Pierce had risen that early? Heavens.
“It seems I’ve been remiss in welcoming you to Montcliff,” the man went on, his cool, remote tone belying his genial words. Camilla tensed. No doubt Pierce had lectured him about his stringent rules. She had better tread carefully.
“Of course,” Mr. Fowler continued, “if I’d known of your presence here, I wouldn’t have been so remiss.” But it wasn’t Camilla he glanced darkly at. It was her ladyship. “Apparently, I wasn’t to be trusted with such a valuable secret.”
Lady Devonmont flushed. “I’ve learned through the years to be careful whom I trust with valuable secrets, sir. So has Camilla. And you mustn’t blame her. It was my idea to bring the boy here and my idea to keep him to ourselves.”
Anger flared briefly in Mr. Fowler’s features before he masked it. “I don’t blame Mrs. Stuart.” He tore his gaze from the countess. “I don’t blame anyone. I was merely making an observation.”
Into the heightened tension came Jasper’s small voice. “We’re going to the fair today, Mr. Fowler. Are you going, too?”
Mr. Fowler drew himself up with a sort of stiff pride. “I wouldn’t wish to intrude.”
“Nonsense,” her ladyship said, her color deepening. “It’s no intrusion. We’d be quite pleased if you would join us. Wouldn’t we, Camilla?”
“Of course. Do come with us, sir.”
He tipped his head at Camilla, carefully avoiding her ladyship’s gaze. “Very well. Given such a cordial invitation, I can hardly refuse.”
Camilla sighed as Pierce invited the man to fill a plate at the sideboard. Mr. Fowler was clearly wounded by the lack of trust she and her ladyship had placed in him. But given his firm stance on children, he could hardly be surprised.
It was surprising, however, that her ladyship had invited him to join them. Camilla lowered her voice to murmur, “Mr. Fowler took that very well.”
The countess gazed at the man’s broad back. “He’ll take it even better once he gets to know the boy.”
“That depends entirely on how well Jasper behaves, I fear,” Camilla said. “Look at him—he’s about to burst out of his chair from excitement.”
“If Mr. Fowler gives you any grief about Jasper, you let me know,” her ladyship said with a sniff. “I may not be mistress of this estate, but I can still set a man straight if I’m pressed to it.”
Camilla watched as the countess headed over to coddle Jasper, which as usual had him beaming with pleasure. More and more, the woman presented a conundrum. Clearly she had not stood up to her husband on behalf of her own son. Was that why she was so protective of Jasper?
Watching her with the boy must pain Pierce. Though if it did, he gave no evidence of it as they ate a quick breakfast and headed out the front door to find both her ladyship’s barouche box and a massive coach-and-four awaiting them.
“Would you like to ride with me?” Pierce asked Jasper.
“Can Mama come, too? And Maisie? And her ladyship?”
Pierce looked amused. “Do the three of them go everywhere with you?”
“Well . . . ” Jasper thought a moment. “Mostly. When I don’t have to stay with Maisie on account of nobody wanting me seen by—” He shot Mr. Fowler a furtive glance, then added in a whisper, “By You Know Who.”
Fortunately, Mr. Fowler was engrossed in helping the countess determine which items were to be loaded onto the top of the coach-and-four.
“You needn’t worry about that anymore,” Pierce said in a confidential voice. “You can be seen by anyone you please. And if we can fit everyone inside the coach, they’re welcome to ride with us.”
In the end, the servants were put into the barouche, leaving the six of them to be crammed inside the coach.
As they set off, with Camilla, Maisie, and her ladyship on one side and the two gentlemen and Jasper on the other, Pierce turned to Mr. Fowler. “Are there usually many people at this fair?”
“I don’t know,” the estate manager answered. “I’ve never been.”
They both looked at her ladyship. “There’s generally a few hundred at least,” she said.
“The Christmas one is the most popular,” Maisie put in, then reddened as she realized she shouldn’t speak among such lofty personages.
Pierce smiled encouragingly at her. “Is it because of the horses? As I recall from my childhood, a great deal of horse selling went on during this particular fair.”
