Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (7 page)

“I haven't named him yet."

Her blue eyes widened at such neglect, and for a moment, he saw her mother's expression in them, too.

"Perhaps you can think of something," he offered hastily, unwilling to suffer her measuring regard. I am short of the mark, he thought with amusement. "I will entertain any and all suggestions."

She nodded, her face serious. "I will ask Mama. She names everything." The briefest smile lit her face, then was gone. "She even named our pigs, which Papa said always made it rather hard to eat them."

He smiled at her. "Did she name them Ham and Bacon?"

Again, that brief smile. "No, my lord! One was Columbine and the other Cynthia."

Lord Winn burst into laughter, transfixed by the idea of his former wife as a sow rooting in a vicar's barnyard. "Magnificent, my dear!" he said, when he could speak. "That is more amusing than you know. We shall apply to your mother for a name. And now—"

"Lord Winn! Helen!"

Helen sighed. "We are both late to breakfast, my lord."

He nudged her shoulder gently. "Does this mean we are in the basket?"

She regarded him candidly. "I think I would be, if you were not here, too, my lord."

He helped her down from the box. "Strength in numbers, Helen, is an element in military strategy. Shall we?"

Mrs. Drew waited for them at the back door, with Felicity beside her, looking impatient.

"Lissy does not like to wait for her meals," Helen confided in a whisper that he had to bend down to hear. "She even likes oats."

Lord Winn smiled, pleased to be taken into this quiet child's trust. He wondered what Tibbie Winslow would say if the first thing he inquired about at Moreland was where he could buy a pony. And some coal. And red yarn for Felicity.

Helen skipped ahead, walking in the wider tracks he had made, her blond hair rippling and shining in the cold, clear air. "Mama, you must think of a name for Lord Winn's horse!"

Mrs. Drew twinkled her eyes at him, and his heart nearly stopped dead in his chest. "I'm sure I'll think of something," she said, and she touched Helen's face briefly and helped her unbutton her coat.

He nodded, remembering his plaque at Winnfield from the 20th Foot with those very words inscribed upon it. And how is your generalship, madam? he wondered as he followed Helen into the kitchen.

Felicity tugged Helen toward the breakfast room, and he stood with Mrs. Drew a moment as he removed his coat and she regarded her daughters.

"You have met my family now, sir," she said.

He looked down into her laughing brown eyes, and his heart started to beat again, but a little faster. "Charming, Mrs. Drew, simply charming. And I don't even like children very much."

She stared back at him. "My lord! Everyone likes children!"

"I do not," he said firmly. "My sisters' children fight with each other and only greet me to ask for things. Dreadful brats."

Mrs. Drew lowered her gaze from his face. "Oh, dear, and didn't I hear Felicity petitioning you for yam?"

He took her by the elbow and guided her toward the breakfast room, where Felicity was standing at the door, her head tilted and her hands on her hips. "My dear Mrs. Drew, that was a wager and she won it fair. I am always scrupulous in gambling debts." He stopped her and leaned closer to her, breathing in her lavender fragrance. "Tell me, how much yarn does it take to make a little pair of mittens?"

He could almost feel her reluctance. "Oh, I wish you would not."

"Mrs. Drew, you would have me avoid a gambling debt? You wound my honor. How much yarn? I insist."

"Oh! One skein, my lord."

He bowed in her direction. "Done, then, madam. Of course, the labor will be yours. I wish all debts were so easily discharged."

She only smiled and shook her head, then helped Felicity into her seat with the books on it. "Sit over there, my lord. If we wait much longer. Felicity will rise in open rebellion, and it is not a pretty sight."

He did as he was told and was startled when Mrs. Drew took his hand on one side, and Helen on the other. He looked at the widow, his eyes questioning her.

"My lord, we always pray this way. Will you say grace?"

"It's been years, Mrs. Drew," he protested, even as he clung to her fingers.

"I can help you, Lord Winn," Helen offered.

His eyes were still on Mrs. Drew. To his amazement, they filled suddenly with tears. She swallowed several times, and bowed her head. Moved beyond words, and not understanding, he bowed his head, too.

"Yes, if you please, Helen," he said. "I'm a bit rusty. No one prayed much in Spain."

"Please bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts," she said softly.

"Amen," he finished. When he opened his eyes, Mrs. Drew was in control again. She filled their bowls and Felicity tackled hers at once.

He had never eaten better porridge.

While Helen was clearing off the table, Mrs. Drew looked out the window. "Ah! Tibbie is at the estate now, Lord Winn," she said.

