Page 7 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"And look what you've managed to do since," Newman sniffed, with an aggrieved glance at Ivo's breeches, "It is as though you were dragged backwards through a hedge, Mr Bonville."
"Or fell out of a tree," Ivo quipped, hiding a smile.
As he dressed, his mind wandered back to earlier that afternoon, when he had fallen at the feet of Miss Mifford. Ivo had been most taken by the cool brunette, though he feared the feeling was not mutual; she had been most eager to get away from him, and had not even offered him a backward glance as she escaped.
Still, a man might dream, and after spending a season with the simpering and dull ladies of the ton, Ivo would allow himself a few indulgent daydreams about Miss Mifford.
Once he was shaved and dressed, Ivo set forth for the stables, where the groomsman informed him that his horse's shoe had been replaced.
"My thanks," Ivo said, as the groomsman handed him the reins.
"I wouldn't offer them just yet," the lad replied, with a rueful smile, "Lord Crabb will be sending you a bill for services rendered."
Ivo gave a chuckle, though it did not last long, for he realised the groomsman was serious.
"My apologies, Mr Bonville," the groomsman shrugged, "It is his lordship's way."
"I'd best not eat too much at breakfast, so," Ivo grinned, "Lest I am sent a bill for that too."
Ivo thanked the groomsman again for his assistance, before mounting his ride and taking off at a brisk trot for Plumpton. The winter's light was fading fast as he navigated his way down the London Road toward the village. Light spilled from the windows of the cottages which dotted the road, warm and inviting, and at one particular home, Ivo longed to linger.
He could hear the sound of a piano forte being played enthusiastically—if abysmally—within, accompanied by female voices warbling a folk-song of old. It had been a long time since Ivo had known a true home, and for a moment he longed to join the family within.
Common sense persevered over irrational urges, and Ivo continued on to the village, which he found to be a hive of activity, despite the dark and inclement weather.
"Is there some kind of celebration going on?" Ivo enquired of the man behind the bar—an older fellow, with white hair and an impressive pair of bushy mutton chops.
"Every day's a celebration for this lot," the man was dry as he cast an eye around the packed pub, "Though they're celebrating more than usual tonight, given the most recent news concerning Lord Crabb's marriage."
"Are they so fond of him that they wish to celebrate his impending nuptials so earnestly?" Ivo wondered aloud, hoping his voice did not sound too surprised. Lord Crabb had not struck Ivo as the type of landlord that would inspire such fealty in his tenants.
The man behind the bar gave a bellow of laughter at this remark, confirming Ivo's suspicions. "Ach. No. They're celebrating the arrival of Lord Crabb's heir; his presence has caused quite a flurry of bets as to what might happen next. There is a book open, sir, if you wish to take a punt on how the marriage will fare."
Ivo refused the offer, despite being sorely tempted to see what the locals believed the future held for Lord Crabb. Instead, he ordered a pint of ale and a bowl of stew from the landlord—who introduced himself as Angus—before heading for a quiet corner of the pub, where Angus assured him that he would not be disturbed.
"There's just a few men in the corner, discussing the developments of the mill," Angus said, "They might get somewhat passionate, but it's less likely to put you off your supper than the discussions about his lordship's prowess in the bedroom."
"True," Ivo grinned; he had engaged in enough talk of Lord Crabb's virility to last him a lifetime.
Ivo took his pint and settled himself at a table close to the fire, glad of the heat it offered. He supped upon his drink peacefully, as he allowed the shouts, laughter, and gaiety of the crowd wash over him. After a decade at sea, Ivo found the sound of men drinking and carousing as soothing as another person might find the sound of a babbling brook. He was so warm and comfortable in his seat that by the time the barmaid arrived with his dinner—a bowl of lamb stew—he was almost asleep.
"Wake up my lad, lest you fall headfirst into the bowl and drown," the woman—solid, square, and undoubtedly Angus' wife—called, as she set the stew down upon the table. "Stew's for eating, not for swimming."
"I wouldn't dream of wasting such fine fare," Ivo assured her, for the stew looked rich and hearty, and far superior to anything he had been served in Plumpton Hall.
Ivo devoured his supper in a matter of minutes, mopping up what remained of the juices with a chunk of thick, white bread. With his appetite sated, his attention returned to the room, and those who occupied it alongside him. At the far side of the pub sat the rowdy fellows, deep in their cups and full of mischief. The centre of the pub was occupied by solitary men, farmers, no doubt, in to enjoy a quiet pint as another day's hard work came to an end. Ivo's side of the pub was occupied only by he, and a table of gentlemen who sat near the wall, deep in what seemed to be serious discussion.
"If he won't agree to it soon, he must be made to agree," one man suddenly roared, slapping the table in anger, "A second wheel would double the mill's production capacity and help lower the prices of grain for the village. Crabb must be made to see reason."
"And what are you suggesting, Bennett?" one of his companions drawled, "That we take up arms against his lordship and force him to agree to allow his lands be used to construct the leat?"
"That sounds like a good idea," the fellow called Bennett replied, thoughtfully, "Why should we allow Lord Crabb endanger our livelihoods for his own amusement? The aristocracy have a stranglehold upon this land, and a reckoning will only come when we join together and—"
"Ach, put a stop to that now," Bennett's friend interrupted, with an irritated sigh, "Your talk sounds awfully like sedition, and I've no desire to hang because you're full of fanciful notions. Northcott will continue to press Crabb to agree for the use of his lands; we just have to sit tight and wait."
"Northcott is too busy prancing around London with his new wife to recall our plight," Bennett retorted, though as he caught Ivo looking their way, he grew suddenly quiet.
Ivo could have cursed his stupidity; he should not have been so obvious in his eavesdropping. Bennett dropped his voice and murmured something to his companions, who duly threw furtive glances Ivo's way, before continuing on their conversation in more muted tones.
