A Country Affair

by Patricia Wynn

  “Mr. Lint,” she began with her hands on her hips.

  “Richard—please,” he begged her in his most cordial voice.

  She stomped one foot. Richard did not think he had ever seen her look more desirable than at that moment. Her rich, brown eyes were flashing like logs aflame, her breast was heaving and filling her bodice, and her cheeks had turned the deep colour of cherry wine.

  “I shall never—” she stomped on “never"—"never address you as Richard again. How you could embarrass me so! And in front of Mr. Fancible, too! Why, my reputation will be ruined!"

  Richard hid a smile and widened his eyes in a look of total innocence. “Selina, what can you mean?"

  “You know what I mean. You implied—” she glanced at the floor—"you know very well what you implied."

  “What—” Richard scratched his head, hoping to be at least a bit convincing. “What did I imply?"

  She darted an angry glance his way. “You know. That you and I— That we—” With a flurry of her fingers, she gave it up. “I cannot imagine what possessed you to act in that fashion."

  “That we ... ?” Richard hoped to prompt the rest from her, at which point he would be happy to carry through on whatever image had entered her mind.

  But Selina was far too embarrassed for that. He had disturbed her far more than he had intended, and his innocent act had done much worse. She was truly angry now and close to tears.

  Abandoning his pose, Richard took a step towards her, wishing he could fold her in his arms, but feeling now was not the time. “I am sincerely sorry if I've said something to embarrass you in front of your visitor. If I can make it up to you, I will be happy to oblige."

  “I thought Romeo was going to hit you,” she surprised him by saying miserably. “Which would have been your fault! But you should not go around provoking men twice your size with no regard for the consequences."

  “Twice my size? Surely you exaggerate!” Richard protested. “I mean, the fellow is as big and as clumsy as a barn, but I am not precisely as small as you paint me. I have been known to deck more than one six-foot man."

  “And so you would be brawling about my barnyard? And teasing Romeo, who has not done anything to deserve such miserable treatment!"

  Richard felt the seed of remorse entering his heart. It had been petty of him to use his brain against one no better than a cow's. “If what I said was unkind or unfair, you have my apology."

  “It is Romeo's apology you should seek. Do I need to remind you in what position he stands to me?"

  Richard's head shot up. Selina did not meet his eye.

  All of a sudden, he was aware of the silence in the barn, the rustle of the hay as he shifted his feet, the sound of her breathing.

  His hackles were on the rise. “No,” he said, suppressing them. “You have no need to remind me."

  She bobbed her lowered head. “Good. Then no more on the subject need be said. You will excuse me."

  With that, and much to his dismay, she hurriedly left the barn. As she turned, she gave her hair a brisk flick over her shoulder.

  Richard turned quickly back to his tools, muttering a curse under his breath. He had not meant to injure her so. All he had wanted ....

  All he had wanted was to shake her from the indifference she had been showing him. For the life of him, he could not imagine what he had done to make her change her manner towards him so drastically.

  He remembered he had laid hands upon her shoulders and, despite the warm feel of her under his palms, had tried his best not to seduce her. And he had succeeded, too, though his success had cost him dearly that night. In spite of the wintry air, he had been forced to indulge in a cold-water wash.

  It was the closest he had come to kissing someone and not doing so. And this was what he had earned.

  A heavy sigh came from somewhere behind him. Richard whirled to see Lucas leaning on a shovel.

  “Women,” the old man said, shaking his head.

  “I beg your pardon?” Richard raised an offended brow. “Were you eavesdropping?"

  “Who me?” Lucas shook his head rapidly, before a look of cunning swept his face. “No. Wouldn't do that,” he said.

  “Wouldn't you.” Richard made his tone as flat as he dared without calling the man an out-and-out liar. “Then, what, pray, is the reason for such a comment?"

  Lucas scratched the back of his head, undoubtedly setting free a few pair of lice. After Richard's recent argument with Selina, who had stood in just that place, he felt more than his usual repugnance upon seeing present company.

