29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

T he day of the luncheon dawned bright and clear, a perfect summer's day. Evelyn smoothed her hands over her dress, a wine-coloured calico, nervously as she made her way across the lawn to where the trestle tables had been set up. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the gentle buzz of insects.

As she approached, she caught sight of the Baron standing at the head table, deep in conversation with a ruddy-faced farmer. He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment, leaving Evelyn breathless for a moment. She chided herself silently for such a foolish reaction.

"Miss Bane," the Baron called, gesturing her over. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr Hawkins and Mr Fairfax."

Evelyn nodded politely to the two farmers as she took her seat across from the Baron. Mr Hawkins, a portly man with a jovial smile, immediately launched into a detailed description of his prize-winning pigs. On her other side, Mr Fairfax, a thin, weather-beaten man, listened with a slight frown.

The table groaned under the weight of the food - roasted meats, fresh bread, and an array of vegetables from the estate's gardens. Evelyn's mouth watered at the sight, but she hesitated, unsure of the proper etiquette.

"Go on, Miss Bane," the Baron said, his voice low. "I assure you, our farmers have hearty appetites. You needn't stand on ceremony here."

Evelyn nodded, reaching for a slice of bread. As she did so, her eyes met the Baron's again, and she was surprised to see a hint of warmth there. She quickly looked away, focusing on her plate.

"So, Miss Bane," Mr Hawkins boomed, "what do you make of our little corner of the world? Quite different from London, I'd wager!"

Evelyn opened her mouth to respond, but found herself at a loss for words. How could she explain the complex emotions she felt about her new home?

Evelyn hesitated, acutely aware of the Baron's gaze upon her. She took a deep breath, composing her thoughts.

"I must confess," she began, her voice soft but clear, "I never imagined the countryside to hold so much beauty."

Mr Hawkins let out a hearty chuckle, his ruddy cheeks growing even redder. "Aye, miss, I'd wager your fancy London education didn't prepare you for the likes of this!"

Mr Fairfax nodded in agreement, a rare smile cracking his weathered features. "City folk often don't know what to make of our little slice of heaven."

Evelyn felt a flush creep up her neck, but she managed a small laugh. "You're quite right, gentlemen. I've been on a steep learning curve ever since I arrived."

She glanced at the Baron, expecting to see disapproval in his eyes. Instead, she found a glimmer of something that looked almost like pride. It made her heart flutter in a most disconcerting way.

"But," she continued, emboldened, "I find myself enjoying the challenge. Each day brings new discoveries."

Mr Hawkins beamed at her. "That's the spirit, miss! You'll be a proper country lass in no time."

Evelyn smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. For the first time since her arrival, she felt truly at ease among these people. She caught the Baron's eye again, and this time, she didn't look away.

Evelyn became the centre of attention as the farmers' wives gathered around her, their eyes alight with curiosity. Mrs Hawkins, a plump woman with rosy cheeks, leaned in eagerly.

"Oh, Miss Bane, do tell us about the London fashions! Are they as scandalous as we've heard?"

Evelyn shifted in her seat, acutely aware of the Baron's presence just a few feet away. "I'm afraid I'm not the best person to ask about such matters," she demurred with a gentle smile.

Another woman, whom Evelyn recognised as Mrs Fairfax, chimed in. "Surely you must have attended grand balls and soirées? What are they like?"

Evelyn's mind flashed to her last ball in London, the suffocating crush of bodies, the whispers and pointed looks. She suppressed a shudder. "They can be quite... overwhelming," she said carefully.

The women exchanged glances, clearly unsatisfied with her vague responses. Mrs Hawkins pressed on, "Don't you ever wish you were back there, Miss Bane? All those handsome gentlemen and exciting entertainments?"

Evelyn felt a sudden tightness in her chest. Without meaning to, her eyes sought out the Baron. He was engaged in conversation with Mr Fairfax, but as if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, the chatter around her faded away.

Turning back to the expectant faces of the farmers' wives, Evelyn took a deep breath. "To be perfectly honest," she said, her voice soft but steady, "I have no desire to ever go back there."

The women fell silent, surprise evident on their faces. Evelyn felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she spoke the truth aloud for the first time. London, with all its glittering fa?ades and hidden dangers, held no allure for her now.

Here, among the rolling hills and open skies, she had found something she never knew she was missing: a simplicity that offered much contentment, and a sense of security she'd never known.

Evelyn's admission hung in the air for a moment, the farmers' wives exchanging glances of surprise and curiosity. Mrs Hawkins was the first to recover, her face breaking into a warm smile.

"Well then, Miss Bane," she said, her eyes twinkling, "if you're to be a true country lass, you ought to learn how we have our fun too!"

