by Brenda Joyce
Sir Rex swung over. “You will not be staying here.” He was firm.
Blanche continued to grimace. “Obviously not.” She hesitated. “I had no idea…this is terrible.”
“It is slovenly,” he said abruptly. “The estate is not my affair, but had I tenants such as these, I would terminate the lease.”
Blanche hesitated. She thought about the two small barefoot boys.
His stare was unwavering. “You have had a long journey from town. You may stay on at Land’s End as long as it suits you.”
She was very surprised. “I can hardly impose upon you.”
“Why not?”
And before she could react, he swung rapidly to the front door. As he knocked, Blanche followed and paused beside him.
A nursing woman opened the door. Her eyes widened.
“This is Lady Harrington,” Sir Rex said firmly. He didn’t look at the suckling infant. “I am Sir Rex de Warenne of Land’s End and Bodenick. Where is your husband?”
Terribly surprised, the woman removed the infant, closing up her dress. “He may be in the stable, or out in the fields, plowing.”
“Summon him, please. We wish a word.”
The woman turned. “James! Go get your father, now! Tell him a lord and lady are here. Hurry!”
Blanche was peering past Rex. She had seen such squalor in London. While working with the sisters of St. Anne’s, she had attended some very impoverished and ill women in their homes. But the manor looked as if it hadn’t been repaired or even cleaned in years. The wood floor in the entry and hall was coming up in sections, or missing entirely, there was very little furniture, and paint was peeling from the walls, which were blackened in some places. Blanche now saw two young girls and one of the boys she had seen earlier. The boy who had gone off to fetch his father was probably eleven or twelve years old. The three children facing her from behind their mother were between the ages of two and eight. She saw wide eyes and pinched faces.
This poor family was in dire need. She reached out, instinctively touching Sir Rex’s hand. He started, looking at her.
Blanche dropped her hand but held his gaze. Something had to be done.
“My lord, my lady!” a man cried, huffing and out of breath, coming up behind them.
Blanche turned, as did Sir Rex. A tall, thin man approached, eyes wide and fearful. Instantly he bowed.
“You are?” Sir Rex asked.
“I am Jack Johnson, my lord.”
“Sir Rex de Warenne, and this is Lady Blanche Harrington.”
He blinked. “Please, come in. Bess, boil up some tea.”
His wife rushed to obey.
“Please, we are not in need of tea or anything else,” Blanche said firmly. She would not deprive them of their spare provisions. “I have merely come to inspect the estate.”
He plucked nervously at his collar. “Are ye buying it? Is that why you’ve come to inspect it?”
Blanche started. “My father passed, Mr. Johnson, and the fact that this manor is a part of my inheritance just recently came to my attention.”
Johnson shifted uneasily. “We’re good people, my lady. But…” He stopped.
Sir Rex was staring at the man, clearly thinking there was no excuse for the squalor. “But what?”
He inhaled. “I mean no disrespect, but I am confused. Lord Bury has owned the manor for years. I didn’t know he was dead—or that there are heirs! He was so young and a bachelor himself!”
Blanche tensed and glanced at Sir Rex. “I do not know any Lord Bury, Mr. Johnson. Now I am confused. Are you saying that Lord Bury owns the manor? For my solicitor recently found a document indicating that the manor is a part of the Harrington fortune.”
“Lord Bury inherited Penthwaithe from his father, perhaps six or seven years ago. In fact, he was here three months ago to inspect it and collect his rents. I thought you might be his agents, come to see if I have improved it as I swore I would do! But he sold the estate to you? I didn’t know.”
Blanche froze.
Rex faced her. “Blanche, are you certain about the title you saw?”
Blanche shook her head. My God, there had been a monumental mix-up. For it no longer appeared that her father had owned the estate for years. But if Lord Bury had been out to collect the rents three months ago, how could her father have purchased the estate from him? Her father had been dead.
She began to have an inkling, and she tensed, thinking, Bess?
