by Carola Dunn
“What the devil!” Justin drew rein and stared, torn between surprise and amusement.
Colin’s sun-browned face flushed as the chestnut carthorse stopped beside Mills. “Good day, my lord,” he echoed the bailiff with evident reluctance.
Though half the Suffolk’s bulk, Prince Rurik was not much shorter, but he stood downhill. Justin craned his neck backwards and said with a grin, “Does it give you delusions of grandeur?”
Colin’s flush deepened. “At least Daisy is reliable and good-natured,” he retorted.
“I advised the lad to ask his lordship for a proper mount,” said Mills, his eyes bright with mirth. So this was his secret joke!
“I wager Miss Webster forbade it.” Justin was as certain as if he had heard the words.
“Yes, she did,” said Colin defiantly.
“Well, I seem to be contradicting a great many of your sister’s prohibitions these days, so we’ll look about for something more suited to your size and dignity.”
“You mean you’ll buy me a horse?” The boy looked both eager and incredulous.
“I shall. The Wooburn stables are sadly depleted these days.”
“Could you...” Colin started, acutely embarrassed. “Would it be possible... You see, I’m on the large side, but I don’t mind looking a bit of a fool if you’d only buy a smallish horse, so that Gil and the girls could ride sometimes.”
Mills nodded approval, as if his favourable opinion of his protégé had been borne out.
“Your sisters ride?” Justin asked.
“They used to, before my father sold the manor. Just ponies, of course—even Ginnie wasn’t quite grown up then.”
“Ponies,” said Justin thoughtfully, tucking away in his mind the information about the late Mr. Webster. “The twins ought to be learning to ride. Mills, keep your ears open for a couple of children’s ponies, will you?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“They had best be as near identical as possible, to avoid squabbles. That may take some time. Colin, not a word to your brothers. I don’t want to raise their hopes too soon. Meanwhile, you and I shall seek out mounts for yourself and Gilbert and the ladies.”
“For all of us?” he gasped.
Justin smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “There’s plenty of room in the stables,” he said.
“And plenty of likely lads wishful to be taken on as grooms,” said Mills.
“Send ’em to Duffy,” Justin told him. “Where are you bound? I’ll go with you.”
They rode on together, talking of estate business. Impressed by Colin’s grasp of matters of which he himself knew nothing, Justin was glad he had made the effort to become better acquainted with the lad.
They had stopped to speak to a score of women and children gleaning in a harvested field when a scrawny boy of ten or twelve pushed through a gap in the hedge. The group parted as he ran up to the bailiff. Anguish, excitement, and fatigue fought for ascendancy on his scratched, tear-besmirched face.
“Mr. Mills, please, sir, me da’s hurt bad. Near cut his leg off wi’ his scythe. Mam says will you come, please, sir. I bin looking for you all over.”
“Bragg’s Bottom?” asked Mills curtly.
“They carried him home, sir.”
“Has the doctor been sent for, Davy? No? Colin, off wi’ you to Beaconsfield for the doctor.’’
“I’ll go,” said Justin, already turning Prince Rurik’s head. “It will be quicker. You’d best come up behind me, Davy, to direct the doctor.”
As a kerchiefed woman lifted the boy onto the stallion’s croup. Mills nodded in acknowledgement. “Aye, my lord, but I’d be glad if you’d come straight back and have a word wi’ Jake Robinson. Accidents will happen, to be sure, but he pushes his men too hard.”
“He do be a hard master, m’lord,” another of the gleaners volunteered.
“I’ll speak to him while the shock is upon him,” Justin promised. “I’ll not have my father’s tenants mistreating their hands. Hold on tight, lad.”
As he urged his mount to a trot, he thought he heard, through a murmur of approval from the gleaners. Mill’s laconic voice saying, “He’ll do.”
“He’s a great gun,” came Colin’s enthusiastic reply.
A warm surge of pleasure brought a smile to Justin’s face. Prince Rurik sailed over the hedge and galloped on with his double burden.
