The Forest Lord (20 page)

He laughed. "Trifle with her? I assure you, I do not trifle, madame."

"No. You play a very dangerous game. I have had experience with men such as you. Generally, they may be bought, and I am willing to pay well for your cooperation. However, the alternative would not be pleasant." Her eyes glittered with contempt. "You will never again find work on any estate in
England."

"Very generous, your ladyship," he said. His fingers itched to summon every tiny creeping, biting, stinging thing and set it upon her.

"Then you will do as I ask." She offered the pouch again. "Be gone by morning."

He took the pouch and dropped it to the damp ground at his feet. "I will stay."

She didn't even look down. With a twitch of her skirts, she turned to go.
"Very well.
You have been warned."

And so have you
. "You've forgotten something, your ladyship." He picked up the pouch, overturned it, and sent a cascade of coins spilling like stars onto the dark span of earth.

She didn't answer. She left the coins where they lay, as if they meant nothing.

The ache in Hartley's brow was unbearable. He let the antlers burst forth, a welcome burden that reminded him who he was and of his power. He pawed deep grooves in the ground. His lungs worked like bellows.

But there was no one here to challenge.

You mistake me, madame. You think me a mortal and your inferior, but I was once a god. You cannot withstand a god.

And neither could
Eden.

He was weary of mortals and their baseless arrogance. It would please him to show Lady Claudia how easily he disposed of her threats.

The moon rose and began to sink again. Night creatures moved cautiously about him, unwilling to disturb his deep and brooding thoughts. Candles guttered in Hartsmere's windows. A predawn breeze brought with it the promise of new growth from garden and woods.

"Look!"

Hartley came to himself at the sound of a feminine voice.
Eden stood at the servant's door—Eden and Mrs. Byrne, together as if they were bosom friends.

"We have talked all night."
Eden said. "It is nearly morning!" She laughed. The sound floated across the park to wreath Hartley's antlers in ribbons of music.

"Miss Waterson is furious with me. You should have seen her face when I delivered Donal to the nursery."
Eden shook her head, tossing golden hair that had come undone sometime during the evening, though she still wore her dinner gown. "But we were having such fun that I forgot the time. If you hadn't found us, I fear we'd still be playing at jackstraws."

"Children must be indulged," Mrs. Byrne said. "They grow up soon enough."

"Yes. I had almost forgotten—"
Eden hugged herself, turning her face to the sky. "I think it will rain again.
A pity that Candlemas will be more like
winter than spring!"

"Not at all, my lady
. '
If Candlemas Day be sunny and bright, winter again will show its might. If Candlemas Day be cloudy and gray, winter soon will pass away.'"

"Then I shall not repine."
Eden flung her arms wide. "Winter, begone!"

Invisible to her mortal sight, Hartley closed his eyes. The girl he had known was here again, fresh and bright as springtime.

That was illusion. The seasons could not be turned back, not even by his kind.
Eden's spring would never come again.

But there might be a way to stave off winter. Perhaps he could leave her with a new life to nurture when Donal was gone, a second blooming to take the sorrow from her loss. His desire might serve some purpose after all.

And perhaps her curses upon him would be that much lighter.

Mrs. Byrne's folk rhyme about Candlemas Day
proved most pleasantly accurate.

Spring had come upon the dale in all its glory, hard on the heels of winter. The good weather that heralded March had continued without ceasing ever since. All the birds and beasts absent upon
Eden's arrival at Hartsmere had returned to delight Donal and fill the air with song. Snow had melted, rains fell in modest amounts, seeds and leaves and flowers grew with remarkable swiftness.

Eden
had heard rumors that this freakishly fine weather and unusual advancement of spring had not extended to neighboring dales. Until recently, snow had capped the highest fell that lay between Hartsmere and the next valley to the west. One would never know that it had snowed here at all.

On this last day of April, the afternoon of the tenants' feast,
Eden celebrated by replacing the unrelieved black of mourning with a gown of ebony-trimmed lavender.

This tenants' fair was her most ambitious attempt to bridge the chasm between her and the people of Hartsmere. Mrs. Byrne had informed her that May Eve was a traditional day for merrymaking, a celebration of new life and fertility and the plenty to come. Beltane, she called it. Such a day, under the trees on the newly green lawn of the park at Hartsmere, seemed the perfect setting for the establishment of goodwill.

She had begun to make significant improvements for her village tenants and farmers: repairing byres and houses and bridges, visiting and supplying the poorest families with necessities such as food and clothing and medical treatment, and hiring a new steward, Mr. Rumbold, to monitor the various activities.

But though the conditions since February had been everything the fanners could desire—with lambs coming thick and fast and healthy on the fells and in the pastures, and the hay growing tall and sweet—her dalesmen could not forget the years of hardship they had endured. Nor could they trust those they held responsible for it: the Flemings, who had brought down the wrath of a Faerie lord. And the only Fleming available to blame was
Eden.

Mrs. Singleton was an exception;
Eden had called upon her shortly after the birth of her new son and had been made most welcome. But the rest—poor laborers, shepherds, and tenants alike—greeted
Eden with a wary, almost frightened resentment, barely hidden behind their cap-tugging and curtsies.
Eden hoped that today's festivities would finally win their trust.

She had presented white May Day frocks to the girls in the dale and sent her invitations via Mrs. Appleyard and Mr. Rumbold. She promised prizes and games and a generous feast.

