A Dangerous Nativity (4 page)

"Your sketches and watercolors are
superb."

His words must have startled her. When she
stumbled on the carpet in the hall, Will reached out to steady her,
with one hand to her waist and the other to her wrist. He could
feel the rapid beat of her pulse under his hand. Ah, Miss Wheatly.
Your heartbeat is as rapid as mine. He smiled down at her.

A man could get lost in Catherine Wheatly's
eyes. Will realized he was grinning like a fool and tried to rein
himself in.

"Does your John Archer have a passion for the
land?" he asked. It occurred to him belatedly that she might have a
sweetheart.

"Johnny? I would say so, yes. He took his
uncle's fields in hand when he reached seventeen, and now they are
among the most productive in the county. Soon, they may be almost
as productive as mine."

Mine. Any doubt Will may have harbored about
her farm management disappeared. She had recommended the
second-best land steward in the county to him. What would she say
if he offered her the position?

"What's so funny?" she asked, gesturing him
to the open door.

"I was thinking about the boys," he lied.
"Your brothers are a delight."

"Do you think so?" She sounded relieved, as
if she had feared otherwise.

"High spirited, as boys ought to be, but
respectful and disciplined. They are fine youngsters. I am hoping
you will allow them to visit Charles."

"The duke? At Eversham Hall?" She said the
words as speaking the name of Hell itself.

"Why not?"

"We're not welcome there."

"My dear Miss Wheatly, the old regime is
gone. The less said about the former steward the better, and my
brother-in-law. . ." He let his words trail off. Had she been
afraid of Emery? The thought that the late duke may have forced
himself on this woman brought bile to his throat.

"Surely you are aware by now that even the
servants know to turn us off. Mrs. Cotter, the cook, even refused
to buy my eggs when I approached her in the village. Everyone in
the county buys my eggs, unless they have sufficient hens of their
own."

He had no answer. Several steps later, she
spoke again. "Besides, Papa wouldn't allow it. He calls it 'that
vile place.'"

"Miss Wheatly, what—"

"I'm sorry, my lord. We don't talk about it."
Her words were polite, but her tone squelched his questions.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Miss
Wheatly. Perhaps I'll see you again soon," he said, taking her hand
and bowing over it. Her blush when she pulled away warmed his
heart. With a proper nod of his head, and a less proper grin, he
mounted Mercury and left.

***

Damn and blast the man. She was certain the
earl saw them as a ramshackle household.

He catches me looking like a scullery maid,
with Mrs. MacLeish gone to town and unable to answer the door. We
provide no tea, nor even offer him a chair. Where were your
manners, Catherine? Allowing his hands on her person didn't help
either.

She knew full well where her manners went. As
soon as he pushed her papa about their relationship to the duke,
all other thoughts fled. She didn't know him well, but she knew he
didn't miss much and didn't let go once an idea took hold.

He's curious, and he's going to stir up a
hornet's nest and make Papa miserable. Damn, damn, and damn.

Chapter Four

Will leapt up the steps to Eversham Hall and walked with purpose to
the butler's pantry. Stowe jumped up from the desk, where he had
been enjoying a surreptitious nip, probably of His Grace's brandy.
He ought to look guilty. Instead, his pursed lips all too
eloquently showed his opinion of an earl who stormed into his
refuge dirty from road and horse.

The old man quickly shifted his gaze past the
earl's left shoulder. "May I assist you, my lord?" he oozed.

"You have been butler at Eversham many years,
have you not, Stowe?"

"I had the honor of serving His Grace's
grandfather, the seventh duke," Stowe told him.

Will considered Stowe's likely loyalty to
Emery, his ingrained belief in Eversham's routines, even the ones
Will abhorred, and knew a moment of doubt. Impulse drove him
anyway.

"Can you tell me what lies between Eversham
and its neighbors at Songbird Cottage?"

"Lies between, my lord?"

"Why, for example, does the kitchen of this
house not obtain its eggs from Songbird?" That should be a safe
enough start.

"His Grace so ordered it, my lord." Stowe
clamped his lips closed.

"But why?"

"It isn't my place, my lord, but…" he
hesitated.

Will nodded. "Go on, go on."

"The seventh duke knew the vicar's daughter
was no better than she ought to be. He went so far as to step aside
when he saw her in the village."

"What about his son?"

"The seventh duke forbade his son to see
her," the old man said as if it explained everything. "Will that be
all?" He looked ready to escape.

"The seventh duke? You mean the current
duke's grandfather?"

Stowe found it unnecessary to reply while
Will stood looking at an equestrian print on the butler's wall,
reasoning it out. Charles's grandfather forbade Emery "the vicar's
daughter," and so Songbird Cottage. Why should that apply to
Charles? Is Catherine the vicar's daughter? She can't be. He tried
to remember when the seventh duke died. After Sylvia's wedding, but
when?

He seized on the one solid piece of
information he had. "Who is Lord Arthur Wheatly?"

Stowe looked pained.

"Come, come, man. Speak up."

"Master Arthur didn't know his place," the
old man said through tight lips.

"His place?" He called Wheatly "Master
Arthur," as if he knew him as a child.

"The duke forbade his sons to go near the
vicar's daughter, that is what I know." He clamped his jaw
shut.

