Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (9 page)

She smiled again and looked around the room. "Let me see, a bed, a bureau, a clothes press." She wrote them down. "Yes, my lord, Helen may accompany you. A wing-back armchair, a footstool . .. Very well, sir, a loan."

He was gone then, whistling down the hall. What an odd man, she thought as she continued the inventory. After a quick lunch in the kitchen, Meggie took Felicity home for a nap, and Helen left for the village, riding alongside Lord Winn's tall hunter. Roxanna watched them, proud of the way her daughter sat so erect in the saddle. Lord Winn had found a sidesaddle somewhere in the stable loft, Tibbie had polished it, and Helen sat it like the lady she was. "I wish you could see her, Anthony," she said as she watched from an upstairs window.

In the final bedroom, she made the mistake of sitting down on the bed to rest a moment. Before she knew it, she was lying down. Lord Winn is right, she thought as she closed her eyes. I do stay up too late each night. I wonder if it will ever be easy to sleep without Anthony there?

When she woke, the room was in shadow. She got up quickly, finished her inventory, and hurried down the stairs. Mrs. Howell waited for her at the bottom, her hands on Helen's shoulders.

"We were about to send out a search party for you," the housekeeper said. "Helen's been eating macaroons this past hour with Lord Winn." She tittered behind her hand. "Lord Winn was of the opinion that you were asleep on one of the beds. I told him that was ridiculous."

"Oh! Yes, ridiculous," she agreed, holding out her hand to her daughter. "Come, my dear. If we delay much longer, Felicity will be tapping her foot by the front door and reminding us that she is starved."

They hurried along, almost gasping with the cold. "How was your ride, Helen?" Roxanna asked.

"Oh, Mama! It was such fun!" Helen exclaimed, and Roxanna blessed Lord Winn for the enthusiasm in her voice. "Because I was so good in the solicitor's office, Lord Winn took me
to
the Hare and Hound for trifle and ladyfingers."

"And now macaroons here?" Roxanna teased. "We'll have to roll you into the house, if you keep up such dissipation!"

"Lord Winn ate more than I did, especially the trifle," Helen confided. "He says his French chef at Winnfield hasn't a clue about 'reet good Yorkshire food with bark on it.' "

Roxanna widened her eyes. "A French chef? Oh, my! Somehow, I don't think that was his idea."

Helen nodded, her eyes merry, then she stopped. "Oh, but, Mama, he said he is leaving tomorrow."

Roxanna digested that news as they walked along in silence. "I will miss him," she said finally. Yes, I will, she thought. It had been a pleasant diversion to have someone as interesting as Lord Winn tumble into their limited society.

"Mama, do you think I could write him?" Helen asked as they scraped the mud off their shoes on the edge of the back porch.

Roxanna considered the question. "If you were older, I would say it was too forward. Since you are six, perhaps it will be unexceptionable, my dear."

"Mama, you could write him, too, and I could add a letter to yours."

Roxanna shook her head, amused at her daughter's enthusiasm. "Now that would
nor
be proper! Besides, my dear, what could I ever have to say that would interest a marquess?"

She opened the door, then stepped back outside in surprise, wondering for the briefest moment if she had stumbled onto the wrong property. The dower house was warm. She and Helen stared at each other, and she opened the door cautiously this time.

It was still warm, deliciously so. They hurried inside to keep the cold out, and Felicity looked up from her contemplation of the silverware destined for the dinner table. Meggie Watson smiled at her from the fireplace, where she was lifting off the kettle of mutton stew.

"Meggie, what is this?" she asked as she removed her cloak and bonnet.

Meggie ladled the soup into bowls and managed a rare joke. "I believe it is called heat, miss! I was just sitting here this afternoon, when a coal wagon drove up. The man dumped a load of coal in the shed without so much as a by-your-leave."

"It must be a mistake," Roxanna said, even as she stood before the massive fireplace that covered one end of the kitchen and turned around, reveling in the warmth. "I have no hope of paying for this. Do you think he meant to deliver it to Moreland?"

"I asked him, Mrs. Drew," Meggie said. "He wouldn't say. You'd have thought he was deaf. Or addled."

"It cannot be correct," Roxanna insisted.

"I am sure you are right." Meggie looked her mistress in the eye and set her lips in a firm line for a brief moment. "But all the same, I brought in enough to warm this house tonight. You can take it up with Lord Winn in the morning,"

"I will take it up with him tonight!" Roxanna said, already dreading the interview. "He is leaving tomorrow morning."

