“You don’t have to. I blame myself,” he said, and went back to the library, which he’d made into his office. He went over the central heating plans, but he couldn’t concentrate. He tried to blame the pounding of the hammers, but it was really the lack of music that he missed. Thomas blinked and tried to reapply himself to the blueprints. After a few minutes, he stood up and opened the door as Mrs. Norton was passing.
“Is my wife back?”
“Not yet, my lord,” she said, and bobbed a curtsy before giving him a wide, familiar smile. He’d often thought that the housekeeper loved him more than his mother did. She’d certainly spent more time with him when he was little. She was like a surrogate grandmother.
“It’s nearly luncheon. Shouldn’t she be back by now?”
“I expected her over an hour ago,” she said in a clipped tone. “But her American ways are quite different than ours.”
“Yes, they are. Thank you, Mrs. Norton,” Thomas said, and instead of going back to the library, he left the house and walked to the stables. He asked the new head groom, Mr. Rowell, to saddle his horse, and he rode into the village.
As his chestnut mare galloped through the fields, he couldn’t help but remember his visit to the village for the burial of his father. He supposed he ought to feel some remorse or regret, but he’d barely known the man. His father had never shown any interest in him or bothered to hold a conversation with his son. The late earl had been away from home as much as possible and only returned when he was out of funds.
How Thomas hated him. He hated his father for shooting himself and leaving Thomas to clean up the mess of his debts. He hated him for defrauding Penelope out of her inheritance. He hated his father almost as much as he hated himself for taking Cordelia’s money and making her miserable. But how could he atone? He’d saved his home and his family, but he’d lost his self-respect, and his wife avoided him.
He despised himself.
Thomas didn’t have difficulty spotting the new carriage with his coat of arms on the panels in front of the schoolhouse. He swung out of his saddle and tied the reins of his horse to the fence. Peering through the door, he saw that the schoolroom was vacant. He walked back out to the street and looked around, but the only person he saw was Thayne walking toward him, carrying a parcel.
“Thayne, have you seen Lady Farnham—my wife?”
“I believe her ladyship is playing with the children,” Thayne said, his disapproval evident in his face.
Thomas turned to see Cordelia in a large muddy field, dressed impeccably in an emerald silk gown, standing by a wicket surrounded by school-age children. She was holding a cricket bat, and her hatless honey-brown hair shone in the sunlight. The bowler pitched the ball and Cordelia swung the cricket bat. She hit the ball high over the players and into the bushes.
“What do I do now?” she cried.
“Run to the opposite wicket,” a boy called.
She lifted her skirts and ran to the opposite wicket. He could see her silk stockings and fashionable high-heel boots.
“Now go back,” the boy called again.
“Right!” Cordelia said, and ran back to the first wicket.
“Keep going,” the boy said.
Cordelia nodded and ran again to the opposite wicket and on her way back, she was tagged with the ball by a little girl. She clutched her side with one ungloved hand and let out a loud sigh. “Did you just get me out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the little girl said, her face red.
“Oh, thank you. This game is exhausting,” Cordelia said with a laugh.
“Can I play too?” Thomas asked.
Cordelia smiled and looked into the eyes of the little girl who’d gotten her out. “Do you think we should allow Lord Farnham to play?”
“Yes, but only if he’s on my team.”
“Right,” Cordelia said. “Lord Farnham, you are on the fielding team.”
Thomas pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. He hadn’t played cricket since school, and he’d forgotten how much he loved the game. He chased after the ball, threw it to the children, and finally took his turn at bat. The bowler pitched the ball, and he swung as hard as he could. The ball soared over the farmer’s fence.
“Is that a home run?” Cordelia asked.
He laughed. “There are no home runs in cricket, but if you hit it out of the field, it’s worth six points.”
“Six points!” she exclaimed. “That’s highway robbery.”
