Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

D appled sunlight pattered through the gaps in the leafy canopy above. Summer and Thor followed a wide path through the woods that lay to the south of Thornhill Castle. The path was an ancient trackway, lined by hawthorn and hazel with stone mile markers peeking from among the long grass and ferns. Those markers were mottled by moss and lichen, their inscriptions barely legible after years of weathering, a testament to the time that had elapsed since they had been placed. Lionel and Cecilia rode side by side through the deep wood. Cecilia was beginning to feel the constricting pressure of worry easing as they rode. Whether it was the freedom of riding, the peacefulness of the country, or Lionel's newly rediscovered attentiveness, she did not know. He glanced at her and she smiled. He smiled in return.

"I miss it when it is not there," he suddenly said.

"Miss what?" Cecilia asked.

"Your smile. You have smiled since the first day I met you, drawing me to you each time. Only when that smile seemed to have departed for good did I truly appreciate it."

"Fortunately, you give me plenty of reasons to smile," Cecilia chimed.

"But do I? It seems to me that I give opportunities for tears. With my obsession."

"I do not begrudge your quest," Cecilia replied, "but I can see the damage it is doing. I will not sit idly by and watch you eaten alive by it."

Lionel reached across the divide between them to take her hand. He squeezed it and Cecilia was comforted by the strength of his grip and the gentleness.

"Being in your company is enough to soothe my heart," she murmured, "you make me feel safe."

"You are safe," Lionel told her, kindly.

Cecilia thought about the offer from Sir Gerald Knightley. How safe would she be if she took up that invitation? Surely, he and Thorpe were not so degraded in their characters that they would assault her? Or try and hold her against her will? She had considered taking Peggy along as a witness but could not bring herself to put her dear friend at even the slightest risk. No, if it must be done, it must be done alone. If it must be done at all that was.

For now, though, Cecilia did not want to think about it. She wanted to enjoy this time alone with her husband. Lionel had been beside himself at the thought that he had been neglecting her, even if it was inadvertent. The idea that his obsession could so dominate his mind that he would not even know how much time had passed since he had been in his wife's company, had disturbed him profoundly.

With the afternoon one of pleasant warmth, they had decided to make a tour of the Thornhill tenant farms. It would be an opportunity to introduce all of Lionel's tenants to their new Duchess, to let the ordinary people come to know her, even if the gentry did not wish to, before they set off for London. Cecilia breathed in deeply the scent of bark, grass and the sap rising in the trees. It was a deliciously outdoor smell, finer than the most expensive French perfumes. Their ride had taken them in the opposite direction to the Tall Knight, with Thorpe Manor beyond. Cecilia wondered if it were the case that there were no farms to the north, owned by Thornhill. Or was it that Lionel did not want to see the manor in the distance? Even if it was the far distance.

The trees began to peter out as they approached the first farm. Cecilia could see now that the woodland marked a boundary between Thornhill and the surrounding countryside. There were no walls, fences, or hedges to delineate Lionel's estate, merely the woods, beyond which was open farmland.

"Do the local people have free access to these woods?" she asked.

"Of course. If they did not, my gamekeeper would soon be overrun. The villagers hunt deer in these woods as well as grouse and pheasant. They help keep the numbers under control and do not take more than they need for their own table. It is an arrangement that works for all. The woods are extensive, surrounding the castle to the east, west, and south. Plenty of game for all."

He drew Thor to a halt as the road fell away before them, looping down the side of a hill. Trees lined its route and meadows now replaced the woodland to either side. In the distance, nestled in a dell formed by the coming together of three hills, was a cluster of white buildings. A lazy spire of chimney smoke rose from one of those buildings and Cecilia could see people and livestock.

"Hatch Farm," Lionel announced. "Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Hatch's family, the tenants. Good people and good tenants. I fear I have neglected them somewhat."

"Then let us get reacquainted forthwith," Cecilia said, spurring Summer past him.

Lionel laughed. "You are not in any way shy, are you?"

