Chapter Ten #2
Gwendolyn sat quietly sipping her tea. The strong brew settled her stomach and her emotions.
She tried to follow the discussion, but she had never heard of threshing machines and seed drills, or wondered how the food she ate daily was produced, or about the people without whom the aristocracy would never have the grand banquets and beautiful clothes they enjoyed.
Gwendolyn was fascinated by the focus and intensity Roland showed throughout the conversation.
These were matters that clearly mattered to him and about which he was deeply knowledgeable.
His eyes gleamed with intelligence and she vaguely wondered why she had once dismissed him as mediocre in appearance and character.
The sound of children’s laughter rang out from the lane as the younger Ewbanks made their way home from school. Roland smiled. “I am glad the children will be home before I leave. I promised Hugh I’d show him how to identify the differences between a strong Clydesdale and my Andalusian hunter.”
Mrs. Ewbanks beamed proudly. “Hugh has the makings of a good horseman. All the children are doing well, thanks to you, my lord. When I was Gracie’s age, I didn’t have any book learning and went into service when I turned twelve.
If it hadn’t been for Lady Maynard, I would never have learned my letters.
And now, because of the schools you sponsor on the estate, all these young ’uns are learning how to read and write and to do their sums. They will have so many opportunities to do well in the future. ”
Lord Montgomery nodded his thanks but said, “Many landowners provide places where the children on estates can learn.”
Mr. Ewbanks grunted. “Aye, that they do, but most won’t teach the children their letters and sums. They teach girls to sew and curtsey and boys to work in the new factories being built in all the big towns.”
Roland leaned forward. “That is true, but many are, like myself, aware of how the world is changing, and we want children to learn things that will help them succeed in this new century. A lad who can write and do his sums is a valuable asset to a good stable, and a girl who can write and read can raise herself to be a competent housekeeper.”
“And yet,” Mrs. Ewbanks added grimly, “I have known girls who can read and write turned away from big houses because they are considered above their stations.”
Gwendolyn blushed. Just a few months ago, she had been with her mother when a girl had applied for the position of parlor maid. Lady Burroughs had been scornful of the girl’s ability to read and write, and refused her the position, saying she wouldn’t know how to do the work required of her.
As the children rushed through the wide-open front door, Gwendolyn made up her mind to help them, especially the girls, to learn the things she had taken for granted as a child.
*
Breakfast over, the Ewbanks gathered their hats and gloves and set off for the church in the nearby village of Fellside, as they did on most Sundays. Mariana went with them, but Gwendolyn, whose condition could no longer be hidden, stayed at Low Fell Farm.
Sitting on the window seat in the bow window of the living room, she sighed as she unpicked a seam in one of her dresses that needed to be adjusted, yet again.
She was increasing so rapidly that none of her clothes fitted her and she had, over the previous few weeks, learned the tedious work of remaking her clothes.
The point of the little pair of scissors she was using slipped and pricked her finger.
Annoyed and not wanting to stain her dress, she sucked her finger to remove the little drop of blood that appeared.
She turned her hands over and studied them.
They were no longer as smooth and soft as they had been and a ball of regret roiled within her, but she was proud that she had become more useful and could now do so many things for herself that she had previously expected servants to do for her.
Her gaze wandered to the vivid pink roses blooming just outside the window.
Their late summer profusion was ecstatic and vibrant, reminiscent of the hue of the pink dress she had bought from Madame Beaufort’s salon and which had been, in many ways, the beginning of her troubles.
She bit her lip, wondering where Robert Walker was and if he had ever heard that she was carrying his child.
If she had revealed that information to her parents, by now she would be Mrs. Walker and Society would have turned a blind eye to her indiscretion.
But she did not regret her decision. Robert was an amusing and entertaining companion but he didn’t have the firmness of character, the thoughtful compassion, or the depth of intelligence of his cousin, Roland Montgomery.
Almost inevitably these days, her thoughts wound down a path that led to the baron.