And she quickly thought about the events leading to the title’s discovery. The solicitor who had told her of the title had been surprised by its existence. He had been very frank: he hadn’t heard of Penthwaithe in all the years he’d been employed by Harrington. But Harrington hadn’t owned Penthwaithe for years, Bury had. And Bess had been with them and she’d remarked that this kind of mix-up happened all the time. Oh, how casual and certain she had sounded! And there had been an odd gleam in her eyes!
Blanche became convinced. They had been discussing Sir Rex at some length. Bess had asked her if she wished for him to court her. She hadn’t, and she had said as much, but when Bess had an idea, she was like a terrier with a bone. Clearly, Bess intended to send Blanche to Cornwall on a wild-goose chase—and arrange a match with Sir Rex.
Her heart lurched wildly. She stared at Sir Rex, stunned. He might need a wife, but they had nothing in common! Yes, he needed additional income, and he was very attractive, but he was wedded to his Cornish lands. And he certainly wasn’t interested in her as a possible spouse—he’d had eight years to come forward, if that were the case. What was Bess thinking?
And why was her heart galloping madly—why was she so stricken?
He didn’t even like ladies; he liked solitude and housemaids.
“Are you beginning to believe there has been a mistake?” Sir Rex asked her quietly.
She managed a bright smile. She couldn’t reveal to Sir Rex that her best friend had conspired to send her to him by falsely implying she owned the neighboring estate! On the other hand, he’d laugh uproariously if he knew Bess thought to throw them at one another. Wouldn’t he?
She should laugh! Shouldn’t she?
“Lady Harrington?” He clasped her shoulder, steadying her.
She forced the words, stiffening now. His hand was large, warm and firm. It was unyielding, like the man. “It seems the title might be as bungled as you believe.”
“A dead man cannot purchase a manor, and apparently the Bury family has owned Penthwaithe for years,” he said very seriously, studying her very closely. “You are distressed.”
I am very distressed, she thought, and when I see Bess, I intend to set her straight. “The logic is inescapable, then, there has been a mix-up,” Blanche somehow agreed. A mix-up and a misunderstanding, she thought.
A match between her and Sir Rex? It was madness, sheer madness!
Except, Bess Waverly was one of the most astute women Blanche knew.
CHAPTER FIVE
JOHNSON WAS GLANCING rapidly between them now.
Blanche had almost forgotten his presence. She turned to soothe him, relieved by the distraction. “We are not agents for Lord Bury, Mr. Johnson. And apparently, I do not own this estate.”
He sagged with relief. “I do not mean to deny Lord Bury. But I got five children to feed!”
“I understand.”
“If you see his lordship, please tell him I’m workin’as hard as I can,” he cried.
“I have never met Lord Bury, but if you wish, I will seek him out in London and plead your case,” Blanche said, meaning it.
Johnson seemed incredulous. “Could ye, please?”
Blanche nodded. “I am more than happy to help.”
“Good day,” Rex said firmly, lightly clasping Blanche’s arm and glancing closely at her. As she walked beside him down the stone path to the coach, she glanced back to see Johnson and his boys staring after them. She waved. They paused beside her coach.
“Are you all right?” he aske
d.
She made up her mind; she shook her head. “I am never well when confronted with those who are so needy.”
“I can see that.” he added, “Most of the families in the parish are impoverished.”
“So that makes it acceptable?” she asked frankly, their gazes locked.
“I did not say that. What do you wish to do?”
“If you do not mind, I wish to proceed to the village. And there, I wish to purchase provisions for them. Johnson seems sincere. Maybe with a little help, he can get Penthwaithe on its feet.” She was distressed for the Johnson family, but kept calm, smiling at Sir Rex instead. “As his landlord is hardly helping by collecting the last of his funds for rent.”
Sir Rex stared as if he knew some anger lurked beneath her facade. “That is what landlords do, Lady Harrington.”
