Reforming Lord Ragsdale (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances)

Chapter 13

B ut ... but ... your mother tells me ... I thought you did not wish to speak of him,” she stammered. The mare sensed her sudden agitation and stepped in a dainty half circle. She patted the animal into control, searching for the right words. “I mean, your mother, your banker, David Breedlow even—they all warned me not to bring up the subject.”

He spoke to his horse, and they continued. “They are wrong,” he said finally when they were some distance in front of the carriage, and he could slow the pace slightly. “It may have been my choice at one time, but I find now that avoiding the topic breaks my heart.”

His words were so simple and so full of feeling that they went straight to her own heart. As she rode beside Lord Ragsdale, Emma realized that she would never be able to look at him in the same way again. It was powerful knowledge and left her almost breathless. What do I say to this man? she wondered. He was looking at her, as though expecting something, and as she searched her mind for something to say, she thought of her mother, that woman of few words and much heart.

“Tell me, my lord,” she said simply, remembering with an ache those calm words spoken to her so many times.

“I think he must have been the best man who ever lived, Emma,” Lord Ragsdale said, with a glance over his shoulder as though he feared his mother could hear him. The carriage was only a speck in the distance. He cleared his throat and smiled ruefully down at his saddle. “But I suppose that is part of the problem.” He reached over and touched her arm. “Have you ever tried to measure up to an impossible ideal?”

She considered his question and understood him for the first time. She smiled at him and shook her head. “We were all so human in the Costello household, my lord. I ... I was the only daughter, and my brothers either ignored me or were happy I was nothing like them.”

He nodded. “I imagine it was a lively household, Emma. Perhaps you will tell me about it some time.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, trying to keep the doubt from her voice. “But we are speaking of you and your father, sir, are we not?”

“We are. He was all goodness, all manners, impeccable in character and possessing every virtue, I think. I was a younger son for much of my early years, thank goodness, so the onus of perfection rested on my brother. Claude was very much like Father.”

He paused then, and she had the good sense not to rush into the silence. Perhaps I am learning wisdom , she thought as she watched Lord Ragsdale struggle within himself.

“Claude died when I was at Harrow, and then Father transferred his entire interest to me.”

Again there was a long silence. Quiet, Emma , she told herself as they rode along, side by side.

“I don’t mean to say he wasn’t interested in me before, Emma, but this was different.” He shook his head. “I am probably not making much sense, but that’s how it was. Claude died of a sudden fever, and overnight, I was the family hope.”

He looked at her. “There are some things that the heir learns that I never learned. I suppose it becomes a way of life. Too bad I was a poor student. ”

Two weeks ago—a week ago even—she would have agreed with him. This is odd , she thought as they rode along. I want to defend him from himself, and he is someone I do not even like. She looked at the sky; it was still overcast. She could not blame her strange thoughts on too much sun. Her next deliberation came unwillingly, but she considered it honestly as Lord Ragsdale rode beside her in silence. Can it be that I have nourished myself so long on hatred that I do not recognize an attempt at friendship? I cannot even remember my last friend.

It was a shocking thought, almost, but instead of dismissing it, as she would have done only recently, she allowed herself the luxury of considering it. That is what I will do , she thought. I will leave myself open to a change of feeling. She nodded. It is a prudent measure, taking into allowance the plain fact that I must serve this man until he considers my debt paid.

“Emma, what on earth are you thinking?”

It was a quiet question, coming almost from nowhere, so wrapped up in her own thoughts was she. Emma knew she did not have to answer it, but as she looked at Lord Ragsdale again, took in his seriousness where earlier there had only been a certain irritating vapidity, she felt that she owed him an answer. She reined in the mare and turned to face him.

“I am thinking, sir, that I would like to be your friend.”

The impudence of her words caught her breath away, Emma, you nincompoop , she scolded herself as Lord Ragsdale stared at her. You’re hardly in a position to recommend yourself to a marquess. When will you ever learn to keep your mouth shut?

“I ... I’m sorry,” she apologized when he continued to say nothing. “That was probably not good form, my lord. Forgive it.”

