Carla Kelly (28 page)

“I should think it would be best to build the cottages in a more central location, instead of sprawled here and there across the estate,” he said as they rode along. “This area, for instance. It's far enough from the cliffs to cut some of the wind, and close enough to their work for convenience.”

They stopped in a pleasant clearing, a small valley tucked between the series of low, wooded hills that characterized the Norfolk coast. Lord Ragsdale dismounted and gestured with his riding whip. “See, Emma? Plenty of good water, and still some timber. We could erect barns close by for those who have their own livestock.”

He held out his arms to help her down, but she shook her head and settled herself more firmly in the saddle. He leaned against her mare, absently fingering the horse's mane. “You don't like the idea,” he said finally. He looked, to her mind, rather like a little boy in the throes of disappointment, too well mannered to show all his irritation, but not averse to a wry expression.

Diplomacy, Emma Costello, diplomacy, she told herself. You have already ruined the morning for yourself; see what you can do to give these people what they really want.
“My lord, may I suggest that you ask your tenants what
they
want?”

She could tell by the look on his face that he had never before entertained the novelty of inquiry among those who worked his land.
Oh, dear,
she thought,
this is probably more democracy than an Englishman can stand.
She looked beyond his expression of slack surprise and smiled to herself, thinking of the Claridges and their Virginia neighbors, rich and poor alike, gathering to make decisions for their county. She remembered the noise, the hot words, the voices raised in clamorous agreement or disagreement, and then the rational calm that settled on the assembly when the majority spoke. True, not everyone went home satisfied, not even the major landowners, but there was harmony, because all had aired their opinion.

“It works in America, my lord,” she said, warming to the idea, feeling animation rise in her own heart. “You can hear some fearful rows at Hundred meetings, but most come away satisfied, because they have had their say.”

She watched him for signs of resistance but could see none. He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and then mounted his hunter again. “It's a lovely spot, Emma,” he said, drawing close to her. “Why would they object?”

She took a deep breath, at the same time wondering why she felt the inclination to fight for these people she hardly knew.
Am I fighting for them, or am I concerned that they understand that you take an interest?
she asked herself, and had no ready answer. “Sir, people do not like to be forced from their homes, no matter how shabby or inconvenient those cottages are.”

“Like you, Emma?” he asked softly, a smile of understanding playing around his lips.

“You will not let me forget, will you?” she considered. “Yes, my lord, like me,” she replied, her voice equally soft. “Present your argument for removal, but let them decide.”

“Won't they think me a weak landlord if I succumb to their decision?” he persisted, and his interest sounded genuine to her.

“Of course not,” she responded promptly. “They will think that you care about them, and they will follow you anywhere.”

He mulled that one over, riding in silence for several minutes.

“I doubt even Sir Augustus has ever done anything that radical,” he said. “My neighbors will think I am daft and count it a certainty that my father left a weak heir.”

“Who cares what your neighbors think, John?” she said, blurting out his name before she even realized it “They don't work for you, and you don't have to answer to them.” She blushed then, aware of her social blunder. “Excuse me, my lord,” she apologized. “I was forward.”

He smiled at her. “Nonsense! Emma, you are a flaming radical, don't you know.”

She nodded, relieved at his light tone. “Aye, my lord. But only think: there are so many ways to solve problems. Why limit yourself to what's been done over and over? Try something new.”

She held her breath as he regarded her thoughtfully. “Very well, Emma,” he said finally when she thought she would burst with waiting. “I'll do it your way. Let's return to the manor. I'll make it Manwaring's task to gather my estate workers tonight in the old barn by the threshing floor. You'll take notes of the proceedings, of course.”

Emma grinned at him and clapped her hands, even as he wagged his finger at her. “See here, Emma, I'm going to the end of the plank for you on this one!”

“You won't be disappointed, sir,” she replied happily.

“I wouldn't dare be,” he said. He looked at her. “Well, speak, Emma. You obviously have something else on your mind. I am sure it is radical.”

She nodded, wondering if this was going too far, but willing to chance it. “My lord, let the women come to the meeting too, and let them speak.”

“Oh, that is radical,” he agreed, half teasing, half serious. “Why ever would I want to do such a thing?”

“The women will know better than the men what they want in a new cottage,” she said decisively. “Encourage them to speak, and they will defend you and serve you to their last breath.”

They were in sight of the manor house again. “I'll do it,” Lord Ragsdale said. They rode into the stables, ducking through the open doorway. He dismounted and held his arms out for her. She allowed him to help her down. He did not release her immediately, but put his hands on her shoulders for a brief moment.

“What about you, Emma?” he asked, his voice quiet as Manwaring approached. “Will you ever speak your mind to me?”

She forced herself to meet his glance and felt an enormous urge to unburden herself completely, to tell him the whole, miserable story and her dreadful part in it, until she was stripped right down to the bone. She hesitated, teetering on the edge, before she pulled herself back with a shake of her head. He released her and turned away.

“Maybe someday, Emma,” was all he said as he left the stables with Manwaring.

Maybe never,
she thought as she watched him go.

It was well after midnight before the last tenant left the barn, full of enthusiasms and new ideas. A smile on her face, Emma gathered together the sheaf of notes at the table where she had sat for four hours, carefully recording the evening's events, and watching with delight as Lord Ragsdale mingled so gracefully with his crofters. She looked through the open doors where the tenants still gathered together in little groups, reliving the give and take of the evening, and then looking back at the barn with expressions of real respect.

