by Amanda Scott
“Well, don’t blame him,” Mollie retorted. “Very likely I would have requested such a thing had I chanced to think you would be interested, or if you had ever asked for such reports. But you did not, and I, too, was busy, sir, just trying to keep up with what needed doing and trying to keep poor Lady Bridget from going into a decline.” She stopped, warned by his sudden frown that she had gone too far. She ought not to be discussing Lady Bridget in front of Mr. Troutbeck. It occurred to her then that she had no business to be scolding Hawk in front of his bailiff either. “I…there was a great deal to be done,” she ended lamely.
“I don’t doubt it,” Hawk said quietly. He still held the chair for her. “We should not be discussing issues from the past, however. I believe you said there were a number of things you wished to talk over with Troutbeck.”
Feeling a little less confident, Mollie glanced at Hawk searchingly, but she saw nothing in his expression to tell her if he was still angry. He ought to be, she thought. Any man would be whose wife had just ripped up at him like a shrew. Not that he hadn’t had it coming, of course. Still, he hadn’t merited such a dressing in front of a man who until that morning had been a total stranger to him. However, an apology now would only make matters worse. She took the chair he offered her, then glanced at him again over her shoulder.
“Should you not be attending to your guests, sir?”
“They left for London earlier this morning,” he said, boosting himself back onto a side table piled with ledgers, account books, and other such paraphernalia. “My time is yours, my lady.”
She turned pointedly to the expressionless bailiff. “First of all, Mr. Troutbeck, we must make arrangements to repair the road.”
“Yes, my lady,” the round little man agreed, casting a glance at Hawk. “His lordship sent out a work party first thing this morning to attend to the matter. And to examine both causeways for any sign of damage as well,” he added.
Mollie retained her businesslike air with difficulty. “Good,” she said. “No doubt, after traveling that road only yesterday, his lordship would assume it to be our most pressing business. However, the young trees in the north orchard must be checked as well. Their roots are not yet very deep, and what with the heavy winds and all—”
“Indeed, my lady, his lordship…” Mr. Troutbeck’s high-pitched voice trailed off unhappily, and Mollie glanced over her shoulder to find her husband regarding her with a touch of amusement in his eyes.
“I rode across to look at the orchard myself when I saw the others on their way,” he said. “There were two trees at the upper end that looked a bit wobbly at the knees, so I sent a man to stake them when I came back.”
“But we planted that orchard only two years ago,” Mollie said, eyes narrowing. “How did you even know it was there?”
Ramsay mentioned it at supper yesterday. Said he’d meant to have a look at it but had gotten sidetracked by business in Gill’s Green early in the day. Didn’t say what business, of course, but I daresay I could hazard a guess,” he added with a grin. “If it wasn’t a bearbaiting or a cockfight, I’d warrant it was a mill. Seems to me we heard rumors to the effect that there was one hereabouts somewhere.”
Mollie could feel the telltale color creeping into her cheeks, and to cover her confusion, she turned sharply back to the bailiff. “Is there anything you have not already discussed with his lordship?”
More unhappily yet, Mr. Troutbeck shook his head. “Nothing urgent, my lady. There are still a number of details we will want to discuss, of course. Things that have happened, changes that have been made in his absence. But as to storm damage, I think we’ve pretty well attended to that. I might add, ma’am, that I sent a lad yesterday as soon as the rain stopped, to have a look at that young orchard. He said the trees were fine. If his lordship hadn’t checked again today, we might have lost two of them.”
“Not the lad’s fault,” Hawk said. “Takes a while to assess damage like that. The water soaks in and makes the ground like so much mush. But it is the wind that does the real damage. Have someone take a look every day until the ground dries out.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Mr. Troutbeck, there are still a number of arrangements to be made before I leave for London,” Mollie said with a hint of desperation in her voice.
“Indeed, my lady, his lordship and I were just discussing them when you came in. Teams will be taken on ahead, so that you will have your own horses for the entire trip. His lordship means to stable his own cattle on the Croydon and Hastings roads henceforth. Naturally, orders have already been given to open the London house, but his lordship informs me that we have a slight problem in that Bracegirdle and his missus would prefer to remain here at Hawkstone this year.”
