Ann Lethbridge - An Earl For The Shy Widow

She looked surprised and pleased.

He frowned. Had she not expected him to acknowledge her idea as helpful?

She sipped at her tea. ‘If I might offer another suggestion...’

He tensed. No doubt this was where he learned the real purpose for her visit. He did not relish making his lack of interest plain. ‘Please do.’

‘Well... If I were you, I would mow the field where we met as soon as possible. It is perfect for harvesting and if you cut it right away you may get another crop before the winter.’

Why hadn’t he thought of that? Because while his horses ate hay, and he made sure they had enough, he’d never questioned how it arrived in the stable. It was not his concern when he had a war to fight. The commissary looked after those sorts of details. ‘I will certainly look into it, thank you.’

She gave him an odd look and finished her tea. ‘And now if you will excuse me, I really should be getting home before my sister wonders what has become of me.’

Ethan glanced out of the window. ‘My carriage awaits you.’ To his surprise, the old coach looked in a lot better shape than it had looked the last time he had inspected it and with Jack between the poles it looked almost lordly.

‘Truly, my lord, I am quite happy walking.’

‘Nevertheless, Mr O’Cleary will be pleased to drive you since Jack is in need of the exercise. I have not had time to hack him out today.’

‘Very well. Since you make it impossible to refuse without seeming disobliging, I will avail myself of your kind offer, my lord.’

He blinked at the forthright speech. No beating around the bush or simpering for this lady. He liked it. He knew where he stood. Unless she was using it as a ploy? Well she would not find him easy to gull, so he would just take her words at face value until he discovered the truth.

And thank heaven she had accepted his offer of the carriage. If she had not, he would have had to walk her all the way home, using up a great deal of time which he really did not have. And yet... He glanced out of the window. A walk with a pretty widowed lady on his arm would be very pleasant indeed.

And just the sort of entanglement in which he would not allow himself to indulge.

He escorted her outside and helped her aboard. Once he had shut the door he went forward to speak to O’Cleary seated on the box. ‘No racing, not on the way there or on the way back.’ He glanced up at the sky. The clouds didn’t look particularly threatening, but one never knew for certain in England. ‘Not even if it rains.’

O’Cleary grinned, touched his hat in acknowledgement of the jibe and set Jack in motion.

Lady Petra lifted her hand in farewell as the coach swept away.

Mow the hay. It was the first helpful suggestion anyone had given him and that it had come from such a pretty lady who looked as if she would be more at home in a London drawing room than in the wilds of Kent was quite a surprise.

Although she had not looked quite so ladylike when she’d been picking his blackberries. He squashed the image that popped into his mind.

Likely someone had encouraged her to make herself useful to a bachelor earl. After all, why would the sister of an earl march about the countryside delivering jars of jam if it wasn’t to get his attention?

* * *

Two mornings after her visit to the Earl, Petra set out to collect mushrooms for the stewpot before the dew was off the grass. She had noticed a fairy ring of them, as they had called them as children, in the same hedgerow where she’d picked the blackberries. She certainly was not going with the expectation of meeting His Lordship, but if she did, she had her excuse ready. After all, while he hadn’t specifically mentioned mushrooms, he had told her to purloin all the blackberries she wanted, so why would he object to her picking mushrooms, as long as she offered him some of her bounty?

A tiny tickle of something pleasant stirred low in her body at the thought of meeting Longhurst again. The same sensation she had felt when he was staring at her bare legs. Never before had the memory of a simple glance caused such feelings.

Nor even Harry had had that sort of visceral effect on her, which was what made it so very strange.

When they first came to Westram, she had suggested to her sisters that as widows they ought to be free to take lovers. It had been her anger at Harry’s abandonment, both before and after he died, that had made her suggest such a wicked idea. An anger that had faded into regret over time. And she certainly hadn’t actually expected to have an opportunity to put such an idea into practice out here in the depths of Kent. No, the last thing she wanted or needed was more hurt in her life.

Besides, this outing was not about her seeing Lord Longhurst again, it was about providing food for their table.

She climbed the stile into the field. At this time of year, the birds were quieter, though there was still the odd cheep as they darted about, feasting on blackberries and grass seeds. The crisp morning air seemed to predict autumn just around the corner. The dew caught the sun’s rays and glinted as if there were diamonds scattered across the top of the grass. It would not remain long; a breeze was already ruffling the long stalks like wind upon water.

She found the mushroom ring she had spotted a few days before, and after carefully bruising one of the caps to ensure it turned pink and not yellow, she cut them off and gently placed them in her basket. The next mushroom she found was a giant puffball hiding in the stinging nettles at the foot of an elm tree. It was large enough to provide both her and Marguerite with an excellent breakfast. Careful to make sure the nettles did not touch her skin, she cut the stalk and soon it was also sitting in the bottom of her basket.

She continued up the rolling stretch of land, making her way to the brow of the low hill which ran through the centre of the field.

Because the grass was so long, most of her harvest grew against the hedge, where the vegetation thinned out. Mushroom picking was easier in woods or a pasture with short grass, but since she had promised Marguerite she would not go into the woods alone, she continued up the hill.

By the time she crested the rise, her basket was brimming with assorted mushrooms and it was time to turn back. She stretched her back and looked about. Two men with their shirts off were hacking at the grass at the far end of the field.

Apparently, Lord Longhurst had taken her advice.

She squinted against the sun’s brightness. Oh, goodness. If she was not mistaken, one of those men was His Lordship himself and the other shorter, leaner figure, Mr O’Cleary.

She frowned. With only two of them working, and at the rate they were progressing, it would take ages to mow this field. After that, they would have to pile it into hayricks to dry. It would take days to finish. Why on earth had he not hired any help?

Unable to contain her curiosity, she continued working her way along the hedgerow, picking one or two mushrooms and then glancing up to see if they had noticed her presence while pretending she had not noticed them. As she drew closer, she could see both men in all their glorious detail, though she really only had eyes for the taller blonde giant of a man.

Lord Longhurst’s chest was broad and well muscled, like a statue of a Roman god, and his arms as he swung the scythe were the most enticing sight she had ever seen. Oh, heavens, the way the muscles in his back rippled with his movement made her insides tighten in a most shocking way. She fought the strong desire to run her hands over that back and down his spine and... She could not remember ever seeing a flesh-and-blood man who could serve as a model for a Greek god. Such a gorgeous specimen of the male of the human species.