by CJ Archer
Susanna supervised Holt all morning, directing him how to thin out the central unproductive branches on the orange trees to allow the light through. "Like you do on any fruit tree."
"We didn't have fruit trees at Collier Dean," he said.
"Not even an orchard?"
"No. The garden was ornamental. It was designed to look pretty from the upper floors and the viewing mount overlooking it from either end. The kitchen had an herb garden though."
"Didn't the kitchen maids take care of that?"
"We gardeners helped. A lot."
He worked without rest until the dinner bell rang and received scratches across the face and arms for his efforts. Gloves protected his hands but not the sturdy gardening kind Susanna used. His were made of softer leather, the sort worn for riding and everyday wear. He said he didn't own a pair of gardening gloves. His last pair belonged to the master of Collier Dean and he'd had to leave them behind. It seemed like a strange arrangement to Susanna. Most gardeners she knew kept their own. Gloves were such a personal item and Holt had such big hands it was difficult to imagine his gloves fitting anyone else.
He gathered up some of the branches scattered on the ground and she noticed the tip of one finger poking through a hole in the leather. "Bessie can repair those for you," she said.
"Never mind. I'll work without them this afternoon."
"But you have the afternoons off."
He shot her a smile and the two dimples appeared in his cheeks. "I haven't forgotten."
"So why do more than you need to?"
He dumped the branches in a pile near the box of tools. "What else have I got to do? I know no one in the village, I have no money, and I've done enough walking in recent days to make a gentle stroll seem like a chore." He straightened and flashed those dimples again. "Besides, I enjoy your company."
Good lord, is that how he coaxed kisses from the young maids at Collier Dean? The sentiment was pleasing enough but much too trite for her taste. On the other hand, it probably wasn't the unsophisticated words that made the women swoon. More likely it was the blue eyes focusing so intently on the one he addressed, the quick smile, and boyishly handsome face.
"Why are you looking at me like that, m'lady?" Those eyes she'd been admiring shone with merriment. He was laughing at her.
A pox on him! "I'm trying to get the measure of you," she said, quite honestly.
"Oh? How so?"
"Well, since you want to remain here when I've given you leave, it makes it seem as if you enjoy being ordered about by a woman."
He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that filled the garden and made the pit of her stomach flip. "Guided, not ordered, m'lady," he said when he'd recovered. "You've been very gentle with me considering my inexperience with orange trees. Thank you." He added a little bow that tipped his hat awry.
"First day introduction," she said, bending over the tool box and rummaging through it for twine. "Tomorrow will be different." She glanced at him over her shoulder and caught him looking at her rear.
He had the good sense to redden and stumble over his next words. "I, uh, let me do that." He took the twine and squatted beside her, bumping her with his shoulder. She lost her balance and put a hand out to brace herself but he caught her before she toppled.
"Steady," he said, his fingers circling her arm at her elbow. His other hand gripped her shoulder even though she was perfectly stable again, and his thumb rubbed the leather of her jerkin. "Are you all right, Susanna?"
He spoke her name in a whisper, and it drifted on the air like a warm breeze. Her stomach flipped again and an invisible string tugged at her heart. She knew that feeling.
She jerked away and rose. "Once again you get above yourself, Mr. Holt. It's 'mistress' or 'my lady' to you."
He bowed his head and removed his hat. After a moment, he replaced it and stood too, slowly, like it was an effort. "My apologies," he said without quite looking her in the eyes. "Where would you like these branches?" He crouched again and tied the bundle of branches together.
"The stables for now. Once they've dried they can be used for firewood."
"Not the barn?"
"The barn roof leaks. The only dry space in it is kept for my gardening equipment. There should be enough room at the far end of the stables."
She watched as he tied another bundle of branches with the twine and carried them out of the garden to the stables, one on each wide shoulder. It was so easily done, as if they weighed nothing.
