18. A Farmer’s Work is Never Done

CHAPTER 18

A FARMER’S WORK IS NEVER DONE

M eanwhile, next door, Gisborn Hall, near Bampton, Oxfordshire

As her lady’s maid brushed her hair, Hannah Slater Forster, Countess of Gisborn, watched out her bedchamber window for signs of her husband and their three youngest sons. At times, the rain pelting the glass made it impossible to see the farm fields to the west and the Ellsworth Park manor home that fronted them. It was nearly as hard to tell if the gray gloom had lightened since Lily had appeared. According to the Old Chelsea clock on the mantel, it should have been early dawn.

“I canna’ believe his lordship is out in that awful weather,” Lily remarked as she gathered Hannah’s pale blonde hair into a ribbon tie before twisting it into a bun.

“They’re all out there,” Hannah replied, her brow furrowing with worry.

“Bill brought the horses in a few minutes ago,” the lady’s maid said, referring to her husband. “Said Donald would see to it they was brushed later today. Everyone is soaked to the skin now, but they got the wheat under cover ’afore this latest rain started.”

“That’s a relief,” Hannah murmured. She winced when a hairpin scraped her scalp. “Did you notice if Grace was up yet?” she asked, referring to her only daughter. At thirteen years of age, Grace behaved more like a tomboy than her fairy princess appearance would suggest. Having four brothers, three of them older than her, was her excuse.

Lily scoffed. “Lady Grace is out there with the boys,” she replied, stabbing another pin into Hannah’s bun.

Hannah swiveled around on her dressing table chair. “No,” she said in protest.

“She goes where George goes these days,” Lily claimed, referring to her mistress’ youngest son.

“Oh, I hope she grows out of it, and soon,” Hannah whispered. “No one in London would believe I am the mother of a hoyden.”

Chuckling, Lily finished securing the last pin in place. “I’m done, my lady. If you’d like, I’ll see to a stack of bath linens for when the boys return to the house.”

“Please do. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Hannah watched the reflection of her lady’s maid hurry out the bedchamber door before she stood and made her way through the dressing room and into the master bedchamber. She rushed to the room’s south windows, pulling back the dark velvet drapes.

Stretched out below and to the south were two large greenhouses. Despite the rain, their translucent glass ceilings made it possible to see their contents.

This time of the year, the middle of both buildings would normally be taken up with trestles covered with pots of tomatoes and flats of herbs and vegetables. The perimeters were lined with young orange and lemon trees.

The older citrus trees were secure in the orangery on the northwest end of Gisborn Hall, the building completed shortly after her oldest nephew, Donald, had returned from his Grand Tour.

A grimace crossed Hannah’s face as she watched the trestles being moved to the sides. Uncovered carts laden with part of the wheat harvest were pushed in to take their place. She angled her head toward the west to see several more carts, all covered with tarps, lined up along the side of one of the greenhouses. Several tenant farmers as well as Henry and the boys were pulling another covered wagon into place, all of the laborers soaked to the skin from the rain.

In the middle of it all was Grace, evident because her braided blonde hair was uncovered while all the males wore hats.

When several men—all of them Gisborn tenant farmers—shook hands with her Henry, Hannah knew their work was done. She watched as they headed off for their nearby cottages or for Bampton and the remaining figures gathered outside the kitchen door.

She hoped Mrs. Ainsley had breakfast ready.

Heading down the carpeted stairs to the ground floor of Gisborn Hall, Hannah managed to appear in the kitchens as the last of her family made it through the door, their arrival bringing with it a gust of warm, wet air and an irate scolding from the cook.

“Apologies, Mrs. Ainsley,” Randy said. He removed his sodden hat and offered it to Lily, who gave him a bath linen in exchange. “Much obliged.” He rubbed the linen over his face and neck before removing his coat and boots.

Meanwhile, the others did the same, their claims of hunger and thirst resulting in Mrs. Ainsley’s loud, “Breakfast will be on the table in a quarter-hour. Best get into some dry clothes before then.”

Hannah smirked as the boys and Grace scrambled through the kitchens and up the stairs to their bedchambers.

“Two minutes ago, and you would have thought them ready for their beds,” Henry said as he leaned down and kissed Hannah on her forehead. “You’re up early.”

“I could not sleep knowing you were out there in this awful weather,” she whispered.