I will die of embarrassment if he just stares at me , she thought, her mind in a panic now. Suppose he turns his back and rides ahead? Or worse yet, makes me dismount and get in the carriage with the others and that witch Acton? “I’m sorry,” she mumbled again .

“Well, I’m not,” Lord Ragsdale said. “Emma, let’s shake on this. It’s nice to have a friend.”

She looked at him in amazement, well aware that her face was flaming red. He was holding out his hand to her and sidling his horse next to the mare. Instinctively, she held out her hand. They shook hands, Emma holding her breath and looking him in the eye. She took a deep breath then and plunged ahead. “Since we are resolved to be friends, my lord, you can rest assured that no matter what you tell me about you and your father, I will not judge.”

He smiled, and some of the ravaged look left his face. “You will not dare, as my friend, will you?” he murmured. “Let us ride ahead a little.” He put spurs to his hunter, and she followed just as nimbly.

When they were a good distance from the carriage, he slowed his horse, then rested his leg across the saddle as they sauntered along. “As a second son, I was supposed to embrace an army career. All that changed when Claude died. After Harrow, I found myself at Brasenose.” He sighed. “I was not a good student. The warden remembers me well and probably is not suffering cousin Robert Claridge any better than he did me.”

“Did your papa rake you down and rail on?” she asked. “I know mine would have.”

He shook his head. “Papa was much too kind to do that,” he replied.

I wonder if that was such a kindness , she thought. Sometimes nothing says love like a really good brawl between fathers and sons , Emma thought, thinking of some memorable rows. I wonder if your father was as good a man as you think , she considered, then tucked the thought away. Surely Lord Ragsdale knew his own father better than she, who had never met the man.

“He would come to Oxford and sigh over me and remind me that the family was depending on me,” the marquess said. “He was right, of course. ”

“My lord, did you begin to drink and wench then?” she asked suddenly.

He was silent a moment, reflecting on her quietly spoken question. “I suppose I did,” he said slowly. “Of course, it seems as though I have always engaged in too much gin and the petticoat line.” He looked at her without a blush. “At least I do not gamble too.”

She laughed. He joined in briefly, then put his leg back into the stirrup and cantered ahead. Again she followed.

“Papa commanded the East Anglia regiment, and they were called up during the ’98,” he continued. “I had always wanted an army career, and I badgered Papa to free me from Brasenose’s environs. He did, finally, and I joined him in Cork. Oh, Emma.”

She did not disturb the silence that followed, because she found herself forced back into the ’98 herself. She was fifteen then, almost sixteen, and she remembered staying indoors when ragged mobs or uniformed soldiers passed the estate, the one slouching on the prowl, the other marching smartly. And Papa would bang on the dinner table and shake a finger at her brothers, warning them of the folly in getting involved in a quarrel that was not theirs. And so we did not , she thought, and see where it got us. Mama and Tom are dead, and I do not know where the rest of you are. She looked at the marquess and knew that sooner or later, he would ask the inevitable question.

“Was your family involved, Emma?”

She shook her head, relieved she did not have to lie yet. “We were not, for all that we lived not far from Ennisworthy and ... and Vinegar Hill.”

“Dreadful place,” he commented. “How did you not get involved?”

She stared straight ahead. “My father was a Protestant landowner, my lord. It was not our fight.”

“Truly, Emma?” he asked quietly.

“Truly, sir.” It was right enough. If he did not know any more about Ireland than Vinegar Hill, he would never come up with another connection, and she would not have to relive anything more, beyond that summer of 1798. She was afraid to look at him and chose instead to go on the attack. “But we were talking of you, my lord. Were you glad enough to be in the army at last?”

He shook his head, then motioned his horse off the road. She followed, wondering what he was doing. He dismounted then and helped her down. “Let’s sit here, Emma,” he said. “When the carriage arrives, we can wave them on.”

She was glad enough to dismount and only hoped that she did not grimace as she walked with him to the tree.

“A little stiff, are we?” he asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

“I haven’t ridden since 1803,” she said, and then wished she had not.

“Now, why does that year ring a bell?” he asked, more to himself than to her.

Emma held her breath.