He disappeared into the stables and, as an afterthought, she followed him. She hesitated at the entrance and watched him set the branches down then take in all the crates of marmalades and succades stacked in the stalls. He moved on to the next stall and Silver, Susanna's mare, popped her head over the barrier. Holt seemed surprised to see her there. He rubbed Silver's nose, murmuring in her ear the entire time. Silver seemed to be enjoying herself, nuzzling his shoulder in an attempt to get closer.
Susanna cleared her throat to let him know she was there and he looked up. He smiled. "I didn't know you had a horse," he said.
"Silver's a placid old girl but can pull the cart when necessary."
"She must be lonely in here all by herself."
"Mr. Holt, if we could afford another horse, don't you think we'd have one?"
He merely shrugged and fell into step beside her as they left the stables. "And what are all those jars and crates for?"
"Are you this nosy everywhere you go?"
He smiled. "Everywhere."
"And do you usually get answers?"
"Almost always."
"I see." She watched him out of the corner of her eye but found it difficult to get his measure even when he thought he wasn't being watched. He seemed like the calmest, most amiable man she'd ever met. It had to be false, a ruse to win her confidence. The other calm, amiable men she'd known had used those traits to cover up a more sinister side. Perhaps Holt's sinister side was that he was a thief, one who thought she had something to steal. Well, if he was, the marmalades and succades stored in the jars and crates in the stables would be of little interest to someone with no means of transporting them. He couldn't fit enough in his pack to make a decent amount of money selling them at market.
Besides, Susanna didn't think he was a thief—a thief would have gone to the wealthier Sutton Hall—but she couldn't be entirely sure yet.
"The products made from the oranges are in those jars," she said.
"I see." He showed not the least interest in finding out more.
They washed up and went into the kitchen for dinner where Cook and Bessie had set the table for five. In the middle of the table was a loaf of dark bread, bowl of peas, turnips, and slices of beef.
When Hendricks joined them, having delivered her father's dinner to him, Susanna bid them all to sit. "How is Father today?" she asked.
"Well enough," Hendricks said. "He seems in good spirits lately." His face knotted in thought. "Very good spirits. It's as if his troubles have ceased."
"Remarkable," Cook said.
"It's the Lord's doing."
And with that, they bowed their heads and gave thanks for their meal.
Susanna watched Holt surreptitiously through lowered lashes. He talked comfortably with the other servants, his manner friendly and open, although Hendricks scowled more than usual. It seemed she wasn't the only one who didn't quite trust Holt. It wasn't just that he was too friendly. It was also the way he'd unsettled her with his touch in the garden. It had been such an innocent gesture, yet not. Not the way she'd responded—like something dormant inside her had come to life.
He looked up suddenly and his lips curved into a wicked half-smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Can you pass the bread, m'lady?" he asked. She did. "And is there any more of that marmalade from last night's supper? It was delicious."
Cook and Bessie chuckled and Hendricks snorted. "Aye," the manservant said, "there's plenty more marmalade." Susanna couldn't help smiling along with th
em.
Holt cocked his head to the side, his questioning gaze settling on her. "Is something amusing?"
"No," she said before anyone else could answer. "It's just that we all love marmalade at Stoneleigh, and there's always a jar or two available."
"I'll get it," he said when Cook rose. "Is it in the pantry?"
"Should be," she said, settling her bulk back on the chair and winking at Susanna. "If not, try the stables."
"You keep your preserves in the stables?" he said from the doorway to the pantry.
"Aye."
He emerged from the pantry holding a jar which he turned round and round in his hands. "Now I understand," he said to Susanna, holding up the jar. "This marmalade is made from your orange trees."
"It is," she said.
"And you store the rest of it in the stables."
"We do."
He set it on the table then spread some of the preserve over his bread and took a bite. It wasn't long before the whole piece was gone. "It's delicious." Holt licked his fingers. "Are all those jars and crates in the stables filled with orange marmalade?"
"As well as succades made from the peel," Cook said before Susanna could steer the conversation away. Just in case he was prying for nefarious reasons.
