Fortune's Lady (18 page)

“Because there is a sadness in your eyes that has never been there before. You have lost bets before, my lord. You have lost card games before as well, but this time you lost more than a card game, I think. This time it was not only two minds competing against each other. Something more than intelligence, strategy, or luck was at stake. Such a stake as that could only involve a woman.”

He did not reply, but lay back among the pillows staring thoughtfully at the ceiling for some time. Nor did he say much as he dressed and bid her adieu, but the dancer knew she had been correct in her assessment of the situation. He had not only been beaten, but that protective layer of cynicism he adopted where all women were concerned had somehow been penetrated. Maria wished she knew who had accomplished such a thing, for it was a rare woman indeed that had any effect on the Marquess of Harwood.

Meanwhile, the woman in question was so busy trying to lay her plans without attracting any attention that she had not a moment’s thought to spare for the Marquess of Harwood or anything else except her removal to Kennington.

Thursday, the day Althea had identified as a day when her mother’s appointments with the dressmaker and linen draper, as well as several important calls, would keep her occupied for a goodly portion of the day, Althea sent Jem to the Swan with Two Necks to make arrangements for hiring two post chaises. She then set Jenny to packing the few things she would need for the trip.

“But all these beautiful gowns, my lady,” Jenny could not help wailing as Althea instructed her to leave them behind in favor of her plainest morning attire and most serviceable walking dresses.

“Will do me no good in the country. Jenny. I am not going there for idle social pursuits, but to earn a living and make a life for myself. Believe me, I shall not miss them at all, nor the crushes to which I wore them.” Althea turned to pick up two well-worn books lying on her dressing table. “I shall, however need these. I cannot do without Tull’s
Horse Hoeing Husbandry
and Young’s
Annals of Agriculture.
Believe me, Mr. Tull and Mr. Young make far better company than most of what I have experienced here in town.”

Jenny sighed and turned her attention to more mundane articles of clothing—chemises, gloves, stockings, warm shawls. She did sometimes wish that her mistress would assume the role that society had assigned her, for to be lady’s maid to an incomparable was no small thing. On the other hand, to be given additional responsibility for the management of a household, no matter how small, was very special indeed. Lady Althea might not gratify the wishes of a lady’s maid determined to help her mistress attain the heights of fashion, but she did pay attention to a person’s desire to advance herself in the world.

And which was better, after all, to be the utterly ignored maid to a society beauty or a valued servant in a comfortable country establishment? Jenny might enjoy the reflected glory of a successful London Season, but in her heart of hearts, she was a country girl, much like her mistress, who preferred a life of solid accomplishment to a few brilliant hours in the glare of fashionable notoriety.

The ensuing days passed all too quickly for the little band preparing for a new life. All of them, from Jem to the dowager to Althea, longed for the day when they would assume their new duties and take greater responsibility for their own lives. But as much as they looked forward to it, they feared the uncertainty of it all and worried lest their schemes be detected and prevented.

Reggie too was preparing for a new life, and called in Grosvenor Square the day before he sailed to bid his cousin goodbye.

“You will write to me,” Althea begged.

“Of course, for I expect regular reports on Kennington from you in return.” Reggie patted her shoulder affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Allie, and mind you, no wagering of the estate.” He winked at her and was gone, leaving her feeling very alone. But she soon put his departure out of her mind as she concentrated on the final details of her own departure.

At last the day came. The duke went off to his club; the duchess, after unsuccessfully remonstrating with her daughter who was so weak as to give in to another headache, left for Bond Street.

An hour later a post chaise drew up at the door and the dowager, letting it be known that she had been called to visit a sick friend in Richmond for an indeterminate amount of time, climbed in, accompanied by her tight-lipped maid, Dorcas, and numerous bandboxes. The carriage rolled out of sight down Upper Brook Street toward the park where, turning the corner, it pulled up next to a second post chaise.

A few minutes later, Jenny and her mistress arrived on foot. Dorcas emerged from the dowager’s carriage and climbed into one with Jenny while Jem handed Althea into her grandmother’s vehicle, and they were off toward Oxford Street and the Great North Road.

