Page 6 of Waiting for Love (The Taverstons of Iversley #3)

O ctober slid into November. The days grew colder and shorter, and the landscape turned from green to orange and yellow to brown in the space of a few short weeks. Olivia rode every morning unless it poured down rain. She enjoyed the freedom she had to go about without an escort at Chaumbers, but that didn’t mean she shunned company. Hazard accompanied her three times before hying back to London, claiming he daren’t leave his mother alone any longer or she would redecorate his house. Alice or Reg rode with her occasionally. Still, most often she went out alone.

To satisfy Mama, and because she did have some common sense, Olivia no longer rode in the wee hours of the morning, but waited until the sun was up. Today, she’d asked Fergus to saddle Bluebell, an old pony that was getting fat from lack of exercise, an animal she could mount without aid. She had a duty to perform, visiting the Fowlers, tenants on the estate. Noblesse oblige , Mama would say.

Yesterday, their local physician, Dr. Haraldsen, had come to pass on word that Mrs. Fowler had dropped a heavy pot on her foot. “She’ll be laid up a week or two,” he’d informed Olivia. Olivia, not Mama. Ever since Papa’s first fit of apoplexy, Mama had delegated to Olivia the task of seeing to the welfare of the tenants in little things like this. So now she was knocking on the door of the Fowlers’ cottage. She’d brought them a meat pie and a peck of apples.

Sam and Jon, mischievous little scamps whom she adored, let her in. “It’s Livia-lady,” shouted Sam.

“Ah, bless your heart,” Mrs. Fowler called out from her bed, spying the gift. Her foot was propped on what must have been every spare bit of cloth in the house, mounded up. With her uncombed hair and unkempt gown, she looked as though she’d aged ten years. “Tell your mother we’re grateful, we are.”

On previous visits, the small cottage had always been cluttered but clean; however, now there was mud on the floor and ashes spilled beyond the hearth. The air had a curdled-milk smell.

Olivia set the basket and pie pan on their small trestle table, while the boys jostled her in their attempts to hug her about the waist. “Would you like me to serve out some pie to the boys?” she asked, handing them each an apple. They laughed their delight and retreated a few steps, while continuing to watch her as if waiting for more bounty to fall from her hands.

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Fowler protested. “Mr. Fowler is in the field. He’ll be pink to see a real supper. Mabs come over from across the way the last night to boil us some beans—right nice of her—but Mr. Fowler says he don’t want to see another bean.” She waved her hand to gesture vaguely at the room. “He asked the Widow Tabor to help out, but she can’t come until tomorrow.”

Good . Gert Tabor was always looking for work. She would tidy the cottage and keep the boys fed and entertained.

Sam bounded suddenly over to his mother and tried to climb up beside her. Mrs. Fowler winced and went pale.

“Sam!” Olivia called. “See what I have?”

He turned and scrunched his face at her, curious. She reached into the basket and fished out four wooden cows, the size of her fingers, that she’d found in the Taverstons’ old nursery. She held them out. “These are for you and Jon. But you have to play with them here at the table.”

Both boys approached, eyeing the toy cows with awe.

“For us?” Jon asked. Then he looked at his mother. “Can we?”

Mrs. Fowler cleared her throat. “Yes, if you thank Lady Olivia.” She sounded teary.

They thanked her effusively in their high-pitched little-boy voices. They were so sweet that it made Olivia’s heart hurt a little.

“Can I do anything for you , Mrs. Fowler?” she asked, turning to the injured woman. There was a fine line, she was learning, between helping enough and offering too much. “I’d like to bring a pillow or two for your foot. It would be more comfortable.” The short tower of cloth looked lumpy.

Mrs. Fowler’s brow creased. “Dr. Haraldsen said to use one, but…”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow.” Olivia tousled Jon’s hair, then brought an apple over to Mrs. Fowler. She would also bring fresh milk. And a boiled chicken and some potatoes. “Try to eat a few bites if you can.”

She waved her goodbyes, went back out to Bluebell, and hauled herself into the saddle.

