An Inconvenient Engagement Page 6

  They stitched for a while in silence. Eliza had never thought about how her aunt felt about their relative situations. Though she had married into the family, she had watched her husband’s cousin treated to a home and schooling, while her own children must work and take what education they might get. It was unfair, and Eliza was suddenly even more grateful for the notice her aunt had taken of her. She owed many of her skills to the careful teaching of Gemma Wetherby.

  Out in the yard, Alice snatched up a long, thin, branch and switched at the flowers, beheading most of them in a burst of petals. “Eliza, Eliza, Eliza!” All her life her family had been enthralled with her cousin. Even when she had been sent to school, everyone had talked about how talented and smart Eliza was. Talented?! The girl had no knack for fashion! Her dresses were always just this side of dowdy. Almost like a spinster, chemisette all buttoned up. She laughed aloud at the thought of Eliza, ruffles up to her neck in some old, drop front gown sitting at a spinning wheel in a premature cap!

  That was unfair, though, and she felt a moment of chagrin. She knew her behavior was rude but could not restrain her feelings sometimes. Her cousin was not bad so much as she showed Alice what she hated about her own life. Stuck in the country, cooking and cleaning and practicing to be a farmer’s wife. No fancy balls, no supper parties, no reason for splendid gowns.

  She looked up at the sound of hoofbeats. She had let her feet train her onto the main road. Coming after her was a man on horseback, riding from the direction of Stanton.

  “Hello.” He said as he caught sight of Alice. He reined his horse to a standstill and leaned on his knee toward her.

  “We have not been introduced,” she said haughtily.

  “I can fix that.”

  She said nothing but kept walking.

  He urged his horse after her. “If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?”

  She kept quiet but did not turn down a most convenient trail that appeared to her right. He jumped down, then, from his horse and barred her way. Bowing, he said, “I am Thomas, Marquess of Daunton. At your service.”

  Alice’s head shot up. Marquess? She noted the cut of his clothing, the quality of the cloth, and was suddenly ashamed of her own rather simple dress.

  “Alice Wetherby,” she said as she dropped a shallow curtsey.

  “Well, Miss Wetherby. I don’t think I can allow you to walk unaccompanied.”

  “My family leases the farm you see.” She indicated the land to her left with a broad sweep of her arm. “So, I am actually still ‘home’ and in no need of a chaperone.” He was fearful handsome – much more so than Eliza’s baronet. Pity he had no carriage to ride her about in.

  “Your father would thank me, I am sure, for seeing his precious girl safely home.”

  “My father is dead. But you are welcome to take the matter up with him if you like.” She knew she should not be talking to this stranger, a Marquess no less, in such a manner, but her anger had not yet cooled and spurred her on. “What is a Marquess doing in Lytchley?”

  “I am visiting a friend in Stanton and staying for a ball to be held in a few days.”

  “Which one is that?”

  “The Loughton’s ball, at Hadring Hall. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you there?”

  She smiled grimly. “Nay, Sir, I am not worthy of an invitation to Hadring Hall.” But my cousin is. Anger surged through her again.

  “Well, perhaps I can change that. I can petition my friend, The Earl of Tollingham, to get you an invitation.”

  “Me, a farmer’s daughter?”

  “Why not? It is 1811 after all. Look at what has happened in France and America.”

  “Yes, but this is England.”

  “But let me see what I can do. Perhaps we should arrange to meet somewhere to discuss it.”

  A thrill went through Alice at the thought. She had just the gown she could alter to be perfect for a ball. Excitement dulled her caution.

  “There is a small trail we passed some way back. It leads to an old cottage. We could meet there.”

  “Tonight, then? When can you get away?”

  Chapter Six

  The day of the Loughton’s Ball dawned cloudy and cool. The pale green gown was hanging with her best slippers cleaned and waiting as well. She had a little peridot and pearl necklace to wear that had belonged to her Aunt Enger. She felt so fine in the knowledge that she would be dressed well enough so as not to draw undue attention to herself. With everything ready for the evening, she hurried downstairs to help Bessie with the baking.

