by Howe, Cheryl
“Forgive me, but I’m a mess,” Astra said, completely taken aback by what she suspected might be his uncivilized version of an apology. “Usually, I am quite alone here.” She peeled off her mud-caked gloves and discarded her wide-brimmed straw hat that had long ago begun to unravel. Finally, she had no choice but to place her hand in his since he still extended it to her.
His warm grip closed around hers and he pulled her to her feet in one easy tug, his physical strength serving to unnerve her along with his touch. The skin to skin contact sent her heart racing. His hand was rough yet invitingly warm. Even though the early spring morning had left the tip of her nose chilled, she suddenly found herself uncomfortably hot. The fact he had such an effect on her unnerved her even more.
He released her hand and stepped back. She immediately missed his warmth.
“I assure you Eastlan’s gardener earns his keep,” she said as she brushed back a loose tendril, damp from her exertion. Hopefully he would attribute the flush in her cheeks to the same end.
He waited, perhaps for more explanation, holding her gaze with his own interested stare.
“Most of these plants were imported from abroad,” she began. “Lowell’s father, your uncle”—she dropped her gaze, suddenly feeling as if the simple exchange was too intimate, somehow—“commissioned the garden for Lady Phillina. This one’s Mediterranean.” A simple glance at the yellowing plant reminded Astra of her own withering predicament. She caught herself before she said more. How could this money-hungry young American understand the value of a romantic token beyond the monetary? “I enjoy tending them, though they are often more trouble than they’re worth.” She lifted her gaze back to his face, noting how the bright sunlight made his hair even more fair-colored.
“Perhaps I should feed them to the sheep then.” He shifted his stance, appearing so casual and relaxed, his thumbs caught in the pockets of his worn breeches.
“Oh, no! The oleander is quite poisonous and the azaleas as well. I forbid Lark to even play…” His grin alerted her that he was teasing. That he understood her underhanded insult unnerved her at the same time it earned her grudging respect. She clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s quiet in this part of the garden. I find it relaxing. It would make me sad to see it die of neglect. Mr. Morton has far too much to do keeping up with the roses and rhododendrons.”
“I noticed the bouquets in the hall, and the dining room. The butler claimed they were your doing.” Thankfully, he didn’t specifically mention the one in his sitting room she’d dropped off the day before. “I am impressed.”
“Lady Phillina enjoys the flowers. She’s been unable to venture into the garden for some time.” Astra was not sure what to make of his compliment and even more surprised that he even noticed her wild arrangements spilling over Eastlan’s numerous urns. Was he trying to flatter her into submission, to see if she was going to simply stand by and allow him to do whatever he felt right?
“Lady Phillina is bedridden, isn’t she? I’ve yet to meet her. Perhaps you could do the honors and make…the proper introductions.”
Her heart fell. Based on her own encounter with James, she wondered if Lady Phillina would even survive meeting the new lord. She lifted her chin, her intention to do her best to keep the two apart as long as possible.
“I pray you don’t wish to send Lady Phillina away from the home she has known for most of her adult life.” Astra’s stomach clenched with the growing dread that his foray into the far reaches of the garden was by no means an accident. Perhaps he’d sought her out to find out what might help him in his own pursuits. “The dowager house has not been inhabited for the last two generations. It’s in dire need of repair.”
In her concern for her own future and that of her daughter’s, Astra hadn’t specifically thought of what a change in residence would do to Lady Phillina. She feared it could be her death sentence. Did this American, with his different ways, truly understand the effect his decisions would have on them all? She feared he didn’t.
“I have no intention of asking anyone to leave Eastlan. And if you would have let me finish last night, I would have assured you of that. It’s all been rather a surprise for me, but now that I’m here I have to admit I had been expecting more from my inheritance.”
“More?” Astra stopped herself from lashing out at him, and did her best to hide her shock. She realized he had no idea what he had inherited, what a fine estate Eastlan was. Astra’s sweeping gaze took in the lush green landscape, the stately grey mansion solid in the background. “Forgive me, but I love Eastlan. Every bit of it.”
