Chapter Twelve
It was unlike Cordelia Nichols to be late.
Justin already had the horses tacked and waiting in the stable yard.
He checked his pocket watch again. Five minutes past eight o’clock.
Justin harrumphed to himself, leaning against the stone wall of the stable.
He’d ditched the nice trousers and was wearing a pair that he usually brought only to work sites in London, to inspect one of the buildings his firm was constructing.
With his white shirt, jacket, and red necktie, he could have been mistaken for one of the staff.
But, as he realized, nothing he did seemed to please Miss High-and-Mighty, so he might as well try to be more of himself. Besides, the trousers were comfortable, and he expected them to be riding a long way today.
“Women, hey, Your Grace?” Sam said, approaching him with a steaming mug of what smelled like coffee. He offered him the drink.
“Cheers,” Justin said, lifting his mug as if to toast.
Sam smiled, all worn cheeks and wrinkles. “I knew ye when you were just a small lad,” he said. “Your father was a good man. Had a kind word for everyone, he did.”
Justin returned the smile. “I have to confess, Sam, I don’t rightly remember the place well at all. I was young when Charles and Alice took me in.”
“Aye, that’s right. He was a good man too, Charles. I was sorry to hear that he passed on nigh two year ago,” Sam said, wiping his jaw with a grizzled palm.
The memory caused Justin’s stomach to clench.
There was an affect about Charles Nichols, with his vim and vigor, that made everyone believe such a lion of a man would live forever.
And yet, a fever had him wasting away in bed for months until he finally succumbed.
Alice was inconsolable for the better part of a year.
She’d just started coming around to her old self when Justin had got the call that he needed to return to Hollyhead to sort out the dreadful mess of the estate.
“And how is yer ma?” Sam asked. “Pretty and gentle I remember her being.”
“Oh, she’s been well lately,” Justin answered.
He’d only sent thin letters home, assuring everyone that things were well in hand.
His mother replied with news of Penelope’s pregnancy, of the various happenings around London, of his name being mentioned in the scandal sheets.
She was, like every other living thing alive, enamored with a Lady C.N.
, of whom Lady DeLessops frequently had things to say.
“I apologize!” A harried voice echoed off the walls.
Lady Cordelia Nichols came bounding out of a fog of dust, dressed in an exquisite dark-blue velvet riding habit. Holding a hand to her nose, she sneezed loudly, ruffling a few of the curls that were pinned beneath her cap. “I slept late,” she explained, sneezing again.
“Well,” Justin remarked, “we’d best be going, late as we already are.”
“Right,” she agreed, then she turned to the stable hand. “Good morning, Sam!”
“Mornin’, maid!” Sam replied. “Your tardiness would have naught to do with a statue being knocked over in the night, would it?”
Cordelia laughed. “Sam, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You should ask His Grace. I believe it was his idea.”
Instead of taking the bait, Justin simply winked at her. He approached the dappled mare, gathering the reins in one hand and swinging a leg over her small, sedate form.
“Oh,” Cordelia breathed. “Your Grace, I do believe that’s my horse…”
“Nah,” Justin said. “I’ve decided that Buttercup suits a Londoner more than that black hell creature. Besides, everyone at Hollyhead knows how much you prefer old Brutus to this little mare, I think.” He patted Buttercup’s neck and she nickered softly in response.
Cordelia’s eyebrows shot up as she regarded him. “I… I cannot be seen on the duke’s horse. It would be… improper. People might think me—” she paused as she gathered her words, “—impertinent.”
Justin clicked his tongue. “A pity you are so hung up on appearances, Lady Cordelia,” he replied, letting some of his cockney accent shine through. “If you cared about saving this estate as much as what people thought of you, more might have been done already.”
Justin took great pleasure in watching Cordelia’s cheeks bloom pink. He was reminded of how well it suited her. Holding her nose in the air, she put a foot in the stirrup and swung onto Brutus’s back, arranging her skirts as she settled into the sidesaddle.
“Walk on,” she commanded, brandishing her crop.
Well, Justin thought to himself, should have given her a taste of her own medicine ages ago.
It was a brilliant day as they rode out onto the estate. The sun was warm; Justin could feel the spring slipping into summer. Cordelia urged Brutus into a canter and Buttercup followed behind, her gracile legs keeping up well enough.
“I believe this is where we had our last conversation about the estate,” Cordelia said, her eyes flashing as she looked over at him.
“Yes, it is,” he said, surveying the lake. He swung his leg over the top of Buttercup’s neck to dismount. “Why was this put in?” he asked.
She looked surprised that he’d asked her such a sharp question. “Are you asking because you don’t know, or because you already know and want to school me about my childhood home?”
Justin laughed. “The former.”
“I… I believe it was fashionable at the time. I think it was in the late eighteenth century. One of my forebears had it completed. Took them nearly twenty years,” she said.
Justin nodded his head. The whole valley seemed to slope into that point. The water was shining in the morning sun, glinting like precious gemstones. “I know why your crops have been so poor these past years,” Justin said.
“Oh?”
“There has been too much water runoff to sustain the topsoil. Water has been trickling into this valley, taking with it important nutrients,” Justin said.
Cordelia gathered her skirts as she prepared to dismount.
He walked over to her, offering her his hand.
She took it and slid off, coming to stand face to face with him, closer than they were when they waltzed.