  But Lucas seemed to have settled down to chat, possibly to avoid his next task. For once, Richard was in no mood to scold him.

  “Only said something ‘cause I've got a kind o’ way with women."

  “You?” Richard's doubt amused him. “You are something of an expert, are you?"

  “Yessir.” Lucas shrugged as if the burdens for one of his talents had been great. “Knows ‘un frontwards and backwards, so to speak."

  I'll bet you do, you rascal. Thinking to himself, Richard tried to ignore the obvious reference, hoping not to hear a chronicle of Lucas's conquests, which he trusted would resemble tales of horror. “That does not explain your disgusted comment or why you made it just now."

  Lucas eyed him from under his brows. Seeing nothing in Richard's manner to alarm him, he volunteered, “Mistress Payley shot out o’ here like a squirrel bein’ chased by a fox.” His gaze probed Richard in a way that would have made him squirm were it not so comical. “Thought maybe you had scared her, like."

  “Your mistress has nothing to fear from me, and she knows it. So you may keep your concerns to yourself."

  Richard turned back to clean his own shovel. The old rascal settled himself comfortably down in a pile of hay for a snooze.

  After a few minutes, he spoke from beneath his beaten-up hat. “Yessir, I guess women are like horses. They're hard to figure out."

  Richard's patience wore thin. He could not allow Lucas to discuss his mistress. “I am sure,” he said, “that you would not include Miss Payley in your idle chatter."

  “Oh, no.” The shake of Lucas's head did not convince Richard, but he let it pass. “Not Miz Payley. She's a right ‘un. Not hard to figure out at all."

  Not for you, perhaps, but hard enough for me, Richard thought, though he would never have spoken this aloud. Still, Lucas's comment had raised his curiosity. Was this just a braggart speaking, or did Lucas have some rare insight into female behavior?

  Richard decided it would do no harm to probe Lucas's cunning brain, and he might at the least derive some amusement from discovering what went on in that twisted organ.

  Without appearing too interested, Richard ventured over his shoulder, “So, you've had a great experience of women."

  “Yessir. More than ye might think."

  That was for certain. “And what has this vast experience taught you?"

  Lucas did not trouble to lift himself to a sitting position, but he did remove the hat from his eyes. He bent one arm behind his head.

  “Seems to me, ye've got to think like one of ‘un to get what ye want."

  “Yes?” Richard truly was interested now, enough to turn around. “And you can do this, can you?"

  Lucas shrugged with a movement that was half cocky, half modest. “S'pose I can at that."

  “So tell me, how do women think?”

  A pained look came over Lucas's face. “Can't tell ye that. It all depends, ye see, on what's a doing."

  “On what is going on between you and your lady friend. Is that what you mean?"

  Lucas nodded the way a wise man nods to an apt pupil. “That's so. That's the way of it."

  “I see....” Richard thought he might venture a hypothetical case. “So, if I were to say that a gentleman had great respect for a lady, and had shown this respect by keeping his distance from her, you might be able to tell me why that lady would be very angry at him?"

  “Why don't
he want her?” Lucas fired back.

  Richard was startled enough by this question to blurt out, “But he does want her. Didn't I say he had an uncommon respect for the lady?"

  “Respect.” Lucas chuckled and wheezed. “What's that?"

  Disgusted, Richard chastised himself for getting into a ridiculous conversation with a man who smelled like a manure pile. It was simply one more piece of evidence that working on a farm was making him lose his veneer of civilization. Why, next, he would be discussing crops with Caesar and Nero!

  Not wishing Lucas to think his hypothetical case had anything to do with Selina or himself, he hid his frustration behind a calm facade and made ready to leave.

  “O’ course—” Lucas's voice stopped him on the way out the door—"one thing ye do notice about women is that they're a bit like cows."

  “Like cows! Why, you old goat!”

  Richard turned angrily and took a step towards him, but Lucas remained unruffled. His hat had been placed back over his face.

