An Earl For The Shy Widow

Chapter Three

Perched on an upturned bucket, Petra watch Jeb groom Patch with a critical eye. When she had lived at home, she’d had her own riding horse, Daisy, and had learned how to care for her. She enjoyed working with horses, but this was another thing Jeb had decided was too lowly to be undertaken by a lady. So, having helped Becky make the bread first thing this morning, she’d come out to watch Jeb work, mostly so she would not disturb Marguerite at her drawing.

‘How old are you, Jeb?’ she asked.

He straightened and turned to face her. ‘Sixteen, my lady.’

So young! Yet hadn’t she known exactly how her life should be at sixteen? Wife to Harry, whom she’d assumed would become a gentleman farmer.

Why had she not seen that, while Harry had enjoyed his visits to her brothers, he was not the least bit interested in the land? He’d liked the hunting and the rollicking around the neighbouring villages getting up to all sorts of tricks, which she had known nothing about. After their marriage, he had made it perfectly clear that residing in the country would be a sort of living death for him. He declared he belonged in town, where he could continue to enjoy the company of his friends and, as she discovered later, any female who happened to come into his orbit.

A pang seized her. She quelled it. She never allowed herself to think about his unfaithfulness. It was simply too demeaning.

She sighed. Red had been right in cautioning her against setting her sights on Harry, but in those days, she had been so sure of everything. Now she felt as if she knew absolutely nothing, although her stupid body seemed to be attracted to the first handsome man to cross her path since Harry died.

Which was nonsense. She hadn’t given a thought to that sort of thing before she married, so why would she need to think it about it now she was a widow? She was a lady after all, not some lowly maiden.

Jeb was staring at her. Oh, yes, he’d told her his age. She frowned. ‘That means you started working here when you were fourteen. Isn’t that rather young?’

Surprise filled his expression. ‘Why, no, my lady. Me da started work up at Longhurst Park when he was nobbut ten. Under-groom he were then. He said we were spoiled going to school and not working till we were fourteen as our ma insisted upon.’ He grinned. ‘To hear tell, it was a fine life up at the Park till the old lord up and died. The fellow that came after him was sickly and spent most of his time in London, so he had no need of the horses or the staff. I was supposed to train there when I was old enough, but it were not to be.’ He went back to currying Patch’s flank.

‘Where does your father work now?’

Jeb shrugged. ‘Died of the lung disease three years ago. Leaving Ma to raise five young ’uns on her own. God’s blessing it were when this here job came up or we might have ended up on the parish.’

Guilt assailed. Why had she not known this? But it was Red who had hired Jeb before she and her sisters had arrived in Westram. ‘I suppose your mother is helping the other ladies with the millinery now?’ She winced, as even that work wasn’t certain.

‘Nah, my lady. She cooks for a family out beyond Ightham.’ His gaze held sadness. ‘She gets home one day a month. The little ’uns miss her, but me and my older sister do the best we can with them. Suzy does a bit of lacemaking, but it be hard for her to do much with the baby an’ all.’

‘Baby?’

‘Ah, he be four now. Right little handful.’ He grinned fondly. ‘The other three help out.’

This vision of Jeb as head of a family was shocking. And for a mother to be separated from her young children! A vision of singed biscuits popped into her head. ‘Your mother is a good cook, then?’

‘Yes. Trained she did, up at the Park when she were a lass. Had to give it up when she married me da, of course, but he had a good job by then.’

A good cook. Now, that was something. ‘When will she be home next?’

Jeb rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Next week, I reckon, my lady. Sunday.’

‘Do you think she might be willing to cook for us here on that day?’

Jeb turned to look at her. ‘What, my lady?’

‘I would like to invite a guest for dinner, but we will need someone to cook for us. Your mother can take home any leftovers, and, of course, we would pay her for her time.’

His eyes lit up. ‘I’ll have my sister write and ask her, but I am sure as how she would be pleased to help out. A bit of extra never goes amiss.’

