Chapter Nine #3
Mrs. Ewbanks stood up from the stove. “Miss Gwendolyn, a walk will do you good. If you take one of the baskets from the scullery, you can stroll along the lane towards Fellside and pick blackberries. They’ll make some good bramble jelly and a tasty tart.
” Gwendolyn nodded, wanting to find a way to win approval from the woman who had, at risk of her own reputation, agreed to look after an unmarried mother until the baby was born.
Gwendolyn thought very little of what would happen after that.
She came back into the kitchen carrying a wicker basket and tying her straw bonnet underneath her chin. Mrs. Ewbanks nodded. “You had better not wear your gloves. They’ll get ruined. And do be careful not to mess any on your dress. The stains are almost impossible to remove.”
Like the stains on my reputation, Gwendolyn said to herself as she wandered off.
*
Lord Roland Montgomery reined in his horse and surveyed the lands of his estate he could see from here.
The fields were lush and green with touches of gold as the oats ripened and the barley and wheat thrived in the rich soil.
On the slopes of a small hill, sheep grazed peacefully, even the lambs now too old to gambol and frisk.
The promise of a prosperous autumn was evident all around him.
And yet the beauty of the autumn afternoon could not bring peace to his troubled mind.
Or heart, although he tried to convince himself otherwise.
Over and over the images of Gwendolyn Burroughs crumpling to the floor in a faint and Lady Murgatroyd’s triumphant declaration of Gwendolyn’s condition played in his mind.
He would never forget the confusion and alarm on Gwendolyn’s face as she realized why she had been feeling ill.
He still felt disgust at the delighted horror of the gathered guests and their accusations echoed in his ears.
But the image uppermost in his mind was of Major Enderby stepping forward to protect the girl.
Even if Sir Percy was right and Robert, not Enderby, was the father of her child, there was clearly a connection between Gwendolyn and the major.
And Roland should have been able to put all that sordidness behind him but he kept wondering where she was and what she was doing, what would happen to her and the child and even her loyal cousin.
Discreet enquiries had yielded no answers.
With an irritated click of his tongue, he urged his horse onward to complete the circuit of his estate that he was making.
The road wound down the hill towards the land the Ewbanks farmed.
Montgomery knew he had nothing to worry about here.
Farmer Ewbanks was industrious and had a feel for the land that had been passed down through generations of people who had lived here since ancient times, and more than that, the farmer was educated and interested in the modern farming techniques that were sweeping across England and changing the world of agriculture.
Beyond Low Fell Farm lay the estate of Montgomery’s neighbor, Mr. Benson.
Roland sighed. Mr. Benson was a typical landowner of this district, set in the old ways and stubborn about anything he termed newfangled and fashionable.
His lands held much potential and Roland had argued with Mr. Benson many a time about the efficacy of crop rotation and the benefits of specialized breeding of cows and sheep.
But the only way the Benson estate would adopt new farming methods was if Roland could become the owner of the property.
And the only way that would happen would be if he married the stolid and unimaginative Miss Benson, who at twenty-six years old had never had any beaus and was unlikely to marry, although both her younger sisters had found husbands.
It was unfair of Roland Montgomery to compare Miss Benson to Gwendolyn Burroughs, whom he would have to eradicate from his mind and heart entirely if he settled for a dull and predictable union with his neighbor’s daughter.
Lord Montgomery was a man who had been brought up to know his duty and to fulfill it diligently.
His duty was to ensure the prosperity of his family estate for future generations.
As his horse trotted along the lane, he decided he would send Mr. Benson a note this evening asking permission to court Agnes.
He was sunk in gloom and sighed deeply as he guided his horse around a bend in the road towards High Fell Manor. He did not expect anyone to be on this road. It was seldom used, although it had once led down to Fellside, one of the smaller villages connected to his estate.
For a moment he thought his imagination had conjured up the vision that rose before him.
But Gwendolyn Burroughs had never in his imagination had a wicker basket half-filled with blackberries at her feet, her plain dress slightly rumpled, her hair escaping from its pins and a smear of blackberry juice on her cheek.
Roland swung off his horse, holding the reins loosely in his gloved hand.
“Miss Burroughs, this is a most unexpected meeting. Are you well?” His eyes swept over her, noting the swell of her stomach and how her breasts had become even plumper.
There was a healthy glow to her skin that had picked up a slight tan from the sun and her carriage was straight but not as regal and stiff as she had been in London.
She curtsied prettily. “Good afternoon, Lord Montgomery. I am well, thank you. Mariana and I are staying with the Ewbanks.”
He stepped a little closer to her. The fragrance of fresh hay and sunshine that wafted from her did strange things to his cock. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried when you disappeared from London.”
Gwendolyn’s mouth twitched. “Why should you have worried, my lord? After all, your predictions of my downfall were fulfilled.”
“You are mistaken about my opinion of you, Miss Burroughs. Your flirtatiousness created an impression of superficiality and carelessness, but you are an intelligent and caring young woman. If you had not had your beauty to rely on, you might have developed those aspects of yourself more fully.”
In his earnestness, he had stepped even closer to her. His eyes fastened on the movement of her throat as she swallowed. He touched the smear of blackberry on her cheek and traced it softly.
She stepped back, her eyes flashing fury and desire that she was embarrassed to feel. Her hand rose and sharply slapped his cheek, leaving a bright red mark. “My lord, just because I was foolish enough to surrender to one man, does not mean that I am available to satisfy every man’s whims.”