“Not all landlords,” she said seriously. “Would you collect Penthwaithe’s rents?”
He stiffened. “No, I would not.”
Blanche hadn’t thought so.
“My program is different from that of most landlords. I have actually deferred rents frequently, as I prefer to see the farms thrive. In the long term, everyone benefits from such a program. The farms prosper, the tenants can pay rents and I can receive them.”
“Your policy is impressive.” She hadn’t realized he was such a benevolent landlord.
“It is logical.” He hesitated. “And apparently we share some common ground. You are distressed by the plight of the Johnson family. I am often distressed by the same circumstance, which unfortunately, one encounters everywhere in the parish—and in most of Cornwall. But charity only goes so far. Our poorer families need more than charity—they need livelihoods.”
She stared directly into his dark eyes, which she realized were flecked with gold. Sir Rex was a compassionate man. She knew many noblemen and women who were indifferent to the plight of those less fortunate than themselves.
“Most ladies of the ton lack such compassion,” he added. “They are too involved in their own vanities.”
She hesitated. How odd, they had been thinking almost the same thing. He was right—very right—but she wasn’t about to condemn all London noblewomen. “That is a broad indictment.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed with a slight smile. “Have no fear, I am not asking you to agree with me—you would never throw stones at your friends.”
“No, I should never do so.”
His regard was oddly warm. “I admire your compassion, Lady Harrington, not just for the Johnsons, but for the war veterans.” He hesitated. “I am not sure I have said so. It equals your generous nature.”
Blanche was surprised. Sir Rex had never offered such flattery before. “You are being far too kind.”
“I think not. Let’s make those purchases. I can help you with them, if you wish.” He smiled at her.
He became a very attractive man when he smiled, she thought uneasily. “Sir Rex, I am somewhat involved with the Johnsons, but you are not. Please, I can manage to provide a few necessities for them.” She was certain he could not afford to indulge in the luxury of more charity.
His smile vanished, as if he knew she did not care for him to spend his modest resources on Penthwaithe’s tenants. “I am glad to contribute. I’ll have Fenwick drive the stores over and we can be back at Bodenick in time for a late dinner.” He was firm.
Blanche nodded. He was clearly determined to show her that he was generous, but she already suspected he was just that in spite of his modest estate. Why had he flattered her? He wasn’t a gallant and he did not flirt. And why was she pleased? She was used to flattery and flirtation. She could not enter a salon without some rogue accosting her with his mundane, insincere praise.
Following Rex to the coach, she stole a glance at his strong, classic profile. There was more to this man than met the eye. He was reclusive and he did drink a bit freely, but she could not condemn him for such behavior, as he was industrious, resourceful, honest and astute. It was not as if he wasted his life away; to the contrary, his life was filled with improvements and accomplishments.
She had always been somewhat aware of him. He had a charisma, and whenever he was present and she entered a salon, she had noticed him instantly. She had never thought about it, but now, she wondered if she had always instinctively liked him. He certainly had a strength of character which she found attractive in a man. He was the kind of man one could undoubtedly depend on.
He caught her staring and smiled.
IT WAS THREE in the afternoon when they finally returned to Land’s End. Blanche walked up to the house, pleased with the purchases she had made for the Johnson family. It had been impossible to dissuade Sir Rex from making an equal contribution.
She was at present thoroughly preoccupied. Once, she had had a vague interest in Sir Rex de Warenne. If anything, that interest had been a result of their being family friends. She was thoughtful now. They were becoming well acquainted in a very short period of time. Clearly she was becoming somewhat intrigued with her host. She wasn’t certain what to make of that, as she had always been a bit intrigued, but from a very safe distance. Nothing felt safe any longer, especially when she allowed herself a vivid recollection of the previous afternoon. That tryst was unforgettable. But it wasn’t as shocking today as it had been yesterday.
