Page 9 of Waiting for Love (The Taverstons of Iversley #3)

H e was not wrong. Benjamin knew he was not wrong. Hannah’s mother was dead because of his gold lust. They had nearly all died. It was not a game.

But Olivia didn’t know that. There was no excuse for snapping at her.

However, remorse—even if he could make amends, which he doubted—was not a priority. Jasper was back, and he was a conscientious lord who meant to stay abreast of his estate’s affairs. That meant Benjamin’s time was fully occupied.

For three or four hours each morning, Benjamin joined him in his study. Even though it was December, the spacious room was warm and full of morning light. Jasper sat behind a formidable desk of an unusual honey-colored maple. Nothing was changed from the old earl’s time, not that Benjamin could discern, except for Jasper’s square-armed chair, whose lack of wear and faint scent of leather spoke of newness. Benjamin’s old chair was a lightweight thing he could pull up to the desk, making it easy for them to put their heads together.

After Jasper did his part, he dismissed Benjamin, leaving him to follow up on what they had begun. Jasper either remained in the study to read his political papers, or left to attend to other matters.

In addition to paperwork, every few days they rode about the property. Jasper pointed out what needed attention, or, more often now, Benjamin pointed out things to him. They got on comfortably even if Jasper persisted in calling him Benjamin and he consistently responded with “Iversley,” or worse, “my lord.”

There had been only two bothersome exchanges. Bothersome to Benjamin, who felt put in his place. True to form, Jasper seemed to consider each incident settled and done.

The first was when Jasper asked what had happened with Everet.

“Taken care of,” Benjamin replied.

To his discomfiture, Jasper regarded him with a flat stare until he explained. Unlike Olivia’s quick understanding, Jasper was angered.

“Why,” he asked, “would you think I would wish to be a party to your selling of counterfeit pelts to some crook in London?”

When he put it like that… “Technically, Iversley, the animals are yours. It would be criminal for Everet to sell your property and pocket all the proceeds.”

“ You would not take a percentage.”

“Of course not!”

“But you imagine I would sell my good name for a few shillings?”

“No one will know—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Benjamin. If I had thought you would engage in ‘no one will know,’ I would not have—” He halted before finishing the thought. Then said, jaw tight, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Benjamin made a quick accounting of his conscience, then said, “No, my lord.”

“All right.” Jasper pulled on his earlobe, a habit that meant he was thinking. His scowl slowly faded. “If you feel you must sell the pelts, give all the ill-gotten gains to Everet. I suppose it is better than his dealing in live badgers. But Benjamin, don’t do anything like this again.”

And then, another morning, they had an even more uncomfortable discussion.

Before settling in to the day’s work, Jasper looked up from the coffee cup poised at his lips. “I understand you fired Henley?”

“Yes, my lord.” He hesitated. “I’m afraid it was necessary.”

“Was he bothering Olivia again?”

Bloody hell! “What in the blazes do you mean by again ?”

Jasper’s eyes narrowed. He set down his cup. “He made disparaging remarks about ladies riding. Olivia took offense. It wasn’t anything…depraved. I told him to stop and assumed he did.” His mouth pursed. “If Olivia didn’t complain about him, what was the trouble? You know George has come to rely upon him, and he was in line to take over.”

Benjamin ground his teeth. He had walked into the stable the day before Jasper’s return to hear Henley shooting his mouth off. He called Vanessa “the countess-whore.” Thankfully, none of the other grooms laughed or he would have fired the lot of them. Fergus told Henley to shove it. Henley said something even ruder. Benjamin stepped into the fray and fired Henley on the spot. Then told George to promote Fergus. That last might have been overstepping.

Jasper awaited an answer and appeared peeved that it was slow in coming.

Carefully, Benjamin said, “Henley insulted the countess. I will not repeat what he said, so don’t ask.”

Jasper’s face changed. Worried. Then angry. “The devil! I should have anticipated something like this. Were any others involved?”

“Not that I could tell. The young man, Fergus, took issue. But I stepped in before it went further.”

“Henley left without incident?”

“I paid his back wages, but gave him no reference. George said he left for London in the morning.”

Jasper nodded. “Good.” Then: “Don’t say anything to anyone else. It will only upset them.”

Jasper should not have felt the need to say that. A steward’s job required discretion.

“And Benjamin?”

“Yes, my lord?”

Jasper gave him a more direct look. “If Olivia had needed protection, I would have seen to it.”

Jasper definitely should not have felt the need to say that.

“Of course, my lord.”

Thankfully, Jasper had a gift for making a point without dwelling on it. Aside from those two incidents, those caveats, they worked together very well. At least, they were learning how to work well together.

*

Whenever one task on the estate was completed, two more sprang up, which made it easy for Benjamin to justify avoiding Olivia. He was busy. He knew he owed her an apology. If he could apologize without explaining himself, he would, but she deserved both, and might not accept one without the other.

