Reforming Lord Ragsdale (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances)

Chapter 15

H er mind froze as he helped her into the saddle. She arranged her leg across the horse and spread her skirts around her, afraid to look at Lord Ragsdale. She said nothing as he watched her for a long moment, his face unreadable now. When she thought she would start to cry if he did not turn away, Lord Ragsdale whistled to his hunter and mounted him.

“I can wait, Emma,” he said as she rode beside him, too shocked to look at him. “I am also led to wonder sometimes who we are redeeming here, me or you.”

They rode in silence from the stable yard, until she managed to calm herself. “You could not possibly be interested in anything about me,” she said finally, knowing it was her turn to speak, but not knowing what to say to this man beside her.

“And why not?” he asked.

She looked at him then for the first time since his quiet declaration. “Because I am just your servant.”

He smiled then, reached over, and tugged her horse’s mane.

“Emma, you’ve never been just a servant. I doubt the Claridges knew what to make of you, all skinny and ragged and covered with lice, from that voyage in the ship’s hold. But I know your kind.” He touched her arm this time, lightly, briefly. “When you want to talk to someone, I hope it is me. ”

What good could you do me? she reflected as they rode along. You have to be flogged to do your duty, and you are busy now with wooing. If you are not lazy now, it is only a temporary thing. You will be indolent again, when you are bored. To her relief, Lord Ragsdale changed the subject and began to talk of his plans for the crofters.

“I should think it would be best to build the cottages in a more central location, instead of sprawled here and there across the estate,” he said as they rode along. “This area, for instance. It’s far enough from the cliffs to cut some of the wind and close enough to their work for convenience.”

They stopped in a pleasant clearing, a small valley tucked between the series of low, wooded hills that characterized the Norfolk coast. Lord Ragsdale dismounted and gestured with his riding whip. “See, Emma? Plenty of good water, and still some timber. We could erect barns close by for those who have their own livestock.”

He held out his arms to help her down, but she shook her head and settled herself more firmly in the saddle. He leaned against her mare, absently fingering the horse’s mane. “You don’t like the idea,” he said finally. He looked, to her mind, rather like a little boy in the throes of disappointment, too well mannered to show all his irritation, but not averse to a wry expression.

Diplomacy, Emma Costello, diplomacy , she told herself. You have already ruined the morning for yourself; see what you can do to give these people what they really want. “My lord, may I suggest that you ask your tenants what they want?”

She could tell by the look on his face that he had never before entertained the novelty of inquiry among those who worked his land. Oh, dear , she thought, this is probably more democracy than an Englishman can stand. She looked beyond his expression of slack surprise and smiled to herself, thinking of the Claridges and their Virginia neighbors, rich and poor alike, gathering to make decisions for their county. She remembered the noise, the hot words, the voices raised in clamorous agreement or disagreement, and then the rational calm that settled on the assembly when the majority spoke. True, not everyone went home satisfied, not even the major landowners, but there was harmony, because all had aired their opinion.

“It works in America, my lord,” she said, warming to the idea, feeling animation rise in her own heart. “You can hear some fearful rows at Hundred meetings, but most come away satisfied, because they have had their say.”

She watched him for signs of resistance but could see none. He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and then mounted his hunter again. “It’s a lovely spot, Emma,” he said, drawing close to her. “Why would they object?”

She took a deep breath, at the same time wondering why she felt the inclination to fight for these people she hardly knew. Am I fighting for them, or am I concerned that they understand that you take an interest? she asked herself, and had no ready answer. “Sir, people do not like to be forced from their homes, no matter how shabby or inconvenient those cottages are.”

“Like you, Emma?” he asked softly, a smile of understanding playing around his lips.

“You will not let me forget, will you?” she considered. “Yes, my lord, like me,” she replied, her voice equally soft. “Present your argument for removal, but let them decide.”

“Won’t they think me a weak landlord if I succumb to their decision?” he persisted, and his interest sounded genuine to her.

“Of course not,” she responded promptly. “They will think that you care about them, and they will follow you anywhere.”

