The Charmer (6 page)

"Of course." He
understood. He understood that it was quite a coincidence that both of
Susanna's husbands died from the same cause, one that was difficult to
diagnose.

CHAPTER 3

S
usanna supervised Holt all
morning, directing him how to thin out the central unproductive branches on the
orange trees to allow the light through. "Like you do on any fruit
tree."

"We didn't have fruit trees
at Collier Dean," he said.

"Not even an orchard?"

"No. The garden was
ornamental. It was designed to look pretty from the upper floors and the viewing
mount overlooking it from either end. The kitchen had an herb garden
though."

"Didn't the kitchen maids
take care of that?"

"We gardeners helped. A
lot."

He worked without rest until the
dinner bell rang and received scratches across the face and arms for his
efforts. Gloves protected his hands but not the sturdy gardening kind Susanna
used. His were made of softer leather, the sort worn for riding and everyday
wear. He said he didn't own a pair of gardening gloves. His last pair belonged
to the master of Collier Dean and he'd had to leave them behind. It seemed like
a strange arrangement to Susanna. Most gardeners she knew kept their own.
Gloves were such a personal item and Holt had such big hands it was difficult
to imagine his gloves fitting anyone else.

He gathered up some of the
branches scattered on the ground and she noticed the tip of one finger poking
through a hole in the leather. "Bessie can repair those for you," she
said.

"Never mind. I'll work
without them this afternoon."

"But you have the afternoons
off."

He shot her a smile and the two
dimples appeared in his cheeks. "I haven't forgotten."

"So why do more than you
need to?"

He dumped the branches in a pile
near the box of tools. "What else have I got to do? I know no one in the
village, I have no money, and I've done enough walking in recent days to make a
gentle stroll seem like a chore." He straightened and flashed those
dimples again. "Besides, I enjoy your company."

Good lord, is that how he coaxed
kisses from the young maids at Collier Dean? The sentiment was pleasing enough
but much too trite for her taste. On the other hand, it probably wasn't the
unsophisticated words that made the women swoon. More likely it was the blue
eyes focusing so intently on the one he addressed, the quick smile, and boyishly
handsome face.

"Why are you looking at me
like that, m'lady?" Those eyes she'd been admiring shone with merriment. He
was laughing at her.

A pox on him! "I'm trying to
get the measure of you," she said, quite honestly.

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, since you want to
remain here when I've given you leave, it makes it seem as if you enjoy being
ordered about by a woman."

He laughed, a deep, resonant
sound that filled the garden and made the pit of her stomach flip. "Guided,
not ordered, m'lady," he said when he'd recovered. "You've been very
gentle with me considering my inexperience with orange trees. Thank you." He
added a little bow that tipped his hat awry.

"First day
introduction," she said, bending over the tool box and rummaging through
it for twine. "Tomorrow will be different." She glanced at him over
her shoulder and caught him looking at her rear.

He had the good sense to redden
and stumble over his next words. "I, uh, let me do that." He took the
twine and squatted beside her, bumping her with his shoulder. She lost her
balance and put a hand out to brace herself but he caught her before she toppled.

"Steady," he said, his
fingers circling her arm at her elbow. His other hand gripped her shoulder even
though she was perfectly stable again, and his thumb rubbed the leather of her
jerkin. "Are you all right, Susanna?"

He spoke her name in a whisper,
and it drifted on the air like a warm breeze. Her stomach flipped again and an
invisible string tugged at her heart. She knew that feeling. 

She jerked away and rose. "Once
again you get above yourself, Mr. Holt. It's 'mistress' or 'my lady' to
you."

He bowed his head and removed his
hat. After a moment, he replaced it and stood too, slowly, like it was an
effort. "My apologies," he said without quite looking her in the
eyes. "Where would you like these branches?" He crouched again and
tied the bundle of branches together.

"The stables for now. Once
they've dried they can be used for firewood."

"Not the barn?"

