A Country Affair (3 page)

Richard offered the boy his hand and was pleased by the firmness of his handshake. "Your servant, Mr. Payley." He hoped Augustus would not notice his failure to identify himself, but Richard knew he would be unlikely to get much information from the boy if he did.

"Were you heading for The Grange, yourself?"

Startled by the question, Richard hesitated before responding, "As a matter of fact, I was. How did you know?"

Augustus chuckled. "Excuse me, sir, but you almost had to be. We have the only farm up this road. And, besides, we've been expecting you."

"I see." So far, the conversation had been filled with surprises, none of which had helped Richard at all.

"Yessir. We thought you might come yesterday, but when you did not, we thought you might have been taken ill."

And who is we? Richard had started to phrase this question more politely aloud, when Augustus said, "Pardon me, sir, but it might be better for me to lead your horse down this hill." Without waiting for Richard's agreement, he jumped down from the gig.

Richard, who was not used to needing his horses led, was completely taken aback until he saw the reason for the boy's action. A rut, deeper and wider than all the others, had made the next descent more than uncomfortable. It would be an easy matter to trap a wheel and overturn the gig while trying to pull it out.

Richard had no doubt of his ability to guide the horse around it, but he let the boy do as he wished. This Augustus Payley, whoever he was, certainly had an engaging way about him.

The hill once negotiated, Augustus scrambled back onto the seat. Richard thanked him kindly for his service and took control of the horse again.

"We're coming to The Grange now, sir. Do you see our orchard?"

Noting the pride in the boy's voice, Richard followed his gesture to see, indeed, that they were about to pass an immense orchard, filled with dormant cherry trees. Grass had been left to grow thick around their trunks, but it had been beaten down and grazed by a large number of sheep.

"You ought to see the cherries we harvested last season," Augustus said. "For size and sweetness, I'd put them up against any fruit from Kent."

Distracted by the thought of how lovely the trees would appear in their spring blossoms, Richard delayed his questions once again. But his curiosity was growing—about this boy, who seemed somewhat mature for his age, and about the person who was raising him. Augustus had the courtesy of a gentleman, the pride of a landed farmer, and the engaging manner of the best of his age and gender. Reflecting upon his anger at the start of this adventure, Richard almost regretted the errand he had come upon.

He opened his mouth to question the boy more firmly, but was suddenly interrupted.

"Oh! Lord love me! He's at it again!"

"He?"

Richard turned to spy another, smaller orchard—this one full of young spriglings planted in close rows. A large bull was making his way slowly through them, stopping only to nibble the top off every one.

Without waiting for the carriage to stop, Augustus jumped down from the bench and started to run.

"Here! Augustus, where are you going?"

"Got to get Caesar out of m'sister's orchard. Sorry, sir!" He struggled over the fence that should have shielded the young plants, shouting and waving his arms at the bull.

Certain that the Squire would be too busy to direct him further, Richard smiled after him, before looking about for the house. It was perched upon a hill just past the smaller orchard and a tumble-down barn. The yard appeared to be a gathering place for wretched outbuildings and decayed machinery.

As soon as he reached the door of The Grange, Richard stepped down and looked about for a servant to take his horse, but the dilapidated condition of the house suggested no servant would appear. Seeing none, in any case, he knocked upon the ancient door, which needed a new coat of paint, but got no reply.

Curious—and growing more so at the silence of the place, he decided to stable the horse himself. He did not want the beast to take a chill while waiting.

The ramshackle barn was only a few paces away. Richard unharnessed the mare and led her into it, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the sagging doorframe. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimmer light, the odor of sweet hay and warm farm animals assaulted his nostrils.

"Clarissa”—a woman’s voice came sternly from the other side of a stall—"if you do not stop this at once, I shall be forced to call Mr. Dowling, who will take you away! He has been dying to get his hands upon you!"

Wondering what poor Clarissa had done to merit such a threat, Richard tied Mr. Croft's horse to a post and peered over the wooded slats.

