A Proper Companion

Chapter Six

The mid-October breeze was brisk and biting, but nothing like the North Atlantic winds that had buffeted the ship bringing Edmond home to England. With his cape drawn close around him and his hat firmly in place, he fended off the chills that had plagued him during the voyage. But he did lean heavily on his cane and Matthews’s arm while trying to avoid dips in the uneven ground, all the while endeavoring not to grunt with every painful step.

Ahead, basket in hand, Mother marched along the woodland path with Miss Newfield striding along behind her like a good soldier, another basket over her arm. The young lady possessed a carriage much like her brother’s, yet in every way feminine, an elegant posture devoid of arrogance, her chin held high, as if she was looking forward to reaching her destination. Occasionally she glanced back and smiled, although her eyes expressed her concern for Edmond.

Under her kind scrutiny, he refused to falter. Instead, by force of will, he gazed at the pale blue sky and the brilliantly hued trees showing off their autumn colors. The leafy, musty scents of the forest filled his senses, reminding him of childhood games with his brothers. Mother had never permitted her sons to fight or even wrestle, but hidden from her and their tutor among these trees, they could wrestle as much as they liked. And it was here they imagined many adventures to come. Yet how differently each of their lives had turned out.

The little village had not changed. From the farrier’s cluttered stable to the shopkeeper’s tidy window displays, not a horseshoe or bonnet seemed to have moved. Only the children appeared different. The lads who’d once chased each other about the rutted street were no doubt in school or working in the fields beside their fathers, and their youngest brothers now stirred up the lane with their dusty games. The sameness of Greystone Village, which used to bore Edmond, now awoke a longing within his heart. Despite their unremarkable lives, these country folk had a certain security which seemed to define their character. They grew up knowing where they belonged and what they would do with their lives, whereas uncertainty had plagued Edmond since he first realized he would have to find his own way in the world.

Not until he began his law studies at Oxford had he discovered his true passion. But Mother had decided law was an inferior profession for the youngest brother of a viscount. When she learned that Arthur Wellesley, an earl’s fourth son, had received his own title, political prestige and a vast fortune during his service in India, she declared that Edmond must obtain an officer’s commission in the army. She paid for it herself, less a generous gesture than simply another means of controlling one of her sons. He’d had two choices: accept her offer or become dependent upon his eldest brother’s charity.

Of course Edmond rebelled, but after a misspent Season in London for which he still felt much guilt and had many regrets, his godly middle brother had brokered a truce. A surrender, actually, for Edmond had capitulated to all of Mother’s demands. But although he had managed to pay off his gambling debts, his service in America had brought neither fortune nor prestige, only wounds that matched the scars on his soul.

“What a charming village.” Miss Newfield gazed about the scene as if surveying some grand garden. “So like Blandon in every way.”

“What?” Mother stopped her march and turned to glare at her.

Edmond caught up in time to see a slight blush touch the young lady’s cheeks. “Indeed? I suppose most English villages boast the same quaint scenery.” He hoped his cheerful tone would diminish her discomfort.

“We are not here to chitchat.” Mother resumed her march, not stopping until she reached a tiny redbrick house where smoke curled from the chimney. “Humph. A fire at midday in October? Such a waste.”

Edmond gritted his teeth. He would not be able to remain silent if she scolded the dear old pensioner who lived here, the woman who had been nurse to him and his brothers, supplying the love lacking from their only parent. While Richard had been the old woman’s favorite and no doubt the reason for his penchant for spiritual matters, Edmond and Greystone had adored her, too. If Mother refused to supply wood for her hearth, he would find a way to do it himself.

* * *

Cheered by Major Grenville’s pleasant rejoinder, Anna shrugged off her dismay over Lady Greystone’s reproach. Clearly she must not comment on anything unless asked. But, oh, how hard that would be when so many things sparked her interest, from the squirrels gathering acorns in the woods to the children playing outside the wood frame houses. Still, if she wished to be the best possible companion to the lady, performing her duties heartily as unto the Lord, then she must learn to remain silent.

