A Woman's Estate Page 10

  The method had seemed to work. Abigail heard no reports from Victor’s school or from Daphne’s friends’ parents that her children were any more inclined toward playing at cards, especially for money, than other children. Still, many said such things as gambling were “in the blood”. That was what woke the little quiver of fear each time she saw her children playing cards. But if they were right, Abigail reasoned, ignorance could not prevent the desire from arising, and there was no way to shield Victor, anyway from knowledge of gambling once he went out into the world. All ignorance could do was make the vice more appealing, by making it “secret” and “forbidden”.

  Thus, Abigail picked up her share of cards and counters with a smile, while Victor and Daphne giggled and muttered warnings to Mrs. Franklin that “Mother is a regular sharp and will beat us all to flinders if we don’t pay strict attention.”

  In fact, Abigail did not play very well that night. Her mind kept wandering to Sir Arthur and whether to ask him openly about the horses and risk a confrontation—although she believed the actual risk was slight—or simply buy the animals and send the bill direct to Baring, who would see that it was paid. However, her original purpose in coming up was fulfilled. After the children had been sent off to bed, Mrs. Franklin reported that they seemed unscathed by their morning’s experience. At different times, both had remarked casually on it and mentioned the hope that they would not be prevented from playing in the woods because of it.

  From the point of view of her children’s nerves, that was good news. Abigail was not sure it was equally good news for her. Although she smiled and thanked Mrs. Franklin, she shuddered internally at the idea of permitting Victor and Daphne to wander alone in the woods. The elderly woman, however, showed sharper perceptions than Abigail had expected.

  “I did not say it would be permitted, my lady,” Mrs. Franklin said, “but I do not think it would be of the least use to forbid them—or, perhaps I should say that I do not believe myself capable of preventing them from disobeying such an order.”

  Abigail laughed more naturally. “I doubt the angel Gabriel with his flaming sword could keep Victor out of the woods now—and where Victor goes, Daphne trails along behind, unless he can manage to escape her. And, truly, I don’t think there is any further danger. I just—” Abigail left the statement hanging.

  Mrs. Franklin nodded understandingly. “Can’t help worrying. Yes, I don’t blame you. But it must have been an accident.” A frown crossed her face as she spoke, and she hesitated.

  Abigail’s heart leapt into her throat, but if her expression changed, Mrs. Franklin could not have noticed, for her eyes had fixed on the pack of cards on the table. Then she shook her head and placed her hand on the table to help herself to rise. How ridiculous, Abigail thought. Iam confusing twinges of rheumatics with deadly threats. And Mrs. Franklin’s next words seemed to confirm that, because she smiled as she said she had better check that the children had actually gotten to bed after being sent there.

  “No, I’ll go,” Abigail said. “I must say good night to them anyway.”

  Although both Victor and Daphne were in bed—a miracle that bespoke how tired they were—the good-nights were still protracted. Abigail had to hear from each about the doings of the day, including an enthusiastic rehash of the shooting, which was beginning to take on daring romantic overtones. She made little comment on that, beyond reminding Victor of his promise with regard to the toad, adding to the list of forbidden joys snakes, newts and anything else of a creepy-crawly nature. And when the children were settled at last, she realized she was exhausted too, rang for her maid and went to bed herself.

  Chapter Seven

  Because she had gone to sleep so early, Abigail woke at cockcrow, feeling no inclination to linger drowsily abed. She had been accustomed to early rising, since it took a long day to manage her household, her business and her family, but she had got out of the habit during the month-long voyage and the subsequent weeks in England. This waking was different. There was no need to put on her clothes hastily and to start at once on the tasks that, however dull, ensured her livelihood and the smooth functioning of her home.

  Idly, Abigail went to the window and drew the curtain. I must rise early oftener, she thought, looking with delight on the dewy freshness of the park. The early morning at Rutupiae Hall was filled with peace and beauty. She could see the gentle undulations of the velvety green lawn folding away into the shadow of the woods, and a corner of the garden presented brilliant splashes of color, further decorated by bright sparkles as the low light of the newly risen sun caught a drop of dew here and there.