Hopefully Marguerite would not object to spending a little bit extra next week. Now if she could convince the Earl to accept her invitation, she might kill two birds with one stone by finding His Lordship a cook as well as help Jeb’s family out by having their mother live at home. The thought pleased her inordinately, even if it did mean having to entertain the Earl for dinner.

* * *

Ethan tied Jack to the fence in front of Westram Cottage. At first, he’d thought to refuse the ladies’ invitation to dine with them, but the thought of a half-decent meal, instead of O’Cleary’s stew, was far too tempting for any man, especially one who liked his food as much as Ethan did.

Besides, strangely enough, he was looking forward to seeing Lady Petra again. Which wasn’t moving the next project on his list in the right direction.

According to his man of business, who had his office in Sevenoaks, he was not entirely destitute. He’d offered the heartening news that if Ethan was careful in the management of the estate, and if he perhaps found himself a suitably wealthy bride, he should come around very nicely.

The noose tying him to this estate was growing ever tighter, but he still had hopes of returning to his army career. After much discussion, Ethan had reluctantly agreed to the man of business making discreet enquiries regarding the availability of such a bride. He had indicated his preference for a sensible woman who would understand the concept of a marriage of convenience. Preferably one who had some experience of country living and all that it entailed, so he could leave matters in her hands. There were to be no commitments or promises until Ethan had met the lady.

He marched up to the ladies’ front door and rapped the knocker. After some discussion with O’Cleary, he’d decided not to wear his uniform. Since a military man had little use for civilian clothes, his wardrobe was limited, but he did have a coat he’d bought from Weston on a whim during one of his visits to London. It wasn’t exactly evening wear, but O’Cleary had agreed it would do for dinner in the country. Though why on earth the batman thought himself an expert in the matter Ethan didn’t know.

A maid guided him to a small parlour at the front of the cottage.

The two ladies rose to their feet when he entered. He gave them his warmest smile and bowed. ‘Good day, ladies.’

They dipped their heads in unison.

‘Please be seated, Lord Longhurst,’ Lady Marguerite said. She glanced at the servant. ‘That will be all, thank you, Becky. May I offer you some sherry, Lord Longhurst?’

‘Thank you.’

He took his glass when she poured one for each of them. Both ladies perched on the sofa. He sat opposite in the armchair and raised his glass. ‘To your very good health.’

‘Your health,’ they replied.

He took an appreciative sip of his drink. The sherry was of excellent quality.

A silence descended. Ethan dragged out his party manners. ‘What a snug house you ladies have.’

‘Thank you,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We like it very much.’

‘There is one thing I do not quite understand,’ he said, recalling some earlier musings. ‘The village has your family name and yet your family does not own any property in these parts, apart from this cottage.’

‘It is quite a long story,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘But it is not an unusual one. It dates back to Oliver Cromwell’s rule.’

‘Do not tell me your family once owned Longhurst Park?’ Blast, he had not anticipated that when he asked the question, though he should have. He really ought to find out more about this branch of his family’s history. He just hadn’t thought it important before now.

‘Oh, no,’ Lady Petra said. She chuckled. ‘Actually, it is Lord Compton who is the usurper.’ Her amusement lit her blue eyes like sunlight dancing on water. He found himself enchanted. He suppressed the sensation. He had seen that sort of conspiratorial amusement on his mother’s face. It had been a lie then and was likely one now, too. Ladies’ smiles were not to be trusted, even if they were pretty and enticing.

‘Petra, you really should not say such things,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘It is all water under the bridge. While Compton Manor, then known as Bedwell Hall, did belong to our family, our ancestors supported the idea of a republic. After the Restoration, we lost the title and the land. Charles the Second bequeathed Bedwell to the Comptons, all except this cottage, which was occupied by an elderly lady who had maintained her loyalty to the King.’