The other women nodded enthusiastically, a chorus of agreement rising around Evelyn.

"Oh, yes!" Mrs Fairfax chimed in. "We must show you our games. It's only proper."

Before Evelyn could fully process what was happening, she found herself being ushered away from the table, the women chattering excitedly around her. They led her to a small enclosure where several piglets were rooting about in the dirt.

"Now, Miss Bane," Mrs Hawkins explained, "the game is simple. We'll see who can hold a piglet the longest without it squealing. The winner gets to keep the little darling!"

Evelyn's eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't possibly—" she began, but her protests were cut short as Mrs Fairfax scooped up a wriggling piglet and deposited it unceremoniously into Evelyn's arms.

The moment the piglet touched her, it let out an ear-piercing squeal. Evelyn, startled by the sudden noise and the warm, squirming bundle in her arms, burst into laughter. The sound of her own mirth mingled with the piglet's squeals, creating a cacophony that drew curious glances from across the lawn.

As Evelyn struggled to contain both her laughter and the squirming piglet, she caught sight of the Baron watching from a distance. His usually stern face bore an expression she'd never seen before – a mixture of amusement and something softer, almost tender. The sight made her heart skip a beat, and she nearly dropped the piglet in her distraction.

"Pickier than a Mayfair mam fielding suitors," Mrs Hawkins tutted, taking the squealing piglet from Evelyn.

Evelyn's cheeks ached from laughter as she handed the piglet back to Mrs Hawkins. She smoothed her hands over her dress, still chuckling, when Mrs Fairfax let out a gasp.

"Oh, Miss Bane! Your lovely dress!"

Evelyn glanced down to see a smudge of mud across her skirt where the piglet had nestled. For a moment, she felt a flash of her old self—horrified at the thought of a ruined garment. But as she looked up at the concerned faces of the farmers' wives, something shifted within her.

"Well," Evelyn said, her eyes twinkling with mirth, "I suppose I've received a love token from my porcine suitor."

The women stared at her for a heartbeat before erupting into peals of laughter. Mrs Hawkins clutched her sides, tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks.

"Oh, Miss Bane," she wheezed between guffaws, "you're a treasure, you are!"

Mrs Fairfax, wiping her eyes, chimed in, "It's more of a love token than I've seen in years, that's for certain!"

"Speak for yourself, Martha," another woman teased. "Some of us still have a bit of romance left in our lives!"

"Ha!" Mrs Fairfax retorted. "If you call Bert falling asleep in his chair every night 'romance', then I suppose you're right!"

The women dissolved into laughter once more, and Evelyn found herself swept up in their camaraderie. For the first time since arriving at the estate, she felt truly at ease, accepted not as a curiosity from London, but as one of their own.

As the laughter subsided, Evelyn caught sight of the Baron watching from across the lawn. His expression was unreadable, but she thought she detected a hint of approval in his eyes.

For just a moment, she let herself look back at him just as Evelyn—not Miss Bane, not Lady Evelyn with her secrets—just Evelyn. Something tangible but unknowable passed between her and the Baron as they locked eyes, and for a moment, Evelyn could swear that the Baron was trying to silently ask her something.

***

J ames stood at the edge of the lawn, his eyes fixed on the lively gathering before him. The farmers' wives had taken to Evelyn with unexpected warmth, and now they beckoned her towards another of their peculiar games. He watched as they produced small, misshapen balls—homemade soap, he realised—and wooden laundry bats.

"Come now, Miss Bane," one of the older women called. "Let's see how far you can whack it!"

Evelyn's laugh carried across the grass, light and unrestrained. James felt an odd tightness in his chest at the sound.

"Why, it's almost like cricket," Evelyn remarked, accepting a bat with a bemused smile.

The women exchanged glances, their faces a mix of amusement and indignation.

"Cricket?" scoffed Mrs Hodges, her ruddy cheeks puffing out. "Bless you, miss, but we came up with this long before any toff thought to make a proper game of it."

"Aye," another chimed in. "Our grandmothers were batting soap balls when your lot were still prancing about in rouge and powdered wigs."

James expected Evelyn to bristle at the impertinence, but to his surprise, she threw her head back and laughed even harder.

"Well then," she said, hefting the bat with unexpected determination, "you'll have to teach me the proper way, won't you?"

As he watched Evelyn take her stance, James found himself unable to look away. She swung the bat with more force than grace, sending the soap ball soaring in a wild arc. The women cheered, and Evelyn's face lit up with genuine delight.

For a moment, James forgot about the estate's troubles, the constant worry over crops and tenants. He forgot about the weight of responsibility that seemed to press down on him day and night. All he could see was Evelyn, her hair coming loose from its pins, her cheeks flushed with exertion and joy.

