A Country Affair (4 page)

He could not miss the anxiety in her voice. Richard wondered just exactly what their anticipated visitor had been expected to accomplish. It was quite possible that the man would show up tomorrow, but until he did, and as long as Richard did not lie to her, precisely, he told himself he had nothing to worry about.

"I have all the time I need," was all he said on that subject. "And, besides, it seems I must wait anyway for the gentleman with whom I am to conduct my business."

At this, instead of telling him when he might expect to see the gentleman in charge, Selina drew herself up. "You will have to conduct your business with me, sir. You see—" she beckoned Augustus forward, and the boy made Richard a low bow—"This is Mr. Augustus Trevelyan, Esq., and I, as his sole living relative, represent him."

"Do you." Richard's rhetorical question conveyed none of his shock at her pronouncement. This investigation was becoming more intriguing with each passing moment. Selina, then, must have been the person who wrote the letter of application, though why a boy's sister should do such a thing he could not imagine. And were there really no more members of this household?

Richard found himself fascinated by the mystery.

"Well, miss—" He could not bring himself to call her Trevelyan again, not when she had used his name without permission. "We shall have plenty of time tomorrow, I trust, to carry out our business."

His tone must have conveyed its usual authority, for Selina nodded and said, "Augustus, why don't you help Mr. Lint and bring him all he needs to fix the fence while I attend to our supper?"

Richard winced at her mistaking his name. He was not used to practicing deception, but at the moment, he saw no way out of his. Tomorrow, he trusted, would be soon enough to rectify it.

Augustus agreed cheerily and ran into the barn to fetch some tools. Selina curtsied again, and Richard admired the straightness of her back.

Tired with work she might be, and disappointed, but still she carried herself like a lady. Her graceful curtsey had been worthy of a presentation gown. Her shoulders were elegant though broad, and the dress she wore hugged them tightly, showing off their alluring curvature. But Selina seemed oblivious to her charms as she excused herself.

Richard watched her move towards the house and had to admit that the view was just as good from this side: the way she walked with her head held high, the slight swing of her hips beneath her tattered gown, her narrow waist just beneath the luxuriant fall of hair.

He had to admit that the girl had pluck, too. He almost regretted his errand now. He would not enjoy embarrassing, perhaps even arguing with a girl who needed his help.

And, who did not like to accept it.

Remembering how she had reacted to his offer, Richard decided he had best get to work before Selina changed her mind and sent him packing before he could fix the fence. He removed his woolen jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Chapter Three

Feeling relieved of a burden, which for her was a rare sensation, Selina was half-way to the kitchen before she remembered Clarissa and the milk. The cow could not be left so swollen, or the milk left to sour in the bucket. Since Augustus was busy helping the stranger, Selina would have to milk the cow herself. And if she did not hurry, she told herself wearily, she would have to light a lantern in order to find Clarissa's udder. With a sigh, she turned her steps towards the barn.

Clarissa was still standing where she had left her, tied in the stall and looking pitiful. Selina swallowed her irritation and smiled.

"You thought I had forgotten you, and it would serve you right if I had. But, as you can see, I have returned."

Now, if the cow would only behave, Selina could finish making the soup before she was too tired to stir it.

She settled herself back down on the stool and held the bucket between her feet. Clarissa, perhaps feeling contrite for running her mistress off, stood perfectly still this time; and, as her milk squirted into the bucket, and her warmth encompassed them both in a sweet-smelling cocoon, Selina's mind began to wander.

It did not have to wander far to light upon Mr. Lint.

His appearance, after they had given him up for lost, would have been welcome at any time, but it had come as a pure blessing today. If they could secure Lord Webb as a customer for their trees by impressing his steward, then other customers should follow. Selina only hoped that Caesar's antics had not ruined their chances of winning him over.

Mr. Lint did not seem to hold the incident against them. Nor had he seemed too discomfited by the notion of conducting his business solely with her. In fact, he had behaved more considerately than she could possibly have wished. Just as he had seemed more the gentleman—and a taller gentleman at that—than she could ever have dreamed.