  It was a refreshment to the spirit, and Abigail enjoyed it wholeheartedly, finding herself stimulated and ready to do something. However, she knew that there was nothing to do, unless she wished to join the maids in setting the house to rights. She laughed aloud at the effect that would have on Hilda, but she was not prepared to shock and alarm the servants just to annoy her mother-in-law. It would also have been a perfect morning for a ride, which immediately reminded her of the problem of obtaining suitable mounts.

  To ask Sir Arthur or not to ask Sir Arthur? Abigail was no nearer an answer to the question than she had been the previous night, and until she decided, it was impossible to do anything about the horses. She put the matter in the back of her mind to stew, drew on a peignoir and went to the desk in her sitting room to write to the London booksellers. From experience Abigail knew that some mechanism inside her would probably come to a decision by the time she had finished her letters,

  The business took longer than Abigail had expected. She had forgotten for the moment that she would have to make her own copies into her letter book. In the shop, one of the clerks had done that. By the time she finished the letters, her maid was waiting to help her dress, and she was somewhat later than usual for breakfast. Abigail hurried down to the breakfast parlor, partly because she was hungry but also because she was afraid she might meet Hilda, who had her breakfast in bed but came down at about this time to sit in the morning room—and that would ruin what had been an unusually pleasant and fruitful morning.

  This seemed to be her lucky day, Abigail thought, as she entered to find the breakfast parlor empty. She served herself from the dishes on the sideboard and then rang the bell for Betty to bring her coffee—a drink she had introduced to the household over Hilda’s protests. Coffee was drunk in coffeehouses, Hilda had exclaimed, looking down her nose. It was a drink for men. It was crude and unfeminine to drink coffee. Abigail grinned as she sipped the strong, black brew. It might be crude and unfeminine, but to her taste, it was certainly more stimulating and satisfying than tea.

  As she ate, she revolved in her mind what she should say in her note to Sir Arthur. Abigail only realized that she had decided to tell him she intended to purchase horses when she was wondering whether to state her purpose in the note or simply say she had a matter of business to discuss with him and would like to see him when convenient. The realization diverted her thoughts from the note itself to the reasons for the decision. She knew she could have got around him, even if he were angry about the purchase, simply by opening her eyes wide and claiming ignorance. It would be a perfectly adequate excuse for this first expenditure, but Abigail found that she did not wish to use “woman’s wiles” on Sir Arthur. She had enjoyed their equal, if acrimonious, discussion about the American war and did not want to sink into being a “silly, ignorant woman”. And then Abigail grinned again and cast down her eyes, although no one was there to see the expression in them. The truth was, she admitted to herself, that her primary reason was a desire to see Sir Arthur again.

  That did not eliminate the problem of what to say in the note, which Abigail was finding surprisingly hard to write. She had lingered in the breakfast parlor until after she heard Hilda come down and go into the morning room. The one advantage of Hilda’s voice and her inveterate habit of complaining, even to the servants, was that one could hear her right th
rough closed doors. When Hilda was safely ensconced, Abigail had moved to the library and settled down to dash off her note—only it would not dash off. Abigail knew the difficulty was being caused by her recognition of how attractive she found Sir Arthur, but the knowledge was not solving the difficulty.

  However, the good fairy who was presiding over this morning had not yet abandoned her post. Just as Abigail made an irritated exclamation and crumpled another sheet of paper into a ball, a footman entered to announce that Sir Arthur had arrived and would like to have a word with Lady Lydden, if convenient.

  Surprised and delighted, Abigail very nearly jumped to her feet and cried, “Of course it’s convenient,” but she remembered in time the dignity one was supposed to maintain and also that it would be very unwise to allow any hint of interest to cause gossip among the servants. Thus, she pushed away her writing materials and replied in a calm voice, “Certainly. Show him in here, please.”

