An Earl for the Shy Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  His expression became serious. ‘I would not like to go behind your brother’s back.’

  ‘Nonsense. We are simply making sure we do not incite gossip about something perfectly innocent.’

  ‘Visiting a gentleman alone in his home is just as likely ruin your reputation.’

  ‘Only if it becomes known. My lord, I am a widow. I am free to come and go as I please, provided I remain discreet.’

  He frowned. ‘Then it shall be as you wish.’

  She shrugged out of his coat and handed it to him. ‘I will come to Longhurst at around eleven on Friday.’

  ‘I shall look forward to it.’

  As she walked away, she was aware of his gaze following her down the lane until she turned the corner.

  A few moments later the Vicar and his wife came driving along the other way. See, she was right. If he had escorted her home, there would have been all kinds of questions and innuendo.

  The Vicar pulled up when he came alongside her. ‘Good day, Lady Petra.’ His gaze scanned her person. ‘It seems you got caught in the storm.’

  ‘I did. Fortunately, I found some shelter under a tree. I am only slightly damp.’

  He eyed her up and down. ‘You were fortunate indeed. It was quite a shower.’

  Mrs Beckridge leaned forward with a sugary smile. ‘My dear Lady Petra, you must hurry home before you catch a chill. I am surprised your sister permits you to wander around the countryside alone.’

  Petra gritted her teeth but managed a smile. ‘Thank you for your concern, but as you say, I really must be getting home. I bid you good day.’

  She set off at a brisk pace, praying they would not turn around and offer to drive her to her door. There really was something about the Vicar’s wife she did not like. The sound of the vehicle continuing on its way was a great relief. All she had to do now was think of an excuse Marguerite would believe to be out of the house for an extended period on Friday.

  Or perhaps she should just tell her sister the truth.

  And if Marguerite thought it a bad idea to visit Lord Longhurst in his home? Alone? Petra really did not want to fight with her sister.

  She would think of something.

  Chapter Six

  Ethan paced his study. Lady Petra should have been here by now. He should not have listened to her worries and should have sent his carriage. After all, she could easily have brought her maid, or even her sister. It was not as if they were doing anything untoward. No matter how much he might like to.

  He quelled that thought the instant it formed, but it did not quell the heat in his blood quite so easily, damn it.

  A few moments with his arms around the woman, one brush of his lips against her hair, and he could not stop thinking about her. Which was simply not on. And if by seeking her aid, he was putting her reputation in danger, then he should cease and desist immediately. Particularly since his man of business had written to inform him the he believed he’d discovered the perfect heiress. The daughter of a foundry owner somewhere in the North.

  If he wanted to take a look at her, he could meet her in town during the course of the Season, when Parliament resumed. He did suggest that Ethan should not delay in making his interest known, if she proved suitable, since more than one destitute lord was in the market for a wealthy bride.

  Damn it all.

  He strode for the window, looking out and squaring his shoulders. There was no help for it. Unless Lady Petra could see a miracle within the pages of the journals, he would simply have to buckle down and do his duty as his title demanded.

  No matter how irksome. Still, once done, with the aid of a good bailiff and a wife to oversee things, he could head back to his regiment.

  He swung around at a sound behind him. Lady Petra in the doorway with a smile on her face. Thank God. How long had she been there? He frowned, hoping she would not recognise the pure joy he felt at the sight of her. Joy? Nonsense, it was relief, that was all.

  Like a beleaguered battalion upon the arrival of reinforcements.

  ‘I am sorry I am late,’ Lady Petra said, pulling off her gloves, revealing her dainty hands. ‘My sister needed some last-minute help with the household chores.’

  Why was a lady of her distinction required to do menial tasks? Why did her brother not take better care of his widowed sisters?

  ‘Are you late? I had not noticed.’ He certainly wasn’t going to let her see how anxious he had been for her arrival. He knew only too well that women used such displays of weakness against a man. His own mother had been a master at the art.

  Her face fell. ‘I asked Mrs Stone to send up a tea tray. I hope you don’t mind.’

  The hesitant speech made him feel like a brute. ‘Not at all.’ He gestured to the desk. ‘I have set the relevant journals on the desk, if you would care to take a look at them.’

  After his boorishness, he wouldn’t be surprised if she refused.

  She removed her bonnet, tucked her gloves inside it and looked around. ‘I see you have managed to get rid of the furniture in the hall.’

  ‘O’Cleary and I carted it into the barn. We thought we would put it in the attic, but it is already completely full of yet more furniture.’

  ‘What will you do with it all? Sell it?’

  ‘If anyone wants it. Or burn it, perhaps. I cannot keep it in the stables for ever.’

  She winced. ‘It seems like a terrible waste, I must say.’ She made her way to the desk and looked at the stack of journals he’d set there. ‘I suppose I should get on.’

  In no time at all she was seated at his desk, poring through the entries, cross-checking between the various years and flipping back and forth.

  With her head bent over her work and the sunlight from the window catching her hair and making it glint like gold, she looked lovely. Such a pretty woman. The recollection of her cuddled up against him in the grotto made him wish for an excuse to hold her again. He pushed the thought aside and paced the room, waiting for her judgement.

