The Marquess Finds Romance Page 4

  Janie’s cheeks heated. “I’m sorry I said that. Mary does try to spend time with me. I was just moping yesterday, that’s all. I’m very grateful for this chance to visit the nineteenth century, to visit England, to stay in a real honest-to-goodness castle. I’m grateful for everything you and Mary and St. John have done for me.”

  “Very prettily said, dear Janie. Pretty indeed.” Hickstrom smiled and smoothed out a wrinkle in her silk gown.

  Janie returned the smile and forced herself to relax by sitting back on the sofa. If Hickstrom wanted to hang out with her and drink tea for a while, so much the better. She could take a walk later.

  “So how did you become a fairy godmother?” Janie asked. “When did you discover you had these special...skills?”

  “Goodness!” Miss Hickstrom said, her own cheeks blooming. “I did not come to talk about me.”

  “Well, I’m sure you know everything there is to know about me by now, so why wouldn’t we talk about you? I’m curious!”

  “I normally do not discuss myself with—” She stopped.

  “With people? With whom?”

  Hickstrom actually looked a bit flustered, the first time Janie had ever seen the self-possessed woman evade eye contact.

  “No one, dear. To answer your question, I have always known that I had special powers, that I was destined to become a fairy godmother. My own mother was such, her mother before her.”

  “Really?” Janie said with interest. “So you’ve always known what your future would be.”

  “Always. I have always known that my life would center around bringing lonely hearts together, hearts who could not otherwise find each other.”

  “But why do you bring women back in time? Surely there are enough women here in the nineteenth century to marry single men.”

  “Love transcends time, Janie. Time is nothing more than dates on a calendar, hands on a clock. Our souls, our hearts do not understand time as a concept, but seek to find mates wherever they may reside, in whatever century they may inhabit.

  “I should mention as well that there are a plethora of lonely women in the twenty-first century and an equal number of lonely gentlemen in the nineteenth century. I seek only to equalize the disparity between the two centuries.”

  “Was there a plethora of lonely women in the twentieth century?” Janie asked.

  “Indeed. You have heard of mail-order brides, have you not?”

  Janie nodded.

  “My mother did what she could for women of the twentieth century and gentlemen of the eighteenth century.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. She was very successful in her endeavors and matched many a lonely heart to its mate. Her mother did the same before her, though I believe her particular interest was medieval romance.”

  “Are there more of you? More fairy godmothers?”

  “I think perhaps I have discussed myself enough. Now, about you. Am I correct in assuming that your sentiments regarding Lord Carswell have not changed? That you still dislike him?”

  Janie blinked in surprise at the change of subject but shook her head vehemently. “Not one little bit.”

  “The poor man. He did so treasure Clara.”

  “Well, I’m glad she escaped a future with that arrogant man. She’s much happier with Roger. He’s closer to her age, and they appear to be very happy. At least, they did at their wedding.”

  “Yes, they were always meant for each other.”

  “I can see that now.”

  “Is there no way you could see Lord Carswell in a more favorable light? I did see that he was dismissive of you in the meadow, but you must admit, dear, that you were milling about the sheep like a shepherdess on a tenant farm.”

  “So what? There’s no shame in hanging out with farm animals. I think they’re cute! Anyway, I’d seen St. John and Lord Carswell about an hour earlier, and St. John introduced me as a guest. Lord Carswell knew full well that I was a guest.”

  “And what transpired on the occasion of your first meeting with the viscount?”

  “Well, I was sitting on the parapet of a bridge, relaxing, and I got up when they rode up. Unfortunately, my dress caught on the stones, and they both got an eyeful of my drawers. They’re lucky I was even wearing drawers!”

  Hickstrom tittered. “Were they quite shocked? Did they say anything?”

  “No, not about my dress,” Janie said. “St. John was very nice, introduced Lord Carswell, who didn’t say anything to me at all, not even about the dress. But the contemptuous look on his face told me he had already formed an opinion about me. Of course, I didn’t know I was showing my backside the entire time I talked to them. I think St. John tried to signal me, but I didn’t get the message.”