A particularly pretty Jersey cow greeted his eyes. She was gazing soulfully at the maid who was milking her, and, with an inward chuckle, Richard guessed that Mr. Dowling must be the local glue manufacturer.

The maid, herself, was partially out of his line of sight, her back turned towards Richard, so that he had to advance another step nearer the stall to see her.

When he did, what struck him first was the glossiness of her hair, which tumbled down her back in a thick fall of brown silk. Its rich, dark color was brightened by hints of auburn and ebony. The mass screened her shoulders and back, so that it was a few seconds before he remarked her height, which seemed considerable.

Her perfect proportions—a narrow waist above a voluminous skirt, much too heavy to be fashionable— had also concealed this detail from him. But the girl sitting in front of him, he realized, would surely be tall enough to meet his eyes if she stood.

The cow stomped, and the bucket beneath its udder threatened to topple over.

"Clarissa!" Again, a sharp warning. "I have no time for this foolishness! If you do not behave, I swear I shall let Caesar have his way with you!"

Restraining a smile, and convinced that this milkmaid was no servant—not with the cultured voice she had used—Richard judged it time to reveal himself, before she could swear in earnest. He felt the need, besides, to see the face that went with that hair and waist.

"Herrrumph!" He cleared his throat discreetly, and the girl turned without jumping, as he had feared she might.

Vibrant eyes, warm in color, high cheekbones and an open stare met his gaze. Richard felt a curious thump in the region of his chest.

The girl had recognized him as a stranger, but instead of blushing for her conduct, she rose with a flashing, white smile.

Richard had been right—the girl reached clear to his shoulder and beyond. As a man who measured over six feet, he was not used to looking many men in the eye, and never a woman. He found the experience had an unusual effect. He could only stare in rapt admiration of her magnificent proportions, from her full, rounded breasts, to her high waist, to what, beneath her skirts, must be very long legs.

She seemed momentarily to be struck by the strangeness of the phenomenon herself, as her eyes raked him from his boots to the top of his head.

Aware of the impropriety of his manners, and puzzling over his heart which was still beating erratically, Richard cleared his throat again. "Pardon me, miss, but I knocked at the door and no one answered."

"No, I am sorry." She advanced and offered him her hand with the same open manner Augustus had shown. "I did not hear you arrive, and I'm afraid you saw how I was occupied." She made a disparaging gesture towards the miscreant she had been trying to milk. "My brother should have returned from the village in time to do the milking, but since he did not, I decided to begin. Clarissa's mooing can be quite disturbing."

"I do understand that a lady in her condition must not be kept waiting."

In response to these words, the girl—whoever she was—did flush becomingly,
and
as if she had never done so before. Richard took a moment’s pleasure in the way embarrassment brought a warm glow to her cheeks, before the thumping, moving lower than his chest, warned him of the danger of flirting with pretty milking maids, whether servants or no.

Considering the crudity of their surroundings, he only doffed his hat as he asked for her name, "Miss . . . ?"

His single word erased her embarrassment, and she bobbed him a brisk curtsey. "Selina—" She hesitated only a second, before continuing more boldly, "Miss Selina Trevelyan, sir. And you must be . . . ?"

Her use of his family name shocked him. His brows snapped together before he vouchsafed to answer. Wondering briefly whether his title would wipe the brave look from her face, he made her a stiffer bow and began, "I am Linton—" before his words were cut short by a bovine bellow.

"Caesar! Oh, the devil!"

Taken aback by her oath, Richard suppressed a grin as Selina flew past him. Compared to the restrained "luds" of ladies of the ton, her spirit was refreshing. Miss Trevelyan—he assumed, Miss Payley—had bolted from the barn as fast as her brother had escaped the gig.

Richard followed her.

The bull, it appeared, had refused to be herded and was still making short shrift of the sprouted trees. Augustus had stopped his waving in favour of beating the bull with a stout stick, which, though inadequate for what he wanted, had resulted in Caesar's bellow.

"Caesar, I will kill you and roast you for pudding!"