“My apologies, Miss Burroughs. I did not mean to take liberties with your body.” He handed her his folded handkerchief. “You might want to clean the blackberry juice off your face.”
*
Gwendolyn stared at the handkerchief in Lord Montgomery’s hand.
She had almost managed to forget that the Ewbanks’ farm was on his estate and this meeting was awkward.
She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to him but she regretted slapping him as soon as she did it.
And even now she was disturbed by how she could still feel the warmth of his touch and the tenderness of his finger.
And she knew his intentions had not been harmful.
Her reaction had been the culmination of the turmoil that had been building up inside her since she had offered herself to Robert Walker.
Her erstwhile lover was not here, but his cousin was, and it was somehow satisfying to express some of her fury.
She took the proffered handkerchief without looking at Roland and rubbed her face, aware of the scent of horse leather, wood smoke, and clean linen that she had noticed when she first met him in London.
But here it made more sense, linking him to the savage wildness of the fells and the rugged rocks of the hills.
She held onto the handkerchief longer than she needed to.
Here in his native county, Lord Roland Montgomery appeared more handsome than he had in the confines of polite London salons and ballrooms. His light brown hair was whipped by the wind, not arranged into the tousled Brutus style favored by gentlemen who wished to give the appearance of being outdoor men, even if they hardly ever ventured farther than the fashionable parts of Hyde Park.
Lord Montgomery looked more comfortable in the saddle than he ever had at a dinner table and the close-fitted wool coat he wore emphasized that his shoulders were broad and needed no padding, his arms and chest were strong, and his physique conveyed strength and authority.
Gwendolyn swallowed. She had never expected to be attracted to him and yet when he had touched her cheek, flames of desire had burned through her.
That was why she had responded so curtly.
It would never do for him to discover that she wanted him to be close to her.
She folded his handkerchief and was about to hand it back when she realized a large purple stain now marked it. “Oh, I am sorry. I will take this home and try to wash out the stain.”
Roland laughed. “That’s all right. My man will manage somehow.
So, you are at Low Fell Farm. I was thinking of stopping in there on my way home.
Would you care to walk there with me? Mrs. Ewbanks makes exceptional scones and no one makes better fruit cake than she does.
” He clicked softly and his mare followed as he began to walk along the lane.
Gwendolyn picked up her basket of blackberries and walked alongside him.
The rustle of leaves and the song of birds filled the lane, and after a while, she relaxed enough to begin a conversation.
Roland listened attentively and asked subtle but not intrusive questions and before they arrived at Low Fell Farm, Gwendolyn had poured out the whole story of how she and Mariana had been sheltered by the Maynards in London and how Lady Maynard’s contacts had made it possible for them to come to Cumbria.
“I am glad you found your way to such good people as the Ewbanks,” Roland said when she finished her story.
Gwendolyn didn’t reply and he looked down at her thoughtfully.
“Mrs. Ewbanks isn’t the kind of person who fawns over others and yet she is one of the most generous people I have ever known.
” As the house came into sight, they could see the Ewbanks children playing a game of tag at the front of the house.
Roland gestured at the group with the end of his crop.
“That bunch of children tells her story eloquently.”
Gwendolyn looked at the children and then back at Roland. “How? They just look like ordinary children to me.”
He laughed gently. “They are just ordinary children, but have you looked at them carefully?”
“Of course I have. I see them every day.” But Gwendolyn was studying them now more attentively. “They don’t really look like brothers and sisters, though, do they?” she ventured after a moment’s silent observation.
“They are not related by blood,” Roland agreed.
“Only Jim is Mrs. Ewbanks’s own child. A year after he was born, Mrs. Ewbanks had a difficult time with another child who died before she was born.
At the same time, a young unmarried woman from a market town near here fell pregnant.
The Ewbanks took her in and when the child was born, kept her as their own.
Over the years, each of the other children came to live here in a similar manner. ”
Gwendolyn stopped and watched the children as Hugh pretended he couldn’t catch Maisie and the others all laughed and encouraged the little girl to run faster.
“So they will be the brothers and sisters of my child, too,” she said softly, almost to herself.
Roland couldn’t determine whether the wistfulness in her voice was because, as much as she wanted her child to have the kind of happy childhood she had never had, she didn’t really want to give up her baby.
But there was no future for an unmarried woman and her illegitimate child. She could not keep her baby.
Her only redemption could be if a man was prepared to marry her and accept the child as his own. The thought was so unsettling that he was dizzy for a moment. He had to take a deep breath before he continued the walk to the farmhouse.
As they drew nearer, the children noticed Lord Montgomery’s horse and abandoned their game, running to greet him. “Lord Monty, have you come to visit?” Maisie shouted as he swung her up. “Can I ride Queen Mab?”
Laughing, Roland placed the little girl on the saddle and handed her the reins while the other children crowded around him, talking over each other as they told him about their recent exploits, like finding a nest that had fallen out of a tree and catching frogs in the nearby pond.
Gwendolyn felt suddenly shy and hung back, marveling at how the stern, judgmental man who had treated her with disdain at Lady Wetherspoon’s ball was so amenable and accepting of these children.
Her heart missed a few beats as she pictured him dandling her baby on his knee and the chubby-cheeked child laughing up at him.
She shook her head. That kind of thought could only lead to trouble. She was shaken out of her thoughts by Gracie who slipped her little hand into Gwendolyn’s. “Don’t get left behind,” she said. “The others will gobble down all the scones if we don’t hurry.”
Gwendolyn had never imagined the kind of warmth that flooded through her at the touch of that little hand that included her in the family circle.