I thought,
I
will not let the thought of Lady Saunders discussing me with the Earl of Savile upset me!
I set my jaw, turned my face to the fire, and said coldly, “I have no need of inherited money, my lord. I have been earning a living for myself and my son ever since my husband died.”
Silence.
“I see,” he finally replied. “And may I ask what you do to earn your living, Mrs. Saunders?”
His voice was quiet, but there was a note in it that set off an alarm in my head. It was a moment before I understood what it was that he thought I did to earn my living.
White-hot fury flamed through me. I gripped the arms of my chair to keep myself from jumping up and hitting him. I glared at him instead, and said succinctly, “I teach riding, my lord. My clients are the children of the newly rich—men who have made a great deal of money in banking or in manufacture and who want their children to have the same advantages as the sons and daughters of the upper class. Most of these children have grown up in the city and have had no opportunity to learn to ride. They come here and I teach them.”
He could not disguise his surprise, nor could I prevent the color burning my cheeks. My fingers opened and closed on the chair arms. I absolutely
longed
to hit him.
At last he said slowly, “So
that
is why your stable is so full.”
“Yes.” I was still livid with him for what I suspected he had been thinking. “Besides my own horses, I have three horses I teach on, as well as the two ponies whose stalls I commandeered to accommodate
your
carriage horses, my lord!”
He looked me up and down. “You do this all by yourself?”
I thought his look was insulting. Nor did his frankly incredulous tone do anything to soothe my temper. It is true that I am small boned and consequently tend to look rather delicate, but in fact I am as hardy as a mountain pony.
“Yes,” I said through my teeth. “I do it all by myself.”
The fire had begun to lag, and I picked up the poker and went to stir it up, wishing I could use the iron staff on the earl instead of the logs.
Savile said, “Was this originally your husband’s business?”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. The light from the leaping flames made his dark gold hair look very bright. “We undertook it together,” I said. “Then, when Tommy died, I continued it on my own.”
“That must have been difficult.”
I shrugged and gave another savage poke to the fire.
“Difficult” did not begin to describe the horror of that first year after Tommy’s death. Had it not been for the Macintoshes, and for Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate, our local vicar and his wife, I don’t think I would have made it.
I put the poker down reluctantly and turned to face Savile. I said, pronouncing each word as carefully as if I were communicating with someone who did not know the language well, “I do not desire Lord Devane’s money, nor do I desire to travel to Savile Castle with you, my lord. You may consider that your promise to Lord Devane has been fulfilled. You have found Nicholas. You may now go away from here with an easy mind.”
Savile listened to me with polite attentiveness. When I had finished he said smoothly, “Let me remind you, Mrs. Saunders, that I have no idea of what my cousin wrote in his will. All he told me was that he had left money to a boy whom I must suppose to be your son, Nicholas. Whether or not he further identified this boy remains to be seen.”
It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in.
Then they did.
Oh my God!
I thought in horror.
What if George has claimed in his will that Nicky is his son?
Suddenly my legs felt too weak to hold me up, and I made my way back to my chair. I sat as straight as I could and once more tried to breathe slowly and deliberately.
It would be just like George to say after he was dead
what he was afraid to say while he was alive,
I thought bitterly.
“Does George’s wife know anything about Nicky?” I asked Savile abruptly.
“I have said nothing to Lady Devane about my cousin’s last words to me,” he replied. “She is grieving for her husband and I did not wish to add to her distress.”
“Well, if George has mentioned Nicky in his will, there is no way you can prevent her from being distressed, my lord,” I said tartly. “Particularly since I must suppose that the money George so generously bequeathed to my son is money that really belongs to his wife!”
An ironic look came over Savile’s eyes and brows although his mouth remained grave. He said, “The money, I must suppose, will come from George’s private funds, but since those funds originated from the handsome settlement Lady Devane’s father bestowed upon my cousin at the time of his marriage, then what you say is undoubtedly true, Mrs. Saunders.”
