Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-seven
Kate
With Damien in Birmingham overnight, Kate invited Brydie to go home with them.
Brydie allowed Rob to drive the barouche to the farm, while she kept an eye out for trouble.
Kate's younger but much taller and stronger sister had a militant gleam in her eye, as if she hoped Hugh would leap out of the bushes so she might use the whip she wielded.
“I'll deliver the hen and eggs to our new tenants,” Brydie declared. “I should see how they fare.”
“Your choice. I'll be preparing dinner. Are you staying the night? You and Major Fletcher may argue over building forts and buying cannon.”
“Stay, Aunt Brydie,” Lyn cried. “I can practice the piano for you!”
Kate winced. With everything else happening, she'd forgotten to ask about the piano. “We probably should move the instrument to your place. I never play anymore.”
“You need to move into town so you have more time for playing.” Brydie helped Rob guide the team into the drive.
Kate winced again. There was the reason she hadn't broached the subject. “Rob, stop here, please. Your aunt should step out if she’s taking the hen across the road. Lyn, why don't you help Aunt Brydie with the basket?”
“Excellent idea.” Brydie helped rein in the team at the bottom of the drive. “Rob, can you water and put the horses up for the night?”
Kate was relieved to have Brydie as a barrier between her and Fletch. She didn't know what he'd been doing in town today. Perhaps he'd finished cleaning clock parts.
The idea that he may have given up on her and moved out made her oddly uneasy.
Foolish. The farmhouse was solid, her shelter against the storm, the place where she could feel her loving parents watching over them.
She and Brydie had been living here without a man for over a year.
They didn't need Fletch. And now, they actually had neighbors, of a sort.
She loved having company. She missed the tenants the farm used to house.
Brydie unloaded the hen and Lyn carried the egg basket. Kate climbed to the front seat to keep an eye on Rob—not that she'd ever driven more than a pony cart.
The horses, and Kate, startled when a strange man rode from behind the barn, tipping his hat. Heart thumping in panic, she stared as he rode off without a word.
Pulling up near the paddock, the team neighed a response to another horse in the evergreen break. What on earth? Kate shivered. What if Morgan was out there? Had he brought help? Brydie wasn’t here and Fletch. . . had been in town, not guarding the house.
Kate fought the urge to turn around and gallop back to the inn.
Fingering the pistol in her sewing basket, she gathered her shattered courage and took Rob’s hand in climbing down.
Her son was a little over a week away from thirteen and considered himself the man of the house, but he wasn’t any bigger or stronger than she was.
She was not letting anyone keep her from her home, not even mysterious strangers.
At least Lynly was with Brydie. Approaching the back door with trepidation, Kate almost melted in relief when Fletch and his horse cantered into the yard. He no longer wore his arm in a sling. Or wrapped to his chest, for all that mattered. The man needed a keeper.
And it didn’t have to be her, if he was using that arm. She bit her tongue.
He swung down, left his horse in the paddock with Rob, and strode over to take the key from her shaking hand. No raving madman jumped out at them. Kate gave a brief prayer of relief and entered as if she’d had no doubts.
“Where’s Lynly?” he asked, holding the door.
“With Brydie. They’re delivering hen and eggs, as requested.” She brushed past him. He smelled of horse and sweat. What had he been doing all day?
He nodded and loped off, crossing the yard to the drive as if he meant to find Brydie. Suspicion rose. What was he doing?
None of her concern. Slamming her basket down on the kitchen table, she removed her hat and cloak, washed her hands, and examined the pantry for supper.
She missed having spring lamb. She ought to charge the major for room and board so she could afford to feed him.
She blinked when she discovered a cold meat pie on the shelf.
Well, he had been in town, after all, although how he’d managed. . .
She would not ask. Grateful not to have to make something out of nothing, she went out to the garden for sorrel and onions. Cooked in a little bacon grease. . .
She had the table set and dinner ready by the time everyone returned.
She sent Rob to scrub and half-listened to Lynly chattering excitedly while Brydie and the major conversed in the front room.
Conspired. She knew they thought her as much a lunatic as Hugh, but she refused to ever be helpless again.