  Hickstrom shook her head.

  “Contemptuous? So harsh as that?”

  “I’d say that describes his expression quite well. I don’t know if he thought I was a tenant farmer’s wife or something before St. John introduced us, but that really shouldn’t matter. The rich can afford to be kind. Actually, they can afford a lot, but kindness is free. He didn’t need to judge me, because he didn’t know who I was. Though to be honest, now that he knows I clean houses for a living, he’s no more impressed than when he thought I was a...what?...shepherdess?”

  “Such a pity,” Hickstrom said with a tsk. “I had met Lord Carswell before, as you must have realized, and I have not known him to be so snobbish. He has always treated me with civility.”

  “Well, look at you, Hickstrom! I don’t know how you make your money, but your dresses are pretty elaborate. No one is going to mistake you as a farm girl.”

  Hickstrom touched the silk of her gown again.

  “This old thing?” she said with a smile.

  Janie returned the smile. “So that’s Lord James Carswell discussed. What’s next?”

  “And you are quite certain that you and Lord Carswell will continue to dislike each other?” Hickstrom asked.

  Janie nodded vehemently. “I am, so let’s stop talking about him. He’ll be gone soon anyway, and I won’t have to look at his condescending face.”

  Janie noted Hickstrom’s expression drooped into a dejected look. Janie covered the older woman’s hand with her own.

  “Are you worried about my hurt feelings, Hickstrom? It’s okay. Not everyone is going to like me. I know that. There are plenty of people who look down on me for my employment. They hire us, but they don’t really respect us. I learned a long time ago to just grit my teeth and bear it...especially if they’re paying me.

  “I don’t care about Lord Carswell. He’s nothing to me. He doesn’t know me, and he’s never going to know me. You know what?” She patted Hickstrom’s hand. “I’m too good for him! That’s what I say! So let’s change the subject. He’s boring. Are you sure you don’t want to go out for a walk with me?”

  Hickstrom drew in a deep breath and released it slowly in a heavy sigh. “I think not, my dear. I have so enjoyed our tea and biscuits. I really must go. So much to do,” she murmured, as though she didn’t really mean it.

  She rose, as did Janie. Janie moved in to hug her, and Hickstrom did her best to tolerate it. Janie had gathered by now that the fairy godmother wasn’t the hugging type. Janie was a hugger like her mother.

  Hickstrom turned for the door to make the appearance of leaving. Janie knew by now the fairy godmother could appear and disappear if she so chose. With a hand on the knob, Hickstrom paused and turned.

  “Is there a copy of my book of fairy tales about?” she asked.

  Janie shrugged. “I don’t know. I certainly haven’t seen it. Don’t you always leave it in the twenty-first century for the prospective bride to read?”

  Hickstrom nodded. “So I do. So I do. Most inconvenient.”

  She pulled open the door but turned back again. “Lord Carswell is a very handsome gentleman. He sported a generous silver mustache when last I saw him but has since removed it. I think he looks much younger and much more striking.
Do you not agree?”

  Janie narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t know, Hickstrom. I don’t know what he looked like before. Maybe a big mustache would have hidden his sneer.”

  “Oh, my dear, certainly not a sneer. No gentleman would sneer at a lady.”

  “Remember? He doesn’t think I am a lady, just a glorified housekeeper.”

  “Janie, surely he has not said as much.”

  “No, but I saw the disdain on his face.”

  “I must think what to do,” Hickstrom said, looking away as if lost in thought.

  “About what?”

  “About what, dear?”

  “You must think what to do about what? Not about Lord Carswell and me, right? Because we’re not a thing, Hickstrom. You know that, right?”

  “How very idiomatic of you, dear. I must away! Good day!”

  Hickstrom opened the door and vanished. She didn’t really walk through it. She just disappeared.