Neither Althea nor her grandmother spoke much during most of the journey, each being absorbed in her own thoughts and content to watch the passing countryside after months in town. Spring was in full force. Trees were blossoming and the fields showed the soft green of tender young plants not yet covered with the dust of summer. Whenever they stopped to changed horses, Althea took advantage of the opportunity to climb down and inhale the fresh sweet scent of apple blossoms and listen to the birdsongs that were such a refreshing change after the noise and the smells of the metropolis.

The little cavalcade reached Stansted in the evening just as the sun was sinking behind the steeple of the medieval church and warming the red brick tower of the mill with its last golden rays. They clattered though the village and headed down the Cambridge road where Kennington lay three miles on.

As the post chaise turned into the drive, Althea leaned out eagerly, trying to assess the state of her new home. The soft light of evening and the earliness of the season could be deceptive, hiding a multitude of things in need of repair, cutting back, or cultivation. Knowing her cousin’s casual approach to the more serious aspects of life, she feared the worst in spite of his oft-voiced faith in Duckworth’s capabilities. To Reggie, an agent who did not press him for money for repairs or insist on his active participation in important decisions was an excellent agent. Althea would reserve her judgment until she had met the man and seen his work.

In the interests of secrecy, and preferring to get a completely accurate picture of the state of affairs at Kennington, Althea had communicated with no one about her impending arrival. Apart from the letter Reggie had written to Duckworth, which merely announced a change in ownership and promised forthcoming details, there had been no communication regarding the new owner’s plans. She knew that such an unconventional approach might result in a most uncomfortable first night, with no freshly prepared meal or beds to look forward to, so it was with good reason that Althea awaited the end of her journey with some trepidation.

The carriages rolled up the gravel drive and stopped under the stone portico. Daylight was fading fast, but there was a light in the window of what must be the kitchen wing. Althea allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief; at least someone was on the premises.

Jem appeared at the carriage window. “Shall I knock, miss? Let them know we are here?”

“Yes. Thank you, Jem.”

The newly promoted groom, with all the exalted authority of his new station, pounded vigorously on the door.

There was silence for some time, and then the thick oak door swung open to reveal a stooped figure who peered curiously out into the gathering gloom.

“The Dowager Duchess of Clarendon and Lady Althea Beauchamp,” Jem announced grandly before scurrying back to the carriage to hand the ladies out with a flourish.

Considerably startled, the wizened man straightened out as best he could and tugged at the edges of his hastily donned jacket. “Ah, er, welcome to Kennington, my ladies. I beg your pardons for not being more, ah, er, welcoming, but we had no expectations of any company.”

Althea’s critical eye swept the black-and-white marble entry. Paint was beginning to peel on some of the fluted columns, but it all looked well scrubbed and dusted, as though the absence of funds for repairs did not in any way hamper those responsible for cleaning it. Peering as closely as she could into the drawing room beyond, she was able to distinguish that all the furniture was suitably cloaked in holland covers.

“I hope you will pardon our arriving unannounced, Mr. ...”

“Crowder, my lady. It’s just me and the missus and the boy Sam here as has care of the place. Mr. Duckworth, the agent, who lives in the village, did say as to how the estate had fallen under new ownership, but he did not mention any visitors. Begging your pardon, my lady, but are you related to the new owner? If we had known you were coming, we would have ...”

“Crowder, Crowder, whoever ...” A plump, gray-haired woman came bustling forward, keys jangling at her side.

“It is relations of the new owner, Mrs. Crowder, as Mr. Duckworth told us about, the Dowager Duchess of Clarendon and Lady Al ...”

“My gracious, Crowder, do not keep them standing here. Your Grace, my lady, do come into the drawing room.” Snatching the candle from her husband’s hand, Mrs. Crowder led them into the drawing room, twitching off the holland covers as she proceeded.

