Impossible, page 6
With a nod, Warfield climbed onto the seat and drove away from the farm.
“Have you never visited them before?” Ada asked.
“Once. Before my steward left, I toured the estate with him.” He sent her a curious look. “How did you know their name?”
“Utter luck—I’d read the names in the ledgers, but I’d no idea they were the Spratts. I was quite amused by that, actually. Don’t tell me the names of the next tenants either. Perhaps I’ll get that one correct too.”
“I couldn’t tell you anyway. You know I am completely uninvolved in the management of this estate. I don’t know anyone’s names, what they farm, what they pay in rent, or when their leases are up.” He spoke matter-of-factly, without a hint of remorse.
“It doesn’t sound as if you care either.”
When he didn’t respond, she sat in silence for several minutes, enjoying the pastoral view as she wondered how this man existed. What did he do all day? What motivated him to even get out of bed in the morning?
“Did you eat your bread?” she asked rather absurdly, recalling that she hadn’t seen him actually eat it.
“No. I set it on a table. You were too busy gobbling yours down.”
“I’m so disappointed,” she said, shaking her head. “You could have given your piece to me. It was really good bread.”
He made a sound like a snort. But it might have been a grunt because he was him. She really hoped it was a snort—the kind that was akin to a laugh.
They fell quiet again, and she thought back, trying to determine when he’d abandoned that lovely, lovely slice of bread. “You didn’t say much,” she said.
“You seemed to have things well in hand. Besides, you’re the one who wanted to make these visits, not me.”
She exhaled. “I suppose. Still, you could be more amenable. Perhaps you can try at our next stop.”
“What would you have me say?”
Ada lowered her voice to a deep rasp. “Good morning, I’m Lord Warfield and this is my secretary, Miss Treadway.”
“You are not my secretary.”
She grunted in response, mimicking the way he did it. “This is my annoying houseguest, Miss Treadway. She’s going to open her annoying little book and ask several annoying questions. Then she’ll scribble in her book and perchance ask you even more annoying questions. She will also eat all your bread.”
Ada watched him as she imitated his low, grumbly tone. The barest of smiles flashed across his lips. She nearly leapt from her seat with a delighted cry.
His scowl moved back into place. “Don’t say a word, or I’ll never do it again.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth and swallowed her giggle with great effort. There was a happier gentleman underneath his brusque exterior—she just knew it. If she could glimpse him by being silly, perhaps she could find a way to coax him free.
He steered the cart onto the drive of the next farm. This one was larger than the Spratts’, with a two-story cottage and a large barn not far from it. “They have sheep,” Warfield said.
“That’s helpful to know.” Ada tried to remember who had sheep and what the farmers’ names were.
As they neared the cottage, two small children ran outside and headed for them.
“What the bloody hell?” Warfield brought the horse to a swift halt. “They’re going to get themselves killed behaving like that.”
They both, no more than five years of age, ran right up to the cart—on Warfield’s side. Ada’s breath stalled in her chest, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch.
The cart stopped. There was no screaming or awful sound of wheels going over a small body. Surely Ada would have felt that. Carefully, she opened her eyes and saw the children standing next to the cart, their gazes fixed on the viscount. Thank God.
Drawing deep breaths to calm the frantic racing of her heart, Ada didn’t wait for Warfield’s assistance to climb down from the cart. She moved quickly to greet the children. The older one was a girl, and the younger was a boy. Both had dark hair and wide brown eyes.
“Good morning,” Ada said a bit more shakily than she would have liked. She realized it was surely afternoon by now, not that the children would notice. “I’m Miss Treadway and this is Lord Warfield.” Their eyes grew even wider as they looked at the viscount, who still sat in the cart, his gaze dark and unreadable as he stared at Ada—not the children. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her panicked reaction to the children.
Ada crouched down in front of the children to draw their attention from Warfield. “What are your names?”
The girl pointed to her chest. “I’m Daisy, and this is Jem.”
Ada smiled at them both, noting that Jem was still looking at Warfield, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“He looks angry,” Daisy said, pointing at the viscount.
“Because I am,” Warfield answered, climbing down from his seat. Both children moved back. “You shouldn’t have run toward the cart. You could have scared the horse and caused an accident injuring us or yourselves. Don’t you know any better?”
Though he sounded frightening, Ada was glad he’d said it. They could have caused injury. Ada closed her eyes against the distant memory.
“Papa did say not to bother horses,” Daisy answered somewhat sullenly. “We didn’t mean to be naughty.”
Ada exhaled, her pulse finally returning to normal. “You weren’t naughty. But you must be safe. We’ve come to speak with your parents. Are they about?”
“Mama’s inside with the baby. They’re sick. Papa is with the sheep.”
“I’m sorry to hear they’re sick.” Ada wondered how ill they were. It was no wonder these children were running about. Plus, they were children. They tended to run about.
“Perhaps we should come back another time,” Warfield murmured.
Ada turned to him and spoke in a low tone. “I want to check on their mother to see if she needs any help. I’d like to know how sick they are.”