I wish I were not one to put things off, Roxanna Drew told herself two hours later after she tucked her daughters in their warm bedroom, told them a story about a prince rescuing two little girls in distress, and then knelt on the floor for their prayers without freezing her knees. She knew she should have gone over much sooner, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the warmth of the dower house. I could even do my mending tonight, she marveled. My fingers are still nimble.

Instead, she pulled on her cloak again and girded her loins to face a rather different lion. He will probably tell me some cock-and-bull story and insist that I keep all that lovely coal, she thought as she hurried along, her head down against the wind that grabbed her about the neck and shook her. This much solicitude borders on impertinence, and so I will tell him.

Mrs. Howell answered her timid knock. "Mrs. Drew, nothing is wrong is it?" she asked, holding the door open wide.

Roxanna came inside gratefully and laid her cloak on the hall table. "No, not really. Well, yes, actually. I need to speak to Lord Winn. He hasn't gone to bed yet, has he?"

Mrs. Howell chuckled. "Oh, my, no! He stays awake till all hours, prowling about the house, standing by the window, or just looking into the flames." She tilted her head toward the sitting room. "And now since that pianoforte is tuned, he has a new toy."

Roxanna smiled in spite of herself and listened to the sound of Mozart rippling through the closed door. "He's rather good, isn't he?" she asked.

Mrs. Howell walked with her down the hall. "As to that, I wouldn't know." She took Roxanna's arm and leaned closer. "Sometimes he even sings." The two of them chuckled together.

Mrs. Howell knocked on the door.

"Come in, please," Lord Winn said.

Roxanna took a deep breath and raised her chin higher. Onward, Roxie, she told herself.

He was standing by the piano, his pocket watch out, when she came through the door and Mrs. Howell closed it behind her. He regarded it a moment, then snapped it shut.

"Felicity should be here, my dear Mrs. Drew. I think I would have lost another wager."

"Oh, now, see here, sir . .." she began, coming toward him, fire in her eyes.

He sat down at the piano again, straddling the piano bench this time. "You see, I thought you would come right away to scold me. But look, you have waited at least three hours." He put on his spectacles. "Pull up that stool, Mrs. Drew. You can turn the pages while I play. My Mozart is rusty and I need the music."

She sighed in exasperation, and he looked at her over the top of his reading glasses. "You don't read music?"

"Of course I do!" she said. "My lord—"

"There you go again, swearing. I am distressed at such laxity in a vicar's widow," he said smoothly as he turned toward the piano.

"I would like to thump you! No wonder you can't stay married!" she burst out, then gasped at her impudence.

Lord Winn leaned forward and rested his forehead on the piano, laughing. He laughed until he had to clutch his side. "Oh, Mrs. Drew, that hurts my Waterloo souvenir!" he managed finally. "And don't frown at me like that, or blush. Your face just won't let you look serious."

"Oh, you! What I said was dreadful," she admitted, sitting on the stool beside the piano. "I don't know why that came out."

"You were upset with me for dumping coal all over the yard and warming up that glacier," he said calmly. "And I
am
exasperating." He began to play an allegro, and her eyes went automatically to the music as he played. "Watch closely now. You need to turn ... ah, very good. You'll do, Mrs. Drew."

She stared at the notes before her, wondering what to say. This will never work, she thought as she turned another page. "I cannot accept that coal, my lord."

"Hush, Mrs. Drew. I have to concentrate on the allegro passage. You can scold me during the andante. Heap coals on my head during the largo, eh?"

She couldn't help herself. She snatched up the pages he was playing, rolled them into a tube, and struck him over the head with them. He laughed as he played doggedly on from memory, and she hit him again, then collapsed with the giggles on the stool. "You would try a saint!" she protested as she laughed and hit him one more time for good measure.

He rescued the music while she laughed, and continued playing, a grin on his face and his eyes on the music. "I do like a hearty laugh, Mrs. Drew. When you are through, we can get down to the business at hand."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve finally. "Oh, forgive me! I haven't laughed like that since . . . Well, it's been a long time. And I still can't take that coal. Will you pay attention to me, my lord?"

He stopped playing, and straddled the bench again, looking into her eyes until she wanted him to start playing instead. "Mrs. Drew, there is a clause in your contract. As your landlord, I am required to provide coal."