Althea was relieved to note that though the upholstery beneath looked rather worn, there was not a speck of dust raised as Mrs. Crowder pulled off the covers.

“I do apologize that we are not ready for company, Your Grace, my lady, but ... Crowder, why do you stand there gawking? Go fetch Sam to light a fire. Their ladyships must be chilled to the bone.” Mrs. Crowder proceeded to light the candles in the sconces around the room as she pulled off covers at a great rate. “And once that is done, he shall fetch some water to their bedchambers. If you will just excuse me, I shall see to it that the fires are lit in your chambers as well. Not expecting company as we were, there is nothing much prepared for supper, but I have made a nice pigeon pie and could also arrange for a bit of ham and some boiled fowl if you would like.”

“That is very good of you, Mrs. Crowder. And yes, if we could be shown to our rooms we would appreciate it. Jem can handle the luggage and Jenny, here, can help with the water.”

Mrs. Crowder bustled off just as a gawky boy hurried in to light a fire. Althea rose to spread her hands before the warming blaze and thanked her lucky stars that the house, though shabby from lack of sufficient funds, did not appear to be suffering from neglect.

In no time at all, Mrs. Crowder had returned to show them to their rooms where the redoubtable Sam, having scurried ahead, had fires already burning. And if they had not yet warmed the rooms, they at least gave off a cheerful glow.

Preparing for bed that evening after a simple yet excellent meal, Althea reflected gratefully that Reggie, while he had not taxed his income in the slightest to make improvements upon his estate, had at least had the good sense to prize the Crowders enough to keep them at Kennington. The good couple had been somewhat surprised to discover the new owner of Kennington in the elegant young lady who had descended upon them without warning, but were so delighted to have a resident owner after all these years that they accepted the unconventional nature of that owner happily enough. Mr. Duckworth would have to wait until morning, but if he proved to be half as capable as the others, he would make a knowledgeable and useful ally indeed.

It was not until Althea fell gratefully into the enormous four-poster bed that she admitted to herself just how worried she had been over what she would discover at Kennington. Now, having seen its worn but immaculate rooms and tasted its simple but excellent fare, she felt more lighthearted and optimistic than she had in some time. She was going to enjoy making Kennington into the snug and profitable estate it deserved to be.

Chapter 21

The next morning Althea sent Jem with a note for Mr. Duckworth, who arrived at Kennington just as Mrs. Crowder was giving them a full inventory of the linen closets.

The agent proved to be a tall, thin young man who, correctly interpreting Althea’s look of surprise, apologized for his lack of years. “My father was the agent for Master Reginald’s father for most of his life and for Master Reginald as well. As soon as I was old enough to be put on a horse my father took me with him on all the estate business, so that by the time I went to school I already knew every inch of Kennington. When my father died several years ago, Master Reginald did not have the heart to look for another agent so he asked me. A very kindhearted young gentleman, he is, Master Reginald.”

And not one to expend any unnecessary energy looking for another agent, especially one who might be older and more inclined to demand something of a reluctant owner,
Althea could not help thinking somewhat cynically.

But, in spite of his youth, Mr. Duckworth appeared to have a thorough knowledge of the estate’s finances and the community, as well as a familiarity with the more innovative agricultural practices of Coke and Townshend. “Most of the estate is leased to Squire Throckmorton who farms it, but if that is not agreeable to you ...” Mr. Duckworth looked anxiously at Althea.

“I am sure that the land is admirably disposed of, Mr. Duckworth, with no need for change at the present. All that I would ask is that a small portion of land be left each year for common grazing and, as I do not intend to hunt, any wooded portions be given over to the villagers for hunting small game and finding fuel.”

An approving smile warmed the agent’s bony features. “That is most kind of you, my lady, and sure to be appreciated by the poorer folk, though some of the gentry may find such an idea a trifle radical. In general, Master Reginald was a kind enough landlord, but there is nothing to take the place of one who truly takes an interest in local affairs.”

“I intend to make Kennington my home, Mr. Duckworth, and therefore, I plan to take a strong interest in them indeed, with your help, of course.”