Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (8 page)

"Meggie, where did this come from?"

"Mrs. Howell said she bought too much and Lord Winn told her to see that we got some for our dinner."

Roxanna frowned. "We can't make such generosity a habit," she said, hesitating even as she held the knife in her hand. "What will people think?"

"Roxanna, he's only going to be here a couple of days!" said Miss Watson.

"Mama, it's been a long time," Helen added.

She sighed and looked at Felicity, who already had a finger in the gravy that pooled in the bottom of the platter. "Very well," she grumbled. "I may have to take Lord Winn to task, but we will eat to bursting tonight. Pass your plate, Helen. Lissy! Wait your turn. Oh, we are forgetting grace!"

It was a good dinner, complete with Yorkshire pudding covered in gravy so creamy that Helen sighed. "Mama, you know what Papa would say," she commented as she leaned back finally and pushed away her empty plate.

Roxanna looked at her daughter. You have never spoken of him, she thought as she set down her own fork, fearful that her hand would tremble. "You tell me, dear," she said, her voice low with emotion.

Helen sat up straight, and put both elbows on the table in an imitation of her father that made Roxanna close her eyes for a moment. " 'Well done, Mrs. Drew. It couldn't possibly be any better, not even if the Lord Almighty himself sat for dinner,' " Helen said, pitching her voice lower.

Felicity laughed and clapped her hands. Helen burst into tears, and then they were all crying, and laughing, and hugging each other, until Meggie hurried in from the kitchen where she was removing the plates, and joined them. Roxanna pulled both girls onto her lap and held them close to her, feeling better than she had in a long time.

Helen blew her nose vigorously on a table napkin. "Mama, do you mind?"

Roxanna shook her head, her lips on her daughter's hair.

"Somehow, it makes me feel better to talk about Papa."

"Me, too, dear," Roxanna said. "Let's do it whenever we feel like it."

After the girls were in bed, she went onto the front porch, breathing deep of the cold air, more content than she had felt in months. She drew her shawl closer, surprised at her own peace of mind. For someone with such an uncertain future, Roxanna Drew, you certainly are as merry as a grig. She smiled to herself, then found herself listening, her head tilted to one side.

She could hear the faintest sound of a piano coming from the estate. She listened harder, and her grin widened. The piano tuner must have found his way through the melting drifts, after all, she decided, as she strained her ears and concentrated until she identified a Beethoven sonata. It ended with a flourish and a crash of chords, just before her toes started to tingle from the cold. She clapped her hands softly, and went inside, closing the door behind her.

Her teeth chattered as she undressed and crawled into bed, wishing almost that Felicity would climb in with her for warmth. But I must not encourage that, she thought. Gradually, the heavy blankets warmed her and her eyes closed. Before she drifted to sleep, she ran her hand over the indentation in the other pillow. The scent of lemon shaving soap was long gone from the room, but she imagined it anyway, and places like Spain where it was warm.

Lord Winn and Tibbie returned from Retling in the afternoon, when she was trying to count the sheets and stack them back on the shelves. At the sound of horses' hooves on the gravel drive outside, Helen set aside the towels she was folding and looked out the window.

"Mama, can I go to the stables? Maybe Lord Winn will let me curry his horse!" she asked, her eyes lively.

" 'May I,' not 'Can I,' " Roxanna corrected absently as she began her count again. She looked up as Helen tugged on her arm. "Of course, my dear. Only do not make a nuisance of yourself."

"Mama, I would never!" Helen declared. She looked at Felicity, who slumbered on a pile of rejected linen, still wearing her red mittens. "Now, Lissy might."

Roxanna put her finger to her lips. "Then don't wake her, silly!" She returned to her count, stacked the sheets, and opened
yet
another carved chest. At least it is the last one, she thought. I wonder if the inmates of Moreland ever threw out anything? She opened the chest and gasped out loud, then looked around to make sure she had not wakened Felicity.