That didn’t mean she didn’t want to marry and have someone at her side to help with her enormous responsibilities. She really needed a husband to find tenants for her fields, so she had a little income to send Rob off to school. She’d married for practicality before and hadn’t suffered for it.
It was just that. . . she’d foolishly hoped to have a choice this time, find someone who was interested in her as much as the farm. So far, that hadn’t happened.
Perhaps she should just find a partner in the farm and leave the marriage business out of it. She could manage the children on her own, but no man wanted to do business with a woman.
She wasn’t helpless. Just a little lonely sometimes.
“Did our new neighbors appreciate the eggs?” she asked when Fletch and Brydie finally entered the kitchen. Let them plot. She had no interest.
“Your sister thinks we ought to have an Easter pantomime at the inn on Saturday. Your thespian neighbors are excited at the idea and willing to help us haul the piano into the tavern for the festivities.” Fletch half filled a pitcher with ale, then added water, and set it on the table, almost as if he were civilized enough to help.
Which really raised her suspicions. Kate studied her sister, who was washing at the sink, looking innocent. “You want to give the piano to Rafe?”
“It’s out of tune. We can’t hire anyone to tune it.
Neither of us have time to play, and with Damien using the front parlor for an office, I really don’t have room for it.
I thought I might give lessons at the inn for anyone wishing to pay.
” Brydie dried her hands and took a seat as if she weren’t plotting anything.
“I said Rafe and I would find a piano tuner. Seems fair.” Fletch held a chair for Lynly, who beamed with delight at having a handsome gentleman treat her like a lady.
The handsome gentleman had a two-day scruff, wore a coat so old it had bare patches, and left his linen so loose Kate could see the strong lines of a throat much too wide and strong for her to strangle.
“You will find a piano tuner by Saturday?” she asked, dubious, taking the chair he held for her.
Fletch did not normally hold chairs for anyone.
“Reynard says he can make it work well enough for a casual entertainment.” He passed the pie without taking half of it first.
He really wanted them out of the house on Saturday, Kate concluded. “How’s your shoulder?” she asked, diverting the conversation until she could work through its implications.
He was definitely favoring that side, passing the heavy pie with his uninjured right. He’d slipped the sling back on as well, giving him a truly rakish air. Stupid fool of a man.
“It works,” he said curtly, more like his usual self.
“I heard Lavender is testing her employees to see who will be working with you in the shop,” Brydie said brightly, filling the silence. “Has she chosen anyone?”
“So far, only Odila and Vivien have filled out an application. Other than Mrs. Young, most of the older women can’t read or write, much less do simple numbers.” Kate savored the pie while keeping a wary eye on Fletch and Brydie. Her sister knew something. “Mrs. Young didn’t grow up here.”
“Verity had hoped to hold a school for adults.” Brydie helped herself to more greens, stacking them on her pie. “But now that she has her wards, she simply doesn’t have the time.”
“We should talk with the ladies at the manor. If we could arrange a rotation of teachers, one night a week. . .” Kate doubted that would help but classes ought to be offered.
“Men won’t take lessons from women,” Fletch declared.
He was most likely right. “I’ll talk to the Huntleys.” Refusing to give up, Kate dropped the subject and made him reach for the pie without her aid.
He didn’t even notice. Perhaps she ought to kick him under the table.
Would he notice that? And why did she want him to pay attention to her?
Fletch was Fletch and just because he behaved with a modicum of civility for Brydie didn’t mean she might expect it to continue.
Evidently, he wanted something from Brydie. What?
After supper, he went out to put up the horses, and her sister offered to clean the kitchen, while Kate helped the children with their homework and put them to bed.
After she’d carried out those tasks, Kate took the opportunity for a quiet moment. Sitting in her room finishing a hem, she heard the kitchen door slam but no voices. Odd. Brydie wasn’t exactly the silent sort.
She peered out the upper window and saw her tall, curvaceous sister leaning against the fence, holding a broom, in deep, quiet discussion with the major, a man who never put three words together if it could be avoided.
Damien was a good man and husband. If Fletch thought he could dally with her sister. . .
She just might shoot him.