Impossible, page 5
She nodded. “Plymouth. My father was a fisherman. I can sail a boat, but I can’t ride a horse.”
“That’s not a very useful skill for a bookkeeper,” he said.
“It is not, but while I can sail a boat, I don’t. The sea took my father, and I am now unable to get into or onto water.”
The mention of her loss reminded him that he was supposed to keep himself apart, to ensure his darkest nature stayed buried. He shouldn’t be making idle chatter with her.
“Then you are precisely where you should be,” he said. “Just avoid the small lake near the southeast corner of the estate.”
“I will do that,” she replied. “Now let me tell you what I didn’t do at the stable—obtain a copy of Og’s records for rent collection. He says he wrote it on a parchment and that you might have it here. I don’t suppose you do?” she asked hopefully.
“No, and before you ask me to look for it, Og never gave it to me.” That he could remember. It was more likely Og mentioned it, and Max hadn’t bothered to even look at it, let alone bring it here.
She pursed her lips in disappointment. Before she could respond further, he turned and stalked from the library, intent on taking a walk to clear Miss Treadway from his mind. On his way out, he encountered Mrs. Bundle.
She hesitated, and he could tell she wanted to say something, so he paused too. “I’m arranging for Archie to drive Miss Treadway around the estate tomorrow since neither you nor Og can be bothered.”
He knew Mrs. Bundle wanted him to change his mind about that. “I don’t see why it’s necessary. Her presence here is a nuisance.”
“It’s also nearly half-over. She arrived five days ago.” Mrs. Bundle’s expression softened, and he tensed for the coming assault on his sentiment—as if he had any left. “She’s only trying to help. What harm could there be?”
Had she and Miss Treadway planned this? Their words were too similar. “She put you up to this, didn’t she?”
“Not at all.” Mrs. Bundle frowned at him. “You are too quick to believe the worst in people. Not that the two of us working together to help you and the estate would be the worst, only that you think it is.”
He decided to repeat his own words. “Mind your own business.”
Her shoulder twitched, and her expression turned to frustration, her eyes sparking. “I work on this estate for you, so this is my business as far as I can tell. Furthermore, if no one meddled in your business, nothing would get done because you don’t mind your business.”
A pang of guilt smacked him in the chest. Exhaling, as if doing so would rid him of the emotion, he asked, “What would you have me do?”
She took a moment to respond, and he realized he’d surprised her. “To start, you should listen to Miss Treadway. And you should be the one to take her around the estate.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I won’t do either of those things.” He actually was sorry to disappoint her, but neither could he bring himself to change his manner. Perhaps he could satisfy her, at least in a small way. “I am, however, considering hiring a new steward.”
Surprise arrested her gaze with perhaps a dash of relief. “That would be a good start.” She sounded as if she didn’t quite believe it. “I only want the best for you, my lord. That’s why I haven’t left yet,” she added softly.
“I don’t ever want you to think you must stay.” He wasn’t actually hoping she might leave, as he’d done with the steward. Which, in hindsight, might have been foolish. He hadn’t thought he needed the man, but perhaps he did.
She shook her head. “Someone has to take care of you. I’d best get on.” She continued on her way.
Max watched her go, thinking no one should have to take care of him. Indeed, he should have died in Spain. He’d certainly done his best to try to achieve that end. That he hadn’t was a miracle.
No, it was a curse.
Chapter 4
Ledger in hand, Ada walked to the stable yard at midmorning, eager to meet Archie. She saw the cart drawn by a single horse and wondered if the boy might even teach her how to drive. That would be a very useful skill for an independent young woman like herself.
A head popped up from the back of the cart, and she nearly tripped. There was no mistaking the brooding expression even with a hat pulled low over his brow. She’d always found hats attractive, and in this case, it gave Lord Warfield a dashing air.
And dashing was not a word she ever would have used to describe him. Cantankerous. Unhelpful. Antagonistic. Also enigmatic and alluring. Did she only think so because she was burdened with overactive curiosity? She decided it didn’t matter why she thought that.
“Good morning,” she called as she approached the cart. “Did you come to see me off?”
“No.”
Of course he hadn’t. That would be so out of what she knew of his character that she was surprised she’d even asked. “You’re driving me to London, aren’t you? Well, I won’t go.”
He stared at her a moment. “I said you could stay the fortnight provided you didn’t annoy me.”
“I was all but certain I’d continued to be a thorn in your side.”
“My side, my neck, my eye, my bloody arse.” He grunted. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be crude.”
Now he was apologizing? “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“Nothing. I thought I would drive you around the estate, but perhaps that’s a bad idea since it seems you are—”
“No, no,” she interrupted, not at all interested in hearing what he thought she was. Beyond annoying, she was sure. “I’m thrilled you’ll be driving me today.” Indeed, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “Who better to tell me everything I need to know?” Except he probably didn’t know everything she needed to know. Not if he’d been as uninvolved in his estate as it seemed.
From what she could piece together from the former steward’s notes, the viscount’s father had died about the time his lordship had left Spain to return home due to his injuries. The new viscount, his lordship’s older brother, had soon followed, dying only days before Warfield arrived.