“Couldn’t be helped,” he replied as he lifted one of her hands to his lips. “But I must admit, I am relieved to have it done. This harvest has been a source of worry for several weeks.” A drop of water fell from his dark hair, and he winced when it streaked down Hannah’s gown.

“It’s only water,” Hannah whispered. “Can you remain indoors for the rest of the day?” she asked as they made their way up the stairs.

Henry was about to answer in the affirmative when he aimed a suspicious glance in her direction. “You have something in mind for me to do?”

She scoffed. “Sleep, I would hope. You’ve barely been to your bed this entire week.”

“Oh, is that all?” he answered, sounding ever so relieved.

“Well, I would be happy to join you in your bed,” she offered, one of her blonde brows arching suggestively.

He paused on the landing and leaned over to kiss her on the temple. “I can sleep when I’m dead,” he muttered.

She grinned as they resumed their trek up the stairs. “There is another matter we should discuss now that the harvest is complete.”

“Oh?” There was the sound of suspicion in his response.

They entered his bedchamber, and Hannah went to work undoing his waistcoat buttons. The wet wool made it difficult to slip the jets through the holes, and Henry made no move to help but continued to dry his hair with the linen.

“Well?” he prompted as she pushed the garment from his shoulders, forcing him to give up his hold on the damp towel.

“Randy is quite excited about some Greek temple in Athens and wishes to go on a Grand Tour,” Hannah said, moving to untie his cravat. “And I think he should go. As should Tom.” She unwound the cotton strip from around his neck, the sodden fabric nearly dripping with rainwater.

“I agree,” Henry replied, secretly glad Tom had brought up the matter whilst they were cutting wheat the day before. He found it amusing Randy had discussed the issue with Hannah, but then he knew she favored her oldest and his heir while Tom had always come to him when he had questions or concerns.

Hannah stilled her movements, the wet cravat hanging from one of her hands as she stared at him. “You do?”

A chuckle rumbled forth, and Henry said, “You, my lady, are about to become very damp.”

Letting out a squeak of surprise when he pulled her into his arms, Hannah couldn’t help but giggle as he lifted her until her feet no longer touched the floor. Given the layers of petticoats she wore, she only felt moisture from his shirt on her bodice, but she knew his breeches were probably soaking the skirts of the gown. “Henry,” she scolded. “You say that as if I’m not already.” Her brow once again arched suggestively.

Henry’s eyes darkened, “Damn, but you’re warm,” he whispered, sliding his hands up her back to reach her buttons. He quickly undid a few as her toes touched down onto the floor.

Her hands gripping his shoulders, Hannah kissed him on the lips. “I’m happy to share my warmth,” she teased.

A moment later, she giggled as she was practically tossed onto his bed, her skirts and petticoats flipped up onto her torso as Henry divested himself of his soaked shirt and breeches. He was over her an instant later, his bare skin cool against her warm thighs, his engorged cock seeking her entrance.

Hannah’s chest lifted from the bed when he thrust into her, her inhalation of breath sounding louder than his moan of pleasure as her knees lifted to press against his thighs. He had one of her sleeves pulled down from her shoulder, and his mouth covered the top of the exposed breast to muffle his groans.

“No corset?” he asked, pausing in his quest to pull the rest of her bodice down.

“I was hoping this might happen,” she whispered.

“You minx,” he accused, his grin wide as he moved to suckle a pert nipple.

“Well, it’s been a long time, and you smell divine when you’re all soaking wet,” she murmured.

“I do?” he countered in disbelief. “I thought I smelled like Muffin McDuff,” he added, referring to their Alpenmastiff.

Her grin widened. “You smell like a summer rain and lemons.”

Not about to argue—his cock was demanding his attention—Henry pulled out of her and thrust into her again, and from there, they moved in unison, the upward lift of her hips meeting his thrusts until he was on the edge of his release.

He knew what to do to bring her to her ecstasy if his cock didn’t do it for him, and he was about to slide a hand between their bodies to see to it, but he felt her clench hard on him, felt the waves of her pleasure pull on his manhood, and he was lost to his own orgasm.

Holding himself over her, his arms straight and his hands pressed on either side of her shoulders, he held his breath until he was forced to take another.

The yards of fabric separating his chest from hers provided a pillow for his body when he lowered his head to rest above one of her shoulders. When his body gave way all at once—he had no energy left to roll off of her—he simply collapsed atop her.

