“Billy, Henry!” the man called to two of the older children, “you take Their Grace’s reins now and see their horses stabled and curried. Hop to it, lads!”
Two boys in their teens but with the shoulders and arms of men trotted forward, caps removed from their heads. Cecilia smiled encouragingly as she slipped from the saddle and handed her reins to the nearest. Lionel followed suit.
“Your Graces, welcome!” the skinny man chimed, propping the fork against a wall. “It’s been long enough since we had the gentry here. I hope it’s not with bad news you come today.”
“Not a bit of it, Tom,” Lionel beamed. “In fact, it was in regard to the invitation you sent.”
The man appeared bewildered for a moment. Then, realization dawned on his expression. “Ah! Margaret must have forgotten to strike your name from the list. After last year’s invite, we figured you’d lost interest and we were just bothering you.”
Lionel shook his head vigorously. “Of course you weren’t! I was rather busy, but I appreciated the gesture every year nonetheless. Besides, this year, I wanted the new Duchess to meet all my tenants. She is keen to get to know all of you, the better to help provide whatever might be needed.”
Tom Hatch looked to Cecilia and gave her an appraising look before giving a perfunctory tug of the brim of his cap.
“That’s good of you, Your Grace. Taking an interest in the ordinary folks.”
“I grew up around just such folks. At Hamilton Hall,” Cecilia smiled.
“Aye, I’ve heard. Lot of talk in the village about the new Duchess. Some folks were saying as how you don’t know needlepoint or pianoforte but you’re a handy pair of hands when it comes to calving.”
Lionel laughed, looking at Cecilia with a raised eyebrow. She also laughed.
“I may have helped in more calvings and lambings than I can count. I am good friends with Master Brook at Old Slade farm. Do you happen to know him?”
“I’ve seen him at the market in Colnbrook before now, aye,” Tom replied. “He thinks highly of you, Your Grace. I’m right glad that you’re here.”
Cecilia beamed, pleased at the ready acceptance she had found here. Hopefully, all of Lionel’s tenants would be as accepting.
“Would you step indoors for a bite to eat and a cuppa?” Tom offered.
“We don’t want to keep you from your work,” Lionel demurred.
“Nonsense. Wife wouldn’t hear of it for you to come out all this way and not have anything,” Tom said, already turning back towards the house.
“Perhaps after we’ve earned it by pitching in and helping out. That way I won’t feel guilty for lengthening your day, Master Hatch,” Cecilia called after him.
The farmer looked shocked by the offer but Lionel was already removing his coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves.
“My wife means what she says and will be even less likely to bend than your own good wife,” he shrugged, “so, an hour’s work to earn luncheon and tea, eh?”
Tom Hatch burst out laughing as Cecilia removed her own coat and proceeded to tie up her skirts, revealing sturdy boots beneath.
“Well, I never. Far be it from me to stop a toff getting his hands dirty. Come on then!”
Cecilia followed, exchanging a delighted grin with Lionel. Tom would doubtless give them the lightest chores to do but it would be good to help out, get to know the children and the laborers as well as the Hatch’s themselves. The sun was nearing its own width above the horizon when Tom declared their vittles to be well and truly earned. Cecilia had been forking hay down from the stable loft for Lionel to line the stalls with. She felt a sheen of sweat on her forehead while Lionel had strands of straw sticking out of his hair. They walked to the farmhouse arm-in-arm. Her limbs felt tired but lit by a warm glow, as if the tiredness of hard work bestowed its own particular life force.
Inside, the farmhouse was a large kitchen dominated by a table around which all of the Hatch children were seated. Tom sat at the head, with the older children ranging from his end of the table down to the youngest who sat at Mrs. Doris Hatch’s end. Two seats in the middle were reserved for Cecilia and Lionel. Doris and two of her daughters were laying the table. Tom gestured to them both to sit.
The meal was hearty and plentiful. After they had finished with roasted chicken, potatoes, vegetables, gravy, and chunks of warm, freshly baked bread, there were flagons of ale or cider to wash it down.
She and Lionel had not intended to stay for the small party the Hatchs intended to throw, rather planning on reacquainting with the other tenants first. As it was, however, the sun had dipped below the horizon and candles were being lit in the windows—and the pair silently agreed they’d stay for a little longer.
Tom Hatch took out a battered old fiddle while his two burley, eldest boys shifted the table to the far side of the room. A few guests arrived, from neighboring farms. Doris took the hands of one of the younger children and they began to dance. Cecilia approached Lionel who stood awkwardly against the wall.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” Cecilia asked, feigning shyness.
“I’m afraid I do not dance,” Lionel replied, formally.
“I’m afraid that I must insist,” Cecilia countered, taking his hand, “your body wishes to dance even if your mind wills against it.”
