Chapter 5
Leaning close, Thea lowered her voice, though the noise of the market made it near impossible for others to overhear her. “Papa said you are selling far more lambs than expected.”
“Thankfully, our flock proved quite fruitful this season, and our steward will keep us from selling too many. There is nothing to fret about,” he replied, reaching down to take her hand.
Thea’s fingers tightened around his, her gaze narrowing even as she offered the polite smile expected in a public setting.
She saw the truth plainly enough: the faint tension at his temple, and the way his thumb moved absently against her knuckles, too measured to be casual.
It wasn’t deceit precisely. It was more akin to avoidance and determined delusion.
“Then you should be free to join Mina and me as we explore the market,” said Thea, challenging his nonchalance with a raise of her brows.
Frederick chuckled—he actually chuckled!—and settled that performative expression in place, which put others at ease but caused Thea’s hackles to rise.
“If ever there was something to entice me away from my duties, it would be you,” he said. “However, this is my first market as master of Dunsby Hall, and I wish to observe.”
“Then we will remain with you,” said Thea, glancing over at Mina, who nodded. “I don’t care much about the market itself, but I know you’ve been fretting over it—”
“Fretting?” asked Frederick, with a comical frown. “I haven’t the slightest notion as to what you are referring to. Everything is grand. When have you ever known me to be ill at ease?”
And that was the precise problem. The gentleman wasn’t easily ruffled, but having known him for some years now (both as friends and sweethearts), Thea knew his moods as well as her own. She recognized the signs that Frederick, himself, didn’t wish to acknowledge.
Searching his features as he attempted to distract her with jovial subjects and a bit of teasing, Thea tried to discern the source of this disquiet.
But it was difficult to see past the sharp pang in her heart as it collided with the wall Frederick had placed between them.
He was keeping her at arm’s length, and Thea didn’t know why.
“You and Mina should fetch some sugared hazelnuts. I saw a hawker selling them near the cheesemonger,” he said, nodding back the way they’d come.
Then giving Thea a wink, he added, “I would’ve brought you a bag, but I was afraid they would grow cold before you arrived, so I gave her a coin to hold one for you because I knew you would want some. ”
Confound the man! He was right. And despite the sweets she’d already consumed, Thea’s stomach gurgled at the thought. Likely, this would be the last hazelnuts until the next harvest.
Lowering her voice once more, she said, “If you think you can distract me, Frederick Voss—”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, laying a hand over his heart.
“I simply cannot bear the thought of you going without your sugared hazelnuts. I am honored you wish to spend your day at my side, but there is no need. Go, show Mina the market. That is far more interesting than sitting here, watching farmers appraise my stock.”
Thea cared not one jot about lambs or livestock, but in that moment, there was nowhere else she would rather be. This mattered to Frederick, and the thought of leaving his side soured the promise of sugared hazelnuts. Yet pressing the issue in mixed company would hardly improve the situation—
“There you are,” called Phoebe, sweeping over and taking Thea into her arms. Giving her friend a buss on the cheek, the lady took the opportunity to whisper, “I just met the most wonderful gentleman!”
Despite the heaviness of her heart, Thea met that with a smile.
With four and twenty years to her credit, Phoebe Voss seemed no more inclined to marry than she had in her younger years when lads had seemed an odd and unappealing lot, yet now, there was a giddiness to her tone that conveyed far better than words just how much of an impact this mysterious man had made.
Yet when Thea glanced at Frederick, she couldn’t help but wish to stay—even if he was already turning away.
It wasn’t a dismissal. Of course, it wasn’t.
Frederick adored her company as much as she did his, and he would never send her packing, yet why did it feel like her bags were stacked around her?
“Is something the matter?” asked Phoebe, her brow furrowing as she studied Thea.
Only the lady’s brother, but that was not a conversation to be had with her sweetheart’s sister.
“Nothing I wish to speak about at present. Now, where is this fellow of yours?” Turning her head this way and that as though looking for the man, Thea couldn’t help laughing when Phoebe’s eyes widened.
“Hush! He’s not my fellow,” she whispered sharply, though there was a hint of a smile that betrayed the fact that she wished he were.
“Well, I would like to meet him at any rate,” said Thea, then motioning toward Mina, she added, “And I would love for you to meet my cousin, Miss Mina Ashbrook.”
The two ladies dipped into curtsies as Phoebe beamed. “Thea speaks often of you, Miss Ashbrook. I have been most eager to meet you.”
“And I, you,” said Mina with a responding smile.
Then grabbing both ladies by the arms, Phoebe added in a whisper. “You will have to help me evaluate the gentleman. I fear I am already far too smitten to be sensible.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Thea with a laugh, though it faded as Phoebe met that with wide eyes.