“Never mind, never mind,” he said and sat under the tree, leaning back against the trunk. She threw the reins over her horse’s head and sat down, when both animals were cropping grass by the road. “Where was I? Ah, yes, the army.” He began to rub his forehead. “I discovered, to my chagrin, that I liked the army no more than I liked school.” He made a face. “All those stupid rules. Papa had bought me a captaincy, and let me state here that you have seldom seen a more inept officer than I was.”

“But I thought you wanted to join the army,” she said. She sniffed at the pleasant, earthy aroma of autumn’s leaves blending into the soil. I could wish it were a sunnier day , she thought, and that our topic was a cheerful one. This could be a pleasant setting.

“I thought I did want the army, but the fascination did not endure long.” He turned to regard her. “Emma, has it ever occurred to you what a stupid system it is for a man to buy a commission? The most cloth-headed private in the king’s East Anglia knew more than I did about soldiering.” He sighed and picked up her hand absentmindedly. “And there we were among the saddest kind of poverty, and people who hated us. War is not all it is cracked up to be. Uniforms get dirty fast. Everyone starts to stink.” He paused. “And people die. Oh, Emma, how they die.”

He released her hand and sat in silence again, rubbing his forehead over his eye patch.

“My father died at Vinegar Hill because I did not have the wit to save him. My sorrows, Emma, for such a good man to die that way!”

The words burst out of him, and she jumped. He gripped her hand again, as if unable to go on without her physical presence. She squeezed his hand in return, and in another moment, he released her, mumbling some apology.

“I wish I could say it was a glorious battle, but it wasn’t even anything important, Emma. Some of the mob had killed a cow not far from the picket line and butchered it for those enormous copper pots. You could tell they were hungry devils. I think I felt more sorry for them than anything else,” he said. “I mean, we were just standing around watching and nothing more.”

She could not wait through another silence. “And then what, my lord?”

“I don’t know why, but one of my men leaped up from the picket line, stormed halfway up the hill, and grabbed a hunk of that wretched beef.” Lord Ragsdale’s voice had a wondering tone to it, as though the matter still puzzled him. “True, we had been on half rations for several days ourselves, but why that? It was such an irrational, impulsive gesture.”

Emma leaned closer until their shoulders were touching. “I do not understand how this is your fault, my lord.”

“Well, it was,” he replied, his voice grim. “I was standing right next to the man, and all I could do as he sprinted up the hill was look around for my sergeant, to ask him what to do! By the time I found my sergeant, the mob had swarmed down the hill and dragged Father off his horse where he sat with his back to them. I’ll never know if he was even aware what had happened, so fast did it occur.” He slapped his fist in his hand. “I was so inadequate!”

Emma took his hand this time, but he shook her off and mounted his horse again. She hurried to join him, but he was far down the road before she was even in the saddle again. The carriage was close now, but she waved to the coachman and hurried at a gallop after Lord Ragsdale, thinking to herself how odd it was that sometimes the largest events hinged on the smallest actions. She felt the tears sting her eyelids. Sometimes innocently offering a traveler a bed for the night can lead to complete ruin. But I cannot think about that , she told herself as she dug her heel into the mare’s side.

She caught up with Lord Ragsdale in another mile, but only because he had dismounted, his lathered horse following behind him now like a large dog. She walked her horse alongside him, and she wondered for a moment if he even realized she was there beside him, so deep was his concentration on the road in front of him.

“I started up the hill after Father, but there wasn’t any point,” he continued, his eyes on the road ahead, his voice dull. “From the time they grabbed him until I was wounded couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it still seems to go on forever, when I think about it.” He looked at her then. “And Emma, I think about it all the time. I don’t suppose an hour goes by that I do not think about it.”

Of course you think about it , she thought, her own heart full. You are idle and have nothing to fill your time. Now, if you were serving out an indenture, you would discover that probably two hours would pass before you thought about it. Emma longed to tell him that she understood what he was suffering, but she held her tongue. For you would only demand to know why I think myself an authority on this kind of pain. I haven’t your courage to tell yet .

He stopped and raised his hands to her in an impotent gesture. “He disappeared into a crowd of men and women with pikes and clubs. Then I was struck in the eye by a pike, and I was blinded by my own blood. I don’t remember anything else.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well.”

