An Unlikely Father (11 page)

At that moment, Bates returned to the barn, and Oliver put aside his concerns about Lady Cora to chastise his head groom for his carelessness. Afterwards, as he made his way to the castle, he realized that he was looking forward to spending a pleasant evening with the ladies and Sir Ethan. His grandmother would be all amazement to find him content with such provincial entertainment. But for the first time since reaching his majority, he found himself not longing for the delights of London after a week in the country.

Seven

The following morning found the residents of Hawk’s Lair much engaged in their individual concerns. Lord Hawksworth, applied to by his steward, Mr. Grant, had left early to help settle a property dispute on the northern boundary of the estate. In the upstairs sitting room, Miss Collins was happily entertaining young Jamie and Honoria while Mrs. Keaton played with Wesley under the watchful eye of Nurse.

Only Sir Ethan was at loose ends after writing several letters to his various family members in Scotland. Thinking to enliven his morning, he went to join the ladies.

Once granted entry, his gaze was drawn to Mrs. Keaton as he announced, “The morning is too fine for such bonny lasses and bairns to be indoors.”

Emily noted Delia’s cheeks flame pink under the baronet’s scrutiny and began to suspect that the widow, despite her avowals of never remarrying, was developing a tendre for Sir Ethan. Thinking to promote a match for her friend, Emily said, “That is true, sir. Would you be kind enough to escort Delia and the children round the gardens?”

The baronet reluctantly drew his gaze from the widow. “Are you not to join us then?”

“Not this morning. I have another matter I must attend to.” Emily was determined to begin her search for property in the immediate area this very morning. She’d spent a pleasant evening in his lordship’s company. He’d even had Nurse bring the children to the drawing room before they dined and laughingly told the tale of the mishap in the ba
rn
, but she felt certain that a rake would only be amused for a short while with such domesticity.

Sir Ethan eyed her a moment, but made no comment. Instead he was content to offer his arm to the lady of his choice. Within a matter of minutes, Emily found herself alone as Nurse took Wesley to the nursery and the rest of the party went to don coats against the spring chill.

Emily returned to her bedchamber and quickly penned a letter to the solicitor who’d been her uncle’s man of business in London, informing him of her return and her wish to purchase a small house in Somerset. Once the missive was sealed, she went in search of Bedows to have it posted to Town. She discovered the butler in his lordship’s library overseeing the placement of the new, larger cage designed for the parrots.

After the two birds were moved into their new home and the workmen left, she went up to the cage to inspect the structure. It stood as tall as a wardrobe and twice as wide.

“It is a very fine cage,” she said, counting some ten different perches and two swings behind the thin wire bars.

“Aye, Miss Collins, his lordship rarely does anything by half. Was there something you wished?”

She handed him her letter, but just as she was about
to request it be posted, Janus squawked, “Awk, Miss Collins, awk, Miss Prunes and Prisms.”

Emily felt her cheeks warm.

Bedows glared at the green bird. “Now, miss, you know the feathered beastie don’t mean it.”

“Of course I do.” She had little doubt who had uttered the phrase in front of Janus, and
had
meant the slur. Her pride was pricked, but she decided to put the matter from her mind. Perhaps her drive in the country might put her in better spirits.

“His lordship offered me the use of a team and carriage. Would you send word that I shall be going out in some ten minutes?”

“Very good, miss.”

She returned to her room and donned her warmest apparel with the help of the newly employed maid, Jane. Emily wore her blue wool habit trimmed with black velvet. At last ready, she summoned Swarup to accompany her. After setting a low-crowned black beaver hat at an angle over her brown curls, she made her way downstairs. Despite her pique with Lord Hawksworth, a surge of excitement raced through her at the thought of driving in the English countryside.

In high spirits Emily arrived at the stable, but once again suffered a wound to her pride. She discovered that instead of a team and curricle, Bates had put an aged cob between the shaft of an ancient gig. She had no doubt the order for such a modest equipage had come from the earl. The insult to her skill with the ribbons, coming as it did on top of the slur repeated by the parrot, sent all her good judgment flying.

