A Country Affair (6 page)

With a clunk, the board, which he had dragged along, struck the corner of his water trough. Nero stumbled with a squeal. The board dug into his leg. It must have pained him for he began to back, then go forward, then back, then forward, faster and faster, all the while squealing as if he were being roasted on a spit.

The noise was so strident, Selina wanted nothing more than to run and cover her ears, but she could not let his leg be broken. She dropped her bucket, then swooped up her skirts and tried to reach inside the pen for the board.

"Oh, you stupid—" as he turned his snout towards her to defend himself from her ministrations, she minded her language—"you stupid swine! Why do I bother with you? You have been nothing but a trial!"

Nero’s squeals brought Augustus running. "What's he done this time?" At a glance, the boy saw what was wrong and leapt into the pen.

His presence, and the threat now of two people bearing down upon him, only added to Nero's panic. He ran madly about the pen, splattering Selina's face and dress with cold mud.

She could hardly keep herself from cursing. "I'll turn you into bacon, you—you— I'll—"

"—string him up and make a ham out of him?" An amused voice cut calmly through the din.

In anguish, Selina whirled to see Mr. Lint rolling up his sleeves behind her. He had already removed his tight-fitting coat to reveal another spotless white shirt.

"No, you must not!" she warned him, waving him off. "You must not get soiled again on our account."

"Nonsense," he answered coolly, stepping into the fray. "Do you think I would just watch while you brave this angry glutton? More importantly, should I stand by while a poor afflicted beast is treated to threat upon threat? What is his name, by the way?" He asked this casually, as he picked up a stout stick to back the pig into a corner.

"Nero," Selina supplied, laughing helplessly at his sally, though she felt as close to tears.

"Then, Nero, I must warn you that Miss Selina will have you tied and packed in brine before you can count to three if you do not cooperate. Be ready to grab the board," Mr. Lint said to Augustus, rather in the manner of a knight commanding his squire.

Selina had already seen in what direction he was headed and had taken a place on the outside near the corner post. With herself on one side and Augustus on the other, they just might manage to catch the board. Mr. Lint was skillfully backing Nero, his stick poised like a sword to halt the hog's flanking attempts.

Just before, Nero's rump reached the corner, he gave the command, "Grab the board . . . now!"

Both Selina and her brother grasped it and managed to hold on while the pig, startled by their movement, lunged forward. They pulled backwards, straining against the hog's immense strength, until his leg was extended fully behind him. In another second, the rotten board slipped free and they both fell back into the mud.

Squealing in terror, Nero charged forward. Selina was ready to scream, but Mr. Lint dodged him, stepping aside as if to avoid a rapier thrust. He turned to anticipate another charge—but the silly pig had just that quickly realized he had been freed and had instantly calmed. Like the single-minded beast he was, he rooted up to the fence and stood oinking for his meal.

Mr. Lint let out a laugh, tossed his stick across the fence, and vaulted lightly to the other side. Turning, he saw that Selina was struggling to her feet and hastened to help.

Dirt had coated her palms when she had tried to catch herself. Muck—that evil pig's muck—had soiled her dress. And Mr. Lint had no more grace than to look, with the exception of his mud-caked boots, as spotless as a baby in a christening gown.

"Are you quite all right?" he asked her, ignoring the dust on her hand as he took it to pull her up.

Selina did her best to snatch it back. "Yes, I am. Thank you very much. But you must not—"

Her protests, however, were useless. Nothing she could say would dissuade Mr. Lint from dusting off the back of her gown even though half the dirt he raised landed on his breeches. Not even her embarrassment, which she thought must be quite in evidence, seemed to discourage him.

And, as if that were not enough, he extracted a handkerchief—a fine, white linen handkerchief—from the pocket of his breeches to wipe the muck off her face.

"If you'll permit," he said, then proceeded to ignore her protests, "you've a smudge on your face."

"A smudge! Sir, your manners are so exquisite they astound me! Why, I must have half a mud puddle on my face! Which you should not—as I've tried to tell you—use your handkerchief to erase. I can very well take care of it myself. Inside. As is proper. If you will just be so kind as to stop daubing at me." Selina hoped she did not sound too upset, but truly, this was the outside of enough!