  “Not so's yer thinking,” he said slowly. He seemed in no particular hurry to correct his outrageous words. “I mean, it's their tails."

  “Their tails?” Richard controlled his temper. “You think that by adding that, you've improved upon your statement?"

  “It's the way they toss it. Their hair, ye know. Like a cow tosses her tail when she sees her bull a-coming."

  Nearly flummoxed, Richard was about to give up in disgust when a memory leapt into his mind. Selina had tossed her hair his way when she had left the barn.

  Richard knew many a flirtatious movement, practiced by ladies in London, but none of them wore their hair down their backs like Selina. It would be practically impossible, and certainly ill-advised to try to toss a coiffure à la grecque.

  Though Richard hated to admit it, it was possible that Lucas had hit upon something. Perhaps, Selina was not grateful that he had shown such restraint. She had wanted to kiss him, too, he had been sure at that moment. Instead of being grateful to him for reining himself in, perhaps she resented the blow to her vanity.

  He knew that she was proud. In his attempts to circumnavigate that pride, he might have done the one unforgivable thing: to lead her to commit herself with her eyes, then to beat a retreat. He tried to put himself in her place, as Lucas had suggested, and saw that this might have caused her to seek revenge. And to rub in the fact that she was contemplating marriage with a man so far beneath her. Richard could almost smile at her determination to make him suffer, for she certainly had. Selina was certainly no milquetoast.

  Recalling that Lucas was nearby, Richard shook himself free of his contemplation. The scoundrel probably knew whom they had been talking about all along, but he would never dare say so aloud. Not without losing his free ride.

  Convinced the most dignified exit would be to leave with no further words, Richard took himself off at once, not entirely sorry that he had paused long enough to chat. If Selina needed someone to show her how desirable she was, then Richard considered himself to be amply qualified.

  Chapter Nine

  “Don't you care for Richard?” Augustus's troubled voice pierced Selina's reverie.

  They had been sitting near the hearth after supper, Selina with a basket of needlework in her lap, Augustus with a book held up to the soft light.

  Selina had been thinking of Richard, her needle paused in the air, when the question startled her. Trying not to show how much it had disturbed her, she hastily took up her mending.

  “Yes, of course I like Richard,” she said as evenly as she could. “What made you ask?"

  Augustus shrugged, and a frown of boyish puzzlement came over his face. Glancing at the book he had put down, Selina saw that he had not made much progress with his Latin. Scarcely more than she had made with her stitching.

  In typical Augustus fashion, however, he did not answer her at once, but withheld his response until he had given the matter his proper consideration. When he did, his words were enough to make her flush.

  “You never speak to Richard kindly. You give him the most unpleasant chores to do. And you never smile any more."

  Selina had not felt like smiling for many days, and just now, she felt most unreasonably like crying, but she had never stopped to think what effect her mood would have upon her brother. She had supposed, if she had thought about it at all, that his youth would protect him from noticing the troubles of his elders, but now she saw that she had underestimated Augustus's feelings.

  “You needn't worry,” she told him gently. “I do like Mr. Lint, and I shall be grateful to him, too, if his cousin turns up the evidence we are seeking."

  “Then, why do you treat Richard worse than you treat Lucas?"

  “I do not!"

  “Yes, you do. You would never give Lucas so much work that he nearly missed dinner, or expect him to plant new trees by himself."

  “That is because Lucas requires a great deal of supervision, while Rich—” she caught herself before speaking his name— “while Mr. Lint seems perfectly able to care for himself."

  “And you called him Richard before, but now you've gone back to calling him Mr. Lint."

  Selina could say nothing in rebuttal. Unfortunately, Augustus had been present when she had made that ill-advised decision, which had done nothing but bring an unwarranted degree of familiarity into her dealings with Richard. A familiarity on her part only, it seemed, which had gone no further on his, no matter what her dreams upon the subject had been. No matter what silliness her mind had concocted or her heart had supposed.

  But it would not do to let Augustus know the extent of her confusion and despair.