He mulled that one over, riding in silence for several minutes.

“I doubt even Sir Augustus has ever done anything that radical,” he said. “My neighbors will think I am daft and count it a certainty that my father left a weak heir. ”

“Who cares what your neighbors think, John?” she said, blurting out his name before she even realized it. “They don’t work for you, and you don’t have to answer to them.” She blushed then, aware of her social blunder. “Excuse me, my lord,” she apologized. “I was forward.”

He smiled at her. “Nonsense! Emma, you are a flaming radical, don’t you know.”

She nodded, relieved at his light tone. “Aye, my lord. But only think: there are so many ways to solve problems. Why limit yourself to what’s been done over and over? Try something new.”

She held her breath as he regarded her thoughtfully. “Very well, Emma,” he said finally when she thought she would burst with waiting. “I’ll do it your way. Let’s return to the manor. I’ll make it Manwaring’s task to gather my estate workers tonight in the old barn by the threshing floor. You’ll take notes of the proceedings, of course.”

Emma grinned at him and clapped her hands, even as he wagged his finger at her. “See here, Emma, I’m going to the end of the plank for you on this one!”

“You won’t be disappointed, sir,” she replied happily.

“I wouldn’t dare be,” he said. He looked at her. “Well, speak, Emma. You obviously have something else on your mind. I am sure it is radical.”

She nodded, wondering if this was going too far, but willing to chance it. “My lord, let the women come to the meeting too, and let them speak.”

“Oh, that is radical,” he agreed, half teasing, half serious. “Why ever would I want to do such a thing?”

“The women will know better than the men what they want in a new cottage,” she said decisively. “Encourage them to speak, and they will defend you and serve you to their last breath.”

They were in sight of the manor house again. “I’ll do it,” Lord Ragsdale said. They rode into the stables, ducking through the open doorway. He dismounted and held his arms out for her. She allowed him to help her down. He did not release her immediately but put his hands on her shoulders for a brief moment.

“What about you, Emma?” he asked, his voice quiet as Manwaring approached. “Will you ever speak your mind to me?”

She forced herself to meet his glance and felt an enormous urge to unburden herself completely, to tell him the whole miserable story and her dreadful part in it, until she was stripped right down to the bone. She hesitated, teetering on the edge, before she pulled herself back with a shake of her head. He released her and turned away.

“Maybe someday, Emma,” was all he said as he left the stables with Manwaring.

Maybe never , she thought as she watched him go.

~

It was well after midnight before the last tenant left the barn, full of enthusiasms and new ideas. A smile on her face, Emma gathered together the sheaf of notes at the table where she had sat for four hours, carefully recording the evening’s events, and watching with delight as Lord Ragsdale mingled so gracefully with his crofters. She looked through the open doors where the tenants still gathered together in little groups, reliving the give and take of the evening and then looking back at the barn with expressions of real respect.

Lord Ragsdale seemed unmindful of what was going on outside the barn. He yawned and stretched, then took off his coat, revealing a shirt and waistcoat drenched in sweat. He tossed his coat on the table and threw himself into the chair provided for him, which he had not sat in once throughout the night.

“Emma, this kind of exertion is difficult, indeed.” He leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet on the table, his hands behind his head. “I feel as though I have been pummeled, wrung out, and hung out to dry.” He looked over at her and took off his eye patch, rubbing the rim of his eye socket gently. “Everything aches.”

She merely smiled at him and continued sorting through the papers. “It’s all here, my lord,” she said, waving the papers at him. “You can look it over in the morning and decide what to do.”

“It is morning,” he corrected, “and I have already decided.” He closed his eye and let out a pleased sigh. “We will build the cottages for the shepherds in that area I suggested this morning, and which they agreed to. The agricultural workers will remain there by the cliff road.” He opened his eye and looked at her. “I thought David Larch was particularly eloquent in arguing the virtues of remaining by the main road, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “And the women certainly knew what they wanted in cottage improvements, didn’t they?”

