The Game and the Governess (13 page)

From time to time, one must reevaluate his strategy.

T
hat was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” Turner laughed, unable to keep his hearty guffaw in check. Ned did the only thing he could do and shot him a spiteful look.

“Please try to keep your enthusiasm for my failures at dinner from causing you to strangle my horse,” Ned said through gritted teeth.

“Careful,” Turner chided. “Say that any louder and Sir Nathan will hear.”

It was a beautiful morning in the country, and had Ned not been living in the shadow of last night’s humiliation, he would have likely been enjoying the ride. Though his ride was less satisfying on Turner’s mare than it would have been on Abandon—who obviously thought so too, because he kept straining under Turner’s control, testing his boundaries, trying to fly free.

Ned could sympathize.

But, while he and Turner were on horseback, Sir Nathan, who had insisted on coming with them to meet with the consortium for the bathing resort, made use of his carriage, trotting along amiably behind them. Indeed, Turner was right. If he and Ned were to speak freely, he had better watch his volume.

“You know I had to fix it with Lady Widcoate so you could still stay at Puffington Arms. Just what did you think you were doing?” Turner asked again, shaking his head.

“Engaging a lady who met your standards in a light flirtation,” Ned answered back crisply.

“By running your boot up and down her leg under the table after having spoken two lines to her? And you thought she would be receptive to this?”

“It’s worked before, I will have you know.”

But Turner scoffed—scoffed!—at him.

“If it has worked before, it is either because that lady welcomed the attentions of an earl, or perhaps that they were too cowed to shout you down the way Mrs. Rye was happy to,” he replied.

“Now, that is not the case!” Ned cried, but with a quick glance back at Sir Nathan in the carriage, forced himself to modulate his tone. “I wouldn’t . . . that is, I would
never
 . . .”

“Not knowingly, no,” Turner said, clenching his jaw tight.

They trotted on for a few moments in silence, Ned chewing over what Turner was saying.

“All right,” he finally sighed. “So I need to adjust how I approach the ladies. It is to be expected; after all, I am still adjusting to being you.”

“And how do you fare?” Turner asked blithely.

“Brilliant. Marvelous.”

“Glad to hear it. Although I doubt you will make any headway with any ladies now. You chose extremely poorly last night.”

“I chose the one person who paid the slightest attention.”

“You chose
Mrs. Rye
. The chaperone of the other girls here. Do you think she is going to let Minnie or Clara or even Henrietta anywhere near you when you have made such unwelcome advances toward herself?” Turner could barely suppress the smile as he added, “I bet you a hundred pounds that you won’t even get two sentences with the other girls now.”

“You don’t have a hundred pounds,” Ned countered.

“In two short weeks I’ll have fifty times that.”

The confidence in Turner’s voice set Ned’s teeth on edge. He would not be so easily beaten, damn him!

As they turned onto the road to Hollyhock, Ned could see the little town in the distance, its church spire sitting quaintly on a hill, ready to welcome them.

A new, unfamiliar feeling spread throughout his gut. Unease. A whole pit of it.

“Well,” Ned said brightly, pushing down that strange and annoying feeling, allowing himself only the lightness he enjoyed. “There is one advantage you unwittingly gained me. You brought me to Hollyhock.” At Turner’s blank look, he explained. “Didn’t you notice there are no male servants at Puffington Arms? Just a vast female populace?”

“It doesn’t matter. No chambermaids. No cooks.”

“Not at the Widcoates’, no. But due to the mine in
Midville, I would wager that Hollyhock is practically devoid of men. My arrival there will not go unnoticed by the ladies. There will be dozens to choose from.”

Turner hummed noncommittally, which only annoyed Ned further. So he chose to needle back. “The countess is not accountable to any chaperone. I will simply have to direct all of my charms in her direction.”

Ned was rewarded by watching Turner narrow his eyes. “And if Letty were here, she would tell you that there is little less charming than a man who is trying to be charming. Trying so hard to ingratiate himself, as it were, into the proceedings that he calls himself mother, shows up the host with mathematics, and tries to rub ankles with another guest.”