The news did not please him particularly. He rubbed his chin. "I really need to shave first," he temporized.

"Certainly, my lord. Meggie, will you pour another can of hot water for Lord Winn? Helen, when he finishes, perhaps you will show him to the right entrance?"

Helen smiled shyly and nodded. Felicity regarded her mother. "I am to come, too."

Mrs. Drew knelt beside her younger daughter, and put her forehead against Felicity's. "My dearest, you would disappear in a snowdrift. This is Helen's duty."

They looked at each other eye to eye until Lord Winn wanted to laugh. He touched Felicity's head. "Felicity, perhaps you could get that leather pouch with my razor and shaving bowl from my coat pocket and carry it upstairs?"

She nodded, mutiny forgotten, and skipped into the kitchen. Helen grinned and followed her. He gave Mrs. Drew a hand up.

"Masterfully done, my lord," she said. "One would think you had practice."

He winced. "I have already told you my feelings regarding the infantry, madam! It is but a fluke."

She only smiled, then touched his arm as he started from the room. "I must apologize for my weakness a moment ago."

He started to protest, but she shook her head. "My lord, Helen has said more this morning than she has since .. . well, in months. I do not know what magic you are working, but it makes me happy."

"It is horse magic, madam, that is all," he said, keeping his voice light, even though he felt another lump rising in his throat. "And you have promised us a name."

He could see tears threatening again, and he felt an absurd desire to pull her close and let her weep, but he did not. "And now I must shave. Excuse me, Mrs. Drew, or Felicity will become impatient."

So that is it, Mrs. Drew, he thought as he mounted the stairs, untying his neckcloth. I wish I had time to be drawn into your little circle here in the North Riding. Too bad I do not.

Felicity perched herself on the bed and watched as he pulled down his shirt and draped a towel around his shoulders. Her face was serious, her lovely eyes wide as he lathered up and began to shave himself. He propped his shaving mirror on the bureau, and watched her through it.

When he was halfway done, another pair of brown eyes regarded him from the open doorway. "Felicity! Leave Lord Winn in peace!"

"I do not mind, madam," he said as he tilted his face up to shave under his nose.

"Mama! He is shaving himself! And he is standing up!" Felicity whispered, her voice filled with wonder. "Can you imagine?"

He laughed and flicked some soap at her. "Of course I am, you absurd child! How else would I shave?" he said, and glanced at her mother. To his consternation, her eyes were filling with tears again. This time, she turned away and her shoulders began to shake. Quickly, he wiped the soap from his face, and picked up Felicity, depositing her outside the door and closing it behind him. Without another word, he took Mrs. Drew in his arms. She buried her face in the towel around his neck and sobbed.

My God, what a strange family this is, he thought as she cried. He wasn't sure what to do, except put his arms around her and let her weep. Her tears seemed to come all the way up from her toes.

In another moment, she pulled herself away from him and wiped her eyes on his towel. Her face was fiery red. "I am so ashamed of myself," she said at last.

"Mrs. Drew, what happened? T don't understand," he asked, lathering up again to finish his face. “I wish you would tell me."

"I used to shave my husband and Felicity always watched," she said, her words coming out in a rush. "In her young life, she has never seen a man shave himself while on his feet."

"I had no idea," he murmured.

"I know you did not, my lord. She never knew her father as a well man. Excuse my tears, please. I don't know what's the matter with me," she said as she opened the door. "I should be beyond this by now."

Felicity came back in, her face cloudy with hurt feelings. Lord Winn set her back on the bed, took some lather off his face, and liberally deckled her cheek. To her delight, he laid the blunt side of his straight razor against her cheek and scraped it off. She shrieked with laughter and then ran from the room to show her sister. He looked around. Mrs. Drew was gone.

To his disappointment, she did not reappear after he came downstairs again, dressed and ready. Helen held his riding coat by the front door.

"I hope you are not upset, Lord Winn, but I led your horse to the front door."

He grinned at her and opened the door, then picked her up and set her on his horse. "We'll come back for the saddle later," he said as he took the reins and walked alongside as his horse broke a trail from the dower house to the estate.

"That's the door to the back entrance by the bookroom," Helen said.

"Well and good, my dear, but let us go to the stables first," he said. "I feel certain you can show me where they are."

The stables were substantial, but only one horse resided within. "That is Mr. Winslow's horse," Helen offered, then leaned down confidentially. "He's not really much of a horse." She touched his shoulder, her eyes lively. "But Mr. Winslow is not much of a rider."

They chuckled in conspiratorial fashion and then he lifted her off his horse. Helen skipped ahead to a loose box and opened the gate. "You could put him in here, my lord," she said.