A delegation of villagers and tenants came to ask Iversley to allow them to cut firewood for the winter. Another tradition. The earl granted permission as a matter of course. But it was evidently Benjamin’s job to pick the coppice and mark which trees they might take. That had busied him for three days that he had intended to spend doing other things. Now he felt he’d fallen behind.

Finally, he found a spare afternoon to ride over to Jack Fowler’s, after crawling through three years of Wentworth’s receipt books and finding only one long-ago incidence of late payment.

Nothing appeared amiss in the vicinity of the cottage. However, when Jack opened the door and saw Benjamin standing there, his eyes darted away as though guilty of something. He chewed his lip, then mumbled, “Come in, Mr. Carroll.”

Benjamin glanced around the room looking for evidence of trouble, but lit instead upon Olivia, seated at the table with the Fowlers’ two little boys. They had a board and pegs between them, playing Fox and Geese. Mrs. Fowler was at the sink. When she turned around, he saw that she limped. That was new.

He swept the cap from his head. “Excuse me for interrupting.” Mrs. Fowler was regarding him with the same unease as her husband. Olivia’s expression was distant. Reserved.

“You’ll be wanting the rent, I’spect,” Jack said, gesturing for Benjamin to move with him over to the wall. He glanced quickly at his boys, then back at Benjamin with a pleading look.

“Well, no, I—” Benjamin halted. He hadn’t come to collect. That was Wentworth’s job. He’d come only to see what was the matter, and if he could assist. He certainly had no intention of shaming the man in front of his children. God. He had enough bitter memories of his own father being dunned. “I’m only paying calls.”

Olivia tapped the board, laughing, “Here now, look at that, Sam!” drawing the boys’ attention back to the game.

Grateful to her for distracting them, he gathered his scattered thoughts and took a stab at salvaging the situation. “I’d heard…I thought I’d heard that Mrs. Fowler was injured.” She was limping; that he could see.

Mrs. Fowler nodded. “I dropped a pot. Cracked my foot. But it’s getting better.”

Jack hurried over to her, then grabbed a lidded bowl from behind the sink. “I got half of it here,” he said, pouring out a handful of coins. He spoke very quietly. “The rest next week, Mr. Carroll. I’m good for my word.” He held out the money.

Benjamin’s neck grew hot. Equally soft-voiced, he said, “I didn’t come to harass you. Only to see if you and Mrs. Fowler needed anything.” He would have come sooner, if he had known . He pocketed the coin. He would offer to forgive the rest, but could not do so without consulting Jasper. He was going about this whole thing ass-backwards.

Mrs. Fowler smiled, relieved. “We’re all right, Mr. Carroll. Lady Olivia brought us apples and pillows. And the Widow Tabor has been helping.”

So they’d hired Gert. That was why they were behind.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “Mrs. Fowler, I’m glad you’re on the mend. I won’t take any more of your time.” Then, because it was the right thing to do, he said, “Lady Olivia, if you are returning home, I’d be honored to escort you.” Honored? He should have said “pleased.”

She gave him a cool look. “No, thank you. We are not yet finished with our game.”

She was angry with him. Of course she was. He was angry with himself. If he hadn’t been hiding from her, surely she would have said something to him about all this. It would have saved him hours of combing through old receipts, and spared them all this embarrassing encounter. And he could have arranged for a postponement of the rent.

He would have to find a way to apologize. Soon. But obviously, not now.

He stepped to the door, made her a short bow, and nodded to the Fowlers. “Good day to you.”

*

The staff’s Christmas party had taken place yesterday evening. The day before Christmas Eve. By tradition.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hardy and Peters had things well in hand. Benjamin’s only difficulty had been deciding what to refuse since their requests were so reasonable. Use of the ballroom. Food. They wanted two fiddlers for a couple of hours of country dancing. And drink. Arbitrarily, Benjamin had made them accept ale instead of rum punch. Sweets and whistles for the little ones. He said no to a large number of candles, which he suspected they requested just to give him something to reject. There were lamps enough in the ballroom at one tenth the cost.

By the noise, they had all enjoyed themselves. He did not attend. He didn’t want them to think he was spying.

The Taverstons had cleared out to dine with the rector and his wife. This, too, was something he’d learned they had always done. Benjamin had only spent one winter’s fortnight at Chaumbers in his younger days, one which did not include Christmas. His mother wished him home for that and he dutifully went. He’d resented it at the time, but now was glad he had set no precedent. The rector had not thought to invite him, so he did not have to decline.

Today, Christmas Eve, Jasper had informed him he was not to work. So he bundled Hannah up in her warmest dress, wrapped her in a cloak, and took her out riding, setting her in the saddle before him on Bluebell. They went out to the folly, a pretend remnant of a medieval abbey. Of course, Hannah was too little to appreciate its whimsy. But there were heaped stones to climb upon and a scattering of snow to push into piles. And she loved being on the pony.

