Chapter Eleven

R aven stood at the top of Verwood's south steps looking down the sweep of the carriage drive. He was now officially in residence. His small army of masons, carpenters, plasterers, and painters had left Verwood to work on other estates. His grandfather's haulers had delivered those of his possessions he wanted at present, and his lady landlords had disappeared into the dower house. Verwood was his, or as much his as a very tight lease covenant could make it.

This morning Raven meant to walk the two-mile circuit of the inner grounds with an eye to what would most delight Lady Amabel when she visited. He could not decide which fantasy pleased him more, showing it to her in all its newness, or establishing the old public day customs of Verwood mentioned by his neighbors. Of one thing, he was sure. He would give a ball.

As he came down the wide entry steps, gardeners with scythes were at work on the vast lawn. He followed the carriage drive, and paused at the lane leading to the dower house. To his left the little lake sparkled in the morning light. He had had no further temptation to swim in it. His exchanges with Lady Cassandra had become straightforward. One of his boy messengers would find her with a request, and she would send a quick reply. Without fail and with no further visits to the hall, she had approved his choices of paint and paper. He suspected her of avoiding him, and laughed at himself for feeling slighted. Nothing in the lease covenant said that they should like each other. It was right that landlord-tenant intercourse remain purely official.

Past the lane to the dower house, he turned along the outer track that encircled the property. The layout of the grounds ensured that the ladies could come and go from the dower house to the stables unobserved from the hall. He need not think about them at all. Though he shared a pew with them in St. Andrew's on a Sunday, he had no other occasion to encounter the owners of Verwood. Still, he had looked for them at the dinners given by his neighbors, until one of his hostesses, Lady Brock, explained how presumptuous it would be on her part to invite the duchess. She hinted that sorrows plagued Verwood and made its occupants unfit for gaiety.

A double row of elm trees screened the stables from his view as he passed, but he could hear the stirrings of men and clip clop of hooves and the imperious voice of the duchess. At seventy-nine she rode daily, and saw to the care of a full stable of horses who lived like equine kings with mountains of fresh straw each morning, buckets of oats, acres of pasture, and a small army of men to keep them sleek and groomed. Not to mention the services of Dick Crockett.

Raven stopped where the path crossed a long avenue through the formal garden of box hedges and plantings. From where he stood, the stones of Verwood's north face glowed honey gold. This was the place to ask for Lady Amabel's hand. At night under a full moon with lanterns to illuminate the garden paths, and music spilling out of the great hall, he would lead her to a stone bench in the garden to make his proposal. A patch of grass on which to kneel would exactly suit his needs. If he knelt just so, Verwood would stand behind him. It filled him with a great deal of satisfaction that everything was in hand and moving forward.

As he looked from the bench to the hall, the crunch of gravel came from the outer path, and he recognized Lady Cassandra's uneven gait. He retraced his steps to meet her. Except for the gravel, she could have passed him without his notice, the plain brown of her pelisse and the pale green of her gown like the colors of the landscape itself. Only a basket over her arm filled with stalks of some vivid pink blossoms set her apart from the background. She gave him a cool nod as if she would pass by.

On impulse, he stepped into her path. "You've been avoiding me."

She checked her stride and responded to his challenge with a tilt of her head and a flash of her eyes under those strong brows that gave her face character.

"Have I? I'm sure you've been occupied with the work of renovating the hall. Are you pleased with how it's turned out?"

"I am. You should have warned me, you know."

Her gaze turned puzzled. "Warned you?"

There was something in that gaze that he hadn't seen among his neighbors. His new neighbors had showered him with such universal admiration that he would not have minded a bit of Her Grace's aloofness or a challenge from Lady Cassandra. "About the relentless hospitality of our neighbors."

She laughed at that, a warm, unaffected laugh that transformed her face, lighting up her serious gray eyes.

"Don't laugh," he chided her. "I have performed heroic feats of eating, and had my toes trodden repeatedly by eager dance partners. All without any sharp looks from you."

"Ah," she said. "Too much treacle-soaked sponge cake and oyster-stuffed mutton?"

"Oyster-stuffed mutton?" he groaned. "At least I've been spared that."

"Oh right," she said. "The mutton is Mrs. Montford's special dish, and she postponed her dinner, didn't she?"

He nodded. "But now there's to be a picnic outing to some ruins. You can't escape that one, can you?"

Her eyes brimmed with teasing lights. "You must think me a very poor neighbor, but in truth, the vicar is the only person who is quite up to inviting us Verwood ladies, feeling as he does, that in the eyes of God there are no distinctions of rank."

"So, you'll come to the picnic." The prospect of the event instantly became more appealing with the thought of her company.

"It's a remarkable site, an abandoned Roman city, Castellum de Castanea , and the road to it leads through lovely country with excellent prospects all along the way."

"You've seen it?"

"As a girl. The place was discovered in the summer after Waterloo, by a farmer when his plow turned up an ancient pot. He called upon the experts, and they've since uncovered mosaic floors and ancient walls."

"You like that sort of thing, do you?" He had no idea whether she was keen on anything. Were women keen on things? The girls who swarmed around him in London had been interested in the whirl of parties, in dancing, and in his account of the great fire.

"I suppose what surprises me is seeing how cleverly the Romans lived. It encourages one's humility."

"Do you need to be encouraged in humility?"

"Is my grandmother a duchess?" She grinned at him.

"What's in the basket?" he asked.

"Willow herb. Do you mind my foraging in your woods?"

"Your grandmother's woods?"

"But you don't want to be tripping over me… us on every path."

"Actually, you've made yourself invisible of late, and I wonder, what did I do to offend you?"

"Nothing." She studied the path, as if it held deep secrets, and he wanted her to look at him again with her usual frank openness.

"But you've kept your distance."

She gave a quick shrug. "You had everything in hand. You didn't need me looking over your shoulder."

"Still," he said, "there were times I could have used your opinion. I may have misjudged in the morning room, I think. The green-striped damask on the walls there might be a bit overpowering."

She spun to look at him, and he tried to maintain his gravity at the expression of horror on her face. It was too much and he burst out laughing.

"Oh, you are having me on." Her face changed again, and he almost caught his breath at the sudden prettiness of her, the smoothness of her cheek, the clear gray of her eyes, the perfect point of her heart-shaped chin.

"Am I?" he asked. "You won't know unless you come to the hall."

"What? Now? I interrupted. You were on your way… somewhere."

"To make a circuit of the grounds. Will you walk with me? You could point out the beauties of Verwood. I want to know what to show my… guests."

"Have you invited some guests?"

"I'm making a list."

She straightened and resettled the basket over her arm, and he sensed that he'd kept her as long as he could. "You should take them to the ice house. It's in the loveliest part of the woods and not far."

"You won't take a peek at the new ceiling in the great hall."

"No."

"But you promise to come to my ball. I won't take no for an answer."

She gave him a sad smile. "I think you must. Good day, Sir Adrian."