An Earl for the Shy Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  She brushed back a stray lock of hair from her cheek. ‘I was a complete pest as a child and spent all my time following my father and my older brother around the estate. They called me their little limpet.’ She chuckled. ‘I don’t think it was an endearment as much as an expression of exasperation. Nevertheless, whatever my brother learned from my father, I learned, too, along with my father’s love of the land.’

  ‘Does Westram feel the same way about his estate?’

  ‘I think he sees it as his duty to pass the estate along in the shape my father passed it to him, if not better. There were several bad harvests that set us back somewhat. However, I am not sure that he loves it exactly.’

  ‘I can sympathise.’

  ‘Because you prefer the army.’

  ‘I do.’ He sighed. ‘There is a great deal more to this farming business than I thought. The signs of neglect are readily apparent even to a layman such as me. I see it taking a great deal more time that I expected.’

  ‘And a great deal of effort,’ she added.

  And a great deal of money that he did not have.

  A flash of lightning turned her face a ghostly shade. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, quickening her pace. ‘It seems we are in for a thunderstorm. We should hurry.’

  He could not agree more. Sheltering beneath trees was the worst place to be with lightning about. The wind tossed the branches above them hither and yon, the heavens seemed to open and what had been a gentle rain a moment before turned into a waterfall rattling on the leaves and their heads and shoulders. He whipped off his coat and put it over her head. ‘This way,’ he shouted, pointing down a fork in the path.

  ‘The lane to the village is that way,’ she protested.

  ‘But we can find shelter this way.’

  She nodded and he took her hand and hurried her along. The silly little sandals on her feet and the tight fit of her skirts were not conducive to speed. If she were not such an independent little thing, he would pick her up and run. Just the thought of her in his arms heated his blood despite the chilly water soaking through his shirt.

  Another flash of lightning.

  To hell with it. They were both getting soaked to the skin. He scooped her up and ran. No doubt he would pay for this indignity to her person, but better that than she catch a chill from spending too long out in what was now a downpour.

  After a second or two, she relaxed and clung on around his neck, making his job easier. They reached the edge of the trees and the lake spread out before them. He ran for the odd little structure he had found the previous day while out walking. A series of man-made caves formed into a grotto like the ancients might have visited. In no time at all they were safely beneath the vaulted ceiling. He set Lady Petra down on her feet.

  As a shelter against a storm it wasn’t that wonderful. Water rushed down the walls and across the floor into the stream running down the centre. He took her hand. ‘Come on.’ He led her deeper into the cavern, until they reached the whole purpose of the ridiculous structure. A pool—and, glistening in the half-light provided by an opening in the roof, the statue of Venus in its centre—fed by the stream, its glassy surface of yesterday now broken by ripples as the raindrops splattered down.

  Around the pool, stone benches at strategic angles provided visitors with a view of the statue.

  Lady Petra shivered.

  ‘I know. It’s chilly,’ he said, ‘but at least it is dry.’

  ‘And not as dark as I was expecting.’

  ‘Stay here. I’ll be back in a moment.’

  ‘I’m not sure where else I would go.’ The bravery in her voice gave him an odd sensation in his chest. He dispelled it with a chuckle that echoed around the chamber.

  She also chuckled, her voice mingling with his in the dark reaches of the cave.

  Yes, laughter was often the best way to be rid of discomfort.

  Ethan ran back to the entrance, took a deep breath, bracing himself for the next dash of cold rain, and ran back into the trees. He managed to find some reasonably dry twigs and a thick branch and was soon back in the cave with his hoard.

  He really wished he had thought to bring several large branches into the tunnel upon his last visit, but then he had not been expecting to be forced to shelter here. He carried his armful back to the reflecting pool and Lady Petra.

  She had removed her sodden bonnet and set it on one of the benches while she perched on one of the others, clutching his coat around her as protection against the chill. The sight of her snuggled into his coat gave him a strange feeling of warmth inside.

  ‘What do you have there?’ she asked.

  ‘The makings of a fire. We can try to dry out a bit while we wait for the storm to pass.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  He laid out the wood in front of her bench and reached into his pocket. In the army, he never went anywhere without his tinderbox and old habits died hard. He unwrapped it from its oilskin.

  ‘Goodness me,’ she said. ‘You are well prepared.’

  He wanted to grin like a schoolboy at her tone of admiration. Nonsense. The happiness inside him was simply gladness he would soon be warm and dry. He got the fire going without difficulty, and while it was only a small blaze, it offered a measure of comfort and a warm glow to the cold rocks.

  ‘I had no idea this was here,’ she said, glancing around.

  ‘I found mention of it on one of the maps in the library and came to take a look at it a day or so ago.’

  ‘Why on earth would anyone want to build such a thing?’

  ‘In the last century they thought it romantic.’

  ‘Oh.’ She shivered.

  ‘I must say, it is better when the sun is shining. Quite pretty, in fact.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she said, her tone dry. She shivered again and hunched inwards.

  Of course, she was cold. She wasn’t used to such hardships.

