Chapter Ten

“I fear I monopolized the conversation the other day at Gunters,” Ellen said.

They were strolling through Hyde Park but off the main thoroughfare. Their relationship, for lack of a better word, was complicated. Neither had told anyone of their meetings.

Oliver’s mother was busy with her pregnancy. Yes, she was finally with child again. She and his father were ecstatic, and his mother was being very careful, in the hopes that this one would stick.

The good part about that was that she did not question Oliver’s comings and goings. His mornings were spent with his father, learning how to one day become an earl, but the afternoons were all Oliver’s, and he spent as many of them as possible with Ellen.

As for Ellen, she gave her mother various excuses as to why she had to be out. Her maid was with her at all times, but at a discreet distance, and Ellen insisted the girl could be trusted.

So for the time being they were in their own little bubble, not under any watchful eyes, able to learn all about each other within Society’s restrictions.

“I don’t mind,” he said in answer to her proclamation that she had monopolized their conversation over ices. “I like learning about you.”

They were currently on a path all to themselves, and Oliver made a bold move to touch her hand, link their fingers before letting them slide away. Her steps hitched, and he was glad to see that she was just as affected by his presence as he was hers.

She wound her arm through his and to anyone looking from afar they were a couple taking a slow stroll on a warm spring day. They were in trouble only if someone they knew happened upon them. Then tongues would wag and even though she was in confinement, Oliver’s mother would be the first to hear of it.

“Tell me about you,” Ellen said.

“You know about me.”

She squeezed his arm. “I know you are a viscount, your father is an earl, and that you just left Eton. And you like orange ices.”

He thought about her question, really thought about it. Was he passionate about anything as much as Ellen was passionate about learning about other people?

And then he thought of something. “It’s silly,” he said. “And rather boring.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He took a deep breath and for the first time voiced his inner thoughts. Thoughts that were not fully formed, that had been nothing but ethereal flits of his imagination.

“My father is teaching me about being an earl.”

“That does not come naturally to you?” She laughed and he grinned.

“There is so much I wasn’t aware of. Land and finances and there are people relying on you. It’s all rather daunting.”

“And you don’t want that responsibility?”

“On the contrary. But what I want… I feel that my father’s way is the old way of doing things. I think that this belief that earls run estates and make sure their tenants are doing what they are supposed to do is outdated. I see change in the future, and it is not good change for the old nobility.”

“This sounds ominous,” she said, but she was taking him seriously. She was listening, and that made him want to talk more.

“It doesn’t have to be. Have you heard of the steam engine?”

“I have. Large machines that can take us to the country in a fraction of the time it takes now.”

“Exactly. I think the steam engine is going to change everything. I think it will bring the country folk to the city. I think for the first time ever, families that have known nothing but toiling on land that is not theirs will realize they can come to the city and earn a better wage, become their own people instead of servants to someone else’s land.”

“I’d never thought of it that way before.”

“I think many noble families are going to be negatively affected if they refuse to see the change coming.”

“And what do you propose to do so you are not negatively affected?”

He drew a deep breath. “Trade.”

Her brows rose. “Trade as in you would become a shopkeeper?”

“As in I would bring the goods to the shops. I would purchase ships and have the raw materials, or even the finished products, shipped to England, and I would sell them to the shops.”

“That’s not something that earls do,” she said.

“I know, but I think it’s something they will need to embrace if they want to survive. It’s happening already. Men of business are surpassing many nobles in wealth. They do not have the titles, but they have grander homes, more money to spend.”

“And that is important to you? Grand houses? More money?”

He shook his head, fearing she thought him shallow. “The excitement of new ventures is important to me. Discovering new ways to do things is what’s important.”

“Well I think it’s marvelous and ingenious and I have no doubt you will be a raging success.”

Oliver acted on an impulse that he had never felt before. He pulled Ellen beneath a tree with low-hanging branches, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her.

She squealed when he pulled her under the tree, gasped when he kissed her, and instantly melted against him as her lips softened beneath his.

He’d kissed women before. There’d been a certain maid at Eton willing to do anything for the right amount of coin. But this was different. This was beyond any fumbled kiss he’d experienced in a linen closet.

Ellen was pliant against him, warm and soft, and she smelled of an intoxicating mix of roses. He filled all his sense with her as his tongue explored the seam of her lips.

And then she opened her lips and he was tasting all of her. Sweeter than any ice, she was.

He groaned, suddenly so aroused that it hurt. But he kept his distance, did not allow her to know exactly what she did to him. He didn’t want to frighten her. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away.

He just wanted to taste her and explore her.

He was the one who broke the kiss first, pulling away because he was so breathless he thought he might expire.

