“Gifts for the servants,” Samuel said with a nod. “And a box to the church. I know. Everything is prepared. There are envelopes with every servant’s name and the appropriate amount in them.”
“They have put up with a lot from you the past year,” Robert reminded Samuel, leaping upon the new topic almost desperately. Household matters were a far safer thing to discuss than Penny.
The conversation remained on the arrangements for the distribution of the envelopes with extra funds, a gift to each servant, and the poor boxes were full of articles of clothing and baskets for charitable distribution. After their mother passed, with no woman of the house to see to such things, their father had involved each of the boys in seeing to the kind work. He had instilled in them a spirit of gratitude from a young age, and from that the obligation to assist those less fortunate than themselves.
Never mind that when he passed away their estate had nearly collapsed. Samuel still wrestled with the financial aspects, or rather, the debts their father left behind. In his last years, he had made many poor decisions his sons still worked to correct. Samuel, by living frugally and seeking advice from other landowners, and Robert by working for Mr. Devon. Peter’s education was also something Robert paid for from his own pocket. He did not want his brother to end up working for another man if he could be independent in his pursuits.
Two hours after breakfast, the brothers mounted their horses and followed the dogcart, stacked high with provisions and gifts for the poor in the community, to the church.
“At least it is not raining yet today,” Peter said, eyeing the gray skies with a puckered brow. “I cannot think much more of this is good for us.”
“It isn’t,” Robert said, his eyes on the land surrounding them. “All the best soil will be washed away. Tenants will have leaky roofs and ill children. The wood stores will grow rot. We need at least a few weeks to recover, but I worry we will not get it.”
“How is Devon fairing during this confounded flooding?” Samuel asked, keeping his eye on the horse and cart plodding along before them. “I have ordered several repairs to our three cottagers’ buildings, but I imagine there will be more necessary soon.”
“Building the new cottages last winter has kept us from needing to make repairs.” Robert adjusted his hold on the reins and nudged his horse to avoid a particularly nasty hole in the road, filled to the brim with muddy water. “His land is higher than most, too. The loss of good soil is the biggest worry and keeping the sheep healthy.”
“While I am relieved you both worry over the practical matters,” Peter said from behind them, his youthful energy giving a bounce to his words, “I am more concerned with what the rain will do to the rest of the festivities. People will not go out to celebrate and there will be fewer parties and fun if we are all sitting beside our fires to stay warm and dry.”
Samuel chuckled. “You make it sound like we’re in our dotage, with aching bones.”
“Robert is in his dotage.” Peter rode his horse between them, forcing Robert to pull more to the side. “He cannot even kiss a girl without mustering up the will to do so.”
“Not this again.” Robert glared over Peter’s head at Samuel, who was doing a rather poor job at pretending disinterest. “Samuel has given you the wrong idea about that kiss, and about Miss Clark.”
“And about your feelings for Miss Clark?” Samuel asked, his tone one of feigned innocence.
“Yes. You are especially wrong about that.” Robert spied the church’s tower with its bell. At least the inquisition would be over soon. Might as well try to assuage his brothers’ curiosity. “I have missed her friendship. I was closer to no one else, not even the two of you, before Miss Clark and her brothers had to leave to live with their relations. We had always been good friends. Meeting again, after so much time has passed, made it difficult to know which foot to stand on with her. I had nearly sorted it out when Samuel insisted, rather like an ill-mannered theater-goer, that I kiss her beneath the kissing ball.”
Peter whistled, and Robert glared at him. He saw Samuel do the same.
“Am I not to whistle out of doors, either?” he asked, somewhat incredulously.
Ignoring Peter, Samuel pointed directly at Robert. “You wanted to kiss her. Admit it, and then I swear I will not bring it up again.”
“I make no such promises.”
Peter grinned and his horse pushed forward, going around the cart to arrive at the church just before them.
“I will admit nothing.” Robert followed Peter, though with greater restraint.
Samuel dismounted moments after Robert and immediately clapped him on the back. “I do not know why you fight it. She is a lovely woman. You two have a great deal of history together. Why not pursue her, Rob? At least to see what happens?”
Admitting why to Samuel would give rise to an argument between them, regarding finances and marriage, and who knew what else. Though Samuel might return the estate to prosperity, it would not help Robert’s situation. He would still not be a man of property. He lived in a house given to him by his employer, after all.
They entered the church without Robert’s answer, the pews stacked with baskets and boxes of every size already and many women milling about making notes on slates while gentlemen stood along the walls conversing with one another. Mr. Ames and his curate, Mr. Haskett, were near the front of the building and conversing with Lady Annesbury.
Before Robert saw Penny, he knew she was within the church. There was a humming in his ears, a warmth at his side, and then the most delicious smell of cinnamon, just before a hand touched his forearm.
“Penny.” He spoke her name the instant before he looked down, meeting her steady gaze. “I did not know you would be here.” She winced. Had it sounded as though he did not like finding her present? He hastily added, “Most do not come after the late evening at the ball.”
