by Amelia Hart
Nor was there a polite way to turn aside every lecherous invitation that came his way. Past lovers were eager to make use of him in the casual round that had been his lifestyle. No woman liked to be rejected, and though some were gracious, others held it against him. It was easier to stay away from sybaritic friends, associates, and all those women who knew him carnally or by reputation. It was a whole world on which he turned his back. Then, in sobriety, alone with his own self for the first long stretch of time in his adult life, he discovered he was bored with his own idleness.
Why, then find an occupation. He toured his estates for the first time since he had inherited them. Their condition varied widely, depending on the quality of the managers in place. Some were a shambles, enough that he suspected Sebastien had not been quite the diligent landowner Colin once supposed.
Not that he would have identified the neglect if there had not been the example of the two truly thriving estates - Morton Abbey and Waringside Park - to compare. Each of these was productive despite his neglect, well-organized and excellent. The smaller holdings went from bad to worse.
He stretched in the saddle, pleased to find there was no strain to the motion. Riding all over the South of England had brought him back to condition. It was a good feeling. To be competent at something significant beyond a moment's pleasure. To learn new skills and broaden his perceptions. Yes, it was good. He had consulted with those who had greater knowledge and experience in estate management - his peers and his own competent managers - and was bewildered to find himself truly interested in the subject. The world of estate management that had always been opaque and seemed the height of tedium. What had changed? Had he matured, or was there information about this role he had simply missed in the past?
So he pondered if all this was a creation of Julia Preston or if he had been ready and wanting only some trigger to move on from life as a rakish wastrel. His hand tightened on the rein, and his restive horse, held to a sedate canter, tossed her head and let him know she would gladly gallop, still fresh from her night spent in the stable of a nearby inn. He had delayed his arrival to put on a smart appearance, he told himself. Too well he knew how a woman could be swayed by appearance, and he wanted to go fully armed to this fray. Though truly, it was more than that. It came down to this moment, now, to discover if he had won the battle or wasted six months.
Not wasted, surely. He could not have spent so long accumulating the skill of charming and ensnaring women to fail not once but twice when it truly mattered.
But he was not willing to arrive one minute sooner than necessary. "Nearly there," he told his horse, repeating the words when her ears swiveled towards him. The house was close now, though hidden again by a curve in the carriageway. To his left was the bank where he had sat with Julia and looked out over the water in the milky twilight, enjoyed her banter and then stolen a kiss that had her mad and spitting at him again.
By heaven, he had misplayed his hand in that heady month of July. She was not like any woman he had known before. His seductive wiles fell flat and besides he discovered he had no taste for them with her. He wanted her to like him for himself. Perhaps he should have seduced her first and taught her to care for him afterward. He had faith in the power of his own bedroom skills to soften the sternest attitude.
But no. Manipulating his Julia seemed too wrong. Instead he had wheedled and teased her, enjoying her sparking indignation, until he discovered he cared too much, too fast and beyond his own control.
Yes, he had misplayed it, somehow, lost in a mess of unfamiliar tenderness, not playing a game but only experiencing her, and how he felt with her. Callow and stupid, but there it was. He was not the cool tactician he had so fondly supposed.
But surely now he must bring tactics to bear. Within his gloves his palms were damp, not only from exertion. This was it. The moment of fate. He rode to the back of the house and dismounted in front of the stables. A stable hand came out, eyebrows raised in polite query, and wiped flakes of pastry from his mouth with his sleeve.
"Sir?" he asked around a mouthful of his luncheon.
"She's still fresh. Stall her and hold her ready, if you would. I'm not sure if I'll be staying. If I don't return within the hour, unsaddle her and rub her down."
"Aye, sir."
Colin walked slowly to the house, adjusting his layers of clothing with minute pulls and tugs. He had left his baggage at an inn not half an hour's ride from here, stayed the sleepless night, then dressed with the utmost care and come on. Would she think him sufficiently attractive? He would use every advantage he had to hand. He went to the back door, informal after his extended visits in the past, and was let in by a housemaid who curtsied and blushed and stammered she would fetch Mrs Trent then fled before she could be corrected. Mrs Trent was in residence? He had not expected that. Bad luck indeed, when he had thought the Trents would be in the midst of the London season. He had no desire to encounter her, but it was too late.
He lingered in the hallway until the more experienced butler found him and shuffled him into the library to wait. The man went off to check on the progress of Mrs Trent, and Colin chose not to redirect him. The last thing he wanted was to have his first encounter with Julia in six months under the interested eyes of her employer. He must be patient.
On the desk was the globe, and he wandered to it and spun it with idle fingers, wondering if she had touched it recently. This week, perhaps, she might have huddled over it with the girls and taught them something fascinating about far off lands.
When he heard a quick step approaching he let his hand fall away and turned towards the door. Mrs Trent came in, two spots of self-conscious color on her cheeks and her eyes alive with curiosity and speculation.
"Mr Holbrook, what a delightful surprise." She curtsied and he bowed, then she went to a seat and gestured him to another. The butler came in and oversaw another housemaid as she set out trays of small biscuits and cakes, a pot of tea and cups. Then both servants exited, the butler pulling the double doors closed behind him without waiting to be dismissed. Mrs Trent began to pour out tea. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"As I'm in the area, I thought I would call and see if you were at home."