I rested my head against the back of my chair and closed my eyes. “God in heaven, what a spineless creature George was,” I said.
Silence.
“Perhaps you have cause to think so,” Savile replied at last.
I opened my eyes. “I spoke from general observation, my lord, not from personal experience!”
He nodded, but it was evident that he did not believe me.
Under the circumstances, I supposed I couldn’t blame him, but this did not make me any the less furious.
I stood up. “I will sleep on what you have told me and let you know my answer in the morning.”
“Very well.” He had risen when I did, and now we stood facing each other, with six feet of the faded and frayed rug between us.
I said as politely as I could, “I will leave you the sherry bottle, my lord, and if you should like a book to read, please choose one from my collection.” I nodded to the two glass-enclosed cabinets along the wall that held my scant but treasured library.
It was nine o’clock at night. He was probably accustomed to having his dinner at that time. On the other hand, he most likely did not rise until nine in the morning.
I got out of bed at six.
“Thank you, Mrs. Saunders,” he replied with beautiful courtesy. “You are very kind.”
I thought of the inhospitable bedchamber that awaited him and had to acknowledge that he was behaving very well. I don’t know why this should have irritated me, but it did.
“We must hope that the snow has ended by the morning,” he added. And smiled.
How to describe Raoul Melville’s smile? Its radiance? Its warmth? Its profound intimacy? All I can say is that its effect on me was much stronger than the sherry I had drunk.
“Good night, my lord,” I managed to croak.
“Good night, Mrs. Saunders,” he replied very softly.
I left the room as quickly as I decently could.
* * * *
Nicky was looking out his window when I came into his room to kiss him good night. “It’s still snowing, Mama,” he said, and I went to join him.
It was indeed still snowing hard. The wind was also blowing as strongly as it had all afternoon; one could hear it moaning in all the chimneys.
“Whatever am I going to do with the earl if he can’t get away from here tomorrow?” I muttered distractedly as I stared out at the falling snow.
“I think he’s nice,” Nicky said.
“You think everyone is nice,” I retorted.
“Well, Mama, usually everyone is.”
I put my arm around him and hugged him.
If I tell you that my son is the sweetest, kindest child who ever lived you will no doubt think that I am prejudiced. But my opinion has been seconded by any number of people who are not related to Nicky. Mr. Ludgate, who is a very lovely man himself, adores Nicky, and has often told me that he would make a very fine clergyman.
Nicky looked up at me out of blue eyes that were as clear and lucent as the sky on a summer afternoon. “Don’t you like him, Mama?”
I prevaricated. “It is just that I don’t know what to do to entertain an earl.”
“I promised to show him Squirt,” Nicky said helpfully.
I dropped a kiss on the top of his silky, light brown hair.
“Time to get into bed,” I said.
He turned to give me a hug. “Good night, Mama. See you with the sunshine!”
It was our nightly ritual. “See you with the sunshine, sweetheart,” I returned.
I waited until Nicky was in bed before I went down the passage to check that Mrs. Macintosh had made up a fire in the earl’s room.
She had, and the bed was made up as well. The same was true for Grove’s room next door.
Nothing would ever make those bedrooms attractive, but at least they were no longer frigid, and the chimneys were not smoking too badly.
I did not climb right into my bed but sat for a long time in front of my bedroom fire, wrapped in a blanket and trying to decide what would be the best thing for me to do about this will.
Nicky must not know anything about George.
That was my chief consideration. My mind scurried first this way and then that, trying to fathom what course of action would best achieve that end. It was almost ten-thirty when I finally made up my mind.
I would go to Savile Castle with the earl, but I would leave Nicky here at Deepcote with the Macintoshes.
My reasoning went something like this: If I refused to accompany the earl, and Nicky was named as George’s son in his will, then the lawyers would be required to see that George’s wishes were carried out. They would seek us out and Nicky would learn what George had claimed.