“Most emphatically,” he agreed and reached over to touch her hand. “A good idea of yours, by the way, Miss Secretary. Give that information to Manwaring in the morning. The construction will be his task.” He sat up then, as if energized all over again. “How does this sound, Emma? I will appoint Larch to be Manwaring’s assistant.”

“Bravo, my lord!” she replied, genuinely impressed. “He’ll never fail you.”

Manwaring rejoined them in the barn after separating himself from one of the groups that had continued the discussion outside. Lord Ragsdale informed him of his idea for David Larch, and the bailiff nodded in agreement. “He’ll do fine, sir,” Manwaring replied, then smiled. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, my lord, you’ll do too.” He leaned closer. “That’s what your tenants are saying, my lord.”

Emma looked at Lord Ragsdale in delight, and he winked at her. “And can I tell you something more, my lord?” Manwaring continued. “They’re saying how nice it is to know that you care about their problems and do more than just nod and smile and clear your throat.” He stood up and nodded to Emma. “Good night, my lord. We’ve a lot to busy us in the morning, now, haven’t we?”

“Indeed we have,” Lord Ragsdale agreed as he got to his feet and pulled Emma up after him. “My dear, I expect you in the book room at seven to begin making order out of this pile of notes. Organize it and have it ready for my perusal. I promised a brief visit to Sir Augustus, and then my nose will be to the grindstone too.”

He draped his coat around his shoulders and waited for her to gather the papers, then nodded to the steward to douse the lamps. They started across the barnyard together, Lord Ragsdale walking slowly enough for her to keep up with him.

“It feels good, Emma,” he said finally as they approached the manor house. “I can return to London with a clear conscience that I have done some good at last.” He paused a moment. “There remains one hurdle.”

She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“My mother,” he said as he continued to walk. “She will not be happy when I tell her tomorrow that I plan to add a wing onto the manor house.” He sighed. “She would prefer that I left everything as Father had left it, but I want a better bedchamber, one that overlooks the ocean.”

“More room, my lord?” she asked, her voice light.

“I think I will be spending more time here in the future, Emma, and I doubt I’ll be alone. Mama will have to live with change, I suppose.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she was again reminded of her brothers. “And now you will recommend that I devote my time to wooing the lovely Clarissa Partridge, especially if I am to add on bedrooms to this ungainly old pile.”

“Most emphatically,” she agreed, enjoying, despite her exhaustion, the comfort of his arm so casually about her shoulder. “Then when you are thoroughly redeemed, we will reconsider my indenture. ”

“Ah, yes. It always comes back to that,” he commented, drawing her closer. “Those horses were expensive, Emma,” he reminded her. “Suppose I insist on ten or twenty years more?”

She knew he was teasing, but she realized with a start that a decade in service to Lord Ragsdale would not be an onerous duty. They were expensive horses , she thought and smiled to herself. “You would never do that, Lord Ragsdale,” she said out loud.

He merely shrugged. “How am I to get rational advice and sensible counsel if you leave me? I might revert to my foolish ways. Then how would you feel?”

How would I feel? she considered as they strolled slowly along. She stopped and looked at him. “I would consider it a terrible waste, my lord, a shocking waste, a tragic waste. Don’t you dare throw your life away. I could not deal with it.”

She was silent then, embarrassed that her voice was shaking.

He stood so close and had not released his grip on her shoulder, which tightened as she regarded him, sweaty and tired, but triumphant, there in the moonlight of the barnyard. She started walking again, faster now, and he released his grip.

Besides all that, my lord, I have enough death on my conscience , she thought. Don’t make me responsible for the loss of one more life.

~

I must know more, but how? Lord Ragsdale asked himself several times a day during the next few days. I could just come right out and demand that she tell me , he thought as he watched her at work in the book room, her face a mask of calm again. She had gone from friend to servant again, assuming that unobtrusive manner he was familiar with in his other household servants. Her work was excellent as always, and innovative as usual, as she speeded up with the demands placed on her by the flurry of activity at the manor. She worked long hours with Manwaring, preparing drafts, itemizing invoices, even speaking with the contractors, masons, and sawyers, acquainting them with the task ahead. He knew that he could relax and visit his friends in the vicinity and pay some much-needed attention to Sally Claridge and his mother, because his affairs were in capable hands.