"I am, though unfortunately you will find Mr Trent is away. Parliament is in session of course. He will be sorry to have missed you." The avidity in her expression told him much that he did not want to know: she suspected he knew this already; she wondered if he wished to find her alone; she liked the idea, and might soon act to assure him of his welcome.
"Also Miss Preston promised to lend me a book when I was last here, and I carelessly went away without it. I thought I would collect it from her, if she would be so kind."
"Oh, did you?" She frowned, distracted from her thoughts. "How peculiar. I mean you must be a very avid reader to take such trouble over a book, or even to remember it after all this time."
"A very rare book, and one I have wanted to read for some time. Recommended to me by my brother before he died, as having been of great comfort to him," said Colin, improvising freely.
"Oh well then of course I see how it is. Gracious, you and Miss Preston must have had some lengthy conversations together to cover such territory."
"She happened to be reading it at the time, and I noticed."
"Indeed. Well, I wish I could help, but Miss Preston is no longer here."
"Away with the children?"
"No, quite gone. The children have a new governess."
A chill went down his spine. "How long has she been gone?"
"I should think it is almost precisely the length of time since you were last here." She sipped her tea contemplatively. "Yes. I should say precisely that length of time." She met his gaze in cool challenge.
"That must have been a great loss to your family. I know how the children cherished her. And you could not help but do the same."
"I did think so at one time. But then you know, Mr Holbrook, it amazes me how something that once seeme
d precious can lose its luster, become . . . tarnished even. Certain events can destroy one's perception of a thing's value. Until really it seems worth nothing at all, and one sees one is better to dispose of it before the . . . tarnish . . . can spread. Children are such impressionable creatures, you know. They can pick up really anything from those around them, if their world is not carefully guarded from all threat."
"I see exactly what you mean. Of course I’m also aware how a person can make a mistake in their perception of another - say, an employee - and lose a valuable asset through mismanagement and error. Their house will always be the poorer for such a loss, and those with clearer vision will of course question their wisdom."
There was a snap as Mrs Trent's cup met her saucer, and she glared at him. "I am constantly amazed how people may suppose they know anything about a situation or a person when in reality they know nothing at all and should keep their mouths shut."
"Do you know Mis Preston's current whereabouts?"
"I do not."
"Have you provided a character reference for her to anyone else?"
"No one has inquired."
Beneath her words, he heard quite clearly that if someone had, she would not hesitate to lie to him and foil him. He felt frustration mount at once again mishandling the situation, though how he could have managed to be polite to a woman who had summarily dismissed Julia, he could not imagine.
"Then I am certain she is comfortably situated in an excellent position, and enjoying her change of fortunes." He waited a moment to see if this sally would draw some counter intelligence, but Mrs Trent only narrowed her eyes and was silent. "I shan't keep you any longer from what I am sure is a day full of important tasks. Farewell, Mrs Trent." He stood, bowed punctiliously and then turned and let himself out.
The butler stood wooden-faced to one side of the doorway, surprised in the act of eavesdropping.
"Can you tell me where Miss Preston is now employed?" Colin asked him point blank.
The butler examined him with some suspicion. "I don't believe I would be doing the lady a favor if I told you."
"Doing Mrs Trent a favor?"
"No, Miss Preston, sir. I beg your pardon, but I'm sure Miss Preston has a very good notion of how to get word to you if she should wish for you to have it."
"Good heavens, man. I don't mean to harm her."
"Intentions and then what actually comes to pass are two radically different things, sir."
"I've no need for philosophy. All I want is a direction."
"If you'll kindly come with me, I'll show you out."
"Will you then? I suppose you will. Damn your impertinence."
"Yes, sir," said the man imperturbably. "This way, sir."
Three chambermaids loitered in the hallway near the door, trying to look busy with dusting and polishing. Colin recognized one as the same who had let him in and been so flustered by him. Immediately he stepped in close to her, lifted her face with a gentle hand and asked her softly, "Where does Miss Preston work now?"
Her eyes went very wide, brown and startled as a deer. Her mouth dropped open.
"Miss Preston. Do you know where she is?" he prompted.
"Uh, with the Carstairs, I've heard. I don't know for certain."
"The Carstairs?"
"A lovely family, sir," said another of the young women. "Very kind. We don't have official word of it, but it's been said below stairs that's where she went."
"Thank you," he said fervently, found a handful of guineas in his pocket and divided them hastily between the pair. The girls were stunned by this largess, bobbing and murmuring like pigeons, but he was away and out of the door. The Carstairs. He knew them a little, as one does vaguely know those who attend the same ton parties. Mr Carstairs was a military man, though he could not remember the regiment. Should he finagle an invitation to stay with them, or simply appear in the neighborhood? And were they in the City or the countryside? It was time to reconnoiter.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sun was too bright. It reflected off the snow until Julia had to squint and look away. No one else seemed bothered by it. The children sledded shrieking down the slope and ran back up and their parents stood nearby with several neighbors, cups of hot posset in their hands. Mr Kingsley brought one to Julia and she wrapped her hands around it, grateful for the heat. The faint scent of almonds rose up from the frothy milk.