At that, her cheeks turned pink. Of course. He had reminded her of the kiss. Robert opened his mouth to apologize again, to explain, though he knew not what more he might say on the matter, when the hand on his arm fluttered away.
“Please, Robert. Let us not discuss what happened at the ball. Ever. We will pretend it did not happen and resume our friendship as before.” She spoke with such firmness, despite her low turn, that he could do nothing more than swallow his words and nod. She looked out the door. “Have you many baskets to bring inside?”
“Yes. We were not certain where to put them.”
She lifted a slate and chalk. “It might be best to leave them in a cart. I can inventory what you have brought. We may already know where to send your goods.” She took a step to the door, and he joined her. Never mind that Samuel ought to be the one to see to the duty. Samuel had done enough damage already and could not be counted on to keep his mouth shut upon the matter of Robert’s feelings. If the eldest Ellsworth said a word to Penny on his suspicions regarding Robert, all hope for any acquaintance and comfortable farewell would be lost.
Worst of all, he feared his heart would be lost, too.
Chapter 8
Though Penny had spent most of the previous evening thinking over Robert’s kiss, she had no wish to discuss it with him. Given his great reluctance to kiss her in the first place, it was the safest course for her to take. Even approaching him had been difficult. Then, touching him had elicited an excitable sensation, like that of electric currents, running through her from her fingertips to her toes. She had to forget the kiss.
Having him at her heels while she walked around the dogcart, writing out what he and his brothers had brought to give to the poor, did little to steady her nerves. Yet Penny kept her chin up. She had been praised for her acting abilities in school when the girls put on plays for one another’s amusement. Managing to pretend herself above the giddiness inspired by Robert’s nearness would not prove too difficult. She hoped, at least.
“How is it,” Robert asked from only a few inches behind her, “that a guest of our parish is out in the
cold doing this work?” When she cast him a perplexed look over her shoulder, he ducked his head slightly. “Not even those who live here offer any help to the poor.”
“This used to be one of my favorite parts of all the celebrations,” Penny answered honestly, averting her eyes from his. “My mother saw to it that I came with her, every year, to help dress the baskets in ribbons. I put gingerbread cookies shaped like stars in every basket, whether they went to homes with children or not.”
“Gingerbread cookies were always your favorite.”
She cast him a quick glance, surprised he remembered. “They still are.”
A slow, hesitant smile appeared on his face. “I remember now, how you used to scurry from basket to basket. Father never let us stay in the church long. We brought our things, then he set us on our way. He said it was always better for the women to deliver the goods. People are more likely to accept help when offered in gentleness.”
“Perhaps.” She made a final notation. “Five quilts. How did a household of three gentlemen come up with so many?”
“Oh, those are compliments of my housekeeper. She sews and gives the blankets away. She has no family and sent them with me today.” He reached into the basket with the quilts and lifted one out enough so its pattern could be seen. “She uses all the scrap material from the house, so they are rather varied, but I suppose one might still call them pretty.”
He had a housekeeper? That spoke well of his position with the Devons. Penny stood on her toes the better to peer at the quilt. There were deep browns and reds, some greens, all in simple blocks and triangles sewn together. “It is quite beautiful. The practical colors will likely be appreciated by many, too.”
She lowered herself back to the ground. “Thank you, Robert. This is a lovely contribution. I will see to it Lady Annesbury and Mr. Ames are informed.”
That tentative look came into his eyes again, as though he were afraid of what she might say next, what she might do. As there were no kissing balls about, she did not think he had much to fear from her. She nearly said so, but instead cleared her throat and looked away.
“Will you go to the Twelfth Night masque?” Robert blurted, startling her into looking at him again.
“The Devon masque? I believe Mrs. Boyd mentioned it. I think we might. Does Mrs. Devon send out assignments before such events, or do we discover our part to play upon arrival?” she asked.
He had tucked his hands behind his back and lowered his head, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “I am not certain. It is the first year she has hosted a ball for Twelfth Night. I understand she wishes for the members of the community to have all the enjoyment of a masque ball without worrying about the somewhat immoral connotations with such a fete.”
“If I could be any character at a masque,” Penny went on to say, hoping to find the old familiarity of their conversation through her rambling, “I should like to be a Greek muse, or the personification of a virtue. Those should be easier than a more outlandish character. I went to a masque two years previous where everyone was to be a character from English history. There was even a Caesar who went about with his nose in the air, attempting to tell everyone else what to do.” She lowered her voice and leaned a touch closer to Robert than was strictly necessary. “I was invited at the last possible moment, so my part was hardly interesting. They made me Hilda of Whitby, and I confess to not remembering that woman at all.”
Robert’s interest returned, with a slight spark in his brown eyes. He leaned a little closer. She ignored the way her heart danced at his nearness. “What did you do, not knowing who you played?”