The new new viscount had spent months recovering from his wounds, and had, understandably, taken little interest in the estate. However, that hadn’t changed as he’d recovered. As far as Ada could tell, the current viscount had never completely assumed his new position.
She had to assume he didn’t want it. How she longed to ask.
As expected, he didn’t respond to her rhetorical question. With a faint growl, he offered her his hand to help her into the cart.
Her gaze fell upon his appendage, covered in black leather. His hand was large, the fingers long. He looked as if he could break something quite easily.
Yet, when she put her hand in his, he helped her into the cart with a gentle strength that said he wouldn’t harm her. Not that she was afraid he would. He was grumpy and beastly, but she wasn’t frightened of him.
When she was seated, he went around and climbed in beside her. Without a word, he drove them from the stable yard and out to the front of the house.
“I understand Stonehill was once a castle,” she said, hoping he might finally engage in cordial conversation.
“Yes.”
She’d take a one-word answer over his signature grunts. It was a good start, anyway. “Do you know which of your ancestors built it?”
“None of them. The first Lord Warfield was given the property by Charles the Second after his restoration. My ancestor was elevated to the peerage and awarded this estate for his loyalty to the crown. The castle was in ruins by then. The first Lord Warfield tore the remainder down and built a new house, which my great-grandfather almost completely demolished and rebuilt. That’s the house that stands today. Some of the castle stone was used for the cornerstones.”
She bit her tongue before noting that might be the most he’d ever said to her. And without irritation. “How fascinating. Does the house sit where the castle did?”
“No. The castle was up on the rise south of the current house. It wasn’t terribly large—just a small keep and the surrounding walls. There are a few stones still there. If you look hard enough and use some imagination, you can see some of the wall.”
A thrill of anticipation shot through her. “I’d love to see it. I have plenty of imagination.”
“That has absolutely nothing to do with your errand here.” There was his disagreeability. She knew it had to emerge sometime.
“No, but do you really expect me to work all day, every day?” That was precisely what she’d done, even yesterday on Sunday. “I don’t do that at my regular position.”
They left the drive, and he steered them onto a dirt track. The day was warm with a light breeze, and the scent of wildflowers was in the air.
“Where are we going first?” she asked.
“Ah, there’s a farm just up ahead.”
She suspected he didn’t know the names of who lived there. “What do they grow?” She waved her hand, anticipating that he didn’t know that either. “Never mind. I’ll pester them with my questions instead of you. What else do you know of Stonehill Castle?”
“Nothing. I’ve shared the extent of my knowledge.”
“Aren’t you interested to learn more?”
“Not particularly.” He slid her a glance. “You seem quite fascinated by the past.”
“I love history. There’s something comforting about knowing that your family has roots in a particular place, that the land is part of your ancestry—your blood, even.”
“It’s not, no matter how it may seem with entailments. Stonehill Castle didn’t belong to my family. I have no connection to it whatsoever. Honestly, I feel no connection to the current estate either.”
Ada held her breath. She’d never imagined he’d share such sentiments! She wanted to ask why, but feared he wouldn’t answer, even if he’d been more loquacious this morning than in any of their previous encounters. So she’d ask him something he could answer the way he preferred—with one word. “Is that because you didn’t expect to inherit?”
There was a beat of silence—save the birdsong coming from their right—in which she felt the air shift. Had he drawn in a breath?
“Yes.”
“Yes, you didn’t expect to inherit?” she clarified.
“My brother should have been the viscount. I’m a soldier, not a landowner.” He grunted. “At least, I was.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said softly. “And your father. My father died when I was ten.”
“That can’t have been easy.”
“No. My older brother went to sea then, leaving my mother and me with my three younger sisters.” She glanced at him, seated on her right so that the scarred left side of his face was completely exposed to her. She noticed he wore his hat at a slight angle, as if he could shade that side and prevent people from seeing his disfigurement. What would he say if she told him she wanted to touch it, to feel the ripples in his flesh? It looked as though he’d sustained a burn, but what kind?
“You seem to have come out all right,” he said gruffly.
“So far.” But the path hadn’t been easy. She’d been foolish and paid a price. Still, she’d survived, and that was more than she could say for her mother and one of her sisters. The terrible old guilt threatened to grip her, but she held it at bay. No good would ever come of that.
Pushing the dark thoughts away, she lifted her face to the sky, closing her eyes as she inhaled. “I love summer, don’t you?”
“No. I prefer the cold and rain.”
“I don’t mind those either. I like snow the most, I think.”
He snorted. “I’m beginning to think you like everything. Is there nothing that peeves you?”
“Grumpy viscounts with disdain for romance novels.” She laughed softly.
He shook his head and drove from the track onto a narrower lane. “If I peeve you, it can’t be for long.”
“Life is too fleeting to harbor ill will. Besides, feeling angry or upset isn’t pleasant. I’d much rather be happy.”
He brought the cart to a stop in front of a small stone cottage and several outbuildings. His gaze met hers, and her breath stalled at the intensity in his expression. “You can simply decide to feel happy whenever you want?”
“It’s not always simple, but I do try.”