It was too cold to stay out long. Moreover, the sky darkened early. So he reluctantly returned to the stables. He left the pony to Fergus’s care and carried Hannah back to the house, soundly sleeping in his arms. The minute he stepped through the door, a footman approached.

“Mr. Carroll, Lord Iversley requires you in his study.”

“Of course.”

Bother. He had told Miss Jamison she was free for the day. Well, it was Christmas Eve. Jasper wouldn’t fault him for carting Hannah along. He climbed the stairs, careful not to wake her. Then knocked lightly upon the study door.

“Come,” Jasper said.

When Benjamin entered the room, Jasper’s face softened.

“Sleeping?” he whispered.

Benjamin nodded.

“Well, I won’t keep you. Supper is at eight o’clock. Followed by games in the parlor. You are to bring Hannah and Miss Jamison.”

“I—”

“That is not a question. Are we understood?”

“Yes.” He felt oddly grateful to be given no option.

“Good.” Jasper smiled. “Then you may go.”

*

He was assigned a seat between Hannah and Alice. Miss Jamison had Hannah’s other side. A clever arrangement to corral her. However, the mite was so well rested after a long nap, that her behavior was exceptional. Or perhaps it merely seemed so to him, fond father that he was.

Olivia was a long diagonal away, between Georgiana and the dowager. They all still wore mourning, but Olivia had a red ribbon in her hair and a festive glint in her eyes. He liked to see her happy.

One could not be reserved at a Taverston supper table. Not when surrounded by so much laughter and love. For a while, they tried to guess who was Hazard’s Christmas host. The clues—country house, warm fire, shaggy hounds, biscuits, and tea—were no help. His presence was clearly missed. And more so Crispin’s. After a few “just like Crispin” reminiscences, the Taverstons referred to his most recent letter. He had groused that because of Jasper’s wedding, he’d missed Wellington’s crossing the border into France. He could not believe “the Peer” had not waited for him! But he would not hold the inconvenient timing of the wedding against Jasper since there was still work ahead for the army.

“How the devil is Boney still holding on?” Reg mused. “After such a sound thrashing in Russia? And Leipzig?”

“The man has the devil’s own luck,” Jasper said. Then he waved his hand to end the discussion. It was not for Christmas Eve.

The food was exceptional. A large joint of beef. Fresh bread. Mashed turnips. Dried berries and cream. Pickled asparaguses. Blood pudding. He could go on. An overly attentive footman topped off his wine glass practically every time he picked it up and set it down. He’d lost track of how much he had imbibed until his ears started to thrum.

After the final course, which included a towering cake, a bite of which made Hannah squeal with delight, and a round of claret, the dowager suggested they retire to the drawing room. Miss Jamison offered to take Hannah back to the south wing, but Vanessa said, “Oh, no. Miss Jamison, we want you with us.” Benjamin could not allow her to withdraw after that. Especially not when she flushed with evident pleasure.

They all rose from the table. Benjamin took Hannah’s hand, but before they reached the door, Reg swooped down upon them and scooped her up.

“Practice,” he said, carting her off, calling, “Georgiana, look what I’ve got!”

Benjamin found himself walking beside Olivia. He wasn’t sure how. He thought she might have waited for him, but his head was foggy enough that he might have hurried to catch up to her. High time he got this over with.

“Olivia.” God damn him. He was foxed. “ Lady Olivia.”

She inclined her head. “Mr. Carroll?”

“I should apologize.”

Her brow furrowed. “For?”

“For scolding you for being kind to Hannah.” That sounded right. Right enough.

“Seeing as it is Christmas, I will accept your apology.” She sounded more curious than angry.

“I should also explain.”

“Yes? Well, I am listening.”

“Oh, God.” Why had he said that? “I should, but I won’t. Damn. I mean—” Horrified, he realized he had just sworn at her. “Pardon me.”

“Mr. Carroll, I believe you may be bosky.” Her eyes were wide with amusement. And her lips curled. God, those lips.

“Your footman was overgenerous.”

She laughed. “Fie, sir! Blaming the footman?”

“Yes. No.” He smiled awkwardly, aware he was making an idiot of himself. “I should have paid more attention.”

“Benjamin!” Jasper called over his shoulder. “Come help me haul the card table into the drawing room. I had the parlor arranged, but Mother says drawing room.”

“The parlor is too drafty,” the dowager said. “I don’t want Georgiana catching a chill.”

“That is unlikely.” Georgiana half-laughed, half-groaned. “I feel as though I’m being cooked like tomorrow’s goose.”

“Mother says drawing room,” Jasper insisted. Then, laughing, “Benjamin, come along.”

Benjamin hurried forward, a smile stretched across his face. Were they all a bit bosky? Or had Jasper just ordered him away from Olivia?