“He is far too charming and handsome for my good.” Shaking her head, the young lady grimaced. “He is purchasing some gingerbread simply because I mentioned in passing that it is my favorite. I need your help, or I fear I shall fall headlong into loving him.”
“That sounds serious, indeed,” said Thea with all the solemnity such a confession deserved—though she couldn’t help casting one final look at Frederick as Phoebe led the trio back toward the stalls.
*
Holding fast to his smile, Frederick watched the three ladies thread their way to the bustling stalls, though Thea cast a lingering glance over her shoulder as the sound of his laughter echoed in his ears—and it struck him harder than he wished to admit.
She had come here for him, to stand at his side, and all he’d given in return was a performance.
Yet still, his expression remained fixed in place for the men who studied him from every corner of the green.
Stomach knotting, Frederick tucked his hands behind him and wandered around the livestock, doing his utmost to ignore Mr. Osmet as he checked the teeth of yet another lamb.
Such things were natural. Expected. Sensible people made certain there were no flaws or blemishes before purchasing an item, let alone something that could be carrying diseases or blights into one’s farm.
Of course, anyone with sense knew better than to bring a sick animal into the heart of the Spring Market. It was the quickest way to be run out of town.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” said Mr. Gleason as he drew up beside his master. “You are bound to do good things for the parish.”
Frederick’s shoulders itched to slough off the words.
“I am happy to be of service, but I hardly think being chosen as churchwarden is a great accomplishment. I was already fulfilling the responsibilities in my father’s stead, so it was only sensible for the parishioners to vote me in as their representative. ”
Mr. Gleason hummed in consideration, though he didn’t seem to agree or disagree with that assessment. “The sale is going well.”
“Just as you predicted,” said Frederick with a nod whilst studying the farmers as they evaluated the offerings this year.
“The wool and lambs are fetching a good price, but I fear the barley and wheat will sell for a fraction of what they ought,” said the steward with a frown.
“Too many held onto their harvests last autumn, so the market is flooded with grain. As we had such a poor yield, I think we’d be better off selling at one of the later markets if we wish to turn a decent profit. ”
“A poor yield?” asked Frederick, frowning as he tried to recall Father’s words about the harvest last autumn.
“Several of our tools broke. Harvest is a busy time for the smithies, and it took far too long to mend them, so they weren’t able to bring in all the crop,” said Mr. Gleason with a sigh. “Should I hold back the grain? We may get a better price if we wait a month or two.”
Thoughts spinning with the possibilities, Frederick weighed out what was owed. No matter how good a yield or high a price, it wouldn’t undo the damage Father had done, so he supposed there was little reason to quibble whilst the creditors gathered at the gates—metaphorically and literally.
Frederick shook his head. “Better to be done with it. This is the best market of the season, and we risk the price falling further if we wait.”
Mr. Gleason nodded slowly, his eyes taking in his new master with a curiosity that had Frederick’s skin itching. They needed the money now, and he wouldn’t gamble with his family’s income. There’d been enough of that to last the Vosses a lifetime.
Frederick’s gaze swept across the green, taking in the restless stir of livestock penned for sale.
Calves lowed in rough-hewn enclosures, their dark eyes rolling as buyers prodded flanks and lifted hooves, and a pen of yearling sheep pressed close together whilst their owners barked out prices above the bleating.
The scent of trampled grass mingled with the sharper reek of dung, underlined by the coarse laughter of drovers who moved among the pens with sticks in hand.
Nearby, sacks of barley and oats stood in neat stacks, their weight measured and re-measured, and farmers’ faces, browned and furrowed by weather, bent close as they murmured terms, their voices low but their gestures sharp.
A deal might be struck with the clasp of hands, or else abandoned in a muttered oath.
For all that the rest of Haverford embraced the festivity of the marketplace, there was little of it here—only the hard bargaining of men who knew what each penny meant to the year ahead.
This was where fortunes were measured in hooves and hides, in sacks of grain and the promise of a good harvest. And it was here, among the muck and the harsh cries of trade, that he must find a way to set his house to rights.
As he lingered by the pens, Frederick felt that prickle of attention that had become impossible to ignore. Men paused in their bargaining long enough for their eyes to rest on him, not with open challenge but with a calculating watchfulness.
The once genial butcher offered only a glance before turning his back to weigh a haunch of meat.
Two farmers bent their heads together as Frederick passed, their conversation hushed as their eyes followed after him, and amongst the boisterous laughter and chatter of commerce, a silent question lingered: would Frederick Voss settle his accounts, or prove as careless as the master before him?
Frederick stood straighter, yet the weight of it pressed on him all the same, as though every eye marked not only the quality of his grain and stock but that of his character.
And to one side, he spied the last person with whom he wished to speak.