  O’Cleary brought the tea tray and collected it again, and still she studied the ledgers.

  Finally, he could bear it no longer. ‘What do you make of it?’

  She glanced up as if startled by the sound of his voice, as if she had forgotten he was present. A humbling thought.

  Then she smiled and he forgot all about books and estates and titles and could think only of how much he would like to kiss those pretty lips. He froze.

  She tipped her head as if she saw something in his reaction, then stared back at the pages before her. ‘Bring a chair and I will share what I have understood so far. But I need your help.’

  He sat beside her, aware of her arm so close to his, drinking in the sight of her delicate nape as she pointed to an entry in the ledger before her. He forced himself to focus on the page.

  ‘I can understand what it says with regard to what was planted and when, but I cannot for the life of me understand where.’ She pointed to a series of letters and numbers.

  He stared at them. ‘Those look like map references to me.’

  ‘Really.’

  He searched through the pile of papers and pulled out a dog-eared map which had neatly printed letters and numbers and arrows pointing in all directions scattered all over it. ‘Yes, I saw this earlier and couldn’t make head nor tail of it, except that it’s obviously a map of the estate.’ He pointed to the number she had indicated in the journal and then to a corresponding section on the map. ‘Those coordinates refer to this location, I believe. It is not done exactly correctly, but it is plain this location is what is meant.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness. Very well, what about this one?’

  Slowly but surely, they worked through it together and a pattern emerged, linking the ledgers to the maps.

  ‘Well done, Lady Petra. Finally, there is clarity.’

  S
he beamed. ‘Well, without your knowledge of maps, I would never have figured it out. This is very dissimilar to the way my father’s bailiff recorded his journals. Now we have figured out the key, next we have to understand exactly which field was used for which purpose.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Of course.’ She handed him a sheet of paper and the ink stand. ‘I think we need to focus on the hundred-acre field that you mowed and see if we can trace exactly how it has been used these past four years. Seven would be better, if you have the information.’

  He shook his head. ‘There are no records older than four years as far as I can determine.’

  ‘Then we must work with what we have.’

  The determination in her voice was heartening. And he was equally determined. Though it had surprised him, he was glad his map-reading skills were as useful here as they had been in the army. He had a knack for it. It had been part of the reason he had risen to the rank of Major. That and his attention to duty.

  They worked through the details in the journal, matching them to the map, until they had recorded each of the previous years.

  ‘Judging from this, I would say you should plough now and plant root crops,’ she said, leaning back in her chair with a smile that held not a little satisfaction.

  The urge to kiss her mouth was almost overwhelming.

  He straightened, putting distance between them. ‘I agree. That accords with what I have been reading in the agricultural journals.’ He grimaced. ‘Now I need to buy a plough and hire a ploughman. Not to mention find a bailiff.’ This business of caring for the land was indeed an expensive proposition. All the outlay came ahead of any income.

  He turned the pages of the most recent journal until he reached the last few pages. These were written in a different hand. A more flowing script, albeit one that looked a bit shaky in places. There were names, dates and amounts beside each one, along with letters and numbers that must be some sort of code. ‘Do you have any idea to what this might refer?’

  Lady Petra shook her head. ‘I have no idea what it is. It is like nothing else in the ledger.’

  As he had thought. He grimaced. ‘Unfortunately, these I believe I understand all too well. It is a record of enormous expenses. The only thing I can think of to account for these large amounts are gambling debts. This must be why there is no money left in the coffers.’

  She looked as shocked as he had felt the first time he saw them. ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He closed the journals. ‘Is it not time for you to be heading home?’

  She glanced at the clock. Her eyes widened. ‘Four o’clock? Already? I told Marguerite I would not be gone above two hours.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ll be in trouble again. Poor Marguerite. I really am a sad trial.’

  ‘Next time I see her, I will thank her for allowing me to take up so much of your time. I wish I had some way to thank you, as well.’

  She gazed at him with a soft glow in her eyes. ‘Nonsense, my lord. It has been my very great pleasure.’ She grimaced. ‘However, I think it would be better if you did not say anything to Marguerite. I simply told her I was going for a walk.’

  He glanced at the pile of ledgers. ‘And there are still a great many more puzzles to solve. We have only tackled one field.’

  ‘I know. Would you like me to help you with the rest of them?’

  He could not believe what he was hearing? ‘You would do that?’

  ‘As and when I can. If you think it would be helpful.’

  He could do it by himself, but it would take a great deal longer than it had taken them together. Relief filled him. ‘Helpful does not describe the value of your contribution.’

  A smile lit her lovely face. ‘Then I shall come as often as I can.’

  ‘In the meantime, I’ll see if I can borrow a plough from Lord Compton, because it seems my cousin cared nothing for farm implements and sold them off with the horses. Ploughing cannot be that hard.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You mean to plough it yourself?’

  ‘Why not? Drive up and down in straight rows. How difficult can it be?’