“I can see that. I find the openness of the sea more to my liking. It’s more what I’m used to.” His gaze followed hers, but it seemed to bounce over the landscape. She noted a hint of bewilderment when she glanced at his face. That would explain at least some of his demeanor. He didn’t have the love of land like she did.
“But, before I forget,” he said, “the cook needs a menu for next week. Apparently she goes to market in the village today.” He shrugged. “She was very insistent. The other reason I was looking for you this morning.”
Astra squelched a smug grin, but she relished this little victory. He had revealed quite clearly that he needed her, which she intended to use to her advantage. “Our cook is excellent and she knows it. She just needs a bit of direction. She will become perturbed if you don’t tell her your preferences, I assure you.”
“I got that impression,” he said, grinning. “Well, I definitely want to keep her happy. I don’t know anything about meal preparation beyond sea rations. I’ve eaten enough brined beef and hard tack in my lifetime. I assume planning the menu is a role you had?”
“I used to,” she said, adding, “before your arrival.” She paused a moment, studying him. “The staff knows as well as we all do that things have changed, but I would be glad to be of assistance.” In her desire to distract herself with the gardening, Astra had completely forgotten that this was Cook’s day at market. Still, she had not even considered that ignoring their menu would trouble him when he could have simply waved off the cook.
What she had considered was the fact she most definitely did not want to contemplate him bringing another woman in to take over the duties of lady of the house. No, she needed to swallow her pride and help him master this simple task. “I suppose you will need to learn how to handle these details yourself.”
He nodded, then spread his mouth into a thin line as though thinking about what he was next going to say. His blue eyes grew troubled, then relaxed as though he’d made a difficult decision.
“Astra, I will be honest and say that I didn’t try to find you this morning to only talk about menus and flowers.” His use of her given name caused her to catch her breath though she wished she felt some sense of ire instead of an unwanted thrill of pleasure. “I’ve been thinking throughout the night and I hope there might be a mutually satisfying way we can reconcile our differences without you having to vacate your home.”
His direct stare caught her off guard as much as his words. She searched his gaze, wanting to believe his offer genuine. Something significant sparked between them and her heart raced. She licked her lips before she could stop herself. Nor could she look away from him.
“I don’t honestly see how that will be possible. I imagined you would wish to set up your own household and, in time, I would have no proper place in it. I am no longer the lady of the estate, nor is it appropriate for me to become a…servant.” The heat in his scrutiny caused a flutter in her stomach. Her traitorous body began to hum with the memory of a more erotic encounter, the vision of which had kept her awake most of the night. His tryst with the maid had garnered her attention far more than their rather heated verbal encounter of the evening before. What must he truly think of her? Especially after her threat of legal action.
“As far as I’m concerned, your place need not change at all.” His gaze didn’t waver, but held hers with a spark of what she could only des
cribe as banked desire. Her heart seized at the idea, then fluttered back to life with a giddiness that disturbed her.
She toyed with the neckline of her gown, sure she had misinterpreted his interest. “Though I am a widow, I am of an age…well, it is not unreasonable that I could remarry. And you are what one might call eligible.” She stopped herself from adding handsome. “I am sure your intentions are noble, but others might think differently with both of us here.”
“I don’t intend to stay at Eastlan. We won’t be under the same roof for long,” he said perhaps a little too quickly.
“But where would you live? Certainly not London.” As desperately as she wished him gone, the idea that he would take up the public debauchery of his cousin, Trent, deflated her. The Keanes needed no more scandal to ruin their once-respected name, but, to her, the new lord had proven himself worthy of it in the first hour of his arrival. Given the fact he was a young American with a war record—against Great Britain—and frighteningly handsome on top of all that, there was bound to be brutal scrutiny. And along with it, whispers of scandal wouldn’t be far behind.
“I don’t intend to stay in England at all. I need to return to America by early summer. I have other obligations.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. It never occurred to her that he had a life outside of ruining her own.