  Bessie was hard at work in the kitchen. It was Cook’s day off and the day Bessie usually baked for the week. Eliza would help by keeping the fire for the oven going and doing the general cooking. She took up the basket and went out into the yard to collect kindling for the fire, meaning so much less coal that would have to be used. She went first to the carriage house to collect the small hatchet needed to break the branches into pieces small enough to feed into the fire. She set the kindling down by the oven, then picked up another basket to gather more wood.

  Bessie caught her just before she turned to leave. “Coom ‘ere a moment, ‘elp me lift this.” Together they lifted the pan and set it out of the way to let the dough rise. Eliza covered the loaves with a cloth as Bessie turned back to the bowl in the somewhat cramped kitchen. There was a clatter in the yard, and a knock at the door. Eliza ran out to see who it was, leaving Bessie up to her elbows in flour.

  Jamie stood there with a barrow covered by oilskin. He was wearing heavy overalls and muddy boots. A strong odor permeated the air and seemed to be coming from the wheelbarrow. She covered her nose at first, then dropped her hand. “Jamie, what have you been doing?”

  She gestured to his clothes smeared with wool grease and mud, and he grinned sheepishly. “Ah, it’s shearing day. And, I have something for you.” He stepped aside and whisked the oilskin from the barrow to reveal a dirty fleece, ripe with the strong smell of ram and barnyard. She stared for a moment, aware that the corner of his mouth was crooking upward with each passing moment.

  “Jamie…is that…”

  “Ol’ Gower’s prize ram’s fleece, that is.”

  “Oh my.”

  Jamie craned his neck to look her in the eyes, “It is meant to be a gift. ‘For the spinner girl wha’ saved me Ben.’”

  “Oh my…it is beautiful.” And it was, the underside of the fleece was creamy white, tightly crimped and glowed subtly in the gray light. “Will you thank him for me?”

  “You’ll keep it, then?”

  Her head snapped up. “Of course – if it is truly a gift. I would not dream of offending him.”

  “Where shall I put it?”

  “Oh…bring it round to the carriage house. I can clean it out there.”

  The carriage house had once been where the family equipages had been housed and cared for. It had been many years since Denhams had kept anything more than a pony trap and a barrow or two there, but it was useful for many things in addition to storage and was the perfect place to clean and process a particularly smelly fleece.

  The door opened from the house, and she could hear her Uncle’s step as he approached. “Eliza? What is that….” He turned the corner into the carriage house and bespied the large mound of dirty fleece on his own barrow. “Oh. I see. Shearing.”

  “Aye, and Gower was most grateful to Miss Eliza for rescuing Ben and sent along his finest,” said Jamie with a crooked grin.

  “Well, please take our heart-felt thanks to him.” He said through the hand covering his nose and mouth.

  “Aye, Sir.” With a grin, Jamie swung the empty barrow around and trundled off back toward Gower’s.

  Alastair coughed and said, “Erm…Eliza…”

  “Yes, Uncle. I know. I will get Bessie to help me clean it.”

  “Thank you, my Dear.” He hurried away, and moments later she could hear the windows of the house being closed.

  “Bessie!” she called as she went
toward the house. She returned to the kitchen where Bessie was kneading the second batch of dough. “Oh, Bessie. I need to heat some water.”

  “Aye, I heard.” Her voice had that edge that indicated it was not a good day to be helping wash a more than half-stone smelly fleece.

  “I just need water heated – I can manage on my own.” She went to the laundry room to grab the largest tub and carried it out to the carriage house. Several trips to the pump with the bucket saw it half-filled with cold water. She added the soap and mixed it thoroughly, and by then the boiling water could be added. Just as Bessie was calling out that it was ready, rain began to fall. She glanced up, glad they had placed the tub just under the eaves so that she would be out of the rain for the most part. She went to help Bessie carry the cans of hot water out.

