Amy Lake (10 page)

Mrs. Marwick frowned. “Does Dr. Fischer know that you are up and about so early?”

He raised his eyebrows. “And here I thought I could escape discovery in the stables.”

“Dee says—”

“Yes, I know.” Lord Ashdown sighed. “I should be flat on my back until the coming of the next century.”

“That,” said Mrs. Marwick, “might be excessive. But since you are to be departing soon”— there, she’d said it aloud—”you should take every opportunity to rest.”

“I shall return to the cottage in a moment. I promise.”

Fiona could think of nothing further to say. Lord Ashdown was making her nervous, and she wished he would leave.

But the marquess had not finished with conversation. Turning his attention to Susannah he remarked, offhand, “This seems to be a rather . . . mature animal.”

Mrs. Marwick was grateful, albeit puzzled, by the change of topic. “You are correct, I’m sorry to say. She doesn’t give much milk anymore.”

“But I assume she continues to eat?”

“Susannah’s appetite is excellent.”

“Susannah is the cow?”

She nodded. The marquess sounded amused, and she had no idea why.

“I know we should get rid of her,” added Fiona, “one way or the other, but with Madelaine—”

He nodded. “I understand.”

There was a pause. What does he want? wondered Fiona.

“I trust that. . . Achilles and Artemis are both well,” she said finally. “I assume you’re not here for the cow.”

The marquess laughed. “I needed . . . I needed to get out for awhile.”

She understood that sentiment all too well. Lord Ashdown, balancing himself on the crutches and his left leg, hobbled towards Fiona and carefully lowered himself onto a large bale of hay. The bales appeared in her stables every day or two, corresponding to the food that appeared at the kitchen doorstep. She’d given up worrying about it, and indeed, she would have been hard put otherwise to feed a horse.

Bunny neighed with what Fiona almost imagined to be a questioning note.

“He doesn’t understand why I’m not riding him,” said Colin. “Even in London we went out every day.”

“Madelaine would take him half-way to Newcastle in a trice,” said Mrs. Marwick. “But, of course— I didn’t feel comfortable allowing her astride.”

“No,” said Lord Ashdown, “as well not to. I should have a different saddle made for her, she’ll never manage mine.”

“Maddie and Dr. Fischer walk him outside, but I know it’s not the same.”

“Would you like to try? He’s gentle enough, and you don’t need to ride sidesaddle, I’ll never tell a soul.”

“Oh! No,” answered Fiona, quickly. She’d never been on a horse in her life, which his lordship must know.

There was a long pause. Mrs. Marwick felt that the conversation had turned in a somewhat awkward direction, and that she should go back to the cottage. But ’twas her own stables, she reminded herself; Lord Ashdown was the interloper here.

“Will you sit?” asked the marquess, indicating the place next to him on the hay bale. “It seems quite clean for a hay bale.”

Fiona knew this to be a mistake, but she could not resist. She sat.

Bunny snorted, lowering his head to watch them through the slats of his stall.

“I knew horses were stubborn,” said Colin, “but not that they had such strong opinions on a name. He refuses to even consider answering to ‘Achilles’.”

She was honestly curious. “Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“Achilles,” said Lord Ashdown, speaking directly to the animal.

Achilles—or Bunny—shook his mane and turned his head away.

“So there you have it.”

She could hear the edge of laughter in Lord Ashdown’s voice; still, she imagined that Bunny was not the preferred name for a marquess’s stallion.

“I do apologize. I suppose we could attempt to convince him of something that sounds alike, but less . . . rabbit-y.”

“Such as?”

 She thought for a moment. “‘Sunny’?”

The marquess laughed. “Do you really think that ‘Sunny’ would be an improvement?” he said.

She smiled, but did not look at him. “I suppose not.”

“Fiona—”

His voice was softer, and a little rough. She could feel his gaze, somehow, and knew she was blushing.

“Look at me.”

She could not help doing so, and saw for the first time that his pupils, which she had thought indigo, were flecked with a deep gold. It was a striking combination.

“I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience that I’ve put you through.”

Her heart sank. This was a goodbye speech. She took a steadying breath and managed a shrug. “You broke your leg. Anyone would have done what they could.”

“Yes, but you did. And other than the broken leg—”

She laughed.

