“Come with me, Miss Kent,” Betsy said. “I will find you something dry to wear.”
Chapter Twenty-One
As I followed Betsy intothe bedchamber, I noted her readiness to obey Damon’s command and thought it odd. The Winfields had not provided adequate living conditions for the Turners, but they did not hold any bitterness or resentment toward their landlord. Why?
Betsy undid my ties, retrieved a dry dress, and stood behind me to assist me into it.
“May I ask you a question, Betsy?”
“About Lord Jennings?” Her voice seemed to smile.
I nodded. “Earlier when you told Mrs. Turner that he has been good to your family, what did you mean?”
She slipped her dress over my head, settling the fabric over my shoulders, but didn’t speak.
“I was cross with him earlier,” I admitted, pulling my arms through the slightly too-long sleeves. “And I am wondering if my scolding was misplaced.”
In truth, Iknewmy scolding had been misplaced. I’d reacted impulsively when I’d first seen the condition of the Turner’s farm, but his tenants didn’t seem to resent him and even spoke kindly of him. And more importantly,I knew Damon. He was intelligent and kind. He was helping them. I was sure of it. But how? And why was he doing it in secret?
“Lord Jennings is a good man,” Betsy confirmed as she did up the back of my dress. “He does the best he can for us tenants.”
“How does he help?” I pressed her for more information.
“I’m not sure I should say, miss.”
I nodded. Though I still didn’t understand Damon’s exact dealings with his tenants, or why he wouldn’t help them openly, I was glad to know that he was helping.
Betsy went back to the trunk and pulled out a set of her husband’s clothes and set them on the corner of the bed for Damon. I followed her out of the room to rejoin the others.
Damon looked up from his stew and smiled at me dressed in Betsy’s clothes. I smoothed my skirt. It was made from coarse homespun, but I was much more comfortable wearing this dress than the fancier one I’d arrived in.
“I’ve laid dry clothes on the bed for you, m’lord,” Betsy said to Damon.
“I can serve as your valet if you’d like?” Mr. Turner offered.
“You are kind to offer, but I will clothe myself.” Damon stood and walked into the bedchamber, closing the door quietly behind himself.
I sat at the table and ate a spoonful of warm stew. It tasted as good as it smelled.
My bowl was almost empty when Damon emerged from the room, and I froze with my spoon in midair as he walked toward the table. Mr. Turner’s clothes fit him snugly. The shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and without a proper cravat, it gaped slightly at the neckline and revealed a portion of his chest.
Damon grinned. “Do you approve, Miss Kent?”
I quickly averted my gaze—embarrassed to be caught admiring him. I gave Damon a polite smile, trying to hide my discomfort, then said loudly enough for the Turners to hear us, “It was kind of our hosts to share their things with us.”
“To be sure,” Damon said in his low tone, “but that is not what I’m asking. I’d like to know if you find me as pleasing in this attire as you normally do.”
“What makes you think I find you pleasing?” I said, but Damonwasan objectively handsome man no matter what he was wearing, and there was nothing I could do to hide the admiration that was surely written in pink on my cheeks. “I think you should have let Mr. Turner serve as your valet. You seem to have forgotten your cravat.”
With a light laugh, Damon relaxed into his seat across the table, and we resumed our meals.
When we were done, Betsy cleared our bowls. “Please enjoy your leisure by the fire while you wait for the rain to pass.”
Damon thanked her, and we moved our chairs nearer to the fire.
We sat together in silence for a moment, enjoying the sounds and movement of life around us. The children were quarreling over their little game, Baby John was upset again, and Betsy fussed over him. Mr. Turner had disappeared into the back room—likely to change into dry clothes of his own. And the elder Mrs. Turner had moved to the now-vacant table to eat her own bowl of soup. Noise filled every corner of the home, but there was a comforting rhythm to it, which I found pleasant.
Growing up, it had only been Henry and me. He was several years older than me, though, and more interested in his studies than in me. And since I’d not had any younger brothers and sisters, there was never anyone to play with after dinner. Mama and Papa had wanted more children, but they’d never been blessed with any more. A pang of emotion swelled inside my heart. Was it possible to miss something,someoneI’d never known?