“I have to know, I just have to,” he found himself telling Sir Augustus one night at the Barney estate. They sat together in front of a roaring fire, brandy in hand, watching the flames.

“I could ask why, John,” Sir Augustus interjected as he reached for the bottle.

Ragsdale shook his head when the baronet offered him more. “I know that prison was involved. You should have seen her face when we made that trip to Newgate! The only thing that got her to put one foot in front of another in that dreadful place was her single-minded determination to do my business for me.”

“A rare quality in a woman,” Sir Augustus commented, filling his own glass and leaning back again to stare at the flames.

“I suspect you are right.” Lord Ragsdale leaned forward. “I could make her tell me more, but I honestly think that she would begin to bleed before my eyes. There is something here so terrible. . .”

“Then why do you not just leave it alone?” the other man asked quietly. “You don’t have a reputation as someone who takes much interest in others, John.”

Lord Ragsdale leaned back, finished his brandy, and threw the glass into the fireplace, where it shattered and sparked. “I’m a fool, Gus. Why not just say so?” He touched his companion’s arm. “But do you know something? I am changing.”

Sir Augustus downed his own drink. “I think I see, John. She dragged you into reformation, and it seems to be taking. ”

Ragsdale nodded. “Yes. I expect I will be engaged and married before the Season is out, and living here again by summer.”

“Bravo for Emma Costello, then,” the baronet murmured. “Two words of advice, my friend, neither of which you have solicited, but which I offer because I loved your father and miss him too and want the best for you.”

Lord Ragsdale swallowed and felt unfamiliar tears behind his eye. “Say on, sir.”

“In your zeal at reformation, make sure you do not injure beyond repair what you seek to heal.”

Ragsdale nodded. Sir Augustus stared into the flames and sighed. “There is another bit of advice?” Ragsdale asked finally when the baronet appeared to be on the verge of drifting off.

The older man smiled at the flames. “I don’t know, John.”

“Oh, now, you must tell me. I am a big boy now and can probably take it.”

The baronet stood up and stretched. “Well then, chew on this for your ride home. Just make completely certain you marry the right woman. The wrong one will ruin you.”

~

He chewed on that for the remainder of the week in Norfolk, chafing at first that he knew he was becoming remote again and then relaxing in the knowledge that Emma was relieved. She does not want to talk about anything right now, and I am considering Clarissa and have nothing to say either , he realized as they began the return trip to London. She can have her mood and I can have mine, and we won’t bother each other.

It seemed a fair exchange, except that he found himself wondering, as they rode along, just how he might know if Clarissa returned his regard. He glanced at Emma, who was admiring the wildflowers by the side of the road. Spring had come while they were in Norfolk, creating a path of daffodils along the highway. True, the wind was cutting, but the flowers were there, with a ragged determination to stay, no matter what the North Sea threw at them.

“Emma, tell me something,” he asked suddenly. “How will I know if I’m in love?”

She looked at him in surprise, disturbed out of her contemplation. “Well, I don’t know,” she said.

“Come on, Emma,” he teased. “Surely you’ve been in love before. If I’m to redeem myself, and Clarissa seems a likely repository for my affections, I should have some idea, shouldn’t I? What’s it like? I cannot imagine that a pretty woman like you has never fallen in love.”

She blushed becomingly, and he had to admire the way the color in her cheeks brought out the green in her eyes. Emma, you’re a rare one , he thought. Any other man would envy me right down to my socks, riding along with you.

“Confess, Emma,” he said.

She laughed then, and he felt a momentary relief. So this is a safe topic , he told himself and waited for her to speak.

“I suppose I fell in love two years ago in Richmond,” she said finally.

“And?” he prompted.

