Page 7 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
“What? That Father was sleeping in an extra hour in the morning? That sometimes he went to bed immediately after dinner? As I said, it was a slow thing.” Owen turned back to his horse and mounted, sitting stiffly as he waited for Jacob to do the same. “I tell you truly, the change was so gradual we never really noticed until near the end, when one day he chose not to get up at all.”
Jacob turned his horse back toward the road. “How long ago was this?”
“A month, maybe less, before he died. At first, we thought he had taken ill and only wanted for some rest to set things right again. Only he didn’t improve. By the time we thought to write, he was already gone.” Owen’s tone was defensive, angry.
Jacob held up one hand in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. “I mean no harm, Brother, I am only trying to understand. Then you have been in charge of the estate for some time. I suppose that is a bit of luck, having you here that you might teach me.”
“Teach you?” Owen’s horse fell into step beside Jacob’s. The stallion whickered and nudged the mare’s neck. Her ears flattened, and she sidestepped.
Jacob urged the stallion on, until he drew ahead slightly, that the stud could quit bothering the mare. “Well, surely I have no idea how to manage the estate half so well as you do. My knowledge is all theoretical, but here you are, having done exactly as I need to. I should say ‘tis very lucky you know so much. I should have hated to figure it out on my own.”
It took him a minute to realize that Owen wasn’t following. In fact, Owen had reined in and was staring at him, his mouth slightly agape. “You are intending to stay?”
Jacob chuckled. “There is no reason to look so absolutely stupefied. What did you think, that I would arrive to sign the documents required and then toddle back to London, leaving you to it? If that were the case, I would have had the contracts sent by messenger and the whole matter would be settled already.”
Owen had grown considerably paler. “But you have never…I mean, this is not…you have notlivedhere. I thought once you saw how complex an estate this size is, you would have…”
“Run away to sea and leave you to manage it?” Jacob shook his head. “It would hardly be doing right by Father, would it? He left it to me, and as the title is connected to the estate, it hardly seems right to leave the managing of it to someone else.”
“There are many enough who do. A great number of estates in Ireland are left to foremen or managers, while their titled owners spend the season in London or Bath.” A muscle twitched in Owen’s jaw. Gone was the playful prankster Jacob had known as a child. This man, full grown and larger then he, was someone he didn’t know at all. The realization was a shock.
“I had thought you would be relieved!” Jacob exclaimed, riding back until he was alongside Owen. “You have been cooped up here since you were a boy, while I was away at school. I should think you would be eager to be away. It is not impossible for arrangements to be made to attend Cambridge yourself, if you so choose.”
“Cambridge!” Owen’s nose wrinkled as though he had been handed something vile. “All the education I need has been upon these hills. You seem not to realize that this is my home. I consider myself as much Irish as English.”
Jacob reeled back in surprise. “I daresay you would not want Mother to hear you say that. What an outlandish notion! Even had you been born here, your parentage ensures you are considered truly British, something you would do well not to forget. Why, in the village—”
Jacob stopped, not sure he wanted to share his encounter in the village just yet. The whole matter rankled still. The red-haired woman had bewitched him, for the encounter with her and her father had troubled him as he’d tried to sleep.
I am simply worried,he told himself.I do not care for her father.
But it was not the father that troubled him. It was those amber eyes.
“It seems we have a guest.”
Owen’s voice brought him back to himself. He’d been riding without thinking and saw now, a solitary figure trudging up the long road to the estate, a heavy bundle in her arms. Jacob stared, for it was as if his thoughts had summoned the very object of his ruminations, for the girl was none other than she.
Jacob frowned a little “Do you know who she is?” he asked, with a nod at the slight figure in the distance who struggled so to carry her burden. She’d stopped a moment, and lifted one hand to mop at her bare forehead, her bonnet dangling from her fingers, wilted and crushed.
“Who is who?” Owen raised himself up in the saddle to look. “Do you mean Miss Price? I suppose the colleen is coming to work. ‘Tis about time. We have been shorthanded for weeks now, though I suppose next I shall have to give you an accounting of those matters as well.”
Jacob blinked in surprise. “To work in the house? As what exactly? I saw the girl yesterday, and up close she seems rather frail for it.” For that matter she seemed rather frail for such a long walk with such a heavy load. He sent his horse down the road toward her, without stopping to wait for his brother’s reply.
“Good day, Miss!” Jacob called as he approached. “It seems a fearsome day for such a walk. Might I render some assistance? A ride perhaps? Or at the very least to carry your load?”
“I can carry it myself,” she said with a sharp look at his face. She had stopped at his approach, and even bobbed a short curtsey. “Good day, Your Grace.” With that she continued past him as though he were not there at all.
“Stay…!” He dismounted, feeling more than a little protective of her after their encounter yesterday, and came to walk alongside her. “At least let me walk with you. ‘Tis but a short distance, but it troubles me to see you out here alone. In the meantime, we could allow the horse to carry the bag. Such a small thing would scarce be a burden to him at all.”
He eyed the cloth bag in her arms. It likely held the girl’s worldly possessions such as they were, but he knew well from his own experience tramping through the hills around Eton, how even a modest burden grew heavier with each mile.
One corner of her mouth quirked up in an amused smile. “If my bag is such a small thing, scarce likely to be a burden, then I should think you would not trouble me so over it, Your Grace, but rather allow me the dignity of arriving in my own way, in my own time. Perhaps it has not occurred to you that I was enjoying my last moments of freedom before accepting the yoke of service to your household.”
“I daresay she has you there,” Owen said, joining the two of them and likewise dismounted. “It is good to see you again, Miss Price. I doubt you have been properly introduced. This bumbling fool is none other than Jacob Alexander Thorndyke Norton the Third, the newly appointed Duke of Woodworth, as I am sure you have already guessed by use of the phrase ‘your grace’ in addressing him.”
He shot a smile at his brother who was still standing awkwardly holding the reins of his mount in one hand. “Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to Miss Alicia Price, late of Ballycrainn, who will be serving us henceforth. Or at least will be doing so if we allow her to be about her business and quit delaying her foolishly.”
Jacob eyed the girl dubiously. Her thin face seemed pale, and he wasn’t sure but she might have wavered upon her feet. It was a long walk from the village, and she did not seem strong. “Are you a seamstress, then?” he asked, trying to figure just what sort of servant would appear so frail and delicate. Something not physically strenuous, he supposed.