"That is a hum, and you know it, my lord," she said quietly.

He took her hand. "Dear lady, I have spent the last two miserable months—or is it three now?—traveling from estate to estate, staring at deeds and titles and clauses until I am practically blind with it, and if I tell you that the Moreland holding has a clause about coal, you can bank on it that I am right. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"You had better show me the deed," she said, pulling her hand away.

He put his face close to hers. "It is in Latin, you exasperating female!"

She did not back away. "Next you will tell me you found it in your personal copy of William the Conqueror's Domesday Book!"

His eyes brightened and he took off his spectacles. "How did you know? Have you been in my library?"

She leaped to her feet, resisted the urge to thump him again, and took a turn about the room. "Very well, sir, we will accept your coal. Arguing with you is like trying to stop water flowing."

He turned back to the piano and played a wonderful minor chord. "Now you understand! Excellent, Mrs. Drew. There is hope for you yet. Pull up that stool. Do you know Mozart's Piano Duet in C sharp minor?"

She stood looking down at him. I could go home right now, she thought. I probably should. But I am tired of worrying and contriving. Very well, sir, let us play a duet. She sat down and pulled the stool closer while he spread out the parts.

"Just the andante, please, my lord," she said, her back straight, her hands poised over the keys. "I need to get home to my girls."

"Very well, madam," he agreed, his voice gentle. "I know you do. Are you ready?"

"Not too fast," she cautioned. "I have not done this in a while." "I will take my time," he said, and smiled at the music. "And then when we are done, we will discuss your brother-in-law, who paid me a visit tonight. He wants to buy this place from me."

Her hands faltered on the keys. He reached over and touched her wrist lightly, then continued the melody.

"Keep playing, madam," he said, his eyes on the music. "The first rule of dealing with such men is not to show any fear."

"But I am afraid," she said. "I am terrified."

"You must not show it. I suspect a deep game here, but we're going to finish this andante first. Excellent, Mrs. Drew. You're a steady one."

The andante concluded. She put her hands in her lap, and continued to stare at the music. Lord Winn closed the piano and put away the music in silence. He shifted to face her, but she could not bring herself to look at him.

"Do I go first, or you?" he asked quietly.

"I wish you would, my lord," she replied. "I want to know what happened tonight before I say anything." You are sitting too close to me, she thought, and felt that same panic that had nearly overwhelmed her during that quelling interview with her brother-in-law.

To her relief, he got up and stood before the fireplace. "I ran into Lord Whitcomb in the village this afternoon. He was surprised to see Helen with me. By the way, Helen was delighted to see him."

Roxanna looked up for the first time. "I am sure she was. He has always been kind to her, and to Felicity."

"And to you, Mrs. Drew?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"He asked if he could visit tonight on a matter of business." Lord Winn poured himself a glass of port from the table by the fireplace and offered her one. She shook her head. "He wasted not a minute in telling me that he wanted to buy Moreland. Said he would pay any price."

Roxanna shivered, and met Lord Winn's eyes. "Come closer to the fire, my dear," he urged. "Or is it cold that you are feeling?"

She shook her head and remained where she was.

"I asked him why he was so eager to have Moreland. Told him I would gladly sell him Retling Beck, but he wasn't interested in that property."

He came closer and leaned against the piano. "Mrs. Drew, he said he wanted Moreland so he could keep a better eye on you. It seems he made a perfectly kind offer to move you into Whitcomb Park, but you would have none of it." He sat down again by her on the piano bench. "He wonders if you possess all your faculties."

She sat absolutely still as her insides churned. She could feel the color draining from her face. The room seemed too hot and too cold by turns and she closed her eyes. In another moment, Lord Winn had raised his glass of port to her lips. She drank, and felt her color return. He set it beside her on the piano.

"You need this more than I do, Mrs. Drew," he said. He touched her cheek, and withdrew his hand quickly when she flinched and pulled back from him.

"I think I am beginning to understand what is going on," he commented. "But you need to talk about it, my dear."

Roxanna looked into his eyes again. Can I trust this man, she asked herself, or is he just another Lord Whitcomb? God knows his reputation is much worse than my brother-in-law's. To everyone in the North Riding, Marshall Drew is an excellent landlord, husband, parishioner, and friend. On the other hand, Lord Winn is a wild card, a man steeped in scandal, someone mysterious from farther south. What do I really know of him?