Lady Greystone stopped at a singular brick house amongst the wooden ones and ordered the major to knock. Curiosity seized Anna. Who lived here, and why did they deserve such a superior, albeit small dwelling? She gave the major a questioning glance and was startled to see anger in his eyes. He looked her way and the anger disappeared, replaced by a wry grin and accompanied by a shrug.

The door was opened by an elderly, black-clad gentleman. The light in his pale blue eyes reminded Anna of Papá. In fact, his entire facade and bearing resembled a man of God.

Lady Greystone stepped back. “Mr. Partridge.” She peered beyond him into the dimly lit room. “Has Mrs. Winters—”

“No, no, madam.” The gentleman emitted a scratchy chuckle. “She is well enough for her many years.”

The major leaned toward Anna to mouth “the vicar.”

A bittersweet pang tore through her, but she forced a smile. Her intuition had been correct. But did he live here? Was this humble dwelling the vicarage? The church stood at the far end of the village, whereas her father’s church had been next door to their home. And she could not think a wealthy peer such as Lord Greystone would house his clergyman so meanly.

“Well,” Lady Greystone huffed. “Will you grant me entrance or not?”

“Of course, madam.” The vicar gave her a slight bow. The warmth in his eyes as he moved back revealed a respect uncluttered by trepidation.

The party moved into the room, except for Matthews, who waited outside.

“Now, Winters.” Lady Greystone approached a grey-haired woman hunched into an upholstered armchair. “What’s all this? Have you called the vicar for last rites?”

Anna could detect no kindness in Lady Greystone’s tone, but like the vicar, the old woman smiled without fear. Anna deposited the observation in her memory to consider later.

“No, my lady. Just holy communion. I cannot travel the distance to the church, so he brings it to me.”

Once again Anna felt a sweet pang of remembrance. Papá used to offer the same service to his elderly parishioners. Perhaps her emotions showed on her face, for Major Grenville gently squeezed her elbow as if he understood.

“Of course. Just as he should.” Lady Greystone sat in the straight-backed chair next to the old woman and set her basket on a battered side table. “Now, I have brought you some of Cook’s apple tarts, bread and lamb stew, along with a bit of tea and some cream.”

“All of that and cream, too? Oh, my lady, how grand.” Mrs. Winters’s eyes glistened. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense.” Lady Greystone clicked her tongue and her hawk-like features sharpened. “It is your due for faithful service, and my duty to provide it.”

“Yes, my lady.” Mrs. Winters adjusted her spectacles. “Is this my Edmond?” She reached out to the major. “Oh, dear boy, come close so I may see you.” Now her tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks.

The major knelt by her chair. “Hello, my dear Winnie.” He kissed her cheek, and she patted his.

Watching the encounter, Anna’s heart performed a dozen somersaults. Not only was she touched by the major’s gentle gesture, but she also longed to know more about this old woman, more about the vicar. These were gentle souls, people to whom God had brought her that she might minister to them. Her grateful prayer was cut short when the old nurse’s gaze fell on her.

“And who is this lovely creature you have brought to me? Edmond, is this your bride?”

Laughter bubbled up inside of Anna over such a silly assumption, but the major jolted to attention, and shock covered his handsome countenance. “Why, no—”

Lady Greystone uttered a mild, unladylike epithet. “She is nothing of the sort. Nothing at all, really. My new companion, if she pleases me.”

The woman’s expression grew sober, except for her eyes, which danced merrily. “As you say, my lady.”

The major swallowed noisily next to Anna while his mother opened her basket. “As you already have an unseasonable fire burning, shall we have tea?”

“Ah.” Mrs. Winters turned her attention to that offer. “How lovely. Mr. Partridge, will you put on the kettle?”

“Nonsense.” Lady Greystone waved the vicar back to his chair. “Newfield, see to it.”

