His Disinclined Bride (Seasons of Change Book 7)

by Jennie Goutet

  14

  Kitty had her riding lesson, despite the fact that her brother had arrived only the day before. Once the gardener had promised to show Samuel how to improve at archery, nothing would do but for him to go practice today. She had hoped Phineas might spend some time getting to know her brother, but after he had refused to attend last night’s dinner, she had little hope for that to occur.

  She dressed in her riding habit. Her maid had been brushing off most of the dirt, and she had not been wearing it for long each day. Still, it was beginning to be in great need of a wash. Kitty glanced at the yards of fabric Phineas had brought back for her, sitting on a table in the corner. It was time to do something about those.

  She glanced through the window, wondering if she would get a peek of Samuel, who would now be on his way for target practice. Kitty smiled when she caught sight of him, trudging behind the gardener into the woods on the far end of the lawn. After breakfast, the gardener had won Samuel over by re-stringing his bow with a knotted string instead of a continuous loop string. His arrow had gone twice the distance.

  Kitty turned her gaze back to the yards of fabric then walked to the door with purpose. She found Mrs. Morley sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of weak tea in front of her. The housekeeper leapt from her seat with a guilty start, then narrowed her eyes as if angry to have been caught.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  Kitty, hoping to put her at ease, smiled. “Mrs. Morley, I do not mind if you sit at times.”

  Mrs. Morley clasped her hands in front of her, the muscles in her jaw tight. “What can I do for you?”

  Kitty’s heart sank. Mrs. Morley had not warmed to her at all, and she was sure her housekeeper despised Kitty even more for having caught her in a moment of weakness. She exhaled. “I would like to know where I might have some habits made up.”

  Mrs. Morley stared at a spot on the wall beyond Kitty. “I am afraid I cannot recommend anyone local.” She met Kitty’s gaze with a sullen look. “Not someone skilled enough to make clothing for the wife of a viscount.”

  Kitty pressed her lips together to keep from uttering an unkind retort. “I see.” They stared at one another for a moment, but Kitty did not feel like engaging in a battle of wills over a few yards of cloth. She waved her hand toward the table. “Carry on then.”

  As she made to leave the kitchen, the housekeeper threw the rest of the tea in the sink and set the cup down with a sharp clink. Kitty set her jaw as she climbed the steps. She would have to speak to Phineas about his housekeeper. It was not until she reached the top of the stairs that her anger deflated. It could not happen any time soon—not when he was just as cold toward her.

  When she entered the stable, Craddock was leading the two horses out, both of them saddled. His eyes lit up when he spotted her. “My lady, I've had everything ready for you. I'm looking forward to our ride today.”

  His intent expression triggered feelings of caution, and Kitty ran her hands along the mare’s bristly mane, as she murmured to the horse. “You and I are growing more comfortable together, aren’t we?” Craddock’s familiarity disconcerted her, and she needed time to think how to respond. At last, she glanced at him before tugging at the girth as he had taught her to do. “Oh? And why is that?”

  Craddock's gaze had not left her face, and she felt the weight of it, which made it difficult to breathe normally. She was flattered, but there was something wrong with this coming from a man who was not her husband.

  “My conversations with you are the most interesting part of my position here,” he said. “You are a most fascinating woman.”

  Kitty eyed him then looked away. Now was the time to depress such talk, but she did not know how to do it. He had not said anything overtly inappropriate; it was just that he presumed too much. It was the sort of attention she would have been glad to have were she not married—particularly from someone she found attractive, and who possessed an easy temperament. When she and Craddock rode, they spoke of diverse matters, and their thoughts converged on many of them. But this was the sort of complicity she longed to have with Phineas—her husband—and nothing would induce her to give it away cheaply to someone else.

  She opened her mouth to speak, still unsure of what she would reply, and still feeling the weight of expectation from Craddock, when she was spared the necessity. She heard movement behind her and turned.