Feeling Lady Devonmont stiffen beside her, Camilla shot her a quick glance but could tell nothing from the woman’s smooth expression.
“Oh, yes, my lord, they still sell a great many horses,” Maisie said. “And cattle and cheese, too.”
“And reindeer?” Jasper asked hopefully.
“Reindeer?” Pierce echoed in obvious bewilderment.
“It’s in the poem, you know,” Jasper said, “the one about St. Nicholas.”
Pierce glanced at Camilla. “Is this the famous poem that has enraptured the females of Stocking Pelham?”
Camilla smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid so. He’s quite taken with it.”
“I know it by heart,” Jasper said. “I can say it if you like.”
“Oh, by all means, let us hear the blasted thing,” Mr. Fowler mumbled.
Taking him at his word, Jasper cheerily began to recite it, and Camilla didn’t have the heart to stop him. Besides, she was having fun watching Mr. Fowler look so stoic about the matter.
When Jasper got to the part about the “eight tiny reindeer,” Pierce interrupted. “I’m afraid I can’t show you any of those, lad, but we can have a look at some regular deer, if you want.”
Jasper’s eyes went wide. “I guess they don’t have to have reins on them.”
Camilla stifled a laugh. Until now, she hadn’t realized what Jasper thought reindeer were.
Pierce said very soberly, “Well, they only need reins when they’re pulling a sleigh, but in this case, the deer are just lying about and eating. Would you like to see them?”
“Oh, yes, sir, very much!”
“I don’t know if we have time,” Camilla put in.
“It will only take a few minutes. It’s not much out of our way.” Pierce looked at his mother for the first time since they’d entered the coach. “If that’s all right with you.”
“It’s fine. Tell the servants to go on to Stocking Pelham, and they can start helping set up the booth without me. Other ladies will be there, after all.”
Pierce opened the panel at the front and called up some orders to the coachman, then settled back into his seat.
“I assume you’re talking about the deer in the park?” Camilla asked, wondering how he could produce wild deer for Jasper’s benefit, especially in a two-hundred-and-fifty-acre park.
“Actually,” Mr. Fowler said, “his lordship keeps some for winter.”
Lady Devonmont said, “What do you mean, ‘keeps some’ ”
“I got the idea from the Earl of Clarendon,” Pierce explained. “He weeds out those deer among the herd that would never make it through the winter on their own. Then he pens them, coddles them, and fattens them up, so that by spring, his estate has venison without having to slaughter the strong breeders of his herd.”
“Thanks to his lordship,” Mr. Fowler put in, “we’ve been doing it for the past two years and we find that the herd has swelled admirably. It only takes a bit of feed and the gamekeeper’s occasional attention to take care of the ones we pen. We sometimes have so much venison, we have to sell the meat.”
“And there they are now,” Pierce said as he hauled Jasper onto his lap so he could see out the window better. “Look, lad—all the deer you could want.”
“Ohhhh, look at them!” Jasper exclaimed. “They’re bigger than I thought they would be. I’ll bet they could pull a big sleigh!”
They really were healthy-looking. Camilla shoved her spectacles up as she gazed out the window. She’d never been on this part of the estate, since she rarely left the dower house
and couldn’t ride. So she hadn’t before seen the large pen, with a lean-to at one end to help protect the animals from the weather, hay strewn across the ground, and troughs that must contain feed.
Pierce’s industrious use of the estate’s resources astounded her. She would never have thought him that sort of owner—willing to try improvements, interested in new ideas. She would have thought him the sort to leave everything to his estate manager.
“Perhaps later, on our way home,” Pierce said, “we’ll stop and you can look at them up close.”
“Oh, that would be grand!” Jasper said, his eyes huge as he watched out the window.
They drove slowly past the pen, and Camilla noticed something odd. “Why is the pen covered with netting?”
Jasper eyed her askance. “To keep the deer from flying away, Mama,” he said, as if anyone would have known that.
