by Cheryl Bolen
At that moment Mrs. Taylor, carrying several books and a small bag, came into the room, panting from her ascent up the steep stairs. She put her books down on the table, ignoring Mrs. Greenwood. "Good afternoon, Fredericka. How nice and cozy it is in here!"
"His lordship insisted on a fire," Mrs. Greenwood said. "Because of Miss Lambeth's recent illness."
Mrs. Taylor did not reply to the housekeeper. Meeting Freddie's gaze, she said, "Well, my dear, are you ready to begin?"
Mrs. Greenwood and the maids left the room, closing the door behind them.
"Come sit at the table," Mrs. Taylor directed Freddie. "I have decided on a schedule. We will begin every session with a short lesson on etiquette. Then you will do a French lesson. I've brought my old book. Then you will practice drawing. We will finish every day with needlework instruction. I have selected a simple pattern for you to begin embroidering."
The etiquette lesson for the day dealt with titles and how to address those of the peerage. Mrs. Taylor went through each title, instructing Freddie on the proper address. When she finished, she quizzed Freddie, and Freddie answered every question correctly.
The French lesson did not actually involve Mrs. Taylor, since she had Freddie read the book and copy the exercises. With Marmalade curled on her lap, Freddie undertook the first lesson and was struck by how similar French was to the Latin which she knew so well.
"Now as to the drawing," Mrs. Taylor said, "I'm having to send to London for the water colors. Today I will have you draw some simple objects, and I will give you my opinion."
First, she asked Freddie to draw a bowl of fruit. She reached into the bag she had brought with her and took out a small ironstone bowl, three apples of different colors, some grapes and a pear. "Lord Stacks allowed me to raid his garden," she explained. "Now, my dear, let's see how well you can draw these." She gave Freddie a sketch book and a soft-leaded pencil.
Freddie hurried through the task and presented her work to Mrs. Taylor, who took the sketchbook and stared at it for a long moment. Finally, she said, "Remarkable. You have a high degree of artistic talent."
"Drawing has always come easily to me," Freddie said without boasting. "What I need is someone to teach me to paint. I've never even owned a brush."
"It will be a delight to see what you can do," the woman said, putting away the sketch book.
Next, she pulled out some small pieces of fabric and embroidery thread of every color and began to show Freddie how to get started on the floral scene she was to embroider.
The door creaked open, and Lord Stacks stuck in his head. "How goes my ward's progress, Mrs. Taylor?"
"Well, I most certainly have my work cut out for me," she said, throwing him a martyred expression. "Fredericka does have a gift for drawing, though. I cannot get the paints soon enough."
"I shall endeavor to get them with all haste," he said, turning his gaze to Freddie. "What say you we have your pianoforte lesson now, Miss Lambeth?"
Freddie flung down her embroidery, gathered up Marmalade, and leapt to her feet.
Mrs. Taylor snatched the needlework. "I'll bring this along tonight. A proper young lady should never sit idle."
Downstairs in the great hall, Freddie slid onto the pianoforte bench beside her guardian, feeling strangely exhilarated, not over the impending lesson but over the nearness to Lord Stacks.
As he showed her the C chord she stole a glance at his face, admiring his dark good looks. And understanding how a beautiful woman like the late Lady Stacks could have fallen in love with him. She looked away, only to find her gaze on his long, brown fingers so knowingly striking the keys. She wondered how it would feel for her small hand to be held by his, to feel him sweeping her into his bulk as he had the day she got sick in the rain. Could anything on earth be more satisfactory than to feel protected--even cherished--by Lord Thomas Stacks?
Her gaze shifted to his muscled thigh, and she experienced a fluttering low in her body and a racing of her heart. It was hard for her to concentrate on what Lord Stacks was telling her when so many alien emotions seemed to swamp her.
Then Eason entered the room and announced Dr. Edgekirth.
Lord Stacks got to his feet as Freddie remained seated in front of the pianoforte, turning toward the doctor.
"Good day, Edgekirth," Stacks said, his manner stiff.