"I love succades," he said, then fell suddenly silent.
"You've tasted succades before?"
"No. I've confused succades with...something else." He cleared his throat and concentrated on his food. Susanna watched him, mentally adding another layer to the story of Mr. Holt. Succades were a luxury. She would not have thought a simple gardener would be able to afford the sugared fruit. Mr. Holt was turning into quite the mystery.
"We still need to find a buyer for them," Bessie said. She sounded quite disheartened, but when she caught Susanna's frown, she turned on a sweet smile.
Susanna didn't fall for that trick. She knew Bessie better than she'd known her own mother. The maid had been her nurse since Susanna was a babe and became her governess and lady's maid as she grew up. She was clearly worried.
Indeed, all three of her servants seemed cast down. They must have known how perilous their situation was. If Susanna could not find a merchant to buy her marmalades and succades, there would be no money to pay her beloved servants, no money to fix Stoneleigh. She thought she would have heard back from the London merchants by now. Those letters had been sent months ago. If she didn't secure one of them soon, the situation would become dire. There was only enough money to last the winter. After that, she would have to do something drastic.
She would have to marry again.
A dark, cold mass seeped through to her bones. She shuddered violently and set her knife carefully on her plate. She was no longer hungry, not even for marmalade.
"Are you all right?" Holt asked, half-rising.
"Of course I am." She regretted her harsh tone immediately. Holt had been a great help to her, more than she could have hoped for. Her ill-feeling toward him was best pushed to one side and forgotten. No doubt it was merely a product of her suspicious nature when it came to charming men.
If Holt felt the barb of her words, he didn't show it. "You're not selling the marmalades at the village market?" he asked.
"We sell a few jars," Cook said. "Oranges are a rare luxury, see, and the locals cannot afford the fruit or the products, and we cannot afford to sell them for less than their worth."
"Only the highest of the nobility can truly appreciate oranges," Hendricks said with an imperial tilt of his chin. When he did that, his accent changed, so there was none of the country in it at all, but sounded as condescending as Jeffrey's. "Our succades are fit for the queen herself."
Cook snorted. "You're a toss-pot, Hendricks."
"Leave him," Bessie scolded gently. "He's right. Our oranges are the nation's best."
"We have the nation's only oranges," Cook said. "Aside from Sir Francis Carew's." She leaned closer to Holt at her side. "Don't mind Hendricks. He thinks Stoneleigh is the most noble country estate in all the kingdom."
"It may be," Hendricks said defensively. "The Farleys have owned it for hundreds of years, and they arrived with William the Conqueror himself."
"Unfortunately, it's not the richest estate," Bessie said then flushed and dipped her head. "At least, not right now."
"Hush, Bessie," Hendricks said. "The lad doesn't need to know our business."
"It's all right," Susanna said. "I doubt she's telling Mr. Holt something he doesn't already know."
"Aye, true." Hendricks stabbed a slice of beef with his knife more viciously than necessary. "Mr. Holt here does seem to have a way of finding out information about Stoneleigh."
Susanna's heart stilled. "What do you mean?"
Holt cleared his throat. "Mr. Hendricks is referring to the village innkeeper's gossiping. I asked him a few questions about the estates around about, and he told me more than I needed to know."
"He's got a loose tongue, has Milner," Bessie said.
"Ignore Hendricks," Cook said, shooting a glare at the servant across the table. "We do."
An uneasy silence settled around the small group. It was something Susanna wasn't used to. Her three servants always got along so well. There were never any harsh words exchanged between them, never charged silences.
"Is there any more marmalade?" Holt asked, tearing off another hunk of bread.
"Here you go," Cook said, passing him the jar. "Eat up. It soothes the stomach, you know."
"Helps with wind too," Bessie said. "Just ask Mr. Hendricks."
Everyone burst into laughter, all except poor Hendricks, who gave Bessie his most withering scowl.