She left the Fowlers with a vague sense of unease. The Earl of Iversley’s tenants were better off than many, but the last two years had been hard on everyone. The neglect since Bradwell’s death was beginning to show around the edges. Benjamin would soon have the place thriving again. He was conscientious and hardworking, and the way he’d hired Willy Pyle when he didn’t have to showed he cared about the people of Iversley. But what about the little things, like meat pies and pillows?

When Vanessa returned from Binnings, the duties of the lady of the house would fall to her. But while Mama and Papa had only gone to London for short visits, Vanessa and Jasper were likely to be there for most of the year. Who would see to the little cares of the tenants? It would be awkward for Mama to return to the role. That would be stepping on the new countess’s toes. And Olivia wouldn’t be here.

Her throat tightened. She’d miss them all so much, tenants, villagers, everyone .

Since it was still early, she decided to visit the lake to cheer herself before returning to the house. Willy Pyle had torn down the old boathouse and had begun framing a new one. Benjamin had told him he needn’t rush. The boats, two somewhat shabby rowboats, were tucked safely away in the carriage house until spring. Olivia liked to watch the progress.

She wended her way along the path, musing about Georgiana’s crankiness that morning and Reg’s discomfiture when she’d left the breakfast table weeping. He’d hurried out after her, leaving his eggs to grow cold. It was almost, but not quite, funny.

She emerged from the trees and discovered the lakeside was occupied, but not by Willy. Benjamin stood beside a tipped wagon. Just seeing him gave her spirits a little lift, although he could not be happy. Crates had spilled onto the grass. He had already unhitched the carthorse, Pudge, and was surveying the damage. She couldn’t hear him, but assumed he was swearing.

“Hullo!” she called out. He turned, then took off his hat and waved it to her. She went to him. “What happened?”

“Axle snapped.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

She expected a no, but his forehead smoothed, and he smiled. It was not a welcoming smile, more something tired. “You can. If you could go to the carriage house, after your ride, of course, and ask Mundy to bring the small cart and a few men to drag this mess back to the yard, I’ll figure out what to do from there.”

Olivia nodded. “I’ll go straightaway. What is in the crates? May I ask?” There were five of them, two in the wagon bed and three on the ground. They were about two or three feet long and one in the dirt appeared cracked, but she couldn’t see what was in it.

“Traps.”

“Hmm.” He was not forthcoming, so she said, “What kind of traps?”

“Badger traps.”

That didn’t sit well. “Does this have to do with Everet?”

“It does.” He sighed, then ran his hand through his hair before redonning his cap. He was not wearing gloves, and his hands were quite filthy. She should have found that off-putting, but she had a hard time keeping her hands tidy as well. “He took up all his traps after I visited him, but he set them out again. So I’m going to offer him an alternative.”

“More traps?”

“You won’t appreciate this either.”

She shifted in her saddle and waited.

“Lady Olivia, you are an intelligent and imaginative young lady, but I doubt you could possibly comprehend the scope of the enterprise behind all the delightful furs and pelts your friends in the ton like to wear. I doubt my ability to explain. All I can say is, although I was not a fur trapper myself, I learned a thing or two about the business.”

“No one wears badger fur, Mr. Carroll.”

“You would be surprised. Of course, no one knows they are wearing badgers.”

Olivia couldn’t help shuddering.

“You won’t be wearing any local pests,” he assured her with a short laugh. “You pay for quality and give your custom to reputable clothiers.” He glanced at his crates, then his hands. He rubbed his palms on his trousers with a grimace. “To be brief, I have some sympathy for Everet. The beasts have dug up his barley field and it’s full of holes. He needs to get rid of them and he saw a way…” He hesitated before going on. “He’s an old grouch, but he isn’t a brute. He has a daughter who married over Ipswich way and gave him five grandchildren. He passed the coin along to his daughter.”

“Bess.” She nodded. “I suspected as much.”

Benjamin gave her a studying look before dropping his gaze and continuing in a less condescending tone, “He understands Iversley tasked me with putting a stop to his selling live badgers. And I will. I won’t abide wanton cruelty. But I am aware of a few shops in London that will buy a few ‘beaver’ pelts, no questions asked. These traps I’m bringing him,”—he gestured to the crates—“kill quickly.”

“And you will sell the pelts for him?” That was going above and beyond.

