Page 41 of The Lord Meets His Lady

Ten

A few days later…

“Have you kissed her yet?” Samuel asked.

Marcus and Samuel rode along the pasture’s perimeter with an eye to the cottage. Miss Turner’s vibrant red cloak stood out against the mellow sandstone. Shovel in hand, she jabbed the earth with determined thrusts. The weeds didn’t stand a chance.

“I assume we’re speaking of my housekeeper,” Marcus said, halting Khan. “A hardworking, respectable woman of excellent character. She’s done a fine job with Pallinsburn. I wouldn’t besmirch her honor with talk like that, nor should you.”

Samuel rode on, his shoulders bouncing with laughter. “And every night she ascends to heaven on angels’ wings.”

Marcus frowned. If his friend saw right through him, how soon before others did? “Came on strong, did I?”

“A little.”

He urged his horse forward. “I don’t want her reputation damaged.”

“Should’ve thought about that before making her your housekeeper. People will talk.”

Marcus searched Miss Turner out again, a gust boxing his ears like an admonishing aunt. Was it so wrong to want to help a woman in need? Her serious exterior belied deep-seated passion, evidenced in the way she dove into every task. Miss Turner’s brand of serious enthusiasm fascinated him as much as her other features.

“What will people talk about? Her youth?” he retorted. “Does a woman have to be long in the tooth to hold a decent position?”

“No, but it’d help if you were toothless. Or married.” Samuel stared ahead, the wind assaulting his queue. “We don’t make the rules, Marcus, but we both know them.”

“You hired her, and you’re not a married man.”

Samuel’s gaze pinned him. “Nor do I have your unsavory reputation.”

A twinge pinched Marcus’s conscience. “I’d wager my housekeeper has more honor, more determination in her little finger than most women of my acquaintance,” he said fiercely. “Who I am should have no bearing on her.”

“Me thinks you doth protest too much…or whatever that drivel is. A clear sign you have it bad for her, but haven’t touched her.Yet.”

Why did Samuel hunt for sordid details? Likely he’d seen through Miss Turner with her low-cut bodices and saucy skirts. Didn’t matter. She worked hard. Marcus didn’t care if she fit the proper housekeeper stamp or not. He ought to buy a dull, gray gown and a handful of ugly mobcaps for her, if only to aid her reputation. Smiling against his collar, he guessed she wouldn’t wear them, nor should she have to.

Khan snorted, his nose tipping high. Their late-afternoon gander was too tame. Did the horse feel his master’s disquiet? One look at his red-cloaked gardener, and Marcus was certain of one thing: he’d do anything to keep his friend, or any man, on the straight and narrow when it came to Miss Turner. She deserved a fresh start.

His housekeeper had nabbed another piece of his heart when she’d clutched the ragged pamphlet. But the afternoon ride wasn’t meant to discuss his housekeeper’s allure. Samuel pulled his hat low, failing to look him in the eye.

“Quoting Shakespeare,” Marcus said. “You must be reading with Adam again.”

“I am.” Samuel nodded at a cluster of docile mares sniffing the ground. “Once these beauties start producing, I’ll hire a tutor. The lad has promise…isn’t as thick-skulled as Alexander and me.”

That thick-skulled youth was throwing his shoulders into scraping the warped cottage door. Alexander drove the plane along the door’s edge, conversing with Miss Turner in the late-day sun.

Marcus had unhinged the door to fix it himself. New tasks cropped up each day requiring him to use his hands. To repair the tack shed. Build a new stall. Chop more wood. By fixing Pallinsburn’s door, he’d planned to demonstrate to his housekeeper that he was more than a randy cottage master, but Samuel had shown up, claiming the need to ride the meadow’s perimeter and check newly repaired stone fences. Again.

The call for another inspection meant one thing: Samuel had a request. A big one.

“You don’t need to worry about Alexander poaching on your interests,” Samuel said, his deep voice rumbling.

“Alexander would be a fine match for Miss Tur… I mean Miss Abbott, should she accept his attentions.”

It burned to say those words, but Marcus could acknowledge the truth. Alexander was a fine young man, respectful of his brothers and solid in nature. Everything Marcus was not.

Samuel steered his chestnut closer, his ice-blue eyes narrowing. “That’d be the second time in recent days you’ve started to call Miss Abbott by another name. Is there something you need to tell me?”

“No.”