"Lo! Lady Lynden?" Farmer Cowdrey's loud, gruff voice came from outside.
"In the kitchen," Susanna called back. She rose to greet him but it wasn't just Cowdrey's bulk that filled the doorway. It was his sister's much more slender form too, holding a basket.
"What a lovely surprise to see you both," Susanna said. "Margaret, how are you? Fully recovered I hope?"
Margaret Cowdrey's pretty features lifted in an unconvincing smile. "Yes, thank you." She handed over the basket. "Thank you for the marmalades and bread, but I assure you, it's not necessary. Unfortunately the bread went stale, but you'll find your marmalades just the same as when you gave them to Walter."
"Oh, you didn't need to give them back. They were for you. A get-well gift from Father and I."
"Thank you, but as I explained to Walter when he brought them home, we didn't need anything." Her brother blushed to the roots of his red-brown hair and studiously stared down at his boots. "My servants are capable of making preserves and bread, and you need them more than us."
Susanna took the basket. It was indeed still filled with the two jars of marmalade she'd sent to her ill neighbor. Margaret's pettiness grew worse and worse. Susanna felt a twinge of guilt at her unkind thoughts toward a woman she'd once called friend. They'd known each other their entire lives and played together as children, yet Margaret, the older by a year, had become distant as they grew up. When Susanna was fifteen, Margaret had gone so far as to turn her back as Susanna approached her after church. She'd offered no explanation then or since. Susanna had married and moved away a year later but upon her return, she'd discovered Margaret's feelings had not changed. Susanna eventually gave up trying to find out what the problem was and the two women successfully avoided each other most of the time.
It must gall Margaret that her brother had asked Susanna to marry him. That's if she knew. When Susanna had asked Walter what Margaret had thought after his first proposal, he'd simply shrugged and said he hadn't told her yet. She didn't ask him after the second and third. It no longer seemed to matter.
"What was your illness again? Your brother didn't quite know."
Walter Cowdrey shuffled his feet. "A fever," Margaret said. "I'm still a little weak from it, so do not expect to see me much." Indeed her face did seem paler than usual, the freckles more vibrant across her nose.
She was a handsome woman with alluring gray eyes and a neat figure, yet she had failed to secure herself a husband. Perhaps it was because of all the bitterness running through her. The entire village knew to watch out if Margaret Cowdrey was in one of her tempers.
"Have you eaten yet?" Susanna asked.
"Aye," said Walter. "In The Plough just now, thank you, m'lady."
Out of the corner of her eye, Susanna saw Margaret wince, but she didn't know why. Perhaps it was because she hated the way her brother blinked his lashes at Susanna or the way he massaged the brim of his hat with his big hands as if it were Susanna's hand. Actually, the thought made her wince too. Having any part of her massaged by Walter made her want to run in the opposite direction.
Now if it were Holt doing the massaging...
"Please finish your dinner, Lady Lynden, and don’t mind us," Walter said. "I'll just wait until you're done." He nodded at Hendricks, Bessie, and Cook, then his gaze fell on Holt.
Holt rose and Susanna introduced them. Holt smiled in greeting and Cowdrey almost did. One side of his mouth twitched and all! Farmer Cowdrey wasn't known for his joviality. Not that he was sour like his sister, he simply wasn't one of life's happy souls with a ready smile. Not like Orlando Holt.
A few years older than Margaret, Walter and his father before him were good neighbors. The Cowdreys had been luckier than her father and not lost their entire harvest to bad weather several years in a row. Or perhaps it wasn't luck but better management. Susanna was under no illusion that her father made a good farmer. A good gentleman perhaps, but he'd been sent away to live with his aunt in London at an early age and so had not received the same farm education that his older brother, the heir, had. He wasn't supposed to have inherited Stoneleigh at all.
"Sit. Eat," Walter said.
"I'm finished," Susanna said. She wasn't, but she couldn't eat while guests in her house did not, and especially with Margaret looking down her snub nose at the servants. "Is something the matter?"