  “Craddock,” her husband called out, striding forward. “I will ride with my wife today. Have my horse saddled.”

  A flash of anger darted across Craddock’s features, but Phineas did not witness it. Without a word, Craddock led his own horse back to the stable, and pulled Phineas's stallion out of the stall, grabbing the tack with one hand from the peg on the wall.

  In rough movements, he had Phineas’s horse readied, while Phineas himself went to inspect one of the mares that was about to foal. Kitty continued to rub her horse’s nose and mane and give other signs of affection to the great beast that would be carrying her, hopefully safely without being spooked. She was grateful for something to do, for she could feel the tension between the two men and did not know how to diffuse it. She wished to let Craddock know she was grateful for his friendship and connection to her former life, but that it would go no further. And she wished to let Phineas know how glad she was to ride with him and to reassure him that he had nothing to fear. His gifts from Bath had shown that there was an underlying affection there, and it gave her hope. However, the unfortunate timing of his arrival had not helped matters. Kitty had some work ahead of her.

  Phineas bent down and cupped his hands, helping Kitty into the saddle, while Craddock held the stallion. Then Phineas swung himself up and started forward, waiting for Kitty to follow. Soon the stable was left behind, and the sounds of the horses’ hoofbeats on the frozen path broke the silence. They rode for some distance, and unlike the easy conversation Kitty had with Craddock, this silence was weighted, pregnant with unspoken words. Her husband looked ahead without speaking, and Kitty searched for a subject of conversation. In the end, it was Phineas who spoke first.

  “For how long have you been in the habit of riding out?” He presented a handsome figure as he turned in his saddle. “I do not know if we dare go as far as the tenants.”

  Kitty’s breath came out in a cloud. “I have ridden as far as two hours, but that taxes my abilities a bit much.”

  “As long as that,” he exclaimed. “You have made more progress than I expected in such a short time. Then we may certainly visit the tenants. I will see to it that we return before you are overcome with fatigue.”

  Kitty sent a shy smile his way. “Thank you.”

  “I hope my accompanying you is to your taste, and that you were not hoping for a riding lesson from Craddock.” Phineas trained his eyes at some point in the distance instead of at her, and his voice was clipped.

  This was Kitty's chance, and she seized it. “Nothing could please me more than to ride with my husband, and I'm sure I could wish for no better instructor than you.” She had her eye on Phineas as they rode and was pleased to see a smile on his face before he turned away. His voice lightened when he next spoke.

  “I cannot say that I have any expertise teaching someone else to ride, but I can attend to your comfort and safety.”

  Kitty matched his light tone, hope blooming in her chest for the first time since he’d come home. “I ask for no more than that, Phineas.” Since he had returned from Bath, and they had lost the comfortable way between them, it was an effort not to revert to ‘my lord’. But she used his name deliberately and was rewarded with another warm glance.

  They arrived at the two rows of tenant houses, and some of the women came out and glanced at Kitty curiously. Phineas greeted them and said, “I’d like to introduce my wife, Lady Hayworth. We have taken up residence at Giddenhall, so you are likely to see more of us.”

  The women dipped curtsies, and Kitty heard murmurs of “milady” from their lips as one of the mothers nudged her
son to bow. The women and their daughters were dressed humbly in flowered or plain poplin and the boys in rateen trousers. Their deference was something Kitty had not received from her own servants. Perched high on a horse above them, she could not pretend to herself that their station was so inferior to hers. She wondered if they knew where she’d come from.

  Kitty smiled. “What fine children you have. Giddenhall is lucky to have such robust hands to care for the fields.”

  Phineas spotted one of the men and gestured him over. “Good day, Mills. How do you find your new steward?”

  The man stepped to the front of the small crowd. “I’ve no complaints, milord. He said my house will be next for a new roof, wha’ wi’ our six children. It’ll keep the cold air out.”

