Page 19 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Chapter Eight

H alverton squinted into the distance, trying to identify the source of a noisy rumbling.

He sat at an iron table and chair, coaxed outdoors by the fine weather.

Before him lay a portable writing desk and the thick ledger Mr. Hunsaker, his steward, had left him some weeks prior.

The ledger contained a twelve-month accounting of his estate.

Consumed with issues pertinent to the House of Lords and overwhelmed by his estate’s details, he’d only given the book a cursory glance until now.

After spending the morning considering whether the estate required his attention, he had determined that it likely did not, or at least not a great deal.

It seemed his father had left everything to the care of Mr. Hunsaker.

The position that mattered was that of peer, who cast his votes and argued to improve the kingdom.

Still, he knew he ought to become familiar with the essential aspects of his estate.

An open one-horse carriage emerged from around a treed lane. Not a horse. A donkey. Miss Thorpe was driving at a rapid clip, stirring dust behind her. She slowed as she approached and stopped in front of him.

She adjusted her hat and grinned at him. “My illustrious Lord Halverton, I have learned the skill I promised I would.”

“So I see.” He suffered a brief smile for her enthusiasm.

“Would you like a ride?”

He hesitated. She and his mother took him away from his duties more than he could justify, considering all he had to learn.

“Oh, you must. Ranunculus is a flyer.”

“Can you take me to the village? I’d like to see the steward.

” Since the conversation with Miss Thorpe and his mother regarding orphans and affairs of the village, he’d wondered what other information he lacked.

His mother and Miss Thorpe seemed to understand the world in a way he did not.

Perhaps the insights might improve his grasp on legislative matters.

He returned his things to the house and climbed in beside Miss Thorpe. Reflexively, he reached for the reins.

She snatched them to her chest. “Don’t imagine I will give these up now they’re in my clutches. I love a horse, but this cart is something else.” She loosened the reins, but the donkey remained still. “Move out, Ranunculus,” she sang. The donkey pulled into a slow walk.

“How did you convince Miss Fischer to allow you to take out her precious donkey?”

“Miss Fischer and I are becoming great friends, and she believes driving a carriage is a skill every female should acquire. Besides, Ranunculus adores me.” She puckered her lips and made kissing noises until Ranunculus picked up speed.

“Isn’t she amazing? I’ve been at Havenwood all day.

Miss Cron is a whip! And a great teacher.

Almost as thorough as you. I can’t harness the donkey yet, but I remember all the right words to lead her.

” She whispered, “Move out, easy, walk, trot, canter, come round, go wish. She does not like touch cues unless it’s an emergency. ”

“You forget I drove her to the pond, using only touches and pulls.”

“That was an emergency. She knew that she must suffer you and your taps or be led by Miss Fischer, which is even worse. Which way?”

“To the village.”

“Go wish,” she called to the donkey, who took a right at the fork in the road. “I didn’t know donkeys and horses could understand so many words.”

“You’re a natural.”

“Not really. It’s Ranunculus.” She made a few more kissing sounds before calling out, “Trot!” The donkey picked up its pace. Miss Thorpe erupted in laughter.

They sped along the country, Halverton clutching the seat of the carriage but not uneasy enough to take control.

“Almost there,” he said. “The redbrick on the left.”

She commanded Ranunculus to “stand!” and they stopped in front of the steward’s office.

“I’ll wait here.” Miss Thorpe pulled two books out from under her: the red journal he’d seen her make use of in the library and a brown leather-bound book. She opened the book and began to read.

Halverton knocked on Mr. Hunsaker’s door. The housekeeper opened to him and explained the steward was not at home. He returned to the carriage.

Miss Thorpe closed the book around her finger, covering the title with her other hand. “The woman across the street has her eye on you.”

A lacy-capped greying woman leaned out the window of the weaver’s cottage and waved. It was Mrs. Gibson, the weaver’s wife, a kind woman whom he remembered from his childhood.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

Miss Thorpe blushed crimson. “Oh, just something Miss Fischer lent me.”

He crossed his arms and smiled, surprised at his delight at finding her so out of sorts. “Is it such a secret?”

“No. Lady Halverton was reading it at the boathouse.” She leaned toward him. “It’s ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’ from The Canterbury Tales . Did you know Alexander Pope censored it?”