The chest was full of lace, beautiful lace, old and yellow now, but still possessing the power to amaze. She carefully lifted out a tablecloth and napkins, tracing over the delicate design with one finger, almost afraid to touch it. I wonder if any of this is salvageable? she thought as she set it aside and turned her attention back to the chest.

There was a smaller tablecloth, and then a christening dress. She sighed with pleasure and held it up, admiring the tiny stitches in the wool and the lace edging around the tiny cuffs and hem. How many generations of babies have worn this? she wondered. And what a pity it is to stick it unused in a chest. She looked about her at the shelves and chests, full to bursting with so much to offer. Such bounty for an empty house, she thought.

She heard firm footsteps in the hall outside, and looked up from her contemplation of the christening gown in her lap. She smiled. It was Lord Winn.

"Good afternoon, my lord," she said, and put her finger to her lips, indicating Felicity with a nod of her head.

He was dressed in riding clothes, the top boots and leather breeches of the country gentleman he was, his coat open and his neckcloth comfortably loose. You don't stand much on ceremony, do you? she thought as her glance took in his graying brown hair, with the indent where his hat had rested, and his handsome green eyes. I did not notice before how green they were, she thought as she returned his smile with one of her own. He was just tall enough, and just broad enough to look substantial, without any suggestion of overweight. You look healthy, she thought, and then blushed at such a foolish observation.

"'Now what did I do to make you blush?" he whispered, coming closer.

She shook her head in confusion, not about to admit to her thoughts. "I am still embarrassed over my piece of foolishness yesterday," she murmured. There. He didn't need to know that she was measuring him, and not finding him wanting in any way.

"Already forgotten, Mrs. Drew," he said cheerfully, then peered at Felicity. "Nice mittens."

"She refuses to take them off, except for meals," Roxanna said, happy to change the subject.

He shook his head and grinned at her. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the bit of lace in her lap.

She held it up for him to admire. "It is a christening gown, my lord. Imagine all those little stitches for one wearing."

"Beyond me," he said. "Most children should be drowned at birth, anyway."

"Lord Winn!" she exclaimed, then pursed her lips when he told her to shush and looked at Felicity.

"I have already told you my opinion of children," he whispered. "I intend never to have any." He watched Lissy. "She won't take them off, eh? Did you make them too tight?"

She put her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. "No! Lissy finds you 'top 'o the trees,' my lord. If she were a puppy, she would follow you from room to room, I am sure! It's a good thing for you that your stay here is not long."

He nodded. "I suppose," he said, without any particular enthusiasm.

The silence made her uncomfortable, but he did not seem to notice as he walked around the little room, his hands behind his back. "Damned lot of sheets," he commented finally, when he finished his circuit. "Take anything you want, Mrs. Drew."

"I could not—" she began.

"Of course you can," he insisted. "Take that christening gown, too. You'll likely marry again won't you, Mrs. Drew? You'll find a use for it, unless I am grossly overestimating the abilities of most Yorkmen."

"I—I hadn't really thought of it," she stammered in confusion.

"I'm sure that once you are out of black, the men of the North Riding won't waste any time," he said, and strolled back into the hall, leaving her to stew in her muddled thoughts.

Roxanna blinked and stared after him. You have such a nice walk, Lord Winn, she considered as she watched him. It's somewhere between a saunter and a... Oh, Lord, Roxie, mind your thoughts.

She pulled out the rest of the chest's contents, suddenly eager to be done with the inventory and back in the dower house. She applied herself to her task, finished the list, and was about to wake Felicity when she heard more steps in the hall, light steps, Helen's steps, and she was running. She tiptoed into the hall in time to catch Helen in her arms.

Her daughter's breath came in rapid puffs as Helen grasped her about the waist. "Is something wrong?" she asked anxiously, kneeling beside her daughter.

"Oh, Mama! You cannot imagine! Mama!" Helen said, her eyes shining.

"What, my dear?"