Grateful to be useful at last, Anna hurried to the small hearth where she dipped fresh water from a crock into a battered tin kettle, hung the kettle on the iron arm and swung the arm over the amber coals. A gentle stir with a poker ignited the flames, and soon steam wafted from the kettle spout. She hesitated before measuring tea leaves into the porcelain teapot. Did Lady Greystone like weak or strong tea? She glanced behind her to see the viscountess inspecting Mrs. Winters’s knitting project.

“You waste too much dye on your wool,” Lady Greystone said. “A pale scarf is as warm as a dark one for these village children. They’ll turn them dark soon enough in their games.”

Economy seemed to be the lady’s watchword, so Anna measured two scant spoonfuls of tea leaves into the pot and poured in boiling water. Once it had steeped she served the others, and to her relief, no one complained about the weakness of the beverage.

“Will you not have a cup, my dear?” Mrs. Winters gazed at Anna as if she were an old friend.

“Why—” Anna glanced at the major for direction, but quickly shifted her gaze to Lady Greystone. The lady’s eyebrows quirked briefly in what seemed to be assent. “Thank you, ma’am.” She chose a cup and saucer from the mismatched china on the mantelpiece and savored the warmth of the tea against the chill of the room. Truly, it was not too soon for old Mrs. Winters to have a fire, but Anna could hardly admonish her employer.

While Lady Greystone conversed in low tones with the old woman and the vicar, Anna stood by the hearth and studied the cozy but sparsely furnished parlor. Dark green drapes were drawn aside from two small windows, permitting sunlight to brighten the room. The plaster walls were painted pale green, and wrought iron sconces hung above the faded settee where Major Grenville sat looking a bit sour.

Was he still dismayed over the old woman’s erroneous assumption about their relationship? If so, he really should learn to laugh a bit more at such ridiculous conjectures. After all, she was clearly in mourning, and her black lace cap bespoke a spinster not seeking a husband. He was an aristocrat not likely to marry someone of her station.

Never mind. People would soon understand it all. While the gentleman would make a fine husband for some fortunate lady, Anna would not be the one. The thought generated a modicum of sadness, but she refused to give place to such nonsensical feelings. After all, scripture taught that a merry heart doeth good, like medicine. Through many experiences she had seen that laughter was the best remedy for any unhappiness, the wisest contradiction for any false speculations.

Perhaps she should teach him how to play “What’s the worst thing?” as her family used to do.

* * *

Edmond could hardly keep from squirming on the settee, not just because of its lumpy seat or his aching leg, but because dear Winnie had created an awkward situation. If Miss Newfield sat beside him or if he stood and offered her his place, the old nurse would tease again, and Mother might begin to view the girl as a threat and cast her out. While her sons’ occupations held first place in her machinations, not far behind was her determination that they should marry well to someone of their own class. More times than he could count, she had railed against aristocrats who married members of the gentry. Such unions not only tainted the blood, she claimed, but they created disorder by lifting unworthy souls above their God-given place on the Great Chain of Being. Thus these marriages were nothing short of sin.

Edmond had always accepted her reasoning, for every aristocrat he knew held that view. Of late, however, he had begun to reconsider, particularly after a superior man named Peter Newfield died in his stead. And as each hour and day passed, Edmond grew more and more determined that Newfield’s sister must never want for security.

For the present, however, the only safe course for both Miss Newfield and himself was to effect polite indifference toward each other. Which would be decidedly difficult for him if the young lady continued to view the world so agreeably with those merry green eyes.

Chapter Seven

During her first evening with the family, Anna sat on a straight-backed chair by the drawing room door while Lady Greystone supervised the after-supper activities. Anna imagined that their customs were similar to her own family’s, with every member expected to contribute to the entertainment. A finely polished maple card table had been unfolded and matching chairs set around it, so perhaps they would play whist or another card game. Anna hoped she would not be called upon to join in, for cards required a quick memory and she always found her mind wandering during the game. If asked, she could play the pianoforte without embarrassing herself, but Lady Greystone had just assigned that particular duty to her daughter-in-law.