He returned her stare without wavering. "Mrs. Drew, you already trusted me enough this afternoon to take your daughter riding," he said. "I strongly suspect that your daughters mean more to you than your life."

She nodded. "They
are
my life now. Very well, sir, I have to trust you, don't I?"

"I believe you do."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Lord Whitcomb wants to get me into his bed." She shivered again. "That's bald, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Bald, but it covers the subject," he said as he got up and took a light blanket off the sofa, which he wrapped around her shoulders. She clutched at the fabric until her knuckles were white, but he made no comment.

"His own wife is a disappointment to him, or so he told me. He thinks I should... accommodate him, in exchange for a pleasant life at Whitcomb Park. My daughters would have every advantage." She turned away because she could not bear to look at him. "And if... if I had a child, we could pretend it was his wife's. It seems she cannot have children, and I am obviously capable of this."

She jumped up then and stalked to the fireplace to grab hold of the mantelpiece and stare into the flames. " 'We will keep you in the family,' he told me, as though I were a plaything, a man's bauble! Oh, God, what could I do but leave?" The words were torn from her and she shivered again. "He controls my parish stipend as Anthony's relict. He cannot eliminate it, but he can reduce it, and probably will, out of spite. I thought if I could rent the dower house, I might be able to make ends meet, no matter how much he shaved from my allowance."

"Have you no male relatives to apply to for protection?"

She shook her head. "My parents are dead these five years, and my brothers are both officers in the East India Company, situated in Bombay. I have no one in England to turn to, Lord Winn, and no one would believe me if I told them what Marshall was planning.

"Probably not. On the face of it, he seems as upstanding as your late husband must truly have been."

She walked to the piano to stand in front of him. "Do you believe me?" she asked, her voice barely audible to her own ears.

"I do, most emphatically," he replied, his voice as quiet as hers, but filled with a conviction that made her sigh with relief.

"I'm so cold," she said suddenly. "I cannot seem to stop shivering." She tried to smile. "Since you have arrived, I have done nothing but make a cake of myself. What you must think!"

"I think you are quite a valiant lady, but far out of your depth, Mrs. D.," he said as he tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

She questioned him with her eyes. "What do you mean? What can he do beyond what he has already done, if you will not sell him Moreland?"

"Rest on that, at least, Mrs. Drew. I will not sell him Moreland. And so I told him."

"Was he angry?"

Lord Winn smiled. "Oh, a little. Less than you would suspect. I think he must have another plan, but I do not know what it is. T cannot think he has power to harm you here, and I've never been one to borrow trouble from tomorrow."

Roxanna nodded. "I remember a sermon once along the lines of 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' "

"Matthew 6:34," he said absently, then noticed her wide-eyed gaze. "Yes, I read the Bible, Mrs. Drew! I've even been known to go to church! Not recently, however," he added. "I don't think the Lord is too pleased with me lately."

She sipped the port, then handed it back to him. "Perhaps you are too hard on yourself. Lord Winn."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "At any rate, you needn't worry about your situation here."

"I feel safe enough, as long as you do not sell Moreland." She frowned. "But... but I cannot dictate the terms, my lord. This is your property, and if you choose to sell it, then we will leave. It's as simple as that."

"My dear, seldom is anything simple."

She did not know what he meant. He wasn't looking at her, but beyond her and out the window. Somewhere a clock chimed. She counted the chimes in the quiet room, and got to her feet.

"Oh, it is so late! I am sorry to have burdened you with my problems, Lord Winn, but then, you did ask," she said as she held out her hand to him. "I certainly wish you a happy journey tomorrow. Are you returning to your principal seat?"

He nodded, and shook her hand. "I think so. I have to strategize where to spend Christmas this year. It must be a place where I will not get into any trouble, and my sisters will not try to manage me."

"Good luck! My girls will miss you."

He nodded. "Tell Felicity I said to take off those mittens occasionally, and assure Helen that I will answer any and all letters."

"I hope she will not plague you," Roxanna said.

"I don't she how she could," he said, then looked into her laughing eyes. "And you, Mrs. Drew, will you miss me?"

She considered his question, and chose to answer in the spirit of its asking. "Why yes, I will," she replied promptly. "I've laughed with you, cried on you, thrown up in your bushes, and thrashed you with your own music score." He started to laugh, and she held up her hand. "It is nice
to
know that I can fee! something again, my lord, even if it is merely rage and nausea!"