"Not with the ordinary salt of the earth," Cecilia replied, "I have spent my life among such people. I would rather dance to a farmer's fiddle, drinking from a jug of cider than waltz in a ballroom and sip champagne from a crystal flute."

"Then you are in for a treat. As I recall, the Hatch's take their hospitality as a religion. They will insist we eat with them, no matter how much work is still to be done."

Cecilia shot him a grin as she spurred Summer to a trot. "Then perhaps we should earn our keep and help them."

It took mere moments for the two riders to come within earshot of Hatch farm. By that time, they'd been seen. A gaggle of children gathered in the main yard as Cecilia drew rein at the gate. Then a skinny man of middle years with a careworn face stepped out of a barn, pitchfork over his shoulder.

"Billy, Henry!" the man called to two of the older children, "you take Their Grace's reins now and see their horses stabled and curried. Hop to it, lads!"

Two boys in their teens but with the shoulders and arms of men trotted forward, caps removed from their heads. Cecilia smiled encouragingly as she slipped from the saddle and handed her reins to the nearest. Lionel followed suit.

"Your Graces, welcome!" the skinny man chimed, propping the fork against a wall. "It's been long enough since we had the gentry here. I hope it's not with bad news you come today."

"Not a bit of it, Tom," Lionel beamed. "In fact, it was in regard to the invitation you sent."

The man appeared bewildered for a moment. Then, realization dawned on his expression. "Ah! Margaret must have forgotten to strike your name from the list. After last year's invite, we figured you'd lost interest and we were just bothering you."

Lionel shook his head vigorously. "Of course you weren't! I was rather busy, but I appreciated the gesture every year nonetheless. Besides, this year, I wanted the new Duchess to meet all my tenants. She is keen to get to know all of you, the better to help provide whatever might be needed."

Tom Hatch looked to Cecilia and gave her an appraising look before giving a perfunctory tug of the brim of his cap.

"That's good of you, Your Grace. Taking an interest in the ordinary folks."

"I grew up around just such folks. At Hamilton Hall," Cecilia smiled.

"Aye, I've heard. Lot of talk in the village about the new Duchess. Some folks were saying as how you don't know needlepoint or pianoforte but you're a handy pair of hands when it comes to calving."

Lionel laughed, looking at Cecilia with a raised eyebrow. She also laughed.

"I may have helped in more calvings and lambings than I can count. I am good friends with Master Brook at Old Slade farm. Do you happen to know him?"

"I've seen him at the market in Colnbrook before now, aye," Tom replied. "He thinks highly of you, Your Grace. I'm right glad that you're here."

Cecilia beamed, pleased at the ready acceptance she had found here. Hopefully, all of Lionel's tenants would be as accepting.

"Would you step indoors for a bite to eat and a cuppa?" Tom offered.

"We don't want to keep you from your work," Lionel demurred.

"Nonsense. Wife wouldn't hear of it for you to come out all this way and not have anything," Tom said, already turning back towards the house.

"Perhaps after we've earned it by pitching in and helping out. That way I won't feel guilty for lengthening your day, Master Hatch," Cecilia called after him.

The farmer looked shocked by the offer but Lionel was already removing his coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

"My wife means what she says and will be even less likely to bend than your own good wife," he shrugged, "so, an hour's work to earn luncheon and tea, eh?"

Tom Hatch burst out laughing as Cecilia removed her own coat and proceeded to tie up her skirts, revealing sturdy boots beneath.

"Well, I never. Far be it from me to stop a toff getting his hands dirty. Come on then!"

Cecilia followed, exchanging a delighted grin with Lionel. Tom would doubtless give them the lightest chores to do but it would be good to help out, get to know the children and the laborers as well as the Hatch's themselves. The sun was nearing its own width above the horizon when Tom declared their vittles to be well and truly earned. Cecilia had been forking hay down from the stable loft for Lionel to line the stalls with. She felt a sheen of sweat on her forehead while Lionel had strands of straw sticking out of his hair. They walked to the farmhouse arm-in-arm. Her limbs felt tired but lit by a warm glow, as if the tiredness of hard work bestowed its own particular life force.

