Falling in Love Again (16 page)

The image his thoughts envisioned made him restless and aroused.

Mallory was like no other woman he'd known—a combination of aching vulnerability, pride, intelligence, and stubbornness.

It was as if she wanted more than the money in a man's pockets or the grandeur of his title. She wanted companionship, children…someone to share her life.

Her balding little squire didn't deserve her. She was a woman with the strength of character to challenge a man, to hold his interest, and to love him with equal passion.

John wanted to be that man.

M
allory didn't learn that John had dismissed Ruth until early the next morning, when she was confronted by Mrs. Irongate and Mrs. Watkins, who paid her an angry call at the cottage.

“We all know Ruthie is a forward puss,” Mrs. Irongate said, “but she needs her job.”

“Her job? Isn't she still working in the dairy?” Mallory asked, still groggy after having spent another restless night with little sleep. For the first time in her life, she'd dreamed of kissing and touching. She refused to believe her dream lover had been John.

“No!” Mrs. Watkins said, waving a wooden spoon in Mallory's face. “Your husband turned her out. Now, not only does Evie have to work twice as hard, but Ruth is living with her!”

“Why does she have to live with Evie?” Mallory asked, confused.

“Why,
everyone
knows what happened at the pond yesterday afternoon,” Mrs. Irongate said. “How else could Ruth explain her wet clothes. She has nothing else to wear, poor thing.”

“And once her husband found out she lost her job,” Mrs. Watkins put in, “he beat her soundly and sent her to live with Evie. All because she was caught doing a bit of flirting.”

Mrs. Irongate placed a hand on the cook's shoulder. “Mrs. Dawson, we all know what Ruth is like, but we take her in stride. You ruined her only set of clothes. That was lesson enough to warn her from your husband. You didn't need to take the food from her mouth and the roof over her head, too.”

“I'm not the one who dismissed her,” Mallory said.

Mrs. Watkins harrumped, while Mrs. Irongate pressed her lips together in disbelieving silence.

“All right,” Mallory said at last, well aware that no matter what she said, she'd be held responsible. “I'll talk to Mr. Dawson.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Irongate said civilly. Mrs. Watkins just continued to glare.

Mrs. Irongate pulled on her friend's arm. “Come, Emma, we must get back up to the house.” The two women left, but as they were walking to the path, Mallory overheard the cook say, “So cool and hoity-toity she is. Makes her husband sleep in the barn and then begrudges another woman for treating a man the way he should be treated.”

Mallory didn't waste any time searching out John. She found him in the barnyard, dealing with a well-muscled man wearing sooty clothes.

John greeted her with a huge smile. If he'd been angry with her last night, it didn't show this morning. “Mallory, come here and meet Mr. Nichols, the blacksmith.”

Mallory nodded to the man, who rudely gave her a cold eye. No doubt he lived in Tunleah Mews and had heard Ruth's story. It was interesting that no one seemed to hold Ruth's dismissal against John…but then, that was the way of small communities.

Mallory pulled on the sleeve of John's shirt. “I need to talk to you, privately.”

“Of course,” he said. “You'll excuse us, Mr. Nichols?” He didn't wait for an answer but led her over to the shade of a big oak tree.

Mallory came right to the point. “You must give Ruth back her job.”

His smile faded. “I won't do that. She deserved to be booted.”

“The people here don't see it that way.”

“The people here?”

“John, Cardiff Hall and Tunleah Mews are a very small world. Everyone knows everyone else's business. The people are upset that Ruth was dismissed. It's created a hardship for her. Last night her husband beat her and kicked her out of the house.”

The expression in John's eyes turned somber. “Mallory, I don't think I can take her back. After you threw her clothes in the pond, she said some unforgivable things about you. I will not have her speak of my wife in that manner, nor am I going to spend my time worrying if she is going to jump out of the bushes at me. The woman is damn bold.”

Mallory tilted her head up at him, surprised by the firmness in his voice. She'd never had a champion before. But she also knew he wasn't right in letting Ruth go.