‘A very stubborn old lady apparently.’ Once more Lady Petra’s eyes twinkled. ‘My family says I take after her.’

Lady Marguerite shook her head fondly at her sister. ‘You are not stubborn, my dear, unless you do not get your own way.’

Both ladies laughed. Once again Ethan was struck by the younger sister’s angelic beauty. Her laughter was a sweet light sound and her eyes gleamed with mischief. She was the sort of woman who stood out in a crowd and drew every man’s eye when she smiled. The sort of woman who would lead a less sensible man a merry dance.

His suspicions about her having an ulterior motive returned in full force. He really should have declined this invitation. He certainly did not want to create any false impressions or hopes.

Lady Marguerite continued the story. ‘It wasn’t until the Stewarts were gone that our family wormed their way back into the good graces of the royals and were granted the property in Gloucestershire. Danesbury is where Westram has his seat now.’

‘Yet you choose to live here in Kent?’

‘Yes,’ Lady Marguerite said, lifting her chin as if she expected him to take issue with her words. ‘We like our independence.’

Lady Petra nodded her agreement.

Perhaps he was misjudging her motives after all.

The maid peeped in. ‘Lady Marguerite, I am to tell you dinner is served.’

‘Thank you, Becky,’ she said, standing.

‘May I?’ Ethan offered both ladies an arm. He escorted them into a small dining room overlooking the garden at the back of the house. The French doors were wide open, admitting a light breeze along with the scent of roses.

He seated the ladies and then took a chair. ‘Your garden is beautiful,’ he said.

‘That is Petra’s doing,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘She has a talent for making things grow.’

Lady Petra smiled. ‘I have always had an interest in plants. How about you, Lord Longhurst?’

He grimaced. ‘I enjoy eating what the land produces, my lady, but my knowledge beyond that is severely limited. But not for long, I hope.’

The little maid carried in an assortment of dishes, including a magnificent roast of beef, assorted vegetables and puddings.

Having carved the roast and made sure each lady’s plate was full, Ethan got down to eating his own meal with a will. Food like this had not been coming his way recently.

The conversation, led by Lady Marguerite, revolved around the weather, the need for a church roof and some information about other families in the neighbourhood.

Finally, Ethan, put down his knife and fork. ‘That was the best meal I have had in months, if not years.’

Lady Marguerite looked pleased. ‘Surely you exaggerate, my lord.’

‘Not at all. Everything was cooked to perfection. Your chef is to be complimented.’

‘Actually, she is not our cook,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We hired her for the day.’

He frowned. ‘Do cooks hire themselves out by the day?’

‘Not as a general rule, but she is looking for a permanent post near to Westram. We do not need a full-time cook, unfortunately.’

Everyone needed a full-time cook if they could afford one. Again, his irritation at Westram’s niggardliness with his sisters raised its head. But it was none of his business. Indeed, he had no idea why he would care.

‘Perhaps you would like to hire her,’ Lady Petra suggested idly. Too idly. He narrowed his eyes on her face. Why was she so interested in his household arrangements? The sort of arrangements that would normally be within a wife’s purview. Was she seeing herself in that role? No doubt she thought an earl would be a very good catch.

Even so, the thought of having meals like this on a regular basis was so tempting as to make Ethan’s mouth water.

‘Are you sure I would not be depriving you of her services, if I hired her?’

‘Oh, no,’ Lady Petra said airily. ‘Becky manages our everyday needs and, since we rarely entertain, we do not have need of a cook. Mrs Stone comes highly recommended. Indeed, she used to work at Longhurst Park years ago, so she should fit right in. And it would mean she could live at home with her family.’

The lady did protest too much. He frowned. ‘Did you invite me to dinner so I might be convinced to hire this woman?’

Lady Marguerite looked embarrassed.

‘Is it so terrible?’ Lady Petra asked. ‘Is it not our duty to help our neighbours and friends? Besides, what better way to know if she will suit than to sample her skills?’

