"Is the marchioness not feeding you and your men daily, Radcliffe?"
"She sends bread and cider down from the great house occasionally, but my men eat stew most evenings. Rabbit or fish. Whatever we've managed to catch during the day."
"Who cooks it for you?"
"One of the men has a skilled hand for turning the most mundane of ingredients into a veritable feast. You ought to join us one evening, madam. Although," he grinned, "you'd be the only female and that would make our numbers uneven around the trough."
But she merely shook her head, thinking it was very bad, and yet typical of Minty not to make proper arrangements for the feeding of Radcliffe and his workers. Men had to be fed well, or else they became not only scrawny, but miserable, slow and not much good for anything. It was a well known fact.
"Little Davy told me you don't sleep at the tithe cottages." She hadn't dared ask Albert where the man slept for fear of seeming too interested and being accused, by Minty, of interfering.
"I prefer to sleep outdoors," he said.
"Outdoors?"
Something about her expression prompted a gusty laugh. "Why not? I'm a man of the soil. Why should I not sleep on it?"
"But is it not cold at night?"
"I keep my boots on."
She hesitated then, imagining this man wearing nothing but his boots. Of course, that was not what he meant, but she couldn't prevent the image from branding itself on her mind. "And what if it rains, Radcliffe?"
"Then I bed down in the stables and wait for the ground to dry."
"Good lord! Do you pay penance for some sin in your earlier life? I'm surprised you don't wear a hair shirt and walk barefoot."
"I've never had much in the way of luxury. Wouldn't know what to do with it."
"But you've had a bed before surely?"
"Growing up I shared one with many brothers and more than a few fleas."
"That's no reason why you can't be comfortable now. You are not without means."
He replied firmly, "You may keep your pampered existence and all your little extravagances, madam, but please allow me to live as I choose, eh?"
Over the next few days Persey brought him a few items she thought he might need— blankets, an oilskin for the damp ground, a pillow and a spare lantern.
"I shift for myself, woman, and always have," he complained. "I don't require all this coddling. I'm not a babe."
Coddling. He thought one blanket was coddling? It made her wonder how poorly he'd been treated in his life before. Perhaps that was why she felt an affinity with him almost from the first. They'd both endured hardship and striven to make themselves a better life. "If you insist upon exposing yourself to the night air, providing something dry and warm is the least I can do. And stop referring to me as woman."
"You are one, aren't you? You look like one, smell like one and taste like one. As far as I recall." He'd grinned wickedly and she, to that, had no answer, but became flustered again and hid under the brim of her old hat. "Does this mean we're no longer enemies?" he asked softly.
"That depends, young sir, on what you do to this estate."
He folded his arms. "You still don't trust me?"
"When it comes to the good of this estate, how can I? You are a young man sometimes beset with impulsive ideas, and you admitted that much to me yourself on the first day we met." Around him she felt his restlessness, for it rubbed off on her like pollen. She could barely stand still when he was near. Perhaps she had some sort of spring fever. "Now take this blanket and make good use of it. The marchioness might not concern herself with what you get up to at night, but I cannot sleep easily without being assured of the health and comfort of everyone on this estate. It is something of a bane of mine and often it's called meddling where I'm not needed, but alas I can't seem to help myself."
He squared his shoulders. "I'll accept that blanket if you agree we're friends. Otherwise, why would I take it?"
"It's not poisoned."
"How do I know? You'd still like me gone from here, wouldn't you?"
"I spent days tending your wounded hand." She laughed. "Why would I mend you just to poison you? Would that not be an utter waste of my time?"
"It could be another of your tricks. Luring me into a counterfeit sense of safety, so that I let down my guard." Then, with eyes cautious and jaw stubbornly thrust forward, he added, "If you don't trust me, I don't trust you. Woman."
"Oh, how very childish!" she exclaimed in amusement. "But what else might I expect from a man younger than my hat?"
His eyes flared hot but then cooled almost immediately. "Run off back to your cozy cottage and your devoted servants who daren't quarrel with you, madam, before I decide to take down your hair and kiss that stubborn mouth again. I might, you know. I just might be damned fool enough to kiss you again, after all."
Persey couldn't tell whether he was angry with her or amused. Or something else. Rather than stay to find out— bearing in mind his impulsive nature— she did as he suggested and hurried home with her hair and her lips unmolested.
The domestication of Josias Radcliffe for the sake of her stepdaughter might turn out to be rather more challenging than she hoped.
* * * *
Honoria hummed to herself as she came through the gate, her light step almost skipping down the path, proof that girlhood was not so far behind her as she liked to think. Persey, hiding behind the parlor door, took a moment to prepare herself. Shawcross had offered to tell the young lady that the mistress of the house was out, but Persey knew she must simply handle the problem sensibly.
Unfortunately, telling her stepdaughter anything was never "simple" for there were always plenty of questions, never immediate and gracious compliance. Of course, Minty would say that was her fault for encouraging her stepdaughter's rebelliously enquiring mind.