“This will not do. You,” she called to the young groom who was holding the vehicle in anticipation of her arrival, “unhitch this horse. Then go to the carriage house with my servant and bring out one of his lordship’s curricles.”

The lad’s eyes grew round as he gazed at the oversized Indian, but he quickly did as he was bidden. Within some ten minutes, a neat black curricle stood with his lordship’s team of greys strapped in the traces.

With a defiant toss of the train of her blue habit, she took Swarup’s hand and climbed in, waiting only for the servant to fit his large form into the perch in the rear. Giving a smart crack of the whip above the leader’s head, she bowled out of the stable yard and down the drive.

Hawksworth had spent a surprisingly entertaining morning in friendly argument with his closest neighbor in regard to the north boundary, which was marked by a small creek on both deeds. Over the course of the past ten years, the small tributary’s banks had moved progressively north, according to Mr. Evan Fawkes, owner of the next estate, depriving him of some of his more fertile lands. After inspecting the area, Oliver determined that with the melting of the recent heavy snows, the stream had indeed moved north in some areas. But there were also points where it had moved southward onto his property. After riding the disputed line and much debate, the gentlemen had returned to Fawkes’s manor and drunk a glass of claret, agreeing to leave matters as they stood for the present.

The problem handled, the earl tooled his curricle along the road towards his estate, but as he came over a rise, he drew his team to a halt to admire the beauty of the Somerset countryside. Gazing fondly at the Mendip Hills in the distance, which glinted with a blue tint in the sunlight, Oliver wondered why it was that he spent so much time in smoke-filled London. Just then a flash of movement drew his attention to his left.

At the bottom of the hill stood a man, a white turban on his head, holding a team of horses drawn up beside the road in front of the rundown Broomfield Cottage. He recognized Swarup at once, but what puzzled him was that Miss Collins’s man stood at the head of—damnation—at the head of Hawksworth’s greys! Was Bates all about in the head to have defied orders and given one of his best teams to a female? Then he realized there could be little doubt of who had made the switch.

With a snap of the reins, Hawksworth put his team into a bone-jarring gallop, starting down the hill towards the servant and waiting carriage. Too concerned about his team, he gave little thought to where Miss Collins was.

Approaching the curricle, the earl furiously realized he had little choice but to allow Miss Collins to drive the team back to the castle, as he had no tiger with him. He reined his team to a halt just as the lady stepped through the arbored gate of the abandoned cottage. She paid little heed to him as Swarup aided her to step into the vehicle.

She took the ribbons in hand before she turned and smiled rebelliously. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Miss Collins, what is the meaning of this? I left instructions you were to be given the gig and Old Belle.” Even as he spoke, his expert eye scanned the state of his greys but found nothing untoward in their condition.

“My lord,” Emily replied sweetly, despite the glitter in her amber eyes, “I was certain there must have been some mistake, for
old
Belle looked as if she was done for even before we started. I ordered something more suitable.”

“Madam, there are no females of my acquaintance who have the skill to handle a team of this calibre. Pray return them to the castle at a sedate pace without doing them any further harm.”

Two red warning flags appeared on Emily’s cheeks, but her tone was polite. “I shall return them ... at my own speed, my lord, and you can be certain they will be unharmed.”

With practiced expertise, she cracked the whip and set the curricle at a spanking pace, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. Hawksworth, furious at her defiance, set out after her, muttering curses about women trying to drive carriages. He determined to overtake her, then slow his curricle to block her path, but the gentleman had not reckoned with the lady’s skill and the obstacles in his path.

The two vehicles barreled down the road towards Hawk’s Lair. The greys were an excellent team, but his chestnuts could overtake them easily on a regular pike. But this was a simple country lane, barely wide enough for one carriage. To Oliver’s frustration, he had to merely follow in a cloud of choking dust. The road they traveled twisted and turned, allowing the earl to watch the lady’s skill as she passed a hay cart and then guided the team in full flight through the narrow bridge near the village without so much as scratching the paint. With that daring maneuver, Oliver experienced a revelation. He had no idea who had taught the young lady, but he knew he must own that she drove to an inch.

