To Take This Lord (The Brides of Bath Book 4)

by Cheryl Bolen

  * * *

  Sally took pains with her toilette to look her best for dinner. She was pleased that the curls Hettie had put in early that morning still held. Hettie pressed her emerald gown, and Sally chose to wear the Sedgewick emeralds with it.

  She had no need to ask where the dining room was located. From her many visits here she remembered every chamber on the first floor as well as she knew the rooms of the rectory that had been her only childhood home. When she glided into the dining room, George and Mr. Willingham both stood. Was she reading too much into the look of pride that glinted in her husband's eyes?

  "How lovely you look, my dear," George said as he moved to her and took her hand to kiss.

  Once they were seated, he said, "Despite being short-handed, the staff has done remarkably well. I believe you'll be pleasantly surprised over the fare."

  Her glance scanned the dozen dishes scattered along the table's white cloth. She was rather grateful there was no footman hovering around—a casualty of her husband's reduced circumstances. She much preferred private dinners, something unobtainable at grand houses like the Moreland's Winston Hall. She recalled several dinners here at Hornsby when servants had been in attendance, but as the Sedgewick family wealth shrank and swelled, so did the number of Sedgewick servants. More often than not, the footmen had been absent.

  Just being at Hornsby exhilarated her. There was no telling how productive George could become now that he was away from Bath. Her heart fluttered when she realized she would be his helpmate.

  "You have enjoyed excellent weather here of late, I understand," Sally said to Mr. Willingham.

  "We have, indeed."

  Mr. Willingham looked completely different tonight than he had this afternoon in his buff-colored clothing. Now he wore a black tailcoat of good cut, and the fresh white of his expertly tied cravat accentuated the deep tone of his olive complexion. He was an awfully good looking man. He was perhaps a bit taller than George. And less muscular. His dark skin with his dark hair and eyes brought to mind a Spaniard or Italian. Certainly not the Englishman he was from head to foot. Sally found herself wondering why so handsome a man was still not married.

  His eyes flashed with laughter as he looked at her. "I have been racking my brains, trying to remember where I have seen you before. You're Miss Glee's friend!"

  He might remember her, but she could not remember ever seeing him before, which was not difficult to understand. Whenever she had been at Hornsby—even the one time she came there after George's marriage—she had been too thoroughly besotted over George to ever notice another man. "You, sir, are in possession of a remarkable memory, to be sure. Not many remember me, as I'm rather plain."

  There was genuine warmth on his face when he protested. "I assure you, plain is not a word that would enter my mind when I think of you, my lady. If his lordship does not object to my saying so, I think you're rather lovely."

  George coughed. "Of course I don't mind. Sally is much prettier now that she curls her hair."

  Sally met Mr. Willingham's gaze with sparkling eyes. "What he really means is now that I'm fortunate enough to have a lady's maid to curl my wretched hair."

  "I never noticed if your hair was straight or curly," Mr. Willingham said. "I was always struck by the juxtaposition."

  "The juxtaposition?" Sally queried.

  Mr. Willingham nodded. "You know, the blond hair with eyes that are deep brown and skin that's golden. Not the fairness one would usually expect from a blond-haired woman."

  George somberly glanced from Willingham to Sally. "By Jove! You're right, Willingham. Never thought of it before. Lady Sedgewick is rather unusual looking."

  Sally was uncomfortable being the topic of conversation. She was made even more uncomfortable by the fact that her inferior appearance was the subject of said conversation. "You must tell us all about the new farm machinery, Mr. Willingham."

  The steward did just that. Not that Sally understood half of what the man and George were discussing. Even though their jargon was—for the most part—poorly understood by her, Sally was delighted to see how animated her husband became when discussing his lands. She was more convinced than ever that the decision to come here had been the right one.

