Elisabeth Kidd (16 page)

“Yes, but there was only one of him.”

Davey came shooting up the ladder just then, with Geoffrey bringing up the rear for once, and began shaking his uncle’s chair in his excitement, while Geoffrey lifted the lid of the box of feed for the horses, inspected the contents, closed the lid again, and sat on it.

“Whoa, there, young man!” Robert reproved his younger nephew. “If I go overboard, will you jump in and save me?”

Deflated , Davey let go the chair, saying shamefacedly, “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir—anyway, I can’t swim.” He glanced longingly at the canal.

Bill and Robert looked at each other for a moment before Bill said, “The pond at the bottom of the lock is calm and shallow enough, and the water is warm.”

Davey had been holding his breath, but now burst out with, “Oh, Uncle Robert! Oh, Mr. Theak! Will you teach us to swim?” He shivered with anxious anticipation, and even Geoffrey looked eagerly at his uncle for confirmation.

“Only if you keep your clothes dry and do not—I say again,
not
tell your mother about it.”

“Oh, no, Uncle Robert, we won’t say
anything
,” Geoffrey promised, and Robert knew he was as good as his word. The boys always behaved angelically within their mother’s hearing, and if Lavinia wanted to believe they were that way all the time, Robert would not disabuse her.

Rose produced some towels, and the boys set off for the lock on foot, Bill explaining to his eager listeners that the boat could not be tied up very close to the lock or it would be in the way of any traffic coming through. The pool was where the boats finished up after passing through the lock, Bill told them, and from there they set off on the next section of canal. If the boys were very lucky, he said, a boat would come through while they were visiting, and they could see the whole operation and learn how the gates were operated.

Rose and Robert, meanwhile, went into the galley to prepare a nuncheon. Robert offered the hamper full of supplies he had brought, and Rose exclaimed delightfully over the bounty it revealed.

“I could not very well impose two hungry boys on you unannounced
and
expect you to feed them too,” Robert said, unpacking a variety of foodstuffs.

“You mean,
three
hungry boys.”

Robert laughed. “You have me there. Nonetheless, I’ve paid for my food with hard labor. I take it there have been no further difficulties with the lock?”

“No, Bill is very pleased with the repairs you both made. Everything looks to be good for another ten years, he says.”

They spoke a little longer of impersonal topics, Rose bringing Robert up to date on the state of the lock, George’s health, and her pleasure at being able to work on such simple chores as decorating the boat without wondering whether the hold would spring a leak or some other disaster occur. At last, however, they had to speak of the subject on the top of both their minds.

“Is Miss Bromley well?” Rose asked, taking the easiest approach in case Robert did not wish to discuss his feelings directly just yet.

“She was well enough yesterday,” he said. He hesitated for a moment and then sat down on the cot beside the pantry where George customarily slept. “Well enough to berate me with considerable energy.”

Robert had written Rose a note explaining the scene on the dock at Market Harborough, so that she was aware of the reasons for Sabina’s quarrel with Robert, but she had not seen him since then. Robert described briefly his meeting with Sabina in the spinney, and when he came to an end, there was silence between them for several minutes while Rose counted mugs and napkins and Robert waited patiently for her attention to return to him.

“I don’t know what to do now, Rose.”

“It does not seem that Lady Sabina wishes to put an end to the quarrel between your families,” Rose ventured.

Robert laughed wryly. “I do not think it is her greatest concern. She is more taken up with her quarrel with me.”

Rose frowned and considered this. “That must be because she has some strong feeling for you. It may be anger now, but anger, like love, does not simply go away. It must be replaced by some other emotion.”

“I have told her my feelings. I have asked for her love. What more can I do?”

“If she is not willing to change anger for love, you must find something else that she will accept, and hope that it is a step closer to love. You have been loyal for many years, Robert. I think you can be patient a little longer. Try to discover what she fears more than loving you, then try to make her see how you can save her from that fear.”

“That sounds a harsh recipe.”

