Page 9 of The Widower Without a Will
“As to the question of the cottages, I have not yet found a solution, but I am hopeful that after a closer review of the estate today, I may have some clever ideas,” Martin said.
“Thank you, my lord.”Beauchamp bowed a little, in a way that was embarrassing to both him and Martin.“My youngest and his bride are very eager.I hope to have good news for them soon.”
“Indeed.”
Martin regretted feeling so impatient with the man.It was only natural that Beauchamp should expect his children to all be able to remain at Northfield and that each child should, with their own family, expand into a cottage of their own.Yet the Beauchamps had trained all their sons for tallow making when the estate only needed the one workshop, and there were no more cottages available.
If the question was how Martin could find a way to keep all the Beauchamp children at Northfield, then he knew there was a creative solution somewhere.
However, he was all too aware that the question was larger than the Beauchamps.He needed an answer he could offer everyone, not just Mr.Beauchamp, and he did not yet have one.
Mrs.Bellamy did not ask any questions as Martin led her across the courtyard to the carpentry workshop.Still, he felt her observant eyes on him, and he feared what conclusions she might be drawing from his curt exchange with Mr.Beauchamp.
“On days like this, I miss my daughter Ellen particularly,” he said.“She is a trained carpenter herself, you know, and would be thrilled to assist me on this errand.I find there is no better time spent with a person than when observing them engaged in their passions.”
Mrs.Bellamy smiled.“I have heard many stories of the countess.I confess, I have wondered why you permitted her to learn the trade.”
In the wake of Caroline’s betrayal, Martin had wondered that himself.Why had he and Lolly not ensured their children understood the behavior expected of their class?They had wanted each child to think critically and independently about the world around them, but why had they not insisted on the girls learning to be ladies, too?
Martin supposed that he hadn’t realized how much of that needed to be taught.And when Ellen would have been escorted to assembly halls for practice balls or taken to London for a Season, Lolly had been ill, then dying, then dead.
“I have a terrific speech to answer that question to anyone in London,” Martin confessed to Mrs.Bellamy, “but the truth is that I was distracted by my wife’s illness.I would have permitted just about anything that kept my children occupied and happy.”
They were at the door to the carpentry workshop, but he hesitated to knock on it, glancing instead at the woman at his side to see her reaction.Her smile was gone, replaced with a look that was becoming familiar to him.One of fellow feeling.One of compassion.
He worried he had made that confession just to earn that look from her again.
At last, he knocked on the door and was answered, as expected, by Spencer Chow.Spencer was the second eldest of the Chow boys and the only one who remained at Northfield—unless one counted Eddie in Thatcham, which Martin did not.He bowed at the neck to greet them.
“I wonder if you could spare some time for me this morning to examine the women’s dormitories,” Martin said.
“Yes, sir.”Removing his apron and work gloves, Spencer rearranged some tools and donned his coat before joining them at the gig.
Assuming they hadn’t met, Martin conducted the introductions: “This is Mrs.Bellamy, widow of the late rector.Spencer Chow, our head carpenter.”
Mrs.Bellamy smiled politely.“We have met a few times at Mrs.Caroline Chow’s fetes.”
Caroline hosted fetes?As far as Martin knew, she and Eddie lived in a two-room house leased from one of the Thatcham farmers.Where could she play hostess?And when?
Perhaps they had all happened while Martin was in London, which was why no one had seen fit to inform him of them.
Spencer, as usual, found the least amount of words to make a reply and then hoisted himself onto the back of the gig.Mrs.Bellamy hiked up her skirt to climb up to the bench.
Martin could let her do it herself.With either hand gripping the gig and her foot already firmly planted on a spoke, she seemed more than capable of managing it.But her skirt fell backward, revealing a stockinged ankle above her half-boots, and Martin had a premonition of her leg twisting in the wheel.
“Permit me,” he begged, and he lifted her by the waist.
Their eyes met as she settled on the bench.Martin couldn’t help but notice her lashes flutter like a lady’s fan at a ball.
If they were younger—if she were not a somber widow—he might assume she was flirting with him.
But he did not want that.And she was most certainly not making such an overture, not when she was in the throes of grief.Martin was being silly, like a young buck in his first Season.
He hiked himself onto the bench and drove the gig towards the dormitory.
Marthasupposedeverywomanwho found herself in the path of Lord Martin Preston ended up dazzled by him.He was too handsome, too intelligent, too kind not to incite excitement in the hearts of those around him.
No doubt he had a dozen noble ladies courting him every Season in London.