He led his horse into the box and Helen closed the gate. He leaned on the gate, regarding his horse. "My dear, surely this box already belongs to another horse. It is all set up with hay, corn, and water. I thought you said there were no horses here usually?"

Helen blushed and looked at her feet. "I fixed it that way. I like to pretend I have a horse." She looked up at him then. "Mama thinks I am helping the housekeeper over here, but sometimes I come to the stables instead."

"I'll never tell," he promised, and crossed his heart. In another moment, she was gone.

"Helen, you are a fairy sprite," he murmured, and turned back to his horse again.

"Lord Winn! I thought I saw you from the bookroom window!"

He turned around to see his bailiff, Tibbie Winslow, standing in the door of the shed. Winslow came toward him with that dignity that he recognized as pure Yorkshire, and held out his hand. "It's been a few years, hasn't it, my lord?"

Winn nodded. "A few, Tibbie." He looked around him. "You seem to be well in control here."

"I can show you better in the bookroom, my lord. Ledgers are all right and tight, and we had a good harvest, we did. Will you join me inside? I know you're a busy man, going from estate to estate. I'll not hold you up here at Moreland."

"Certainly, Tibbie. I will only be here a few days, and I do need a prompt inventory." Lord Winn followed his bailiff to the stable door, then stopped. "Tell me, where can I find a pony?"

From an upstairs window, Roxanna watched Lord Winn and Helen leave the dower house, her heart lifting to see her daughter lean down from atop his horse to speak to him. She hugged herself and shivered, even as she smiled. Oh, Helen, how good to see you in conversation with someone again, Roxanna thought.

She made Helen's bed quickly, fluffing the pillows, then went to her own room. Lord Winn was obviously not there, but she felt a moment's reticence in opening the door. In a way she could not understand, it seemed to be his room, too, and not hers alone.

"Of course, Roxanna, this is his house," she reminded herself as she opened the door and closed it behind her. She bit her lip in dismay. The coal she had rationed out for him was still sitting in the scuttle. "Lord Winn, you will think I am such a nip-farthing."

Well, you are, Roxie, she thought as she went to the bureau. You have another month to go in this quarter, and then you can face the reality of what damage your brother-in-law will have done to your next quarter's stipend. It was a discouraging thought, so she forced her mind into other channels. Bad news could always keep.

Lord Winn had left his shaving mirror on the bureau, and there were his soap and brush. She swished the brush around in the washbasin, breathing deep of its fragrance, trying to remember when she had last smelled shaving soap. Toward the end, it had been too painful to shave Anthony, so she had stopped. She picked up the soap container. " 'Limón de España,' " she read, " 'un jabón de hidalgos.' The soap of gentlemen." She sniffed again, enjoying the lemon fragrance, more than slightly tart, and as subtle as a bolt of lightning. "Nice," she decided as she screwed on the lid, dried the brush, and replaced his shaving gear in its leather pouch with the razor. Helen would probably enjoy another trip to the estate to return it to him.

She looked around to make sure he had not left anything else, and discovered his spectacles on her night table. There was no case for them, so she wrapped them in a handkerchief of hers and placed them on the bureau, where Felicity could not reach them. He had left his shirt in the dressing room. She fingered the material. "Fine linen, my lord," she commented. "Nicely made, too." She rubbed the material against her cheek, breathing in the slight lemon fragrance and a pleasant combination of sweat and woodsmoke. The fabric was soft from many washings, and as she held it out, she noticed a European cut to the design. "How long have you been away?" she asked as she folded it carefully and added it to the pile on the bureau.

She made her bed, noting the indentation of Lord Winn's head on the empty pillow next to hers. I wonder if men have an instinct about these things? she thought as she fluffed her pillow and straightened the blankets. After Helen was born, she had claimed the side of the bed closest to the door, so she could be up quickly in the night. She started to fluff his pillow, but changed her mind. She traced her finger over the indentation, then pulled the bedspread over both pillows. I really should change the sheets, she thought, but knew she would not.

Roxanna went to the window again, looking for Helen, and wishing she had not made such a fool of herself in front of Lord Winn. He must think me a certified ninnyhammer, she thought, to cry over a man with shaving soap on his face. I must learn not to let little things set me off, or else life will be a misery. I must learn to go to bed at a decent hour, and not read myself into a stupor until I am too tired to do anything but sleep without dreaming. And I really must go through Anthony's things and see what I can give away to those in need. When Helen asks for spice cake, I must not keep making silly excuses, just because it was Anthony's favorite dessert. I have to move on.