  When Sir Arthur’s tall, broad-shouldered form appeared in the doorway wearing an unmistakable expression of pleasure on his face, Abigail forgot formality, in spite of her intentions. She rose and hurried around the table toward him, saying, “Just the person I wanted to see.”

  He stopped and raised a quizzical brow. “I’m not sure whether that is a compliment or whether I should turn and run.”

  Abigail laughed. “You have a fine nose for danger, Sir Arthur. I did have a use for you in mind.”

  “Did you?” he remarked, his smile growing more pronounced and his voice making the innocent words into a not at all innocent suggestion.

  Abigail was a trifle taken aback, although not unpleasantly. Sir Arthur had seemed totally impervious to her charms the previous day, which told Abigail—who did not suffer from false modesty and was aware of the effect her appearance had on most men—that he was either indifferent to women or very, very experienced with them. Plainly he was not indifferent and had reconsidered and found her worthy of notice. He was not nearly as handsome as Francis, but Abigail knew without needing evidence that he was much more successful with women. However, womanizing had not been one of Francis’ faults and he had not been a practiced flirt—which apparently Sir Arthur was. Abigail felt even more interested but quite determined to make him fight hard before he won her.

  “I did,” Abigail answered sweetly, “but having seen you again I realize you would not suit—you have only two legs.”

  “Two legs!” he echoed, surprise and a horrified indignation, held in check by doubt, having wiped all flirtatiousness from his manner.

  “Yes,” she said, opening her eyes into a look of great innocence, “the beasts I need must have four. I do not understand why you look so surprised, Sir Arthur. Surely you did not expect that I would bring horses from America. Victor, Daphne and I need mounts, and I was wondering whether you would be kind enough to choose the animals for me.”

  He blinked, choked and then replied as blandly as she had spoken, “Of course I will—and you may be sure—”

  “Don’t say it,” Abigail interrupted. “Any comment about the gait of my mount would be in very bad taste.”

  Sir Arthur looked down his nose with spurious hauteur. “In bad taste? Me? Heaven forfend. I am known for my delicacy of touch.” And when Abigail choked in turn, he looked even more remotely aristocratic and continued, “I was about to say that you may be sure there will be no need to accept the first animals that turn up, because I could lend you horses. We have every type, from ponies through docile, gentle old reliables to quite spirited but very steady geldings. The family is so large, you see, and while my mother was at home, all manner of children were dumped in Stonar Magna whenever their parents were busy elsewhere. But my mother has decided to live in Bath, and the animals are all here eating their heads off and with nothing to do.”

  The expression of comprehending amusement Abigail had been wearing disappeared. Her face and voice filled with gratitude, and she put out her hand and touched him.

  “That is a very generous offer, Sir Arthur, and I hope you will forgive me for omitting the polite doubts and hesitations I probably should express. To tell the truth, though I am quite certain that yesterday’s shooting was an accident and will not occur again, the incident has left me a little nervous. On the other hand, naturally, it has awakened in Victor a passion for the woods, but he loves riding. A new horse would distract him easily, and I would feel a great relief if he were out on a horse with a groom in attendance.”

  “I am sure you would,” Sir Arthur answered soberly, “and I do not feel your fears to be at all foolish. In fact, I find the incident more and more of a mystery. We cannot discover any cause on St. Eyre lands for even the mildest animosity against any of your servants. Even more puzzling, Price, my head gamekeeper, put out some feelers to the local people, and he is almost certain no poacher was in this area. But there really is nothing to worry about with regard to your children. Word of their presence has been spread to all my people and the village too, and Price and some of his best men are patrolling the entire area. No one will be doing any more shooting for any reason anywhere your children could possibly reach afoot.”

  “You are very kind,” Abigail said sincerely.

  “Not at all,” he replied, smiling. “It will be an advantage to me, too. And if you are speaking of the horses, that is also to my advantage. You will be supplying fodder and grooms to care for the animals instead of me—and they will be properly exercised for a while, poor things. Don’t mention it. All you need do is come to Stonar with the children so that we can decide which of the horses would be most suitable. When would you like to come? This afternoon?”

