Page 9 of The Baron Without Blame
Lord Turner had explained to Martin how his daughters had been born in Boston and that the family had only returned at the outbreak of the American war for independence. But Martin hadn’t thought much of it; Lolly would have been a child when they returned to England, and it never occurred to him she would have loyalties there.
He was so taken aback that all he could find to say was, “I heard they don’t even have paved streets in Boston.”
She laughed. “Of course they have paved streets.” Then, more soberly, she raised a pointed eyebrow at him. “Besides, I imagine they don’t have paved streets in all the places you traveled to, but that didn’t stop you.”
“No, but I didn’t plan to settle in any of those places.” Though his brother had done, and very happily so, in a little village outside Calcutta. He swallowed down his next objection –besides, I’m a man– knowing it would only spark an argument. “Why not stay in London? Surely we need schoolteachers and charity workers as much as Boston does.”
“My friend runs an institution for orphans in Boston. I will be joining her.”
Martin tried to picture her in a severe gray headmistress’s outfit. Would she scowl at her pupils? Hit them with a cane when they misbehaved?
He couldn’t see anything except the spirited woman before him who was at that very moment struggling to stop a sneeze.
“What a pair we are. Instead of doing the sensible thing and marrying, I’m participating in subterfuge and you’re off to fulfill your destiny helping orphaned children in Massachusetts.”
She twigged her nose with a handkerchief. “And what exactly is your plan, anyhow? Throw all the cotton and sugar and tea you can find into the river in protest?”
The image was so absurd that he had to laugh. “The list is too long to fit in the river. You have forgotten silk, mahogany, Madeira, indigo, rum, tobacco…I scan the arrivals listed in the newspaper and constantly have another import to avoid.”
Leaning forward – so close to him that he could smell her perfume – Lolly poked Martin’s jacket. “Is this not silk?”
He had never noticed her hands before, but now he watched in slowed time as her finger curled back into its fist. How he wanted to catch it, to pull her palm against his and feel her skin.
Martin dragged his thoughts back to the conversation. “That’s how difficult my proposition is. I must find a tailor who will provide me clothes in English linen and wool.”
“I have never thought much about it,” Lolly began, folding her skirts this way and then that in thought, “but I was under the impression all those goods you would throw in the river are a sign of prosperity. If you succeeded in ridding us of all we import, would we be plunged back into the time of knights?”
It was a question he had posed to himself a hundred times. But never had he been forced to vocalize his response, and all of a sudden, he found an actual answer. “Look at these fields. Right now, we use them to produce wheat, wheat, and wheat, not so that those of us who live here can consume it, but so that we can sell it off and earn a profit. Why not focus our improvements on growing the crops we need to care for ourselves, not to fulfill the market?”
He watched her in profile as she took in the fields. His response satisfied himself, but he was not at all sure that she would agree. He was not sure that anyone would.
Lolly turned her dark, solemn gaze to him. “How do you define ‘we’?”
Not the rebuttal he was expecting. “Everyone, I suppose. Northfield Hall, of course, but also my tenants and the townspeople who rely on these commons.”
She evaluated him silently for a moment. The breeze drifted between them, too cold to be comfortable. From one of the trees, a robin chirped.
Martin couldn’t wait any longer under the weight of her gaze. “I doubt it will make a difference. They will say I’ve become an eccentric and ignore everything I say.”
Lolly reached a hand towards him. It landed in the grass between them. “I suppose you must do what you can. Even if it feels that it isn’t making a difference. You have already had an influence on me.”
She was beautiful in her endless skirts and solemn gaze and red nose twitching with another sneeze. Martin wondered if all engaged couples spoke so openly with each other, or if he were lucky in the woman he had compromised.
He found himself staring at the little mole above her lip.
That would not do at all. “Luncheon will be served soon. We had better head back.”
“I’m looking forward to the roast,” Lolly smiled. She held out her hands, waiting for him to help her up. He pulled her to her feet with a little too much energy, and she stumbled against him. Her breasts pressed his chest for just a second. And oh, he was so aware of that second.
Martin’s hands steadied her at the waist. Lolly was staring up at him with those warm eyes; uncertainty, something he had never before seen from her, widened her mouth.
He stepped back. “If I were your real fiancé, I would ask you for a kiss.”
She grinned. “If you were my real fiancé, I would allow it.”
And then, she turned and ran back towards the house.
Chapter Five