  Gower had already removed the worst sections, and there was very little for her to do except pick off the vegetable matter and wash the fleece clean. The rain was a gentle patter on the roof at first. Eliza took the broken handle of a hoe to use for lifting the fleece in one piece and setting it into the tub, gently pressing it down into the hot, soapy water. The water turned cloudy, then brown as the heat and soap coaxed the lanolin and grease off the fibers and much of the dirt that had accumulated there as well.

  The rain started to come down hard, which helped to rinse the scraps skirted from the fleece and piled into the smaller tub. It had the unfortunate effect, however, of trapping the steamy smell of the soaking fleece in the small space of the carriage house. Bessie brought out another can of boiling water to keep the tub water hot. As she poured it in, the rain suddenly increased, pouring in great sheets that began blowing into the ride-through space.

  Eliza made to lift one edge of the fleece to see how the water ran. Just as she was struggling to lift the fleece from the tub with the pole, horse hooves splashed and thundered into the confined space. Two horses with men astride had taken shelter from the downpour in the carriage house - Sir William and his brother.

  “Miss Denham!” It was Sir William who spoke first, “Pardon the intrusion.”

  “No apology necessary, Sir,” she said, straining under the weight of the sopping wool on the end of the pole. Oh La! Would the man never see her in anything but old, dirty clothing? And...oh no. The fleece was quite smelly….

  Suddenly, the odor reached them and both men reacted at the same time, but very differently. George’s eyes grew huge, and he coughed while edging his mount as far from the offending fleece as possible. William’s nostrils merely flared briefly as he watched her struggle with the pole and the sodden fleece. In a trice he was off his horse with the reins handed to George. He took the pole from her and lifted the fleece free as she pulled the waiting barrow closer so he could deposit the dripping fleece within. He helped her tip out the contents of the tub, so it could be refilled. She cringed as the nasty water sloshed over his perfect boots. Just then Bessie showed up with a pan of steaming water, and was so startled at the sight that met her, she nearly dropped it.

  He quickly took it from her and poured it in and helped the two women fill the tub up and then redeposited the fleece into the warm suds.

  “Thank you, Sir. Please don’t trouble yourself!” Eliza panted, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

  He handed her the pole, and she gently pushed the fleece down into the water. He watched and said, “It is no trouble. I need to know how my sheep’s wool will be processed.”

  “I am sure Rivers could educate you,” George muttered disapprovingly and William frowned.

  “How many times must we do this?” he asked.

  We? She smiled up at him and said, “Until the water runs clear. Then it will need to dry.”

  “How long can that take?”

  “Well, if I can get the sunshine and a breeze maybe a couple days. Forever, though, if it stays like this.”

  “You need a room with a fireplace for this.” He said, looking around at the rain coming down.

  “Well, I don’t often have a whole fleece to process.”

  “How long will it take to process this? What else must you do?” William asked, unaware of the face George was making behind him.

  Eliza, however, could see him clearly. She straightened her shoulders however and said, “Once it is dry, I will have to pick it – that is fluff it up and break up the locks. Then card it, then spin it.”

  “There is a lot that goes into it,” he said as he stared down at the tub.

  “Yes, but it is very satisfying work.”

  “I imagine.” He looked at her and a smile lurked at the corner of his mouth.

  George said, “William, the rain has eased. Perhaps we should leave the ladies to their work.”

  William hesitated. The rain had truly softened to a light patter. The smell had lessened with the second wash. Eliza was damp with rain, washwater, and perspiration. Her hair clung to her neck and trailed becomingly along the sides of her face. Her face glowed with exertion, and her eyes seemed to sparkle from…happiness?

  On a sudden whim, he cocked his head, and said, “May I ask…why?”

  She smiled and found herself caught up in his gaze. “Well, it is a beautiful fleece. It would cost a small fortune to get it already cleaned and scoured. But with a little hard work, I will have pounds of glorious soft wool to spin.”

  “How did you come by this?

  Those dark eyes looked into his, and she smiled. “Well, it is partly due to you!”

