Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Colin hadn’t the least idea what he was meant to do with a wife.

Currently, his plan was to hide whenever necessary, and it had been working well for the last few days. Hubble had been at Winterbourne from sunrise to sunset, working through the extensive list of repairs Colin had written. He had hired on two additional men to help speed the work along. With the incoming inheritance, Colin could afford it.

He could also afford—and sorely needed—a housekeeper, maids, footmen, and gardeners, but he hadn’t the faintest idea where to find them or how to determine if they were of good stock. Mercy could use a lady’s maid as well, or so he imagined. After her request for help unbuttoning her gown that first afternoon, he knew it was a necessity.

No man’s heart should be put through that repeatedly when he was refraining from a physical relationship with his wife.

But, again, where would he find a good maid for her?

Colin set the quill directly beside his sheet of paper and rubbed a hand through his hair. He’d written out a list of possible servants and wages, budgeting the precise amount he could spend on each and how many he felt the house needed. He had then written out a list of the servants his parents had employed in his youth and how many were needed to keep Winterbourne running smoothly.

He felt he’d trimmed just enough to make for a reasonable staff.

Rising, Colin stacked the rest of the papers and slid them into his drawer. He replaced the pen in its holder, closed the ink and moved it to the corner. He pushed his chair in until it was perfectly lined up with the center drawer, then stood back and looked over his desk. Once he was content that everything was in its proper place, he picked up the sheet of paper listing servants needed and potential wages and went to find Flint.

Colin flinched when he closed the door to his study, the pounding of a hammer much closer than he expected. He followed the sound toward the grand staircase and peeked up to see Hubble and his men working on the steps. Relief swept through him. He would soon be able to scratch another item from the list of things that needed to be repaired in this devil of a house.

Hubble looked up and noticed him, then wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. “Almost finished here. Then we’ll move on to the roof.”

“Will the snow be a hindrance?”

Hubble exchanged a glance with one of his men. “We’ll do what we can. The sky looked clear this morning.”

But the chill that lingered in the air, the one that seeped into the walls and made his bedchamber cold that morning, spoke of incoming snow. His father had always been able to feel when a storm was rolling in. Colin never understood his methods, but the man had often been correct. After his father had died a few years ago, Colin lost the warning of incoming storms.

This morning, he had that feeling, and he wondered if now that he was married and nearly thirty, he had developed the same sense for changes in weather.

“Thank you, Hubble. Keep me apprised.”

“Of course, sir.”

Colin left the men and went in search of his butler. He found Flint in the dining room, inspecting the silver.

“I have a task for you, Flint.”

“Anything, sir.”

He proffered the sheet of paper. “Will you go about seeing these positions are filled? I ran the calculations and these wages seem fair to me. Are you in agreement?”

Flint looked over the paper. “More than generous, sir.”

That was undoubtedly an exaggeration, but Colin took it to mean the figures were reasonable.

“When shall I ask them to begin?” Flint asked.

“The sooner the better.” He went to leave but paused and turned back. “The maid for Mrs. Birchall is of the utmost urgency.”

“Yes, sir. I have a woman in mind for that position.”

Colin’s heart started beating faster, though he had no earthly idea why. “Do you happen to know where I could find Mrs. Birchall at this time?”

“She was in the garden, last I saw.”

“Thank you, Flint.”

Colin strode down the corridor to the door that let him outside. The frigid air bit at his nose when he stepped outside. He wrinkled it, staving off the chill, and wondered why he didn’t think to retrieve his greatcoat before leaving the house. None of the snowfalls they’d had in the last few weeks remained for long, but it was cold. Grass crunched beneath his boots, the blades icy from the now-frozen morning dew. With clouds covering the sun, they’d never had the chance to thaw.

The garden had been his mother’s domain. Her design had been fairly simple, but when he was unable to continue paying his gardener last year, it had fallen into ruin, the flowers overgrowing and spreading over each strip of lawn in a wild array. Now that winter was fast approaching, dead stalks and dry shrubs remained, giving the area the appearance of a wild, unkempt bit of land.

Had his mother been here to see its neglect, she would have been horrified. There was one benefit, at least, to her absence the last few years. She was not subjected to the decay of her home.

Colin swallowed that truth, pushing it away and searching the grounds for his wife.

He was still unused to having her in his home, but he would readily admit how nice it had been to have someone to share dinner with the last few nights. Her conversation was never dull.

It had been at least four years since he’d had regular company at dinner. Colin’s father had died nearly five years ago, directly after his sister Honora was married. Mother only remained at Winterbourne for her mourning period before she left to live with Honora under the pretext of helping Honora with her new babe.

He cringed, considering how Mother might have appreciated being invited to the wedding. The letter he’d written informing her of the marriage felt paltry and insufficient, but had he invited her with enough time to see her at the wedding, she would have stayed at Winterbourne, and he did not believe she had any interest in seeing the house—not until Colin had fully restored it to its former glory. Mother had left to live with Honora because the rough nature of a crumbling estate had been difficult for someone of her constitution.

Mercy was made of much hardier stock. Or so Colin told himself.

A rustling caught his attention on the far side of the garden, and he followed the motion. Surely it was a fox and not his wife, because it was low to the ground.

Besides, it was far too cold to walk out here. The garden was no longer the peaceful respite he’d wished for.

When he stepped around the dry, dead shrubbery, he came to a halt. Mercy was indeed outside, but she was not in the formal garden. She was kneeling in the kitchen garden beyond the short stone wall, burying her hands in the packed mud.

