She was almost to Bampton when she spotted a small conveyance parked alongside the road, an old bay in the yoke. At the sound of her approach, the huddled form atop the box turned and exhaled a cloud of white. ”Lily?“ she heard before she saw the form straighten. The movement startled the horse, but he’d been hobbled and gave a snort.
“Thomas?” she countered, hurrying to reach the gig. And then Thomas was down from the box and wrapping his arms around her, his nose buried into the space between her shoulder and neck while her face pressed against his chest. “Oh, Thomas, I have missed you so much,” she murmured, glad for the warmth of his body and the blanket he had draped across his back.
“Finally,” he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Is that all you have?” the boy asked, motioning to her valise.
“Yes,” she replied with a shrug. “Everything I own,” she added, moving a gloved hand to his face. He was older than she remembered, the planes of his face straighter, his cheeks a bit more hollow, his eyebrows slashes on his forehead; she had to chide herself for thinking he would look exactly the same as he did when she’d left Bampton over two years ago.
Thomas took the valise from her and lifted it into the gig. Then he turned and lifted her up, one arm behind her knees and one behind her shoulders. She let out a squeak of surprise, but gamely allowed him the impropriety. He saw to the horse before taking the reins, and once settled with the blanket wrapped around both their backs, they huddled close as they set off for the northern counties.
Chapter 13
Hannah Meets a Frog
Having spent the late morning on a trek around the farmlands, Henry and Nathan picked their way back to the house. Nathan chattered about how he’d managed to get almost to the river before hearing his mother’s call for dinner the night before. Giving his son a sideways glance, Henry thought to correct him. The boy had been nowhere close to the river and had strict instructions not to go anywhere near the water unless Henry was with him. “What can be so fascinating about the river that you would wish to walk all the way there?” he asked, giving his son’s hair a quick ruffle.
Nathan pulled away. “I just wanna see it,” he countered, tilting his head up. “Last time I was there, it was frozen over.” The sun made his dark hair glint with red highlights, very much like Henry’s was displaying. It was at times like this he understood why so many in the village thought his son resembled him. At some point, he wondered if they wouldn’t look even more alike. “Would it be okay for me to go to the river if someone else was with me?” he wondered then, pausing for a second to pick up a multi-colored rock. He held it up for Henry to look at, the earl turning it in his hand several times to determine if it might be worth anything.
He tossed the rock back to Nathan. “As long as someone is with you, then I suppose you can go to the river,” Henry agreed, a hint of reluctance in his voice. Had he not been so busy with work on the irrigation system, he would have taken his son earlier that afternoon.
They mounted the steps to the house. The front door opened even before they reached the landing at the top. “Luncheon is served in the dining room, my lord,” Parkerhouse stated as he shut the door behind Nathan. “Will Miss Inglenook be joining us?”
Henry shook his head. “Not today.” He gave Nathan a slight nudge in the shoulder. “Come. Let’s wash our hands ...”
A positively blood curdling scream came from somewhere near the top of the stairs following by an “Oh!” that gave absolutely no indication as to the state of the person who had just screamed.
“Hannah!” Henry was already on the stairs, taking them two at a time as Nathan scrambled behind him. Wondering only for a second if he should first knock on the countess’ bedchamber door, he instead simply opened it, thinking Hannah was in some kind of mortal danger. He pulled up short, though, Nathan barreling into him from behind and then repositioning himself at his father’s side as the earl stared at his wife.
Hannah stood quite tall, and quite beautiful, Henry thought as he took in the sight of her with one arm bent at the waist and holding what appeared to be a moss green lump in her outstretched hand. “My lady,” he managed to get out before Hannah’s attention turned to him and to Nathan, her eyes hinting at amusement. “Are you ... alright?” he wondered, staring at her hand.
“Ribbit!”
The sound came from the green lump, which seemed to pulse as Hannah held it in her hand. “I am quite alright, my lord,” she answered with a nod, still holding the frog in front of her. Then her other hand reached out so a finger could stroke the frog down its back. Nathan’s eyes boggled at the sight of Hannah holding his prized frog. “However, this poor frog was in my sewing basket,” Hannah continued, pulling the creature closer to her body so that it was nearly nestled between her breasts.