  After dinner, Mr. Willingham stayed and played loo with his employer and his wife. Long before the clock struck ten, Sally began to yawn. She had risen very early that morning in order to have Hettie do her curls for the long journey. Knowing that she would spend more hours with George this day than she ever had spent with him before, she'd been determined to look her best.

  "You two must be most fatigued," Mr. Willingham said as he stood. "I'll leave now."

  George and Sally also rose, George slipping an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'll meet you at ten in the morning, Willingham."

  After seeing their guest to the door, Sally and George began to mount the stairs, and Sally found herself yawning on almost every step. Mention of ten in the morning had reminded her that tomorrow would be the first morning of their marriage that she and George would not be together. Her chest tightened. Would they ever again know the intimacy they had known in Bath?

  He left her at the door to Sam's room, then strolled to the end of the hallway.

  When Sally entered the lad's chamber, he was crying. Miss Primble tossed Sally a forlorn look. "I've never seen him like this before, milady. He won't go to bed."

  Sally's face softened as she went to Sam and lifted him, holding him close and patting his back. "I believe if he could talk, he'd be imploring us to take him home. Bath is the only home he's ever known, and I suspect he's frightened to be in a new, unfamiliar place."

  "I daresay you're right, milady."

  "I'll sleep with the little lamb. Will you go and be with Georgette?"

  "I will, milady." Miss Primble quietly slipped from the room.

  Holding Sam close, Sally paced the floor, cooing to the babe. "Don't worry, sweetheart, Mama's going to stay with you." She still experienced an intoxicating thrill each time she referred to herself as Mama. That title was as precious to her as viscountess.

  There was a knock on the chamber door. "Yes?" Sally said.

  Hettie entered the room. "I thought to help you dress for bed, milady."

  Pleased at her maid's complete competence, Sally smiled at her. She hated to put Sam down because of the fragile state of his shredded emotions. "Thank you, Hettie, but not tonight. I'll undress myself once Master Sam has calmed down."

  Hettie's fine blond brows drew together. "Is something the matter with the little master?"

  "I believe he's frightened of his new surroundings. That is all."

  Once Hettie left the chamber, Sam's tears ceased. Continuing to hold him close, Sally pointed to the bed. "Mama's bed. You're going to sleep with me tonight, love."

  He continued to whimper. It tore at Sally's heart to think of how many hours the babe must have been sobbing out his little heart. Holding him tightly to her, she said, "It's all right now, sweetheart. Mama's here with you."

  She thought he took consolation in her words.

  Before long, she shed her evening dress, donned her shift and gathered Sam into her arms. "Come on, little love, we're going to bed now." She lay down with him, careful to leave one taper burning because of his fear of the dark. He scooted close to her, shoved his thumb into his mouth, and was asleep in less than a minute.

  A smile of contentment on her own face, Sally soon drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 18

  Her first full day at Hornsby was a busy one for Sally. She had started the day by making the acquaintance of the staff. After that she asked Mrs. MacMannis to take her on a tour of the house, even to the linen closets and the butler's pantry.

  As Sally passed dozens of portraits of long dead ancestors, she made a mental note to have George educate her on the family history. Before the year was out, she vowed to know the name of every ancestor whose portrait hung at Hornsby. She even fancied commissioning portrai
ts of the new Lord and Lady Sedgewick. Though she was ashamed to admit it, Sally was glad there was no portrait of the beautiful Diana. Who would have known Diana would die at just two and twenty? The same age Sally was now. Her stomach tumbled at the thought.

  There was no money to commission portraits, anyway, until Sally and George could significantly reduce their present expenditures. That would be her first priority.

  She went to her husband's library and began to pore over the account ledgers. There really was not a penny to spare. She sprang from the desk and stormed from the room, this time with the intention of conducting her own tour of the house with an eye to economizing.

  In the dining room, she found that four different chandeliers were ringed several times over with expensive candles. This was far too excessive an expense. She would have most of them removed to be used in the rooms where they were more necessary. That would save the expense of purchasing new candles for months.

