Olivia assessed the small room, with its narrow iron bed, a candlestick on the table, an upright wooden chair, and a narrow wardrobe. Her room at Lady Lowry’s was superior in comfort and size. But she wasn’t sorry to be here. She would make it cozy. And she had a view through the dirty windowpane of the massive slate roof and chimneys and the two upper floors of the opposite wing, where the guest bedchambers were situated.
She opened the window and the warm summer breeze rushed in to banish the smell of the dusty rug and stale bedding. Then, turning with renewed energy, she stripped the covers off the mattress and made it with the fresh sheets. Then went to see how Emily fared cleaning her room. In the morning, Olivia would have the maids prepare the bedchambers for the new arrivals.
Olivia went down as the gong sounded. In the servants’ hall, the staff ate their supper. Seated next to Jack, Emily giggled.
Weary, but pleased to see the maid less anxious and already feeling at home, Olivia sat down as Sam put a tasty meal before her.
Chapter Seven
The following afternoon,Dominic rode with Williams to consult with the farmworkers who’d kept the home farm animals breeding and in good health, despite his uncle’s neglect.
Jeremy Tate had worked for his uncle for over twenty years. He could not disguise his delight at Dominic’s interest as he took them to view the animals, then into the fields to view the areas requiring new irrigation trenches. Tate squatted and dug his fingers into the earth. “Rich friable loam, milord, far superior to heavy clay, which makes plowing difficult.”
When Dominic agreed to set the drainage work in motion, they walked on as Tate enthusiastically espoused the Norfolk four-course system, which meant they no longer required fields to lie fallow.
“I hope I haven’t talked too much, milord,” the big-boned country fellow said, his bristled cheeks reddening.
“Not at all. It’s most interesting. Having never taken an interest in my father’s estate, I have much to catch up on.”
They passed fat dairy cows in a paddock. “They produce six gallons a day,” Tate said. Farther on, a flock of sheep grazed on the last of the turnip tops, their lambs frolicking over the verdant grass.
Dominic’s confidence in the estate grew. With increased production, it could become something his father would be proud of. His father spoke rarely of Redcliffe Hall. But when he did, his voice held a hint of melancholy, as if he’d left his heart here. Dominic could believe it. His father had expressed little affection for the home Dominic grew up in. He supposed that was why he didn’t either.
As he and Williams trotted their horses down a lane bordered by daisy-strewn paddocks and freshly sown pastures, Dominic allowed himself to imagine Redcliffe Hall as the magnificent estate it must once have been.
They rode through the gates onto Willard Johnson’s farm, where workmen wrestled with a huge log they’d dug out of a field, attempting to load it onto a dray.
Willard, a wiry fellow, came to greet them. He threw his hands up in defeat. “I’m about to bring the ax and chop it up here.”
“Let’s see if we can shift it.” Dominic dismounted and tied the reins to the post. He climbed over the fence. The sun warmed his back when he stripped off his coat. Williams joined them, and working together, with muttering and curses, the four maneuvered the log onto the dray. A workman jumped aboard. He took up the reins of the solidly built draft horse and drove away.
Dominic eased his shoulders. He kept fit in London with bouts at Jackson’s Boxing Academy, riding, driving his curricle, and swordplay, but manual labor tested other muscles which left him sore, but oddly satisfied.
“Good of you to help, milord.” Johnson removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his forearm. “May I offer you both a glass of ale?”
“Thirsty work,” Dominic said, reaching for his coat. “We would appreciate it.”
They approached the farmhouse where Johnson’s outbuildings and fences were in a sad state of repair.
“Lean times leave little money for such things, milord,” Johnson explained when Dominic asked about it.
“I’ll purchase some lumber. Let Williams know what you need.”
Johnson expressed his gratitude and introduced his wife, a small woman who had come out to greet them. They drank a tankard of ale while she cooked something delicious for her husband’s supper and a shy child clung to her skirts.
“Johnson’s supper smelled good,” Dominic said after they’d mounted and ridden back the way they came. “I’m pleased with Samuels. He produces a tasty meal. Nothing fancy, but good English fare. How do you find the new servants?”
“I’ve had little to do with them. Miss Jenner is a remarkably efficient woman.”
“Yes, I expected she would be.” Dominic had met the housekeeper in the upper corridor earlier today. She and two of the housemaids had their arms full of linens. They’d bobbed, and he’d begged them not to drop them, producing giggles from the maids.
As she ushered the maids away, he was left with an annoying vision of Miss Jenner’s hair hidden beneath a lawn cap. He liked to see a woman’s hair. Admittedly, he would prefer hers down over her shoulders and mussed, preferably by him.
Remembering it made him groan in dismay at the direction of his thoughts.
“You spoke, milord?” Williams asked as their horses skirted a muddy patch.
“Nothing of import,” Dominic said hastily. “Fancy a game of whist this evening?”
