Page 65

His mother would have had him married and bringing forth children tomorrow, but his sisters kept her plenty occupied with grandchildren to distract her from the topic adequately.

It did not keep the subject from resurfacing whenever he visited home, but he supposed that would be the case until he actually brought children home to meet her, regardless of his marital status.

Heaven help the poor woman he would manage to convince to marry him.

“Afternoon, my lord!”

Benj looked up from his mindless plowing, continuing his path straight ahead as he looked around for the source of the voice. He knew some of the locals from the last few weeks, and those that, like himself, dined at the inn, but as far as who might call out to him while he was in the fields …

His eyes widened as they settled on the now approaching figure, and he pulled the horses to a stop. “Mr. Jepps?”

Jepps chuckled his usual booming sound. “Surprised, sir? My oldest boy practically begged me to leave the anvil for a few minutes, so I thought I’d drive up and deliver your mended harness myself.” His eyes cast across the field, and a faint crease appeared between his graying brows. “How many of these have you done, my lord?”

Benj thought about the question for less than a heartbeat. “A few,” he replied with a bland smile.

The blacksmith returned his attention to Benj directly. “And how many more do you have to do?”

“After this?” Benj asked, hedging the question. “Four more.”

“Alone.”

“Well, I do have the horses.”

“But no workers.”

“Not many men will do this amount of work with the small amount I can pay, particularly when I am an unknown figure to them.” Benj shrugged, shifting his position against the handles of his plow. “I make do.”

Jepps nodded once. “Yes, so I see. Well,” he said as he began shucking off his jacket, “I’ve a few minutes. Allow me to drive a few furrows for you, sir. Finish this field, at least.”

Benj blinked at the idea. “Thank you, Mr. Jepps, but I can manage. Truly. You’ve your anvil and bellows, and surely you have work to be done before you close up this evening.”

“Not a bother, my lord,” the man replied as he tossed his jacket on the grass and started to roll his sleeves. “My son has everything in hand. He’ll take over the business, you know, and could do so now. The shop is in good hands.”

Excuse after excuse lit into Benj’s mind, any protestations he could conjure, and the only thing that managed to make its way out of his mouth was, “You’re a blacksmith.”

Luckily, Mr. Jepps had an excellent sense of humor, and gave Benj a laughing look, gesturing for him to step away. “I wasn’t always a blacksmith, my lord. I can plow a field.”

There wasn’t anything else to do but step away and let the man take a turn, but it tasted bitter to do so. What was he supposed to do while someone else plowed his field? He wasn’t planting yet, and there was no need to lead the horses while Jepps drove them. He could, he supposed, but it might look odd to anyone who knew what they were about.

Jepps was giving him a respite, but he hadn’t had a respite since he’d begun this whole project.

What did a country earl working his own land do for a brief respite?

“I feel awkward and useless,” Benj informed Mr. Jepps as the man expertly snapped the horses back into their rhythm.

“Take a breath, my lord,” Jepps called back. “Take a walk. Take a …”

“If you are about to say wife, you can get off of my property now,” Benj interrupted with a lightness he thought himself too exhausted to drum up.

Jepps barked another loud laugh. “I was going to say ride, my lord. I would never suggest a man get a wife until he was ready to do so. I’ve been married long enough to know one must be fully prepared for such a thing.”

Benj gave him a firm nod of approval, then, seeing that the man was quite set on his course, opted to walk back to the house just to look around. He’d done so prior to this, of course, but it had been a few days since he had let himself really see the situation for what it was and start to plot a strategy towards its restoration.

Even on approach, his eyes were drawn to the left of the house, the wing pointing west. Or mostly west, at any rate. The balustrades of the roof were crumbling on that side, as well as the short wall extending out towards the remnants of the garden, and the half-dead ivy encasing the walls made the place look more darkened than it truly was. He did not quite understand why the eastern wing was completely ivy free, but as it was the least damaged of the wings on the interior, he would not ask too many questions.

He needed to keep Pontcaster intact for the time being, unless there were true issues with the structural integrity. He could adjust whatever he liked when he had the funds to do so, but for the present, it was best to make do with what he had. Which meant clearing, cleaning, and … whatever word could be used for attempting to refine that which could not be refined. For covering up that which ought to be hidden. For being too poorly off to renovate and too proud to expose the truth.

If there was a word for such a thing.

Benj grunted softly to himself as he looked over this undoubtedly once-fine façade of a house. The style was fairly modern, all things considered, though it had been so neglected, it looked to be much older. There had been some renovations in the last century, but a few aspects were original, which likely accounted for the crumbling in parts. He’d have to examine the rest of the house in depth once he’d removed the distraction of mess and decay.

He didn’t mind the work. He would rather strive for something than be idle for nothing. And if looking at Pontcaster told him anything, he would be striving for a very, very long time.

The sound of hooves hitting the ground pulled Benj’s attention from his house to the surrounding hills, his eyes narrowing as he tried to spot the source of the sound. It wasn’t exactly common to have riders out here on his lands, and his present position was too far from the road to hear hooves so clearly.

Then he caught it: a fine chestnut bay horse galloping majestically along the hills just behind his estate. His eyes moved to the rider, and his eyes widened.

A woman in a plum-colored riding habit managed the horse beautifully, even at such speeds and terrain. No hint of nerves, no hesitation, no maidenly reserve in her riding or handling of the creature. She was almost reckless in her manner, forgoing the ladylike posture Benj was used to seeing and leaning close to the horse, and it was impossible to tell if she was managing sidesaddle or riding astride. This far removed from Society, it would not matter either way.

But he wondered how she chose to ride as her form faded over the rise of the hill. He was positive he hadn’t seen her in the area before, but he would also admit that he hadn’t exactly been paying attention.

He hadn’t seen her face, and her figure had been difficult to observe from this distance, but if she could ride like that in hills like these, he would be looking out for her from now on.

It added significantly to the interest of the area.

More than Pontcaster could ever hope to.