"No." Walter's hands worked harder on his hat, crushing it even more. There was dirt under his overlong fingernails, and the skin around the knuckles looked dry and worn, much like his face. While not as haggard as Hendricks, Farmer Cowdrey had a comfortable face, rather like a well-worn pair of gloves. Permanent wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth. He didn't need to smile to make them appear. He looked far older than his thirty years. "I heard in the village that you'd hired a gardener." His gaze traveled to Holt and Holt nodded once more. He was still standing. "I told Margaret we had to come and find out more. Can't have you being taken advantage of, Susanna."
The use of her name caught her unawares, and the soft way in which he spoke it made her face redden. He almost always used the more formal Lady Lynden, unlike Margaret, and this new intimacy worried her. Could he possibly be working up to another proposal?
"I have, on a temporary basis only," Susanna said. "Mr. Holt is passing through and needed the work. Since I needed help, we came to a mutual arrangement." She saw no reason to discuss the particulars with Walter and Margaret. The entire parish didn't need to know how dire her father's financial situation was, although everyone had to know by now. Her lack of staff, horses, and land were a sign even the most dull-witted could see.
Walter took a step closer to her and lowered his head. Dark red strands of hair flopped over his face. "You could have asked me, Susanna. I would have spared a man for you at no cost. Still can."
"Walter!" Margaret said through a jaw so tight it must ache. "You're very noble, but have you forgotten how hard everyone is working at this time of year? I'm sure Susanna understands that we simply cannot spare anyone."
"Thank you anyway," Susanna said, giving Walter a sympathetic smile, "but I'm happy with Holt."
Margaret cleared her throat but said nothing. She clasped her hands in front of her skirts and tilted her chin, a rather insidious smile on her lips. There was no doubt in Susanna's mind what she was implying, but her brother seemed not to understand. He simply shifted his weight and watched Holt from beneath the curtain of hair. "Milner at The Plough said he's a stranger to these parts." He spoke quietly, but everyone in the kitchen would have heard.
Holt had still not sat down. There was no smile on his lips now, no friendly greeting in his eyes. He stood like a tightly coiled rope.
"He is," she said. "As I said, he's passing through."
"Where you from?" Walter asked Holt.
"Sussex."
"Where in Sussex?"
"A manor called Collier Dean."
"Never heard of it."
Holt shrugged. "I'd never heard of Stoneleigh, Sutton Hall, or Cowdrey Farm until I passed through the village. Doesn't mean they don't exist." He smiled, but it lacked the brightness Susanna had come to expect.
Walter's mouth worked as if he were chewing an invisible piece of straw. "You should have come to me, Susanna," he said, low. "We're neighbors. I don't like strangers here in our valley. Too many of them lately." He slapped his hat on his head, nodded at Susanna, and stormed out.
Margaret stared after him, her mouth agape like a dead fish. Slowly, a blush crept up her throat, over her cheeks to her hairline. "I, uh... Farewell." She left without a glance back.
Susanna watched them go, bewildered and a little annoyed. Like Jeffrey, Walter Cowdrey thought she was incapable of managing Stoneleigh on her own. It was nice of them to be concerned but honestly! She wasn't a child anymore and she had a father still living. She didn't need another parental figure, or another husband for that matter. How many times would she have to say no to their marriage proposals and offers of help before it would sink into their thick-headed male skulls?
"Please continue eating," she said to Holt and the others.
"Odd man," Cook muttered, slathering marmalade over her bread. "Always thought that."
"He's not odd," Bessie said. "He's just not as comfortable around people as most."
"Not as odd as his sister."
"At least they're locals," Hendricks said, saluting his cup at Holt. "We've known the Cowdreys forever, and they've always come to Stoneleigh's aid when we needed them."
Susanna had always been happy to accept their offers, but not now. Not since she'd turned down Walter's proposals. Any dealings she now had with him had become too awkward to endure. This was simply the latest, and the oddest.