On the other hand, if I was present at the reading of the will, I could deny George’s claims and refuse the inheritance.
Really,
I thought,
if I refuse to acknowledge George as the father of my child, who will be in a position to gainsay me?
I had no choice, really. I had to go.
I blew out my candle and got into the bed that I had once shared with Tommy.
It was not my husband’s face that floated before my closed eyes, however, as I snuggled my head into my pillow and prepared to go to sleep.
My last conscious thought was,
How did he come to be given a French name like Raoul?
It was still snowing steadily when I awoke the following morning. I lit my fire and dressed quickly in front of its welcome heat. Mr. Macintosh had the stove going in the kitchen, and I ate a big bowl of oatmeal at the old oak table before I went down to the stable to feed the horses.
The sky was just beginning to turn from black to leaden gray as I stepped out my front door. The snow was falling almost as heavily as it had the day before. Some of the drifts in the stable yard looked to be as high as my waist.
Damn, I thought as I fought my way through the high-piled snow down to the stable. What was I going to do to entertain Savile if I was saddled with him for the entire day?
I had to dig out around the stable door before I could open it, and when I finally entered, all the horses nickered eagerly. I set down the lantern I had been carrying and went to light the charcoal brazier, which would give off enough heat for me to do my chores with a fair degree of comfort.
Then I climbed the ladder to the hayloft and began to drop hay down into the stalls.
The nickering got louder as I went up the line of five stalls on the right side of the aisle, the horses on the left side growing impatient as they heard their comrades beginning to munch.
By the time I had finished the last of the horses, the two ponies in the temporary pen at the end of the aisle were whinnying fretfully.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I threw more hay down the ladder, climbed down, and took it into their makeshift stall.
Quiet miraculously descended on the stable. The only noises were the crunching sounds the horses made as they ate and, from outside, the faint howling of the wind.
I smiled. I loved morning in the stable. It was so peaceful.
The stable door banged as someone opened it, and I turned to see Grove coming in the door. He closed it quickly against the blowing snow.
“Lord, Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “I would have seen to the horses for you! There wasn’t no call for you to be out here before the sun is even up!”
“I feed my horses every morning at this hour, Grove,” I said calmly. “It was no trouble to drop some hay to your animals as well as mine.”
“Well, I thank ye, Mrs. Saunders.” He gave me a smile. Grove’s hair was grizzled but the slight space between his two front teeth made him look oddly boyish. “Dare I hope ye might have some extra grain for my boys, too?”
“Of course I do,” I replied. “First, however, I was going to see to the water buckets.”
“Have they iced over?”
“Probably,” I said with resignation.
He went into the stall that contained the earl’s good-looking right leader. “How are you this morning, Rusty my boy?” he asked in the soft voice of a true horse lover. He patted the chestnut’s arched neck, then bent to check the water bucket.
“He’s drunk two-thirds of it,” he reported with satisfaction. “The rest is frozen, though.”
He came out of the stall. “If you’ll show me where the pump is, Mrs. Saunders, I’ll refill all of the buckets.”
I accepted his offer with gratitude. The one thing above all else I hated about the winter was having to cope with frozen water buckets. Once you got your gloves wet, your hands froze unmercifully.
While Grove took care of the water, I measured out appropriate amounts of grain into each horse’s manger. There was a bit of a ruckus as Polly tried to eat Fancy’s grain as well as her own, but I soon got the ponies sorted out.
By now the brazier had warmed the barn to a more pleasant temperature.
I sat down on the bench next to the brazier and undid the buttons on Tommy’s old coat.
The door opened and Grove came in with the last bucket of water.
“Aren’t your hands freezing, Grove?” I asked sympathetically. “Come and hold them in front of the brazier.”
“Thank ye, Mrs. Saunders,” he replied. “They are a mite chilled at that.”
I leaned my shoulders against the wall and watched as Savile’s coachman stripped off his gloves and held his bare, reddened fingers out to the glowing charcoal.