She looked a little disgruntled. What? Had she not expected him to see through her ploy? Was she like so many others, including his father, who thought him lacking in intelligence because of his size?

Indeed, he also felt a little disgruntled. He had thought—well, perhaps vaguely hoped—she had invited him because she valued his company, but it seemed that it had been an attempt to manipulate him into hiring a cook. A very fine cook, to be sure, but he did not intend to be manipulated by any woman ever again, especially after his lucky escape from Sarah.

The maid entered with a tray containing desserts. A fruit compote, an apple pie and a lemon mousse. Everyone served themselves. Ethan partook of the pie and a little of the mousse.

Any idea of resistance immediately disappeared. Mentally he shook his head at what he knew would next be coming out of his mouth. Complete and utter surrender. ‘Ask the cook to report for duty as soon as she is able.’

Both ladies seemed happy with his pronouncement, Lady Petra exceedingly so, blast the woman. O’Cleary would be delighted in the extreme. Ethan, however, could not quite shake his earlier sense of being ambushed once again.

From now on it would be best if he avoided Lady Petra completely.

Chapter Four

As was their usual wont on a Thursday, Petra and Marguerite walked to the village of Westram. Their first stop was the post office.

‘Quite a few letters for you today, Lady Marguerite,’ Mr Barker, the postmaster, said. ‘And one for you, Lady Petra. Franked, they are.’ He beamed, his red wrinkled cheeks looking like apples left too long in the sun.

All the letters had been franked by Westram or by Lord Avery’s father—a duke, no less. Their connections to the nobility seemed to thrill Mr Barker, as if somehow the more noble the frank, the higher it lifted those who lived in the village.

‘Thank you, Barker,’ Marguerite said, stuffing the letters into her reticule after a glance at the sender’s name and address.

‘One is from Lord Westram,’ Mr Barker said. ‘Will he be visiting you any time soon?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ Marguerite said, handing over her outgoing letters and opening her purse.

Perhaps Lord Longhurst will be good enough to frank them for you?’ he said, gesturing to the window with his chin.

Across the road, Lord Longhurst was talking to the Vicar’s wife, Mrs Beckridge. ‘That will not be necessary,’ Marguerite said.

Marguerite hated asking anyone for anything. She was determined they would be completely independent. While she had not said anything at the time, she had been quite disturbed when their sister-in-law, Carrie, married so soon after they moved to Westram. Disappointed, Petra had thought, though Marguerite had hidden it well. It had certainly made their task of living independently a little more difficult, despite the fact that Carrie’s new husband did all in his power to assist.

Their mail dealt with, they went back out into the street. Mrs Beckridge waved them over. Petra would have preferred to ignore her, since she tended to pry. Also, the thought of meeting the Earl made her feel hot and cold by turns. There was something about the man that fascinated her, she had discovered at dinner the other evening, and the strength of those feelings made her uncomfortable. However, since Marguerite was already crossing the street, she could hardly put her head down and walk the other way.

‘Lady Marguerite, Lady Petra,’ Mrs Beckridge gushed. ‘How lovely to see you.’

Longhurst bowed. ‘A pleasure, Lady Marguerite, Lady Petra.’

Petra curtsied. ‘Lord Longhurst.’

‘I was right at this moment telling His Lordship about the gypsies who have taken up residence in Crabb’s Wood at the edge of his land. I am sure you ladies will agree with me when I say something really should be done about them.’ She made the pronouncement in a voice of doom as if predicting the end of the world.

‘What sort of something?’ Petra asked.

‘Why, chase them off, of course. We don’t need the likes of them around here, stealing babies and washing off the line.’

Marguerite frowned. ‘Whose baby did they steal?’

‘No one’s as yet,’ the Vicar’s wife admitted. ‘But as I mentioned to my dear husband this very morning, it would be preferable not to give them the chance.’

