Page 71 of Wager for a Wife

“Lord Farleigh?” Mrs. Brill exclaimed, looking shocked. “Oh, right, our young Master Will.” She dabbed at her cheeks with her apron. “Goodness, what a start you gave me! I’m still gettin’ used to him bein’ the viscount now after so many years of t’other one. Them potatoes look much better, Mary.”

“I know the tree,” Mary said, continuing to slice the potatoes while she spoke. Her mother had trained her well; Louisa was impressed. “It’s Will’s tree. Mine and Will’s.”

“Aye, the one what you and Will was always sneakin’ off to when you shouldn’t ha’ been. Oh—now, don’t you worry, milady. Master Will was always a good one to our Mary,” Mrs. Brill added by way of clarification. “They went there hidin’ from the viscount a time or two. And teachin’ my girl her letters when his tutor were done with him.” She chuckled. “At least tryin’ to teach her, poor lass. Never could quite figure them out.”

The cook’s words conjured images of a lonely boy looking for friends, a boy who’d been willing to share what he knew with the cook’s slow-witted daughter.

“I can show you, milady. Here you go, Mama.” Mary set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron, then took the bowl of potatoes over to her mother.

“There’s a good lass. Now, you go point out the way to that tree for Lady Louisa here and then come right back, mind.”

“Thank you so much, Mary,” Louisa said with a smile. “And then I’ll be on my way, so you both can get back to your work.” She really was hungry, however, and the aromas in the kitchen were unrelenting. “Perhaps I can beg a roll from you to take with me?”

Mrs. Brill looked chagrined. “Oh, what have I been thinkin’? O’ course you can, m’lady.” She set about putting together a basket with a generous supply of rolls, cheese, butter, jam, and a jar of lemonade. Louisa could get lost on the estate for days and not starve to death, she was certain.

After an elaborate and detailed description from Mary of every rock and plant Louisa would encounter along the way to the tree, and being sent off with a basket of food, Louisa started out through the herb garden, carefully maintained by Mrs. Brill and flourishing as a result, and then on past William’s mother’s rose garden. This garden hadn’t fared quite as well as the herbs had. The roses needed pruning, their beds choked with weeds.

Louisa also noticed that the grounds at the back of the manor weren’t as well maintained as those at the front, those in public view. Matthew had more than one man could do on an estate the size of Farleigh Manor; it made sense that he would put his efforts into the areas that mattered most. A small ornamental garden, regardless of how sentimental it might be, couldn’t afford to be a priority to him.

Her destination was not the garden, however, so she continued on across the lawns to the small hill at the east end of the property. She set the basket down so she could remove her bonnet and fan her face with it as she walked—it was quite a trek from the manor house, and she was hot. Hopefully her skin wouldn’t burn too severely in the afternoon sun.

She recognized the oak tree the moment it came into view. It looked nearly the same as the painting William had given her but from a slightly different viewpoint. It was a magical place, a world all its own, green and shady, and would be an idyllic refuge for any child. She set the basket and bonnet down next to the tree and then placed her hands on a massive trunk that attested to its longevity. She gazed up at sturdy, leafy branches perfect for climbing and even for sitting on that would offer a wonderful, woodsy view of the pond.

Rather than climb those branches today, however, Louisa retrieved the basket and bonnet and settled comfortably in the shade on the far side of the tree, away from the manor house and facing the water. She spread butter and jam on one of the rolls and ate, soaking up the serenity of the place while she did so.

A picture formed in her mind of a quiet boy who had tried to make sense of a mercurial and bewildering father and a mother who had eventually given up and withdrawn. Of faithful servants who had remained steadfast through the years, waiting for the boy they loved to become a man and take his rightful place, and doing everything they could in the meantime to guard his inheritance for him.

Farleigh Manor may have been sorely mistreated by its former viscount, but it had a small, loyal staff that had not abandoned it or its heir. It said much about William that this was the case. He had been loved as a boy, and he was loved still.

Such love and loyalty could only exist if they were reciprocated.

And then just mere days ago, William had learned of another woman—a genteel woman—who had trusted William’s father as William’s own mother had trusted him. Another woman who had borne the man children and been treated shabbily by him, and William, despite the added strain it would put on his meager resources—not to mention the public scandal it would potentially cause—had invited her and her children to live at Farleigh Manor.

Louisa rested against the tree trunk. Ducks flapped their wings and skidded across the pond, scolding each other and setting the water rippling. What a blessed life Louisa had lived. She knew nothing at all of hardship, absolutely nothing. The vowel William had presented to her father had created the first ripple of adversity she’d ever experienced.

Her eyes closed as the rigors of the past two days caught up with her, and soon the rustling of the leaves and gentle sound of water became too much to resist, and she slept.

* * *

William arrived at Farleigh Manor after a blistering ride, taking only enough time along the way to rest and water his horse. The poor beast was blown, its sides heaving from the strain of exertion. William dismounted and patted the horse’s neck in apology. “Sorry, my friend, but desperate times call for desperate measures, as the old saying goes. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll make it up to him,” Samuel said as he walked over from the stable and took the reins from William. “S’pected ye’d show up sooner rather than later, son.”

“Tell me what’s been going on,” William said.

“His high and mighty lordship has been busy askin’ questions of all and sundry as if he owned the place, though he’s pleasant enough about it. Knows his business too, that’s for certain.”

The Marquess of Ashworth would have made sure his heir was fully educated in the management of an estate, as William’s own father had not. “And?” William asked.

Samuel shrugged his shoulders and spat. “And nothin’, really, other than him being a lord and so the rest of us is bowin’ and scrapin’ and tuggin’ our forelocks and answerin’ all his questions about everything like a bunch o’ lackeys.”

“I was afraid of that once I realized he and Lady Louisa had come here. Unplanned, as it were.”

“Unplanned, eh? I wondered about that, what with ye not being here with ’em, but what was we to do?”

“You did precisely what I would have wanted you to do. They are guests, and Lady Louisa, God willing, is to be my wife. Their questions were valid ones, anyway.” He could only hope the answers they’d gotten so far didn’t amount to William’s undoing.

Samuel cleared his throat. “About the young lady . . .” he began.

---