Will no longer doubted that Lord Arthur was
Emery's brother. Their father had forbidden both his sons to go
near the vicar's daughter. One, or both, failed to respect their
father's wishes.

I see no sign of vice at Songbird, but what
if Emery, for once, had good reason to keep his son away?

More than one aristocrat kept his bastards
away from his legitimate family. Will needed more information, and
he needed it quickly.

An hour later, he sealed a carefully worded
message with the Chadbourn signet ring. Private messenger would get
it to London faster than the post, and more securely. If anyone
could unravel Wheatly family secrets, it was the Marquess of
Glenaire, Will's boyhood friend. Glenaire's discretion could be
counted on.

A groom left for London moments later. Will
dispatched a footman carrying a request for an interview to Squire
Archer soon after that.

Now what? Will had met few men and no women
who had as much passion for the land as he. Catherine Wheatly
seemed to be the exception. It would be interesting to press her
knowledge. It would be interesting to watch her eyes light up when
he did. It would be interesting to watch those eyes if he bent to
kiss her. He shook his head to clear that thought. Slow down,
Will!

His impulse was to invite the Wheatlys,
father and daughter, to dinner. Who would object the loudest,
Wheatly or Sylvia?

"You wish to do what?" Sylvia exploded when
he asked her an hour later.

"They are gentry. They are neighbors. It is
merely a thought."

Sylvia sank back on her chaise longue. "I
cannot entertain. I am in mourning. I am ill."

Even in mourning, a family dinner is
unexceptional. He didn't dare say that out loud.

"Emery would not permit it. He refused even
mention of them in this house. They are not received."

"Emery is dead." God be praised, he thought
without shame. "Who is Lord Arthur Wheatly?"

Sylvia laid an arm dramatically across her
eyes. "The old duke forbade that name in this house. We do not
receive them."

"Squire Archer receives them," Will said. The
squire had responded with an enthusiastic invitation, all
admiration for Catherine Wheatly.

"A country squire is not society, William
Chadbourn, you know that," Sylvia said wearily. "I can bear no more
about Songbird Cottage."

Will sighed to himself. At least I've planted
a seed, he thought. "You best be prepared to entertain, however.
I've invited Richard Hayden for the holidays."

She popped upright. "The Marquess of
Glenaire, here? You can't be serious. His mother, the duchess, is
the highest of high sticklers. I can't entertain; I can't." The
last came out in a long wail.

"I didn't invite the duchess. I invited
Richard, my friend." Glenaire might be more than a bit stuffy, but
he would not scoff at Sylvia. The more Will thought about it, the
more sure he was that the invitation was just the thing to get
Sylvia out of this suffocating room. "It will be a small, informal
visit, but you will entertain him, Sylvia. I demand it," he said,
forcing his voice to sound firm.

"As you wish, Chadbourn," she sniffed. He
left her weeping.

It's for your own good. And call me Will,
damn it. I'm your brother.

Chapter Five

Two weeks later, the earl smiled with
satisfaction at his likely new steward. Archer, seeing the state of
the fields, running soil between his hands and sniffing it
carefully, looked thoughtful. He stood with the earl by a rotting
fencerow, next to a bedraggled wheat field.

The man rubbed his hands enthusiastically,
even as he pronounced Eversham land a "sad muddle."

"It can be fixed," Will said with more hope
than conviction. He didn't dare think otherwise.

"Certainly, my lord, but it'll take a few
years, four at least, better in eight. In ten to twelve years,
there won't be finer fields in England. Four-field rotation, that's
the ticket: wheat, barley, turnips, and clover. We can manage a
smaller herd of sheep on the clover fields. Songbird, now, they use
three-field rotation. Haven't the livestock to take advantage of
the clover, but Miss Wheatly believes doing a bean crop in rotation
with wheat and barley does the trick, as well."

Will decided to hire him. He had the
knowledge, he had the passion, and he was too young for Catherine
Wheatly. That last shouldn't matter, but it did.

"Perhaps we can invite Miss Wheatly over for
a meeting, seek her advice in planning," he suggested
hopefully.

"Brilliant, my lord. She is the best there
is." The young man cleared his throat as if uncomfortable with his
own outburst. "Some don't see it, but she is," he murmured more
quietly. "For all she's a woman."

Interesting, Will thought. The county doesn't
hold Catherine's origins or behavior against her, but they doubt
her unfeminine skills. More fools they.

The two men walked back toward the stables
and barns.

"What of the buildings, Archer? Can you take
that on?"

"Buildings, fences, tenant roofs. They all
want repair. If I can hire the workers, we can fix it. Folks will
be glad of the work."

Will thought for a moment. Yes, I can picture
this man, young as he is, overseeing the work. His enthusiasm alone
will carry them along.

"Hire what you need, Archer. You have a
position. Can you start a week from Monday?"

"I can start this hour, my lord. The need is
great."

"It is that, but we'll expect you to live in.
The steward's cottage needs airing, and your uncle will want you to
take your leave."

"He will," Archer said, slightly crestfallen.
"I'll speak to Miss Wheatly and see if she can join us then."

The two men walked toward the stable yard to
find Eversham stables entertaining guests.

"These two came to visit Mercury, my lord,"
Reilly the head groom said, with a worried look.

The two Wheatly boys looked at him with
cautious hope.