"Thank you."
"You are most welcome."
"Heavens, your little ones are brave," she exclaimed in wonder at the sturdy toddlers, wrapped up like little chimney stacks of wool and fur. "Look at them go."
"I could wish they had a greater caution, especially Jane. She is so small."
"Big in heart."
"Indeed." With a tender smile he watched his three-year-old daughter Jane, and Michael who was four, sit together on the sled. One of the Carstairs children gave it a mighty heave and the two little ones hurtled downward, Michael whooping with excitement. "I admit it makes a man proud."
"They are dear children. And usually so calm and sedate."
"Unlike others I could mention," he said, and quirked a brow at her.
Julia laughed. "Yes, the Carstairs are regular scallawags but I admit I enjoy them hugely."
"I can tell."
"They are so vigorous, and so loved. I could wish every child had their confidence, even if they are a handful."
"Mr and Mrs Carstairs do have some unusual ideas about parenting."
"Yes. Far from conventional. I do wonder how the children will fare when they are full grown and must conform to ordinary society. I think they will be very bored."
"Society must stand ready for the assault."
"They will turn it on its head."
"There are so many of them."
"Yes," she sighed, and counted heads as she did regularly to make sure she had not let one stray. Eight in all, sturdy and brimming with energy and mischief, from fifteen-year-old Harold down to Matilda, who was three and still under her nanny's supervision. Nanny stood anxiously on the sidelines, hands clasped under her chin, eyes very wide each time one of the older children tucked Matilda in a lap and took her down with them.
"You must be exhausted every evening when it comes time to go to bed."
Julia slanted a look at Mr Kingsley under her eyelashes, and found him gazing at her with a hint of the warmth she had seen increasingly on his face when he surveyed her. He was a widower these past three years, since Jane's birth, a gentleman and a landowner of some standing in the community.
More than that he was a good man, kind to his children, well-liked by his neighbors and respected by his tenants. She had heard only excellent things of his character. He treated her with careful respect and consideration.
It was perverse of her to find him somehow lacking that he did not steal kisses from her when no one was about. He was a careful man, and virtuous. No, there was nothing flippant about Mr Kingsley.
These past two months, since his attentions had become more marked, she had often tried to imagine what it would be like to partner him in life. He would be steady and affectionate. She could depend on him to keep his word and be honorable. He was that sort of man. He would be a good husband, a wonderful father to any children they might have.
It was a good prospect, one that should have charmed her more than it did. Instead she found herself inexplicably chilled by it, no matter how she tried to talk herself around to loving him.
What was wrong with her?
They had established a peaceful friendship, talked easily about the world and the people in it, and if his wit did not exactly spark her own, neither did he ever offend her. He was completely unobjectionable.
"I do become tired, but fortunately the house is very comfortable and I sleep soundly each night and awake fully refreshed," she said steadily, and did not even blush to discuss her sleeping habits with him, though she felt the atmosphere between them alter and thought he was more conscious of the topic.
>
"Is something the matter?" he asked when she sighed again.
"I am chilled, I think. The posset helped though, my thanks."
"May I assist you with your shawl?" His voice was a comforting rumble, deep and soft. He was already adjusting the sensible wrap upwards to sit more snugly around her neck, and she felt the improvement immediately.
"Thank you. You are very thoughtful."
"You seem distracted."
"Do I? Awful thought! I hope you're the only one who noticed."
"Yes, I'm sure Mrs Carstairs would turn you off at once, she's such a dragon."
She laughed at this sally. Mrs Carstairs was a gentle, merry woman who loved her children beyond life and had a wide streak of practicality when it came to raising them and managing the household that surrounded them. She had sized Julia up swiftly, approved her and - once won - her good opinion was steadfast. "Absolutely, yes. I live in fear."
"I think your charges are planning a snow fight. We'd be well advised to step back out of range."
"You're too correct for comfort. They love to include me. I'm not fond of snow down the back of my neck, but they love to see me shriek and dance about."
"That must be quite a sight."
"I'm sure. No, don't give me that speculative look, or I'll suspect you next. I don't fancy a handful of snow where it will do the least good."
"You're no fun," he accused, a wide grin splitting his cheerful face. She shared it, enjoying the uncomplicated pleasure on his blunt features, the creases around eyes squinting against the glare of sun on snow, his ruddy cheeks and ever-smiling mouth.
Initially she had worried what the Carstairs would think of their burgeoning friendship, but they seemed to look on with only approval. Even now Mrs Carstairs gestured in her direction, smiled fondly at her and Mr Carstairs and said something to the man standing beside her. Julia did not immediately recognize the figure, in his beaver top hat with the brim fashionably curled down low over his eye, the collar of his caped greatcoat raised to block the chill. A neighbor she had yet to meet?
Mrs Carstairs spoke to him with the self-conscious stiffness of one who addresses a stranger. Mr Carstairs on his other side inclined his head politely to listen to something the man said.