"It's a pony! Lord Winn says it's part of Felicity's wager. Oh, Mama, come look!"

Oh no!" she exclaimed. "My dear, we can't possibly ..." But Helen was tugging her down the hall. She took a last look in the linen room to make sure that Felicity still slumbered, then hurried down the stairs and out to the stable with her daughter.

She paused in the stable's entrance. Lord Winn was leaning comfortably on the gate of a loose box, resting his arms on the top rail. He looked at her and winked at Helen. Roxanna sighed and came closer, her lips set in what she hoped was a displeased expression. Lord Winn moved over obligingly and she stood next to him, too angry to look in his direction. Helen clambered between the rails and put her arms around the little animal's neck.

"Oh, Mama, he's the most beautiful horse I have ever seen!"

Roxanna stared straight ahead at the pony. "Lord Winn, I ought' to call you out for this!"

"You and who else, madam!" he said, his voice full of amusement. "I told you I always pay my gambling debts."

"My lord!"

"Are you swearing or addressing me?" he asked, and then laughed, turned around when she gasped, and leaned against the railing with his hands in his pockets. "Name your second, Mrs. Drew. I would recommend Felicity. Is it swords or pistols at twenty paces?" He peered at her face. "You know, the way your face is so nicely arranged, it's hard to tell if you're truly angry at me."

"I am angry, my lord," she assured him.

He leaned closer and nudged her shoulder. "What could I do? There was this little pony at Retling Beck, and the stable keep there is half blind and past ready to retire from my services. I couldn't leave him there. And what better hands could he be in than your daughter's?"

"You know this won't do!"

He took her by both shoulders, his touch gentle but firm. "Why not? I have an empty stable here, and someone who will take excellent care of my property." He peered closely at her. "What is it, Mrs. Drew? Do you not relish being under obligation to a man who is not a relative?"

"It is rather improper, my lord," she said. "Surely you must see that?"

He released her, and resumed his casual position against the gate again. "Perhaps you would like it better if I gave the pony to your brother-in-law Lord Whitcomb, then he could bring it over here, or you could keep it in his stables. Would that be better?"

He spoke casually enough, and she knew that he was sincere, with no idea what his words meant to her. Still, she could not repress a shudder. She felt nauseated then, and desperate to leave the stable before she disgraced herself yet again before this well-intentioned man.

"No, that would be much worse," she managed. "I would far rather be under obligation to you. Excuse me, my lord."

Her anguish must have snowed in her voice, because as she started from the stable, he turned quickly to look at her, and grabbed for her arm.

"Hold on, Mrs. Drew!" he called after her, but she ignored him and walked faster, her hand to her mouth, her whole aim in life at that moment centered on getting out of the stable before she threw up.

She made it, but barely, hanging her head over some bushes around the corner of the building. Luckily, her stomach was nearly empty, so she was wiping her mouth with the edge of her apron when Lord Winn caught up with her. He stood there in open-mouthed surprise as she calmly patted the sweat from her forehead and turned to face him.

"My lord, I do not wish to discuss my brother-in-law with you or anyone else. And yes, Helen may keep the pony on your property. Excuse me." Please don't stop me, she thought as she looked at him.

To her chagrin, he took her by the arm and gazed into her eyes. "Mrs. Drew, what is the matter?" he asked, his voice firm.

She glanced away, wishing that her voice did not sound so puny. "It is not something I am prepared to discuss with you, my lord." She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. She looked into his eyes again, remembering her dreadful interview with Lord Whitcomb, and his hand on her arm. "Oh, stop!" she pleaded.

He released her arm immediately, his face flushed. "Mrs. Drew, if I am not mistaken, there is something quite wrong here. I wish I knew what it was."

She shook her head. "Lord Winn, this is a matter between me and Lord Whitcomb. I cannot see how it can possibly concern you, especially since you will be leaving any day now. Please let it goat that."

He wanted to say more, she knew he did, but Helen came out of the stable then, and he stepped back.