Luckily, they found the doctor at home. He took the boy up in his gig and Justin cantered back cross-country towards Robinson’s farm. Storm clouds were massing overhead; an occasional gust of wind raised a swirl of dust from the dry ground. In the pastures cattle huddled in uneasy groups, but in the arable fields reapers and gleaners worked with an urgent intensity. Justin realized that Jake Robinson had been racing to get his crop in before the fine weather broke, yet the farmer could not be permitted to endanger his labourers.
When he reached the wattle-and-daub cottage that was Davy’s home, Robinson was just emerging, his expression belligerent. Justin called to him and dismounted, tying Prince Rurik beside Daisy and Mills’s Welsh cob. The farmer came over, hat in hand, his pugnacity changing to a look of harassment. He stood staring at the ground while Justin made it plain to him that if he wished to renew his lease come Michaelmas, he must have more care for the welfare of his people.
“And I suggest that in future you take Mr. Mills’s advice on the best use of a piece of land,” he finished, recalling the steward’s opinion that Bragg’s Bottom should be left to pasture. He dismissed the sullen man and turned to the cottage.
“Well said.” Ginnie stood on the doorstep, smiling at him. Beneath her chipstraw hat, her face was pink, her ringlets limp. The hem of her lilac walking dress was liberally coated with dust. She looked hot and weary and bedraggled.
“What are you doing here?” he enquired, concerned.
Her smile faded. “I know it is Mama’s duty to visit the tenants, but she—”
“I meant no criticism,” he said hastily. “It is admirable that you should respond so quickly to their need.”
The grey-blue eyes searched his, saw his sincerity. “I brought a basket of provisions. The family has lost its breadwinner and will be in sore straits. Temporarily, one must hope, but he is badly cut and has lost a great deal of blood. Is the doctor coming?”
“Yes, but he’d have been here sooner had they sent for him at once.”
“He would not come without Mr. Mills’s authority, I collect, for fear of not receiving his fee.”
Justin frowned, dismayed. “That will not do. I shall assure him that in future he may count on me to pay for any services to my father’s dependents.”
“You must not blame your father,” Ginnie said gently, guessing his thoughts. “He has not had the heart to take an interest in his estate since... since he lost your mother.’’
“But your mother has restored his joie de vivre,” he said with a wry smile. “I—”
A rumble of thunder interrupted him. A flurry of raindrops spattered down and they retreated into the cottage.
The dimly lit ground floor of the tiny dwelling was a single room, crowded now. On a wooden settle by the fireplace lay a man in a blue smock. Mills and Colin bent over him, struggling to bind a fresh cloth over the bloodstained rag that wrapped his calf. A woman stood nearby, her anxious gaze fixed on her injured husband, a babe in her arms and toddlers clinging to her shabby, neatly patched skirts.
“Her eldest daughter is a dairymaid,” Ginnie said quietly. “She will be required at home now, yet they need her small wages.”
“I’ll make up the money. Do you think I should offer the lad, Davy, a place as stable-boy?”
“An excellent notion. Tell her, and relieve her mind of a part of her troubles.” She nudged him towards the woman.
He went to speak to her, and was relieved when the doctor arrived in a crash of thunder to end her tearful gratitude. Colin and Mills made way for the physician’s ministrations. A moment later two neighbour women came in
, shawls thrown over their heads, doubtless driven from the fields by the rain that now pelted down from the leaden skies. They hesitated on the threshold, awed by the exalted company within.
“Time we were off,” grunted Mills.
“You can’t walk home in this, Ginnie,” Colin pointed out. “You’d best come up with me on Daisy. You’ll only be drenched instead of drowned.”
“On Daisy!” Ginnie’s alarm made the men grin. “But she’s so very... large.”
“She’s very gentle and she can carry two easily.”
“So can Prince Rurik,” Justin said, intervening, “and he will get you home sooner. Wait here a moment while I bring him to the door.”
Ignoring her obvious uncertainty, he dashed out, before realizing that haste was futile. By the time he had untied Prince Rurik, who whickered a nervous greeting, his shirt was sticking clammily to his back. He mounted and rode over to the cottage door.