“I suppose,” he replied, but he did not sound convinced. “Others say that too. They took me by ambulance to Cork, and at least I was spared the sight of his head on a pike at the top of Vinegar Hill.” He shuddered. “There wasn’t enough left of his body to transport home for burial.”

“Heaven help you!” she exclaimed and took him by the arm. He suddenly twined his fingers in hers then, and they strolled along hand in hand. After a few yards, he looked down at their hands.

“Someone would think we were having a pleasant outing,” he commented as he released her. “I do not have many of those, Emma.”

“You will, my lord,” she said finally, not so much that she believed it herself, but that he needed to hear it. “You will return to London and drink tea in Clarissa Partridge’s sitting room, and take her to the art gallery, and think of other things.” She stopped and took his arm again. “It will help if you do not flog yourself on a regular basis, and if you find some suitable employment.”

“Up you get, Emma,” he said as he cupped his hands and helped her into the sidesaddle. He mounted the hunter again, and they set out to overtake the carriage. “There’s the rub, Emma. I’m obviously not suited for the army, and I only squeaked by at Oxford. I would be a poor vicar, because I do not believe the Almighty is very nice. Mama assures me that I do not need to work ever, but you know, I will go crazy if I do not find something useful to do.”

“Perhaps you will find sufficient occupation in managing your estates, my lord,” she suggested.

He made a face. “Unlikely, my dear secretary. My land is prodigiously well managed already and provides me with an obscene revenue.”

She cast about for something to say to encourage him. “I suspect that soon enough you will be a husband and then eventually, a father. This can be time-consuming.”

He smiled. “Ah, yes, the unexceptionable Clarissa. She is lovely, Emma, and I am eager for you to meet her. But seriously, one cannot breed all the time. Not even I,” he added generously. “And Clarissa is probably not likely to. . .” He stopped, and grinned at her. “Yes, Emma, I need to find an occupation that will keep me too busy to think about what a wretched excuse for a man I am.”

She could think of nothing else to say. Mama would have scolded him for being so centered on self as he was, but Lord Ragsdale’s agonies struck too close to the bone for her to offer advice. I am a fine one to suggest personal improvement, when I spend spare moments wishing I could reverse that awful day in 1803 and begin it again. It would end differently, if only I could take it back.

There was no need for further conversation then or that night during their stay at the inn. After dinner, Lord Ragsdale announced his intention to take a stroll, and something in his tone told them all that he did not wish company. He was still gone when she crawled into bed and pinched out the candle. Walk some miles for me, my lord , she thought drowsily as her eyes closed.

They arrived at Staples Hall the next day around noon. Miracle of miracles, the sun shone on the East Anglia coast. The contrast of blue sky and low chalk cliffs was almost blinding, Emma thought as they rode along the seacoast route. The wind was bracing and reminded her of home more forcefully than anything she had yet experienced in England. I like it here , she thought all at once. There were no soft Wicklow Hills, and the shades of green were even now just struggling out from under winter, but the landscape was promising. She felt her heart rising like a lark .

Lord Ragsdale seemed to read her thoughts. “Most people think it too dramatic for comfort,” he commented as he watched her face.

“I think it just right,” she replied. “I suppose the wind can really roar through here.”

He nodded, a smile of remembrance on his face. “The rain blows sideways so the glass doesn’t even get wet.”

The manor was much smaller than she expected, with gray stone and white-framed windows. The front lawn was sparse of shrubbery, and the few trees were stunted and permanently bent into the wind. She looked at Lord Ragsdale in some surprise.

“Where is the big house, you are thinking?” he questioned. “Grandfather resisted adding onto it, and Papa couldn’t bear to change anything, either. I think it a little small myself, but Mama would probably be aghast if I changed anything.”

The bailiff met them at the door with a short line of servants, who curtsied and bowed as they entered the hall. Emma looked about her in appreciation and allowed the housekeeper to take her cloak. Lord Ragsdale handed over his hat and overcoat and gestured to the balding man in well-worn leathers.

“Emma, this is Evan Manwaring, my bailiff. Evan, this is. . .”