  Janie heard footsteps in the hall, and she peeped out. The real honest-to-goodness housekeeper, a tall, thin silver-haired woman named Mrs. Green, approached and stopped to curtsey. Janie had met the housekeeper once or twice and always felt a bit “tolerated” by the woman, as if Janie was just passing through, just visiting. And in fact, she was just passing through. She supposed Mrs. Green had seen the comings and goings of Mary, Rachel, Clara and now herself.

  “Do you have need of anything, Miss Ferguson?” the housekeeper asked.

  “No, thank you. I was just looking out into the hallway.”

  “Is it possible that Miss Hickstrom has come to visit you today? Cook directed Sarah to bring tea to your room, but she cannot say how she took your order. Miss Hickstrom is known to facilitate such odd occurrences.”

  Janie hung her head. “Well, yes, I think she did. I was going to ring for tea, if you didn’t mind, but Hickstrom must have beat me to it.”

  “Of course we do not mind. You are Lady St. John’s guest. You must ring for anything you wish at any time.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Green. So you know Miss Hickstrom?”

  “All too well. Is there anything else I may do for you?”

  “No, not really.” Janie stepped back into the room and paused. “How many maids do you have, Mrs. Green?”

  “Twelve. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just being nosey,” Janie said.

  “If there is nothing else?”

  “No, thank you.” Janie turned back to get her bonnet. She tucked her hair underneath, tied the ribbons under her chin and made her way downstairs. A footman, Will, opened one of the large front doors for her, and she thanked him and descended the stairs. She followed her usual route across the parklands and crossed the bridge to reach the woods. Swinging her arms widely like little helicopter propellers, she sauntered along the path heading for the meadow.

  Janie looked up from studying the path to see a saddled horse munching on grass in the meadow. She stopped short at the sight of Lord Carswell standing among the sheep, his hand on the head of one that rubbed against his legs.

  Janie squinted, then opened her eyes wide to make sure she was actually seeing what she thought she was. But yes, that was definitely Lord Carswell petting a sheep.

  She whirled around with the intent of stalking off, then paused and looked over her shoulder. No! These were her sheep, her pets! She was not leaving! He had his own sheep, didn’t he?

  Chapter Five

  Lord Carswell scratched one last ear and extricated himself from the flock of sheep surrounding him. He looked down at his dark-brown breeches with a rueful eye. Strands of white wool coated them, a far cry from the occasional bits of horsehair that clung to his legs when he rode out.

  “There now, you untidy lot. Look what you have done to me. How that woman tolerates you is beyond me.”

  One sheep, a particularly affectionate creature, followed him as he returned to his horse, bleating for attention. He turned and gave it a final pat on the head.

  “Enough now!” he said with a chuckle. “Go enjoy the fine sun and your grass. I shall come again tomorrow.”

  Lord Carswell took the horse’s reins and mounted. His own carriage horses were not suitable for riding, and St. John had kindly lent him a mount. He turned the horse’s head around and set off at a leisurely pace in the direction of the castle.

  He had wondered if he might see Miss Ferguson on what were reported to be her daily walks, but he had seen no sign of her, which was just as well. He did not wish her to know that he had taken an eccentric liking to the sheep. The irony was not to be borne. He had plenty livestock on his own estate and had never so much as scratched a wooly ear before.

  As Lord Carswell entered the strip of woods, he thought he saw a flash of white ahead and to his right. A deer? He brought the horse to a halt and listened for rustling in the brush while straining to see movement under the shadowed canopy of the trees.

  Hearing no unusual sounds, he urged the horse forward again. Still scanning the woods for a deer, he wondered that he heard no birds. All was quiet. He passed by a large oak tree. A sudden breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. He caught sight of a wisp of white again behind the trunk.

  His curiosity piqued, Lord Carswell maneuvered the horse off the path and approached the tree. There on the other side of the wide trunk, stood Miss Ferguson, her hands over her mouth, her eyes closed. All indications suggested she hid behind the tree. Every inch of her form pressed up against the bark as if she sought to meld with it.

  “Miss Ferguson? What do you do there?”