“—I’ve enjoyed my stay at Tern’s Rest.”

“You are quite welcome,” said Fiona.

“I feel I must explain—”

He took a deep breath, and hesitated, and she knew why.
Why
must he explain about his fiancée? What possible interest could Fiona Marwick of Barley Mow have in a marquess’ fiancée? To explain now would be to suggest that there was something between the two of them, and that would make her pathetic.

I’m sorry, but of course you and I could never have any kind of . . . relationship.

She was not willing to be pathetic.

“There’s no need to explain,” she told him quickly, adding, “Please don’t say any more about it.”

The earnestness in her words was manifest, and neither of them spoke for several minutes. The quiet of the stable was broken only by the rustle of the cow in its stall and the soft snorts of Bunny and Artemis. A hen wandered in and pecked at the oats which had fallen from Fiona’s hand. She reached down to shoo it off.

She suddenly knew that the Marquess of Carinbrooke would kiss her if she turned her head once again in his direction. Nothing would be said—it would simply happen. Fiona imagined that his kiss would be rather marvelous, and it had been a very long time since her last. Still she kept her gaze forward, and willed her legs to stand.

He had a fiancée. He would kiss her and then he would leave. That was the long and the short of it.

“Ah. There you are.”

Mrs. Marwick started, but his lordship merely gave a soft groan. “Good morning, Eddie.”

His lordship’s sister was impeccably turned out, even at that early hour. Lady Edwina stood at her ease, in a beautiful day gown of fine cream-colored muslin. After a quick glare directed to Lord Ashdown for his use of the hated nickname, her expression was composed, but Fiona had the odd impression that it was carefully so.

There’s nothing for you to be suspicious of, thought Fiona. And there never will be, as you are well aware.

“I thought I might reassure Artemis that she had not been abandoned,” said Lady Edwina, “but I see she has plenty of company.”

She walked to Artemis’ stall and gave the mare a brief scratch behind the ears. Artemis tossed her head and nickered.

“I hope you are well rested, my love,” said Lady Edwina to the animal, almost too softly to be heard.

“Did you really ride all the way from London?” Lord Ashdown asked his sister. “That’s doing it up a bit much, even for you.”

“Of course not. I took the carriage to Durham.”

“Gods. And where is the thing now?”

“I left it at some inn—the Eagle and Child, as I recall.”

“I suppose you are planning to re-claim it on your way back.”

“Oh, if you insist. Don’t worry,” added Lady Edwina. “’Twas only your old gig.”

Fiona was amazed at this discussion. An entire carriage, possibly misplaced? And neither sibling seemed much concerned.

“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.”

Lady Edwina suddenly pursed her lips. “I have just realized,” she said, “that we shall have to hire a coach to get you out of here. The gig will never do, and I don’t imagine that doctor will let you ride.”

“Not as yet,” said Lord Ashdown.

“I suppose one can hire a decent coach in Newcastle,” said Edwina, although her expression betrayed doubt. “Colin, the next time you really must try to break your leg in more convenient circumstances.”

“I shall do my best.”

“’Tis fortunate the roads are so dry,” said Fiona, attempting a light tone to match that of brother and sister. “If we have a hard rain the track from here into Barley Mow becomes a sea of mud.”

“How tiresome.”

“Dee told me that Sir Irwin gets stuck rather regularly,” said Colin.

Fiona couldn’t help it; she grinned. “’Tis true. He does not ride well and tries to take a carriage everywhere.”

Lady Edwina dismissed Ampthill with an airy wave of one elegant hand. “He is a poor excuse,” she said. “Even for a baronet.”

Chapter 17: A Small Complication

Everything was clear to Fiona, now, and any hopes she may have entertained about Lord Ashdown’s affections were firmly repressed. She felt in her heart of hearts that he was fond of her, and perhaps more, and this raised questions about his impending marriage, but she had heard that the
haut ton
conducted their lives in such a manner, and ’twas none of her concern. Lady Edwina’s opinion of her brother’s current place of residence was also clear, and Fiona expected to hear that same day of their plans to leave Tern’s Rest. But the doctor came to visit in the afternoon, and a long, albeit generally polite, argument ensued.

Lady Edwina took the first shot, a complaint about the difficulty of hiring a coach in ‘the hinterlands’.

