Amy Lake (6 page)

Fiona very nearly laughed at that. Hobbs had balked at Dee staying the night, true enough, but as for the rest, her reputation in Barley Mow was spotless, and marrying Sir Irwin would, if anything, do it harm.

During their most recent conversation on the subject the baronet had attempted to kiss her. Fiona had pushed him away smartly, and seen the spots of anger rise to his cheeks.

“You’ll give in eventually, my dear,” said Sir Irwin, almost snarling.

He stalked off. Later that afternoon Fiona received an effusive note of apology, and two days later Ampthill left on one of his occasional trips. She had hoped not to see him for at least a month, but now he was back, talking as if nothing untoward had occurred between them, and worse, curious about Lord Ashdown.

I hear
we
have a visitor, indeed!

It had been too late to claim that there was no injured gentleman staying at her cottage; still, Fiona felt an immediate disinclination to involve Sir Irwin. Colin Ashdown had nothing to do with the baronet. She put him off, claiming that ‘her guest’ was probably asleep and not to be disturbed. When Dee arrived Ampthill finally left, after directing a meaningful smile at Fiona, and attempting to kiss her hand.

  * * * *

Now she and the doctor began to walk back to the house. “Why does he ride in that ridiculous gig?” Mrs. Marwick asked Dee.

“I told you. The man cannot stay on a horse.”

“He wanted to be introduced to Lord Ashdown,” she said. “I can’t imagine how he found out.”

“Word like that gets around.”
“I won’t have him in the house.”

“I’ll declare visitors off-limits.” Dee frowned. “Again.”

“I wish he would just go away.”

 The doctor stopped, and turned to look at her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Was that all he wanted?” he asked.

“Yes . . . I think so.”

“No more marriage proposals?”

She laughed. “Not today, it seems.” Fiona had tried to downplay Sir Irwin’s advances, but the baronet was so arrogant, or conceited, that he had bragged about his plans to marry the widow Marwick to his servants, who had promptly spread the word in Barley Mow.

“I almost think you and I should wed,” said Dee. “Put an end to this nonsense.”

She grinned. “I hardly believe such a sacrifice will be necessary. The man is a blowhard.”

“Perhaps it could be a counterfeit marriage, like in one of those London novels that Mrs. Groundsell is so fond of reading.”

“And we would secretly be engaged to two entirely different people.”

“At least.”

Dee left, after retrieving his hat and gloves from the cottage and, presumably, checking in on Lord Ashdown. Fiona went back to her garden, and the onions, hoping to see no more of the baronet for some time. The whole of the thing was most curious, because Fiona was as sensitive as any woman in these matters, and she would have bet the deed to Tern’s Rest that much as she disliked the man, Sir Irwin Ampthill had not a jot more affection for her.

Chapter 9: The Bath Chair

The Bath chair arrived that afternoon, as Dee had promised. Lord Ashdown was carefully assisted into it, and a robe wrapped around his legs. He looked somehow more dashing sitting in that chair, thought Fiona, than most men did standing upright.

She had never seen such a device before, although she had heard of them. The chair was woven of wicker, with two large wheels on either side and a small wheel in front, the whole of it supported by a metal frame. The small wheel in front could be turned with a tiller, which was either used to pull the contraption, or controlled by the person sitting down.

Lord Ashdown could, in theory, be towed or pushed in the Bath chair; in practice, he preferred self-mobility, and was immediately able to propel himself through the cottage with his arms alone turning the large wheels. Going outside was more difficult, but Hobbs found several long planks of wood, and laid them over the kitchen steps, and his lordship was able to find his way out into the garden and, with an extra push from Madelaine, to return. The girl was fascinated with the chair from the start.

One of the first things Lord Ashdown had done after waking was to inquire after the health of his horse, and his first trip outside was to the stables. He’d been assured that his mount was in excellent health, although none of them had chanced to mention that he was being called Bunny, considering especially that they now knew that the stallion’s true name was Achilles.

He returned to the kitchen—Fiona stepped outside to give him a small push up Hobbs’ ramp—with a rather odd expression. She was reminded of someone who was both somewhat annoyed but at the same time trying not to laugh.

“Your daughter,” said his lordship, “has seen fit to re-name my horse.”