Lord Ragsdale seemed unmindful of what was going on outside the barn. He yawned and stretched, then took off his coat, revealing a shirt and waistcoat drenched in sweat. He tossed his coat on the table and threw himself into the chair provided for him, which he had not sat in once throughout the night.

“Emma, this kind of exertion is difficult, indeed.” He leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet on the table, his hands behind his head. “I feel as though I have been pummeled, wrung out, and hung out to dry.” He looked over at her and took off his eye patch, rubbing the rim of his eye socket gently. “Everything aches.”

She merely smiled at him and continued sorting through the papers. “It's all here, my lord,” she said, waving the papers at him. “You can look it over in the morning and decide what to do.”

“It is morning,” he corrected, “and I have already decided.” He closed his eye and let out a pleased sigh. “We will build the cottages for the shepherds in that area I suggested this morning, and which they agreed to. The agricultural workers will remain there by the cliff road.” He opened his eye and looked at her. “I thought David Larch was particularly eloquent in arguing the virtues of remaining by the main road, didn't you?”

She nodded. “And the women certainly knew what they wanted in cottage improvements, didn't they?”

“Most emphatically,” he agreed, and reached over to touch her hand. “A good idea of yours, by the way, Miss Secretary. Give that information to Manwaring in the morning. The construction will be his task.” He sat up then, as if energized all over again. “How does this sound, Emma? I will appoint Larch to be Manwaring's assistant.”

“Bravo, my lord!” she replied, genuinely impressed. “He'll never fail you.”

Manwaring rejoined them in the barn after separating himself from one of the groups that had continued the discussion outside. Lord Ragsdale informed him of his idea for David Larch, and the bailiff nodded in agreement. “He'll do fine, sir,” Manwaring replied, then smiled. “And if you don't mind me saying so, my lord, you'll do too.” He leaned closer. “That's what your tenants are saying, my lord.”

Emma looked at Lord Ragsdale in delight, and he winked at her. “And can I tell you something more, my lord?” Manwaring continued. “They're saying how nice it is to know that you care about their problems and do more than just nod and smile and clear your throat.” He stood up and nodded to Emma. “Good night, my lord. We've a lot to busy us in the morning, now, haven't we?”

“Indeed we have,” Lord Ragsdale agreed as he got to his feet and pulled Emma up after him. “My dear, I expect you in the book room at seven to begin making order out of this pile of notes. Organize it and have it ready for my perusal. I promised a brief visit to Sir Augustus, and then my nose will be to the grindstone too.”

He draped his coat around his shoulders and waited for her to gather the papers, then nodded to the steward to douse the lamps. They started across the barnyard together, Lord Ragsdale walking slowly enough for her to keep up with him.

“It feels good, Emma,” he said finally as they approached the manor house. “I can return to London with a clear conscience that I have done some good at last.” He paused a moment. “There remains one hurdle.”

She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“My mother,” he said as he continued to walk. “She will not be happy when I tell her tomorrow that I plan to add a wing onto the manor house.” He sighed. “She would prefer that I left everything as Father had left it, but I want a better bedchamber, one that overlooks the ocean.”

“More room, my lord?” she asked, her voice light.

“I think I will be spending more time here in the future, Emma, and I doubt I'll be alone. Mama will have to live with change, I suppose.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she was again reminded of her brothers. “And now you will recommend that I devote my time to wooing the lovely Clarissa Partridge, especially if I am to add on bedrooms to this ungainly old pile.”

“Most emphatically,” she agreed, enjoying, despite her exhaustion, the comfort of his arm so casually about her shoulder. “Then when you are thoroughly redeemed, we will reconsider my indenture.”

“Ah, yes. It always comes back to that,” he commented, drawing her closer. “Those horses were expensive, Emma,” he reminded her. “Suppose I insist on ten or twenty years more?”

She knew he was teasing, but she realized with a start that a decade in service to Lord Ragsdale would not be an onerous duty.
They were expensive horses,
she thought and smiled to herself. “You would never do that, Lord Ragsdale,” she said out loud.

He merely shrugged. “How am I to get rational advice and sensible counsel if you leave me? I might revert to my foolish ways. Then how would you feel?”

How would I feel?
she considered as they strolled slowly along. She stopped and looked at him. “I would consider it a terrible waste, my lord, a shocking waste, a tragic waste. Don't you dare throw your life away. I could not deal with it.”

She was silent then, embarrassed that her voice was shaking.

He stood so close and had not released his grip on her shoulder, which tightened as she regarded him, sweaty and tired, but triumphant, there in the moonlight of the barnyard. She started walking again, faster now, and he released his grip.

Besides all that, my lord, I have enough death on my conscience,
she thought.
Don't make me responsible for the loss of one more life.

I must know more, but how?
Lord Ragsdale asked himself several times a day during the next few days.
I could just come right out and demand that she tell me,
he thought as he watched her at work in the book room, her face a mask of calm again. She had gone from friend to servant again, assuming that unobtrusive manner he was familiar with in his other household servants. Her work was excellent as always, and innovative as usual, as she speeded up with the demands placed on her by the flurry of activity at the manor. She worked long hours with Manwaring, preparing drafts, itemizing invoices, even speaking with the contractors, masons, and sawyers, acquainting them with the task ahead. He knew that he could relax and visit his friends in the vicinity and pay some much-needed attention to Sally Claridge and his mother, because his affairs were in capable hands.

“I have to know, I just have to,” he found himself telling Sir Augustus one night at the Barney estate. They sat together in front of a roaring fire, brandy in hand, watching the flames.