"The barn roof leaks. The
only dry space in it is kept for my gardening equipment. There should be enough
room at the far end of the stables."

She watched as he tied another
bundle of branches with the twine and carried them out of the garden to the stables,
one on each wide shoulder. It was so easily done, as if they weighed nothing.

He disappeared into the stables
and, as an afterthought, she followed him. She hesitated at the entrance and
watched him set the branches down then take in all the crates of marmalades and
succades stacked in the stalls. He moved on to the next stall and Silver,
Susanna's mare, popped her head over the barrier. Holt seemed surprised to see
her there. He rubbed Silver's nose, murmuring in her ear the entire time.
Silver seemed to be enjoying herself, nuzzling his shoulder in an attempt to
get closer.

Susanna cleared her throat to let
him know she was there and he looked up. He smiled. "I didn't know you had
a horse," he said.

"Silver's a placid old girl
but can pull the cart when necessary."

"She must be lonely in here
all by herself."

"Mr. Holt, if we could
afford another horse, don't you think we'd have one?"

He merely shrugged and fell into
step beside her as they left the stables. "And what are all those jars and
crates for?"

"Are you this nosy
everywhere you go?"

He smiled.
"Everywhere."

"And do you usually get
answers?"

"Almost always."

"I see." She watched him
out of the corner of her eye but found it difficult to get his measure even
when he thought he wasn't being watched. He seemed like the calmest, most
amiable man she'd ever met. It had to be false, a ruse to win her confidence.
The other calm, amiable men she'd known had used those traits to cover up a
more sinister side. Perhaps Holt's sinister side was that he was a thief, one
who thought she had something to steal. Well, if he was, the marmalades and succades
stored in the jars and crates in the stables would be of little interest to
someone with no means of transporting them. He couldn't fit enough in his pack
to make a decent amount of money selling them at market.

Besides, Susanna didn't think he
was a thief—a thief would have gone to the wealthier Sutton Hall—but she
couldn't be entirely sure yet.

"The products made from the
oranges are in those jars," she said.

"I see." He showed not
the least interest in finding out more.

They washed up and went into the
kitchen for dinner where Cook and Bessie had set the table for five. In the
middle of the table was a loaf of dark bread, bowl of peas, turnips, and slices
of beef.

When Hendricks joined them,
having delivered her father's dinner to him, Susanna bid them all to sit. "How
is Father today?" she asked.

"Well enough,"
Hendricks said. "He seems in good spirits lately." His face knotted
in thought. "Very good spirits. It's as if his troubles have ceased."

"Remarkable," Cook
said.

"It's the Lord's
doing."

And with that, they bowed their
heads and gave thanks for their meal.

Susanna watched Holt
surreptitiously through lowered lashes. He talked comfortably with the other
servants, his manner friendly and open, although Hendricks scowled more than
usual. It seemed she wasn't the only one who didn't quite trust Holt. It wasn't
just that he was
too
friendly. It was also the way he'd unsettled her
with his touch in the garden. It had been such an innocent gesture, yet not.
Not the way she'd responded—like something dormant inside her had come to life.

He looked up suddenly and his
lips curved into a wicked half-smile, as if he knew exactly what she was
thinking. "Can you pass the bread, m'lady?" he asked. She did. "And
is there any more of that marmalade from last night's supper? It was delicious."

Cook and Bessie chuckled and
Hendricks snorted. "Aye," the manservant said, "there's plenty
more marmalade." Susanna couldn't help smiling along with them.

Holt cocked his head to the side,
his questioning gaze settling on her. "Is something amusing?"

"No," she said before
anyone else could answer. "It's just that we all love marmalade at
Stoneleigh, and there's always a jar or two available."

"I'll get it," he said
when Cook rose. "Is it in the pantry?"

"Should be," she said,
settling her bulk back on the chair and winking at Susanna. "If not, try
the stables."

"You keep your preserves in
the stables?" he said from the doorway to the pantry.

"Aye."