When Pierce shot her a questioning glance, Camilla laughed. “If you had let him keep reciting the poem, you would have discovered that the reindeer in it actually fly. So since my son is a city boy and doesn’t know about such things, he assumes that all deer fly.”
“No kind of deer flies, boy,” Mr. Fowler said firmly.
Jasper glanced darkly at him. “Reindeer do.”
“Only because the poem is about magical deer,” her ladyship put in gently. “They’re distant cousins to regular deer. I’m afraid that regular deer don’t fly.”
“Oh,” Jasper said, nodding at her as if that explained everything. “I have cousins in London. They don’t fly, either.”
They all laughed, which apparently hurt Jasper’s feelings, for he settled into a sulk.
Pierce shifted him on his lap and said kindly, “I have cousins in London, too. Or rather, not far from London. They own a stud farm with lots of horses. I spend every Christmas with them.”
Jasper gazed up into his face. “But not this Christmas. You’re going to spend it here at Montcliff. Right?”
Pierce stiffened, his smile growing forced. “I don’t think so, Jasper,” he said tightly. “My uncle is expecting me.”
Before Camilla could jump in to smooth over the moment, Lady Devonmont surprised her by saying, “His lordship is a very busy man, lad, with a great many duties. He can’t spend all his time in the country with us.”
Pierce’s gaze shot to his mother. “Good of you to understand.”
Despair swept over Camilla. Her ladyship might make excuses for her son, but she very obviously did not understand. The countess really thought that Pierce could just leave everything in the past and start anew.
Little did she know her son. Pierce and her ladyship might be able to be civil and even spend time together now without too much strain, but they still had a large past lying between them like some immovable boulder, and it became clearer by the day that no amount of pushing was going to roll it away.
So it was time for Camilla to be sensible. He soon would be leaving for London or Waverly Farm, and when that happened, she would have to go on without him, no matter what she was beginning to feel for him.
Because once he was gone, she doubted he would ever return to the dower house.
17
Memories swamped Pierce the minute he disembarked at the fair. Just as it had been twenty-three years ago, the village green was packed with canvas tents and booths, and the snow-crusted ground had already been trampled by man and beast alike. The smell of hot beef pasties mingled with the scent of the festive greens that were twined about a few booths as decoration.
For a moment he stood frozen, lost in his childhood. Then the others swung into action under his mother’s commands, and he forced himself out of his trance and into service carrying items to the church’s booth, alongside Mr. Fowler, Camilla, and the dower house servants.
His mother took charge of little Jasper, holding the lad’s hand as they all swept through the fair toward her booth. When she pointed out various sights that might interest the boy, Pierce shot right back to the day when she’d done the same with him.
That’s when it finally dawned on him—the reason Camilla championed his mother. It was because of Jasper. Because Mother had brought the boy to live at Montcliff, when apparently none of Camilla’s other employers had cared if the child lived or died. Because Mother treated the lad kindly.
Because Mother treated Jasper like a son.
Pierce choked down the bitterness rising in his throat. It spoke well of Mother that she’d behaved so graciously to Camilla and her child. And Pierce refused to envy a six-year-old boy for his hold on Mother’s affections.
When they arrived at Mother’s booth and were surrounded by the village church’s ladies’ committee, something else dawned on him. Young Jasper was a surprise to more than just him.
He should have expected that, given what Camilla had said last night about the secrecy they’d deemed necessary. But Pierce hadn’t considered the ramifications—that until now no one had known that the child even existed. So there had to be explanations and introductions, not to mention a great deal of fuss from the six women running the booth.
Pierce hung back to watch. He knew better than to launch himself into a gaggle of hens fawning over a little boy.
“He’s your son, Mrs. Stuart?” one lady exclaimed. “How delightful! Isn’t he just adorable?” She ruffled Jasper’s curls, which the boy seemed to take offense at, pulling closer to his mother.
“He looks cold,” another lady said, and promptly wrapped a scarf tightly about his neck. “He should go stand by the brazier, where it’s warm.”