His expression darkened. “The few shillings they will bring in will be split between Everet and Iversley. I’m not—”

“For pity’s sake, Benjamin!” she gasped. “I was thinking how kind you were. Not that you were doing something underhanded.”

Benjamin flushed. “I apologize. For my defensiveness. I’ve had a bad morning.”

“As I can see.”

He mumbled, “And a worse night.” He removed his hat again and rubbed his temple as if his head hurt. “Mrs. Danforth visited the Claybornes yesterday evening and came home to announce their youngest is breaking out in spots. Miss Jamison is trying to keep Hannah away from Mrs. Danforth, who says she is being ridiculous.”

She gasped. “She is not being ridiculous! Spots spread. Does the Clayborne child have a fever?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll ask Dr. Haraldsen to stop around. Honestly, Mrs. Danforth should know better!”

“Their cottage comprises three rooms and a loft. There is also a chicken coop and a small barn. There is no place to isolate a child.”

Olivia bit her lip. She didn’t want to worry him any more than he already was.

He went on, “But Hannah was fussier than usual when I left the cottage this morning. I’d hoped to return quickly. And now this.”

Three rooms and a barn. Olivia’s ire rose.

“Perhaps Mrs. Danforth is not being ridiculous, but I do know who is.”

His head shot up.

“Mr. Carroll, there is absolutely no reason for you to crowd into the Danforths’ home while Bradwell’s old apartment gathers dust. I will tell Mrs. Hardy to have the rooms aired, and you must go to the Danforths’ at once and retrieve Hannah.”

“If she is about to break out in spots, I cannot bring her near Lady Georgiana.”

“And you will not. I can count on one hand the times I saw Mrs. Bradwell at Chaumbers even though she lived there for years. Hannah will be nowhere near Georgiana.”

For a moment, Benjamin appeared torn. Olivia wanted to challenge him further. She suspected it was not an aversion to Chaumbers, but rather herself, that kept him living in the village so inconveniently. She was not still a besotted schoolgirl! But now was not the time to confront that issue.

Care for the child won out.

“Thank you,” Benjamin said, nodding. “I—I will bring her as soon as I sort this—”

“Just leave it. No one will bother a few crates of badger traps. If I weren’t riding sidesaddle, I would offer you Bluebell. But if you can ride bareback, just throw your leg over Pudge. He isn’t fussy. Or I’ll lead him back if you’d rather walk.”

He gave her sidelong look. “Why do I feel you’ve just served me a challenge?”

She raised her eyebrows.

With a snicker, he strode to Pudge.

“Just don’t ask me to race,” Benjamin said, knotting the reins to shorten them, then mounting and tossing the excess length over his shoulder.

Olivia laughed. “A race between Bluebell and Pudge would be something to see.” She turned Bluebell back toward the trees. “But we are going in two different directions. I’ll find Mundy, then go talk to Mrs. Hardy. You fetch Hannah and Miss Jamison.”

“There is that Taverston efficiency again.” Benjamin smiled a true smile this time, one that held gratitude and, perhaps, Olivia hoped, a touch of esteem. He nudged Pudge’s sides and rode off.

*

It had been three days, raining for two of them, and Olivia had not heard a peep from the south wing. Reg reported to her that Hannah remained healthy, but Benjamin insisted upon confining her to their apartment for a full week. Olivia had put together a basket of bread and sweets and taken them down to the Claybornes in between thundershowers. She didn’t go inside, but only handed the basket through the door. She had been pleased to return with the news that their little one was recovering.

Olivia and Alice engaged in yet another game of billiards prior to teatime. Alice nearly always won, but Olivia was picking up a few tricks to use the next time she played against one of her brothers. Alice sank the last ball with a thwack and thud, then hung up her cue.

“Teatime!”

“And a good thing too.” Olivia rubbed circles on her stomach. She laid her cue across the table. “Mama said we’d take tea in the parlor this evening.”

They left the billiard room and walked the long corridor. Olivia thought she saw Alice stifle a yawn. Olivia wondered if she was bored. The thought unsettled her. How could anyone be bored at Chaumbers?

“Is there any word from Jasper?” Alice asked, glancing sideways and down.