“It is. But I think she is even more stubborn than you are. She needs to be shaken from whatever path she has set herself on, even if she recognizes that it leads nowhere. But I also think she still loves the man she fell in love with here on the canal, and she knows that love lives inside her somewhere. It only needs to be brought to light again.”

Robert rose from the cot, careful not to bump his head as he moved to give Rose a hug. “I shall think about what you have said, Rose. Thank you.”

Rose turned around to look directly up at his face. “I want to see you happy, my dear. And Lady Sabina, too, for she came to be like a daughter to me while I knew her. But remember—be patient.”

He smiled. “Which is more than my nephews will be if they come back to find their nuncheon not awaiting them. Did I tell you that my brother’s heir is showing disconcerting signs of being as imperious as his mother? The other day, he ordered me—ordered, mind you—to play spillikins with him. I was quite taken aback to be ordered about by a lad who scarcely comes up to my waist.”

“Did you refuse?”

“On pain of court-martial, yes.”

“I am beginning to see why you brought them here. You want them to see that while they may be princes in their own world, its boundaries are very small.”

“Wise Rose. Will you help me tame my nephews?”

She nodded. “First we must feed them. Then they will be malleable.”

Chapter 11

Sabina made up her mind to tell no one of her encounter with Robert Ashton and his refusal of her offer. It would be too humiliating.

But no, why should she feel so when it was he who was at fault? He had refused her sensible and, indeed, generous offer. She had spent the remainder of her ride to Carling mentally berating him as unreasonable, unfeeling, and deceitful, and repeated this litany of faults in her mind in order not to forget them. But her mind, on her heart’s urging, insisted on amending them.

He had not been unreasonable. He had agreed to meet her, after all, and he had heard her out. Not unfeeling. He had said he loved her….

But how could she be sure he meant it? His kisses certainly felt as if he meant it. Even Peter Ogilvey had not made her feel quite like that, although she had thought she loved him. But why would Robert not agree to marry her if he did? He had deceived her before—but no, she could scarcely accuse him of faults she held herself in abundance.

He had said he loved her. If she had been in his position, would she have accepted such a marriage? She was uncertain. Yet, she could understand why he refused. If it were she, she would have feared that a marriage which began in such a manner could not improve—or at least not without a great deal of heartache. Love was fragile and might not survive such a trial. It was not yet even sufficient for trust.

When she finally returned to Bromleigh Hall, having deliberately exhausted herself by riding for miles and stopping to call on every tenant family she could find at home, Sabina retreated again to her room and did not go down to dinner that evening. The next day, however, Dulcie came to her room late in the morning and would not leave until Sabina was dressed and ready to take the noon meal with the family. She gave in and, pale but composed, entered the dining room with some trepidation.

Fortunately, it proved to be an informal family affair. Lewis and Georgina had gone off together to scour the lending library in the village for something neither of them had not yet read twice, and Randolph was spending the night at Stonehaven. Therefore the luncheon party consisted of only Sabina, Dulcie, Henry, Fletcher, and Alicia, whose children came hurrying into the room just after Sabina. Their tardiness distracted attention from Sabina until they had been mildly chastised by their mother and given a stern look by their father, by which time their aunt had quietly seated herself and allowed Henry to pass her a plate of cold meats.

As a footman poured a glass of lemonade for her, Alicia asked, in the same solicitous tone she had used for as long as Sabina had known her, “Are you feeling more the thing today, Sabina, dear?”

“Yes, thank you, Alicia.”

“I am glad to hear it. You do not mind the children joining us, do you?”

As Diana, age twelve, and Edward, age nine, were well-behaved children on the whole and were now eagerly—but with impeccable manners—attacking their meal, Sabina could only assure her that she did not mind in the least. Indeed, apart from their value as foils to deflect the adults’ attention from herself, Sabina liked Edward, and particularly Diana, for she knew what it was like to grow up with brothers. She and the increasingly pretty—and already tall and slender—girl were good friends. Edward, poor dear, was short even for his age, and Sabina hoped her assurances to him that he had plenty of time to catch up with his father would not prove hollow promises. At least, since Henry’s twins were born, he was no longer the youngest as well.

“I see you have had your hair cut,” she said now to Diana.