  In the household-accounts ledger, she had noticed a rather hefty expenditure to the greengrocers. Hefty when multiplied several times a week. With all the fertile land surrounding Hornsby, everything they needed should be grown right here. Why have an ornamental parterre garden when they could have a very fine vegetable garden in its place? Surely Mr. Willingham could assign a few hands to the task. She would speak to the steward.

  And by ordering that no fires be built in the daylight—except during uncommonly cold freezes—she figured they could be indulgent with night fires to warm the frigid bedchambers. A pity keeping the hearth ablaze came at so dear a cost.

  And though Mrs. MacMannis had begged to be allowed to replace the scullery maid who had stayed behind in Bath, Sally decided Cook could get along with one less helper. She already had one strapping young servant to assist her. And for a household the size of Hornsby, that one could suffice.

  Sally's economies were not much, but they were a start. She vowed to continue to seek ways to save money. For she was about to make a few necessary expenditures.

  She returned to the library and drafted a letter to send to Bath requesting painters come to Hornsby immediately. Then she summoned the butler, and asked that he be in charge of the removal of the draperies from the viscountess's chambers to the young master's. "I should like to keep the master's old draperies in order to make clothing for the poor," she told Adams.

  "Very good, my lady."

  She settled back in the leather desk chair, a smile on her face. At least there would be another source of revenue soon. The sheep would be ready to be sheared next month, and Mr. Willingham said he expected an excellent price this year.

  * * *

  At midday George came back to the manor house for a respite, and Sally joined him at the table.

  "I saw the reaper demonstrated," he told her between bites of stewed eel. "Most magnificent thing you've ever seen! That one piece of machinery can do the work of a dozen men in half the time."

  It had been a very long while since Sally had seen George speak with such interest about anything. His eyes flashed with enthusiasm as he hurriedly gave her the details of the new reaper. Then he set down his fork and eyed her somberly. "The pity of it is, the invention is likely to replace the worker. What will my men do if they can't farm the land their families have been farming for generations?"

  "You'll just have to find other means by which they can earn a living. Not everything can be automated."

  His brows drew together as he stabbed at his French-cut beans. "Willingham says it may not happen in our lifetime, but society is poised to switch from an agrarian society to an industrialized one."

  "I don't see how London can accommodate any more people," she said, shaking her head.

  "While I live, no tenant of mine will ever have to breathe those blackened skies in the capital or have to beg for food or lack shelter."

  Her brows arched quizzically. "Pray, I thought you loved London."

  "When I was a younger man. And when I had the luxury of living in a fine town house in Mayfair. That was a far cry from how the lower classes there live. I'll not allow my cottagers to ever endure suffering like I've seen in London's East End."

  "The coatless, shoeless children I've seen hawking in Mayfair are enough to give me a strong distaste for London." She took a long drink of milk, then quizzed her husband some more. "Were you able to renew your acquaintance with your cottagers today?"

  He smiled. "Many of them. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy being at Hornsby."

  "Hornsby's who you are."

  * * *

  Long after Sally had swept from the room to attend to household matters, George heard her words. Hornsby's who you are. She was so young to understand things so keenly.

  His thoughts flitted back to this morning's ride over the estates with Willingham. "It's good to be back at Hornsby," he had told his steward.

  "It's good having you back. I hadn't realized how long you'd been gone until I saw how much your children have grown."

  George nodded solemnly. "Georgette's quite the little woman now."

  "It's really remarkable. Georgette's a miniature of her mother, and little Sam looks exactly like you."

  At the thought of Diana's beauty, a stab of pain shot through George. He should have become used to it. After all, every time he beheld his daughter, it was as if he were once again looking at Diana. "Poor lad," George said with a laugh.

  "You've done well enough with your looks, Sedgewick. In fact, you're looking especially good. When you left . . . well, I never saw a more broken man. But you appear to have healed. And it's no wonder with that lovely wife of yours."