  ‘Allow me,’ he said and briskly rubbed her shoulders and arms. Damnation, her skirts were soaking wet and clinging to her very shapely legs. ‘Get closer to the fire.’

  She inched to the edge of the bench nearer the flames. ‘The last thing I expected today was a thunderstorm.’ She groaned. ‘Marguerite is going to be so worried when I am late for supper.’

  They stared into the flames in silence. How many nights had he sat thus on campaign, sitting around a campfire, wet and tired to the bone? Too many to count. There had been companionship with his fellow officers, but it was nothing like the feeling of contentment he had now, sitting next to this tiny woman in the depths of the English countryside.

  The feeling of peace threatened his equanimity. As a boy, the brief periods of peace in his household usually presaged an enormous storm of passion between his parents far worse than the thunder and lightning of the storm outside their cave.

  She shivered and leaned towards the flames. Shadows flickered on the walls and glimmers of firelight danced across Venus’s pool. Silence descended.

  ‘Do you think the storm will last long?’ She glanced up at the fissure above the water, where the raindrops trickled down its edges and dripped into the pool.

  They seemed to be falling a little less heavily than they had been. ‘Let us hope not.’

  She nodded and rubbed her upper arms beneath his coat.

  Usually she sounded so sure of herself. Right now, she sounded uncomfortable. Some people were afraid of storms. ‘Move up closer to me,’ he said. ‘We will be warmer if we share our body heat.’

  At first, he thought she would refuse his offer of comfort. He wasn’t sure why he felt this need to offer her protection against the elements, but when she shifted closer, he put an arm around her shoulders, holding her loosely so she would realise she could break his hold any time she wished. After a second or two he felt her relax and her trust made him feel warmer than
any fire. He hoped some of that warmth would transfer through his skin to her.

  * * *

  To Petra there was something especially pleasing about the feel of such a sturdy forearm around one’s back. She leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder, and became aware of the strong, steady heartbeat against her cheek and the scent of his cologne. Something manly and spicy.

  His calm solid presence kept the dark in the corners of the cave at bay. She’d hated the dark, ever since Jonathan had locked her in a wardrobe when she was a child and then went off with his friends. Jonathan had always been a bit of a beast.

  She’d never told her brothers how much the dark terrified her, but Harry had winkled it out of her one night. And then he had teased her unmercifully as was his wont. Worse was when he came home drunk and blew out the candle on her nightstand, leaving the room horribly dark until she pleaded with him to light it. Once it was lit, she would pretend she didn’t care, but he’d laugh and tell her he would make love to her so she would forget all about her foolish fears. It never quite worked, but she never admitted that he sometimes left her less than satisfied, especially after he’d been carousing.

  Sitting with Longhurst’s arm lightly curled around her shoulders, she had the sense that he was not the sort to play cruel jokes on her or anyone else. How could that be? She barely knew anything about him. She wanted to know more. But she did not want him to think she was prying so she remained silent.

  Warmth from his large body trickled through her skin and, what with him at her side and the fire at her front, she began to feel quite toasty.

  Her eyes drifted shut and her breathing slowed. It was a lovely sensation: half-awake, half-asleep and knowing she was safe. A slight movement of his chest. A light touch to her hair. Tingles danced down her spine. Had he kissed the top of her head? Her breath caught. Dare she turn her face up to his and seek another, better kiss?

  No. No. There had been no hint of interest of that sort from him. She must have imagined it. She held still, trying to recapture the peace and calm of moments before, but her heart was racing far too fast to do more than pretend to be at ease.

  The sound of rain hitting the pool diminished to a steady drip.

  ‘Lady Petra, I think the storm is over,’ he said quietly, as if trying to awaken her gently from slumber. He removed his arm from about her shoulders and shifted away from her, leaving her feeling chilled.

  She sat up slowly as if she had indeed drifted off. ‘Oh, my goodness.’ She patted her hair, smoothed it back from her face. The fire had died to a mere glow.

  He rose and kicked the ashes about until the fire was no more, giving her time to recover her wits and retrieve her bonnet. When she went to remove his coat, he placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Keep it for now. Until we see how it is outside.’

  She did as he requested, unwilling to lose the warmth of it. Or the scent of him that clung to it. He took her hand and led her outside into daylight.

  She blinked in the brightness. What she had not noticed on their mad dash was a lake in front of the cave, set in a shallow depression and surrounded by trees. Long grass and rushes grew along its banks. At the other end, where the lake began to narrow, a grass-covered three-arched bridge crossed from one side to the other. Its reflection in the still water was one of the loveliest things she had ever seen. ‘What a pretty view.’

  ‘I thought so when I found it yesterday. It is too bad it is so overgrown. Another project to be undertaken once the land provides an income.’

  She heard weariness in his voice. ‘Hopefully it won’t take too long,’ she said encouragingly. Although, once he had his income, he would likely leave and return to his beloved army. Disgruntlement filled her. Why did people who did not care about the land get to inherit, while those who did care looked on in sadness? It was the way of the world, according to Marguerite.

  He took her arm and they walked back through the trees to the lane. Petra found the silence oppressive, as if the real world had closed in on them and come between them.

