Page 22 of The Soldier
The earl’s temper threatened to seize the day, and he shifted his gaze to the blue heavens. “It appears I am without a steward, without a mechanic, and without the means to replace either.”
“You are not without resources,” Miss Farnum said, collecting empty mugs. “Perhaps you’d walk me back to the kitchens while the gentlemen enjoy a few minutes in the shade, my lord?”
He had the presence of mind not to explode when his laborers were within earshot, but once they’d rounded the corner of the house, he stopped and glared at Miss Farnum.
“Are you humoring me, madam?”
“Good heavens.” She tossed a glance up at him. “Why would I bother to do that?”
“Because,” he ground out, forced to move his feet because she was moving hers, “I am almost angry enough to fire the lot of them, pack up my horses, and ride back down to London.”
“If you think that’s what you should do, no one can stop you. I can, however, offer you something to eat before you go.”
“What?” He blinked, feeling like a bear who’d just realized he was charging in the wrong direction. “Food?”
“If you wouldn’t mind?” Miss Farnum, carrying the tray, gestured with her chin toward the kitchen door. She stepped back so he could hold it for her before following her into the cool interior of the big kitchen.
“Hello, Rosecroft.” Winnie, wearing a heavily floured pinafore, beamed at him from where she stood on a chair at the big wooden worktable. “I’m rolling the pie dough.”
“And doing an excellent job,” Miss Farnum piped up before turning her gaze on the earl. “Sit you down, milord, and we’ll plot your campaign.”
“Youarehumoring me.” But his disgust was laced with reluctant humor.
“I am feeding you,” she corrected him, setting a plate down before him with two fat pastries on it and more cookies. “Eat, and all will look better. Cider or lemonade?”
“Either.” He bit into a pastry only to find it was filled with ham, eggs, a little bacon, and some seasonings that made it a considerable improvement over its previous incarnation—and worlds beyond a mean old scone.
“Better?” Miss Farnum asked, plunking down a tankard of lemonade before him.
“Much,” he said around a mouthful of culinary heaven. “The pastries, that is. They are much improved.”
“You will be, too.” She flashed him a grin. “Not so much flour, wee Winnie, and don’t forget a dash of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and allspice.”
“You are making apple tarts?” The earl’s nose fairly twitched with anticipation.
“We are,” Winnie said, “but you get dessert only if you eat your vegetables.”
“I will eat my vegetables. I’d also best be on my way back to the ongoing debacle that is my fountain.”
“Why not send Stevens off to collect Timmens from his fishing instead, as it appears you won’t need Stevens in the stables for the present?” Miss Farnum suggested from where she was watching Winnie roll out dough. “And as for Holderman’s disappearance, good riddance, I’d say. My guess is you could call upon Lord Amery to serve at least temporarily and see a great deal more accomplished.”
“I cannot impose on a guest, Miss Farnum.”
“Why can’t you?” The voice was masculine and slightly amused. Douglas sauntered in, hands in his pockets, cuffs turned back. “I was prepared to ride out with you this morning but found you were not at the stables and not expected to ride before luncheon.”
“Caesar’s lame, and I cannot impose on you to serve as my land steward in Holderman’s absence.”
“Is the man ill?” Douglas reached for a cinnamon cookie, closed his eyes, and sniffed at it before taking a bite. “Wonderful.” He gestured with the remaining cookie. “My compliments.”
“I’m making the pie dough.” Winnie waved her rolling pin for emphasis.
“Miss Winnie, good morning.” Douglas bent down and planted a loud smacker on her cheek. “You are going to abandon me for the charms of pie dough?”
“Only for today.”
“I am desolated, but I can be revived by ample doses of cinnamon cookie. St. Just, how can I be of service?”
The earl blew out a breath and scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “The steward has departed for the comforts of his uncle’s estate, and I have two crews, one of which is idling by the cistern; the other is supposedly mending wall, but I can’t be sure of that, and the roofing fellows are supposed to be on grounds this morning, as well. Then, too, you reminded me I’ve yet to inspect my own home farm, and while I’ve ridden some of the paths in the wood, I can’t say I’ve taken note of the deadfall… for starters.”