What the devil?

Colin’s steps quickened. Mercy looked up from where she knelt. Her cheeks were bright red, making her freckles pop. Her hair was tied back and a bonnet fastened to keep the sun from her eyes—though she did not need it today with clouds covering the sky.

“Good afternoon, Colin,” she said, yanking something from the ground and tossing it into a pile of overgrown green and yellow stalks.

“What are you doing?” he asked, doing his level best to hide his alarm.

“Pulling weeds.”

“Mercy,” he said, staring at her .

She seemed to sense his discomfort and pushed back, sitting on her heels. She only wore one glove, and she fiddled with the edge of it now. “What is it?”

“This is not a task for the mistress of the house.”

She stared at him. “Weeding the garden?”

“Yes, Mercy. Weeding the garden is for the gardeners.”

“But…” She glanced behind him, then her copper eyebrows pulled together. “I inquired with Cook, and she told me there were no gardeners.”

It took a moment for his mind to wrap around her words. “Why were you inquiring with Cook about the state of the gardens?”

“I was helping her with the—with something , and she mentioned the weeds. I have a good deal of free time, so I did not think it would be an issue if I was to help.”

Colin did not have a ready reply.

“I often assisted my mother in our kitchen garden, Colin. It was one of the many things I’ve done, and I am very capable of pulling weeds from the ground so our vegetables have adequate room to grow. If we do not tidy the area, it will be impossible to find our leeks and turnips through winter. It is not offending the servants that I am out here, surely.”

He considered his butler. Flint hadn’t seemed the least concerned with her activities, and he had known precisely where she was. Was Colin upset for the wrong reasons? No one but the servants would know of her activities. If she had weeded gardens with her mother, then it could not be so terrible to do so here?

He thought of his own mother. She never would have taken such a task upon herself. It simply wasn’t done.

He shook his head. Mercy wasn’t a vicar’s wife; she was the mistress of Winterbourne. “I have instructed Flint to hire the servants we need. Gardeners were among that list.”

“That will be immensely helpful.” She pulled another weed.

He stared at the clump of roots she had tossed into her pile. “So you needn’t do that anymore.”

Mercy frowned. “Will they start tomorrow?”

Colin shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, no. I am not certain when he will find them or when they will begin. Soon, I hope.”

Mercy reached forward, took another weed at the base, and pulled it free. “Then I suppose I should continue to do this until they begin, or the garden will be overrun and we will not have all the vegetables we need in order to eat.”

When she phrased it like that, he felt he was the one being ridiculous for refusing to help her.

Was he? If he returned to the house right now, what would he do?

Probably sit at his desk and organize another plan for the renovation of his estate. He’d yet to even consider the exterior of the house beyond the roof.

Colin suppressed the inclination to return to his fire-warmed study and instead moved to Mercy’s side. “Where have you already weeded?”

She blinked up at him before pointing. “Only that section there.”

He moved to the corner she hadn’t yet begun and knelt on the cold ground. He grabbed the base of a weed, tugged, and the entire top slid from his hand. He tried again, but only managed to pull off some of the top leaves.

Mercy chuckled.

“The ground is nearly solid. ”

“It is not easy,” she agreed. “I have been focusing on the space nearest the vegetables.”

He tried again, this time digging into the ground and managing to pull the entire weed from the earth, roots and all. Raising the weed in the air, he felt the budding seeds of accomplishment nestle in his chest. He grinned at Mercy.

“Well done,” she said, reaching for another weed and expertly pulling it from the hard mud.

Colin reached for a larger weed. He’d honed his muscles in the last year, especially as servants left and he did more to keep his house in order. He might as well put them to use. This particular weed looked to be a wretchedly ugly variety, and he couldn’t imagine his wife would be able to free it from the earth on her own. He pulled hard, anticipating the difficulty it would present, and his hand slid smoothly over the rough stalk. Only this time, it hurt . He sucked a quick breath between his teeth and found red blooming from a cut down the center of his palm.

He squeezed it into a fist.

“Have you hurt yourself?”

“It is minor.”

“You have,” Mercy said, pushing to her feet. She hurried over and reached for his hand. Her nails were dark with dirt, her fingers smudged, but he let her take his hand and turn it over. “Oh, Colin. We must go inside at once and clean this.”

He liked the way she fussed over him, but it felt a little silly to worry over a minor cut—especially one received from a plant. Surely he could rinse the dirt and it would cease bleeding on its own. “It is only a small wound.”

“Which needs to be washed and wrapped. Come, it won’t take long.” She brushed the dirt from her gown and led the way toward the house .

Colin walked at her side. They made their way into the house and down to the kitchen. “The stillroom ought to have what we need,” Mercy said, pushing the door open and yanking the one glove off.

Colin paused before following her into the room. She’d only lived in this house for five days. “You are familiar with the kitchen already?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I introduced myself to Mrs. Johns, and she gave me a tour yesterday. I wanted to thank her for the lovely meals.”

Of course she had. She embodied politeness. Had that been an oversight on his part? Should he have brought her down to the kitchen and introduced her to the cook?

Mercy pulled a bowl from the shelf and took it to the pump in the corner before filling it.

Colin hung back, watching her, unsure if he was impressed by her ability and knowledge of the kitchen area or frustrated he had not thought to provide the tour himself.

It was certainly both.