Edgekirth bowed. "I wish to check Miss Lambeth's progress. I feared we kept her too long from her bed last night."
"I wasn't tired one bit," Freddie retorted, standing and offering the doctor her hand. "I even went outside today--inside the quadrangle, which is quite sheltered from the winds--and declare I am as good as new. I haven't coughed once all day." She turned to Stacks. "I was telling my guardian I long for another good ride, and he said I was not to get back on a horse until you give your approval." She threw a hopeful look at the doctor, whose height matched her own.
"If you had no ill effects from visiting the quadrangle, I pronounce you well, Miss Lambeth," Edgekirth said. "In that case, let me be the first to accompany you on a stroll through the park."
"Oh, but I was just beginning my pianoforte lesson--"
"I have remembered some papers that require my attention," Lord Stacks said curtly. "Please, Miss Lambeth, enjoy the lovely afternoon." His Hessians struck the stone floors as he moved away toward the library.
She would have preferred to have stayed with him, but turned to Edgekirth, a smile on her face.
"You must get your pelisse and bonnet," he ordered. "It would not do for you to take a chill."
Eason sent a footman to get Maggie to procure Miss Lambeth's hat and pelisse, and within minutes, Freddie and the doctor were strolling across the neatly clipped grass. The doctor presented his arm to her. The contact with him did not make her feel the same way the contact with Lord Stacks made her feel. How funny it seemed, a month ago she had never taken a man's arm, and now she had strolled with two different men--each of whom treated her with concern. How good Yorkshire had been for her!
"Lord Stacks has given me permission to use whatever herbs and plants I wish for medicinals to help you," she informed Edgekirth proudly. "I told you he would want to share."
"His generosity is for you, Miss Lambeth, not me."
She gave him a pout. "He could have refused."
Edgekirth's voice was inscrutable when he said, "That is true."
"Anyway, I have procured white mullein to make a potion which has great success treating gout. By week's end I should have some elixir for you."
His green eyes danced as she spoke and a slow smile creased his dimpled face. "It will be my pleasure to come back and take possession of it. Now that you are no longer ill, I had feared I would not be seeing you again."
"I told you last night we are friends. You are to come whenever you like."
The vivid life drained from his face. "Yes, we are to be friends," he said grimly.
***
During dinner Freddie missed the doctor's company, for now she was forced to listen to Mrs. Taylor recant the many important tables she had dined at during her youth as companion to Elizabeth.
Freddie admired her guardian all the more for his patience and courtesy toward the insufferable Mrs. Taylor. From his bemused expression when the woman was talking, Freddie knew he found her as tiring as she.
After dinner they retired into the great hall, Mrs. Taylor sending for her and Freddie's needlework. Stacks played at the pianoforte. While Freddie was hopelessly trying to copy one of Mrs. Taylor's perfect stitches, an idea came to her. An idea that lifted her spirits to the heavens. The idea would not only help her dear guardian. It would also bring her together more with him. And that idea made her very happy indeed.
She wanted immediately to share her idea with her guardian. Then, she thought she would wait until Mrs. Taylor was not present, for Freddie held a strong notion that Mrs. Taylor would not like Freddie's plan. The woman seemed bent on winning the baron's approval only for herself.
&
nbsp; Freddie decided to make her idea known to her guardian at breakfast.
Chapter 9
So exhilarated was she that Freddie had scarcely slept a wink all night. She had hit upon a plan—a very exciting plan that--if approved by her guardian--would be beneficial to both of them. Her thoughts whirled with her bold proposal, so much so that she was surprised to see the sun straining through her tiny gothic windows at dawn. She rose much earlier than usual and instructed Maggie to cut her hair and curl the newly shorn tresses. It was important to Freddie that she appear mature--and hopefully attractive--when she met with her guardian at the breakfast table. She selected a new peach colored day dress but left off the gloves. She would want her hands bare in order to work in the garden.
Her chest tightened when she thought of the exciting proposal she would make to her guardian this morning. Not once since she arrived at Marshbanks Abbey had he refused her. She hoped today would not break his record.