He got down and came around to help her out. By the time they moved back to the other side of the cart, a woman had emerged from the cottage. Of medium height with a tidy cap atop her gray hair, she wiped her hands on her apron.
“Good morning,” she called out as they approached.
When the viscount said nothing, Ada moved swiftly toward the woman. “Good morning. I’m Miss Treadway, ah, secretary to Lord Warfield. And this is his lordship.” She swiveled her body to see where he’d ended up.
He stood a few feet away, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“My goodness,” the woman said softly, but not so softly that Ada couldn’t hear. She dropped into a curtsey. “What an honor to receive you at our humble farm, my lord.”
Warfield said nothing, but he at least inclined his head. Couldn’t he say good morning? He didn’t have to smile, though that would have been nice.
Ada turned back to the woman and smiled on his behalf. “He’s delighted to be here. You are Mrs. Spratt?” She guessed one of the names she recalled from the estate ledgers.
“Yes, indeed,” she said warmly. “Would you care to come inside? I just took some bread from the oven.”
At that precise moment, Ada got a noseful of the scent of fresh bread. Her stomach grumbled in response. “That would be lovely.” She looked back to the viscount and inclined her head toward the cottage.
Warfield appeared tense, his jaw tight as the muscles in his neck worked. Still, he walked toward the cottage, and when Mrs. Spratt stood to the side at the door, he went inside.
Ada followed their hostess into the small but neat main room. The kitchen area was in the corner, and the bread sat on a table where she clearly prepared food.
“Mr. Spratt should be here any time. He’s just finishing his morning chores. There’s so much to do, and it’s just the two of us.”
Opening her ledger, Ada took the pencil from her pocket and recorded the couple’s names as well as the information she’d already gathered. Then she asked a series of questions about the farm while Mrs. Spratt cut the bread. The woman answered as she slathered butter on the bread, then brought a piece to each of them—first to Warfield.
Ada held her breath, but he took it from the woman with a slight nod. He did not, however, immediately eat it. Ada had no such patience. She could hardly wait to take a bite. It smelled delicious, and she told Mrs. Spratt so.
“Nothing like fresh bread,” Mrs. Spratt said with a grin. “Ah, here’s Mr. Spratt.”
The door had opened and in walked the woman’s husband, a tall, rather fit man past middle age. Ada would guess them to be in their late fifties. Mr. Spratt removed his hat and clutched it in his hands.
“John, you’ll never guess who’s here,” Mrs. Spratt said, handing Ada her slice of bread. Ada snapped her ledger closed, clasping it and the pencil in one hand while she accepted the bread with the other.
“I can see it’s his lordship. What an honor to have you in my house, my lord.”
“The pleasure is his,” Ada responded before waiting to see if Warfield would respond.
“Yes, it’s my pleasure,” Warfield said, surprising Ada as she took a bite of bread and accidentally bit her cheek. “This is Miss Treadway. If you have any issues that require my attention, please convey them to her.”
Mr. Spratt looked at Ada in disbelief. “Is she the new steward?”
“No, she’s the secretary,” Mrs. Spratt answered. “She’s just making notes in that book.”
Ada hurriedly worked to finish her bread, both because it was the best bread she’d ever eaten and so she could get back to writing. Mr. Spratt still looked skeptical.
“Tell his lordship about the roof of the cowshed,” Mrs. Spratt urged her husband.
Mr. Spratt glanced toward the viscount. “Bah. I can fix it. I won’t bother him with that.”
Ada swallowed her next-to-last bite of bread. “Please, if you don’t mind, we’d like to hear about it.” She popped the last corner into her mouth and reopened the ledger.
“Mr. Spratt is also in need of some new equipment,” Mrs. Spratt said, looking to Ada, who made a note in the ledger.
“What equipment is that?” Ada wanted to record precisely what he needed.
“I can get by,” Mr. Spratt said, sending a slight scowl toward his wife. “We don’t need to bother his lordship.”
“It isn’t a bother,” Ada said cheerfully. “In fact, it’s his responsibility, and he’d be delighted to help however he can.”
All three of them stared at her, conveying that no one present believed the viscount would be delighted by anything. It seemed his tenants were aware of his demeanor. Was that due to gossip, or had he demonstrated his lack of…delight in front of them?
“Just tell us what equipment needs to be replaced,” Lord Warfield said, sounding either weary or perturbed. Or perhaps both.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Spratt responded. Then he itemized a handful of tools, which Ada quickly documented. He glanced toward the viscount, appearing nervous suddenly. “I can show you the items, so you can determine if they really ought to be replaced.”
“I believe you, Mr. Spratt.” Warfield’s voice was deep and firm.
The farmer nodded. “I appreciate that, sir.”
“We should be moving on,” Warfield said.
“Thank you for your kind hospitality, and especially for the bread.” Ada closed the ledger.
“It’s our honor to have you here.” Mrs. Spratt went to the door and opened it for them.
Warfield gestured for Ada to leave before him. Then he followed her to the cart where he helped her onto the seat.
Mr. Spratt came out into the yard and thanked them for visiting. “I don’t need anything right away,” he said.