He was still laughing when she hurried down the hall, pulled on her cloak, and opened the back door. She waved her hand at him. "I enjoyed the duet, my lord," she called. He bowed to her and she thought him charming.

It was even colder than when she left the dower house, but Roxanna walked slowly home. Poor Lord Winn. You will wish you had never set eyes on Moreland, she thought as she picked her way carefully through the hardening ground. Widow Drew and her daughters are rather a lot of trouble for ten pounds a year.

She let herself in the front door, and stood for a moment in the empty sitting room. I will tackle this room right away, she thought. I can have it done and furnished with a sofa and chairs from Moreland by Christmas, if I can beg those items from Tibbie. Oh, dear, Christmas. I fear it will be sparse this year.

It was easier than usual to sleep, she discovered. Meggie had thoughtfully provided a warming pan between the sheets, and the grate was furnished with enough coal to keep the chill away. She snuggled into the blankets, thankful to be warm for a change. As sleep came closer, she stretched out from habit to put her feet on Anthony's legs, and drew back when no one was there. "Oh, drat!" she said out loud. "When will I stop doing that?"

Lord Winn stood by the bookroom window and watched until Mrs. Drew was safely inside the dower house. He locked the door and sauntered back to the sitting room, where he poured another glass of port and sat down at the piano again. He held the wine up to the light.

"Here's to you, Lord Whitcomb," he said. "I can empathize completely with your desire to slide Mrs. Drew between your sheets." He drank it down, and poured another drink. "And here's to you, Mrs. Drew. Truth to tell, Roxie dear, I'd like to see you between mine."

He drank the second toast more slowly, playing one-handed through the andante of the duet, wondering why he had been chosen, out of all the people on earth, to be such a fool. "I am an ass, Roxie Drew," he said softly as he concluded the andante, then went back and played her part. "You would no more consider this divorced man as prospective husband material than walk naked through York."

Restless, he went to the fireplace and stared into the mirror over the mantelpiece. Discounting all that, Winn, if she possibly could, you are nearly forty, with graying hair, catty green eyes, and a sharp tongue. A bit of a misanthrope. Mrs. Drew would want children, and you cannot abide the idea of ushering little ones into a miserable world of greed and squabbling relatives. It's a good thing you told yourself that you don't wish to marry ever again, because it's not going to happen with Mrs. Drew, be you ever so in love.

He winced and looked away from the mirror as he remembered the times he had told Cynthia he loved her. Well, you did love her, Winn, he reminded himself. He poured another drink, sloshed the wine onto the carpet, and wondered why the decanter looked farther away from his arm than before. "And here's to you, Cynthia," he said, and drank steadily. The thought of you kept me alive through many a battle, when I wanted to run screaming from the field, he considered. I owe you that.

He picked up the decanter and drank from it. Damn good thing I didn't know what you were doing in our bed while I was thinking noble thoughts in Spain, though, he told himself. Damn good thing. He sat down on the floor by the fireplace. "You are drunk, Lord Winn," he observed, and reached for another bottle on the table. It was too far away, so he abandoned the idea, contenting himself with the last drops from the decanter.

His mind was clear enough. He lay down on the carpet in front of the fireplace, enjoying the warmth on his back, and stared up at the crumbling plaster swirls in the ceiling overhead. Roxie Drew, I was a dead man from the moment you opened your door to me at midnight. I should have just put a gun to my head and blown out my brains on your doorstep. I could look at you, listen to you, watch you for the rest of my life and never get bored. I wonder what you look like when you sleep. When you're angry. When you make love. I would like to know.

Lord Winn put his hands behind his head. This will never do, he thought. A man can go crazy thinking things like that. I can understand Lord Whitcomb's predicament. "Poor sod," he murmured. "You've had to admire her for years and not touch. Did you hold her in your arms to comfort her when Anthony died? How did you manage that. Lord Whitcomb?"

His eyes started to close. Well, at least you are safe from that pile of dirty laundry, Mrs. Drew. I'll never sell Moreland. And since I'm leaving tomorrow, you're safe from another ugly customer.

When he woke, the coals glowed dull red in the grate and the candles had burned down beyond the wicks into waxy puddles. He sat up and rubbed his head, wondering what campfire he had nodded off beside, what battlefield he rested on. In another moment, he recognized his surroundings. He stood up, stretched, and found an unlit candle, which he lighted from the coals.