She surveyed the food heaped upon the recently built, flower-bedecked trestle tables, and prayed. It had required considerable expense and trouble to assemble the victuals and decorations. She'd purchased fresh mutton from her own farmers, but she'd had to send to Ambleside for most of what she served.

If only the tenants and villagers will accept this as what it is meant to be: an apology.
A promise of better days to come.
A pledge that winter is gone for good.

So far, only Mr. Appleyard had arrived, with assurances that he'd visited all the families in the dale to remind them of the date and time.

"Please do not worry, my lady," he said, bowing once or twice. "It is early yet. At this time of year, with lambing season just ending and fields to tend, the farmers have much to do." He rubbed his hands.
"Such a change from last year!
But I assure you, Lady Eden, that none of the dalesmen would refuse the honor of attending you at Hartsmere."

Eden
peered down the drive toward the gate and wished she shared his blithe optimism.

She looked about for her handful of allies. Claudia had declined to come down, mentioning a headache. Mrs. Byrne, in the kitchen, helped Cook prepare beef and mutton, while Armstrong and the maids stocked each row of tables with forks and tankards, bread, cheese, and pitchers of ale. After helping Grubb and Hindle arrange tables and chairs, Hartley Shaw and Mr. Rumbold busied themselves with other errands.

Eden
felt Hartley's absence keenly. Donal, his days fully occupied by Miss Waterson, spent very little time with Hartley. As a result,
Eden had few excuses to meet Hartley except when she rode Juno or took out the dog cart.

She ought to be grateful that she didn't have to make an effort to avoid Hartley after their last, most disturbing encounter in the garden. And that Hartley had kept his promise not to reveal what he had learned about Donal.

But she felt no gratitude. She found herself thinking of him constantly: where he was, what he was doing, if he missed Donal as much as she did. She was also guilty of keeping Donal away from his hero, for she hoarded every moment she was allowed to spend with her son.

Allowed
, as if she were a beggarwoman.
But the governess was still here, and Donal did not seem to be suffering. In spite of
Eden's reluctance and Hartley's grim predictions, the woman was not breaking Donal's spirit.
Eden thought it might be the reverse.

At Claudia's suggestion, Donal would not attend the party except for an hour or so in the evening. Claudia had made an excellent point that he wasn't yet ready to play the role of earl's grandnephew in public. He'd be more apt to behave like one of the farmers' children.

But oh,
Eden wanted him here.
As she wished, unaccountably, for Hartley.

She glanced up at the angle of the sun. Surely it was past four, the hour when she had expected the earliest arrivals. Even Mr. Appleyard's smile was a bit strained.

"If you wish, my lady, I will go into the dale…" He trailed off, pulling at his collar.

Eden
flushed. "That is not necessary. I—"

She broke off as a carriage rolled up the drive. She recognized it as her own dog cart, Hartley Shaw at the ribbons. Passengers crowded the seats.

"I do believe it is Mrs. Singleton and her younger children," Mr. Appleyard said. He hurried off to greet the cart as it approached, helping Mrs. Singleton descend with her new baby. Hartley hopped down and swung the children about as he set them on the lawn. He gave
Eden a brief salute when he saw her watching. That was enough to drive all the worry from her heart.

Mrs. Singleton and the children were far better dressed and healthier than they had been three months ago.
Eden noted with approval that the hollowness was gone from under the woman's eyes. The little girl was dressed in her pretty white frock, and her red locks were laced with wild-flowers. The boy's hair was neatly combed. The baby cooed contentedly.

"You are all most welcome,"
Eden said.

Mrs. Singleton smiled. "We thank you for the invitation, your ladyship, and for all your kindnesses."

"Mr. Appleyard tells me that you have heard from your husband."

"It was due to your generous support that I was able to locate him," Mr. Appleyard said. "He will return to the dale within the fortnight."

And I hope he will be a better husband and father from now on
,
Eden thought. It seemed to her that Mr. Singleton deserved a good thrashing for abandoning his wife and children, no matter the circumstances.

The children began to fidget, staring wide-eyed at the vast quantities of food on the tables.
Eden laughed. "I believe the children are hungry. Let them have whatever they like. As you can see, we are not lacking."

Mrs. Singleton curtsied. "Thank you, my lady." She herded the children toward the tables with the affectionate skill of an efficient sheepdog. Mr. Appleyard trailed after them like an earnest but ineffectual shepherd.

Eden
's eyes grew moist. Mrs. Singleton was a wise, courageous mother to her children, and she had no need of governesses. There were many things
Eden could learn, even from so humble a woman.

"I thought that Mrs. Singleton and her children would enjoy a ride," Hartley said at her elbow.

It was as if he was back where he belonged, at her side. She smiled behind a concealing hand. "I should have thought of that myself," she said. "It is a rather long walk, is it not?"

"Country folk are used to walking."

"If one has food enough, and warm clothing," she said, watching the Singleton children laugh, their mouths stuffed with pastries and fruit.

"Which you have provided."
His voice was warm, so different than it had been in the garden.

"I had hoped to provide even more. Did you pass anyone else on the way?"

"I regret that I did not."

From out of nowhere, a rather large cloud arrived to block the sun.
Eden glanced at Hartley's face, and caught him in a frown capable of summoning thunder from a clear sky.