He emerged from the pantry
holding a jar which he turned round and round in his hands. "Now I
understand," he said to Susanna, holding up the jar. "This marmalade
is made from your orange trees."

"It is," she said.

"And you store the rest of
it in the stables."

"We do."

He set it on the table then spread
some of the preserve over his bread and took a bite. It wasn't long before the
whole piece was gone. "It's delicious." Holt licked his fingers.
"Are all those jars and crates in the stables filled with orange
marmalade?"

"As well as succades made
from the peel," Cook said before Susanna could steer the conversation
away. Just in case he was prying for nefarious reasons.

"I love succades," he
said, then fell suddenly silent.

"You've tasted succades
before?"

"No. I've confused succades
with...something else." He cleared his throat and concentrated on his
food. Susanna watched him, mentally adding another layer to the story of Mr.
Holt. Succades were a luxury. She would not have thought a simple gardener would
be able to afford the sugared fruit. Mr. Holt was turning into quite the
mystery.

"We still need to find a
buyer for them," Bessie said. She sounded quite disheartened, but when she
caught Susanna's frown, she turned on a sweet smile.

Susanna didn't fall for that
trick. She knew Bessie better than she'd known her own mother. The maid had
been her nurse since Susanna was a babe and became her governess and lady's
maid as she grew up. She was clearly worried.

Indeed, all three of her servants
seemed cast down. They must have known how perilous their situation was. If
Susanna could not find a merchant to buy her marmalades and succades, there
would be no money to pay her beloved servants, no money to fix Stoneleigh. She
thought she would have heard back from the London merchants by now. Those
letters had been sent months ago. If she didn't secure one of them soon, the
situation would become dire. There was only enough money to last the winter.
After that, she would have to do something drastic.

She would have to marry again.

A dark, cold mass seeped through
to her bones. She shuddered violently and set her knife carefully on her plate.
She was no longer hungry, not even for marmalade.

"Are you all right?"
Holt asked, half-rising.

"Of course I am." She
regretted her harsh tone immediately. Holt had been a great help to her, more
than she could have hoped for. Her ill-feeling toward him was best pushed to
one side and forgotten. No doubt it was merely a product of her suspicious
nature when it came to charming men.

If Holt felt the barb of her
words, he didn't show it. "You're not selling the marmalades at the
village market?" he asked.

"We sell a few jars,"
Cook said. "Oranges are a rare luxury, see, and the locals cannot afford
the fruit or the products, and we cannot afford to sell them for less than
their worth."

"Only the highest of the
nobility can truly appreciate oranges," Hendricks said with an imperial tilt
of his chin. When he did that, his accent changed, so there was none of the
country in it at all, but sounded as condescending as Jeffrey's. "Our succades
are fit for the queen herself."

Cook snorted. "You're a
toss-pot, Hendricks."

"Leave him," Bessie
scolded gently. "He's right. Our oranges are the nation's best."

"We have the nation's
only
oranges," Cook said. "Aside from Sir Francis Carew's." She
leaned closer to Holt at her side. "Don't mind Hendricks. He thinks Stoneleigh
is the most noble country estate in all the kingdom."

"It may be," Hendricks
said defensively. "The Farleys have owned it for hundreds of years, and
they arrived with William the Conqueror himself."

"Unfortunately, it's not the
richest
estate," Bessie said then flushed and dipped her head.
"At least, not right now."

"Hush, Bessie,"
Hendricks said. "The lad doesn't need to know our business."

"It's all right,"
Susanna said. "I doubt she's telling Mr. Holt something he doesn't already
know."

"Aye, true." Hendricks
stabbed a slice of beef with his knife more viciously than necessary. "Mr.
Holt here does seem to have a way of finding out information about
Stoneleigh."

Susanna's heart stilled.
"What do you mean?"

Holt cleared his throat.
"Mr. Hendricks is referring to the village innkeeper's gossiping. I asked
him a few questions about the estates around about, and he told me more than I
needed to know."