"A young lady ought to be obedient and acknowledge that her elders know what is best for her without argument," Minty liked to remind them often. "She ought to do as she is told when she is told to do it, and not speak out in that bold, undignified manner in company."
In other words, a lady was meant to keep her thoughts and true feelings entirely to herself. She was certainly never to argue and raise her voice.
Honoria had recently answered her sister-in-law's remark with the following reminder: "But mama is your elder, Araminta, and you quarrel with her."
An anvil dropped upon a naked foot could not have caused a bigger dent. It was, Persey suspected, just one more item her stepson's wife marked in the column against her.
Suffice to say, Persey knew this would not be easy, but she refused to hide like a coward and let Shawcross do her dirty work.
"Mama, have you seen the waterfall steps that Master Radcliffe put in?" Honoria demanded, marching through to the parlor, pulling off her gloves. "Each stone is cut a certain way to make the water sound like a musical note. It is quite lovely. I could listen to it all day."
"Yes, he is talented." Persey closed the parlor door softly and smoothed both hands over her gown. "I'm glad you came, Honoria my dear, for this might be our last afternoon visit for a while."
The girl paused. "What's wrong? Are you sick, mama?"
"No, nothing like that. It's just that I may be called away from home quite frequently this summer. There are a number of things requiring my attention away from Holbrooke, I fear. So you may find me out a vast deal. It might be better if you do not waste a journey by coming all the way across the park unless you know I am in. Perhaps once a week you might—"
"But where are you going? Why can I not come with you?"
"It would not be a fun outing for a young person like yourself."
"If it is to the county hospital, you always let me come, because it is good for me to be involved."
"Not this time, Honoria."
"Why not?"
"You would find this particular business all very dull and wearisome."
"Can I not be allowed to decide that for myself?" The gir
l frowned. "Surely you're not running off to see Lord Thornby's glasshouses, mama! He is the most boring fellow ever."
"It doesn't matter where I am going, Honoria, it is simply not convenient for you to come with me. Not at present. I'm sorry. But later—"
"You're being very peculiar."
Persey smiled as best she could and kept her tone light. "My dear girl, I have always been peculiar. It is time you had some female companionship that is less eccentric. I believe I take up too much of your time."
But Honoria glowered suspiciously, her lower lip wobbling. "You meant to say I take up too much of your time."
"Of course not, Honoria. That is not the case at all."
"You said you would not leave Holbrooke until I was settled."
"And that is exactly so. I am not leaving. I merely expect a rather busy summer and it would not be fair for me to dominate your time when you should be enjoying yourself with people closer to your own age."
"Is this because of Radcliffe? You don't want to be here while he's digging up the estate?"
She groaned softly. "It is nothing to do with that man."
Up went the stubborn little chin as Honoria tried to calm her unsteady lip. "If you're having a love affair with somebody, you might at least have the grace to tell me. I am quite old enough to know. But don't mind me. I won't get in your way!" With that she flounced out of the parlor and left the house.
* * * *
He saw Persey every day now. She kept an eye on him, as he'd warned her she should. At every stage of his work, she came to give her opinion, but only if the marchioness was not present. She reminded him of a bird, shyly keeping her distance sometimes, but occasionally tempted to hover closer, too curious to stay beyond arm's length.
More items appeared at his sleeping place under the oak too: yet another blanket, a jug of blackcurrant wine, and woolen socks, "to keep your feet warm even if you take your boots off." This last item seemed to him a puzzling, daringly intimate gift. Then he saw that someone had sewn his initials on them in red wool. Another droll reminder of how young she thought him, of course.
She seemed intent on feathering his nest under that oak tree and questioned him often about why he had no permanent home to which he might return between gardens.
"I work too much," he told her. "I would spend too little time in a house, if I had one of my own. The expense of upkeep would outweigh the benefit."
"But what if you had a wife and a family, waiting there? Surely you want that one day."
He looked at her, curious.
She hastily added, "I believe you said before that you have no objection to the idea of marriage. Lady Honoria mentioned it once."
"A man has to find the right woman."
"Naturally. But if you had a home, the right woman might be easier to attain."
Joss felt his pulse gaining speed. "Is that a hint, Persey?"
At once she paled. "Good lord, no! What—? I hope you don't think— I meant a suitable young woman of eighteen or twenty, of course."
As if he wanted a girl.
She infuriated him with her refusal to acknowledge the heat between them, the friction that kept him warm on colder nights, just thinking about her.
But perhaps she didn't feel the same and he simply wanted to imagine that she did.
Having never suffered this way himself, Joss was uncertain, fumbling for the proper words. He never usually lacked confidence in anything he undertook, but she had taught him that he didn't know everything after all. A frightening discovery for a young man who once assumed he had everything he needed— that if there was something he didn't have, but found one day he wanted, he could get it by sheer hard work and determination.
He had reckoned without her.
One day when Persey found him at work, she had a pretty lace scarf she asked him to pass along to Lady Honoria when he saw her.
"Why don't you give it to her yourself?" he asked. "I'll only get it dirty."