‘Utter rubbish,’ Marguerite said with a shake of her head.

‘The Vicar thinks I should chase them off, does he?’ Longhurst asked.

‘Well, it is your land they are sitting on. Disgraceful people. Next, they will be knocking on doors selling charms for warts or lucky heather. Most un-Christian behaviour.’

‘A gypsy band used to camp near Danesbury when we were children,’ Marguerite said.

‘Our papa always hired them to help with the harvest,’ Petra added. ‘It was why they came back year after year. We certainly never had any trouble with them. Why not offer them the job of cutting your hay, Lord Longhurst? I wouldn’t be surprised if a previous earl used their services and that’s why they set up camp on your land.’

Mrs Beckridge made a sound of disapproval. ‘Not with my husband’s approval, I assure you, Lord Longhurst.’

‘What an excellent solution, Lady Petra,’ Lord Longhurst said. ‘When I enquired at the Green Man, I was told there was not a man hereabouts in need of gainful employment. I will ride over there tomorrow and see if I can hire them on.’

Petra looked up at the sky. Mare’s tails were riding high above them. ‘I would go today if I were you. The weather is about to change. You may have only a day or so before it rains.’

He looked startled. ‘You can tell that?’

‘Really, my lord,’ Mrs Beckridge said. ‘Do not encourage them to remain in the district. Please, send them to the right about, as my husband would say. We do not need their sort around here.’

‘Your husband does not have several fields of hay in need of mowing and no men to help,’ the Earl said with a pleasant smile.

Petra could not help herself. She beamed at him.

He recoiled slightly, as if he did not welcome her approval of what was a very sensible response to the Vicar’s wife.

Mrs Beckridge shook her head. ‘Far be it from me to dictate your actions, my lord, but were my husband here he would say the same thing.’

‘I am sure he would,’ Longhurst said. He bowed. ‘If you will excuse me, ladies.’

All three ladies watched him stroll away. Petra had never seen anyone stand up so well to Mrs Beckridge’s forceful personality. Perhaps he did not yet understand the lady’s position and reputation in the village. No doubt he would when the Vicar heaped coals of fire on his head at the church service on Sunday. It would be interesting to see how he reacted to that.

‘Why are you so set against these gypsies?’ Marguerite asked Mrs Beckridge. ‘I certainly have not heard of any abductions or theft associated with them.’

‘Not yet, you haven’t,’ Mrs Beckridge said sullenly. She pressed her lips together. ‘Likely, I should not make mention of this, but I fear I must warn you.’

‘Of?’

Mrs Beckridge glanced about her and then drew closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘One of them tells fortunes.’

Marguerite shook her head at the lady. ‘It is only a bit of entertainment, Mrs Beckridge. No one truly believes in it.’

Mrs Beckridge sniffed. ‘People around here believe all sorts of blasphemous nonsense. All I can say is do not let yourselves be taken in.’ She nodded her head and stalked off.

Marguerite sighed. ‘More fire and brimstone to look forward to on Sunday. I should have kept my opinions to myself.’

‘Perhaps she ought to have been a little less forceful in hers,’ Petra said.

Marguerite chuckled. ‘Every time I see the woman she rubs me the wrong way. If she said “Up”, I would likely say “Down”. I think your suggestion was the best. Give them some gainful work and leave them in peace. It is all anybody wants. Come along, I need to buy some bread.’

It would be interesting to see if the Earl actually went against the Vicar’s wife and offered the gypsies work. They were people who really understood the land and who worked hard. And if they occasionally poached a rabbit, well, why not? The rabbits didn’t belong to anyone any more than the blackberries did, even if the law said otherwise.

* * *

When Petra came in from the garden after a satisfactory hour of pulling weeds without any interference from Jeb, she found Marguerite in the hallway tying on her bonnet. ‘Where are you off to?’

‘Oxted. We are almost out of candles and the stall at the market there is cheaper than our shop in the village.’

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