Inside, the farmhouse was a large kitchen dominated by a table around which all of the Hatch children were seated. Tom sat at the head, with the older children ranging from his end of the table down to the youngest who sat at Mrs. Doris Hatch's end. Two seats in the middle were reserved for Cecilia and Lionel. Doris and two of her daughters were laying the table. Tom gestured to them both to sit.

The meal was hearty and plentiful. After they had finished with roasted chicken, potatoes, vegetables, gravy, and chunks of warm, freshly baked bread, there were flagons of ale or cider to wash it down.

She and Lionel had not intended to stay for the small party the Hatchs intended to throw, rather planning on reacquainting with the other tenants first. As it was, however, the sun had dipped below the horizon and candles were being lit in the windows—and the pair silently agreed they'd stay for a little longer.

Tom Hatch took out a battered old fiddle while his two burley, eldest boys shifted the table to the far side of the room. A few guests arrived, from neighboring farms. Doris took the hands of one of the younger children and they began to dance. Cecilia approached Lionel who stood awkwardly against the wall.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance?" Cecilia asked, feigning shyness.

"I'm afraid I do not dance," Lionel replied, formally.

"I'm afraid that I must insist," Cecilia countered, taking his hand, "your body wishes to dance even if your mind wills against it."

Lionel had been tapping his foot in time to the music, something he stopped as soon as he realized.

"My leg will not stand it," he whispered.

"Your leg will not stand a waltz, but this is something very different. Let me show you."

Cecilia drew Lionel after her into the middle of the room where the other children and some of the farmhands were taking a turn over the flagstone floor. Those not dancing were stamping their feet or clapping their hands in time with the music that Tom Hatch was playing with skill and gusto. Cecilia took both of Lionel's hands in her own and began to dance, turning a circle around him.

At first, Lionel seemed apprehensive, but that expression soon changed to one of wonder. Cecilia laughed, a feeling of joy bursting from her. In the society of Earls and Dukes, such dancing would be regarded as childish and primitive. In the company of ordinary people though, and with music provided by a simple farmer, probably self-taught, such thoughts did not matter. All that mattered was an expression of enjoyment in the music. An expression of joy, of life.

Lionel raised his hands above Cecilia's head, twisting them so that she spun into a tight embrace. Then he spun her out again after stealing a kiss on her cheek. That made the youngest of the Hatch children laugh aloud when she sat on the lap of one of the older children. Lionel took a step, clearly not wanting to put undue pressure on his leg but taken with the music enough to make the attempt. The tune changed, then changed again.

Finally, Cecilia was breathless and red-faced. She and Lionel drew aside, stepping out into the cobbled yard with two mugs of ale. In the Hatch kitchen, one of the farmhands was playing a tin flute while another beat a rhythm on a tea chest. Tom Hatch was enjoying a dance of his own and Doris and her daughters were preparing sandwiches for the gathered throng.

"Magical," Lionel breathed.

Cecilia nodded, taking gulps of foaming ale. Looking at her, Lionel wiped the residue from her upper lip where it had formed a thick mustache.

"I'm sorry I got so upset over the snub from the county set," Cecilia mumbled. "I should have remembered that some things in life are more important. Like this."

She looked towards the candlelit kitchen and the dance which was still in full flow. Outside, night had replaced day.

"You deserve to be recognized by your peers," Lionel insisted with a wave of his hand, his smile fading. "I am glad you had the idea to bring us here and I agree that this part of life is more reviving to the soul than any number of balls or dinners. But, I will not have my Duchess snubbed. I will not have anyone looking down on you."

Cecilia tossed back her hair, taking another swallow of ale and this time kissing Lionel to transfer her foam mustache to him. They both giggled like schoolchildren.

"It does not bother me in the least, provided you are by my side," she smiled.

"Which I will always be," Lionel replied, fervently.

Cecilia's heart beat with a flurry. "Always?"

" Always ."

He drew her out of the pool of light cast from the kitchen door. The deeper shadows of a barn enveloped them.

Cecilia felt Lionel's arms going about her waist and sank into his embrace as his kiss deepened upon her lips.