“You’d be doing me a service by remaining at Eastlan and seeing to things while I’m away, which will be a majority of the time. Eastlan is your home, not mine. And since we have a mutual interest in her success, I couldn’t imagine a better caretaker on my behalf.”
“Until you find a wife and settle down.” Could all her worry have been for naught? She could remain to raise her daughter, nurse the frail Lady Phillina and tend her dying garden for years on end. Suddenly her fondest dream made her unbearably sad.
“There’s no danger of that,” he said with a cocky chuckle that reminded Astra that he fancied himself quite the libertine.
“I am quite sure you are a man of the world, but you are still rather young. A bit of maturity might lead you to a change of heart.” Surely he didn’t intend to remain a bachelor all his life.
He eyed her rudely at that comment before he seemed to catch himself. He changed his stance, coming to his full height. Astra’s gaze bounced from the flex of his thighs to the broadness of his now squared shoulders.
“I can assure you that I’ve experienced circumstances beyond my years and am sure of my own mind. But since I’m a stranger and you have no reason to trust me, I’ll let practicality persuade you on my behalf. Neither of us wants a costly lawsuit. If we could agree not to be enemies, I’m sure we could reach an arrangement that would benefit us both.”
She studied him, not wanting to agree too quickly. Despite her outburst and threat of bringing a lawsuit against him, she had realized that public exposure of their dispute would be far more damaging for her than him. The scandal alone might ruin Lark’s chances of a decent match and a stable future. The truth was, an outsider though he might be, he was a man and more likely to find a jury of his peers in England than she ever would. A lawsuit would be unpleasant and costly for them both, practicality not passion stood behind his offer. Astra felt old beyond her twenty-nine years and foolish to think otherwise.
“Perhaps I would trust you if I hadn’t a greater responsibility to protect my daughter’s interests.” Astra forced herself to hold his gaze. She could hardly believe she was bold enough to question his generosity. This very morning, when she’d finally been honest with herself of the dire straits she and Lark were in, she would have kissed his knuckles not to be thrown out on the streets.
“If things work as I hope, I can triple Eastlan’s income. England still refuses to trade with America, though it hurts us both.” James shrugged as if the rest didn’t matter, but the gleam in his eyes hinted differently. “If I’m seen by the locals as an Englishman, well, let’s say it would help both our lots.”
“And you want my help?” Once again, he took Astra completely by surprise. Still, by the sounds of it, he had some kind of plan. “I know nothing of commerce, or any such thing.”
“But you know about appearances, don’t you?” His slow grin flustered Astra and sent her heart racing anew. When she continued to stare, waiting for his next blow, he laughed. “Come on. I might be a bit rough around the edges but I’ll get the knack of it. All you have to do is support my claim as Eastlan’s baron and do everything in your power to ensure that I’m accepted as a long lost Keane instead of a stranger.”
“Maintaining the dignity of the Keane name is important to me,” she said. Which was true despite the fact that she had contributed to its ruin. She quickly weighed her options. Her mind raced with the few possibilities open to her and Lark. The conclusion was clear.
“Have we an agreement, Lady Keane?”
“Indeed we do.” She held out her hand. “And I trust you understand the meaning of discretion. The walls have ears, and for obvious reasons I prefer our agreement to remain private.” Would he be able to promise her that he would be discreet? Could he?
“And eyes as well. Your secrets are safe with me, as I trust my interests are with you.” He shook her hand in a matter-of-fact fashion but the mischievous warning in his gaze had her wondering exactly what she had just agreed to.
***
Astra stood in front of James’s rooms that very afternoon. She supported Lady Phillina on one side while Astra’s mother flanked the other. Lady Lynette Seabrook made no pretense for her sudden visit to Eastlan, her curiosity about the American too overwhelming to ignore. The first challenge to Astra’s secret pact with James had arrived along with luggage for an extended stay.
“Give me my bloody boots!” she heard James yell from behind the closed door. “And what have you done with the rest of my clothes?”