And who would help them if they needed it? It wasn’t as if Ada could send someone from the house. There was no one to be spared. Perhaps they could hire someone from the village. If not, she was tempted to come herself. The thought of these children putting themselves in harm’s way was untenable.
“Don’t bombard her with questions,” he said sternly.
“You can’t think I’d do that,” she said with a touch of incredulity. “I’m glad you thought to caution me, however.” That indicated he wasn’t completely incapable of recognizing appropriate behavior. “I’ll be as brief as possible.”
Ada looked to Daisy. “Will you take me to meet your mother?”
Daisy skipped toward the house, and her brother followed as if tied to her by a string. Inside, Daisy led Ada to a room at the back—the kitchen, where her mother stood holding a sleeping babe who appeared to be nearing a year. The woman’s dark hair was lank, her face pale. She looked exhausted. Her eyes widened upon seeing Ada.
“This lady came here with a lord,” Daisy said.
Ada didn’t think the woman’s pallor could worsen, but it did. Any remaining color in her face completely drained away. “Yes, I’m here with the viscount,” Ada said brightly. “We’re visiting tenants.” She realized she hadn’t brought her ledger, but then she wasn’t going to query her. She’d make notes about the family when she returned to the cart.
The woman appeared relieved. “Oh. As you can see, we aren’t fit for visitors at the moment. The babe’s got a fever.”
“So do you, Mama,” Daisy said helpfully.
Her mother cast her a beleaguered stare. “Will you take your brother outside, please?”
Turning, Daisy skipped out of the kitchen, her brother trailing after.
“Have you been ill long?” Ada asked gently.
“Nearly a week.”
Ada took in the unwashed dishes and general chaos of the kitchen. “Looks like you could use some help while you and the babe recover. Do you need medicine?”
The woman shrugged. “Haven’t seen a doctor.”
“Then I’ll make sure one visits. Today.” Ada recalled the names of the farmers who kept sheep. “You’re Mrs. Niven?”
“No, the Nivens are on the other side of the estate. I’m Mrs. Kempton.”
“Ah yes, thank you for correcting me. You’ve three children? I ask because I want to hire someone to come help until you’re well. I just need to know what sort of person to hire. Or if you perhaps need more than one helper.”
Mrs. Kempton’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, and she adjusted the baby in her arms. “I can’t afford any help.”
Ada gave her a reassuring smile. “You needn’t worry about that. His lordship will pay for it.”
Surprise followed by skepticism flashed across Mrs. Kempton’s weary features. “Are you certain of that?”
“Yes.” Ada would pay for it herself if she had to. Or get Lucien to—he’d be horrified to learn that Warfield wasn’t taking care of his tenants. “Don’t doubt it. I promise.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but his lordship has been absent since coming into the title. The old viscount—his father—was attentive. He was a good landlord. I don’t have much faith that this one will pay for medicine, let alone someone to help us.”
Ada wanted to rail at Warfield. These people depended on him, and he was letting them down. How could he not realize that? Well, she’d make sure he knew it now—and that things had to change.
“You can trust me,” Ada said firmly. “I’ll pay the doctor before he even comes here today. Will that ease your concern?”
Mrs. Kempton nodded. “Thank you. Truly.” She kissed her baby’s head, and Ada felt a pang of loss that made her breath stutter.
Ada walked outside into the bright day and took a long breath. This one visit was threatening to steal every bit of positivity she had. Her gaze found the viscount standing away from the cart, his attention on the ground.
Moving toward him, Ada frowned, as she meant to admonish him for his treatment—or general ignorance—of his tenants. But the closer she got to him, the more she realized something was amiss. He was wholly fixated on the ground and didn’t even seem to register her approach.
She followed his gaze and saw a bright red ribbon lying in the dirt. Hadn’t that been in Daisy’s hair? “Where’s the girl?” she asked as the bottom of her stomach seemed to drop away.
He didn’t respond, and Ada looked up, glancing around the yard. There she was—not too far distant, crouched down with her brother investigating something. Ada exhaled with relief. She wasn’t sure what she thought had happened, but something about Warfield’s demeanor was off.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
It took a moment before he finally turned his head toward her. His eyes were glassy, his skin pale. His full lips had seemed to thin. “Let’s go.”
He turned and strode toward the cart, moving quickly so that Ada had to practically dash after him. She stopped short. “Wait.” Pivoting, she went back to fetch the ribbon, then took it to Daisy.
“Thank you,” the girl said in astonishment, clearly unaware she’d lost the ribbon. “Mama would have been upset that I lost it.”
Ada made a mental note to bring more ribbon for them. “Here.” Ada tied it back into the girl’s hair. “All fixed.”
Daisy smiled widely, then twirled around, her skirt billowing. Her brother did the same, but of course he had no skirt to make his movements look elegant. Or perhaps it was because he immediately got dizzy and fell down. Chuckling, Ada helped him up. “All right?”
He nodded, but didn’t speak. Then he smiled at her. “Pretty.”
“He’s only two,” Daisy said as if that explained everything.
“Thank you, Jem. You take care of your sister now, all right?” Ada ruffled his hair, then gave Daisy a pat before hurrying to the cart. Thankfully, Warfield hadn’t left without her.
