was staring at her. Oh, yes, he’d told her his age. She frowned. ‘That means you started working here when you were fourteen. Isn’t that rather young?’
Surprise filled his expression. ‘Why, no, my lady. Me da started work up at Longhurst Park when he was nobbut ten. Under-groom he were then. He said we were spoiled going to school and not working till we were fourteen as our ma insisted upon.’ He grinned. ‘To hear tell, it was a fine life up at the Park till the old lord up and died. The fellow that came after him was sickly and spent most of his time in London, so he had no need of the horses or the staff. I was supposed to train there when I was old enough, but it were not to be.’ He went back to currying Patch’s flank.
‘Where does your father work now?’
Jeb shrugged. ‘Died of the lung disease three years ago. Leaving Ma to raise five young ’uns on her own. God’s blessing it were when this here job came up or we might have ended up on the parish.’
Guilt assailed. Why had she not known this? But it was Red who had hired Jeb before she and her sisters had arrived in Westram. ‘I suppose your mother is helping the other ladies with the millinery now?’ She winced, as even that work wasn’t certain.
‘Nah, my lady. She cooks for a family out beyond Ightham.’ His gaze held sadness. ‘She gets home one day a month. The little ’uns miss her, but me and my older sister do the best we can with them. Suzy does a bit of lacemaking, but it be hard for her to do much with the baby an’ all.’
‘Baby?’
‘Ah, he be four now. Right little handful.’ He grinned fondly. ‘The other three help out.’
This vision of Jeb as head of a family was shocking. And for a mother to be separated from her young children! A vision of singed biscuits popped into her head. ‘Your mother is a good cook, then?’
‘Yes. Trained she did, up at the Park when she were a lass. Had to give it up when she married me da, of course, but he had a good job by then.’
A good cook. Now, that was something. ‘When will she be home next?’
Jeb rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Next week, I reckon, my lady. Sunday.’
‘Do you think she might be willing to cook for us here on that day?’
Jeb turned to look at her. ‘What, my lady?’
‘I would like to invite a guest for dinner, but we will need someone to cook for us. Your mother can take home any leftovers, and, of course, we would pay her for her time.’
His eyes lit up. ‘I’ll have my sister write and ask her, but I am sure as how she would be pleased to help out. A bit of extra never goes amiss.’
Hopefully Marguerite would not object to spending a little bit extra next week. Now if she could convince the Earl to accept her invitation, she might kill two birds with one stone by finding His Lordship a cook as well as help Jeb’s family out by having their mother live at home. The thought pleased her inordinately, even if it did mean having to entertain the Earl for dinner.
* * *
Ethan tied Jack to the fence in front of Westram Cottage. At first, he’d thought to refuse the ladies’ invitation to dine with them, but the thought of a half-decent meal, instead of O’Cleary’s stew, was far too tempting for any man, especially one who liked his food as much as Ethan did.
Besides, strangely enough, he was looking forward to seeing Lady Petra again. Which wasn’t moving the next project on his list in the right direction.
According to his man of business, who had his office in Sevenoaks, he was not entirely destitute. He’d offered the heartening news that if Ethan was careful in the management of the estate, and if he perhaps found himself a suitably wealthy bride, he should come around very nicely.
The noose tying him to this estate was growing ever tighter, but he still had hopes of returning to his army career. After much discussion, Ethan had reluctantly agreed to the man of business making discreet enquiries regarding the availability of such a bride. He had indicated his preference for a sensible woman who would understand the concept of a marriage of convenience. Preferably one who had some experience of country living and all that it entailed, so he could leave matters in her hands. There were to be no commitments or promises until Ethan had met the lady.
He marched up to the ladies’ front door and rapped the knocker. After some discussion with O’Cleary, he’d decided not to wear his uniform. Since a military man had little use for civilian clothes, his wardrobe was limited, but he did have a coat he’d bought from Weston on a whim during one of his visits to London. It wasn’t exactly evening wear, but O’Cleary had agreed it would do for dinner in the country. Though why on earth the batman thought himself an expert in the matter Ethan didn’t know.
A maid guided him to a small parlour at the front of the cottage.
The two ladies rose to their feet when he entered. He gave them his warmest smile and bowed. ‘Good day, ladies.’
They dipped their heads in unison.
‘Please be seated, Lord Longhurst,’ Lady Marguerite said. She glanced at the servant. ‘That will be all, thank you, Becky. May I offer you some sherry, Lord Longhurst?’
‘Thank you.’
He took his glass when she poured one for each of them. Both ladies perched on the sofa. He sat opposite in the armchair and raised his glass. ‘To your very good health.’
‘Your health,’ they replied.
He took an appreciative sip of his drink. The sherry was of excellent quality.
A silence descended. Ethan dragged out his party manners. ‘What a snug house you ladies have.’
‘Thank you,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We like it very much.’
‘There is one thing I do not quite understand,’ he said, recalling some earlier musings. ‘The village has your family name and yet your family does not own any property in these parts, apart from this cottage.’
‘It is quite a long story,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘But it is not an unusual one. It dates back to Oliver Cromwell’s rule.’
‘Do not tell me your family once owned Longhurst Park?’ Blast, he had not anticipated that when he asked the question, though he should have. He really ought to find out more about this branch of his family’s history. He just hadn’t thought it important before now.
‘Oh, no,’ Lady Petra said. She chuckled. ‘Actually, it is Lord Compton who is the usurper.’ Her amusement lit her blue eyes like sunlight dancing on water. He found himself enchanted. He suppressed the sensation. He had seen that sort of conspiratorial amusement on his mother’s face. It had been a lie then and was likely one now, too. Ladies’ smiles were not to be trusted, even if they were pretty and enticing.
‘Petra, you really should not say such things,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘It is all water under the bridge. While Compton Manor, then known as Bedwell Hall, did belong to our family, our ancestors supported the idea of a republic. After the Restoration, we lost the title and the land. Charles the Second bequeathed Bedwell to the Comptons, all except this cottage, which was occupied by an elderly lady who had maintained