He was reading the paper as she stepped into the dining room, nervous. She hoped he would notice her hair.
He looked up and held her gaze, unconsciously tossing aside the paper while not removing his eyes from hers. "How lovely you look, Miss Lambeth. The short hair becomes you."
She felt feather light as she moved to sit beside him, but she caught a glimpse of Elizabeth's portrait and suddenly felt awkward, even ugly, as she sat down, those sparkling blue eyes of Elizabeth's--though long ago stilled--seeming to follow her, seeming to validate Freddie's ugliness.
If she could not match Elizabeth in beauty, she would in intellect. She could not wait to tell her guardian of her plan and began to blurt it out. "My lord, an idea has occurred to me which I think will be most satisfactory to both you and me."
A bemused smile on his face, he said, "Enlighten me, Miss Lambeth."
She felt he was laughing at her. "It is just that since Mrs. Taylor confirmed that I have artistic talent, I propose to assist with your botanical book."
His brows drew together as he considered her proposal.
She must persuade him, she thought nervously. "My penmanship is tolerable, too. And if I could read my father's handwriting, I daresay I could read anyone's. There is nothing I would enjoy more, my lord," she said, her voice low with humility.
She felt his scrutiny as she sat nervously waiting for his response.
"I'm the devil to work with, you know," he said.
"Not so much as my father, I am sure."
"I am cursed with a bent for perfectionism and am intolerable with those who do not share my sense of precision."
"Then you will often find me intolerable, but I should not be sensitive. I know my own faults only too well."
"You are much too humble, Miss Lambeth," he said in that authoritative voice of his.
His fine black eyes sparkling, he threw down his napkin, rose to his feet and spoke with excitement in his voice. "Come with me to the library, Miss Lambeth!"
She forgot all about breakfast and followed her guardian with enthusiasm. He had looked favorably upon her proposal! Nothing had ever made her so happy.
In the library, he commanded her to sit down and gave her a sheet of paper and pencil. She looked up at him towering above her, the expression on his face unreadable. She had the feeling he was a giant, a benevolent king. And she was nothing more than a paltry subject.
"Draw for me, if you will, whatever plant pops into your mind," he said, his voice less commanding than usual.
She thought for a moment, visualizing a purple foxglove rising magnificently from among lesser flowers in the English garden. Then, she began to transfer her vision to her paper. When she finished, she meekly handed it to him. "When I learn to watercolor," she said apologetically, "the pictures will be much better."
He took the drawing and stared at it.
Her heart pounded as she waited for his opinion.
"My dear Miss Lambeth," he said, excitement in his resonant voice, "you are precisely what I need!"
Her heart soared. "You, my lord, have for the past two months been precisely what I need."
He gave her a puzzled look, then rang for Eason. "Fetch Miss Lambeth's breakfast," he ordered the butler. "She will eat in the library with me."
For the next two hours, he imparted to her his ideas for the book, how he planned to divide it by genus, with drawings of all species within the genus.
"I am sure you are familiar with Nicholas Culpeper's work," Freddie said.
Lord Stacks frowned. "The man's contribution is significant, but he borrowed much too heavily on the ancients. Had you been to Greece, my dear Miss Lambeth, you would know how vastly different their climate and their plant life is from ours. What is needed is a comprehensive guide to those plants that grow on English soil."
She agreed with him. Getting to her feet, she stood behind him as he sat at his desk and proceeded to read aloud his notes, proving to him that she had no difficulty reading his scratchy handwriting. She found herself putting her hand on his shoulder and reacting to the feel of him in a profound, unexplainable manner. Deep within her stirred a strange, satisfying craving. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to be held in his strong embrace. And she blushed at her outrageous thoughts.
***
During her session with Mrs. Taylor that afternoon, Freddie was thankful to be interrupted by Eason, who informed her that Dr. Edgekirth awaited downstairs, wishing to pay her a call.
She tossed aside the tedious French lesson, grabbed Marmalade, and scurried downstairs to meet the doctor.