She looked again at Hawk, and he nodded. “I asked her at breakfast, and she said if it was all the same to me, they’d just as soon stay. Seems they haven’t had a vacation in a good many years, and Bracegirdle has been feeling his rheumatism. She recommended Mary Perfect, the head chambermaid, to take her place, and she thinks Ned Lofting will do for a butler. He’s been acting as underbutler, she says, and has done well enough that Bracegirdle would not be shamed to entrust us to his care. Or, if you prefer,” he added tactfully, “we can interview for a new housekeeper and butler when we reach London.”
The prospect was an appalling one. “No, no,” Mollie said, “Lofting and Perfect will do very well.” Nevertheless, the wind had gone out of her sails. Not only had he attended to everything she had meant to do herself—and would have done the day before, had she not chosen to play truant with Ramsay instead—but he had learned more about her household than she had known herself. It had never once occurred to her to ask the Bracegirdles if they wanted to go to London. She had merely assumed that they would go.
“Is there anything else, my lady?” Mr. Troutbeck asked diffidently, interrupting her thoughts.
She gazed at him blankly for a moment, then gathered her dignity. “I think not at the moment,” she said. “If I should think of anything further, I shall let you know.”
“Good enough,” Hawk said, getting down from his perch on the side table. “In that event, Troutbeck can continue instructing me. I know you have things to attend to in the house, my lady, so I shall bid you adieu for now. I should like a small bite of something at one o’clock. I know I can depend upon you to arrange it.”
“We keep country hours here, my lord, as you ought to remember,” she retorted. “Dinner will be served at two o’clock, which is the time Lady Bridget prefers it to be served.”
He bowed, and a moment later, seething, Molly found herself back in the stableyard. The shaggy little bitch had apparently been waiting for her, curled up on the stoop. She rose now and stretched, and Mollie bent down to pat her.
“Good Mandy. Would you like to go back inside now?” But the little dog stayed where she was when her mistress began to walk back across the yard. Mollie snapped her fingers. “Come, Mandy.” Mandy curled back into a ball on the stoop in front of the office door, tucking her little black nose into her bushy tail. Mollie sighed. “First Troutbeck, now you,” she muttered, turning on her heel.
Ramsay was seated at his ease, reading a newspaper, his booted feet stretched out before the crackling fire in the rear hall. He looked up when she entered.
“I say, Moll, is Hawk still cooped up with old Troutbeck?”
“He is.” Her tone was bitter.
“What’s amiss?” He folded his paper in his lap.
“Oh, nothing,” she replied, moving to warm her hands. “He’s merely taking over everything, that’s all.”
“But it is his duty to do so,” Ramsay protested. “He ought to have done so last year when Father died.”
She sighed. “Perhaps that’s what’s amiss. He ought to have come back, but he did not. Instead, he left it all to me to manage. And now he comes back—not because he wanted to, mind you, but because Lord Wellington ordered it—and he just takes over without so muc
h as a by-your-leave.”
Ramsay opened his mouth and shut it again, giving thought to her words. “He hasn’t behaved very tactfully,” he said a moment later, “but perhaps he does not realize how involved you are with the management of this place. Most men, you know, would assume their bailiff handled everything in their absence. I doubt Hawk even realizes you routed Mr. Brewer last year after he refused to give you the money for Aunt Biddy’s new curtains. But can’t Troutbeck tell him everything he needs to know, Mollie? Seems a most capable fellow to me.”
She nodded. Mr. Troutbeck was very efficient. She knew she had been extraordinarily lucky to find him when old Mr. Brewer had announced his intention to retire after the matter of Lady Bridget’s redecorating had been settled. But she had found Mr. Troutbeck, and she had likewise convinced the crusty Mr. Brewer to stay on long enough to train him. Troutbeck could run the place now, with or without her, but he knew perfectly well that she liked to know about everything that went on. He was her retainer, and she felt betrayed by the fact that he had so readily confided in Hawk without at least waiting for her to join them. She tried to explain her feelings to Ramsay without sounding like a child or an idiot, but she could not feel that she had succeeded very well, because for once he seemed unable to comprehend her point of view.