"Mama, you must name the pony," Helen insisted, tugging her toward the stable.

Roxanna glanced around at Lord Winn, who stood regarding her, a frown on his face and his hands thrust in his pockets again. "It seems I am needed elsewhere, sir," she said, her voice calm again.

"What do you think, Mama?" Helen asked as they stood in front of the loose box again.

Roxanna gathered up her skirts and climbed up a rail for a better look. To her surprise, Lord Winn picked her up and set her on the top railing. She rested her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and tried to look stern. He gazed back at her, his eyes innocent.

"You are a difficult person to remain angry with, my lord," she murmured.

"Oh, well, you need only ask my former wife about that," he said mildly.

She blushed. "And you are exasperating." She looked down at the pony. "A name, Helen? Let me think."

Lord Winn moved slightly, and rested his arms on the railing again as she took her hand from his shoulder. "I am sorry, Helen, but you will have to wait in line. I believe your mother had promised to name my poor nameless beast," he explained. "I have a prior claim. Isn't that right, Mrs. Drew?"

He smiled up at her, and she nodded. "Yes, I did," she agreed, and shifted herself to regard the big hunter in the other loose box. She started to smile. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner?" She looked down at Lord Winn, "You should call him Ney, my lord."

Helen frowned and shook her head in disappointment. "Oh, Mama! That will never do. You cannot name a horse Neigh."

But Lord Winn was chuckling to himself. "N-E-Y, madam?"

"Exactly. I assume you have a working knowledge of that foxy Frenchman, and after all, this is a hunter."

"Happen I did know Ney real well," he said, looking at her then but not seeing her. "He was a worthy opponent the length and breadth of Spain, and I must admit to a mild regret when Louis had him executed. Well, only a mild regret. Ney, it is, Mrs. Drew. It is an excellent name for an old Peninsula man's horse." He reached out and touched Helen's head. "You're right, my dear. Your mama has a facility for this."

Roxanna held out her arms to Lord Winn. "And now, please help me down, my lord. If Felicity wakes up and finds me gone, I know she will rush upstairs to try to bounce on one of your beds. It is a temptation no four-year-old can resist."

He helped her down. "Or forty-year-olds, madam. That almost sounds fun."

"You are hopeless, my lord," she murmured as she straightened her dress, then laughed in embarrassment. "That was rude of me. Excuse it, please."

Why do I seem to say and do the most stupid things around Lord Winn? she asked herself as she hurried into the manor again. Thank goodness he is not staying here beyond a few more days, or I would make a complete cake of myself. As it is, I have cried all over his bare chest, and thrown up in his bushes, and now I call him names. Oh, dear. She stopped outside the linen room door and leaned her forehead against the cool wood for a moment. I could almost tell him about Lord Whitcomb.

Felicity still slumbered on the pile of rejected sheets, her red mittens a splash of color against the yellowing fabric. Roxanna sat down, her eyes soft as she regarded her younger daughter. There had been enough yarn left to make a little cap. Another evening would see it finished, and then Lissy would have something else she could not bear to take off. She thought about Lord Winn, wondering how it was that someone so adamantly opposed to children could be so good with them at the same time. Drown them at birth, indeed, she thought. You could no more do that than fly to Madagascar, my lord. Or could you?

She gave herself a little shake. Roxanna Drew, you know next to nothing about Lord Winn, beyond the fact that he is your landlord, and kind to your daughters. And he was the center of a huge divorce scandal. He is not received in his former social circle, or so Mrs. Howell says. She thought about her husband, wondering how he would treat someone with Lord Winn's reputation. Anthony was kind to everyone, but even he had his limits. "And so should I," she said as she kissed Felicity and woke her up.