Her dark eyes were clouded, her lips red and moist, her cheeks flushed. Her lashes fluttered until their gazes met, and then she smiled.

“I…” He thought he should apologize for being so bold, but he didn’t want to apologize. Because he wasn’t sorry. He was glad he kissed her, that he now knew her individual taste.

…

Oliver arrived promptly at eight in the morning and knocked on the door himself. He was in a foul mood that wasn’t helped when the butler answered the door and young Fieldhurst was sauntering down the stairs, a scowl on his face, one eye blackened and nearly swollen closed, and still in the clothes he’d been gadding about town in the night before. Expensive clothes. Not the old clothes he’d requested.

His mother hovered behind him, shooting concerned looks at Oliver and her son, wringing her hands. She looked exhausted and worried, and that increased Oliver’s ire.

He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at the boy or at Ellen. All night he’d thought about Ellen and the surgeon, and by the time morning came he had worked himself into a temper.

“I said to wear old clothes,” Oliver said in lieu of a greeting.

Ellen shot a nervous look at her son who appeared bored and uninterested.

“I just arrived home,” young Fieldhurst said, as if it were nothing to keep someone waiting.

Oliver arched a brow. “Very well, then. Come along.”

“I thought I might come, too?” Ellen’s statement ended in a question, and Oliver shook his head.

The last thing he needed was Ellen hovering about. He had a feeling that most of young Fieldhurst’s problems stemmed from an overprotective mother and no father figure.

“Come along,” Oliver said again, turning toward his carriage without waiting for either of them to answer.

He settled into the driver’s seat, and Fieldhurst fell into the seat next to him with a loud sigh, and Oliver urged the horses forward.

They did not speak and that was fine with Oliver. He was thinking of his comfortable bed and how he should be in it and how he’d never seen the morning quite like this. Most mornings he also was just coming home, not going out.

He resented Fieldhurst for this, but in truth it hadn’t been the boy’s decision to get started this early, and by the looks of him it appeared he wanted to be in his bed, too. In fact, his eyes were closed, his chin on his chest, and he was breathing deeply.

Oliver kicked the boy’s boot. If he had to stay awake, then by God, so did the boy.

Philip jerked awake with a loud, “Huh.” And looked around with bleary eyes.

“Why’d you do that?” he asked in a whiny voice that put Oliver’s back teeth together.

“Because this is not a drive through the country. You’re to stay awake.”

“And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” He settled back down in his sleeping position.

“I am your last hope of getting back into Eton, you ungrateful runt. So stay awake.”

Philip snorted but sat up and yawned and looked around blinking. “Where are we going?”

“The Fieldhurst estate.”

“The Fieldhurst estate?” His voice rose in shock. “Why are we going there?”

“Your mother tells me that you feel that you are adequately schooled enough to run the earldom. I want to see if this is true.”

Oliver received great satisfaction in seeing the young lad squirm in his seat.

“Is this some sort of test?” His tone was sullen.

“Not at all.”

“And why are you the one to determine if I’m fit to run the earldom?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my own earldom has been very successful, so I am qualified. Your mother has asked me to help, and the headmaster won’t take you back unless I can vouch for you.”

Philip was silent for so long that Oliver thought he might have fallen back asleep until he murmured. “I don’t need to return to Eton.”

“Then today will decide that,” Oliver said.

They fell silent, and Oliver let the boy ruminate on their intended day while Oliver thought more about Ellen and the surgeon. He didn’t like that relationship but thought it had more to do with the past feelings he had for Ellen. He’d thought he was over her, but maybe he wasn’t, and it was unfair to be angry at Ellen for moving on and finding someone. After all, she had to be lonely without a man in her life, and it was clear that she was having trouble with her son. So why not ask Needham for help? Why had she asked him?

He’d been going round and round with this question all night and was nowhere close to an answer, nor would he be, because he had no intention of ever asking her. That would force him to reveal that he felt more for her than he should, and that would be awkward, because obviously she did not have feelings for him.

Oliver glanced over to find the boy nodding off, keeling slightly to the left. Oliver nudged him with his foot, and Philip came awake with a grunt.

“Damn, man,” he said, with a hint of a whine in his voice. “It’s not like we’re doing anything until we get there.”

“What time did you get home last night?”

He snorted. “The footman Mother sent after me found me around seven this morning.”

He seemed proud of this.

“What does a young boy do until that early in the morning?”

He suddenly seemed reluctant to talk and shrugged thin shoulders. “This and that.”

“What is this and what is that?”

He turned to Oliver, revealing his shiner. “You should know. You have a reputation as a man-about-town.”

Oliver wanted nothing more than to give the runt a shiner on the other eye, but he kept his hands on the ribbons and guided the horses down the path without responding.