Indeed, he was more taken up with his own concerns. After some moments of halfheartedly attempting to make her understand that Hawk was not usurping her powers but merely asserting his rightful authority, Ramsay asked hesitantly if she had chanced to mention his intention to spend the Season in London with them.
“For he hasn’t said a word, you know, not even to ask why I’m not at school now.”
“Well, I haven’t told him, though Harry may have done so,” Mollie replied.
“He hasn’t. Told me that whatever I thought of him, he wasn’t in the habit of carrying tales.”
Mollie smiled. “I hope you begged his pardon for doubting him yesterday. You ought to have known he’d never betray me to anyone—and certainly not to Hawk, whom he scarcely remembers.”
“So he told me when I did beg his pardon. Top-lofty little beggar had the nerve to look down his nose at me as if he had to decide whether or not he’d accept my apology. Say what you will, Mollie, that brat needs a term or two at Eton. They’ll soon teach him proper respect for his elders!”
She chuckled, her usual good humor restored, and sat down to chat with him for a few moments before getting on with her normal duties. They discussed the advisability of mentioning Ramsay’s decision to Hawk at once and came to the conclusion that perhaps the moment was not the most propitious one. In any event, the matter was taken out of their hands some hours later at the dining table when Ramsay asked Hawk if he’d like to ride with him to look over the cut through the western ridge, which led into East Sussex, through Cross-in Hand, to the Eastbourne highroad.
“You won’t want to drive all the way to Hurst Green and up the Hastings Road unless it is absolutely necessary,” the younger man pointed out.
“An excellent notion,” Hawk agreed approvingly as he helped himself from a platter of carved mutton. He passed a boat of mint sauce to Lady Bridget, on his right, then turned back to his brother. “By the bye, I have hesitated to ask while others were about, but I never find you alone. Have you been rusticated?”
“Oh, no,” Ramsay answered carelessly, flicking a glance at Mollie, “nothing like that.” He turned to accept a dish of boiled squash from the serving maid, and a small silence fell. Lady Bridget seemed preoccupied with her serviette, and Mollie was glad Harry was dining with Mr. Bates in the schoolroom.
“Perhaps you will elucidate,” Hawk prompted gently.
“Oh, well, I had meant to discuss the matter with you, of course, since you are here,” Ramsay replied, still carefully offhand, “which is one reason I suggested riding to the cut.”
“The matter is one of some delicacy, then?” Hawk’s eyebrows lifted, and Ramsay moved a little awkwardly in his chair.
Mollie couldn’t stand it any longer. “You are making a great piece of work about nothing, the pair of you,” she said tartly. “Ramsay has merely decided that the time has come for him to acquire a touch of town bronze, sir. He came down when the half ended, and he does not intend to return until Michaelmas term begins.”
“I see,” Hawk said, looking at his brother. Ramsay met the look, but there was a trace of guilt in his eyes, and wariness, too. “You don’t think that perhaps you have been a trifle hasty?”
“You cannot send him back now,” Mollie put in. “The term is two weeks gone. Moreover, I see nothing wrong with his decision. Perhaps you will say that since the long vacation begins the first week of June this year, that will be soon enough for him to see a bit of London, but it is not, sir. He is quite old enough to have an entire Season—yes, and to go to Brighton with us in August as well. Two or three weeks in June would not answer the purpose at all.”
“What purpose is that? Do you wish to find him a bride, my dear? I feel sure he is too young for that.”
“Oh, yes,” interjected Lady Bridget hastily. “Indeed, he is, Mollie, for a gentleman, you know, must have time to learn about the world before he takes on a wife.”
“Exactly so,” Mollie agreed, “and he can learn a great deal in London.”
“You don’t think he ought to finish his education first?” Hawk asked her.
