Chapter Seven #3
A large flat stone stood at the side of the track on which someone had once painted the name “Rampton Farm,” but the lettering was now faded and much in need of attention. He let Megs lead him down the track, wondering where it was they were going. Had the widow, Megs’ mother, property of her own?
At a rickety gate whose broken hinges rendered swinging it open impossible, he helped Megs lift it enough to let them through and then closed it carefully behind him, mindful of the fact that this farmyard he was entering might contain animals that shouldn’t be allowed to escape.
All he could see, however, was a gaggle of tatty chickens scratching in the dirt.
The buildings to left and right were not in a good state, years of neglect and rain having done its worst. And the house on the far side of the yard looked as though a lot of love and care was required, but the yard was tidy and relatively weed free.
Courtesy of his own gardeners, did he but know it.
Megs gave his arm a tug. “Come on. This door goes into the kitchen.”
And she pulled him across the yard towards a freshly-painted door to the right-hand side of the farmhouse. With no hesitation, and allowing Harry no opportunity to object, she pushed the door wide and pulled him inside after her.
Low, white-painted beams brushed the top of Harry’s head, for he was tall, in a large, square room with an old oak table at its center.
An elderly, rotund, and apron-clad woman stood at the stone sink, up to her elbows in water, two girls, also apron-clad, had halted in the act of clearing the table of what must have been a late breakfast, and a third was still seated, a cup of tea arrested in its voyage to her lips.
From by the fireplace a very much mixed pack of dogs rose en masse and approached him, sniffing in curiosity with their tails wagging.
Two cocker spaniels, an elderly pointer, and a dalmatian carriage dog.
A fat pug stayed in position in front of the fire.
The ugly dog joined in with their welcome as though he’d forgotten he’d already met their guest.
Harry put a hand down to fondle the ears of the pointer and the spaniels licked his hand. Was the apron-clad older woman Megs’ mother? And hadn’t Megs said she had only two sisters?
The young lady at the table set her cup of tea down and rose to her feet, wide blue eyes very like Megs’ own regarding him in something akin to astonishment.
Heat rose to his cheeks. He was intruding.
He should never have let Megs drag him here so early in the morning.
It was not acceptable behavior and he should have known better than to have allowed himself to be led astray by such an impulsive child.
The two younger sisters, who must both have been a good five or six years older than Megs, were staring at him in an astonishment mirrored by their oldest sister.
The oldest sister wiped her hands on a napkin.
“My goodness, do I assume you must be Sir Henry? We didn’t expect to see you for some time.
” She glanced around uncertainly. “Please come in and…” Her voice trailed off as though she was unsure how to finish that sentence.
She was very pretty, and must be another five or six years older than the other two.
Very pretty indeed with a maturity about her none of her sisters possessed.
A maturity that lent her a full-blown beauty.
She dropped an elegant curtsy. “Pray, do come into the parlor, and Betsey will make some more tea.”
So Betsey was the older woman. So where was their mother?
Harry bowed. “I should be happy to.”
She undid her own apron and slipped it off.
“Melissa, Miriam, the washing and drying up please, so Betsey can make the tea.” The apron now discarded over the back of a high-backed chair by the fireside, she gestured to Harry to go through the only other door in the room.
The dogs looked hopeful but a quick gesture sent them back to the hearth.
“May I come?” Megs, who’d released Harry’s hand, asked, sidling closer.
Her older sister shook her head. “No. You stay here and help your sisters. You’ve been off enjoying yourself while we’ve been doing all the hard work.”
Looking as though she would have liked to pout, but didn’t dare to, Megs slouched over to the table, and Harry passed through the door into a comfortable parlor.
The old, mismatched furniture and the large rug, faded in patches as if by too much sunlight, gave the whole room a homely appearance that was most pleasing.
A welcoming fire blazed in the hearth, adding to the feeling of cosy comfort.
The sort of room he preferred to the smart perfection of the Hall.
