the room, as composed as ever but avoiding her pleading gaze. Stop, she wanted to cry to her sister, I didn’t mean it! But Callie was gone, and Cressida listened as her footsteps crossed the hall, echoing now that the rugs were gone, then climbed the stairs before fading away altogether. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, praying for patience and more moderation in her speech. How hard would it have been to go along with Callie’s mild teasing, to admit that Major Hayes was almost sinfully handsome in addition to being the possible answer to their prayers? And even worse, to taunt her sister about her interest in him after Callie had already been married to a son of Lucifer and barely survived it?
With a curse that belied the earnestness of her prayer, Cressida flung the dust cloth across the room. She strode into the hall and seized the broom, sweeping vigorously for several minutes in an attempt to work off her frustration with physical activity. When she threw open the front door to sweep out the dirt, though, an unpleasant sight met her eyes.
The visitor, Major Hayes, was talking to Tom down the lane by the end of the fence, where the sheep had gotten through the broken gate. Tom leaned against the gate, nodding now and then but saying little. His posture was stiff and uncomfortable. Cressida put down the broom and started forward, worry and outrage quickening her step until she was almost running down the lane.
He saw her when she had covered half the distance. She was too far away to see his expression—or those damnably blue eyes—under the brim of his hat, but he bowed his head and raised one hand before swinging onto his horse’s back. He said something else to Tom, who nodded, then Major Hayes rode off, cantering around the bend in the road without a glance back.
Cressida slowed to a walk, holding one hand against the stitch in her side. She was still staring after him when she reached Tom. “What did he want, Tom?”
Tom looked troubled. “He said he’s come to look for the sergeant. Asked if I had anything to offer, any suggestion to make.”
“Yes, that’s about what he told us.”
“Hmmph,” was Tom’s only reply.
Uncertain, Cressida looked down the road where Major Hayes had disappeared. “Callie thinks it is the answer to our prayers. Lord Hastings sent him, it seems.” She turned back to Tom. “I wonder why he was sent to us. One might think coming back from the dead would require all a man’s attention, even if he weren’t a suspected traitor.”
Tom shrugged. He had gone back to the gate and had a nail between his teeth as he hefted a rail into place.
“What did you tell him?” Cressida knew she was pestering him but couldn’t stop herself.
Hammer in hand, Tom stabbed the nail into the rail. “Nothing,” he mumbled.
“Well, of course you had nothing to tell, since we don’t know anything. I don’t know what on earth he’s going to do that we haven’t thought of.” Tom began hammering the nail, sharp blows that shook the gate. Cressida sighed. “All right. Thank you, Tom.”
The sound of his hammering followed her back to the house. Cressida was still worrying over the major’s visit when she almost ran head-on into her grandmother.
“Granny,” she exclaimed, stopping short. “What are you doing downstairs?”
Granny beamed up at her, wobbling a bit on her feet even though she clutched her cane. “Did I hear a gentleman’s voice in the house, dear?”
Cressida’s face heated, to her disgust. “Yes, Granny.” She hesitated; mention of Papa was often enough to upset Granny to no end, and send her into a fretful decline. But not explaining the major’s true purpose would let Granny think the intolerable—which her next question confirmed.
“Was he here to see you, or your sister?” Granny had such a twinkling smile.
“Er—both, really.” There was no way around the truth. Cressida put one arm around her grandmother’s frail shoulders and gently steered her toward the sitting room. Granny had become so thin lately, her skin like worn cotton over her bones. “Do you remember that I wrote to Lord Hastings, to see if Papa might have mentioned something about his plans?”
“You did?” Granny was trying to crane her neck and peer around Cressida’s arm, out the open front door. “Well, yes, your father had better come home soon, if there are young men coming to call. It wouldn’t do at all, dear, to consider a suitor without your father’s permission. Was he a handsome fellow?”
Cressida repressed a sigh. First Callie, now Granny. “He wasn’t a suitor. He came because Lord Hastings sent him to find Papa.”
The instant she spoke, she knew it had been the wrong way to say it. Granny’s smile turned into a frown in the blink of an eye, and she drew herself up to her full, diminutive height before turning on Cressida with her sternest voice. “Your father is not lost, young lady. I am sure he is off doing something very important—he must be, or he would have returned by now. He’ll be home any day, you wait and see. Such a good man, and a good father, too. Hasn’t he brought us to this lovely home? All those years away, he couldn’t wait to be home. And now you dare suggest he’s lost?”
This time she couldn’t hold back the sigh. “Of course not,” she replied, wishing Callie were here to soothe their grandmother. She had too much temper for the task. She wanted to burst out and ask Granny just where Papa was if he was so anxious to be home with them, and why he couldn’t have let them know where he was, or at the very least sent money. He must know they didn’t have enough to live on. But that would be enough to send Granny into a high-tempered scold, which would leave her winded and weaker than ever. “We were…worried about him. And we miss him so, just as you do. What if he were injured somewhere and had no way to send word to us?”
“He always finds a way,” said Granny firmly, letting Cressida help her into a wing chair near the window. Cressida grabbed a light throw from the settee, and knelt to tuck it over Granny’s feet and legs. It was still fiercely hot, but Granny was somehow always cold.