“He was another of the Claridges’ indentured servants,” she said, her voice soft with remembrance. “A Scot, my lord, a cobbler by trade.” She patted her horse, not looking at him.

“What made you think you were in love?” he persisted.

She flashed her eyes at him then, and it was a look that made his stomach tingle a little. Emma, those eyes are a dangerous weapon , he thought as he felt the sweat prickle his back. Take a care on whom you use them.

“If you must know—and I think you are nosy past all bearing—I felt comfortable around him, at peace, and not at all afraid that anything would ever hurt me.” She returned her gaze to the flowers by the road’s edge. “Things were always more fun when he was around.”

He considered Clarissa Partridge and sighed. “I suppose it must be a different feeling for men, then. Ah, well, I was curious.”

“You don’t feel that way around Miss Partridge?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well, it’s still early days with you and her, isn’t it?” Emma asked.

“I suppose.” He looked behind him. They had been riding slower and slower, and the carriage would have to slow down. He picked up the pace of their travel, and they cantered ahead for a good distance.

“Well, what happened?” he asked finally when they slowed the pace again, and Emma still did not say anything. “I mean, between you and the Scot.”

“Oh, well,” she said, “it came to nothing. His indenture ended three years before mine would have.”

“And?” he prompted. “Emma, you are so tight with information sometimes that I find you singularly exasperating!”

“It might not be your business,” she responded tartly, then repented. “He was going beyond the mountains to take up some land in the Carolinas. He needed a wife then, so he married one of the other servants who was not under an indenture.”

“The cad,” Lord Ragsdale said with some feeling.

Emma laughed. “I was probably well out of that, my lord. If he could be so expedient, then he probably wouldn’t have been too concerned about my welfare.”

“I suppose not,” Lord Ragsdale agreed. “I mean, he might have shot you if you had broken your leg or something.”

And so they were on good terms again as they rode into London. If I keep a light touch, and do not poke and prod about her family, we seem to rub along all right , he considered as they entered the house on Curzon Street again. But dash it, that gets me no closer to finding out anything, and I still don’t know if I love Clarissa Partridge.

He paid Clarissa a morning visit the next day, armed with a pot of violets because Emma assured him that ladies loved violets, his eye patch on straight, and his clothes as orderly as Hanley could make them. He was not disappointed in his reception.

Clarissa cooed over the violets, just teetering, to his mind, on the edge of excess, then redeeming herself by sitting close to him on the sofa. Their knees touched once or twice, and he realized that it had been a long time since he had made love to a woman. Well, a long time for him. He dragged his mind along more appropriate lines then and thought he faked an impressive interest in her needlework. It was good, he had to admit, when she rose to put it away, affording him a particularly fine glimpse of her shapely hips and delicate walk.

I am being diddled , he thought and grinned to himself. By all that’s holy, it is fine.

“Clarissa—may I call you Clarissa?”

Blush, blush. Titter. “Why certainly, my lord.” She had a breathless voice, and he wondered if her corsets were too tight.

“You may call me John,” he offered.

Another titter. Another blush. “Very well ... John.”

Take a deep breath, my dear , he thought, or you may have to summon your dresser to loosen your stays. Of course, if you like to sit so close, I might want to do that myself. “Clarissa, if I may be so bold, would you care to tour Hampton Court with me tomorrow?”

She cared to, and he left happily, wishing that Fae Moullé had not moved to Bath to set up her millinery establishment. Emma would not approve , he thought. I will take a brisk walk home and behave myself.

She was busy in the book room, catching up on his correspondence, when he returned and stood lounging in the doorway. “Yes, my lord?” she asked, her eyes still on the paper before her.

“Congratulate me, Miss Costello,” he said as he came in and flopped into a chair. “We are Clarissa and John now, and she will go riding to Hampton Court with me tomorrow.”

Emma put down the pen and clasped her hands in front of her. “Bravo, my lord!” She smiled at him then, and his stomach did another tingle. “I think Manwaring will not be finished with that addition on your manor a moment too soon.”