The snow was gone by morning, but a bone-chilling cold settled in. It was almost a relief to hurry to the much warmer manor house to complete the inventory with Mrs. Howell. Even Meggie Watson came along this time. Lord Winn and Tibbie were already out riding, and Helen quickly disappeared into the stable, after assuring her mother that she would keep her coat well-buttoned, and her mittens and cap on. With a determined expression, Meggie headed for the library to begin her inventory. Lissy followed Mrs. Howell into the breakfast room to see what Lord Winn had left behind, and Roxanna continued her inventory with the second-story bedrooms, writing down the contents of each room.

There were six bedrooms, so she went quickly to work. She would have worked faster, but each room presented the temptation to stand gazing out the south-facing windows, looking down from their situation on Sutton Bank to the Great Plain of York. It stretched away, resting now in winter's early grasp, but fertile and only waiting for spring and the bite of the plow in the soil. There would be lambs dotting the landscape, too, and calves, and long-legged colts that Helen would exclaim over, and follow with her eyes as they trotted, stiff and clumsy, along the fences. Both of her babies had been born in the spring. I must be quite in tune with the land, she thought as she sat in the window seat, put aside her paper and pencil, and rested her chin on her gathered-up knees.

"I do that, too, Mrs. Drew. Lovely view, isn't it? Moreland is more charming than I remembered."

Startled, she looked around in surprise and reached for the inventory pad again.

"No, no. Don't let me disturb you," Lord Winn said as he sat on the edge of the bed. He still wore his riding coat, but he held his muddy boots in his hand.

"Well, I am hardly discharging the duty Mrs. Howell requested today," she said, even as she turned her gaze outside the window again. "Do you know, sir, this view reminds me that there is not a season in Yorkshire that is not beautiful."

"Even winter?"

She nodded, and looked at him, still resting her cheek on her knees. "I like the holly on the snow, and the sky so blue it looks as though it will crack with the cold. Stars seem larger in the winter, or have you noticed, my lord?"

"You're talking to someone who campaigned outdoors through too many winters," he said. "Now I prefer a fire, and a good book, and a comfortable chair a bit sprung in the seat, like me. Ah, yes, Mrs. Drew, I was waiting for that smile! You would have to show me what was so enchanting about a tromp through the snowy woods."

She stood up and reclaimed the pad and pencil again. "All you require for that are two little girls who need to wear off endless energy before they can sleep."

"Or you, madam?" he asked. "I seem to notice a lamp in your window rather late at night."

"Perhaps," she replied, suddenly shy. "Excuse me, my lord."

"Don't bother with the next room, Mrs. Drew. It's mine, and I am not particularly tidy."

"Very well, my lord."

He stood up, still tall in his stockinged feet. "Would you call me Winn?"

"That's rather too familiar, my lord," she murmured, and left the room.

He followed her into the hall. "What's your first name, or may I be so bold?" he asked.

"It is Roxanna, and no, you may not be so bold," she replied, trying to suppress a smile. Here I am in my oldest dress, with an apron wrapped practically around me twice, my hair probably dusty, and you are trying to flirt. How absurd.

"Anyone ever call you Roxie?"

She shuddered. "Only my brothers! Don't remind me."

He laughed. "Very well, Mrs. Drew." He opened the door to his room and tossed in his muddy boots. "If I dare not call you Roxie—"

"You dare not," she interrupted.

"... and you intend to 'my lord' me to death—"

"I do," she interrupted again. "My lord."

"You are a bit of a trial, Mrs. Drew," he said. "Look now, I have completely lost my train of thought."

"I have not lost mine, sir," she said as she opened the door to a bedroom across the hall.

He followed her into the bedroom, and she laughed out loud. "Sir, leave me to my duties! You are so persistent!"

"Yes, rather like Felicity," he said. "I remember what it is, Mrs. Drew. Could I ask Helen to ride with me this afternoon? I am going into the village to see my solicitor, and it would be a good distance for her pony."

"Your pony," she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes at her. "You know, your perpetually pleasant expression is exasperating! Just when I think you will return an unexceptionable comment, you surprise me. Let us call it a loan, madam!"