“I am sure he will,” she said. “Would you—?”
“Now this young man,” Granny interrupted her. “Who was he?”
“Not a suitor,” Cressida muttered.
“Was he handsome?”
She sat back on her heels and pushed the tendrils of damp hair from her forehead. “Handsome enough, I suppose.” God would forgive her that little lie.
“Oh, my dear!” Her grandmother giggled like a young girl, clapping her hands together. “How exciting! I remember when Mr. Turner, your grandfather, came to call on me. You must wear your best dress next time, Cressida dear, and try to do something with your hair…” She reached out to smooth Cressida’s wayward hair.
Cressida dodged. “I’ll try.” It was easier to agree to her grandmother’s fanciful suggestions and ideas than to argue any sort of sense to her. She would be very happy never to deal with Major Hayes again, just as she had long since despaired of taming her hair into anything like Callie’s smooth curls. Wear her best dress, indeed; for a man she had almost shot as a horse thief?
“Well, I do hope he’s a charming fellow, like your father. And prosperous, too. How lovely it would be if you could live nearby! I am sure your father will be pleased by that, to see his daughter so well-provided for.”
Cressida gave a halfhearted smile and let her grandmother’s words roll over her. Certainly it would be lovely to have a prosperous, handsome suitor, or even just a prosperous one. She sighed, almost amused b
y her wandering thoughts. Any suitor at all would be enough to please Granny, who still harbored hopes of seeing her married someday. Callie had at least been a wife, even if a desperately unhappy one. Cressida had once been engaged herself, but after it ended in humiliation, she had decided the Turner girls were better off without husbands, no matter how much Granny might long for them to find some.
Still…Her eyes strayed to the window, looking down the road that stretched hot and dry into the beech trees. It wasn’t that she wanted to be a spinster all her life. When she passed a mother carrying her child, or saw a man smile at the woman on his arm, the longing to experience the same grew almost painful. But in cooler moments she could admit it wasn’t likely. She had only ever had one suitor, and that had been when she was much younger and had been almost pretty. Ten years later, she probably had a better chance of unearthing diamonds from the vegetable garden than of finding a husband. She was cursed with being too tall, too plain, and too blunt-spoken. It was a rare man who didn’t recoil in distaste from something she said or did, even if all she did was smile politely down at him.
Except for Major Hayes. When he sat in this parlor and looked at her with those unreadable blue eyes, she couldn’t deny that some tiny part of her had felt a thrill of appreciation. He hadn’t looked intimidated or affronted even when she pointed a gun at him, which was certainly worse than anything she had done to other men. And she didn’t have to look down at him at all.
But that meant nothing. Cressida gave herself a mental shake. No, it didn’t mean nothing; if anything, it probably meant the major had far more serious defects, if he didn’t mind conversing across the barrel of a gun and never took the chance to reprove her for it. As if she needed another reason to be wary of him, after his shocking return from the dead and then his startling announcement that Lord Hastings had sent him to find Papa. No one needed to tell Cressida what all that meant: Major Hayes was best dealt with carefully, and only when absolutely necessary.
Chapter 5
The moment Alec had been dreading arrived all too soon.
John was waiting for him the next morning. “I’ve got the books ready for you,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve been wanting to see them.”
Alec had been wanting no such thing. In the few days since his return, he had done everything in his power to avoid taking the reins of Penford. It appeared to have prospered under John’s care, and Alec had no idea how to keep it on the same track. He had been a soldier for almost ten years, then a spy; he hadn’t spent more than a few months at Penford in all that time, and certainly didn’t feel qualified to run it. But it was unreasonable to expect John to keep doing everything now. He saw no way around it, and so nodded and went off with John to the estate office.
“Edward Pitt is the estate manager,” John said as they tramped down the path to the outbuildings. “He’s a good man, been here for several years now. You’ll be able to rely on him.”
“Excellent.”
“I’ll stay a few weeks,” John went on. “Or as long as you would have me. Just in case…well, yes. Just in case.”
Alec muttered something vaguely agreeable, then stopped. “This is bloody awkward. Can we be honest?”
John faced him warily. “Of course,” he said, his tone as guarded as his expression.
Alec struggled to find the words he wanted, then cursed and blew out a sigh. “You’re welcome at Penford as long as you want to remain.”
John looked at him expectantly, then finally spoke, but slowly. “I think it best if I go. It will make things…easier.”
Alec laughed, short and bitter. “There’s little chance of that, no matter what you do.” John looked away. “I regret upending all your expectations.”
“Can’t be helped,” said his cousin with a philosophical shrug. “And truly, I am glad. My aunt has been transported with joy since learning you still lived and were coming home.”
And with that, Alec felt the weight of Penford and all its dependants slide onto his shoulders. “I’m not a farmer,” he said. “Never was inclined to be one. I went into the army to get away from it, for God’s sake.” He hated admitting inadequacy, but there was little point in denying it. John would realize it soon enough on his own, if he hadn’t already.