For a moment, Henry found himself quite jealous of the little amphibian. I could be a frog. Kiss me, Hannah, and I’ll turn into a prince. He shook his head at the odd thought.
“I cannot fathom how he would have gotten in there,” her expression quite innocent as she glanced in Nathan’s direction. “I would never allow any of my frogs to get into my sewing. I would be quite bereft should one impale themselves on a pin ... or a needle!” she reasoned with a shake of her head.
Nathan’s eyes widened. “You have frogs?” he questioned, the awe in his voice unmistakable.
Hannah gave him a look that suggested his question could hardly warrant a response. “Well, of course. Doesn’t everyone?” she asked with a shake of her head. “Well, I should amend that claim, of course,” she said as she moved forward, still carrying the frog at her bosom. “I didn’t bring mine with me from London,” she explained as she looked up at Henry and gave him a wink. She handed the frog out to a still-awestruck Nathan. “It’s not really ... proper for a countess to keep frogs as pets,” she whispered.
Nathan reached out to take back his prized frog. “His name is Mr. Snotball, on account as he looks like ...”
“Nathan!” Henry interrupted his son, his eyes rolling heavenward as he realized what had happened. Of all the underhanded, cruel and unusual pranks the boy could pull on his new stepmother ...
“A snotball!” Hannah finished for him, her enthusiasm far too accommodating. “So, then he must be yours then,” she said with some humor, handing out the frog so that Nathan could retrieve it.
“Yes, my lady.” And, then, as if he realized his mistake in having admitted ownership of the errant frog, Nathan added, “He must have escaped and thought your sewing basket was the basket I keep him in at home.”
Hannah had to suppress a knowing smile, her eyes occasionally glancing in Henry’s direction. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t make that mistake again. I should hate for him to be stuck by an pin or needle,” she said with a cocked eyebrow.
“Oh, no, my lady,” Nathan said with a quick shake of his head. “He knows better now.”
Henry regarded Hannah with a roll of his eyes and a new-found respect for her way with children. “Luncheon is served in the dining room,” he said by way of invitation. “We were .... we were just on our way to wash our hands, weren’t we?” he asked as he looked down at his rather happy son. “And Mr. Snotball is not invited to join us for luncheon,” he stated in a rather firm voice.
Nathan looked suitably chastised, but then his brows furrowed, an expression that perfectly matched his father’s. “Wait. If you have frogs, my lady, then why did you ... scream just then?” he asked, his brows furrowing even deeper.
Henry nearly gave Nathan a swat for his impertinence, but Hannah gave him a quick shake of her head.
“He asked me to kiss him!” she answered with an expression that suggested she was quite insulted. “Claimed he would turn into a prince if I did!” This last bit was delivered with enough disbelief that Nathan turned his expression of awe onto his frog.
Henry merely rolled his own eyes, not quite sure if he should admonish his wife for her fib or take her into his arms and kiss her
senseless for showing such perfect grace in the face of an assault by a frog. Deciding he could kiss her senseless sometime before dinner that night, he placed his hands on his hips. “You both need to wash your hands before we can go down to eat,” he announced, his voice very businesslike.
Hannah’s bearing, suddenly returned to that of a lady, motioned to Nathan and they hurried off to her bath. “You can leave the frog in my bathtub,” Henry heard Hannah suggesting as his wife and son disappeared behind the door. “Just be sure to come get him after luncheon. Harold quite likes frogs, and I shouldn’t want Mr. Snotball to become his next meal,” she was explaining quite calmly.
“Ewww!” he heard Nathan respond. Henry put his hands to either side of his head, shaking it in disbelief.
Nathan’s visit and the clear skies prompted Hannah to take a walk. Harold lumbered along beside her as she made her way down the lane toward the village. Deep in thought over Nathan’s episode with the frog and wondering about Lily – she hadn’t come to her room to help her dress that morning – Hannah was quite surprised when Sarah was suddenly beside her.