  ‘I do not know. I have never tried, but I do recall my father saying a good ploughman was worth his weight in gold.’ She glanced down at the journals. ‘Like a good bailiff. Yet it is possible to learn.’

  ‘Then I shall learn.’

  She laughed, stood up and stretched, revealing the delights of her petite figure in a very intimate way. No doubt she had no idea what the sight of her breasts pressing against the fine fabric of her gown did to a man. For although she was a widow, she seemed almost too young and innocent to have ever been a wife.

  He frowned at the wayward thought.

  ‘I will come again when Marguerite goes to market next Friday, unless something untoward occurs,’ she declared as she tied her bonnet and pulled on her gloves. ‘There are a great many more acres for us to worry about. One by one we shall solve the mysteries of the estate.’

  Her confidence was heartening. Perhaps his sojourn in England would be shorter than he had at first thought. For some reason, that thought did not make him feel as glad as he would have expected.

  * * *

  ‘No mail today,’ Petra sang out as she entered the drawing room.

  Marguerite threw down her pen. ‘Dash it. Are you sure?’ She looked worried.

  ‘Of course. Why what were you expecting?’

  ‘Final approval of the drawings I sent off to a publisher last week.’

  ‘Your drawings are being published?’

  She blushed. ‘I was asked to colour some drawings of parts of plants for a book, and they requested some samples of drawings of specific flowers. I am hoping they might use them.’

  ‘That is wonderful. Amazing.’ She rushed to her sister and gave her a hug.

  Marguerite sighed. ‘It would be wonderful if they accept the drawings. Colouring pays very little.’ She had the household ledger open in front of her.

  Petra’s heart sank. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘We don’t have enough money to last us through the winter, if they reject the work.’

  ‘They must pay for work they requested, surely?’

  ‘They made no commitment. They rejected the last one I sent.’

  Petra recalled how upset Marguerite had been. ‘But your work is wonderful and now you know what they are looking for, I am sure it will be fine. The letter will likely come tomorrow.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Marguerite did not sound convinced.

  ‘I could set some traps for rabbits to tide us over.’

  ‘You won’t find any rabbits in our garden. Jeb has made sure of that.’

  ‘No, I’ll set traps the in the field Longhurst had mowed a few days ago. I’ve seen rabbits there.’

  ‘Did His Lordship give you permission?’

  He had said he didn’t mind if the gypsies poached his rabbits or his fish. He had also given her permission to purloin what she wanted in the way of blackberries. ‘He did.’

  ‘He gave you permission to hunt rabbits?’

  ‘Not rabbits exactly.’

  ‘Oh, no, Petra. I am not having my sister arrested for poaching. I want to see permission in writing.’

  ‘Very well, I will send him a note.’

  Marguerite nodded and went back to her ledger. ‘Perhaps we can do with less coal if we don’t heat the bedrooms.’

  Petra sat down and scribbled off a note, then went in search of Jeb to deliver it. He was nowhere around. Then she remembered that he had said he was going to take Patch to the farrier, since she had a loose shoe. She would just have to take the blasted note herself, even though she knew Marguerite would not approve. On the other hand, perhaps it was better this way, because if Ethan was home and gave permission right away, she could set her traps on the way back.

 
She put on her hat and coat and marched across the fields to Longhurst, picking hazelnuts from the hedgerows as she went. If Longhurst wasn’t home, then her trip would not have been completely wasted.

  As it happened, she met Lord Longhurst riding up his drive as she crossed his lawn from the other direction. He really was a fine figure of a man on a horse. Her unruly feminine side gave a little sigh of appreciation. It had apparently lost all sense of decorum.

  He dismounted as soon as he came up to her. ‘Lady Petra, to what do I owe this pleasure? I wasn’t expecting you today, was I?’

  ‘No. I came to ask permission to trap a few rabbits on your land.’

  He looked surprised, but then smiled. ‘You are an endless source of surprise. Help yourself. You know you may.’

  He looked so handsome when he smiled she almost forgot her manners. ‘Thank you. Would you like one?’

  He grinned. ‘I didn’t like to ask but, yes, O’Cleary and I would appreciate some fresh meat.’

  ‘Very well. Either tomorrow or the day after. In the meantime—’ she held out her note ‘—would you write your assent to my trapping on your land? That way Marguerite will not live in fear of my imminent arrest for poaching.’

  He chuckled heartily. ‘I will do better than that.’ He tore a leaf out of a small notebook with a pencil attached and scribbled his permission. ‘There you go. You did promise to teach me to guddle, don’t forget.’

  ‘So I did. Would you like to go tomorrow afternoon? I can check my traps at the same time.’

  ‘I would be delighted. Fresh fish for dinner will be a welcome change.’

  ‘Good. I’ll meet you at the stream where we saw the boy.’

  ‘You are still coming on Friday, as promised?’

  Her heart picked up speed. At this rate she would be seeing him every day this week. She really ought not to do that. ‘I will.’

  ‘Excellent. May I offer you some tea before you leave?’

  She was sorely tempted, but if she did not leave now, then she would not have time to set her traps before dark and it would be two more days before they would have fresh meat on the table.