The Clarendon Rose (7 page)

As Tina rode out of the village, she smiled to herself.
 
Uncle Charles will be pleased,
she thought, before catching herself.
 
Sometimes, she still forgot that he was gone—that he would not be waiting for her back at the manor, eager to learn of all the latest goings-on among his people.
 

Her throat ached as she thought of the vitality in his eyes, even as his body had wasted away into an emaciated husk.
 
And now, I’ll never see him again.
 
She blinked rapidly against the sudden prick of tears at the corners of her eyes.
 
It simply wouldn’t do to break down in such a public place, for she was only just riding past the outskirts of the village.
 
Think of other things, Valentina Merriweather.
 
Like what aspects of the holdings you’re going to show the new duke.

Of course, that led her thoughts in a different, equally dangerous, direction.
 

As she was about to leave the public road in favor of a shortcut across a back corner of the grounds, Tina glimpsed a figure in the distance, waving.
 
The slender young woman in a patterned dress, blond curls peeping out from under her bonnet, could be none other than Miss Georgiana Fielding, the second child of Sir Roland Fielding.
 
Tina returned the greeting, turning Achilles back to the road.

Miss Fielding increased her pace, a shy smile on her face as the two women met.
 
“Hullo Miss Merriweather.”
 

Tina liked Georgiana Fielding, despite feeling like a hulking ancient in the girl’s presence, for Miss Fielding had always been a lovely, golden child.
 
Though she was now more than old enough to make her come-out and was simply waiting for her father to assemble sufficient funds to give her a London Season, there remained a six-year age difference between the two women.
 
Yet, even if they had been the same age, Tina found that the things she had seen as a child usually created an invisible barrier between herself and other gently-bred young women.
 

Yet, Miss Fielding, for all her delicate appearance, had a fortitude and a spirit of adventure that Tina had always liked.

“Hallo Miss Fielding.
 
Just out walking?”

The girl nodded.
 
“It’s such a lovely day, I positively couldn’t stay cooped inside.
 
And, as I was feeling a little blue-deviled, I hoped a walk might help banish it.”
 
She watched as Tina dismounted Achilles, turning the horse so the two women could walk together.
 
Once they were side by side, she smiled at Tina.
 
“I am to understand you and Lord Edmund are engaged.
 
May I offer my congratulations?”

Tina shifted uncomfortably, wondering how word had spread even such a small distance.
 
The servants, she supposed.
 

Yes, I do believe one of the parlor maids is younger sister to Miss Fielding’s abigail,
Tina thought on a sigh.

Now if only Edmund would return to the manor so I can give him the news in person.
 
Then at least I’d be able to end this ridiculous pretense before the rumors spread any further.

“Thank you,” she said with a weak smile.
 
“You are too kind, Miss Fielding.”

The younger woman shrugged.
 
Her smile struck Tina as oddly forced as she spoke, “It must be a little bit of a consolation to know you have each other, in the face of your mutual loss.”

“It is that.”

“And now, at least, you will not need to look for a position,” Miss Fielding added, her tone a little brighter.
 
Tina did not contradict the girl.
 
When Uncle Charles had been lying in state and the Fieldings had come to pay their condolences, Tina had asked Miss Fielding in an aside whether she had heard about any openings for governesses or companions within her range of acquaintance.
 
The younger woman had been horrified that Tina might be forced to such a pass, but had still promised to look into the question.
 

Miss Fielding had provided Tina with a few names of relatives who had children and might be in need of a governess.
 
Tina had learned of a few additional possibilities through other inquiries.
 
She had sent letters to each of them in the days before Edmund proposed.

“Yes,” Tina said vaguely.
 
“And your family?
 
Are they well?”

“Oh yes,” replied the young woman.
 
“They are always well.”
 
A pause.
 
“And how are the people at the manor?”

Tina smiled.
 
“Edmund has been dispatched on what we are to understand is an urgent errand, and the duchess is in London, so only the new duke is in residence at the moment.”

“He is returned to England, then.”

Tina nodded.
 
“He arrived sometime last week, I understand.”

“All of a week ago?
 
And we have not yet had word of any wild exploit?”

Despite her own concerns about the duke, Tina managed a wry chuckle at the observation.
 
Though Miss Fielding’s comment would have been a little blunt for polite society, Tina enjoyed the younger woman’s frankness.
 

“Indeed, I suppose even he has enough sense of propriety to allow some portion of the mourning period to pass before returning to his wild ways,” she said dryly.
 

Miss Fielding gasped.
 
“Oh goodness, Miss Merriweather.
 
I am sorry—I didn’t mean—“

“It’s all right, my dear.”
 
They had come to a stop in front of the path Tina intended to take.
 
“I don’t have much of an acquaintance with the new duke, but his reputation has certainly preceded him, hasn’t it?”

The girl nodded, her cheeks possibly a little more flushed than the brisk spring air warranted.
 
“It’s strange to think that such a character could be related to Lord Edmund, who is such a good, kind man and a fine gentleman,” she murmured, looking down.
 

Tina gave the girl a sharp glance.
 
Good lord, is Miss Fielding another one of Edmund’s innumerable admirers?
she wondered ruefully as she studied the averted head.
 
“And handsome, too,” she added teasingly, forgetting she was engaged to the man in question.

“Yes,” the girl confirmed in a near-whisper, before lifting her head, her expression composed.
 
“Though rumor has it that the new duke is even more handsome.”

Tina forced a grin.
 
“Then again, they say rumors are rarely to be trusted,” she said briskly.
 
This one, however, is far too accurate for my own peace of mind.
 
“This is my way here, Miss Fielding.
 