James leaned against the cider table, his eyes still fixed on Evelyn as she attempted another swing at the soap ball. He barely registered the approach of several farmers until they were at his elbow, helping themselves to mugs of the strong, amber liquid.

"Fine day for it, my lord," old Tom Cobbett remarked, his weathered face creasing into a smile.

James grunted in agreement, not quite ready to tear his gaze away from the scene before him.

"That Miss Bane," another farmer—Giles, James thought—said casually. "She's a right bright spot on the estate, ain't she?"

James felt his shoulders tense slightly. He turned to face the men, his expression carefully neutral. "Is that so?"

"Oh, aye," Tom nodded, taking a long swig of cider. "Livened up the whole place, she has. The missus says she's never seen the young ladies so cheerful."

"Proper lady, but not afraid to get her hands dirty," Giles added. "Saw her out in the kitchen garden t'other day, learning about herbs from old Mrs Potts."

James found himself at a loss for words. He'd known, of course, that Evelyn had been making an impact on his daughters, but he hadn't realised how far her influence had spread.

"She's got a way about her," another farmer chimed in. "Makes you feel like you matter, even if you're just a tenant."

The Baron's throat felt oddly tight. He reached for a mug of cider, using the moment to collect himself.

"Well," he said at last, his voice gruffer than he'd intended. "I'm... pleased to hear she's settling in so well."

The farmers exchanged knowing glances, but James pretended not to notice. He turned back to watch Evelyn, who was now attempting to teach one of the farmers' wives how to curtsy properly. The sight brought an unbidden smile to his face.

James sipped his cider, his eyes still drawn to Evelyn as she laughed with the farmers' wives. He barely registered the conversation around him until old Tom's words cut through his distraction.

"Surprised no one's snapped up a woman like Miss Bane yet," Tom mused, his tone deceptively casual. "Seems a right shame, that does."

James frowned, turning to face the group of farmers. "What do you mean by that?"

Giles chuckled, elbowing Tom in the ribs. "Well, my lord, just that she's a fine lady, ain't she? Clever and kind, good with the young'uns."

"Aye," another farmer chimed in, his eyes twinkling. "Would be a lucky man indeed to have her for a wife."

James felt a strange tightness in his chest at their words. He opened his mouth to respond, but found himself at a loss. The farmers exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"Course," Tom added, his voice lowered conspiratorially, "reckon she'd need a man who could keep up with her. Someone steady, like. With a good head on his shoulders."

The Baron's brow furrowed deeper. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something important. The farmers were looking at him expectantly, their gazes heavy with meaning he couldn't quite decipher.

"I... suppose that's true," James said slowly, his mind struggling to catch up. "Miss Bane is certainly... capable."

Giles let out a snort of laughter, quickly disguised as a cough. Tom shook his head, a bemused smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Aye, my lord," he said, clapping James on the shoulder. "That she is. That she is indeed."

James stood rooted to the spot, his eyes still fixed on Evelyn as she laughed with the farmers' wives. The conversation around him faded to a distant hum, but snippets of the farmers' words managed to pierce through his distraction.

"If nothing else," old Tom mused, stroking his chin, "Miss Bane's a great beauty, ain't she? Be an ornament at any table, that one."

Giles nodded sagely. "Aye, and she's got lovely eyes. Never seen their like before, like being stared at by a doe."

James said nothing, his gaze unwavering as Evelyn attempted another swing at the soap ball. Her hair had come loose from its pins, a few errant strands framing her flushed face. The farmers exchanged knowing glances, barely suppressing their amusement.

"What do you think, my lord?" Tom asked, his voice tinged with barely concealed mirth. "Wouldn't you agree Miss Bane's a right beauty?"

James barely registered the question, his mind still caught up in the sight of Evelyn's radiant smile. Before he could stop himself, he murmured, "Yes, she is."

The farmers erupted into poorly disguised snickers behind his back. James blinked, suddenly aware of what he'd just said. He turned to face the group, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"I mean," he stammered, trying to regain his composure, "Miss Bane is... certainly... presentable."

But it was too late. The farmers were already exchanging triumphant looks, their eyes twinkling with mischief.

James felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. The farmers' knowing glances, their pointed remarks—it all suddenly clicked into place. They weren't just praising Evelyn; they were trying to push him towards her.

He grunted, a noncommittal sound that neither confirmed nor denied their suspicions. The farmers' eyes gleamed with triumph, and James knew he'd given himself away.

Desperate to escape their scrutiny, he reached for the cider jug and refilled his mug. Without a word, he turned and strode away, his face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something else he couldn't quite name.