  “Me?”

  “This was Ol’ Gower’s prize ram that was shorn today.”

  “Gower? Oh, the man with the dog.”

  “Exactly. This is his way of saying ‘thank you.’” Her expression was radiant.

  “And doing all this makes you...happy?”

  “It is going to be glorious once clean. But Uncle needed it seen to today.” She laughed suddenly, and he found himself laughing along with her.

  “I should imagine so!” He glanced over and saw George’s shocked expression and sobered instantly. “Well, Madam, we will leave you to it. I hope to see you tonight at the Loughton’s Ball.”

  “Oh yes, I will be there. Thank you, Sir William.”

  He swung onto his horse and was struck with a thought. “How are you getting to the ball?”

  “Oh, I shall walk.”

  “But it is over half a mile.”

  “Nothing that I regard. I like to walk.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I seem to remember something of the sort.” He thought a moment. “But the roads will be excessively dirty after this rain, and it may even be raining still. Please allow me to send my carriage for you. My brother and I will be riding, so you will have it to yourself.”

  “Oh…oh no sir, do not trouble yourself.” But he had already spurred his horse and cantered off down the road.

  William reined his horse into the open field and spurred him to full gallop. He felt suddenly light and free, and the speed only fueled the feeling. He could hear George’s horse behind him, and he urged Samson to an even faster pace. They sprang over the stream and then soared over a fence, and still they outpaced George. Only when he felt the stallion beginning to tire did he allow him to ease up. Once he slowed, George veered around in front of him and reined to a stop.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “What? Samson wanted a run.”

  “No, offering the carriage to that girl.”

  “She was going to have to walk.”

  “As she should. She is damn lucky she was invited at all.”

  William frowned. The light feeling suddenly drained away. “What do you mean?”

  “Will, she is not in the Loughton’s class, nor ours. She is the poor relation who, by some rights, should be left in the stratus her parents relegated her to. She will be the most poorly connected girl there tonight – and you just offered her our carriage.”

  “My carriage.”

  George ignored the danger signals in his brother’s tone. “It will be associated
with our family, and since you are engaged, this attention will be ascribed to me. God help me if I actually dance with her.”

  “Won’t you?”

  “No! Certainly not now. We have to ensure that everyone sees this was just an act of charity and hope they leave it at that.”

  “No one will notice how she arrives.”

  “Everyone will notice – what do you think the chaperones will be doing? Watching. Everything. And discussing it afterward.”

  Will urged Samson around his brother and set off at a brisk walk. He knew his brother was right in many ways, but he refused to admit he might have erred. The girl would be worn out from cleaning that thing, then there would be the effort to get ready. It would be such a treat for her to ride in comfort to this event. He could not see the harm in it. Besides, he liked to think of her happy because of something he did.

  “Leave it, George. It will all be well.” He reined Samson around his brother and toward home.

  “Like hell it will.” George muttered under his breath. He did not understand his brother’s fascination with this girl. Nor the way he literally lit up from within when he was around her. William had always been so serious, so driven by duty and a desire to please their father. And now, he was recklessly flirting with a girl far below their station. Well, he amended to himself, not really that far below them at all. In fact, were it not for their father’s newly acquired title, they would all be equals together, aside from the money. but they were not, and it was up to William to push the family into a more secure footing in their rank. He was on the brink of doing so – set to marry into money and landed gentry. But instead, he was washing wool and rescuing dogs with the little Cinder girl.

  He urged his horse into an easy canter to catch up with William. Somehow, he would have to make him see the error of his actions…

  Chapter Seven

  True to Sir William’s word, the Strathom carriage was waiting. She took a last look at herself in the mirror. She had had to bathe thoroughly and wash her hair after her bout with the fleece. Her hair was still damp in back, but it had helped hold the braids and twists in place. She had curled the hair so that it framed her face in stacked ringlets. Small silk flowers dotted the base of the twists falling free from the back of her crown. He aunt’s peridot and pearl necklace and earrings were the last additions.