The bailiff stepped forward and bowed, to Emma’s dismay. “You didn’t tell me you had married, my lord,” he said, before Lord Ragsdale could finish his sentence. “May I say that your exertions have certainly borne fruit.”

Emma gasped, and then laughed out loud. “Oh, sir, you do not understand.”

“She is my secretary,” the marquess said hastily, his face red. “Oh, don’t look so startled! It’s a long story, to be sure, but permit me to promise you that Emma Costello here has a right understanding of my correspondence and financial affairs. Emma, this is Mr. Manwaring.”

They shook hands as the bailiff stammered out his apologies, then had a chuckle on himself. He wiped his hand across his shining baldness and scrutinized Emma. “It’s an honest mistake. You seemed so easy-like together.” He stepped closer to the marquess and tried to whisper. “Your secretary?”

“My secretary,” Lord Ragsdale replied firmly. “You will own that she is better to look at than David Breedlow, drat his carcass, and she does not cheat me.”

Emma thought of Fae Moullé, and their inflated millinery shop figures, and had the good grace to blush. What he doesn’t suspect will certainly not hurt him , she thought even as she owned to a guilty twinge. She shook hands with Mr. Manwaring and resolved not to worry about what he was thinking.

Lord Ragsdale clapped one hand on her shoulder and the other on his bailiff’s. “In fact, I suggest that you two adjourn to the book room and you acquaint Emma with the sordid details of my estate neglect. She will truss up your figures and admonitions and present them to me in a more palatable form, I trust.”

“We can do that,” the bailiff replied dubiously.

“Excellent, then! Mr. Manwaring, I will watch for my mother and cousin, who should be arriving soon. I trust you will inform Mrs. Manwaring to provide luncheon for us.”

“I already have, my lord,” the bailiff said. “And do you know, Sir Augustus has invited himself over for dinner.”

Lord Ragsdale smiled. “Well, if he hadn’t, I would have talked my way into his house. Excellent, sir, excellent.” He rubbed his hands together and started down the hall to the sitting room, as the bailiff gestured toward the book room.

Mr. Manwaring paused to watch his master go into the sitting room. “Looks better than he did ten years ago when I saw him last,” he murmured, “all wan and white, and looking fit for fish bait. I wouldn’t have given him one chance in five of surviving a strong wind. ”

“You mean he truly has not been here in all this time?” Emma asked.

The bailiff shook his head. “Not once, miss. Now, Lady Ragsdale comes every now and again to sit on a bench in the mausoleum, but Lord Ragsdale never has. Here, miss, have a seat, and let me get the books.”

Whatever awkwardness there might have been wore off quickly, as Emma knew it would as soon as the bailiff realized that she understood what he was talking about. In the time before the carriage arrived, they sat with their heads together, poring over the estate records from the past ten years. From what a cursory glance told her, the estate was well run, the figures all in order. The bailiff finally sighed and pushed the books away.

“We look good on paper, miss, but the crofters’ cottages are in serious need of repair.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. We’ve been patching and making do, but it’s beyond that now. Cottages wear out fast on this rough coast. It could be a prodigious expense,” he warned, “and not one I was willing to undertake without his express knowledge and approval. In fact, I would advise new cottages from the foundations up. And what could I do, when he avoids the place?”

“He is here now, Mr. Manwaring,” she said, “and he can be brought to do his duty.”

Mr. Manwaring leaned back in his chair. ‘‘Then, it will be the first time since I can remember that a Marquess of Ragsdale has been inclined to exert himself for the benefit of others.”

Emma stared at the bailiff. “But his father ... he tells me ... I mean, didn’t the late marquess walk on water?”

“Oh my, no!” The bailiff laughed as he pulled the books toward him again. “I think our young lad has spent ten years putting together a mythology, Emma.” He rubbed his chin, regarding her. “I’m wondering now if that is how he has managed to get through this pesky time. I mean, there were rumors everywhere about how the son had let down the father. I suppose if you hear something long enough, it almost becomes true.”

“He would never believe anything ill of his father, even if you told him,” Emma murmured.

Mr. Manwaring put on his spectacles and gazed at her over the top of them. “I know that. I’m thinking he might believe you, miss.”