As Jasper tugged at the scarf, yet a third lady thrust out a plate of what looked from a distance like burned cakes. “Have a treat, my dear. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“No, thank you,” Jasper mumbled, clearly wary.
At least he was polite. Pierce wasn’t sure he would have been at six. And Camilla was doing nothing to stop the ladies, obviously worried about offending them.
“Look at those chapped lips,” said yet another female. “What you need, child, is my balm of juniper oil and honey water.” She removed a vial from her reticule and, after pouring a bit of the contents onto her handkerchief, leaned toward Jasper’s mouth with her hand outstretched. The poor lad started back in alarm.
“Excuse me,” Pierce broke in, stepping up to place his arm about the boy’s shoulders, “but Master Jasper and I were just heading off to take a look at the horses for sale.”
Every female eye turned to him. And that’s when something else dawned on him: None of them knew who he was. It wasn’t surprising, given that he hadn’t attended church in Stocking Pelham since he was eight, but it was unnerving.
“Ladies,” Mother said into the curiosity-laden silence, “you may remember my son, the Earl of Devonmont. Though it’s been some years since he has visited Stocking Pelham, he was kind enough to help us transport items for the booth in his coach-and-four this morning.”
The ladies gaped at him, obviously unsure what to think. They must have heard he was estranged from his family. But what had his parents said about it, if anything? Generally the heir to a title and a great house was known at least a little in the local village. They must think him quite full of himself, that he hadn’t come to town in twenty-three years.
While he was still wondering about that, Mother said, “Pierce, I’m sure you remember . . . ” and rattled off a list of names.
To his shock, he recognized a few. “Mrs. Townsend,” he said, bowing to the chubby-cheeked lady with the balm. “I do hope your husband is feeling better.” Townsend was one of Montcliff’s most successful tenants. Pierce had spoken to the farmer several times, though he’d never met the wife.
Mrs. Townsend brightened. “Indeed, he is, my lord, thank you for asking. He was laid low for nearly a week, but yesterday he began to feel better and managed to get out of bed to come today. My son is helping him oversee the sale of our two sows.”
“With any luck, they’ll fetch a good price.” Pierce turne
d to the gray-haired woman with the plate of treats. “Mrs. Wallace, please tell me those are your famous gingerbread nuts. Mr. Fowler brought me some once, and I’ve been craving another taste ever since.”
Beaming at him, she held out the same plate she’d offered to Jasper. “That’s exactly what they are, sir, and you’re quite welcome to have some.”
He took one of the round, dark brown treats for himself, then handed one to Jasper. “Here you go, lad. I promise you’ll find them delicious.”
Jasper skeptically took a bite, then his face lit up. “They’re as good as sugarplums!” he announced.
As Jasper accepted another gingerbread nut from the plate, Pierce fielded a flurry of questions about the estate that soon turned to queries about how long he meant to stay in Hertfordshire and what the news was from London. He answered as best he could, reminded of what village life was like and how much of it centered around news, gossip, and the local landowners’ lives.
Then, of course, he had to endure a tour of the booth. At every table, the ladies had placed a handwritten copy of the poem that Jasper was so enamored of, so that potential buyers understood the purpose of what the women were selling. Next to it was a pretty display of ornamental stockings. Apparently the ladies had each made several, which were flounced and furbelowed to excess.
Great God, how many would he be expected to buy? And how could he purchase only a few without insulting those ladies whose stockings didn’t meet with his favor?
He knew how this worked. Whatever choice he made, they would talk for weeks about whose stockings his lordship had bought and whose he had ignored. There was only one safe avenue—to buy a stocking from each of the ladies. Perhaps he could use them as gifts, though even he didn’t have that many female friends. Not respectable ones, anyway.
Still, it was for a good cause, he supposed.
By the time he’d made his purchases, he was ready to escape the cacophony of chatter. Since Jasper had been following him about the whole time, Pierce used the lad as his excuse.
“Forgive me, ladies, I hate to abandon you, but Jasper and I must get a look at the horses before the good ones all sell. I’m sure you understand.”
’Twas the Night After Christmas Page 16