Miss Collins slowed the carriage and turned smoothly through the gates at Hawk’s Lair. She allowed the team to come to a cooling walk up the drive, guiding the curricle back to the stables. She was standing on the ground with a defiant smile as Oliver drove up. He knew he owed her an apology, for her abilities with the ribbons could rival that of most of the gentlemen of his acquaintance.

Before he could utter a conciliatory word, she dropped her gaze to his driving cape. “Oh, I do apologize, sir. I did not intend for you to eat dust.”

There was a twitch in her pink lips as she attempted not to smirk.

“I am sure you did not. I believe it was crow you were hoping I would eat after watching you drive. And so I shall. Will you accept my humble apology and allow me to say your driving is bang up to the mark, Miss Collins?”

Wary of his compliment, Emily eyed him doubtfully, but seeing only admiration, she at last gave a gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. My uncle was a notable whip and would accept no less in his pupil. As to your cattle, I hope you will not blame the grooms, for ’twas I who ordered the greys and your curricle.”

Oliver cocked one dark brow. “I never had a doubt who was responsible.”

At that moment young Jamie came dashing up from the gardens, Mrs. Keaton, Sir Ethan and Honoria following behind at a more sedate pace.

“We saw you and Miss Collins racing up the road from yon tower.” The boy pointed to the small folly near by the lake which gave one an excellent view of the surrounding countryside.

Hawksworth frowned. “We weren’t racing. Miss Collins was just demonstrating her skill with the ribbons.”

Sir Ethan grinned, “Aye, I’d say the same, if I had
been the one bringing up the rear, laddie. Me, I’d put my money on the lady in a contest any day.”

About to dispute the notion of a race, Hawksworth held his tongue when the sounds of several carriages echoed in the crisp air. Soon, two large traveling coaches and a fourgon loaded with a great many trunks came up the drive, heading for the front of the castle at a moderate pace.

Watching the arrival, all were curious as to the newcomers, but only Delia held a wish as to the identity of the visitor. She hoped that at last Squire Joshua Collins had come to remove his niece from Lord Hawksworth’s fatal charms.

Oliver, his mood surprisingly sanguine despite the added burden of new uninvited guests, offered Miss Collins his arm. “Shall we see who has come to pay a visit?”

While Hawksworth had been adjusting to the difficulties of guardianship, his former guests, Mr. Abbot and Mr. Bonham, had returned to Town more than eager to gossip about the house party. With few details or facts, they had titillated Society with the tale of two females and three children, bearing a remarkable resemblance to his lordship, who had arrived at Hawk’s Lair bringing the party to an abrupt close with the announcement that the children were his lordship’s family.

By the time the story came to the Dowager Lady Hawksworth, it had come to sound as if her grandson was setting up a nursery full of by-blows at the family estate. The lady dismissed the rumors as balderdash, knowing Oliver would never saddle himself with a pack of low-born brats. But when an anxious Lord Halcomb and his daughter arrived within a day, her ladyship knew that action must be taken to ensure that her grandson did not squander his chance at marriage with the wealthy and beautiful Lady Cora.

The marquess, his daughter, Lady Hawksworth and Miss Millet had set out for Hawk’s Lair at once. It had been a trying two days’ journey, the entourage having to stop every few hours to allow Lady Cora to walk to overcome her carriage sickness. The dowager was thoroughly disgusted by the smell of lavender water which seemed to permeate the marquess’s coach, but after all, she wouldn’t be the one saddled with the seemingly delicate young beauty.

As the door to the castle was opened by the butler, Lady Hawksworth heard a child’s laughter on the afternoon breeze. Before the lady could take a step, two children came dashing round the north tower of the castle. They drew to a halt at the sight of her and the other guests. The dowager was suddenly struck with the notion that she might be wrong about the rumors. She exchanged a questioning glance with Luella Millet, but her companion seemed as puzzled as she.

Oliver too often thumbed his nose at Society. Worry began to tug at the dowager’s confidence. Had her grandson gone queer in the attic and brought his base
-
born offspring to the family seat?

Lady Hawksworth knew quick action was demanded or the scandal would ruin all her plans. She hurried into the Great Hall as her companion, the marquess and his daughter followed.

Nora drew off her pomona-green kid gloves. “Bedows, are there children residing at the castle?”