Although she had to lumber to the instrument, Mrs. Grenville appeared eager and her nimble fingers moved over the keys with a respectable musical skill. After her brief concert, the gentlemen discussed politics and news, with Lady Greystone glancing up from her needlework to comment from time to time. No games seemed to be planned, which left Anna to revise her speculations. Did they truly just talk in the evenings? No charades? No word games? She could barely keep from yawning.

After more than an hour, she decided she had been forgotten. Major Grenville offered a glance or two her way, but he gave her no smile. Perhaps he was still offended by his former nurse’s comment that afternoon, but Anna could hardly be faulted for it. Despite his previous courtesies, he had seemed almost to avoid her on the walk back to the manor house and throughout supper. Still, he had done more than enough by bringing her here. She should expect nothing beyond that. Instead, she sat on the edge of her chair to remain alert and cheered herself by deciding this was preferable to sitting on the edge of a highway with no place to go. From here she could observe the family and pray for them.

“Newfield!” Lady Greystone’s sharp voice jolted Anna, and she realized she had been near to dozing after all.

“Yes, my lady.” Face burning, she rose, crossed the room and stood near the settee where her employer sat with her eldest son.

“You will begin your riding lessons tomorrow.” The viscountess barely glanced at Anna and continued her needlework.

Anna knew she must acknowledge the order, but her throat closed. How she had hoped Lady Greystone would forget this frightening project.

“Edmond,” the lady said, “you will teach her. If this gel you have brought to me is to be an acceptable companion, she must ride. Peel always disappointed me in her fear of horses. Why, the woman trembled so much she made the beasts skittish. Such nonsense.”

Major Grenville’s jaw dropped, and he, too, seemed at a loss for words. Anna could think of no way to rescue either of them.

Hidden behind a newspaper, the viscount coughed, but Anna could not decide whether it was an attempt to cover a laugh or a symptom of an illness. When the major glared in his brother’s direction, Anna was both relieved and dismayed. Of course she would not wish the viscount to be ill, but she could find no humor in the situation. And while she would enjoy the major’s company under any circumstances, she had never managed to overcome her fear of horses. Only one escape seemed possible.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I have nothing proper to wear for riding.”

The viscountess gave her a sharp look, then eyed her up and down through her quizzing glass. “Hmm. Easily solved. You will wear Peel’s habit.”

“But, Mother Greystone—” Mrs. Grenville had moved from the pianoforte to a chair beside her husband “—Miss Peel was tall and thin as a reed.” While she did not look at Anna, her remark was nonetheless appreciated.

“Also easily solved,” the viscountess said. “You sew, do you not, Newfield?”

Anna swallowed, and her heart sank. “Yes, my lady.”

“Then go at once and find Hudson. She will direct you to the garment and the sewing supplies.”

After offering a quick curtsey, Anna fled the room, praying tears would not overtake her. Upstairs she found the viscountess’s lady’s maid and soon had the project in hand. While no one could call Anna stout, she hoped the thin woman’s gown would not have enough material to enlarge it. Alas, the side seams were more than wide enough. After letting it out, Anna enlisted Mrs. Hudson’s help in measuring how much to increase the hem. That done, the maid declared the project a success and retired for the night.

Anna knelt beside her bed and offered up an urgent plea that somehow the Lord would deliver her from tomorrow’s trial. Not only must she face a large, fearsome beast the likes of which she had rarely come near, but she must also face Major Grenville, who should not be riding yet and who clearly did not wish to teach her.

She fell asleep trying very hard to play “What’s the worst thing?” to cheer herself. But the game only generated dreams of being thrown to the ground while her four-legged adversary whinnied its triumph above her.

* * *

“Really, Mother.” Edmond scowled at his parent while ignoring Greystone’s smirk. “I hardly feel ready to ride, much less ready to teach someone else how to do it.” He despised sounding weak in front of his brothers, but better that than to announce his true reason for disliking this assignment. As much as he would enjoy the young lady’s company, it would not be proper for them to venture out alone and still keep her reputation intact.