  “I can see the work has started on your neighbour’s house. Excellent. You’ve been in sore need of it.” Phineas swept his gaze over the crowd, and Kitty rested her eyes on his face discovering, for the first time, that his features were not just handsome—they were noble. How lucky she was to have married a man who cared about his tenants’ well-being. Would the care a man extended to those whose livelihoods depended on him not also extend to his wife? Might they have a chance at happiness? Deep affection—even love?

  Phineas addressed the same man, who appeared in the guise of official spokesman for the tenants. “Mills, I cannot have every house seen to before the coldest part of winter sets in, but we’ll re-thatch the houses with the very young and the elderly first. If the former steward had done what he was supposed to, we might have done them all.”

  “Thank ‘ee, milord.” There was another round of curtsies and bows, and Kitty was starting to feel the cold from sitting still, even though it had not been long.

  Phineas glanced at her and looked back at the crowd. “I will return to see how things are faring. And I do believe we will be in residence for Christmas. Either way, there will be Christmas boxes sent this year.”

  The tenants smiled more broadly, and one called out, “Bless you, milord.” The older children turned to whisper to the younger ones about what such a thing meant.

  Phineas met Kitty’s gaze. “Shall we go?”

  She nodded, still smiling at the tenants’ reactions. Christmas boxes were something she could attend to. She gave a final glance at the crowd gathered, drinking in their pleased expressions. Maybe some people here would be glad she’d come to Giddenhall.

  Nothing could please me more than to ride with my husband, and I'm sure I could wish for no better instructor than you. Phineas turned the words over in his mind after they’d returned the horses to the stables, and he accompanied Kitty indoors. She’d left him not long after, claiming to have a great deal to do, but her parting glance gave him additional cause for hope. Her gaze lingered on his, and she turned away on a smile. Surely, this was not the look of a woman infatuated with another man?

  But jealousy did not release its prey easily. When Phineas remembered that she had ridden as much as two hours with Craddock, it was not a great leap to imagine what could be done in those two hours, especially if two people wished to be alone. It appeared he was never to know peace where his wife was concerned.

  That evening, Phineas came to Kitty’s room to take her to dinner. Samuel was there describing with great animation the tricks the gardener had taught him when aiming for a brace of pheasants. And no, he had not caught anything, but he was sure that the next day would bring him luck. Kitty raised amused eyes to Phineas as they exited the room and still Samuel did not pause in his speech. She closed the door behind them and touched Samuel gently on the shoulder.

  “Sam, say ‘good evening’ to Lord Hayworth.”

  Samuel cut his speech short and bowed. “I beg your pardon, my lord. It is only that I was so excited about my adventure today.” He turned hopeful eyes on Phineas. “Perhaps you would like to hear about it over dinner?”

  Phineas hid his amusement over the boy’s guileless nature. “I would like that very much. But perhaps you will be so kind as to walk on the other side of your sister, so that I might take her arm to go to dinner.”

  As Samuel darted to the other side of Kitty, Phineas remembered too late that she had stated her preference not to take his arm indoors. But she had since done so once, and were they not on increasingly good terms?

  To his relief, she did not deny his request and slipped her hand easily into his arm. The complicity of their day together had done much to restore the natural feeling between them that had grown before he went to Bath. As Samuel covered the topics of the biscuits Cook gave him and the old armor he’d found in the attic, saving his story of the adventure with the pheasants to regale at dinner, Phineas began to believe it had not been a bad idea to bring her brother here. His wife was relaxed and happy, and that made him happy too.

  When there was a pause in Samuel’s flow of conversation, Kitty inclined her head to Phineas. “You said you had planned to meet your new steward tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, I will not be able to accompany you on your ride, for we have a great deal to discuss and had planned to cover all the grounds of the property.” Phineas allowed his wife and her brother to precede him into the dining room as the footmen opened the door and pulled out Kitty’s chair.

  She took her seat. “It is of no matter. Sam, you will come riding with me tomorrow, will you not?”

  Sam shrugged one of his shoulders, flopping himself into a chair. “I would like that, but I haven’t a great deal of experience on a horse.”