Cordelia’s cheeks were already flushed from the ride, and tendrils of dark, curling hair hung by her cheeks.
She looked up at Justin through thick lashes, and he found himself staring at her lush, pink mouth.
Cordelia cleared her throat, which was a good thing. Justin, snapping back to reality, stepped back and took in a deep breath of fresh country air, hoping that would cool him off.
“How do you know so much about farming, Mr. Wright?” she asked, biting her lip as she turned her gaze back to the lake.
The small gesture did nothing to calm the heat that was pooling in his belly. “I took physical sciences at Cambridge, and a little chemistry here and there. But I’ve been making use of your father’s extensive library.”
She nodded, closing her eyes as a breeze toyed with the hairs at the nape of her neck.
Justin had the sudden urge to place his fingers there, and then to trail them down the length of her spine.
Taking off his hat, he ran a hand through his hair, roughly, trying to regain some sense.
He’d always thought Cordelia pretty, a nymph-like and unattainable thing, but these thoughts were developing the disturbing trend of happening more often.
He slammed his hat back on his head. “Right,” he said. “I think I know how to fix it.”
“You do?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Let me show you.”
*
Cordelia was positively exhausted by the time they’d ridden back into the stable yard. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows from the yew trees that lined the property. Even Brutus hung his head low as they trotted at a slow pace down the main gravel path.
They’d spent the entire afternoon visiting with farmers, taking notes on fields, growing patterns, and which areas had gone fallow.
They’d ridden the length of the estate to see where the crops were dying.
They’d spoken to almost every living soul who worked Hollyhead’s sprawling land, and were called in for a cup of tea or a sandwich to discuss plans and hear grievances.
“My goodness!” Portia called out as they approached. She held up a hand, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I was ready to send out a search party.”
“No need,” Cordelia replied. It was far too warm out for a velvet riding habit; she was covered in sweat and caked with dust.
“Bloody hell, you look like you’ve been through battle,” her sister mentioned, taking a hold of Brutus’s reins as she dismounted.
“I feel like it as well,” Cordelia replied, though under her breath.
Looking over, she saw that Buttercup was nuzzling Mr. Wright affectionately as he handed over the reins to the stable boy. She could hardly blame that traitorous mare. It seemed that everyone who’d had the pleasure of Mr. Wright’s company was greatly taken with him.
He’d gotten a spark in his eyes speaking with the farmers about designing and building an irrigation system that would use water from the artificial lake. He would listen intently to what every tenant had to say, even stopping at moments to scribble something in the sketchbook he kept.
Cordelia was there to make introductions and small talk with the wives.
After they provided condolences on the late duke and her brother, they would begin fawning over Mr. Wright.
So much so that it made Cordelia a little incredulous.
Of course, anyone could see he was handsome.
But with such poor manners and dress, she failed to see the draw.
Tell yourself that often, do you? the voice in her head said, with a healthy measure of sarcasm.
“Well, you’d better prepare yourself for another. You too, Your Grace,” Portia said.
“Whatever do you mean?” Cordelia replied, patting Brutus’s neck as he was led off to a box stall.
“Cordelia Nichols!”
Portia smiled as she watched her sister groan. Lady Billings was standing at the back entrance to Hollyhead, complexion white. “Is that you? On the duke’s horse? Never in my life have I seen such brazenness! And from you, of all the Nichols daughters.”
“Oh, Lady Billings, how nice to see you,” Cordelia tried, providing a crisp curtsy.
It did nothing to quell the woman, who waddled over to the company like a mother goose, voluminous skirts billowing in the wind. She held out her fan like a pointer finger. “What will the duke say when he sees you in this state? Ladies of a marriageable age must appear to be the very picture of—”
“Good evening, Lady Billings,” Mr. Wright cut in.
“Oh! Oh!” the old goose chirruped, shocked by the sudden turn of events. “Oh goodness, Your Grace. Why, I hardly recognized you. You’re… you’re not dressed in the usual fashion,” she finally ground out. Portia could not contain an amused snort.
“I asked Lady Cordelia to accompany me this morning, as she has unparalleled knowledge of the estate. She was kind enough to oblige me,” he said, plainly.
“The two of you? Unchaperoned?” She opened her fan with a flap and began whipping it back and forth like a hummingbird’s wing. “Rhys will not be happy about it,” she added. Now that was bold, even for Lady Billings. “We best hope Lady Prudence does not catch wind of it!”
“If the earl was so concerned with whom Lady Cordelia was seen with, he should have arrived back in England three weeks ago,” Mr. Wright said, keeping an even tone. “However, I’d rather discuss more delicate matters elsewhere, Lady Billings. Would you care to join us for dinner?”
Cordelia was sure that a light wind would have knocked the woman over. “Oh, well!” she started. “I suppose it would be proper. Since I am your closest neighbor and have not yet received an invitation, though I wrote several times—”
“Settled then!” he said, offering her his arm.
Lady Billings went on nattering as they entered the house, leaving Portia and Cordelia standing in the stable yard, dumbfounded. “I haven’t seen someone handle Lady Billings that well since… well, since never,” Portia said, shrugging her shoulders.
“He’s quite good with people,” Cordelia replied, taking off her hat to beat the dust off.
Portia scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re starting to like the man.”
“Of course not!” she retorted, and hoped it was convincing.