Finally Philip said, “A little gambling. Dice and such. Drinking with friends.”

“And you think this acceptable behavior for a boy your age?”

He bristled at being called a boy. “It’s acceptable behavior for an earl. You should know.”

Oliver gritted his teeth. This lad needed a good beating and to be put in his place. The bad thing was that Oliver couldn’t dispute him because it was what he did.

“I am older,” he said. “And my estate is in hand.”

He waited a few heartbeats for those words to sink in. Philip’s brows came together.

“What does that mean?” the boy finally asked.

“It means: Do you know the state of your finances? Are you aware of money being spent? Money coming in? Can you afford the lifestyle you are living? Can you afford to keep your mother in the lifestyle she is accustomed to?”

“Of course I am, and yes I can. We’re Fieldhursts.”

“And what does that mean? You’re Fieldhursts. Does that mean you cannot run out of money? That you can live this lifestyle forever and your estate will go on as it has for the past generations?”

“Yes. I mean… No. I’m assuming that we could run out of money due to some calamity or such.” But his voice was wavering, and he didn’t seem so certain.

“So you think that the only way to lose your estate is through some…calamity? What sort of calamity?”

They rode in silence for a minute or so.

“If you’ve brought me out here to scare me, it’s not going to work,” Philip said with false bravado.

“I didn’t bring you out here to scare you.”

“We have money. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It’s none of my business.”

That quieted him for a moment.

“Then why are we out here?”

“Because Mr. Potter needs your help.”

“Mr. Potter?” His brows scrunched together.

“The Potters have been pig farmers on your estate for generations. They are highly respected by everyone in the area, including your late father and grandfather. You should know this if you are the earl.”

Philip turned his face away but not before Oliver caught the tinge of pink touching his cheekbones.

“I knew that,” he said.

Oliver kept driving and let the silence continue. His mood was greatly improved at this point. He liked verbally fencing with young Philip, and the boy had definitely been put in his place.

“Why are we seeing Mr. Potter?” he finally asked after a few minutes.

“Potter’s eldest son broke his leg and can’t help his father. The sows are about to give birth, and Potter needs help until his son is healed.”

“Damnation! If you think I’m going to become a…a…pig farmer, then you are mistaken. You can turn this curricle around and head back to London.” Philip had half risen from his seat, and Oliver feared he would jump out.

“He is your tenant. Highly respected, as I’ve said. And he needs help. It is your duty and obligation as the Earl of Fieldhurst to help him.”

“But not do it myself!” The boy was yelling, and Oliver was trying not to grin.

“Are you too good for such manual labor? Is this job too far beneath you?”

“Yes! I am the earl. Surely there is someone else to help Mr. Potter.”

“Who?”

“I… I don’t know. We’ll find someone.”

“And this someone? Where will you find him? Will you take him off his own farm? Pull him from his own job? And who will do that job?”

“This is ridiculous. You are just trying to prove a point, but I will not get dirty with the pigs.”

“I told you to wear old clothes.”

“This has nothing to do with clothes. This… This is…”

Oliver turned his face away to keep the boy from seeing his laughter. He was incensed. Furious. And scared. He did not want to be with the pigs, but that is precisely where he needed to be.

“I am certain that you have never slopped around with pigs,” Philip said between clenched teeth.

“I most certainly have. Watched a few sows give birth, too. Had to help one little piglet into this world because he got stuck.”

Philip groaned and turned white. “Is this my mother’s way of punishing me?”

“No. This is you being obligated to your estate, your land, and the people who rely on you. It’s you being an earl.”

“And what if I refuse?”

Oliver drove in silence, because he didn’t know what he would do if Philip flat-out refused. He had no recourse. He wasn’t the lad’s father and couldn’t punish him.

“Then you will disappoint your mother.”

…

Philip stared at Armbruster’s retreating curricle in disbelief. The bastard had actually left him here. With the pigs!

If he thought for one moment that Philip was getting in that mud with those pigs then he was highly mistaken. Philip would show him who was earl of this estate, and it certainly wasn’t Armbruster.

“There you are.”

An older gentleman hobbled toward him, with bowed legs and bowed back and gnarled, dirty fingers. “We been waiting for ye. This way.”

The man turned around and shuffled away, obviously expecting Philip to follow. Did he not know protocol? Did he not realize that he was to walk behind Philip?

Incensed, Philip hurried after him to give him a piece of his mind and a lesson on etiquette, but the stench of the pigs stopped him cold. He wanted to gag. Only pride kept him from doing so.

The odor did not seem to affect old Potter.

“We’re short a hand,” the man was saying as he hurried between the pens. “My oldest son broke his leg.” Potter stopped and turned to wait for Philip to catch up. “By the way, my wife thanks ye for the food from the main house. Taking care of him has been her full-time duty, so the food helped.”