Mr. Lint took no offense. He lowered his handkerchief with a grin and bowed. "Certainly, miss, you may proceed as you think fit. I only hoped to assist, much as Sir Walter Raleigh must have done with Queen Elizabeth. You'll remember the legend of his cloak? Unfortunately, I have not brought my cloak with me or it would lie at your feet."

At such nonsense, Selina could do nothing but laugh. Her laughter was mixed with mortification, but it helped that Mr. Lint found something to amuse him in the episode. It surprised her that a man who made his living on the land could find anything having to do with farm animals amusing—not when they were repeatedly getting into trouble—which made her wonder again exactly what his position was.

Before she could wonder too long, however, he changed the subject. "Why Nero?" he asked. "Is he mad?"

"As good as makes no difference," Augustus chimed in. He had dusted himself off and came to join them with a toss of his fine hair. "He's always getting into mad starts."

"The last of which I have just been privileged to witness. Come along, Squire," Mr. Lint said, ruffling Augustus's hair. "Let's fix that pen while your sister's composing herself."

Before they did, however, he grabbed the bucket and treated Nero to what he'd been grunting for.

Composing herself was right, Selina decided as she picked her way to the house, lifting her skirts with as much dignity as she could muster. She had worried about Mr. Lint finding her feeding the pig, and he had caught her wrestling with it instead. How demure! How refined!

Fuming all the way to the house, she reminded herself that it did not matter what he thought as long as he bought several of her trees. He was, after all, no more than a customer to her. She should be glad to have entertained him when he might have gone off in disgust.

Although he did not seem to be in such a great hurry to leave, she noted. Selina put aside all thought of asking where he came from. She could not risk offending him with an interrogation. He had shown such patience, how could she treat him to suspicion? It did not matter anyway, in the long run, just where he had sprung from. And in the short run, his help had been quite useful. She made no doubt that he would be gone from the district by morning, but she would not be in a hurry to chase him off.

Richard watched her go with an appreciative quirk to his lips. Even with pig-muck splattered all over her, Selina had managed to look regal. It had amused him greatly to find himself chasing a hog around its pen. What his friends or the society matrons would say if they had seen him, he did not know. He only knew he had not had so much fun since he was a boy.

But he had not meant to wound Selina's pride. Her pride was clearly what kept her going in the face of so much adversity. In her circumstances, it was a marvelous trait. He wondered, however, how that pride would transfer into other, less arduous spheres. An assembly of ladies and gentlemen, for instance. Would she look down her nose at all their pretensions. . . like a countess?

His own quest for a countess sprang into his mind, jolting him out of his reverie. An image of Selina putting Wilfrid in his place had been surprisingly pleasing.

. . . Disturbingly pleasing.

Richard recalled his reason for coming to Uckfield, which had slipped his mind the moment he had seen Selina struggling with the pig. Now would certainly not be a good time to straighten out her misapprehension. He made no doubt that her pride had been wounded enough by being discovered in such an undignified act. And, even though he himself had found nothing remotely unattractive in her doings—to the contrary, he had only admired her courage and spunk—he knew that ladies could be a bit prickly when issues of vanity were involved.

No, the time was definitely not right. Perhaps, later, when she had shown him her trees and they had conducted their sale, he would find a more appropriate opportunity to confess his lie.

But, he thought with a smile, if Selina did not keep from running into trouble, there might never be an appropriate moment.

When Selina returned in less than half an hour, he and Augustus had finished their work on the pen. She arrived wearing a different gown. This, too, was faded and out of date. Like the last, however, this skirt fell in ample folds from her waist and seemed to suit her noble stature. Richard admired the way it swayed with every one of her steps.

He also noted with pleasure the fresh gleam of her face, the result of a hard scrubbing with soap. And the shine of her hair, which could only have been achieved by a vigorous brushing, owed to her magnificent rage. He would not have been at all surprised to learn that the boar bristles—as a surrogate for Nero—had been subjected to a hundred strokes, the gloss on her locks was so high.