“Oh, is it Letty already?” Ned responded in kind. “You offered me your advice, so I’ll offer you mine. A countess of means does not go to Bath. She goes to London.”

“So?” Turner asked.

“So, ask yourself what her motives are in ‘reminiscing’ about old times with you. I think you will find they have very little to do with
you
.”

“Well, well, well.” Turner tried for an observer’s voice, but he could not hide the spots of pink that rose on his cheeks. “It seems you are willing to admit that the title has influence—at least, when I am borrowing it.”

“Just remember that you
are
borrowing it, my friend. And don’t worry, I think sooner rather than later, you will find it has its own faults.”

“I’ll return it in the same condition it was lent,” Turner said, a wry smile twisting his lips. “But for now, resume your role.”

He gently drew Abandon to a stop. They had reached the edge of town, the church spire now looming above them on the hillock to the right. To the left was an assembly of a dozen people, smiling at them, and—oh, dear God—holding a banner.

Welcome Home, Earl of Ashby! From The Hollyhock Bathing Consortium.

“It seems we have an audience.”

“SO, SO PLEASED
to meet you at last!” the reed-thin man with the smallest glasses and bushiest mustache Ned had ever seen said as he bowed low to Turner. “And you too, Mr. Turner.” He came forward and, after a shorter bow, aggressively began pumping Ned’s hand. “I am Mr. Fennick. I have greatly enjoyed our correspondence about the bathing retreat.”

“You have?” Ned asked, his eyes sliding to Turner’s. He seemed just as perplexed but merely gave the tiniest of shrugs.

The entirety of Hollyhock had come out to greet them. And it seemed Ned was right—there was little in the way of men here. However, there was also little in the way of romance.

A number of older ladies crowded around, as well as some wives of local farmers and merchants, who saw the opportunity for business for their crops and wares should the town become a destination for travelers. But there was a decided lack of young ladies, their eyes rounded with hope for love.

“Oh, yes,” Turner whispered, laughing. “So many eligible ladies to choose from.”

The few people who
did
have their eyes rounded with hope were all men. The Hollyhock Bathing Consortium. Sir Nathan loped forward to perform the introductions.

“My lord, this is Mr. Dunlap, manager of the Midville mines, and intrepid discoverer of our hot spring.” A hungry-looking man stepped forward, bowing to Turner.

“And you have already met Mr. Fennick, our town solicitor, who has been very eager to make your acquaintance. He even tried to invite himself to dinner last night, didn’t you, Fennick?” Sir Nathan laughed, causing Mr. Fennick’s mustache to freeze in a rictus smile.

“In fact, my lord, I wrote the business proposal you recei—”

“And Mr. McLeavey,” Sir Nathan concluded. “Our very own vicar.”

“And host of this little gathering!” Mr. McLeavey beamed his placid smile and shouldered Mr. Fennick out of the way to offer introductions of some of the townspeople as they moved along. “My lord, of course you know Mrs. So and So, you used to play with her son, Jamie—he’s running the family farm now, isn’t that right, Mrs. So and So? And Mrs. Whatever has kindly provided us with an array of refreshments, if you would like to join us in the rectory . . .”

“Oh, yes!” Mr. Fennick piped up. “There are simply dozens of details to discuss—”

“Perhaps I can give you a history of the mine, my lord, and tell you about how we discovered the hot spring? It was a blustery day, last autumn . . .”

Watching all the smiling faces, the overeager small-town people who seemed to crowd around Turner, swallowing him in their enthusiasm to be near someone of greatness, made Ned smirk wryly.

He had never liked this part. The bit where everyone looked up to you as if you were somehow minted and bronzed. It was one of the reasons he was far more comfortable in London—earls were a bit more commonplace there. They did not throw people into a tizzy by simply existing.

Yes, by the bewildered look on John Turner’s face, the disadvantages of being an earl were beginning to become apparent.

