Chapter Three

 

The next afternoon, luncheon was set out under the grand arch of an ancient oak, one of the many massive trees that gave Oakwell Manor its name. Within sight of the house, a long table was laid out with crystal and linens in an enchanting display that defied their shading oak to spoil the display with a single unwanted leaf.

Phillip marveled at the labor and pain it must have taken to produce such a fairy tale setting. The promenade of guests in finery in various shades of ivory made them a flock of doves or cranes landing on the scene. Lady Morley was still absent but Timms had indicated that morning while he dressed that the lady was reported to be unwell. Phillip assisted Lady Baybrook to her chair and then looked up to see Raven Wells sailing across the lawn. White lace and muslin glowed in the sunlight and she appeared like an angel to him.

However the elegant saunter of her hips quickly banished the ethereal impression. Trent’s ward evoked more earthly thoughts than spiritual ones and Phillip blinked to stop himself from staring. He took one of the last empty seats as diplomatically distanced from Sheffield as he could manage.

“When do we go shooting?” Lord Morley asked over a plate piled high with pastries.

“I have a target shoot arranged in a few days, old boy,” the earl announced grandly.

Raven took a lawn chair nearest to the Carltons. “Do you shoot, Mr. Carlton?”

Mr. Carlton laughed. “I can fire a weapon but every bird and woodland creature on our property has learned that the noise from my gun is no danger but merely a nuisance.”

His wife nodded cheerfully. “I love to sketch them and enjoy how tame they’ve become thanks to my husband’s terrible aim.”

Lord Morley scowled. “And overly plentiful, I’d warrant! There’s no husbandry if you’re leaving it to predators and poachers.”

“I have a good relationship with our local tradesman and when the seasons call for it they have permission to take only what they need. You see? The benefit of a gameskeeper without the hire of one and even better, not a stranger puts one toe on my land without report for the villagers guard their bounty very generously.”

“A socialist and rebel in our midst, gentlemen!” Mr. Sheffield announced. “Pure ruinous nonsense!”

Raven gasped. “Mr. Sheffield! How unkind and most unfair of you!”

The earl smiled. “Defend yourself, you cruel animal!”

Sheffield’s face darkened at the playful taunt. “I’ll not enter into a debate and spoil the party. Especially not with one so young and obviously ill informed of the way of these things.”

“Poor man.” The earl placed a pastry on his own plate and tapped his glass for a servant to fill. “You leave me no choice, sir. Miss Wells, my dear. Explain your view.”

“I did speak out of turn, your lordship,” she began softly. “Perhaps I should apolo—“

“Explain your view, Miss Wells.” Trent’s tone was all command and Raven’s capitulation was immediate.

“It is never nonsense to take a generous and Christian spirit in any approach and if I understood Mr. Carlton, the men he has charged with permission to hunt on his land have the restrictions to take only what they need for themselves and their families.”

Sheffield chuffed disapproval. “And what is to stop them from taking whatever they can and selling it in the markets to add to their own purses?”

“Common sense, Mr. Sheffield,” she answered brightly. “If they took too much game then everyone would go hungry, would they not? And since their covenant with their landlord is predicated on their respectful management of the privilege, why would they risk its revocation? Why they would, as Mr. Carlton has said, be even more diligent in guarding those boundaries! They would have no love of any interloper that might upset their happy arrangement and spoil the prosperity of their hamlet.”

“You give the common man too much credit for good sense, Miss Wells,” Mr. Sheffield said.

“And you too little,” she countered. “Mr. Carlton, has anyone ever assessed the health of your game?”

Mr. Carlton nodded. “I have an inventory and report made every two years and have received great compliments on the bounteous state of all, both fish and fowl and even larger game fair well, it seems.”

“The lady appears to be winning the day,” Phillip said. He’d been able to take immense pleasure in watching the debate unfold. Apparently Miss Wells thrived on good arguments and the sparkle of delight in her eyes was absolutely hypnotizing.

Poor Sheffield indeed! If you weren’t an idiot to begin with, I’d say this little exchange will make the title a permanent one.

“Nonsense!” Sheffield sat up straighter in his chair. “It is an aberration that cannot be replicated. I challenge you to consider what would happen if every tenant farmer and common laborer demanded the same right to ‘take what he needed’ with no thought to the sacred rights of his landlord? Every estate in England would be stripped bare and the chaos of revolution would bring down the very stones we have built our empire upon! The lessons of France are still fresh in my mind if not in yours, Miss Wells.”

“How is it that every man of privilege whenever pressed on the subject of rights immediately reverts to some vague and frightening reference to the guillotine?” Raven’s tone was as light as if they were discussing the color of the sky. “Mr. Carlton, do you fear a revolt from your tenants and tradesmen?”

“Heavens, no!” Mr. Carlton exclaimed.