The smile, which had begun to tease Richard's mouth at Selina's admonishment, faded quickly when he saw how truly distressed she was. Not in the least frightened of the beast, she climbed through the fence and ran after him. She snatched the switch from Augustus's hand and laid into the bull, tears just below the surface of her fury.

Richard hastily looked around and spied a nearby haystack from which to borrow a fistful of hay. With his long legs, he took the fence in little more than a second. Then, reaching the bull, he stretched out his offering.

Caesar took one whiff of the sweet-smelling hay and was instantly distracted from the seedlings, which must have tasted bitter in comparison. As Richard retreated towards the opening in the fence, Caesar followed with his waddling gait.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Lint!"

Startled by the unfamiliar name, Richard remembered that his introduction had been cut off as he was giving his title. Selina must have heard only the first syllable.

"I ought to have thought of hay myself," she said, coming around the other side of the bull, "but I'm afraid my temper got the best of me."

"Perfectly understandable, I am sure." Richard handed her the hay bouquet, and Caesar's nose followed with it. "Under these circumstances, one feels much better for the chance to give one or two serious thwacks."

In proof of this statement, Augustus was still following them and applying the ineffectual stick to Caesar’s rump at every other step.

Richard added, "Besides, Caesar certainly deserved a beating."

"Did he not?"

Selina's sigh pulled at Richard's heart. Judging by the time Caesar had been loose among the trees, Richard knew that many had been killed. He did not need to see the poor condition of the fence, the run-down house, or crumbling barn to know that the Payleys could not afford such a loss.

And where were the other Payleys? So far, Richard had seen only the two, when clearly there must be more. He supposed they must have gone to market in another village or to make some calls.

"It looks as though someone will have to repair that fence," he said, noticing where the bull had broken in.

"Yes, I—that is, someone will this evening."

Selina's slip of the tongue jolted him from his comfort. "Do you not have anyone in your employ to do the job?" he asked, suspecting he knew the answer already.

"I am afraid not." Selina's tone was light. "But it's no matter. I have done such things before."

"You shouldn't be—"

A proud lifting of her chin warned him not to protest.  Richard broke off before he could embarrass her again.

But— Confound it! he thought. Were all her people invalid that she should take this upon herself? He could not let a lady—for she was a lady, despite her use of strong expressions—he could never permit her to perform such a task.

"I could fix that fence for you in a trice," he said, wondering at the speed with which he'd made the offer.

If any other man had been around, Richard would immediately have paid him to do the work. Richard, himself, had not done anything of the kind in years. But his father had been of the opinion that an aristocrat should know all about the workings of his estates and, consequently, had made certain his son knew at least the rudiments of carpentry and farming. Richard had enjoyed that part of his training.

"Oh, I could not ask you—"

"You did not ask me, Miss—Trevelyan." Richard caught himself before addressing her as Payley. Now did not seem the proper time to straighten the matter out. Dark was coming, and if the fence were to be mended today, it would have to be done at once before Clarissa decided to follow Caesar's example. Richard had noticed the missing pieces to the barn's walls. It would be a small matter for the bull to break through again.

"But—" Selina, it seemed, was not used to accepting anyone's help. "I could not abuse your time so. Haven't you come about the trees?"

Trees? Richard supposed she must have been expecting a nurseryman, the same person Augustus had mistaken him for.

"I have come about trees," he agreed cautiously.
Family trees
, he said truthfully to himself. He was not about to reveal his identity until the fence was mended. If Selina knew for one second the errand he had come upon, she would never allow him to help her, and Richard discovered he wanted to do this very much.

He reasoned that whoever had made the application for his name, this girl still needed all the help she could get.  He had noticed the roughness of her hand and knew that work had produced that roughness. At the moment, in spite of her vibrant colouring, she looked about to drop.

"The trees can wait until tomorrow," Richard said. He figured he could put up at Mr. Croft's inn, which had seemed pleasant and clean enough.

"But won't your employer complain if you are detained?"