It was lovely to see you.
 
Do give my regards to your family.”
 
Tina had turned to mount when she remembered something else.
 
“Oh, and we still have that length of dimity you wanted from London.”

“Oh, thank you!
 
I had wondered about it, but then the duke…” Miss Fielding trailed off awkwardly.
 
“I hadn’t wanted to ask…”

“Well, as I say, it’s there waiting for you.
 
I’ll bring it around if I remember.
 
Otherwise, do not stand on ceremony, Miss Fielding—feel free to call at your convenience.
 
I’m always happy to receive you when I’m not out on the estates.
 
I’ll also leave instructions with Mrs. Keithly, so even if I’m out, it shan’t be a wasted trip.”

“Thank you, Miss Merriweather.
 
You are too kind.”
 
Miss Fielding returned the smile, stepping back so Tina had space to mount up once more.

With a final wave for the petite figure, Tina led Achilles along the path.
 
A quick glance at the pocket watch Uncle Charles had given her revealed that it was approaching the hour of her prearranged meeting with the new duke.

The thought of seeing him again evoked a mixed feeling of dread and anticipation, resulting in the uncomfortable sensation of butterflies fluttering about a large boulder in the pit of her stomach.
 
Still, there was no avoiding it, she concluded, as she guided Achilles in the general direction of the stables.

She had hardly been riding five minutes when she noted an unfamiliar figure approaching on horseback.
 
Though he was too far to positively identify, something in her knew the identity of the rider.
 
The realization goaded the butterflies into frantic movement, even as the boulder became several pounds heavier.

The figure raised a hand in greeting.
 
Tina drew in a long, slow breath, before raising her hand in return.

“Miss Merriweather!
 
How fortuitous,” he called as he came within hailing distance.
 
He looked even more handsome by day, though his face still seemed marked by traces of fatigue.
 
His immaculate mourning clothes, the subdued gleam of his Blüchers and the deceptively careless fall of his dark hair, visible under his beaver hat, bespoke a zealously devoted valet.
 

But, more distracting to Tina were the other details of his appearance: the way his broad shoulders filled out his coat without the merest hint of padding, the gleam of his white teeth against skin that carried more of a tan than she had realized the night before.
 
And, of course, his vivid eyes, that made her burn with an awareness of his dark magnetism.

“I had just ridden out for a quick turn about the grounds before our meeting,” he continued, his friendly grin drawing out his dimples.

Tina clenched her teeth and managed a wan smile in return.
 
“Please, do not let me stop you, Your Grace.”

“No, no.
 
I’m altogether ready to begin our tour.
 
I stopped by the kitchens on the way to the stables so I could have Cook pack us a picnic lunch.”
 
His grin widened.
 
“She seemed rather disconcerted to see me, but she managed to recover enough to roundly inform me that I had footmen for these sorts of things, and that I need not feel constrained to wait.
 
So, I was able to work off some of Hercules’s high spirits before stopping by to collect our lunch.”

Tina chuckled, unable to remain on her guard in the face of his easy manner.
 
“It’s true that Cook has a very definite sense of the order of things, Your Grace.
 
No doubt your incursion below stairs threw her for something of a loop.”

“You really are averse to calling me ‘Clarendon’, aren’t you?
 
Would ‘Edward’ be any better?”

Tina glanced at him.
 
He still smiled, his head tilted as he reined his horse in beside her.
 
They began riding in the direction of one of the tenant farms Tina wanted to show him.
 
“Indeed not.
 
I think ‘Your Grace’ would be best for now.”

“Afraid that anything more intimate might open the door to further decadence, Miss Merriweather?
 
That, impudent reprobate as I am, you’ll be opening the proverbial floodgates if you allow such ridiculous improprieties?”

Tina could feel the flush creeping into her cheeks.
 
Put that way, it sounded ridiculous and painted her as every inch the prudish spinster she usually felt herself to be in his presence.
 
But of course, he would never want you, regardless of what you happen to call him.
 
It’s your own foolish fancies that you need to armor yourself against.
 
Calling him ‘Clarendon’ would be far too intimate.
 

“Exactly so, Your Grace,” she replied, keeping her own tone light and teasing.

The smile faded.
 
“You have nothing to worry about from me, Miss Merriweather.
 
I assured you of that last night.”

She nodded, feeling a surge of even deeper mortification at the reminder.
 
“I have little doubt of that, sir.”
 
They had almost emerged from the copse of trees, and she took the opportunity to change the subject.
 
“We are now approaching a holding whose tenant was one of the first Uncle Charles persuaded to adopt the newer method of crop rotation developed by Townshend…”

And so she was able to pin her energies on trying to formulate a cogent explication of the latest innovations in farming, all the while hoping that such quotidian subjects as fallow fields and ploughing methods would help abolish the frenetic activity of the butterflies in her stomach.
 
When a glance at the duke revealed that she commanded his undivided attention—as if all her talk of drills and cattle were a source of abiding fascination—she knew such hopes were likely in vain.
 
It was going to be a very long day indeed.

“Based on your enthusiasm, Miss Merriweather, I can only imagine you could continue this indefinitely.
 
But there’s only so much my poor mind can absorb,” Clarendon protested as she paused in her detailed explanations of estate affairs.
 

The early-afternoon sun had broken through streaky clouds as they rode past another tenant farm.
 
“Might we not come back to the subject of the estate’s livestock?
 
I think I’ll need some sustenance before I’m up for gaining any true insight into Bakewell’s selective breeding methods.
 
My belly roars every time you mention the phrase ‘plumper beasts’ and my mind comes to a standstill.”