Colin helped his sister up. She perched uncomfortably on Prince Rurik’s withers in front of Justin, her hat rapidly disintegrating under a torrent from the thatched eaves.
“Hang on to his mane with one hand,” Justin ordered, “and lean back.”
She obeyed, holding herself stiffly. He put one arm about her slender waist and gave Prince Rurik the office to start. There was no hint of romance or passion in his clasp—he was simply glad of the spot of warmth against his chest as the heavens clashed above and the rain poured relentlessly down.
Ginnie’s clothes were soaked through within moments. She scarcely noticed the fact, nor Justin’s arm steadying her. Out in the open, the storm was much more terrifying than she had dreamt possible. Clutching the stallion’s mane, she willed herself not to curl up in a ball with her hands over her ears and her eyes shut tight.
She half succeeded. The flare of lightning penetrated her closed eyelids; crack after crack of thunder deafened her. Fright and the damp chill combined to produce a spasm of shivering.
Justin’s clasp tightened. His nearness was a strong, unyielding refuge, a shield against the raging elements. Beneath her she felt Prince Rurik’s solid vigour, the regular drumming of his hooves combating the tempest’s chaos. Gradually she relaxed and let her two protectors guard her from harm.
Justin guessed her unreasoning fear, knew the moment when she allowed herself to trust him. For years her family had relied upon her to shelter them from the world. Now, for a brief space of time, she relied upon him. A tender protectiveness rose in him.
Through the storm they galloped homeward.
* * *
Chapter 14
“I must speak to you,” said Justin urgently, following Ginnie into the house.
“Yes, but not just now!” Meeting a footman in the hall, Ginnie caught a glimpse of the man’s startled expression before he put on his stolid mask. She was suddenly aware of her appearance.
The dust on her hem had turned to streaks of mud. The thin muslin of her gown and shift clung soddenly to her skin. Her hair hung in dripping draggle-tails about her neck, and the brim of her hat sagged over her ears.
“Not now!” she wailed, and sped towards the stairs.
“A hot bath for Miss Webster at once, John,” Justin ordered behind her, his voice filled with amusement, “and a fire in her chamber.”
At least, after he had seen her in such a disgraceful state, he’d never again be tempted to take liberties with her person. She tried to persuade herself she was glad of that.
A bath and her sister’s soothing ministrations soon restored her equanimity. Lydia brushed her wet hair as they sat by the fire, a welcome luxury even in August, for rain still streamed down the window-panes though the thunder had receded to an occasional distant rumble.
Ginnie told Lydia about Justin’s handsome behaviour at the labourer’s cottage. “He will be a good landlord, I believe,” she said, “however difficult he is as a relation by marriage.”
“I am not perfectly sure,” said Lydia, her smooth brow creased in perplexity, “but I think he said he meant to hire a dressmaker and an abigail for us.”
“Heavens, what has come over him? He told me he wishes to speak to me. I assumed he was merely going to discuss arrangements for his guests, as Reynolds mentioned that he received several letters this morning. Can he possibly intend to call a halt to hostilities?”
“Only Jimmy and Jack still dislike him. Even though they have only morning lessons during the summer, they hate having a governess, and they blame Justin for hiring Miss Tullycombe.”
“Steppapa did say it was Justin’s notion. Oh dear, I have never thanked him, and whatever the twins’ opinion, her presence is a blessing. I must go and find him.”
“Your hair is just dry enough to put in curl-papers.’’
“Drat curl-papers,” said Ginnie. “Ringlets take too long. Braid it and pin it up, Lyddie, there’s a dear.”
“It is still damp. You will catch cold.”
“I’ll wear a cap. Go and borrow one of Mama’s.”
Lydia returned with a delightful confection of lace and jonquil ribbons. Examining her reflection in the glass, Ginnie wrinkled her nose. In itself quite becoming, the cap made her look like an old maid.
Before she could decide whether to risk taking a chill, there came a knock at the door. It was Tebbutt.