For a moment, Selina allowed her thoughts to drift back to her first view of him: tall and straight, woolen breeches hugging a pair of strong legs, an elegant jacket fitting his broad shoulders to perfection. Then, when she had stood, she had seen a lean, handsome face, a hint of humor in his blue eyes. And a spark of something else . . . .

There, she chastised herself as she stood to pick up the bucket. She must not go thinking he had admired her looks. He had not gawked, at least. She was used to rude reactions to her height, and to ignoring them. Nothing could be done to change her size, and it had come as an advantage under their impoverished circumstances. With no men about, other than Lucas, who was far too old for most chores, it was fortunate she had grown so tall.

All the same, it had been a novel experience to have a man gaze at her so. A man with intelligence, manners and wit, and not one of the country bumpkins she had grown so used to. Selina sighed. It was almost surprising how elegant he was, but then, a great aristocrat like Lord Webb would naturally have an exceptional man for his steward.

Selina hauled the bucket into the house and covered it, leaving the milk to be skimmed later. That was something Augustus could do. She would miss his help when he was gone. And him.

Not allowing herself to dwell upon that sad day, still in the murky future, she turned to her soup with a will. One beneficial thing about working as hard as she did was the appetite it raised. No matter how exhausted she felt, she could usually summon the energy to make supper. And the stranger's offer to mend the fence had given her enough lift that she hardly felt tired tonight.

By the time Mr. Lint and Augustus had finished setting new rails to the enclosure, Selina had finished the soup and cut and fried great slabs of bacon. Before seeking out the laborers, she retreated upstairs to her room and, ignoring the chill, changed her gown. Her fresh one was as old and as out-of-date as the last, but at least it was clean, and she knew its warm colors became her. She brushed the straw out of her hair with a wicked stroke, then tied it back with the yellow ribbons she had bought at the last fair.

She had never had an occasion to wear the ribbons, but Mr. Lint was an important customer and she must do what she could to impress him, she told herself.

With this virtuous thought in mind, Selina walked back downstairs and, needing a lantern now, carried one out to the barn.

The sound of male voices, and the clang of metal being scraped, helped her to locate the objects of her search. Augustus was cleaning mud from the tools, while laughing at something his companion had said.

The light from Selina's lantern cast a glow upon Mr. Lint, who was unrolling his sleeves in preparation for putting on his jacket. Selina stopped at the doorway, taken aback by the sight of a man's lean chest covered in fine white cotton.

Then, seeing streaks of dirt against the white, she was overcome by remorse. "Oh, dear! I fear your shirt has been ruined."

Mr. Lint glanced down at his chest. His eyes returned to hers, and he smiled. "You mustn't worry. I am sure it can be washed, and if not, I have others."

Of course. He would not be penniless as she and Augustus were.

Selina dismissed this thought, which was unworthy, and straightened her shoulders. "My brother and I are very grateful to you for your kind services, Mr. Lint. We would be pleased if you would take your supper with us."

She could see hesitation in his eyes, and something about it made her lift her chin higher. Undoubtedly, he thought he would get a better meal from Mr. Croft.

To her surprise, Mr. Lint accepted her invitation with a graceful bow. Selina thought she had never seen the courtesy performed with such ease. She could imagine that Lord Webb's steward would be at home to an inch in a London withdrawing room, though, of course, she herself knew nothing of such places.

With his back turned towards her, she watched him put on his coat, a snug-fitting garment, which took quite a bit of effort to work into. So much effort, in fact, that Selina felt her fingers itching to help him into its sleeves. She was amazed that a man who made his living on an estate could afford to waste his time on such an impractical garment, and she began to wonder if Mr. Lint might not have a touch of the dandy in him. His clothes appeared to have been sewn while he stood in them, they fit so well.

Then, as he stretched the jacket over his back, she dismissed such a foolish notion. No man with muscles like his could be a dandy. Selina was used to seeing men's muscles as they worked in the fields: bulging forearms, thick necks, and straining backs. What made this man different was the litheness of his movements, a seemingly unconscious grace which reminded her suddenly, and most uncomfortably, of her father.