"We have had a little falling out. I'm sure you will see her before I do. In fact, it might be better if you tell her the scarf is from you."
"Now why would I do that, madam?"
"Because I want her to have it for keeping the sun off her shoulders, but if she knows it is from me she will pout and not wear it."
"And if she thinks it is from me? Do you imagine me daft enough to go along with that mischief, madam?"
She cursed under her breath. "Very well then! Tell her it's from me, if you must." And she walked away, muttering, "There is no helping some folk."
After the scarf there was a comb and then some scented writing paper. Each time he gave Lady Honoria one of her stepmother's gifts, she looked annoyed and accepted them very ungraciously he thought.
"You ought to say thank you to your mama," he said to her eventually, even though it was none of his business that they'd quarreled. "She means to heal the breach."
The girl made a peevish face and said, "She feels guilty, because she has deserted me for a lover. The very thing she said she would not do. That's all."
"A lover?" It felt as if she'd just stabbed him with sheep shears.
"She always used to be at home for me. Now I am not to go there, because it is not convenient."
Joss said nothing to that. He had, in fact, overheard a painful discussion between Persey and the marquess regarding Lady Honoria, but he had kept it to himself. Until Persey trusted him enough to let him into her life, he could not intervene. It was not his place. But it had angered him that the marquess could be so thoughtlessly cruel to her. It still pinched at his heart whenever he thought of her sad face when she stood at the sunny window that afternoon. He'd seen how fond she was of her stepdaughter and he knew already how she felt displaced by the woman she called Minty. Apparently nobody else saw it, or perhaps they didn't care.
Of course he could not comfort her with words that day, for he was not supposed to have heard the conversation, so he did the best he could with that little bouquet of herbs.
Now Honoria assumed her stepmother had acquired a lover.
It was not beyond the realms of possibility, he thought glumly. She was an attractive woman and spirited. Perhaps she filled her days with the company of a lover now. Even if it was not the cause of her distance from Honoria, it could well be a result of it.
Joss got on with his work and tried not to let his imagination run away with his temper, but having never suffered this much desire for a woman before he was unprepared to manage it.
Did she have a lover?
Lady Honoria spoke as if it were fact.
He'd thought they were getting along better, that Persey cared about him a little. He looked forward to seeing her every day, found any excuse he could to keep her in his company longer. But he did not have all her attention, did he? And she thought him a boy; she'd made that plain.
He ought to forget her, finish the job at Holbrooke and never look back. There was only so much fool a man could make of himself.
From now on he'd be more aloof, less of a clumsy idiot who couldn't hide his feelings.
* * * *
The next time Persey found him at work, he was rather quiet and somber, not his usual smiling, whistling self at all.
"How is your hand?" she asked.
"Well enough. Still attached." Then he added. "So no need for you to hang about anymore, is there? I'm sure you've got better things...and people...to spend your time with."
"What's the matter?" she asked drily. "Are you in a man's mood?"
But he wouldn't rise to her bait or even look over his shoulder. "I'm busy, madam. Work to do."
After a while, feeling the chill, she walked away.
It shouldn't matter, she told herself. Indeed, they'd become too familiar with each other and distance might be a good thing. But a painful tightening had begun in her breast and it grew steadily worse with every step she took away from him.
* * * *
It was no good, he couldn't keep it up. He stopp
ed digging and looked after her. Now he'd been sulky and petulant, which was not what he meant to be at all. Good way to drive her off into another man's arms.
Damn fool.
Wiping one forearm across his sweating brow, he thought about calling her back, but she was too far now to hear. Just as well. If she came back he'd probably say something daft.
Somehow he had to get a hold on himself and conquer these feelings.
Chapter Sixteen
One morning, when his workers were late starting, Joss walked down to the tithe cottages and discovered them all enjoying sliced ham, cheese, honey and buttered scones— fresh-baked, apparently, by the dowager's own hands— and being entertained by a lurid story which was, the moment he appeared, cut short.
Morning sunlight through the open door caught her with a guilty countenance, as she looked over her shoulder and saw him standing there. His heart lifted at the sight of her. Couldn't help it. He'd tried to turn his back to her, but even when she was physically before him, his thoughts were filled with her.
"Lady Holbrooke."
"Master Radcliffe."
Almost from the first words they'd exchanged weeks ago, he'd had this odd notion in his mind of having seen her before. Of knowing her from somewhere. Today it struck him as even more certain that he knew her, but he could not think how or where from.
A quick glance around the interior of one cottage, assured him that she'd been interfering there too. Someone had washed down the floors and boarded up holes in the windows. One of the men, filling his face with this bountiful breakfast, sat with his breeches rolled up and his bare feet in a bowl of water and bran to ease his aches and pains.
If Joss needed more proof of her meddling, there was even a jug of wildflowers to decorate the table. The crowning touch.
His men all looked rather ashamed when they saw him standing in the open doorway, checking his fob watch.
"What the devil are you doing to my men, woman? Making 'em soft?"
The Peculiar Folly of Long Legged Meg Page 18