Something like sympathy drifted across his cousin’s face. “Pitt will handle most of it, if you direct him to. This—Penford—is in your blood. Don’t be so quick to deny it. ’Tis a good estate with fine, fertile land, well-organized, and not too encumbered by debt. Freddie and your father were responsible men, and I believe you’ll be the same.” He grinned. “You never did like to come up short. Freddie and I would marvel how you’d damned near kill yourself to do what you said you’d do.”
Alec blinked, then the memory came. “Black Bess.”
“The meanest animal I ever saw. I’ve still got a scar on my arse where that bloody horse bit me. And you rode her from here to Marston and back.”
“She bit me, too,” Alec reminded him.
John snorted. “Aye, before you even got in the saddle. But still you climbed up there, swearing for all you were worth. Freddie was sure you’d have a broken arm or two for your trouble.”
“Father whipped me hard enough to break his arm.” Alec grinned, but it faded soon enough. Riding a nag, even a vicious one, was hardly the same as running Penford. He squared his shoulders, knowing John was right about his determination to succeed even as he suspected the urge to wander would well up again in time, stronger than ever. He was a nomad by nature, but he would have to subdue it for a while to see to his family duties. “Let’s to it, then.”
Finances were growing extremely tight in the Turner household.
After Major Hayes’s surprising visit, a flood of bills seemed to descend on the house. The largest one was for feed for the horses. Tom handed it to Cressida without meeting her gaze, knowing as well as she did what it would mean.
“Does he want payment now?” she asked anyway, hoping against hope she might be able to put it off. Most of the others could not be; apparently Papa had already delayed payment, and they were firm about being paid this time. But a shake of Tom’s head indicated that he had already tried, and failed.
Cressida sighed and pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. She should have done this weeks ago, in all likelihood. “Take the horses into town and sell them, Tom. I’ll explain to Granny.”
Tom nodded and ducked from the room. Cressida hoped he could get a good price; the horses were decent animals, and they were certainly well-fed, as her depleted purse could prove. The funds from selling the horses, though, would allow the rest of them to eat well for several months.
But when Tom returned later, the news was not good. “I need to speak to you,” he muttered as he tromped through the hall.
Cressida hurried after him, her heart thumping. “What happened?” she demanded as soon as she closed the door of Papa’s study behind her.
Tom folded his arms. “The horses were hired.”
For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Hired? But no; Papa had said…“What do you mean?” She sank into the room’s only chair.
“Bickford showed me the paper. The sergeant signed it, right and proper. Two carriage horses, hired from his stable, paid six months.”
“Papa said he bought them,” she said through numb lips. All this time she had been scraping to feed two beasts that didn’t even belong to her.
“Perhaps he did, at a later date, and Bickford thought to fool me.” Tom looked around the small room. “Perhaps we can find a bill of sale.”
Her heart had stopped thumping. It might have stopped altogether. A black, cold pit seemed to have opened up inside her. “I don’t think so,” she whispered. “I looked through all the papers in here and didn’t find it. It didn’t even occur to me there ought to be one.”
The silence was overwhelming. Then Tom squatted in front of her and patted her hand. “There, don’t fret. We’ll manage.”
Cressida
closed her eyes and gulped in deep breaths. What other choice did they have but to manage? She just didn’t know how. “Did you take the horses back at least? Is Mr. Bickford going to be coming to collect money owed him?”
“No, he said it had been paid in advance. I gather he took the impression your father didn’t want it widely known the horses weren’t his.”
That was no surprise. Cressida thought bitterly of how proud her father had been, a gentleman keeping his own team and carriage. How he had laughed when she asked about the cost and told her they were well-situated now, and he meant to live like it. No one could overrule Papa when he set his mind on something, although she’d certainly tried on some occasions. Mostly everyone got caught up in his infectious enthusiasm and promises of having it all in hand. Cressida admitted to herself that she, perhaps most of all, had wanted to believe it was so, that Papa had come home from the war with connections and funds and would lift the burden of endless economy from them all.
Apparently not. She scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to think. “We’ll have to take them back anyway, and see if Mr. Bickford will refund any part of what Papa paid. It will save on feed if nothing else.” Tom nodded, and let himself out.
Cressida stayed in her seat for several minutes after Tom left, nearly paralyzed by the enormity of their problems. There was no money to be had from the horses; the lease was coming due; they had lost several sheep; even the vegetable garden wouldn’t be putting out a bounty, thanks to the incessant hot weather. They were worse off than in their most pinched days in Portsmouth, and there was still no sign of her father. “Where the bloody hell are you, Papa?” she said to the still, stuffy room.
Slowly she pushed herself to her feet. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She had tried to nibble at the problem, selling all the fancy new things Papa had bought. Unfortunately, he had purchased so much on credit, she hadn’t realized much money. Now Cressida saw few choices open to her. They had the house for a few more weeks. That gave her just enough time to unload as many of their unneeded possessions as possible and find a suitable new lodging. Returning to Portsmouth was out of the question, much too far away. Cressida still missed the ocean, but Marston was a nice town as well. She and Callie had made friends here. Still…
For Your Arms Only Page 5