Mrs. Marwick bit her lip.

“He now answers to ‘Bunny’.”

“We didn’t know . . . of course, we didn’t know the animal’s correct name,” said Fiona.

“Bunny. My stallion.”

“Madelaine noticed that he was very fond of carrots . . .” Her words trailed off under Lord Ashdown’s stare, but she rallied. “And you must admit, his ears
are
approximately the correct size.”

A moment passed. Then they both burst out laughing.

  * * * *

The Bath chair initiated a new stage in Fiona’s relationship with Lord Ashdown. She could not avoid him any longer, as he spent most of the day in the kitchen, which she could hardly forbid. The chair could be brought right to the kitchen table, quite comfortably, and his lordship played endless rounds of loo with Maddie and Dee as Fiona cooked. Eventually they progressed to whist, at which point a fourth player was needed, and Fiona inveigled into play.

She partnered with Dee at first, and the play often turned fierce, as there were no weak players in the foursome. Maddie had a talent for remembering cards, Dee was careful and precise, but Lord Ashdown took wild risks, as did Fiona herself. They kept track of the number of wins on each side, and after several days of fighting to a near draw it was decided that the ‘logical’ players—Maddie and Dee—would now be paired against the mad risk-takers. This resulted in a tilt towards her daughter and the doctor, but when Fiona and Lord Ashdown did win they won big, in heart-stopping showdowns that left them all breathless with mirth.

After one such win she chanced to glance at his lordship, who also happened to be looking her way at that moment. The expression in his eyes was enough to raise a blush, and she excused herself quickly, claiming some chore in the garden, which could no longer be put off.

  * * * *

The next morning Madelaine went early out to the stables, having taken several carrots that Fiona admitted were too worm-eaten for soup.

She heard the faint creak of the bath chair as it entered the kitchen.

“Mrs. Marwick.”

She turned, a bit flustered, and smoothed down her hair. It curled so in the mist and rain near the coast. At least her apron was spotlessly clean, and she was wearing a new day dress in a flowered print. Fiona knew that nothing she sewed would equal an elegant London gown, but surely he could see that her figure—

Oh, good heavens, stop it
. This man has no interest in a village widow.

“Please call me Fiona,” she said, indulging herself just a little. “Surely we are past formalities in this house.”

He smiled. “Then I will insist on Colin. Are you making more soup?”

She wondered about the comment. Lord Ashdown been very gracious about the simple meals served at Tern’s Rest, but perhaps he was tired of soup.

“I am, yes, but I can make something different, if you like, perhaps a chop—”

“No, no please,” he stopped her. “I love your soup.”

The declaration sounded heartfelt. “As well you should,” she told him, with a smile.

  * * * *

They chatted amiably while she chopped onions and shelled peas. His lordship had offered to take on the latter task, but he sat too low in the Bath chair to make this easy; after the first several peas had skittered across his lap and onto the floor he admitted defeat.

“I’m little help.”

“It’s no matter,” she told him. “I enjoy the work.”

Which was true. Fiona had always found that cooking had a beneficial effect on her disposition; the task was calming, it was useful, and the result was delicious.

“I can’t imagine you learned much in the way of kitchen skills at home.”

This was a bold remark, considering that Lord Ashdown—Colin—had said so little about his family.

“You have the right of it, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve always liked cooking for myself,” she admitted, “as I am assured of enjoying my supper.”

“I can see the appeal. We had a succession of cooks as I was growing up, and none of them had the least idea of what a child might prefer.”

“Heavy sauces were de rigueur, I assume.”

“And course after course, for hours on end.”

She tried to imagine it. ‘Hours on end’ sounded rather grand, even for a lord. “I would have thought that the children in such a household were confined to the nursery for meals.”

“At twelve one was expected to participate. I had much rather stay in the nursery, I assure you.”

“You poor child,” she teased him, “forbidden to eat less.”

“And as for the kitchen, my sisters learned no more than I did.”

Now here was an opening she could make use of. “Sisters,” said Fiona. “How lovely. I was an only child.”

“Three of them, in fact. Evelyn, Edwina, and Eleanor.”

“And Colin.” She laughed.