“May I join, you?” the older woman wondered, a shawl pulled around her shoulders.
Hannah beamed at her husband’s ... former lover. “Of course. I thought to walk a ways.”
“No particular destination?” Sarah asked, reaching a hand up to brush some stray hairs from her face. Her tightly wound hair was covered by a serviceable bonnet.
Shaking her head, Hannah regarded the woman who walked alongside her. “None. I am feeling a bit sorry for myself.” At Sarah’s cocked eyebrow, she continued, “My maid has gone missing without so much as a word or a note.”
Sarah seemed startled by the comment. “Did she come with you from London?” she wondered, her brows suddenly furrowing. Why would a maid make the trip from London to Oxfordshire and then disappear?
“She did, but she was originally from Witney. I think she may have relatives there, and I have reason to believe there is a boy – someone named Thomas Babcock, perhaps?” Hannah heard Sarah’s inhalation of breath and turned to regard her. “Do you know him?” she wondered.
Placing a hand over her mouth, Sarah sighed. “Your maid must be Lily Parker.” At Hannah’s surprised nod, she sighed again. “Those two have wanted to wed for years. Mr. Babcock is employed by Mr. McDonald at his posting inn near Bampton. The boy was just promoted to oversee the taproom. I imagine his promotion makes it possible for him to afford to take a wife.”
Hannah sighed, realizing her almost worst fear had come to pass. Her worst had been that something dastardly had happened to Lily, that she was spirited away in the night by a highwayman or someone determined to do her harm. “I will miss her. She was always able to manage my hair,” she said with a wave toward her head. “And she was a good laundress.”
Sarah made a comment about good help being hard to find. “But, surely, there is someone at Gisborn Hall who can become your abigail,” she said, her arms folded across her chest, as if the shawl wasn’t quite enough to ward off the spring chill.
Shaking her head, Hannah replied, “I am not so sure. I rarely see servants about. I am beginning to think there are only a few on staff. Either that, or they are all hiding from me!” The two shared a giggle before Hannah remembered the frog and told Sarah about what had happened in her bedchamber. The more she related of the story, her face quite alight with humor, the more distressed and horrified Sarah’s expression became.
“You should have had the earl beat him senseless,” Sarah claimed, outrage clear on her features.
“It was just a frog,” Hannah replied with a shrug, surprised at Sarah’s sudden anger. “I have an older brother who used to pull such pranks on me. Your son doesn’t have a sister he can torment ...”
“Thank goodness,” Sarah breathed, yanking the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I am so ... sorry. I cannot believe ...”
“I think he feels a bit ... threatened by my presence,” Hannah interrupted, hoping she could make Sarah understand Nathan’s behavior and go a bit easy on the boy. “I have tried to be sure Lord Gisborn spends as much time with the two of you as he did before my arrival, but I cannot help but think he is ... at Gisborn Hall more than usual. Is that ... is that the case?”
Her hands tying the ends of the shawl into a knot, Sarah gave Hannah a sideways glance. “Nothing has changed in that regard,” Sarah said, almost as if she wanted it to. She sighed and paused in mid-step. “May I ... I wish to speak freely, milady, but I would like some assurance my words will not reach his lordship’s ears,” she said, as if she was about to impart news the earl would find offensive.
Hannah frowned as she regarded Nathan’s mother. “Oh. Of ... of course. Rest assured I shall not share your comments with anyone.” After all, who would she share them with? It wasn’t as if any of her friends were available for afternoon tea and the latest gossip. A pang of guilt interrupted her thought. Just because Lady Bostwick wasn’t available to spend every morning with her in the parlor, why couldn’t she invite Sarah to do so? Or other ladies of the village? There were apparently several members of the landed gentry somewhere near Bampton. She could invite them to Gisborn Hall for tea.
“You seemed rather ... surprised ... that I was not especially upset at Gisborn having taken a wife,” Sarah stammered.
Hannah cocked her head to one side. “I was,” Hannah acknowledged. She thought a moment, deciding she could be frank with Sarah. “I knew he left for London expecting to buy land, and instead, he came back with another woman’s dowry and me as his wife. I would expect you to be ... angry. Hurt. To feel betrayed.”