Out of tact, however, he affected not to notice any change when Selina thanked him with her noble air and invited him to accompany her to the orchard. With a bow, he followed her, not missing the fact that, for all her apparent confidence, she would not meet his eye.

And seemed determined not to do so. As they walked towards the orchard, Richard found that he had to race to match her stride. With her womanly proportions, her legs were nearly as long as his, which allowed her to stay a shoulder's depth in front of him. Plainly, she was used to working at top speed. Richard wondered if she ever had a second to rest from her chores.

He followed her into the orchard and through the rows of mature trees, as she pointed out the strength of her stock. Never stopping for more than a second or two beside any one, she kept him hastening to keep up. Unfamiliar with the terrain, he barely had time to see what she was pointing out and to watch his step, as they charged from row to row and tree to tree.

Richard hoped he was making suitable noises of interest in response to her descriptions, but he could not see her face well enough to tell. All he saw was the curve of her high cheekbone, the rounded line of her jaw, and occasionally a glimpse of her lush, full lips. He wished he could forget the sight of those lips, their color deepened by cherry wine. Such a memory was not very conducive to recalling his business.

Arriving at the end of a row, Selina did not pause, but turned and retraced her steps to the fence, double-paced. With an inward grin, Richard let her lead. Miss Selina Whoever-She-Was did not appear to get over an indignity very easily.

She led him into the seedling orchard, where Caesar had done his damage. A damage that was distressingly evident in the morning light.

Selina, however, seemed to pay the destruction no mind as she strode past the nibbled trees to reach the ones that had been spared.

"These are the seedlings from which you might select, Mr. Lint." Her tone begged him to do just that.

Richard was not yet ready to have their business concluded, for he still had not discovered what he had come to find out. And he could see that she was not ready to learn that the customer she needed so badly was, in reality, a peer with a grudge.

He stalled a bit longer.

"We passed a number of young trees before arriving at these," he said, anticipating her answer.

What he had not foreseen was her reaction. The mention of the ruined trees had the impact of a blow to her face.

"Yes," she managed to get out, "but those have quite likely been damaged beyond salvation. I would not try to sell you those."

"That is not what I meant," he hastened to assure her. "I was simply wondering what you would do with them now."

Selina gave a half-shrug, a brave gesture. "Oh, we shall have to look them over individually. See if there is anything to be salvaged."

"Who will prune them?"

"Myself . . . Augustus . . . ." As an afterthought, she added, "Lucas."

Richard knew that he must have frowned, for her chin rose in the air. "You need not concern yourself, Mr. Lint. We have had such setbacks before. As you yourself know, such are the risks of farming."

Richard did know. But his setbacks had never cost him, in relative terms, what this episode would cost Selina. That knowledge pained him inexplicably and made him reluctant to let the subject drop.

He changed it instead to something related. "Your man, Lucas—you say he is due to return soon?"

Again, he seemed to have caught her unprepared. A shadow touched her face.

"Yes. He should have been back by now, but I expect he will be shortly."

"Is he a trustworthy sort of fellow? What I mean is, can he be trusted to do as he's bid?"

Her answer was evasive. So were her eyes as they sought a spot on the ground. "Whether he can be or not is not the issue, for I must have a man to perform such tasks." She flushed, and her eyes met his for one brief glance. "You yourself were surprised, I make no doubt, to discover an unmarried lady running her family's estate. And, although you made no protest, there are others who are not so charitable as to condescend to do business with me. Lucas allows me to conduct our affairs under the cloak of my brother's name without most people being the wiser."

"And has it served?"

"It serves reasonably well," she said, turning away.

Richard kept apace with her as she pointed out certain seedlings he might think it wise to choose, but all he could think of was the rot on every fence, the sagging roof to the house, and the fields which should have been turned by this time of year and had not. If this Lucas was their servant, why had he not performed this job, when to all appearances, Selina and her brother did all the work in the house and barn? And now, this Lucas-person was returning late.