“Yes . . . I was the third after Evelyn and Edwina, and the only boy.”

“Good heavens. I’m sure they adored you.”

“Evelyn was quite a bit older than the rest of us. But Edwina,” said his lordship, with a smile, “had many opinions on the subject of my behavior.”

She laughed. “Of course.”

This was most curious. He seemed to be fond of his sisters, and yet here he was, without a word to any of them. Well, that might not be true, she realized. He could have instructed his man of affairs to notify each one—he must have done—and perhaps they would soon be arriving on her doorstep.

Lud.

Mrs. Groundsell chose that moment to make her first appearance of the day.

“Good morning, my dear. Cooking soup again, I see.”

“Good morning, Agnes.”

“I think his lordship might prefer—”

Then the woman noticed Colin. Her voice became high and girlish and she made a deep curtsey.

“Oh! Lord Ashdown!”

Fiona made a quick excuse about Madelaine, and the girl’s breakfast, and fled to the stables. She could hardly tolerate the woman’s fawning over Lord Ashdown, and she was beginning to worry what he would think if he ever discovered what Agnes was saying about him during her daily salons at the post.

Her latest claim, reported by Dee, was that Lord Ashdown had bequeathed Mrs. Groundsell a most special smile, and an ardent press of his hand, when he had learned of the critical role she had played in his recovery.

“Wanted the receipt for my colt’s foot poultice, he did!”

Fiona had to laugh at the thought. She did not get the impression that Lord Ashdown was overly fond of Agnes Groundsell.

  * * * *

Mrs. Groundsell had gone, thankfully, by the time Fiona and Madelaine returned to the kitchen.

Lord Ashdown gave her an accusing, I-was-abandoned, look. “Please,” was all he said.

Fiona hid a smile.

“Please what?” said Maddie.

“I’m sorry,” said her mother. “I just couldn’t—”

“Endure another second?”

“Please
what
?”

“Madelaine, his lordship has asked you to please eat your porridge.”

Maddie stared at Colin. “He did?”

“Yes,” said Lord Ashdown.

Chapter 10: His Lordship’s Sisters

Another sennight passed. Hobbs fashioned a pair of crutches from a strong piece of oak and Maddie took over the Bath chair—which dwarfed her—as Lord Ashdown made his first attempts to walk, Dee hovering nearby. The doctor had told his patient that his recovery would be speeded if he could get up and about a bit, but—

“You cannot fall,” he warned Colin. “If you fall on that leg it will be a disaster.”

“I hear and obey.”

Fiona could hardly bear to watch. Lord Ashdown, however, again proved himself to be an uncommonly strong and stubborn individual. He managed a few yards that first day and his progress was swift thereafter. He spent hours with Fiona in the kitchen, and even developed a passing good ability to shell peas.

She learned more about his sisters, little by little. The eldest, Evelyn, was married to Lord Beckwith, a gentleman of whom Lord Ashdown was not greatly fond.

“Although I dare say he’ll make a fine father,” Colin admitted.

“And they live in Northumberland?” Mrs. Marwick was extremely curious on this point. It partially explained Lord Ashdown’s trip down the coast, but left the question of why he was remained at Tern’s Rest.

“At Elswick Hall. It’s just north of Newcastle.” He seemed to understand her unspoken question. “And I’m terribly sorry that I’ve inconvenienced you, instead of my sisters—”

What could she say? “Not at all.”

“Dr. Fischer had insisted that I not travel, and . . . I suppose I did not want to worry them.”

“I should think you would miss their company.”

Lord Ashdown only laughed. “We see enough of each other as it is,” he replied.

“If I was injured . . . “ But Fiona paused, realizing that what she was about to say was not really possible. She would want family at her side if she was injured, yes. But she had no family other than Madelaine. And Dee, in a way.

What would it be like to have three siblings? It seemed a surfeit of riches to Fiona, and pleasantly so. But his lordship had sent no other letter after the first, now some weeks ago. He must have his reasons.

She realized that Lord Ashdown was waiting for her to continue. “If I was injured,” said Fiona, “I would want to be fussed over as much as possible, I suppose.” She gave him a quick smile.

“Then you want Evelyn, or Eleanor.” He returned the smile. “And not Edwina.”