There.
She’d spoken the words out loud – for herself and for Sarah to hear. It was a rather harsh way of looking at the situation, but when it came down to it, that’s exactly what she thought would happen.
Her brows furrowing as she considered Hannah’s odd comment, Sarah shook her head. “I felt none of those things. In fact, relief would be a better word to describe my reaction at hearing Gisborn had finally taken a wife,” she stated quite firmly. “It meant I was free to make my own life.” After a pause, her brow furrowed. “Another woman’s dowry?”
Nodding, Hannah shrugged. “I suppose I feel as if I am his third ...” She paused, thinking of something from long ago. “No, his fourth choice,” she murmured, a heaviness settling over her.
Sarah brows furrowed as she considered the comment. “How could you have been his fourth choice?” she asked, suddenly befuddled. “Who else would Gisborn have married?”
Hannah turned to face Sarah directly. “You, first. He loves you. He has since you were children. You bore him a son ...”
“I was never an available choice for him, and he has known it for all of our adult lives,” Sarah said with such conviction it caused Hannah to step back. “Gisborn might be an earl, but he is a farmer first and foremost. I have lived in this area for my entire life, my lady. I promised myself I would never become a farmer’s wife,” she stated firmly. “I do not want that life for myself nor for my children,” she added her head shaking from side to side.
Astonished at Sarah’s confession, Hannah had to blink several times. That is what I am. A farmer’s wife. Henry had made that clear in the library her first day at Gisborn Hall. I am a countess, too. She hadn’t been at Gisborn Hall very long, but she couldn’t find fault with the life there. Yes, her husband spent long hours out of doors, seeing to the irrigation trenches, and to a greenhouse that was suddenly being built, and to the laborers in the fields. But she hardly thought of him as a farmer. But Sarah obviously knew of the hard work required to keep a farm, the work required during every hour of daylight to make sure crops were planted, watered, harvested and sold. She knew of the disasters that could render a farm a failure – drought, insects, disease. “You were a farmer’s daughter,” Hannah spoke softly when she realized why Sarah would not want the life for herself.
Sarah’s head jerked as if she’d b
een slapped across the face. “I was,” she acknowledged. “I promised myself I would marry a man who owned a business. I want my children to live in a town, with other children to play with. I don’t want their entire existence to be doing chores and seeing animals slaughtered and praying for better weather because one bad season can send a farmer to debtors’ prison.”
It was Hannah’s turn to look as if she’d been slapped. “You are about to marry someone, aren’t you?” she whispered, her breaths coming a bit faster. Mrs. Chambers had been correct with her bit of gossip in the kitchen a few days ago.
Sarah inhaled and held her breath for several steps, as if she was trying to decide if she could admit her secret to the countess. “You can say nothing to Gisborn, but yes, I am being courted. Mr. McDonald – the man who owns the posting inn in Bampton where Mr. Babcock works – he ... he is a good man. A widow. I have known him almost as long as I’ve known Gisborn, and he feels affection for me. And I for him, truth be told,” she murmured, a wan smile appearing. “With luck, we shall marry about the time Nathan goes off to school. At some point, once Mr. McDonald is ready, I shall tell Gisborn my plans. ” She took a deep breath, as if putting a voice to her thoughts had emboldened her. She returned to Hannah’s earlier worry. “Now, since I could never be a choice for Gisborn’s wife, that leaves you as ... third. Which is ludicrous. Whoever would have preceded you?” she asked, her manner quite stern.
Hannah considered Sarah’s comment. Wouldn’t she know about Lady Jennifer? Gisborn’s betrothal to the late Wainwright girl was known in London parlors, mostly because he was nearly fifteen years her senior. Some claimed he had only met the girl once, when she was quite young and he wasn’t yet aware he’d be an earl someday. His uncle had to have been behind the arrangement. “He was betrothed to Lady Jennifer Wainwright,” Hannah offered finally. “Although he has said nothing about her death in the fire last year.”
The Seduction of an Earl Page 18