“Do you like it?” Diana appealed to her aunt over her soup spoon. “Mama thinks it far too short in the back, but it’s ever so much more comfortable in warm weather.”

“And very fashionable, too,” Sabina said, although she had no notion of what the latest mode in coiffures might be. She made a mental note to herself to subscribe to some of the fashion journals, for Diana’s sake.

She helped herself from a platter of cold meats and whispered to Alicia, “It could be worse. She might have heard about Caroline Lamb’s scandalous crop!”

Alicia managed a smile at that. “You are quite right. I should be grateful for small favors.”

“Speaking of Lady Caro—” Henry began.

“Please let us not,” Fletcher interrupted, “in range of impressionable ears.”

As the impressionable ears were tuned rather to whispers and giggles between themselves, Henry continued unimpeded. “I have obtained a copy of
Glenarvon
, if anyone cares to borrow it. After I have finished, naturally.”

“What is
Glenarvon
?” Fletcher asked, looking up from his game pie to see all the adult heads turn toward him in amazement at his ignorance. Even Sabina had heard of the epistolary novel whose recent publication had set the
ton
abuzz with speculation as to the identity of its characters.

Dulcie explained Lady Caroline’s thinly fictionalized account of her affair with the poet Lord Byron as delicately as she could, barely touching on the facts of the scandal, which were, of course, well known even in the wilds of Leicestershire, Fletcher’s ignorance notwithstanding.

“Can she write?” he asked irrelevantly.

“What difference does that make?” Henry countered. Fletcher gave him the same glare he had favored his son with earlier, and Sabina giggled. She was discovering, somewhat to her surprise, that she had missed the companionship of family mealtimes. She gazed about her with new eyes, seeing her familiar napkin ring, the dented silver vase in the center of the table, the spot on the wainscoting where a twelve-year-old Sabina had thrown a strawberry at Randolph and missed, and supposed she valued such times and such familiar possessions more, now that she was in danger of losing them.

Before she could reflect further on this melancholy prospect and sink herself into the dismals again, Fletcher said to her offhandedly, “Since you are obviously feeling more yourself today, Sabina, I wonder if I might have a word with you in the library after luncheon?”

This brought Sabina back to earth with a thump. She did not know why Fletcher wished to speak with her, but it could only have to do with her current untenable position in the family. She hoped that Fletcher would not feel called upon to harangue her to do her duty.

* * * *

In the end, her eldest brother did appeal to her sense of duty but in only a mild way in the course of an amiable conversation that Sabina could find nothing in to object to.

When she entered the room, Fletcher asked again after her health and, upon receiving a reassuring murmur, said, “Please feel free to confide in me, Sabina. Believe me, I quite understand the awkward position you find yourself in.”

“You do?”

Fletcher looked rather awkward himself for a moment. “Well, I suppose I cannot presume to know your feelings, but it is apparent even to me that father’s will has caused you distress. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Fletcher.”

“The thing is, Sabina—what do you intend to do?”

“Do?”

He ran his hand through his hair in an exasperated gesture, and she realized that she was scarcely helping him maintain the sympathetic attitude he had determined to display. A part of her mind distanced itself from the proceedings as a way of easing the distress she knew the subject could cause her, and she observed her eldest brother as from a distance. He had, she knew, been preparing himself for his role as the next earl for some time. She had always known that he would succeed in doing honor to his father’s precedent, but she also saw now that he was not entirely sure of himself. It warmed her heart toward him that there was still something of the boy in Fletcher, and she determined to be of more help to him.

“Blast it, Sabina, you must know what I mean. As head of the family, I will certainly attempt to assist you in whatever course you choose to follow—if only you will give me some indication of what it is! Do you wish to continue living here? Would you prefer removing to Carling? Do you have some other intention?”

Sabina ran to her brother and hugged him briefly. “I do beg your pardon, Fletcher dear. I did not mean to be deliberately obtuse or unhelpful. To be frank, I have been racking my brain to come up with an answer, but what I should most like I fear will be out of my reach financially if I do not agree to the terms of the will.”