She placed her hand on his arm. “John, if you had a soldier under your command who didn't always follow orders, would you send him home to England?”

“Of course not. I would order him to get in line.”

“And what if that didn't work? Let's say he was an incorrigible fellow.”

“Incorrigible?” He smiled at her choice of words.

“You know what I mean.”

He crossed his arms, seriously considering her question. “I'd probably take him aside and beat some sense into him.”

“That's right,” Mallory agreed, “and that is exactly what I did to Ruth when I threw her clothes into the pond. John, this isn't London. In such a close-knit community, you don't dismiss a worker unless she has done something truly terrible, such as stealing. You must give Ruth her job back.”

“I can't believe you're defending her.”

“I'm not defending her actions, but these people think of each other as a family. In families, you overlook the faults of others. For example, at Craige Castle we have a sheep herder who's a bit touched in the head. He can barely watch the sheep, let alone do any other job, but we make extra time for him.” She paused, uncertain how much to say, then added, “Besides, I'm asking you to do this for my sake. The other servants blame me for her dismissal.”

John's eyes grew stormy. “It wasn't your fault. I made the decision.”

His swift anger in her defense surprised her. “John, please, don't do anything rash. I'm having enough trouble as it is—”

“What kind of trouble?” he demanded.

“It's nothing,” she said firmly and would have walked away but he caught her arm.

“What is it, Mallory?”

“I don't fit in here. I sense that people don't like me,” she confessed.

The anger eased from the lines of his face. “Mallory, that's nonsense.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Of course, they all like you.”

“No, they don't. I made a mistake and got upset yesterday in the kitchen with Mrs. Irongate and
the cook. I acted more like Lady Craige than Mrs. Dawson. It didn't settle well with them.”

“And now this incident with Ruth hasn't helped matters,” he said, with sudden understanding.

“No, it hasn't,” she admitted. “Silly, isn't it? That I should be concerned about what the servants say? I've never worried before.”

He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We all want to feel like we belong. I'll take care of it.” He paused. “But I'd like you to do a favor for me in return.”

Mallory went still. She should have known. “What is it you want?”

“Oh, now, I feel your shoulders tensing,” he said, removing his hands. “Mallory, you don't know what I'm going to ask you.”

“No, but I have an idea.”

John flipped her braid over her shoulder. It was an innocent gesture but an intimate one. The sort of thing a man would do unconsciously while talking to his wife. “Come with me to collect the rents today.”

His words caught her by surprise. “That's it? That's all you're going to ask?”

His eyes sparkled. “Well, I wouldn't mind sleeping in your bed.” He waggled his eyebrows, teasing her.

Mallory smiled, feeling foolish. Had he been teasing last night, too? “I could collect rents with you,” she suggested.

She was rewarded with a flash of his dimple, the little one at the corner of his mouth.

“We'll leave shortly after noon, then,” he said.

She relaxed, pleased that he had asked her to accompany him. “I'll have your lunch ready when you come by the cottage.”

She started to walk away, but again he stopped her. “Wait, pack it in the hamper. We'll have a picnic.”

“A picnic? I haven't been on a picnic since I was a child.” Years ago, long before her father had taken ill.

“Then we'll go on one today,” he said decisively.

For a second, Mallory stared at him. “You're serious, aren't you?”

“Yes. Why would you think I'm not?”

Mallory glanced over at the blacksmith. “Because we both have work to do.”

John shook his head. “I'll be finished with him in a few hours. Mallory, Lord Woodruff has ordered me to collect the rents. He didn't say I couldn't enjoy myself while doing it. Come on, let's go on a picnic,” he urged her gently. “It will be good for us to get away for an afternoon.”

She hesitated, tempted.

His eyes pleaded with her to agree.

She nodded. “I suppose it won't do any harm.”

“Of course not,” he assured her, bestowing upon her such a dazzling smile, it was as if the sun had suddenly come out from behind a bank of clouds.

His smile made her feel light-hearted, even giddy. She started walking back toward the path, unable to take her eyes off him.

“We'll have a good time,” he promised.

