They shared a co-conspirators’ smile. Clarissa had seen that crafty look before with respect to the matrons. They’d had that smile when they had toddled her off to live with the Nelsons. They’d smiled when they had decided the time had come for her to marry, prodding her with aDon’t you think Mr. Thurlowe would be an excellent husband?
What could they be plotting now? It was unsettling how the lot of them didn’t even need words to communicate.
And then Mrs. Summerall brought Clarissa back to her present problems by saying cheerily, “Now, what can we help you gather for the baby?”
Chapter Five
Women don’t play fair. Neither do men.
—Book of Mars
True to his word, within the hour, Mars rolled into Maidenshop. He didn’t normally use his coach when he was in the country. He preferred riding Bruno, his ill-tempered gelding who usually threatened to unseat him at any given moment—except earlier when Mars had been carrying Dora in his arms. Then, the horse had shown good sense and behaved, to his owner’s relieved surprise.
Now Mars arrived in lordly fashion. His coach sported the Marsden colors of red and black. The wheels were red, too, with yellow spokes. It was so well-sprung, a rider never felt the bumps and ruts of village roads.
His thoughts were on everything that had already transpired today. Yesterday seemed empty compared with all he had before him now.
What hehadn’tanticipated was the splashthe coach would make in Maidenshop. People watched him pass and then started to follow. They called out to their family and neighbors, who left their chores or came out of their cottages for a look, and then they joined the procession. Children ran alongside the coach calling out his name as if begging for him to stop. Even the lads hanging around the smithy came walking down the road for a better look.
Of course, the horses enjoyed the attention. They were big-boned, bloodred animals who moved in high-stepping harmony and looked as if they had the strength to go all day.
The jewel on the top of the crown was the driver and footman who sat in the box. Bewigged and dressed in the splendor of Marsden livery, their shoulders were straight and their heads high. They basked in the attention.
And trotting behind them was a pony cart driven by a stable lad.
And Mars thought, if this didn’t impress Miss Taylor, he didn’t know what would—
Immediately he corrected himself. She would not be impressed. She’d accused him of acting “entitled” and here he was with his crest on the coach door. Except her problem wasn’t with him, but with society. Earls were expected to put on airs. It made the populace happy. Look how many villagers seemed genuinely delighted to gawk at this little parade.
The coach and cart pulled to a halt in front of Mrs. Warbler’s house. Of course, the women were not waiting for him. That was the way of women, he reminded himself. He rememberedtoo clearly hearing his father grouse about his mother’s tardiness—
The memory stopped him. It wasn’t that he didn’t think of his father. He’d been thinking of him a great deal of late, especially last night. The howling incident embarrassed him now. It was that he rarely thought of his mother.
Miss Taylor came out on the step, shifting his thoughts away from the past. The last person he wanted to ruminate on was Eleanor. Dora was still asleep, wrapped in a blanket, her head and a tired arm resting on Miss Taylor’s shoulder.
The sight of Dora sent a wave of purposeful anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long time. He also experienced a bit of pride that he was in front of Miss Taylor at his best. He’d even shaved. Sherry was not Port, but it had been restorative.
However, when Mars opened the coach door and jumped out, he was immediately surrounded by curious children trying to have a look inside. He couldn’t even take a step forward.
“Do you like it?” he asked, bemused.
At his question, they fell back as if not wishing to be in trouble. He just laughed. “When I was your age, I would have done anything to look in such a vehicle.”
They stared at him as if uncertain if he was telling them the truth.
He knelt a bit so he was on their level. “Well? Would you like to see inside?”
The older children watched him warily butthe youngest one eagerly announced that he would, tacking on “my lord” when one of the older girls gave him a punch to remind him of his manners.
“Very well,” he said to them. “I must use the coach. However, if you are quick, each of you can have a turn sitting in the seat a second.”
Eyes widened as if they couldn’t believe their good fortune. “Here, Hodner,” Mars said to the footman. “Organize this.” Then he turned his attention to his daughter... and the woman holding her.
Miss Taylor watched him with a worried line between her brows. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He was certain it wasn’t a charitable thought toward him. Before he could approach her, a local solicitor by the name of Michaels called out his name. “My lord, a moment of your time?”
Mars stifled his impatience. Michaels was a member of the Logical Men’s Society. He was short, lacked any knowledge of anything, and Mars could not abide looking at the man’s brown teeth. However, he put a pleasant smile on his face as he acknowledged his fellow Society member. “Michaels, good to see you. Unfortunately, I am busy at this moment.” He would have moved on, except, as he suspected, Michaels had something to say.
“My lord, we must discuss the Logical Men’s Society. Several of the lads have dropped out. Why, my friend Shielding is now promised to Squire Nelson’s oldest daughter.”