The sudden warmth of the counterpane landing over his bare back was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

A half hour later, Gisborn House breakfast parlor

“Where’s Father?” Grace asked when her mother entered the breakfast parlor.

“Where are the boys?” Hannah countered, surprised Randy, Tom, and George weren’t already at the table. Even though the two oldest were young men now, it was hard for Hannah to think of them as anything but her boys.

“George fell asleep, but Randy and Tom are coming down. They decided to take shower baths since they were already wet.”

Knowing their shared valet would see to it they were properly attired, Hannah regarded Grace’s clothes with a frown. “Are those your brother’s breeches?” she asked in horror.

Grace winced. “George’s, yes,” she replied. “But they’re too short for him, so he gave them to me.”

“Young lady?—”

“I know. I will, Mother. But please, may I wear them until after breakfast? Then I’ll go straight to my room and change,” Grace argued.

“You’ll go straight to your bed and get some sleep,” Hannah countered, acknowledging the delivery of her breakfast by a footman. “I’ll need coffee,” she said to him.

“Yes, my lady,” Bertram replied, giving a slight bow before he disappeared.

“Did you even go to bed last night?” Hannah asked, resuming her conversation with Grace.

Her daughter seemed to give the query some thought before she said, “Not really. I was still awake when I heard Mr. Cavanaugh’s arrival.”

Thomas Cavanaugh, one of the older Gisborn tenant farmers, had arrived well after dinner with word that rain was headed their way. With most of the wheat cut but none of it brought in, he had offered the help of his sons with the last of the harvest.

A footman was dispatched to Ellsworth Park with the bad news, and by midnight, nearly a dozen men—and Grace—had all the draft horses hitched to carts and torches lit throughout the wheat fields. Six hours later and only minutes before clouds, pregnant with rain, delivered their storm, the last of the wheat had been collected in the carts and covered.

As a farmer’s wife, Hannah knew all too well what a bad harvest could do to an earldom. The effects it would have on those who relied on the crops for food and their livings. She also knew Henry seemed to live a charmed life when it came to his fields, for he always seemed to know the best time to plant, when to employ his irrigation system, and when to harvest. Other aristocrats relied on their foremen or tenant farmers to see to their lands, with varying degrees of success.

“Are Randy and Tom going to Greece?” Grace asked, interrupting Hannah’s reverie.

Blinking, Hannah dared a glance toward the door, sure she could hear the older sons making their way down the stairs. “If your father agrees, then yes, they’ll be going on their Grand Tours,” she replied.

“And George?” The query was tinged with a hint of worry, as if Grace didn’t agree with the idea.

“No. He’s far too young for a Grand Tour,” Hannah replied. “He still needs to learn Greek, and it wouldn’t hurt him to learn some Italian, too.”

Grace appeared relieved at hearing this news, and she returned her attention to her breakfast.

“You and George have become rather good friends,” Hannah remarked, a second before her oldest sons filed into the breakfast parlor followed by their father.

Henry bussed her on the cheek. “You could have woken me,” he whispered.

She allowed a prim grin. “I thought I had.” She winked as she watched him straighten, sure his face reddened with embarrassment.

Bertram went about delivering plates of food while Mrs. Ainsley poured coffee, and once the servants left the family to their meal, Henry cleared his throat.

Randy and Tom turned their gazes on him. “Yes, Father?” they asked in unison.

“I had a conversation with your uncle whilst we were working. Seems your cousin, David, will be going on his Grand Tour in a month or so.”

Randy looked to Hannah while Tom kept his attention on his father. “Can I go with him, Father?”

Henry ate a forkful of eggs before he answered. “You’ll both be going with him.”

The two young men guffawed in delight.

“You’ll require an escort, of course.”

Given Henry’s serious demeanor, the grins disappeared. “Escort?” they repeated.

Exchanging a glance of amusement with his wife, Henry resumed eating his breakfast. Until he had further word from his brother-in-law, Will Slater, he dared not offer up a name. “A cicerone,” he stated. “A guide. We’ll talk about it later today. After you get some sleep.”

The two young men exchanged quick glances before Randy said, “Thank you, Father.”

“Yes, thank you,” Tom chimed in. “You won’t regret it.”

Henry furrowed a brow. “A year from now, when there aren’t enough men to help with the harvest, I just might,” he argued.

Both Randy and Tom dipped their heads but knew better than to respond.