“Lord Amis’s compliments, miss, and he’ll be in the library for the next hour, if you would find it convenient to join him.”
Forgetting the cap, Ginnie refused Lydia’s offer to go with her and made her way down to the library.
Despite her rejection of Lydia’s support, she was quite relieved to see Gilbert hunched over his books at one end of the room. A branch of candles stood on the table beside him, but the rest of the library was dimly lit by grey daylight. Absorbed in his studies, her brother failed to notice her entrance. Justin, however, turned from the window where he had been gazing out at the rain and came eagerly towards her.
“Ginnie—Miss Webster...” he began in a low voice, with a glance at Gilbert.
“Ginnie,” she said softly, offering her hand, “if we are to cry friends.”
“I hope so.” He took her hand in a warm, disturbing clasp and led her back towards the window. As she sat down on the window-seat, he exclaimed, “Good Lord, why on earth are you wearing that frightful cap?”
“It’s a very pretty cap.”
“Very fetching, to be sure.” He looked down at her, devastatingly handsome with a smile tilting the corners of his firm mouth, a glint in his dark eyes. “But unless you have aged several years in the last hour, you ought not to be putting on a spinster’s cap. In fact, I cannot imagine why you were not wed long since.’’
“I trust I am not yet at my last prayers!’’ said Ginnie, indignation stilling the flutter in her breast.
“Precisely what I have just said. You have an admirer in Mr. Mark Desborough, I believe...”
“He called this morning—to enquire after Priscilla’s health.”
“...And I don’t doubt there have been other beaux.”
“Beaux who failed to become suitors when they realized that I was not only penniless but encumbered by a large family I could not possibly abandon.”
“Yes, your family.” He sat down beside her, running his fingers through his hair. Ginnie edged back into the comer to increase the few inches between them. Ruefully he asked, “I could not have misinterpreted the situation more completely, could I? Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
His closeness was not the only cause for embarrassment. She studied her tightly clasped hands. “If we are to talk of forgiveness, I must needs beg yours, too. I could have stopped the children, but I positively encouraged them to make you uncomfortable.”
“Short of actual injury, I have it on good authority—Nathaniel’s.”
“And Mama’s marrying your father in the first place was my doing.”
“So you informed me. It has been forcibly borne in upon me that you acted for the bes
t. Come, let us cry quits and start anew.”
“They are happy, are they not? Your papa was so sad and lonely....”
“It was his notion that I should join the diplomatic service,” Justin said defensively.
“He told us. He was very proud of you, going off to do your part against Boney.”
“As his only son, I did not feel it right to become a soldier.”
“Very proper. Nonetheless, he was lonely. I could tell the moment I first set eyes on him.”
“How did you meet?”
“You know that the earl went to Cheltenham to take the waters? No, I dare say he would not tell you. He was very pulled about after a bad attack of the influenza in the spring. One wet and windy Sunday in April we were coming out of church when Mama’s umbrella blew inside out. Lord Wooburn offered his, in the most gentlemanly manner, as his carriage was waiting for him. Mama would have sent Colin to return the umbrella to him, but I made her go herself.”
“Having discovered who he was, and that he was a widower,” said Justin drily.
Ginnie flushed. “Well, of course. We were all to pieces, though we had moved to the cheapest lodgings I could find. I was quite in despair.”
“The fact is, for all your mama’s amiability, and much as she loves her children, it was you who maintained the family, you who took charge.”
Her flush deepened. “Yes,” she said simply. What a managing female he must think her! She tried to explain. “You see, Mama is too trusting and too diffident—”
“Too feather-headed,” he corrected her, looking sardonic.
“She is not precisely clever,” she agreed, “and when Papa died she was with child. And Gilbert was very young, only twelve.”
“You must have been all of fifteen.”
“Sixteen. Quite old enough to run a household.”
“Positively matronly. Your father’s death left you in straitened circumstances?”
“We were purse-pinched for some years before that, but Papa was always optimistic, always certain his next scheme was bound to restore the family fortunes. He even hoped to be able one day to buy back the manor.” Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered her handsome, cheerful father.