  “That would—” Abigail stopped abruptly. “Oh, dear, we cannot.”

  “Tomorrow morning then?” Sir Arthur asked accommodatingly, although he wondered what she had to do that was so pressing as to interfere with obtaining a mount for her son. The notion that she might be expecting a visitor—a male visitor—leapt into his mind. Someone from London, surely, since she had not had time to make local acquaintances—or had she?

  “No, unless… You see, we have no riding dress,” Abigail said. “Vic seems to grow a foot a month, and I knew his breeches and boots would never fit by the time we arrived in England, so I just left them. And Daphne’s habit was dreadfully worn, and mine…” Abigail hesitated, blushed faintly and chuckled. “Will you think very ill of me if I confess that I was afraid it would be unfashionable?”

  “On the contrary,” Sir Arthur said, smiling broadly, “I think you a woman of excellent sense. To follow the extremes of fashion moment by moment might be foolish, but to present oneself to society in clothing two years out of date—which is what Americans seem to wear—would be suicidal.”

  The prick of resentment Abigail felt at the slur on American fashion—although she knew it to be just from the British point of view—made her voice sharper than she meant it to be when she replied, “I ordered the clothes from a modiste and tailor recommended by the Barings to be sent here as soon as possible, but I assure you that my clothes and Daphne’s were not a charge on Victor’s estate.”

  “That is ridiculous,” he snapped, his smile disappearing. “In the first place, Daphne is provided for, as you should have realized. Lord Lydden set aside a very reasonable sum as a dowry, since he knew what Francis was.” He stopped and bit his lip. “I beg your pardon, Lady Lydden. Nil nisi bonum and all that, but—”

  “You need not beg my pardon,” Abigail said steadily, “but it would be best to avoid that topic. I prefer, since it is possible without doing them harm, that the children remember their father’s charm and kindness and forget…whatever they knew of his faults.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sir Arthur replied. “You are right. I will be careful. But you mustn’t think I would say anything to Victor and Daphne that they should not hear. I was very fond of Francis. One couldn’t help it.”

  Abigail’s lips twisted between a smile and a grimace. “No, one
couldn’t,” she said with a sigh.

  Regret and exasperation mingled in her face and voice—but there was no grief. Sir Arthur experienced a faint pang of guilt. He knew it was wrong to feel satisfaction because his late friend’s wife was not mourning for him. Nonetheless, Arthur dismissed even that faint feeling of discomfort. Had Francis lived, he would have brought disaster to a fine woman, two decent children and an old estate, would have been unable to stop himself, and would have suffered the torments of the damned in his lucid intervals—or should have. In any case, what had happened was for the best for everyone.

  “Now, about this nonsense of charges on the estate,” he said briskly, to change the subject. “Naturally, your full support is the responsibility of the estate as long as Victor is a minor. I’m afraid no jointure was arranged for you because it was understood that there had been a settlement made in America. If it is not possible to transfer the principal and income, I suppose—”

  “I beg your pardon.” Abigail smiled and shook her head. “I should not have said that. I know the provisions of Lord Lydden’s will. I obtained a copy and read it carefully,” she added, a trifle mendaciously because, if Sir Arthur objected, she did not want Alexander Baring blamed for assisting her.

  “You understood it?” Arthur asked uncertainly.

  “Well enough to realize that because of Francis’ death you really control the estate,” she replied.

  “But why in the world should you think I would object to any rational expenditure for you, and more particularly for Daphne?”

  “Oh, I didn’t, not really,” Abigail admitted, rather shamefaced, “but Eustace and Hilda kept insisting that you—”

  “The situation,” Arthur interrupted coldly, “is not analogous. Let me assure you that no one is being pinched or deprived. Lady Hilda Lydden has an income large enough to support herself and her children in luxury. I still think it was wrong to make Griselda and Eustace dependent on her, but perhaps there was a reason. Lord Lydden was not a fool. In any case, I had no right and, indeed, neither the time nor the power to do anything about it.”