  “It is important you learn,” Phineas said. “I hear you are to go to Harrow next autumn. Is that so?”

  Samuel cast his gaze down, and his shoulders slumped. “I am supposed to go, but I would rather stay in Bristol with my cousins.”

  It was not difficult for Phineas to remember his own days at Harrow. He was an only child and had not been accustomed to so much noise and teasing.

  “It is always difficult at the beginning to go someplace you don't know. It was hard for me too. But you must look at it as a great adventure and not shirk. You need this education, and I believe you will enjoy yourself immensely.” Phineas leaned back as the footman filled their plates. “I’m not sure anyone at Harrow will be as good a shot as you are. Perhaps you will be able to show them what you've learned.”

  Samuel looked up, his eyes eager. “You believe so? I had thought, rather, that they would all tease me because I don't come from the same society as them.”

  The door opened and Mrs. Morley entered. “My lord, I apologize for disturbing your dinner. I must inform you that the venison is taking longer than expected because the wood to light the fires was damp and would only smoke. Cook has sent me with cold meat and bread and has promised to send some other dishes while you wait.”

  “Tell Cook it will be fine, and that the cold meat and bread is most welcome in the meantime. A boy’s appetite will not wait.”

  Samuel grinned, and Kitty gave Phineas a look full of warmth. Mrs. Morley left the dining room after promising to send the footman with the dishes.

  Phineas turned his attention back to Samuel. “There will always be bullies, no matter where you go. But you have the strength to fight against them, and you have time to learn the things you’ll need to know. For instance, you must be proficient on horseback. I know your brother has only spared you to us for the two weeks until we go to Bath. But we might consider having you return in the winter where you can have daily lessons in riding.”

  Kitty bestowed luminous eyes on him, and he held her gaze for a moment. Phineas had spoken impulsively, but Samuel reminded him of himself as he left for Harrow. He remembered those feelings all too well, and if he could do anything to help the boy be better established, he would most certainly do so.

  Kitty reached over and touched Samuel's hand. “Would you like that? Would you like to come and stay with us again, and for a much longer visit next time?”

  Samuel's eyes grew wide. “Would I!” He shoved a large helping of cold beef in
his mouth. “I will have ever so much more fun here. I can learn all the places where the animals live. And the gardener said he would show me which ones I was allowed to shoot and which ones I am not.”

  “Sam, don't speak with your mouth full please.” Kitty smiled and picked up her fork, and Phineas caught her gaze again. Kitty treated her younger brother with gentleness and love. She would make a wonderful mother—Phineas would have been pleased to have a mother who was half as warm. Lady Midlington had never given him much comfort in words or deed.

  He dwelled an instant longer on the idea of Kitty becoming a mother, and it caused him to cough as his food went down wrong. In order for Kitty to be a mother, she had to be with child. And there was the difficulty.

  Phineas cleared his throat. “You will be able to tell the boys in your school that you spent the summer at your brother’s house, the Viscount Hayworth. That ought to settle any doubts about what kind of social background you come from.”

  Samuel looked up in awe. “I hadn't thought of that! We are related now. You are my brother-in-law. I am not so very beneath them, after all.”

  Phineas shook his head. “Not one bit. You will find many boys at Harrow—some of whom are peers, some of whom are the sons of gentlemen. And you will find others who come from a background of trade such as yourself. You are one of the few who will be able to relate to everybody. That gives you an edge over the other boys.”

  Kitty smiled at Phineas. “I have been trying to convince him of the same, but I believe you will be more successful, having lived at Harrow yourself.” She turned to Samuel. “Do you see? I told you there was nothing to fear.”

  Beginning with the story of the pheasants, their dinner as three was more lively than their usual conversation with only two. And if they did not have any moments of unspoken communication between them that furthered Phineas’s hope for intimacy, what they had was friendship and complicity, and a taste of what it would be like when they had a family. To Phineas, that was nearly as good.