Chapter Six #2
“Easy,” he said through gritted teeth. Brutus pawed the ground and whinnied. “Shall we?” Justin asked, hoping that he was maintaining some sort of composure.
“I think we should keep to the western path and make our way around the estate. That will show us the most,” Lady Prim and Proper said. Her lips were still turned down in their perpetual frown, but he caught a spark of laughter in her eyes.
“By all means,” Justin said, watching as she clicked her tongue and trotted off down the path. Justin dared not offer Brutus any encouragement, but the horse seemed to understand what was expected of him and trotted off after the little mare.
Justin looked over at Miss… or was it Lady Cordelia?
It must have been Lady. She seemed to stiffen every time he spoke to her.
He usually got along quite easily with the people he encountered.
He had many friends in London, mostly working-class, like he was.
They were all sorts of cheery, genial people, all of them down-to-earth.
He couldn’t imagine a life where people were so reserved that they found speaking about jacket cuffs inappropriate.
And despite everything he was trying to tell himself about Lady Cordelia, he still needed to catch his breath when she swept her dark-red skirts over the dappled mare’s back.
He wasn’t sure what he preferred her in: proper lady’s clothes or the tight breeches she’d worn that day on the washed-out road.
The breeches seemed to be plaguing his sleep more.
The past few nights he’d woken sweating and hard after dreaming about Lady Cordelia slowly unbuttoning her too-big waistcoat to reveal—
“Here is the farmland that directly adjoins our estate,” Lady Cordelia said, pointing to the stone wall and a charming little cottage.
A woman was dumping dirty water out of a bucket and into a planter filled with herbs.
Cordelia waved at her. “That’s Mrs. Miller. Mr. Miller and his son run the farm.”
Justin followed her lead and waved at the woman. She set her hands on her hips as she regarded him from a distance.
“You’ll be the talk of the tenants, Your Grace,” Cordelia said.
“I hope the talk is good,” Justin replied. “Do they enjoy their lives on the estate?”
“From what I gathered when father was alive, yes,” Cordelia said. “I visit with them once a year; my sisters and I bring baskets at Christmastime.”
“Are the livings good, I mean,” Justin said.
Cordelia looked over at him for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “I should think so. Father told me he did not have to raise rents for quite some time. Shall we canter up this ridge?”
Without waiting for him she kicked Buttercup on.
Brutus happily bucked and matched the mare’s stride.
Justin took a fistful of mane in his hands to keep from getting off-balance.
When they reached the top of the ridge, Cordelia promptly halted, easily sliding down from her sidesaddle unassisted.
Justin tried not to grumble as he dismounted, his thighs already sore from the short ride, as if he needed further proof that he was wholly unsuited to the life of a country gentleman.
Lady Cordelia stood on the ridge, cheeks pink as a cool spring breeze washed over her. For the first time since they’d become acquainted, he could see she was smiling.
“This is my favorite place on the estate,” she said.
It was evident why. From the top of where they were standing, a green valley swooped out from under their feet, revealing rolling verdant hills, dotted with patches of farm fields, stretching as far as the eye could see.
A lake sprang up in the middle, its speckles of light shimmering in the late morning sun.
“Beautiful,” Justin said. Turning back to where Brutus was cropping grass, he reached in his saddle bag for his charcoal and sketchbook.
“What do you have there?” Cordelia asked.
“I like to make sketches sometimes. It will keep me informed of where everything is on the estate,” he replied, flipping to a blank page. “Do you mind if we tarry here a little while?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I suppose we are on a main road. It’s not terribly inappropriate.”
“Well, I can assure you that I’m hardly a threat,” he said, beginning the drawing with long, sweeping lines.
“If someone sees us out alone, they may think we are courting. Lady Billings would be terribly upset by that news. Half of Hertfordshire would hear of it and then Lady Prudence DeLessops would make some kind of insinuation, and before we knew it I’d be ruined.”
Justin knit his eyebrows together as he shaded in the lake. “That seems to be quite a leap you’ve made.”
“A lady must always be above suspicion,” she replied, tartly.
“Is this Lady Prudence the decider of a woman’s fortunes in high society?” Justin asked. “Seems like too much power to grant an anonymous source.”
“There’s power in the talk, you see,”’ Cordelia said. “For example, you, ‘The Blacksmith Duke,’ have been dubbed the most enigmatic unattached man of the season. Any lord would be very pleased with that title.”
Justin paused. “The Blacksmith Duke?” He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.
“Indeed,” Cordelia replied. “A man from humble beginnings, rising up to run the estate where your father once worked. It’s practically a fairy tale.”
The words sank in his gut. He felt an irrational anger boiling up inside of him. “Interesting. I’ve never worked as a blacksmith. Only apprenticed to one. I’ve since come into better work.”
“You work?” Cordelia asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Of course, doesn’t everybody?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I suppose that gentlemen work.”
“Work?” Justin scoffed, breaking the tip of his charcoal off on the page.
“All I’ve seen titled men do is attend lunch clubs and dig themselves into debt.
” And drink until they can’t see straight and whore until the early hours of the morning…
but he didn’t want to cause the lady to have another fainting spell.
“My father worked every day of his life. He managed the Hollyhead estates and two other houses,” she shot back. “I’m sure you couldn’t possibly understand.”
Justin’s thin patience had finally waned. It was always the same with these types, since his days at Eton. Charles had told him to hold his head high, and that what made a man gentle was more in his character than his name. But the rest of the world did not see it that way.
“Charles Nichols brought me up to seek honest work, which is more than I can say of the types of people who run in your circles.”
Cordelia’s pretty mouth twisted into a glower. “I beg your pardon?”
“My father was a blacksmith, yes. My other father was a disgraced son of a duke, turned soldier, who did everything he could to send me on to Eton and then Cambridge. He worked himself nearly to death for everything I have today, and he did it without titles and family money. He did it by being a good, hardworking soul,” Justin said, struggling to contain the anger in his voice.
“Which is perhaps more than you could understand. With your upbringing.”
Her face was white now. “I-I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m sure you didn’t. But my life certainly has not been the fairy tale your Lady Prudence has made it out to be. This is the first thing I’ve acquired in my life that did not require some sort of sacrifice, and I intend to be rid of it as soon as possible.”
Justin shoved his sketch pad into the saddle bag and did up the buckle.
“You… you mean to sell Hollyhead?” Cordelia stammered.
He didn’t turn to look at her as he put his foot in the stirrup.
He swung himself back on, so efficiently he surprised himself.
“Yes, that has always been my intention. You and I… and the rest of high society all know that I am terribly unsuited and unprepared for this role. The sooner the estate finds itself in the hands of someone who can manage it, the better.”
Justin felt inexplicably guilty as he saw tears forming in her eyes. She turned to face the valley once more.
“I think I’ve seen enough, Lady Cordelia. I thank you for your assistance.”
He did not wait for her reply as he turned Brutus back toward the house.