She gazed out the window with dull eyes, seeing not the sparkling winter landscape, but the years yawning before her like an endless cavity with nothing to break her fall. She stood another minute at the window, then hurried from her room. Today she had promised Meggie they would strip the remaining wallpaper from that last wall in Meggie's bedroom. Soon the upstairs would be done, and she could tackle the sitting room at last. By spring, the dower house would be finished. And then what will occupy my mind? she wondered.

Glowing with the cold, Helen returned from the estate, and skipped back just as happily with Lord Winn's property, while Felicity glowered from the breakfast room window. "It's not fair," she declared to her mother, who only smiled and kissed her cheek.

"Of course it is, my dear," she told her daughter, taking her on her lap, and hugging the warmth of her. "Didn't you get to spend the night with him? Lissy, you are such an imp! When will you learn to stay in your own bed? I cannot imagine what he thinks of us."

"Well, he has promised me red yarn," Felicity allowed at last. She leaned back against her mother, pacified. "And do you know, I first asked for a pony for Helen?"

Roxanna rolled her eyes and held her daughter closer. "No more wagers with Lord Winn," she said firmly. “I doubt he will be here much longer than a day or two, but I will not have you making any more wagers!"

The yarn arrived in early afternoon with Mrs. Howell, the housekeeper who came occasionally to Moreland for basic maintenance. Roxanna welcomed her in, shook the snow off her cape, and sat her down to tea in the breakfast room.

"Mrs. Drew, this is for you, with Lord Winn's compliments," she said, pulling out a red skein from her bag. "And this blue skein is for Helen. He told me to match her eyes."

Roxanna blushed and took the skeins on her lap, looking up into Mrs. Howell's inquiring face. "Oh, it was a foolish wager he lost with Lissy. This is his payment, and I am to make mittens."

Mrs. Howell laughed. "He seems a most pleasant man, for all the stories I have heard about him." She paused, and took another sip of her tea, regarding Roxanna over the rim of the cup.

"There was some scandal, wasn't there?" Roxanna said carefully, looking around to make sure that Felicity was still napping upstairs, and Helen engaged in lessons with Meggie. This is none of my business, she thought. Why do I care?

Mrs. Howell pulled her chair closer, eager to continue. "Aye, indeed, Mrs. Drew! A mighty scandal. Worthy of them Romans, think on. 'Twas five or six years gone now, I recall. Something about Lady Winn servicing half the bucks in London whilst he, poor man, fought Ney and Soult in Spain!"

"Mrs. Howell!" Roxanna said, her cheeks on fire. "Dear me! Was it that bad?"

"That and more, lassie," she stated, pouring another cup as calmly as though scandal was mother's milk. "If that wasn't embarrassing enough, instead of just hushing it up and demanding crimson. money from the more flagrant offenders, what did Lord Winn do but parade them all through the House of Lords for a regular trial. Complete with juicy details."

"No!" Roxanna gasped. "How dreadful for him!"

"Him? Him?" Mrs. Howell demanded. "I hear the entire Winn family was mortified nearly to death. It put old Lord Winn over the edge and into his coffin, it did!" She looked about her. "I hear that no one in London receives him for showing such bad manners. It could have been a quiet divorce. I guess them earls and lords and what-alls do it all the time."

"He must have been grossly offended by his wife," Roxanna said quietly. She thought absurdly of the lemon shaving soap. "Some people are not subtle, Mrs. Howell. Perhaps he really loved her."

"Oh, aye, lassie, happen he did," Mrs. Howell agreed. "I am sure it tickled his male pride, at the very least and all. But to do such a thing to your family?" She was silent, finishing her tea.

"No one receives him?" Roxanna asked. "That seems wrong. What of the former Lady Winn?"

Mrs. Howell snorted, and pushed back the teacup. "The ways of the aristocracy is beyond the ken of you and me, missie, I don't mind saying. What does the former Lady Winn do but marry one of her lays? She's Lady Masterson now, and isn't she seen everywhere?"

"Sounds as though she was before," Roxanna murmured, then blushed again. "Oh, excuse me, but that was a rude comment. But it isn't our business, is it?"

"Well, it might be a little, Mrs. Drew," said the housekeeper. "I've promised myself to Moreland for these next few days for an inventory of the estate's contents."

"Yes, I hear he has been looking over his estates," Roxanna agreed, relieved to change the subject. "Does he own much land around here?"

Mrs. Howell stared at her with wide eyes. "Mrs. Drew, where have you been? He owns half of the North Riding, I am thinking, plus land in Northumbria and Durham, not to mention his own seat somewhere to the south of York."