“Oh my! That sounds promising,” Lynette Seabrook crooned.
“Perhaps we should wait for a more appropriate time to make introductions.” Astra attempted to steer Lady Phillina back down the long hall to her waiting wheeled chair, but the frail lady remained firmly planted.
“My nephew will assume I am unpardonably rude if I don’t welcome him at once. I should have been informed the moment he arrived.”
Lady Phillina’s grip on Astra’s arm tightened. Astra had not expected the elder Lady Keane to last the length of the walk to Eastlan’s guest wing, or she would have tried a bit harder to persuade her from her notion of seeking out James. Surely, he wasn’t having another tryst. She’d noticed Melva downstairs polishing the silver.
Heavy footfalls followed by a thud hinted at some kind of struggle. “Get over here right now. If you force me to chase you around my own damned quarters, I’ll have no mercy once I catch you. I can promise you that.” James’s angry words caused Astra to stiffen. She’d not suspected him to be violent as well as lecherous.
“I think we must intervene. Our dear boy might be in danger.” Her mother reached for the door handle.
“Mother, do not dare impose upon Lord Keane’s privacy.” While still supporting Lady Phillina, Astra tried to block her mother’s intent, but she overcompensated in her desperation, swinging the door open herself.
James stood barefoot and bare-chested, ready to lunge at a foe. He resembled a Greek contestant in an Olympiad wrestling match, but thankfully wearing breeches, as low-slung as they were.
“Excuse us, my lord.” Astra reached for the brass door handle. “I didn’t realize you were indisposed.” Astra suspected her face was as red as it felt. So far James was a horrible student of English propriety, with evidence of it at every turn. Her work was definitely cut out for her.
“James, my dear nephew. Oh, Astra, he not only resembles Trent, they could be brothers.” Lady Phillina’s breathless voice penetrated Astra’s perusal of James’s breathtaking physique.
Her mother swished past them, leaving the support of Lady Phillina to Astra as she sauntered toward James. “Lyne
tte Seabrook, my lord. Astra’s mother. I rushed from London the moment I heard word of your arrival. A sheer delight to finally make your acquaintance in the flesh.” Her mother curtsied, tipping the mounds of her powdered breasts under James’s nose. “Oh, yes, a sheer delight.”
James took her extended hand and bowed slightly, his questioning gaze on Astra rather than her mother’s prized attributes.
“Mother, please! Is it not obvious Lord Keane is in no state to receive us?”
James tried to disengage his hand from her mother’s grasp but she appeared to have no intention of cooperating. She remained in her extended curtsy, a testament to her life-long devotion to vigorous activity.
James bowed and kissed the back of Lady Seabrook’s hand. “How’s that? You’ll have to forgive me because I’m not sure exactly what’s expected of me.”
“Expected of you?” Her mother artfully unfolded from her curtsy without releasing her grip on James. “You are the Master of Eastlan. Your every wish is to be obeyed and relished.”
Astra settled Lady Phillina to a sturdy upholstered chair striped in gold and cream silk. She must intervene before her mother ruined her bargain with James. If he suspected that he could behave however he pleased given his gender and rank, all would be lost. Though he wasn’t aware of it, he truly didn’t need her to provide the information he sought. He could garner this from any number of sources. But it was certain she desperately needed him. And the sooner she could start playing the part he wished, the better.
“James is new to his position and you are giving him the wrong impression, Mother. He needs our assistance in learning our customs.” Astra glanced apologetically at James.
Her mother finally released his hand. “Kissing a lady’s hand is very Continental. I prefer it.”
“But traditionally, it is not how it’s done here. And certainly not while a man is disrobed.” In her attempt to avoid gaping at James, Astra spotted Mr. Rudd, valet to the last three Lord Keanes, standing on the far side of the room. He clutched James’s boots and shirt tightly to his chest, a sneer pulling at his permanently down-turned features. A toppled chair acted as a temporary barricade.