With a light gesture Mollie waved aside the benefits of an Oxford education. “There is nothing he cannot learn later when he returns at Michaelmas,” she said grandly.
“Then there is nothing further to be said,” Hawk replied. “When do you wish to ride, Ramsay?”
Astonished to think his brother meant to make no further comment on the issue, Ramsay stammered out that he would be ready as soon as they had finished their meal. Conversation turned to other matters after that, and Mollie was left to her own thoughts.
She had seen Ramsay look at her oddly when she had taken up the cudgels in his defense, and she knew he was remembering that she had raised a good many objections to his decision only two weeks before when he had turned up at the castle. But that had been different, she told herself. Besides, the matter had been decided before Hawk ever put his foot over the threshold. It occurred to her that her husband had given in rather easily, and she wondered if perhaps he meant to say more to Ramsay during their ride. However, there was nothing she could do to stop him if that was his intent, so she turned her thoughts to the list of things still left to be accomplished before the family could leave for London.
When she went upstairs after the meal, she found Cathe carrying clothes out of her bedchamber. “What on earth! Where are you taking all this lot?”
“’Is lordship said to move your things to the room next to ’is, m’lady. ’Tis the old mistress’s suite, and ’e says it be more convenient for ye, now ’e be in the master’s rooms.”
“Oh, he did, did he? And I suppose I’ve nothing to say in the matter.” But she could scarcely order Cathe to ignore Hawk’s direct command, and he had already departed with Ramsay, so she spent the next two hours helping to arrange her belongings in the new rooms. The time passed quickly, and at five o’clock Mollie drew a hand across her brow and realized she was hot, sweaty, and tired. She had spent nearly the entire afternoon sifting through her wardrobe, taking the opportunity to select those things that needed mending and those that could be discarded. Now she gave a long sigh.
“I’ve got to go for a walk, Cathe, before I begin snapping. I don’t want to look at another gown.” The girl only grinned at her, so Mollie grabbed up a light shawl and flung it over her shoulders before hurrying down the back stairs, through the postern gate to the causeway. She saw a horseman approaching and recognized Hawk at once. He was alone. Wondering where Ramsay had gotten to, she raised her hand to wave. But he was not watching her. Suddenly, he stopped and slid out of the saddle, dropping the rein to the ground. Leaning over the low wall edging the causeway, he
soon stood up again, dragging a wriggling, dripping Harry from the lake water. Mollie started to smile, then realized that Hawk’s intention, at the very least, was to give the boy a good shaking. Grabbing her shawl firmly in one hand, she started to run toward them.
“Stop that!” she cried. “Leave him alone!”
Hawk glanced up at her, then turned to face her with Harry still firmly in his grasp. “Does he make a habit of swimming off the causeway alone?” he demanded when she was near enough so that he didn’t have to shout.
“He is an excellent swimmer,” she said defensively. “He has swum off this causeway since he was quite small.”
“Alone?” Hawk repeated, his gaze direct.
Mollie looked away. “He is an excellent swimmer,” she repeated. “I see no reason for you to be so cross with him.”
Harry was standing silently beside his brother. He looked now from one adult to the other, and when Hawk turned that steely gaze upon him, the boy bore up well under it.
“Well, Harry, do you make it a habit to swim here alone?”
There was a small silence. Hawk waited. Finally, Harry blinked and said, “No, sir. I am supposed to have someone with me. I just didn’t think about it this afternoon, because I meant just to jump in and out again, and I thought it wouldn’t matter just this once. Only then it felt good, and I just stayed. I won’t do it again.”
“Did Mollie make the rule?”
Harry shifted his feet, then glanced apologetically at Mollie. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well, Harry. Go up and get dry clothes on now. And don’t ever let me catch you doing such a foolish thing again unless you want to feel my hand where it will do the most good.”
“Yes, sir. I-I mean, no, sir!” And Harry fled, clearly grateful at having gotten away so easily.
Mollie looked at her husband. “All right, so he’s not supposed to swim alone. It just made me angry to see you shaking him.”