Raven turned back to her opponent. “There. You see? Only tyrants fear revolt, Mr. Sheffield. If there is a crack in the stone, then there is nothing, no power on this earth that can keep it from falling apart. Time, weather and a thousand invisible forces will have their way and the strongest granite crumbles if it has a fault. That is not revolution, sir. That is science, pure and simple.”

Sheffield lost his wind and busied himself cutting the meat on his plate. “Science! Hearing a woman speak of science is like hearing a cat bark!”

Phillip shook his head as Mr. Carlton and the earl openly laughed at the man’s discomfort. Only Lord Morley and Lady Baybrook failed to join in the merriment.

“At least the consolation with the shooting is that we can leave the women and their endless chatter behind,” Lord Morley grumbled.

Lady Baybrook opened her fan with a crisp popping sound of disapproval. “Science and politics are unattractive adornments for any true lady of good breeding.”

Geoffrey’s smile didn’t dim but something feral and protective came into his eyes and Phillip marveled that the older woman wasn’t wise enough to see it.

“Then this is a debate you and I will continue throughout your stay, Millicent,” Trent said as he leaned back in his chair. “It always makes me sad to think that women in society are banished from our presence whenever we wish to converse on anything of substance. But then, I imagine it’s so that the effect isn’t spoiled.”

“What effect is that?” Lady Baybrook demanded.

“The illusion that there is more going on in your empty heads than a silly obsession with lace.”

“I am not insisting that my gender has empty heads!” she said, openly affronted. “Nor a remarked obsession with lace!”

“No? Only insisting that by avoiding more in depth conversations you need not reveal a lack in the feminine intellect? Or was is it an insistence of the attractiveness of some subjects over others for a proper woman’s mental selection?” He took a sip from his glass. “What I mourn, Millicent, is that you think it off putting for a woman to display knowledge on serious matters like philosophy, science, engineering, or even politics; whereas I find it off putting to see a blank look in a woman’s eyes. But then, I am notoriously eccentric, am I not?”

“To your ward’s detriment, sir!” Lady Baybrook stood in a huff, forcing the men to all politely rise as well.

All rose except Lord Trent who deliberately kept his seat with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.

“There is no beauty in stupidity,” he said calmly, immediately sending the dowager off in a tremendous temper across the lawn back toward the house.

“That was a bit harsh, sir!” Lord Morley commented wryly as he sat back down. “So much for the quiet of a country visit.”

“I apologize, friends,” Geoffrey offered. “I have always encouraged my ward’s educational pursuits and cheerful views. She will be the match of any man. So the fault is mine, not Raven’s.”

Sheffield shifted on his cushions. “Not that I am raising my hand for another serving, but Miss Wells may regret your lax attitudes come this social season. Not everyone is as receptive to an over-educated woman as…we are.”

“No? You do not think there are enough simpering milk-toast debutantes in our little world to satisfy them? Must every woman be cut of the same cloth?” Lord Trent asked, then stretched his arms out to take in the day. “But what say you, Warrick? Milk toast or meat? Which do you prefer?”

Phillip nearly choked on a piece of mutton he had just put in his mouth as everyone’s attention was immediately directed toward him. It took him a moment to recover but at last he could respond. “I loathe your analogy, sir.”

“Yes, yes.” Trent waived the complaint off. “How do you like your women best? Shy, insipid and demure? Or something more clever and self aware?”

It was stupid to look toward Raven. Stupid. But also impossible to avoid. For there she was, as beautiful as any woman he had ever beheld, openly clever and quick. And those smoke colored eyes looked directly back at him without apology. This was no biddable maiden bred to be ruled. She was a feminine creature crafted to rule and he was more than half way to succumbing to her spell.

“Intelligence is never a fault and in a woman when it is balanced with compassion and her better nature, it is irresistible.”

“Ha! See? You cannot over-educate a woman! Though you can certainly under-educate them if you insist on the taste of soggy milk toast!” Trent pounded on the table.

Raven sighed and finally re-entered the fray. “Let us change directions! To make amends for the somber turn in our conversation, I propose a diversion.”

“What kind of diversion?” Mrs. Carlton asked.

“Something that may please both sides of the table—a scavenger hunt!” she said.

“What?” Lord Morley’s brow furrowed. “It is a game for children.”

“Not the game I have in mind,” Raven said. “Let us see if I cannot come up with a list of items for the search with clues that can entice you to think differently of the enterprise. I will engineer a hunt that the ladies can pursue as well so that no one is left out!”

“I do love a good game.” Mr. Carlton chimed in cheerfully, adding to her supporters.

“Who doesn’t love solving a mystery?” Phillip admitted.

“Please allow me to orchestrate a grand game to make up for the mischief of the day. I will take some time to come up with my scheme and get everything in place and then we can start.” Raven looked to the earl. “Do you approve?”