“Yes, a good time,” Mallory repeated dumbly.
Her feet stumbled over a rock, bringing her to her senses. She turned and hurried on her way.

John watched her until she disappeared out of sight. He felt absurdly pleased with himself for suggesting the picnic. And as for her problems with the other servants, he was more than happy to be her white knight.

 

John knocked on the cottage door promptly at noon, much earlier than Mallory had expected him. However, she'd had the hamper packed for the last hour.

He hitched the pony to the green and yellow pony cart and soon, with a snap of the driving ribbons, they were on their way toward Tunleah Mews.

Mallory was glad now that she'd said she'd go with him. The day had turned a touch overcast, but a summer breeze promised to send the clouds scattering later. She didn't even fret about her lack of a bonnet, enjoying this moment out in the fresh air. The cart had benches that ran down either side. John sat across from her.

He waited until they were well past Cardiff Hall before saying, “I told Evie that Ruth could come back tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Mallory said, her relief genuine. “How did it go with the blacksmith?”

John shook his head. “The horses haven't been taken care of properly for months. I don't understand Woodruff. There is so much work to be done. How can a man completely ignore his responsibilities? I discovered from Evie this morning that he hasn't paid last quarter's wages yet,
and we're almost finished with this quarter. I went up to the house to speak to him and see if I could get the money, but he refused to come out of his office. I could hear him inside muttering to himself about his damned book. So I banged on his door, and he talked to me, although he wasn't happy about it at all. I got the wages paid, though.”

Mallory heard the echo in John's words of the complaints she'd made less than a week before about him. She wondered if he'd noticed.

As if reading her mind, he said ruefully, “Of course, I suppose I could give lessons on abdicating one's responsibilities.”

She surprised herself by quickly jumping to his defense. “You trusted your uncle, John. You thought you were being responsible.”

He frowned. “A man has a lot of time to think while he mucks out a barn. I trusted him too much. And I find myself wondering why he betrayed me.”

“Greed?”

“I paid him handsomely for his services. Father provided him with a generous allowance, and I doubled it when I took over the estate.” He shook his head. “But I can't lay the blame solely on his shoulders. There is no excuse for my not being more attentive to you. I should have come to East Anglia when I returned to London. I should have tried to communicate with you while I was in the military.”

Mallory looked over the fields of ripening grain. “I could have written,” she admitted quietly. “I did try to communicate to your uncle, but obvi
ously he never passed on my complaints…I never went further, John, because I—” She faltered, uncertain how to say it.

“You what?”

She forced herself to look at him. “I knew you didn't want the marriage,” she said in a rush of words.

John pulled the pony to a halt. He turned to her. “What if I did want the marriage?”

Mallory could scarcely believe her ears.

He watched her, as if anxious for her answer.

Her heart was beating unusually fast. She didn't know how she felt, or what she wanted—not anymore. The realization startled her.

When had she changed?

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I don't know that I can answer that right now.” Her words sounded as awkward as she felt.

He laughed, the sound almost joyful. “We're making progress, Mallory,” he said, as if her answer delighted him. With a flick of the reins, he set the pony in motion. “What do you think of those fields over there? Are they about ready to harvest?”

Mallory blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change of subject. She turned toward where he indicated. “The wheat appears to be about ready.”

“That's what I thought,” he said, nodding.

“John, are you thinking about harvesting those fields yourself?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Because if you are,” she said matter-of-factly, “then I should warn you, you can't do all the
work involved in cutting the fields with just three women and Terrell.”

“What do you suggest?”

She studied him, seeing beyond his good looks. He appeared more relaxed, happier, less jaded than when she'd first found him in London.

The change went beyond his casual attire. He still wore the lawn shirt with lace edges, although the shirt was frayed at the cuffs and collar from repeated washings in the pond with harsh soap. His jacket lay folded on the seat beside him. The breeze ruffled his hair.

But the look in his eyes seemed less intense and foreboding, the lines around his mouth softer.

“You're enjoying this adventure,” she accused him.

His lips curved into an easy smile. “I don't enjoy sleeping in the barn.”