Meg came running out of the house, followed by Anne, who was walking more slowly. Meg was beaming; Anne sent Blanche an odd, sidelong look. Blanche didn’t quite care for it, but she couldn’t decipher it, either, and she dismissed it.
“My lady, did you have a pleasant day?” Meg beamed. “Did you enjoy your box lunches?”
“It has been an unusual day,” she told Meg. “We will not be going to Penthwaithe after all.” She hesitated. “Sir Rex saved the day.”
Meg’s eyes widened; Anne glanced her way.
Sir Rex, who had been speaking to her coachman, now came forward. “I had Anne pack us boxed dinners, in case we needed them.” He turned to the maid, who had retrieved a wicker basket from the coach. “Please take our luncheon inside to the dining room. Lady Blanche must be famished and we will dine there immediately.”
He was thoughtful, she realized, and meticulous. Blanche stared at his handsome face for so long that his brows lifted. “Lady Harrington?”
Her heart flipped disturbingly. “I am ravenous.” She hesitated. “It’s a beautiful day. Can we dine al fresco? Meg mentioned you have a magnificent view from the tower gardens.” Supper had been awkward last night, the dining hall somehow too small for them both. With her sudden interest in his character, it would be better to dine outside. It wouldn’t be as intimate.
He seemed mildly surprised. “One can see all the way to America, or so the locals claim, but the gardens are dormant now.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Are you certain you will not be cold? You have been outdoors most of the day.”
If she hadn’t intruded on him in his tryst yesterday, she would still consider him a perfect gentleman. “I am enjoying the brisk air.” She smiled, not looking at him.
Had Bess thought to match them because she knew he had the strength and integrity of character to help her manage her fortune?
Sir Rex was staring closely, but she refused to meet his gaze. He said, “Anne, bring Lady Harrington a warm throw.”
He gestured and she preceded him around the castle and past the tower. She paused. He was right. Here, one could see all the way to America, or, it seemed that way.
For the gardens ended where the land vanished into the ocean, and while she knew cliffs were below the final precipice, they could not be seen. Today the Atlantic was as gray as steel, but shimmering with iridescence. Gold and orange sparkled on the water’s surface. “Oh,” she breathed.
“A school of fish has passed. They leave a metallic display in their wake,” he said softly.
And he stood so closely behind her that she felt his breath feather her neck. Blanche leaped away, putting a
polite distance between them, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. His body hadn’t touched hers, but it might as well have, for she had felt his heat.
She was undone. She could hardly breathe and she didn’t understand such an intense reaction to his proximity—which had certainly been a mistake.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” he said, turning away. His tone was rough.
She refused to let her mind release her memory of him with Anne. She refused to even begin to consider what that rough tone meant. Instead, she quickly perused the gardens. Blanche saw rosebushes, wisteria and beds for daffodils and tulips. Meg was laying out a plaid blanket; Anne was opening the basket. Rex smiled casually at Blanche and swung over to the maid. “Bring a bottle of white wine and two glasses,” he said.
“This must be beautiful in the summer.”
“As I said, you must return.” He smiled at her.
Blanche felt her heart turn over now. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but he had a beautiful smile and it was a shame it was used so rarely. If he spent more time in London, he would not be single; some beautiful young lady would have snapped him up. She had not a doubt. His fortune was modest, but he had other attributes and not every debutante was a fool for charm. In fact, it was really odd that he had yet to marry.
Had Bess really thought to match them?
She stared at his strong profile as he watched her maid laying out their luncheons, and briefly an image flashed, one of bulging muscles and powerful shoulders, of the wet glistening skin of his back, his chest. Not entirely insistent, a tension began, accompanied by an odd ache. She deliberately looked across the dormant gardens, trying to imagine what she would plant if she lived at Land’s End. She might try lilacs, she thought firmly.
She felt his gaze. She glanced up and caught him staring boldly at her. The look was almost seductive and far too male. For one more heartbeat, as if unaware of her gaze, as if deeply in thought, he did not smile; he simply stared.