He had become a regular visitor to the farm and much more regular than he was wont to do, according to Mrs. Ewbanks.
And each time he came, Gwendolyn found herself more tongue-tied near him, especially when he drew his chair up alongside hers and showed an interest in the sewing she was doing or the book she was reading.
More and more, she wanted him to think well of her, to banish the initial impression he had had of her as a flirtatious, empty-headed and selfish débutante.
She was unused to interacting with men like him who were more serious, more discerning than the followers she had accumulated in London and so she said little, knowing that the bright, mindless chitchat she had been taught men preferred in pretty women would not impress him.
And the growing evidence of her moral turpitude was always a reminder that his first impression of her was right.
She was not the kind of woman who could be the wife of a man renowned for his moral strength.
And yet, if she had ever looked at him more directly, she would have seen the admiration in his eyes when she patiently helped Gracie to understand multiplication and the tenderness of his expression when she encouraged Will as he poured out his concerns about his inability to fish as well as his brothers.
The barking of a dog out in the farmyard drew her attention to the window again and the beautiful soft sunshine called to her. She pushed aside the pale pink day dress she had been working on and stood up, stretching and then rubbing her swollen tummy.
She strolled out into the garden, grabbing her straw bonnet on the way. A path around the side of the house wound up onto the fells which she had begun to love for their rugged, stark beauty. Two of the dogs jumped to their feet, their tails wagging, eager to accompany her on a walk.
The path was steep and before long, she was puffing, but the clearness of the autumn air refreshed her, blowing away the cobwebs in her mind.
She stretched out her arms and twirled, lifting her face to the sun and laughing the way she had done when she had been a little girl with no troubles to sully her world.
The solemn, deep sound of church bells called across the moors and with a start, she realized she had been up there for over an hour.
The family would be back from church before she arrived home, and she had promised Mrs. Ewbanks that she would keep an eye on the roast rib of beef cooking slowly in the oven.
She called the dogs who had loped off to investigate the trail of a hare and was soon hurrying back down the well-trodden path.
But the scree made it difficult to walk and she slid and slipped as she tried to keep her balance.
She rounded a curve in the path, skidding on the loose stones.
A large horse and rider were crossing directly in front of her, where another path led towards the manor house.
She cried out in fright and slipped, grabbing wildly at the air, her one hand finding the edge of the horse’s bridle.
The dogs, Fang and Wolf, barked loudly. A dog that belonged to the rider growled menacingly.
The horse, startled by the commotion, bucked and stumbled on a loose patch of scree.
The rider yelled loudly but could not bring the horse under control.
He tumbled off and hit the ground with a harsh expletive and a loud thud.
Shock and horror froze Gwendolyn, but when the rider struggled to stand and then collapsed to the ground again, she rushed forward, regardless of how she slipped on the pebbles. “Are you hurt? Do you need help? Oh, it’s you!”
Roland Montgomery, resting on an elbow, stared grimly up at her. “My foot is twisted and I can’t get up.” His voice was strained and his face blanched. “If you can bring my horse to me, I can use the stirrup to hoist myself up.”
Gwendolyn looked around. The mare was about fifty yards away, her eyes rolling and her nose flaring as she stamped the ground.
The dogs were yelping at the mare’s heels as they sniffed her and each other.
Gwendolyn, who was not a very skillful rider, was frightened but straightened her shoulders. “Her name is Queen Mab, isn’t it?”
Montgomery was trying not to drop completely to the ground but the stones were digging into him even through his thick greatcoat and his ankle had never hurt so badly. He fought to remain conscious even though his head was throbbing and everything around him was blurry.
“Yes,” he managed to spit out between teeth that were clenched against the pain.
He gave a low whistle and called, “Moss, heel.” The black and white collie hesitated for a moment, the desire to inspect the Ewbanks dogs fighting with her intuition to obey.
Her sense of obedience won and she loped to her master’s side. The other dogs followed.
Gwendolyn approached the mare, talking softly. “Here you go, girl. You’ve had a nasty shock but it’s all right now.”