“I said we needed to go.” He didn’t sound like his typical irritated self. There was a hollow, worrisome quality to his tone. Ada didn’t like it. She also wasn’t about to take him to task for not paying attention to his tenants. She’d have to do that later.
She climbed into the cart on her own since he was already seated. She was barely situated before he started driving.
Casting sidelong glances in his direction, she tried to read his expression. That was impossible since he didn’t have one. He looked as if he were carved out of stone, a statue. But who would create a statue with such a flawed face?
That thought made her angry. Why not create a statue with a scar? He was a war hero, was he not?
“Did something happen?” she finally asked, his tension swirling around her until her shoulders felt tight.
“No.”
She realized they were driving back to the stables. “We’re finished with our visits?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She tried to stifle her disappointment and failed.
“Because I never wanted to make them in the first place. You’ve been nothing but an irritation since you arrived. I want you to—no, I need you to—leave me the hell alone. Stop trying to make me smile, stop trying to trick me into engaging with the estate, and for the love of fuck, stop being so bloody nice.” He stopped the cart abruptly and turned toward her. “I am not a good man, Miss Treadway. I’ve done things that would make you scream in terror. I don’t want your kindness or your help. Just make your damn notes and leave me alone.”
All while he’d spoken, a low, horrible fury burned in his voice. His eyes flashed with anger, but something else too—pain. He hid it quickly, kept his features schooled into an impenetrable mask of disdain.
He started driving again at a slightly faster clip. Ada fought to keep still, clasping her hands together lest she try to touch him in comfort. He wouldn’t want that, even if he probably needed it.
Mrs. Bundle had told her there was a different man beneath his façade. Ada was certain she’d just glimpsed him.
And there was no way she was leaving him alone.
Chapter 5
He’d behaved horribly.
Which wasn’t different from any other day, except that it was. That afternoon, Max had let his anger and self-loathing run rampant, and he’d frightened Miss Treadway in the process.
Because of a red ribbon.
Everything about that long-ago day was burned into his mind for all time. A warm summer afternoon with a light breeze. The scent of dirt and grass. Birdsong. Dark hair. Red ribbon.
No. White ribbon stained with blood.
Max squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists. He wouldn’t go back to Spain, to that horrible day. Except he couldn’t escape it.
Exhaling slowly, he pushed the tension from his shoulders down his arms and flexed his hands. He might not be able to run from it, but he could hide. Or try to, anyway. What else did he have to do?
Opening his eyes, he regarded himself in the mirror. His face looked weary, with lines etched around his eyes and mouth. Even his scars, wrinkled and pinkish, had lines.
You should apologize to her.
He owed her that much, at least. He turned to fetch his coat and drew it on, straightening the garment over his waistcoat. He feared his garments were out of fashion—and they were too large since he’d lost weight and hadn’t bothered to gain it back—but he didn’t care. Whom did he need to impress?
He went downstairs and made his way to the dining room, hoping he wasn’t too late. As he entered, he realized Timothy was just serving the soup. The footman clattered the spoon against the tureen as his gaze landed on Max.
Damn, he hadn’t meant to startle the poor lad. But then Timothy was easily spooked.
“Will you set a place for me, Timothy?” Max asked, walking to the head of the table. He noted that Miss Treadway was seated near the middle.
“Right away, my lord.” Timothy bustled to set Max’s place.
“What a surprise,” Miss Treadway said evenly. “I’m delighted you’ll be joining me.”
He might have thought she was jesting, but delight seemed to be one of her natural moods. “Were you always this cheerful?”
“Yes. And before you ask, yes, it was also occasionally annoying to my family, particularly my father when he wasn’t satisfied with the number of fish he’d caught that day. He preferred if everyone shared his disappointment. But I eventually won him over.”
“How did you manage that?”
Her blue-gray eyes glimmered in the candlelight. There was mischief in their depths, along with glee. What he wouldn’t give to feel either of those things. “By acting silly or telling him a story or making up a song.”
Timothy had finished the setting, and Max took his seat. The footman then served his soup. Max had almost forgotten what this was like.
“You made up songs?” he prompted, as much out of a sense of awkwardness as curiosity. He imagined she was a precocious child.
“Yes, typically about mermaids or fish, although I suppose mermaids are fish.” She laughed softly, and he didn’t find it irritating.
Timothy poured wine, and Max took a sip, eyeing Miss Treadway over the rim as she ate her soup. “Why are you sitting there?” he asked, putting his glass down.
“I sit in a different chair every night. That way, I can see the room from different perspectives.”
He stared at her, thinking she couldn’t be that charming. Or that he was surprised to find he was being charmed by her. But his defenses were low. Today had been rough.
“I want to apologize for what I said earlier.” He focused on his soup so he wouldn’t have to look at her.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Would you mind if I moved closer?” She was already standing, and Timothy rushed to help her. Then he transported her place setting next to Max. To his left. Dammit.
“I, ah, perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting there.” He inclined his head toward the empty chair on his right.
She bent slightly and whispered, “I sat on your left in the cart earlier. Your scars don’t bother me. Indeed, without them, you’d look far too perfect.”