“I do! And if someone prefers to sit out the game and forfeit their chance at the prize, then so be it.”

“What prize?” Sheffield asked.

Trent smiled enigmatically. “Are you playing then?”

“I might.”

“Then if you win, you’ll find out,” Trent said and clapped his hands in triumph.

“Give me until tomorrow to arrange all, gentlemen!” Raven said.

“And the prize to the winner?” Sheffield pressed again.

“Is not the boast of victory sweet enough?” Mrs. Carlton asked.

Lord Morley scowled. “If you expect a man to gad about like a chimpanzee after insipid clues, it is not!”

Some of Raven’s enthusiasm wavered but Lord Trent intervened smoothly. “What a crusty damper you are, Morley! If it distracts the women of the house in looking forward to the game and gives us the rest of the day to blessed peace to play cards or do as we wish undisturbed, then how can you not rally to the notion?”

Lord Morley rolled his eyes in disgust. “God, party games!”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport! No one is making you play.” The earl stretched out his legs. “I think it’s a novel idea.”

“I will see to everything!” Raven stood and once again, the men moved to politely echo the maneuver by rising; this time with the earl also participating as he rose from his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I have quite a bit to do.”

Her excitement was palpable and Phillip admired the deft way she had effortlessly shifted the group’s mood to a happy turn. In an elegant flurry of skirts, she left them and Phillip forgot not to stare at her beautiful hurried retreat.

 

**

 

Raven had to reach up to place a hand on her bonnet for fear of it flying off at the pace she set back to Oakwell Manor. The luncheon had been a near disaster thanks to her tendencies to speak too directly but the earl seemed pleased with her (even if Lady Baybrook was most decidedly not). Even better, Phillip Warrick had revealed that he might also approve of her wit and that was a new thrill she had no desire to forego.

The scavenger hunt had been a stroke of inspiration. She would mend the bonds of their party with a bit of silly fun and prove to all, perhaps even Mr. Sheffield that she was not a revolutionary of any kind—rather a peacemaker.

And inspire Mr. Warrick to continue to look at me with that heat filled intensity that makes my bones feel hollow?

It was no small undertaking but Raven was determined to contribute to the party’s entertainment. As she gained the house’s main entry, she picked up her skirts and raced up the stairs. Ideas for clues and the wonderful twists of the quest ahead chased through her head and Raven began to hum to herself in delight.

Even prickly and curmudgeonly company was compelling after so many years of semi-isolation. She had no friends her own age since the earl dictated that he preferred for her to have as few “country” associations as possible. Even her ventures into the village to shop provided only momentary relief. She always felt like an outsider looking at the lives of others, admiring their families and friendships. But her undefined social position made alliances difficult and none of the locals had attempted to cross the lines of formal conversation toward casual warmth for fear of offending Lord Trent.

As she reached the first floor, she hesitated.

Lady Morley.

Thoughts of her own loneliness pushed her to recall that there was a guest under Lord Trent’s roof who may be suffering from the very same malady. “Poor lady,” she sighed. “Missing dinner and then our outing—a setting she can probably see from her bedroom window while we laugh and cavort without a thought to her comforts!”

Raven turned to head down the hall toward the Jade bedroom which she knew the Morleys had been assigned. It was one of the manor’s best with a lovely vantage and when the house was largely unoccupied her favorite room to hide away to read a forbidden novel. She decided it would be a good secret to share with Lady Morley to form a friendship if the opportunity arose. Raven knocked on the door and awaited her welcome.

But there was none.

At last a faint sound like a muffled cry came through the door and Raven’s instincts recoiled in alarm. Was she truly ill? There’d been no word of sending for a doctor. Had her maid left her unattended? Was she in distress? Without hesitation, she turned the latch to open the door a few inches. “Lady Morley? Pardon the intrusion but I…”

At first glance, the bedroom was empty but the stillness was broken by a single solitary figure in a dressing gown sitting at the vanity. A trifold mirror betrayed the woman’s state in three glorious angles and Raven’s blood turned to ice.

Her eye was cruelly bruised and her upper lip was swollen from the violence of another blow. Lady Morley’s eyes widened as she realized her privacy had been violated and she came unsteadily to her feet, raw horror in her expression.

“Please go!”

Raven started to retreat, numb and unsure of herself but then stopped. “Can I send for a doctor? Or—“

“No! My husband would be furious if I…made a fuss. Please.” Lady Morley’s composure began to crumble. “It’s my own fault for… I made him angry. Please say nothing.”

“As you wish but...I will say nothing to anyone else. Although—“

“Swear it. Swear you will tell no one what you’ve seen!” she said, an edge of desperation cutting into Raven’s soul.

It was all she could do to nod her assent. “I swear it.”

And then Raven ran from the room, with every light hearted spirit she’d known swallowed by the chasm of pain at her back.