Dee looked up in surprise. “I do not feel,” said the doctor, “that the marquess is able to travel as yet.”

Lady Edwina was having none of it. “He has inconvenienced Mrs. Marwick long enough.”

“Mrs. Marwick is managing. Your brother, on the other hand, will not manage a re-injured leg.”

“You said his leg was healing well.”

“Healing, yes. Not healed.”

The discussion between Lady Edwina and Dee was taking place at the kitchen table. Madelaine was playing piquet with Lord Ashdown in the small parlour adjacent; there were occasional sounds of protest—from the marquess—mixed with laughter from both. Her daughter had apparently forgiven his lordship for being engaged, or at least for being a marquess. Mrs. Marwick could tell that her daughter was trying her best to be charming, and she could guess why. Maddie was not giving up without a fight.

In the meantime, Fiona was cleaning dishes and trying to ignore everyone.

“He’s nearly able to walk.”

“With crutches, yes—barely. But ’twould be a shame to risk all progress.”

“You doctors always predict the worst.”

“Only because we have seen it so often.”

Fiona smiled to herself. First, because it was clear that Lady Edwina was not accustomed to being gainsaid; secondly because the doctor felt entirely free to offer Tern’s Rest for the duration. She had known Dee long enough to understand him entirely. He was a doctor through and through, and the health of his patient was his main interest. Still, perhaps he might have discussed it with her, first. Dr. Fischer knew about Wilfred Thaxton. What if the man showed up at their doorstep tomorrow? She was not quite ready to see the last of the Marquess of Carinbrooke—the idea left her feeling hollow—but she also wished for a few days of utter solitude, to prepare herself for whatever was to come.

“I will hire a landau coach,” said Lady Edwina, who had not given up the argument. “Surely you can have no objection to a landau?”

Fiona had no idea what this meant, but the doctor apparently did. He laughed.

“In County Durham? And landau or not, I have yet to meet the coach that does not rattle one’s teeth.”

“Perhaps you have never traveled in the right kind of equipage.”

“I’ve no doubt. Your money can buy you many things, my lady, but it cannot make bones heal. Why are you so eager to risk your brother’s health?”

“You would have him remain in this . . . cottage for the rest of his life.”

“His leg hurts again.”

There was silence as everyone in the kitchen looked up to see Madelaine standing in the doorway.

“Maddie,” came a voice of protest from the parlour.

“It’s true,” the girl shot back at Lord Ashdown. “And you know it. You just didn’t want to tell anyone.”

  * * * *

Madelaine retired from the field of battle and fled to the stables, as Dee and Lady Edwina trooped into the parlour to confront Lord Ashdown. Fiona sat down at the now vacant kitchen table and put her head in her hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

She wanted him to leave. She wanted him to stay.

“Where is the pain, exactly?” she heard Dee ask.

“For heaven’s sake, Col, what have you done to yourself?”

“Hmm. Let me see— “

There was the sound of a muttered “mmph,” and Fiona guessed that the doctor had probed a sore area.

“Ah.”

“Really, Colin—”

Was he truly in pain? wondered Fiona. Was there a danger that the fever would return? She could not help herself; she left the washing behind and joined the group in the parlour. Lady Edwina and the doctor were facing off over the Bath chair. They both looked angry.

“Lord Ashdown’s condition could easily turn again into a serious infection.”

“All the more reason he should be staying with family.”

“A tiring journey is the last thing he needs.”

“You country doctors—”

“Eddie,” said the marquess. “That’s enough.”

To Fiona’s surprise, Lady Edwina quieted immediately. “Pardon me,” she said to Dr. Fischer, and although it was not the most gracious apology, it was evidently sincere.

“Heaven knows we have thoroughly inconvenienced Mrs. Marwick,” said the marquess, “and I am entirely sorry for that. But I took my turn at ignoring the good doctor’s advice—he didn’t want me on crutches, Eddie—and now I’m paying for it. I’m inclined to remain here for another week. Unless Fiona says otherwise, of course.”

Fiona swallowed, fighting panic. One more week. ’Twas both too long, with a third cousin nearly on her doorstep—and not enough.

“Of course,” she said, and then— “Lady Edwina, you and your brother are both welcome to stay as long as you wish.”