  Beautiful blue eyes popped open. She dropped her hands from her mouth and stared at him. “What? Oh! Hello there! Me? I was out for a walk.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” he said, “but why do you hide behind the tree?”

  She stepped away from the trunk and looked up at him with what he could only describe as belligerence. “I’m not hiding! What a ridiculous thing to say. I was studying the bark. This tree seems to be very old.”

  Lord Carswell glanced at the tree. “Yes, I imagine it is.”

  “Well, okay, then.”

  “You certainly appeared to be studying it closely...with your eyes closed.”

  “Oh, please!” She adjusted her bonnet. “I had something in my eye.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “Okay, well, I’ll be on my way.” She tried to walk past the horse but balked.

  Lord Carswell backed the horse up to allow her to pass. Then he made a hasty decision that surprised him. He dismounted and took the horse’s reins.

  “Miss Ferguson, I do not feel that I should simply ride away and leave you to walk alone. I shall accompany you.”

  Miss Ferguson whirled around. “What? No! Really? Why? I’m fine out here. I was just out for a walk.”

  “To visit with the sheep?” he asked. He had an urge to smile but suppressed it.

  “My sheep,” she said with narrowed eyes.

  “Your sheep?” he repeated.

  “Well, no, not mine. St. John’s sheep. But I like them. They’re sweet and friendly.”

  “I too noticed that they are very amiable.”

  “I saw—” She stopped short. “Oh really?”

  “Yes. I have taken to visiting with them. Odd, really. I do not even have dogs.”

  “I love animals, but I don’t have any pets either. I’m too busy working to take care of any. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “What would not be fair?”

  “To leave a dog or cat home alone all day without companionship.”

  “Do you have no one who could care for such a pet? No land upon which the animal could roam?”

  “No, I live in an apartment. I don’t have ‘land.’ Which probably reminds you that I’m not wealthy. And Clara is my friend. She’s here...to stay.”

  Lord Carswell knew a moment of shame. “It is not my intent to flaunt wealth or disparage those who must earn their keep. If I have done so, I apologize.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” sh
e said enigmatically. “Well, if you’re not going to ride away, then you might as well come on. Bring your beautiful horse with you.”

  “Would you care to ride? I am aware that you are not presently garbed in a riding habit, but I could lift you up onto the horse. As you see, I do not have a lady’s saddle, but I believe you could sit sidesaddle quite comfortably at a slow walk.”

  Miss Ferguson looked up at the horse’s head.

  “Really? Me on a horse? Oh, man! I’ve never been on a horse before!”

  Lord Carswell narrowed his eyes at her unusual dialect. Did she refer to him when she said “man”? He did not know.

  “Then you wish to ride the horse?”

  “Yes!” she said, her eyes bright. “But you’ll have to lead him. I’m not sure I’m up for horse-riding lessons at the moment.” She came to stand beside him next to the horse’s flank.

  “Yes, of course. Given your inexperience, I shall take the reins and lead the horse.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Miss Ferguson raised her arms, and Lord Carswell did what he had never done in his life. He took a woman by the waist and lifted her up onto a horse.

  “Hold the pommel,” he said, feeling his heart pounding.

  She closed her small hands over the pommel and looked down upon him. “So this is what it feels like to talk to people from the back of a horse. It feels kind of superior, doesn’t it?”

  Lord Carswell lifted an eyebrow. “Superior?”

  “Superiority doesn’t always come in the form of wealth and titles, right? Sometimes it comes in a physical form. Like if you’re tall and talking to someone short. Or if you’re on the back of a horse. You literally ‘look down’ on someone. I guess that’s where the term comes from. I can see that now.”

  “A very philosophical view, Miss Ferguson. The horse grows restless. Let us walk while we discuss the fundamentals of superiority.”

  “I’m good,” she said. “I’ll just hang on to old Bessie here and try to stay on top of the horse.”

  “Bessie is a male. I believe his name is Jasper, and he is about five years old.”

  “Jasper,” she murmured, patting the horse’s neck. “Hey there, buddy.”