“I acted only as myself, I am afraid, until someone took pity upon me and said I was a Saint from the Dark Ages. The patron saint of poetry.” She laughed and lowered her slate. “I went about quoting scripture and poetry alike the rest of the evening. It was such fun.” Offering her his arm, Robert escorted her back into the warmth of the church. “I am glad to hear you made the most of it. I am a terrible actor.”
“You ought to request an easy role for yourself at the masque,” she put in brightly.
At that comment, Robert’s look changed to one a little more serious. “Perhaps I shall. Though it should be more entertaining, I think, if I had a costume to match another.”
They had stopped just inside the church door, near the last pew. Others still moved about inside, organizing, talking in low voices.
“Like the king and queen of hearts,” she suggested, “or Romeo and Juliet.” Realizing she had suggested costumes fit for a romantic couple, Penny met his curious gaze with a merry smile. Let him think she teased him. That would be better than admitting she imagined herself in the role to match his. “I suppose you should have to have a young lady to take on the role of your opposite for such a thing. Have you such a woman who would be willing to do so?” Then she bit her tongue, smiling through the pain.
At least acting like a ninny might help her find out, at last, if there was a woman in Robert’s life he had yet to mention.
He hesitated overlong, his eyes going to the front of the church where the windows let in what little sunlight was to be had. “If I am to be honest, there is a woman I should wish to fill such a role.” He heaved a sigh at the same moment her heart cracked. Then he squared his shoulders, as though making up his mind, and gave her a broad smile. “But she hasn’t any idea that I think of her with such fondness, so such a costume is unlikely in my future.”
“Oh, Robert.” Despite her disappointment, the pricking of her heart, knowing his heart was in a similar state gave her pain. “You should make her aware of your feelings. You might be surprised—”
He cut her off with a sharp shake of his head, releasing her arm. “She is far above my reach, I think. But let us not worry over it.” Robert took a step back, putting enough distance between them she no longer felt the warmth of his body. “I must take my leave. I am expected back at the Devon house. Whitewood. They have their own Boxing Day traditions I am to take part in.”
“Oh. You are back to your work, then?” Her shoulders fell. “My aunt and I intended to visit tomorrow. Visit your family home. I am determined to show her all the places I spent my childhood.” Penny had hoped Robert might still be there, might even act as a guide, but that was silly of her. The man had other responsibilities. He could not see to her every whim merely because she was on holiday.
“Samuel will be delighted to host you, I am certain.” Nothing in the run of Robert’s lips indicated his disappointment; if anything he appeared happy again. Happy for her. The cheerful countenance made her heart ache all the more, knowing he concealed feelings for a woman who likely had no idea that a man as honorable and kind as Robert loved her.
Penny nodded her acceptance of his words, then looked down at the slate in her hands. “Well. I had better present this information to the countess.” She stepped away, but Robert’s hand landed gently upon her forearm. She stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder, her heart rising most unreasonably.
“I am glad you are here, Penny. I have missed you.” He offered the words of friendship with a lowered voice and earnest expression, then released her and walked away without another word of farewell or anything else.
Without giving herself time to think on what those few words had done to her, Penny took up her responsibilities again, approaching the countess. Perhaps if she kept busy enough, she could avoid thinking about Robert altogether. At least until she found herself in a quiet moment, when she knew she would have to give her heart a stern lecture about harboring feelings of more than friendship for the generous boy who had grown into a most attractive and kind man.
Chapter 9
Robert sorted through yet another list of maintenance requests for the Devon house in Town, most of them related to the attics. The unusually wet winter had exposed every weakness in the house’s roof, from leaks to lose shingling. The estate could afford the repairs, of course, but finding reputable craftsmen in London while
he resided in the country would prove difficult. He could not go to London himself for some weeks but leaving the requests unanswered would prove only to worsen the state of things.
Burying himself in the work, writing out proposed budgets and how to go about finding men with the experience necessary to complete repairs, Robert nearly pushed his personal problems from his mind. Yet every time he paused in a calculation, Robert’s thoughts went to Penny, standing in the misty morning light, eyes upon him, so close he wanted nothing more than to touch her.
Their kiss had plagued him, too. Visiting him in every quiet moment, reminding him of its lingering sweetness, and how she had run away after he pressed her lips with his.
Groaning, Robert dropped his pen on the blotter and pushed away from the desk. He started pacing, from his window to the door which separated his office from Devon’s study. At times when the two men worked together, the door between them was open. Today it was closed, Mr. Devon being elsewhere in the house which suited Robert perfectly. He could pace the length of the room without worry over drawing Devon’s notice.
He had no desire to explain himself and his agitated state to anyone else. “Hinting that I had feelings for her was foolish,” Robert muttered to himself when he drew up to the window. Had he seemed desperate? She had not seemed to realize he spoke of her. A blessing, really, given how he had blurted out his feelings without thought. His brothers had obviously addled him with their conversation on the way to the church.
A knock on the door pulled him from his self-pitying thoughts. He adjusted his posture and called, “Come in.”
Penny’s Yuletide Wish: A Branches of Love Novella Page 5
