Ann Lethbridge - An Earl For The Shy Widow

She took a long slow swing at the stems at ankle height and a swathe of hay keeled over. She took a step forward and swung again and another swathe went down in defeat. In two swings she’d cut as much as he had with ten.

Clearly growing up in the city with a customs clerk for a father had not prepared him for the life of an earl with a country estate. Neither had life in the army.

‘I see what you mean,’ he said, relieving her of the scythe and handing it back to O’Cleary. ‘May I try?’ He didn’t want her exhausting herself.

‘Certainly. Before you start always make sure there is no one close by. Swung with force, the blade can do considerable damage to a human limb.’

To his nonsensical male disappointment, she stepped back, untucked her skirts and brushed them down, looking perfectly demure.

‘O’Cleary,’ Ethan growled, ‘stay well back.’

He picked up the scythe he’d been using and swung as she had done. The damn thing nearly flew out of his hands.

‘It is more about the swing than the force,’ she said.

He tried again, this time achieving a smooth half circle that was not nearly as tiring as what he had been doing before. He tried a few more swings and was surprised by how much progress he made.

‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Mr O’Cleary, it is your turn to try. Move a little to the right so you are parallel to His Lordship but well clear of his blade.’

O’Cleary touched his forelock and did as instructed. Soon he, too, was swinging in great form and moving forward steadily.

So much for his cynicism. Lady Petra really did know what she was talking about. He leaned on his implement. ‘Thank you, Lady Petra. We will have this field done in no time.’

She beamed at him and he grinned at her. Her smile faded. ‘With only the two of you it is going to take a few days, even so.’

‘It will,’ he said, unsure what he had done to wipe the smile from her face. Women, they were all the same. He just did not understand them. Indeed, he had no wish to understand them, even if they were as pretty as a picture. ‘I ought to get back to work. Thank you again.’

He hefted the scythe and joined O’Cleary, swinging his scythe in easy arcs. The next time he looked up, she was gone from view.

* * *

Over the next few hours, he and O’Cleary made amazing progress, but every now and then the vision of a tiny lady with her skirts caught up, expertly swinging a scythe, popped into his mind.

He felt like he’d been ambushed and had not yet got his troops back into proper order.

Perched on an upturned bucket, Petra watch Jeb groom Patch with a critical eye. When she had lived at home, she’d had her own riding horse, Daisy, and had learned how to care for her. She enjoyed working with horses, but this was another thing Jeb had decided was too lowly to be undertaken by a lady. So, having helped Becky make the bread first thing this morning, she’d come out to watch Jeb work, mostly so she would not disturb Marguerite at her drawing.

‘How old are you, Jeb?’ she asked.

He straightened and turned to face her. ‘Sixteen, my lady.’

So young! Yet hadn’t she known exactly how her life should be at sixteen? Wife to Harry, whom she’d assumed would become a gentleman farmer.

Why had she not seen that, while Harry had enjoyed his visits to her brothers, he was not the least bit interested in the land? He’d liked the hunting and the rollicking around the neighbouring villages getting up to all sorts of tricks, which she had known nothing about. After their marriage, he had made it perfectly clear that residing in the country would be a sort of living death for him. He declared he belonged in town, where he could continue to enjoy the company of his friends and, as she discovered later, any female who happened to come into his orbit.

A pang seized her. She quelled it. She never allowed herself to think about his unfaithfulness. It was simply too demeaning.

She sighed. Red had been right in cautioning her against setting her sights on Harry, but in those days, she had been so sure of everything. Now she felt as if she knew absolutely nothing, although her stupid body seemed to be attracted to the first handsome man to cross her path since Harry died.

Which was nonsense. She hadn’t given a thought to that sort of thing before she married, so why would she need to think it about it now she was a widow? She was a lady after all, not some lowly maiden.

Jeb 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.