  “I have decided to call him Mr. Lint,” she said, “to observe the proprieties. You are only a boy, Augustus. You do not know how society works, but Mr. Lint's continuation at The Grange could appear to be something quite other than it is."

  “How do you know that it isn't?” Augustus floored her by asking.

  The blood drained from her cheeks, then flooded them. “How do I know it isn't what?” Her question came out in a whisper.

  “How do you know what his motives for staying really are?"

  “I—presume they are what he has stated them to be,” Selina said, flustered. “It would be most improper of me to presume anything else."

  “You mean, what he said about learning to tend an orchard?"

  “Of course."

  “Oh, fiddle!” Augustus's disgust surprised her. “A gentleman with Richard's intelligence could learn everything he needed to know about orchards in one day!"

  “In ... one day?"

  He nodded. “He has his estates. An experienced landlord or farmer already knows how to tend the soil. All he needs are a few additional facts about fruit trees—when to plant and harvest them, how, and when, to prune, which variety to grow in his county .... A handful of facts."

  “Then ....” something about Augustus's words had set a bell to ringing deep inside her. “Then, if what you are saying is true, Richard must have some other reason for being here?"

  Augustus nodded again. In his eyes, a question lurked, almost as if he did not know whether to be happy or sad. “Yes, and I thought you might know what his reason was.”

  “No—” Selina shook her head vehemently—"No, I have not the slightest idea.”

  In fact, the notion that Richard might have some ulterior motive for staying at The Grange had never occurred to her. These past few days, she had been so wrapped up in her own misery, she had hardly noticed a thing. And, she realized both suddenly and painfully, from the moment he had first appeared, she had ignored any logical question her brain might have raised.

  Such as, who was Richard? Was he a farmer or someone more important? How big was his estate? Where did he come from—was his land in Kent or even Yorkshire? Was it somewhere that cherry trees could even grow? She had no idea. And, most importantly, she had never learned how he had found The Grange in the first place. Had someone sent him?

&nbs
p; Selina had purposely refused to ask any questions of the sort for fear of chasing him off. First, perhaps, because she had needed his business so desperately. But now, oh now, she realized, because she did not wish him to go. She had refused to listen to the voice inside her because she had wanted him to stay. She had not wanted to believe he had another life away from her and The Grange.

  While she was dismally admitting these things to herself, Augustus stayed silent, but then, he spoke. “Well, I do like Richard."

  “You do?” Selina could not keep a pathetic plea from creeping into her voice. “Why?"

  Augustus gave a jerk to his head to flick the hair out of his eyes. Her brother, Selina noticed guiltily, had been woefully neglected and was in desperate need of a haircut.

  “Oh, I don't know,” Augustus mused. “I guess because he tackles the work as if it were play. I don't mean that he does not do a good job, because he does. It is more as if he knows there are more important things than mucking out a barn, but he is content to do it for now.

  “And he discusses books with me as if I were someone more than just a boy. I cannot help liking that. I mean—” Augustus looked down at his shoes and shuffled them—"Romeo could never discuss my readings with me. He has not read since he was in school, if he did at all."

  “Why do you bring up Romeo?” Selina asked uncomfortably

  “Well...” Augustus looked sheepish... “I thought that it might be that Richard was staying because of you. And if that were so, then I wanted you to know which one I would prefer."

  “Which—” Selina felt her cheeks heating up again. Her breast was swelling with a nervous beating inside. “Which one you would prefer?"

  She tried to make her question sound more casual than it was. If Augustus had noticed so much—and she could almost kick herself for not being a tenth as aware as he—then, perhaps he had remarked something about Richard's intentions that she herself had failed to note. And, if so, she absolutely must hear it.

  But Augustus could not be more specific. When prodded, he responded that it seemed Richard spent a great deal of time staring at her. It seemed to Augustus, too, that Richard's interest in trees was only spurious at best. His innate courtesy kept him focused on Augustus's word whenever the boy tried to explain some simple principle of cultivation, but his mind always seemed to be half somewhere else.