Chapter 31

"Did you ever wish to go to Town yourself, have a Season or two like other young women of your station?" Colin asked.
"Of course," Augusta replied. "I fantasized about ball gowns and handsome suitors as much as the next girl. Other times I was dreadfully glad not to. I'm really a very quiet sort of person. I'm afraid that parties every night would soon become overwhelming."
"And your sisters? What would you like to see for them?" He finished off his stew and helped himself to a slice of bread with jam. At least he hadn't turned up his nose at such simple fare.
"Choices," she answered easily. "I want them to be able to live their lives in the ways that best suit them. I'd like them to meet eligible men and choose which, if any, they want to marry. I don't want them forced into anything." Images of Vicar Ellsworth rose in her mind.
He nodded. "Understandable. Your brother is twelve, correct? He should be going to school."
"I know. He needs to mingle with other young men. I'm afraid that getting all of his education from older sisters may have given him a very odd outlook on the world."
"I'll arrange it, as soon as I have you all settled." He nodded, as if that was the final word on the subject.
"What do you mean when you have us all settled?" Augusta narrowed her eyes and glared. "Can you not simply restore a reasonable allowance and be done with it? Or did your cousin squander the principal as well as our earnings?"
"No, the viscount's fortune is intact, as are your dowries," he assured her. "And the Bruxton estate will repay the amount owing as well. I simply thought it might be best for all of you to come with me to Fordyce Hall for a while. If nothing else, I'm sure my mother will be delighted to help you and the girls shop for new clothing. You'll have three years back allowance to spend, after all."
Fordyce Hall, in Yorkshire, was the primary seat of the earls of Bruxton; Augusta knew that from her endless letters to the former earl. She chewed on a bite of bread while she thought. What he said did make sense. The girls would love a change of scenery, Arthur did need to go to school and all of them could desperately use new clothes. And yet, there were difficulties in the plan as well.
"How are we to travel?" she asked once she'd swallowed. "We can hardly go all the way to England in an old farm cart."
"Blast it, I hadn't thought that far ahead," he grumbled. Then he looked up at her with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Can I blame the headache for my lapse in manners?"
She grinned back. "Just this once, I suppose. It seems to have been a day for unusual language. I may have even used some myself when I received the solicitor's letter."
"The one stating that no more funds would be sent until I'd reviewed the situation?" He grimaced slightly as he spoke.
She nodded. "At least you did choose to investigate. I'd assumed it was just another delaying tactic. More of the same." She stood and began to clear the dishes from the table.
Bruxton's lips formed into a thin line. "I assure you, Miss MacLeish. One way or another, everything is going to change around here."
It was fatiguing just watching her move, Colin decided, leaning back in his chair to finish his tea. He felt like an utter wretch for letting her wait on him, even if his head was still pounding. Now she was washing the bloody dishes. God damn his cousin for reducing her to this.
She wasn't exactly a beauty. Her mouth was too wide, her nose and chin too strong and her dark, reddish-brown hair was too straight, though enough of it had fallen out of its knot that he could tell it was thick and shining, falling just to the point where her small waist dipped in between full breasts and lush hips. She didn't wear stays and her dress was a touch on the snug side, so her unfashionably curvaceous figure was well delineated by the faded fabric. Unfashionable be damned, curves like that were enough to have a man drooling in his soup, especially after having her pressed up against him as she'd helped him into the house. Colin was glad he was seated, so his body's rather obvious response to his watching her would be hidden. This stirring of desire he felt was utterly inappropriate.
Finally, she finished the chore and glanced out the window above the sink. "It's dark out. I don't suppose you'll be able to ride back to the village tonight."
"I'll be fine." He'd ridden with worse injuries, back in France. Slowly, bracing his hands on the heavy oaken table, he pushed his chair back and stood. The world didn't swim, though his temple throbbed violently. "As long as Jupiter can carry me, I can ride. Thank you for the meal and the chance to rest, though. I'll be back tomorrow to continue our discussion." He made it four steps toward the door when he staggered, not much, but just enough to force him to catch himself by grabbing hold of a cabinet.
Miss MacLeish - he'd already begun to think of her as Augusta - hurried to his side and slid her arm around his waist again. "You won't be riding anywhere tonight, I'm afraid. Let's get you to a bed, my lord."
He closed his eyes and sighed. Truth was, while he probably could make it back to the village inn, it would hurt like the very devil to do so. By tomorrow, he hoped to be back to normal, but for tonight, perhaps it would be all right for him to just rest.
"The MacArdles have quarters here on the first floor," she told him. "That might be easiest, if you don't object to being put in a servants' room."
"Not at all." Given what he'd seen, the servants probably lived as comfortably as the family. Besides, he'd spent two years in Calais, posing as the bookkeeper to a shipping operation, during his work for the Crown prior to Trafalgar. He was intimately familiar with living rough.