“Uh. You’re welcome.” Philip wasn’t aware of any food but thought it nice that his housekeeper had thought to send some to the Potters.

“These’ll need mucking. Lord Armbruster said ye wouldn’t mind.” Potter eyed Philip’s pristine, if not a bit wrinkled attire.

“Listen, Mr. Potter, there’s been some sort of miscommunication between you and Armbruster, regarding my services here.” He tried not to wrinkle his nose at the stench but feared he failed.

“His Lordship said ye would help. Yer father and his father afore that helped when needed. No complaint.”

“It’s not that I’m complaining. It’s just that surely there is someone else…more qualified to help.”

Potter laughed. A guffaw that had him slapping his knee. “More qualified. You don’t need no qualifications to muck a pigpen. I’ll show ye where the shovels are.”

And he was gone. Even though it was apparent he had bad hips that pained him, the man moved fast through the mud.

Philip looked down at his ruined shoes, caked in smelly brown muck.

He hurried after Potter, determined to convince the man to find someone else. He had a few shillings in his pocket, surely more than enough to hire an extra hand.

“Mr. Potter, I have some—” A shovel was thrust into his hand and reflexively he took it.

“Just shovel the shite out,” Potter said. “Ain’t nothing to it. You can start with that one. The sows are tame but be careful. Some of ’em can be nasty.”

Potter disappeared so fast that Philip’s mouth was still open to tell him about the shillings.

Philip looked at the pigpen and the huge animals nosing around through the mud.

Disgusting creatures.

“Bet you like bacon, though.”

Philip spun around to face a lad a few years younger than him, but taller and wider, with a nasty smirk.

“And who are you?” Philip asked.

“Tom Potter.”

Philip looked him up and down. “It doesn’t appear that you have a broken leg.” Had he been lied to by Armbruster and Potter?

“I ain’t got a broken leg. That’s my oldest brother, David. I’m Tom. I was sent to watch over ye.” His eyes twinkled, and it appeared that he was quite pleased with having been given the task of looking over Philip.

Philip’s nose went up in the air. “I don’t need looking after, but thank you.”

Tom grinned. “I don’t see ye workin’. Standin’ around won’t get those stalls mucked out.”

“I’m not mucking out stalls,” Philip said. “I was just telling your father that I will be glad to pay someone to come do the job.”

Tom’s smile faded, and he looked Philip up and down, taking in the ruined shoes, the trousers with mud splattered on them, and the clean coat and shirt.

“Afraid ye can’t do it?” he asked.

“I can do it. I just don’t need to do it.”

Tom tilted his head to the back and side, looking at Philip through half-lowered lids. “Ye think ye’re better than us, then.”

“I didn’t say that.” Philip was beginning to worry. He’d come across mean boys before. There were times that Eton was more of a survival of the fittest than anything. He’d been in his fair share of fights, but Tom was different. Tom seemed feral.

“Then start mucking, rich boy.”

Philip’s shoulders went back. It was one thing to be called names by your peers in school, but being ridiculed by the son of a pig farmer was unacceptable.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Philip said.

Quick as lightning Tom shoved Philip. It was so unexpected that Philip hadn’t had time to brace himself, and he fell in the mud with a large splat. Muck flew everywhere. On his clothes, in his mouth and eyes, and soaking through the seat of his trousers.

Philip scrambled to his feet, slipping and sliding, making himself look like a fool. That only added to his fury as he had to grab hold of the fence post and hoist himself up.

Tom was laughing and Philip swung at him, but Tom ducked and Philip spun around.

Before he knew it Tom barreled at him, his lowered head plowing into Philip’s stomach and forcing the air out of him. He went down into the mud again, but he wasn’t about to let the son of a pig farmer get the best of him.

They rolled in the mud and the pig shite while the sows squealed and the piglets ran about in terror.

Philip felt himself being raised from the ground, Tom falling away from him.

He looked up into the furious eyes of Mr. Potter, who had a boy in each hand. The man may have appeared frail and in pain, but he was anything but.

He shook both boys. “Enough of this nonsense.” He released the boys and both staggered to the side, breathing hard with bloody lips and noses.

Philip looked down at his ruined clothes. He could barely tell what color they had been.

“Get to mucking.” Mr. Potter thrust the shovel back in Philip’s hand, and he took it. “You.” He pointed to Tom. “Get back to the barn and shovel that feed.”

When Tom sauntered off with another smirk, Potter turned to Philip and eyed him. “I knew yer father well. He came here often, especially as a young lad. Would help wherever anyone needed help. He’d be ashamed of you right now.”

Potter walked off and Philip didn’t know if he tasted pig shit in his mouth or mortification.