“I did not expect such a welcome,” Turner was saying, an uneasy smile on his face, as he tried hard to keep Abandon under control. “Although it, er, is very good of you all to come out to greet me.”

“We of the Hollyhock Bathing Consortium simply wished for you to know how enthusiastic we are about the prospect of bringing the mineral springs into our little town!” Mr. Fennick began, before Mr. McLeavey could burst in and take over as he had before with the introductions. “As you can see, our enthusiasm abounds!”

“. . . Quite. Sir Nathan, Mr. Fennick,” Turner said, taking on that tone that he used whenever he wanted Ned back on the subject at hand—usually involving a vast amount of paperwork—“perhaps you could join us on our tour of the—er, my property.” Turner turned a pained smile to the rest of the consortium and townsfolk. “Thank you all for the lovely welcome.”

And with that, Turner extracted himself from the group with little finesse and absolutely no ceremony.
Mr. Fennick and Sir Nathan scrambled after him, a mumbled chorus of “Yes, of course!” on their lips as they leapt into Sir Nathan’s carriage.

Ned turned to the assembled group, their disappointment obvious as they followed Turner’s retreating form with their gazes. He gave them the widest grin possible.

“I am sure you can understand the earl is very anxious to see his mother’s cottage. It has been quite a long time,” Ned placated. Then, turning to the remaining leader of the assembled party, “I believe you mentioned something about refreshments? I am certain that once the earl has completed his tour of his mother’s home, he would like nothing better than to see the parsonage, Mr. McLeavey. And to learn something of the hot spring’s history, Mr. Dunlap.”

The vicar smiled widely in relief. “We shall await you there. And, of course, the earl can visit his mother while he’s there.”

Ned’s smile faltered. “His mother?” he asked, unable to hide the quaver in his voice.

“Her grave. It is in the churchyard,” Mr. McLeavey supplied. “He was unable to attend the service, if I recall correctly, having just purchased a commission for the army.”

“No. He purchased the commission after.” Ned managed to make his voice sound somewhat normal.

“I presided over the service,” the vicar continued, ignoring Ned’s statement. “A lovely spring day, all those years ago. The old earl even paid for the headstone. Good solid granite.”

“Thank you, Mr. McLeavey,” Ned managed.

With a quick bow, he excused himself and moved briskly to catch up with Turner, Sir Nathan, and Mr. Fennick.

When he finally did, he slid next to Turner, out of earshot of the other two men. “Tell me, were you raised by alley cats?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“You gave that impression by practically running away from all the townsfolk and the Hollyhock Bathing Consortium.”

Turner shot him a look. “I have no known relation to alley cats.” But to be fair, he did sound a bit chagrined. “I was a bit overwhelmed, is all.”

Ned nodded, and allowed it to pass.

“So, how much should I know about the kind of deals you’ve struck with the Bathing Consortium?” Ned managed under his breath.

“Deal?” Turner asked, confused.

“Yes. What with all the correspondence between you and Fennick and Sir Nathan,” Ned replied. Given what Sir Nathan insinuated the night before, and how Turner would be compensated for making the deal go through, Ned thought Turner had no right to act innocent.

But Turner just shook his head. “There has been no deal struck. If there was we wouldn’t be here.” At Ned’s cocked brow, he just sighed. “If you want to know about the correspondence, you can read it—it’s all in my trunk. You will only find their plans for the property and their initial offer. As well as numerous back-and-forths about where you would stay and what kind of food you prefer for breakfast.” Turner didn’t
even spare him a glance. “If that’s not too much work for you, that is.”

Ned gave a short harrumph, and Turner could only shrug.

They rode on for another few minutes, when . . . “Turn left here,” Ned offered, realizing that Turner was about to take them in the wrong direction. He knew this path. He had walked it every Sunday of his youth, home from church. The road into the main part of town, with the short row of shops, the greengrocer, the milliner, the town well. You had to go to Midville to find an apothecary or blacksmith, he recalled, as they passed the tree that had been half the reason he broke his arm at the age of eight. The other half being gravity.