"Goodness, no wonder he wants to get out from under some of that," she said. "Imagine the responsibility. Well, I only hope he does not decide to sell Moreland."

Mrs. Howell stood up and held out her hand. "As to that, I do not know." She looked around her at the pleasant breakfast room. "It would be a shame, with all the work you have done."

Roxanna thought of her brother-in-law. "You don't know what a shame it would be." She shook herself mentally. "Well, let us hope Lord Winn leaves Moreland alone. Thank you for the yarn, Mrs. Howell."

The housekeeper put on her cloak again and opened the front door. She breathed deep of the cold. "The snow's melting. It'll likely be gone before too much longer."

"Until it settles in again and winter begins in earnest," Roxanna reminded her. "Mrs. Howell, if you need any help with that inventory, I will gladly offer my services."

The housekeeper put her hand to her mouth and laughed. "And wasn't that the other reason I came over here? I must be in my dotage, my dear. Yes, would you help? Tibbie and Lord Winn are riding to Retling Beck tomorrow to check the books there, and I am beginning then. Eight o'clock? And wear an old dress."

Roxanna smiled. "That's all I have!" she teased, then her face fell. "But it isn't black."

Mrs. Howell patted her arm. "Don't worry, dearie. I'll never tell. Tomorrow then?"

"Yes. Eight o'clock."

She was there before eight, wearing a dark green wool dress and accompanied by Felicity and Helen, each with new mittens. Mrs. Howell received them in the warm house, and Roxanna could not overlook Helen's smile of pleasure.

"It's so warm here, Mama." she said.

Roxanna ignored Mrs. Howell's inquiring gaze and held her chin up higher. "Yes, my dear. We do keep our home rather cool, don't we? Perhaps Lord Winn is used to Spain."

Felicity twirled herself around. "I think I would like Spain then, Mama."

Roxanna laughed. "I think you would like any place with hot sun and opportunity for mischief! Now then, Mrs. Howell, tell us what to do."

Mrs. Howell gathered the girls to her. "First, there are cinnamon buns in the breakfast room. Lord Winn said to leave them there for you two. When you finish, stack the dishes, and then find us. I think you can start dusting. The scullery maid will show you where the rags are."

Roxanna followed the housekeeper into the main hall. Mrs. Howell had removed the holland covers from the furniture and she looked about her in delight. "What a fine old piece," she commented, admiring the pianoforte in the sitting room. She played a chord, wincing at the sound. "A bit out of tune."

“I wouldn't know, Mrs. Drew," the housekeeper said. "It all sounds the same to me." She ran her hand over the newly polished wood. "Lord Winn was in here last night. He played something, and told me to have it tuned before it gave him a headache."

"He plays? How delightful," Roxanna said. "See there, Mrs. Howell, he can't be all bad!"

"Well, I wouldn't care to get on his dark side," Mrs. Howell said. "Come, my dear. You can tackle the linen room. I'll inventory the silver. Tibbie says there's enough of that to pay even the Prince Regent's debts."

She spent all morning in the linen room, writing down in her careful hand the sheets, pillow slips, bedspreads, towels, and handcloths, and culling out those obviously lost to mice. She admired the ornate embroidery on some of the sheets, wondering if they dated back to the days of Queen Anne, herself. When she couldn't stand to look at another sheet, she walked through some of the upstairs bedrooms, her eyes wide with wonder at the stately beds, most of which would be too tall for her to crawl into without a stepladder. Felicity and Helen tagged along with her.

"Helen, think how high we could jump on these beds!" Felicity said to her sister.

"Mama would not approve," Helen admonished, even as she grinned at Roxanna.

"Lord Winn wouldn't mind. I am sure of it," Felicity declared.

Roxanna took a firmer grip on her younger daughter's hand. "And you, you ragamuffin, are destined to never know!"

They returned to the dower house when the shadows were lengthening across the back lawn, pleasantly tired and eager for the dinner Meggie had promised them. Roxanna looked at Felicity. "I insist that you take off your mittens for dinner," she said firmly.

Felicity looked mutinous until Meggie brought in the covered roasting pan. She sniffed the fragrance and looked at her mother.

"No food until your mittens are off, Lissy," Roxanna said, trying to subdue the laughter that welled inside her. Oh, Lord, was I this difficult as a child? she thought. Probably.

Felicity did as she was told. The nursemaid, her eyes lively, made them close their eyes. Roxanna opened them to see a roasted leg of mutton before her, the meat moist and ready to be carved. She gasped in surprise.