A Proper Companion

“You waste too much dye on your wool,” Lady Greystone said. “A pale scarf is as warm as a dark one for these village children. They’ll turn them dark soon enough in their games.”

Economy seemed to be the lady’s watchword, so Anna measured two scant spoonfuls of tea leaves into the pot and poured in boiling water. Once it had steeped she served the others, and to her relief, no one complained about the weakness of the beverage.

“Will you not have a cup, my dear?” Mrs. Winters gazed at Anna as if she were an old friend.

“Why—” Anna glanced at the major for direction, but quickly shifted her gaze to Lady Greystone. The lady’s eyebrows quirked briefly in what seemed to be assent. “Thank you, ma’am.” She chose a cup and saucer from the mismatched china on the mantelpiece and savored the warmth of the tea against the chill of the room. Truly, it was not too soon for old Mrs. Winters to have a fire, but Anna could hardly admonish her employer.

While Lady Greystone conversed in low tones with the old woman and the vicar, Anna stood by the hearth and studied the cozy but sparsely furnished parlor. Dark green drapes were drawn aside from two small windows, permitting sunlight to brighten the room. The plaster walls were painted pale green, and wrought iron sconces hung above the faded settee where Major Grenville sat looking a bit sour.

Was he still dismayed over the old woman’s erroneous assumption about their relationship? If so, he really should learn to laugh a bit more at such ridiculous conjectures. After all, she was clearly in mourning, and her black lace cap bespoke a spinster not seeking a husband. He was an aristocrat not likely to marry someone of her station.

Never mind. People would soon understand it all. While the gentleman would make a fine husband for some fortunate lady, Anna would not be the one. The thought generated a modicum of sadness, but she refused to give place to such nonsensical feelings. After all, scripture taught that a merry heart doeth good, like medicine. Through many experiences she had seen that laughter was the best remedy for any unhappiness, the wisest contradiction for any false speculations.

Perhaps she should teach him how to play “What’s the worst thing?” as her family used to do.

* * *

Edmond could hardly keep from squirming on the settee, not just because of its lumpy seat or his aching leg, but because dear Winnie had created an awkward situation. If Miss Newfield sat beside him or if he stood and offered her his place, the old nurse would tease again, and Mother might begin to view the girl as a threat and cast her out. While her sons’ occupations held first place in her machinations, not far behind was her determination that they should marry well to someone of their own class. More times than he could count, she had railed against aristocrats who married members of the gentry. Such unions not only tainted the blood, she claimed, but they created disorder by lifting unworthy souls above their God-given place on the Great Chain of Being. Thus these marriages were nothing short of sin.

Edmond had always accepted her reasoning, for every aristocrat he knew held that view. Of late, however, he had begun to reconsider, particularly after a superior man named Peter Newfield died in his stead. And as each hour and day passed, Edmond grew more and more determined that Newfield’s sister must never want for security.

For the present, however, the only safe course for both Miss Newfield and himself was to effect polite indifference toward each other. Which would be decidedly difficult for him if the young lady continued to view the world so agreeably with those merry green eyes.

Chapter Seven

During her first evening with the family, Anna sat on a straight-backed chair by the drawing room door while Lady Greystone supervised the after-supper activities. Anna imagined that their customs were similar to her own family’s, with every member expected to contribute to the entertainment. A finely polished maple card table had been unfolded and matching chairs set around it, so perhaps they would play whist or another card game. Anna hoped she would not be called upon to join in, for cards required a quick memory and she always found her mind wandering during the game. If asked, she could play the pianoforte without embarrassing herself, but Lady Greystone had just assigned that particular duty to her daughter-in-law.

Although she had to lumber to the instrument, Mrs. Grenville appeared eager and her nimble fingers moved over the keys with a respectable musical skill. After her brief concert, the gentlemen discussed politics and news, with Lady Greystone glancing up from her needlework to comment from time to time. No games seemed to be planned, which left Anna to revise her speculations. Did they truly just talk in the evenings? No charades? No word games? She could barely keep from yawning.

After more than an hour, she decided she had been forgotten. Major Grenville offered a glance or two her way, but he gave her no smile. Perhaps he was still offended by his former nurse’s comment that afternoon, but Anna could hardly be faulted for it. Despite his previous courtesies, he had seemed almost to avoid her on the walk back to the manor house and throughout supper. Still, he had done more than enough by bringing her here. She should expect nothing beyond that. Instead, she sat on the edge of her chair to remain alert and cheered herself by deciding this was preferable to sitting on the edge of a highway with no place to go. From here she could observe the family and pray for them.

“Newfield!” Lady Greystone’s sharp voice jolted Anna, and she realized she had been near to dozing after all.

“Yes, my lady.” Face burning, she rose, crossed the room and stood near the settee where her employer sat with her eldest son.

“You will begin your riding lessons tomorrow.” The viscountess barely glanced at Anna and continued her needlework.

Anna knew she must acknowledge the order, but her throat closed. How she had hoped Lady Greystone would forget this frightening project.

“Edmond,” the lady said, “you will teach her. If this gel you have brought to me is to be an acceptable companion, she must ride. Peel always disappointed me in her fear of horses. Why, the woman trembled so much she made the beasts skittish. Such nonsense.”