“Please, do sit down,” the oldest sister said. Was she Melissa? And if so, one of the other two must be Miriam, but who was the fourth girl? They were all so alike with their honey blonde hair and blue eyes that they had to be closely related.
She took a seat herself on one side of the fire, so Harry sat facing her, more than intrigued.
“I am afraid you have the advantage of me, Miss Madeley,” he began. “You know my name but I do not know yours.”
She appeared surprised and a little frown creased her brow. “I thought you understood who we were as Margaret introduced you as Cousin Harry.”
Harry mirrored her confusion. “She told me she had two sisters. Not three.” He paused. “Might I assume you are Miss Melissa Madeley?”
To his further confusion, she burst out laughing then clapped her hand over her mouth in an effort to stem it.
“Oh good heavens,” she managed. “You think I am Megs’ sister?
While I am most flattered by your mistake, if mistake it is, I must own that I find it quite amusing.
I had better introduce myself properly. My name is Miranda, Lady Madeley, and I am your cousin Geoffrey’s widow.
The three girls in there helping my maid are my daughters. ”
Harry’s face flushed hotly with mortification. She thought he’d pretended to mistake her for her own daughter in order to ingratiate himself. And now, if he denied it, he would just look worse. Not an auspicious start to any kind of association.
“I must apologize for my mistake,” he said, a little stiffly. “I had no intention of offending you, Lady Madeley.”
She laughed again, this time not quite so uproariously, thank goodness. “Oh, I’m not in the least bit offended, have no fear. In fact, I find myself most gratified that you so obviously didn’t think I could have a daughter of eighteen.”
Eighteen? That must be Melissa, but which one had she been? And how on earth could this lovely creature in front of him possibly be the mother of a girl that age? She must have been a child bride. He had the sense not to suggest this though. He’d already managed to dig a deep enough hole.
The door from the kitchen opened and Betsey, who appeared to be their only servant, bustled in with a tray of tea which she set down with rather a rattle of crockery and spoons on the small table between their chairs.
One look at her disapproving face told him he was persona non grata as far as she was concerned.
Maybe, like Megs, she’d been thinking of disposing of him.
An uncomfortable thought, especially as he was about to drink something she’d made.
She bobbed a somewhat awkward curtsy. “Will that be all, milady?”
Lady Madeley, a smile of amusement still gracing her lovely face, nodded. “Thank you, yes, Betsey. Perhaps you could send the girls out to feed the chickens and check on the horses, but only if you no longer require their help in the kitchen.”
“Yes, milady.” Sparing another hard stare for Harry, the old woman stumped out of the parlor, leaving the door slightly ajar as no doubt she intended eavesdropping.
Lady Madeley turned back to Harry and bestowed a gentle smile on him.
“You must excuse Betsey. She has been with me all my life and is very defensive. I’m sure she will get used to you being at the Hall in the end.
As will we all.” She poured the tea and passed him a cup.
“It is most kind of you to call on us so soon after your arrival.”
Harry glanced at the door, through which he could hear complaints rising from Lady Madeley’s daughters as they were dispatched to do their chores.
“I must apologize for the earliness of my visit, but I encountered Miss Margaret Madeley in the village and once she’d got over her dislike of me, she invited me to return with her.
Refusing her might have resulted in a renewal of her threat to shoot me. ”
Lady Madeley had trouble suppressing a smile. No doubt she was used to her youngest daughter’s propensity to aggression. “You must excuse Margaret. I can assure you she would not have shot you. Apart from anything else her papa’s guns are all locked safely away. In your house.”
“A great relief to me.” He let himself smile back at her.
It was hard not to. She was quite the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Her daughters were pretty in the way of rosebuds about to blossom, but Lady Madeley was like a fully out rose in the morning sun, with her dewy skin, her dark gold hair. And the black armband on her sleeve.
Her smile, however, was bland, now she’d got over her amusement. “I trust you have found the Hall to your liking.”
Taken by surprise, he said the first thing that came into his head. “It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of.”
Her delicate eyebrows rose. “No doubt you will soon settle in here.”