“And may I add—” Richard’s slender face wore an uncharacteristic frown “—it would hardly be proper for the young lady, spinster or not, to be out with Edmond without a chaperone.”

Edmond exhaled a sigh of relief. His brother the cleric would be an ally in this matter.

“Nonsense.” Mother rose from the settee. Everyone else stood as well. “They will have the groom with them.” She moved toward the door, then turned back to face Edmond. “As we walked back from the village today, you leaned upon your man less and less. All you require for complete recovery is additional exercise and a return to your riding. Furthermore, you need something to do. This will be good for you.” She sniffed, as she often did when displeased. “And why must I repeat myself? If this gel is to be my companion, she must ride.” She strode out of the room, head held high like a general marching away victorious from a battlefield.

“I say, Edmond.” Greystone stretched and yawned. “I should think you would enjoy the company of a young woman after all your military duties.”

Edmond laughed without mirth, hating what he was about to say. “Preferably someone of our class, not a servant.” As he said the words, a sick feeling churned in his belly. Miss Newfield was the gentlest, kindest Christian lady he had ever met. He had no right to claim superiority over her.

“Well,” Richard said, “strictly speaking, a companion is not a servant.” As if looking for agreement he gazed down at Mary, who sat tucked under his arm now that Mother was not in the room.

Mary returned a beatific smile. “If you say so, my darling.”

Edmond felt his heart lighten just observing their mutual devotion. How grand it would be to have a wife of his own to cherish. “No, I suppose not. But you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” His eldest brother continued to smirk.

“Stubble it, Greystone. If Mother thinks I admire the poor girl, she’ll boot her out.” He walked toward the door.

Greystone followed a few feet behind him. “And of course you do not admire her.” His teasing tone held a world of good humor.

Edmond stopped and turned so quickly his brother almost collided with him. “Listen to me. This woman’s brother died in my place. I have a duty to make certain she is not misused or abandoned. That is all.”

“Of course.” Greystone’s lopsided grin contradicted his assertion. “Why do you insist upon thinking I am suggesting anything else?”

Too tired to argue, Edmond limped from the room and headed toward the staircase. With each step, he was forced to admit Mother was right. Today’s exercise had helped work out some of his discomfort from having been laid up for so long. But he could not envision getting back on a horse tomorrow morning. Nor could he envision working for hours with the lovely Miss Newfield without coming to admire her entirely too much.

* * *

Anna endeavored not to tremble as she descended the wide front staircase. The Lord had not answered her prayers as she wished. Nor had He given her peace about the upcoming trial. But scripture said He would never leave her nor forsake her. Anna could cling to that promise far more easily than she would be able to cling to a saddle. If an injury was in her future, so be it. She would try to bear it as bravely as Major Grenville bore his wounds.

When she reached the bottom of the steps she inhaled a deep breath and blew it out, then squared her shoulders and walked through the wide front door held open by the liveried footman. A cold breeze smacked her face, bringing with it the strong smell of horseflesh. Against her lingering hopes, the major stood talking with another man, most likely the groom, for he held the reins of a brown horse. The creature eyed Anna with a look of boredom. Or was that a challenge in those large black eyes?

Still using his cane, Major Grenville stepped over to greet her. “Good morning, Miss Newfield.” He took her hand but offered no smile, which only added to her trepidation…and disappointment. “Ah, you’re trembling,” he whispered. “Don’t be frightened. She’s the gentlest horse in my brother’s stable.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out before Anna could stop it. “Oh, doubtless, she is.” But she could not keep doubt from her voice.

He pulled her around in front of him, gripped her upper arms and captured her gaze. “Miss Newfield, you may count on me.” The firm, warm touch of his hands set her heart to fluttering uncontrollably. “I will not allow you to be harmed.” The intensity in his eyes held the gentle rebuke of a friend, and his masculine presence nearly took her breath away.