  For a second, George thought Willingham referred to Diana, then he realized the man was talking about Sally. It was queer to think of Sally as a beauty, but he was oddly pleased that Willingham found her so.

  When they had been young men at university, Willingham had enjoyed more than his fair share of females. Not that George and Willingham had been particularly close then. The fellow had much more shallow pockets than the privileged set George ran with. Blanks. Appleton. The twins. All of them had considerable financial resources. All that Willingham possessed was a propensity to study and a face that girls were attracted to, neither of which endeared him to George's chums. Except for Melvin, who was interested in scholarly pursuits.

  But he had been a good steward, and for that George was grateful.

  "You impress me with your choice of wife," Willingham said as they had cantered through the orchards. "The new Lady Sedgewick is not only lovely, she's also possessed of a keen mind."

  George's mouth slid into a crooked smile. "She was at the top of her class at Miss Worth's School for Young Ladies, my sister is forever telling me."

  They turned to ride back to the house, and George noticed that he had somehow become oddly disturbed over Willingham's obvious enthusiasm about Sally. She was, after all, a married woman. His own wife, to be sure. It was almost as if Willingham knew of his and Sally's strange relationship. Did the man hope to win Sally's heart—or bed—for himself? George was unaccountably miffed at the man. He did not think Willingham would be invited to any more dinners at the manor house.

  * * *

  That night Sally and George ate together, and after dinner they retired to the drawing room, where George poured a glass of wine for Sally and another for himself, then he came to sit beside her on the tomato-colored silken sofa. There was not a more welcoming room in the kingdom than this, he thought. He watched the fire crackle in the hearth as he remembered how it was when his sisters and his parents had shared many a night here playing games with him.

  It was very good to be back at Hornsby.

  "Do you play chess?" he suddenly asked Sally.

  "I do, though it's probably my worst game. I'm of the opinion that chess is a game much more readily grasped by the male mind."

  He laughed. "I should have known you would have an opinion even on chess."

  Her face settled into a frown. "Oh dear, I am so v
ery opinionated. I fear I'm quite vexatious to you."

  "After all this time, I think I'm beginning to be impervious to it, my dear."

  "Then the voicing of my opinions is to you just so much water off a duck's back?"

  He gave her a sheepish look. "I wouldn't say that. I'm sure all of your opinions are of importance."

  "How diplomatic is the man I married."

  Grinning, he got up, fetched the chessboard, and set it up on the tea table in front of the sofa. Then he scooted a sturdy Tudor arm chair up to it and sat down.

  As their play progressed, he realized his wife had been correct when she told him chess was her worst game. She was far better at whist. Still, she played with more skill than half the men he knew.

  Their play was not so serious that they could not converse while playing.

  "Poor Sam," she told him, "had a wretched time last night. When I came to his chamber Miss Primble told me he had been crying for hours."

  George arched a single brow. "Was he sick?"

  "Oh no. It's my belief he wanted to go back to his home in Bath."

  "So the unfamiliar frightened him?"

  "I think so. He's doing much better today. He even got up the courage to pet Blackie and discovered how much he liked it. Then, too, his horse ride with you made him very happy indeed."

  "He does love it. I've never seen him smile and laugh so much."

  "Neither have I."

  George moved his knight. "How did your night pass, sharing your bed with him?"

  "He was an angel. He scooted up close to me, put his little thumb in his mouth, and went fast asleep."

  A smile came to his lips when he remembered how Sam had giggled on the horse ride that afternoon. "Is Miss Thimble with the lad now?"

  Sally nodded as she moved her pawn. "It's Miss Primble, you goose."

  He jumped her pawn and deposited it alongside his swelling bounty. "Good of her to come to Hornsby. I understand at least one of the staff did not wish to leave Bath."

  Sally nodded. "I've made the decision not to replace that one. An economy measure." Those huge brown nutmeg eyes of Sally's looked up at him. Did she expect he would chastise her?