Disturbed by this reflection—which was certainly improper, as well as a grim warning that working as she did, she must have developed the sensibilities of a peasant—Selina left Augustus to show Mr. Lint into the house. They joined her as she was cutting the bread.

Mr. Lint paused upon the threshold. He seemed to take in their situation at a glance—their eating in the kitchen, tallow candles on the table instead of wax, the modesty of their furnishings—even though Selina had set out her mother's old silver.

Fighting the urge to explain that they had not expected company or else she would have opened up the parlor, even going so far as to light a fire in the old chimney place, Selina squared her shoulders.

"If you would care to freshen up, I have warmed some water. It is there by the hearth."

Mr. Lint thanked her, and peeling off his jacket again, set about washing his hands. Augustus shared his soap, then rushed to sit at the table.

"Augustus . . . ." Selina warned him before he could pinch a slice of bacon. "Do not forget that we have a visitor."

Mr. Lint was shrugging himself back into his coat. He tugged at the collar and sleeves as if he were formally dressing for dinner. Selina did not know whether to be amused or gratified by his manners.

He insisted upon waiting for her to be seated, which only complicated the job of serving. In the end, she was obliged to put all the platters and her mother's large soup tureen on the table and to take a chair herself, or he would never have consented to eat.

Flushed by this unaccustomed attention, Selina ladled out the bowls of soup, conscious that the visitor's eyes followed her every movement.

"I must apologize," she said, to cover the fact that her hand was trembling, "for the behavior of our bull and for the inconvenience he has caused you. Tomorrow, I trust, after you have seen the excellence of our trees, you will not regret having come."

"I do not regret it now."

The sincerity in his voice disturbed her equanimity for a moment, before he continued, "However, I devoutly hope your plan to turn Caesar into a pudding was nothing more than an idle threat."

Selina felt the warmth of chagrin stealing up to her cheeks at the memory of her outburst. "You must pardon me, sir. I do not mean to give in to my temper, but at times, it will escape."

"Not at all." Mr. Lint accepted the bowl Augustus had passed him. "My concern was purely for the beast. He puts me forcibly in mind of someone I know, though I cannot think just who at the moment. But since that is true, I would hate to see him roasted for drippings."

Augustus laughed, and Selina smiled as her embarrassment faded. "Caesar does have a rather regal air about him. That is why we gave him his name."

"That's it!" Mr. Lint pointed with his spoon before he lowered it to his soup. "I knew he reminded me of someone. He's the Prince Regent to a tee."

Now, even Selina had to put a hand to her lips to keep from laughing. Mr. Lint's eyes met hers over the sputtering candle. They seemed to glow with warmth, and a fluttering rose in her stomach.

"Bread? And bacon?" Selina reached quickly to pass the platters. "Augustus, please serve Mr. Lint some bacon."

In the business of passing the food, she conquered her strange feeling, and their appetites kept them occupied for a while. Selina was relieved to see that their guest appeared to enjoy what she had cooked.

She knew the fare was simple, but she had learned to cook at her mother's knee, and she was never ashamed of what she served. Of course, she did not often entertain gentlemen, but the vicar had taken an occasional meal with them and always seemed satisfied. Work, she knew, would give men a taste for food they might not otherwise have, and Mr. Lint did seem to be appeasing his hunger as he made short work of the slabs of bacon and thick slices of bread.

Perhaps, she thought, relaxing for once, he would not regret too much the fare at Mr. Croft's.

Then, a horrible thought made her throat narrow in panic. Mr. Croft would have offered him wine or, at the very least, a tankard of beer. She had no beer in the house.

Rising, she felt a lump of shame deep in the pit of her stomach, as she raised her chin and said, "I have to apologize again, Mr. Lint, but we were not expecting a guest for supper. I cannot offer you ale, but my brother and I are quite partial to cherry wine. Perhaps, I could offer you a glass?"

He looked up and blinked once before his excellent manners took over. "I can think of nothing that I would rather have.”