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“But he does intend to be back by Christmas?”

“So he said. Why?”

Alice shrugged. “Just curious. Did he invite Hazard?”

Olivia peered at her friend a moment longer. Was she longing for more diverting company? She was bored.

“Probably,” she chirped, to be encouraging. “But even if he didn’t, Hazard will invite himself.”

Alice smiled, then abruptly changed the subject back to billiards.

Reginald, Georgiana, and Mama were already in the parlor. The teapot, cups, plates, and a platter of buns and dainties sat untouched on the tea table. A glance at the wall clock showed that she and Alice were a few minutes late.

“I’m sorry, Mama. We were in the middle of a game, and I didn’t notice the time.”

Mama accepted the excuse and apology with a terse nod, then began to pour. The conversation centered on baby names, as had far too many conversations in the past few weeks. A daughter would be Mary, for Georgiana’s mother. Unless it was one of ten other names. For a son, they were thinking of Crispin. But Georgiana thought that Crispin might, just might, want to reserve the name for a son of his own. Olivia had suggested asking him, but had been roundly accused of insensitivity. So she kept her mouth shut.

They were nibbling and sipping and talking, when the butler, Peters, entered with a few cards and a letter on a silver plate which he handed to Reg.

Reg flipped through the cards then passed them to Mama. He glanced at the letter.

“From Haz,” he said, puzzled, breaking the seal.

Everyone saw a folded slip of paper fall out of the letter and drop to the floor. Reg scooped it up and scowled, his eyes going to Alice. “This is not acceptable.”

Now everyone stared at Alice, whose face went pink. “We didn’t arrange this between us. Good heavens, Reg. What can you be thinking?”

Mama said, “Reginald is right. Prearranged or not, you may not engage in a clandestine correspondence with Viscount Haslet.”

Alice was an unmarried lady currently under the Taverston roof. Of course Mama could not permit any impropriety. It would ruin Alice and harm Olivia’s prospects too. Poor Alice looked mortified.

“Oh, bosh!” Despite the growing tension, Olivia laughed. “How secret is it when he sends the letter through Reg?”

“What does he say?” Alice asked, chin tucked down, eyes peering up. “In your letter, I mean, Reg.”

He lifted his own page and read aloud.

“‘Good day to you, Taverstons. I’ll make no comment on the weather in London, though I understand that is how letters usually begin. I hope Georgiana is well. And the rest of you. I am writing to tell you that I am not shirking. A large box of fabrics and ribbons, and etc., will arrive before long, along with several sketches that should show Mrs. Byrd the height of next Season’s waistlines, the depth of the necklines, the placement of baubles, and the size of the bows. But I will not be there to deliver these myself. A friend has invited me to the country to sit before a roaring fire, pat his large shaggy hounds, eat biscuits, and drink tea. And I have taken him up on the offer. Normally, I expect you all to be goggling over that news, but I suspect you are more concerned about the missive I included.’”

Reg looked up, still scowling. “What is he up to?”

“Continue, Reginald,” Mama commanded. “So that we may find out.” She looked even more annoyed than Reg did.

“‘There is nothing improper in Miss Fogbotham’s letter. I invite you to read it aloud, as you are no doubt’”—Reg barked a laugh—“‘as you are no doubt doing with this one. I merely wished to mention a few things I heard at Brooks’s that might be of interest to her. If you don’t wish to bore everyone else, you may simply pass the letter along.’”

Reg flipped the letter over, noted the seal, then held it out between two fingers for Alice. He returned to his own letter.

“‘You need not fear I will ask you to facilitate the exchange of billet doux as I will be out of the city and unable to receive any reply from Miss Fogbotham in any case. Your obliged and affectionate friend—Viscount Haslet.’”

This was met with a moment of silence before Alice said, “Would you like me to read my letter aloud?”

“No,” Olivia said, before anyone else spoke. There would be nothing improper in it. And as Hazard did not engage in casual gossip, the content would very likely be political and dull. Alice had a peculiar interest in such things.

Mama lowered her eyes to her folded hands and said, “It isn’t necessary. But Alice, dear, don’t encourage this sort of behavior. We may all find Hazard very amusing. But not everyone does.”