Major Grenville’s jaw dropped, and he, too, seemed at a loss for words. Anna could think of no way to rescue either of them.

Hidden behind a newspaper, the viscount coughed, but Anna could not decide whether it was an attempt to cover a laugh or a symptom of an illness. When the major glared in his brother’s direction, Anna was both relieved and dismayed. Of course she would not wish the viscount to be ill, but she could find no humor in the situation. And while she would enjoy the major’s company under any circumstances, she had never managed to overcome her fear of horses. Only one escape seemed possible.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I have nothing proper to wear for riding.”

The viscountess gave her a sharp look, then eyed her up and down through her quizzing glass. “Hmm. Easily solved. You will wear Peel’s habit.”

“But, Mother Greystone—” Mrs. Grenville had moved from the pianoforte to a chair beside her husband “—Miss Peel was tall and thin as a reed.” While she did not look at Anna, her remark was nonetheless appreciated.

“Also easily solved,” the viscountess said. “You sew, do you not, Newfield?”

Anna swallowed, and her heart sank. “Yes, my lady.”

“Then go at once and find Hudson. She will direct you to the garment and the sewing supplies.”

After offering a quick curtsey, Anna fled the room, praying tears would not overtake her. Upstairs she found the viscountess’s lady’s maid and soon had the project in hand. While no one could call Anna stout, she hoped the thin woman’s gown would not have enough material to enlarge it. Alas, the side seams were more than wide enough. After letting it out, Anna enlisted Mrs. Hudson’s help in measuring how much to increase the hem. That done, the maid declared the project a success and retired for the night.

Anna knelt beside her bed and offered up an urgent plea that somehow the Lord would deliver her from tomorrow’s trial. Not only must she face a large, fearsome beast the likes of which she had rarely come near, but she must also face Major Grenville, who should not be riding yet and who clearly did not wish to teach her.

She fell asleep trying very hard to play “What’s the worst thing?” to cheer herself. But the game only generated dreams of being thrown to the ground while her four-legged adversary whinnied its triumph above her.

* * *

“Really, Mother.” Edmond scowled at his parent while ignoring Greystone’s smirk. “I hardly feel ready to ride, much less ready to teach someone else how to do it.” He despised sounding weak in front of his brothers, but better that than to announce his true reason for disliking this assignment. As much as he would enjoy the young lady’s company, it would not be proper for them to venture out alone and still keep her reputation intact.

“And may I add—” Richard’s slender face wore an uncharacteristic frown “—it would hardly be proper for the young lady, spinster or not, to be out with Edmond without a chaperone.”

Edmond exhaled a sigh of relief. His brother the cleric would be an ally in this matter.

“Nonsense.” Mother rose from the settee. Everyone else stood as well. “They will have the groom with them.” She moved toward the door, then turned back to face Edmond. “As we walked back from the village today, you leaned upon your man less and less. All you require for complete recovery is additional exercise and a return to your riding. Furthermore, you need something to do. This will be good for you.” She sniffed, as she often did when displeased. “And why must I repeat myself? If this gel is to be my companion, she must ride.” She strode out of the room, head held high like a general marching away victorious from a battlefield.

“I say, Edmond.” Greystone stretched and yawned. “I should think you would enjoy the company of a young woman after all your military duties.”

Edmond laughed without mirth, hating what he was about to say. “Preferably someone of our class, not a servant.” As he said the words, a sick feeling churned in his belly. Miss Newfield was the gentlest, kindest Christian lady he had ever met. He had no right to claim superiority over her.

“Well,” Richard said, “strictly speaking, a companion is not a servant.” As if looking for agreement he gazed down at Mary, who sat tucked under his arm now that Mother was not in the room.

Mary returned a beatific smile. “If you say so, my darling.”

Edmond felt his heart lighten just observing their mutual devotion. How grand it would be to have a wife of his own to cherish. “No, I suppose not. But you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” His eldest brother continued to smirk.

“Stubble it, Greystone. If Mother thinks I admire the poor girl, she’ll boot her out.” He walked toward the door.

Greystone followed a few feet behind him. “And of course you do not admire her.” His teasing tone held a world of good humor.

Edmond stopped and turned so quickly his brother almost collided with him. “Listen to me. This woman’s brother died in my place. I have a duty to make certain she is not misused or abandoned. That is all.”

“Of course.” Greystone’s lopsided grin contradicted his assertion. “Why do you insist upon thinking I am suggesting anything else?”

Too tired to argue, Edmond limped from the room and headed toward the staircase. With each step, he was forced to admit Mother was right. Today’s exercise had helped work out some of his discomfort from having been laid up for so long. But he could not envision getting back on a horse tomorrow morning. Nor could he envision working for hours with the lovely Miss Newfield without coming to admire her entirely too much.

* * *

Anna endeavored not to tremble as she descended the wide front staircase. The Lord had not answered her prayers as she wished. Nor had He given her peace about the upcoming trial. But scripture said He would never leave her nor forsake her. Anna could cling to that promise far more easily than she would be able to cling to a saddle. If an injury was in her future, so be it. She would try to bear it as bravely as Major Grenville bore his wounds.