He vaguely recalled his mother and Miss Thorpe discussing the book in the boathouse. “Even Mr. Pope’s version may not be suitable for a young lady’s reading.” The tale was licentious, violent, and irreverent.

“Well, if young ladies were better educated rather than sheltered, they would not fall into such scrapes. The double standard for men and women does not serve females, and Chaucer seemed to understand this. Profound for something written centuries past.” Her eyes were animated in a way he had not seen before.

When she rode a horse too fast or urged the donkey to unlikely speeds, she revealed her enthusiasm for a thrill.

This was different. It was the light of understanding the world in a new way.

He respected that, having thoroughly enjoyed his own studies.

Though not well-versed in the philosophies his mother subscribed to, he honored his mother’s opinions. “You may be right, and I know my mother will enjoy discussing it with you.” He crossed the street to Mrs. Gibson.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, my lord. You’ve become a man since I last saw you.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Gibson?” He hoped he had her name correct.

“Well enough. Mr. Hunsaker collects rent this day each month. He’ll be gone for hours yet.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded, folding her arms over the windowsill.

He didn’t really know where to begin. “Are the tenants happy?”

“For the most part.”

“Is there anything I should know?” he asked.

“What sort of thing?”

“Problems?” He lifted his palm, not knowing the questions to ask.

“Some drink too much gin, you know. Leads to laziness. We lose workers to London. Tenants squabble. Some try to cheat or steal. The usual things. But nothing to worry about. Mr. Hunsaker does his job, and Lady Halverton picks up the rest.”

He nodded slowly, trying to digest all she had said. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gibson.”

His mother handled the rest. How much did she do, exactly? He climbed beside Miss Thorpe, and she turned the donkey toward home.

“Miss Thorpe, does my mother…help Mr. Hunsaker run the estate?” he asked.

“I dictate her letters, and some relate to the estate.”

“How did I not notice?”

“You’ve been away. Busy doing lord-ish things.”

“What does that mean?” He had just returned from London!

“You are too far removed to understand common things.” There was laughter in her voice.

“You are not common yet seem to grasp what I cannot.”

The corner of her mouth turned down. “I am not so genteel.” Some of the light in her countenance dimmed.

He could not shake the feeling that she had some hidden sorrow, deeper than the death of her mother, more painful than her father’s manipulation. He could think of no way to ask what darkened her countenance.

“I must admit to being nervous when I discovered my mother had obtained a companion, but I have since grown to appreciate your…” He did not know how to describe her light. “Joyful spirit.”

“I am glad you see it that way.” But she did not sound pleased.

“You resist compliments.”

“Gallop!” she shouted, and Ranunculus lowered her head and charged forward, thus ending their conversation with a donkey’s attempt to run. He sighed and endured the ride. He’d trusted her with his confidences. Why did she not reciprocate? She shut him out, and he did not like it.

When Lundbrooke came into view, he shouted over the rumbling cart, “I thought we were friends.”

She slowed the donkey a bit and turned to face him. “Oh.”

“But you avoid conversation.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel like talking.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “But we are friends.”

The pronouncement left him unaccountably pleased. Trust and vulnerability required time, and he could not force her confidence. But he would offer his friendship, even if she never explained herself.

Miss Thorpe left him in front of Lundbrooke and rode off to return the carriage. Halverton watched until she turned a corner, then found his mother in the parlor with a book.

“Excuse me. Mother, may I speak with you?”

“Of course. Sit.”

Halverton sat across from his mother. “Why didn’t you tell me how involved you are in estate matters?”

Her eyes grew sharp. “I’ve simply always done it. Mr. Hunsaker keeps you apprised and asks your opinion on weightier issues.”

“After months perusing Father’s papers, I know nothing more of Lundbrooke than that it’s extremely profitable. I’ve learned plenty about his political views, but it seems he cared nothing for the estate.”

“He did not have time for it, but you can learn, should you choose.”

“There won’t enough time before I must return to London, and I hate to leave the responsibility to you.”

She waved him off. “Don’t concern yourself on my account.”

“But you should not be burdened with it.”

“James, I’ve been involved for twenty years. It takes very little thought.”

He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat. “I’m useless. And foolish, seeking for information in Father’s papers when I should have been speaking with you. Why did none of my education prepare me to undertake my future responsibilities?”