  Unable to bear it, she tried to think of something to say that would lighten the moment. ‘Since you grew up in Bristol, I am surprised you did not choose the navy over the army.’

  He made a scoffing sound. ‘I’m a dreadful sailor. My father took me sailing once. I turned pea green and spent the whole time leaning over the side, hanging on for grim death. Father was not best pleased.’ He grimaced. ‘It was the same when I travelled to Portugal and back. The navy was definitely not an option for me. It is the only bad thing about going back to my regiment.’

  In other words, he would not miss Longhurst Park. Sadness filled her. ‘I see.’

  ‘I was lucky that Mother’s brother offered to buy me a commission as soon as I was old enough.’

  ‘How generous of him.’ What sort of uncle sent a boy off to get killed in the war?

  ‘Yes, he was a generous man. He didn’t have children of his own and I used to visit him from time to time as a lad. We became good friends over the years. I missed him greatly when he died.’

  ‘And your parents, do they still live?’ She winced. What a foolish question. He would not be the Earl if his father was alive.

  ‘My father died of an apoplexy about ten years after I left home. My mother went into a decline and died shortly afterwards.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Thank you, but there is no need. We were not close.’

  How very cold that sounded. Her family had been so very loving, even Jonathan when they were younger. Longhurst’s tone suggested he would not welcome further questioning. And really, it was none of her business.

  A large puddle lay across the path at the edge of the woods.

  Without a word of warning, Lord Longhurst whisked her up in his arms.

  She cried out in surprise. ‘My lord, I—’

  A second later he was putting her down on the other side. He glared at her. ‘Don’t tell me you would rather have splashed through it in your sandals and soaked the hem of your skirts,’ he said gruffly.

  Not at all. Being swept up in such a way for the second time in one day, was rather...lovely. It made her feel particularly feminine. She took a deep breath.

  He held up his hand. ‘Come, let us not argue about such a trivial matter.’

  His words gave her brain time to work. She could certainly not encourage him in such outrageous behaviour by telling him she had thoroughly enjoyed it. ‘Very well. But, my lord, you must leave me here to continue my journey alone. The villagers are used to seeing me walking by myself. To see you escorting me through the village would give rise to all sorts of unwanted speculation.’

  ‘My dear Lady Petra—’

  Was she his dear? Her heart gave a heavy, painful thump. No, that she could never be. He was a soldier and a man who would leave here at the drop of a hat and without a backward glance. ‘Please do not argue, my lord, unless it is your intention to ruin my reputation.’

  ‘Certainly not.’ He sounded offended. No matter. It was better to offend him than have the whole countryside gossiping about them and Westram getting to hear of it.

  His expression became grim. ‘While I cannot like the idea of your walking alone, I do take your point, my lady. I must therefore acquiesce to your request.’ He frowned. ‘However, before we part there is something I would like to ask you.’

  For a second her heart seized. Ask her? Could he be thinking of a...proposal? No, no, what was she thinking? They were scarcely even friends. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘About the field you recommended we mow first. I’ve been reading about crop rotation and such and I was wondering if you would advise ploughing and planting this year, or leaving it fallow.’

  Stunned by his willingness to ask her advice regarding such a complex matter, she stared at him.

  His frown deepened. ‘Is this not a sensible que
stion?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, indeed. Perfectly sensible.’ But gentlemen did not ask ladies for such advice as a general rule. She swallowed.

  ‘Perhaps you do not know?’ He sighed. ‘So far you are the only person to offer me anything helpful regarding the estate. All Mrs Beckridge suggests is that I chase off a band of gypsies, who as far as I can judge are doing no one any harm at all and are the only ones available to work in my fields.’

  ‘Except they are poaching your fish and quite possibly your rabbits, you know.’

  ‘As you so rightly pointed out the other day, things that exists in the wild belong to no one person. They are welcome to them. There are far too many of them anyway.’

  He sounded so fierce, she wanted to laugh. She kept her face straight. ‘To really give you a good answer to your question about the field it would help to know how it has been used in the past. I have not lived here long enough to know that myself, I’m afraid.’

  He shrugged. ‘I have been through the estate journals. But to be honest, they might as well have been written in hieroglyphs for all that I understand.’

  She winced. ‘It is quite possible. I understand that each bailiff has his own form of shorthand as a way of preserving their positions. I might be able to make sense of it, if I were to see the notes.’

  ‘Would you be willing to look at them?’

  She hesitated. What would people say? What would Red say?

  His expression froze. ‘I beg your pardon. I should not have asked.’

  Why not? ‘I would be happy to help.’ Delighted, in fact. It was so long since she had anything truly useful to do.

  ‘I’ll bring them over tomorrow. We can go through them together. I am determined to understand this stuff.’

  His eagerness was enchanting. As was his willingness to seek her advice. She stilled. Shook her head.

  ‘No?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if I come to Longhurst. No one will see me if I cut across country, or, if they do, they will think I am out on one of my rambles, but everyone will see you arrive at my door. And everyone will make assumptions. Before you know it, my brother will be knocking on your door asking about your intentions. Red is very dear, but completely misguided in matters regarding his sisters.’