He nodded, not altogether satisfied with her reply and wondering why not. He also wished she would not waste those fine eyes on him. You should get out more, Emma , he wanted to tell her, and meet some young men. He regarded her a moment more, reminded himself that she couldn’t because she was in his indenture, and felt vaguely silly.

She appeared not to notice but cleared her throat. “My lord, tomorrow is my day off. . .,” she began.

He made an expansive gesture, grateful to cover his stupid thoughts. “Of course, of course. Just don’t come home so late this time, and I will not scold you.”

“I won’t.” She was brief, to the point, withdrawn again, and looking at the correspondence in front of her. He eased himself out of the room, hoping that she would return in a better mood this time from her day off.

She was gone in the morning before he left, leaving neat piles of his correspondence in the book room, with directions on what to sign and what to tell Lasker to set out for the post. He initialed the little receipt for yesterday’s violets, and on impulse added a note for another pot and directed it to the florist. This one’s for you, Emma , he thought as he tucked that receipt with the others in the envelope for his banker and folded the note to the florist.

The weather was fine so he drove his curricle, leaving his tiger behind this time to fret. Since traffic was light, he turned toward the city first, thinking to drop off the note to the florist himself. Emma would probably enjoy a little surprise when she returned that evening.

He hurried through his errand and was moving into traffic again when he noticed Emma, her eyes straight ahead, moving swiftly along the sidewalk not fifty feet in front of him. He almost hailed her, thinking to invite her to ride with him to her destination, then thought better of it. I will follow her instead , he considered.

It was an easy matter to travel behind her, moving slowly with the traffic, always keeping her in sight, but not dogging her heels, either. She had no notion she was being followed but hurried along with that purposeful, swinging gait of hers that he had admired on occasion. She walked like someone used to walking, someone who was going somewhere. It was a healthy walk, and one that stirred him somehow.

She led him deep into the City to a row of government buildings not far from the Admiralty. The traffic was thinning out now, so he drove to the curb and left his horse and curricle under the watchful eye of a street urchin and his little sister. “Mind that nothing happens, and you will have a crown,” he admonished as he tied the reins and continued after Emma on foot.

He recognized the Home Office and waited on the sidewalk until she was inside. He sprinted across the road then, determined not to lose her in the building, and remembering it, from a visit years ago, as a regular rabbit warren of offices and cubbyholes.

There she was, walking slower now, almost reluctantly, as she had during their visit to Newgate. She appeared to hesitate before an open door. As he watched, she squared her shoulders, appeared to take a deep breath, and held her head up as she walked into the room. The gallant gesture went right to his heart.

He knew he dared not follow any farther, some instinct telling him that she would be unhappy to see him there. She appeared to be in a lobby or antechamber, and there were others standing and waiting. He turned to go and collided with a clerk, his sleeves rolled up, his expression harried, carrying stacks of papers that flew out of his hands and slid across the cold marble floor.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” the clerk gasped, going down on all fours to retrieve his papers.

“Oh, my fault, my fault,” Lord Ragsdale insisted and dropped to his knees to help. They gathered up papers in silence for a moment, then he sat back on his heels. “Tell me, what is that office?” he asked, gesturing toward the door where Emma had disappeared.

The clerk, his face red from exertion, took the documents from him. “It’s the Office of Criminal Business,” he said. “Mr. John Henry Capper is chief clerk, sir.”

Lord Ragsdale thanked him, got to his feet, and brushed off his trousers. He strolled toward the entrance, his mind in a ferment. Emma, what is your business with that band of thieves?

He stood outside the building a moment, wondering what Emma would do if he joined her in the anteroom. This is none of my business , he argued with himself. If she wanted to tell me, she would. I have given her plenty of openings. He thought again of Sir Augustus’s advice. Do I dare poke at your wounds, Emma? You prodded mine, but then I agreed to it. I have no right to do the same to you.

And Clarissa was waiting. “Blast it!” he said out loud, and started running toward his curricle. He looked back once at the building, then tried to put it out of his mind.