He stood in the great hall, his riding crop in his hand. "Knowing how much you like to ride, Miss Lambeth, I thought perhaps you would favor me by accompanying me. It's quite lovely today."
"I shall ask my guardian for permission to saddle Bay Lady," Freddie said excitedly, running off to the quadrangle where she knew Lord Stacks was working.
She found him there, his sleeves pushed up, kneeling beside a patch of rhododendron, working some dried particles from a pail into the rich, dark soil. He looked up at her, a lock of his black hair falling carelessly across his forehead. She fought the urge to smooth it away, to stoke the planes of his rugged face. "I have come to get your permission have Bay Lady saddled. Dr. Edgekirth has done me the goodness to invite me for a ride."
"You do not need my permission, Miss Lambeth. The horse is now yours." Then, his brows drew together. "But we shall instruct Jacob to saddle up two horses--one for Maggie."
"For Maggie?" she questioned.
He nodded grimly. "A proper young lady does not go off alone with a man. You need a chaperon."
"A man! Why, I assure I never thought of the doctor as a man. I mean, he is but a friend." She started to say like you and me, but she could not. For Lord Stacks was so much more than a friend.
Maggie was as nervous as a long-tailed cat near a rocking chair as she mounted the placid roan gelding. "I'm not used to horses, Miss," she said, taking the proffered reins with trembling hands.
"I promise no harm will come to you," Edgekirth said reassuringly, coming up beside her on his horse while Freddie confidently mounted Bay Lady.
It was a beautiful day for a ride, Freddie mused, as they rode past her guardian's orchard and she noted no two trees were alike, though they grew in precise rows. There was a peach tree, an apple tree, a walnut and plum, and many others she was unable to identify.
They rode on past the park and past the stables, taking it slowly for Maggie's benefit. Freddie was glad she had not worn a pelisse for it was a very warm day, and she loved the feel of the sun. Before long, they rode past the summer house. She remembered the day she had sat under its copper dome, warmed by her guardian's great coat, and remembered how happy she had been despite the blustery winds and her drenched clothing.
The doctor broke into her reverie. "I haven't remarked on how very fine your hair looks short, Miss Lambeth."
She nodded toward Maggie. "I have Maggie to thank. She has uncommon talent fashioning hai
r."
"She has a lovely subject to work with."
Why was it when her guardian paid her a compliment, she glowed, but when Dr. Edgekirth did so she wanted always to change the subject? "I am distilling the white mullein now," she said. "The elixir should be ready for you the day after tomorrow."
"Ah, another excuse to pay you a visit."
When they reached the moors, they turned back toward the abbey. She and the doctor talked at length about herbs and remedies, but for some unknown reason, Freddie had no wish to share with him her work with Lord Stacks.
As he left her on the steps to the abbey, she invited him to dine with them that night, knowing that her guardian would enjoy having a fourth to play whist. Only tonight, she would offer to partner with Mrs. Taylor. Were the physician and her guardian still as stiff and cold to one another as they had been, she would never have insisted on throwing them together, but their animosity was lessening. For which she was grateful. Her dear Lord Stacks needed the camaraderie of other men. And he did love a good game of whist. He had done so much for her, she wanted always to think of little ways in which she could repay him.
***
In the days that followed, Freddie and her guardian spent every morning together working both in the library and in the quadrangle, with no one the wiser regarding the many hours they spent in one another's company. Since each of them was an early riser, they would meet for breakfast, take coffee into the library and spend a couple of hours on the book. As the sun grew higher in the sky, they would finish out the mornings in the quadrangle.
On this morning, Freddie lounged on a sofa in the library, alternately copying her guardian's notes while stealing glances at him as he sat at his desk writing. The more she looked at him, the handsomer he grew. Though too slender to be considered rugged in the accepted sense, he conveyed a raw masculinity with his dark, sinewy good looks, his keen intelligence, and his solid dependability. She wondered if his leadership abilities were the result of being a lord or if he would have commanded fealty had he been a mere laborer.
