The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M. Raven McAllan

Mary worthy.

      They’d met at church and when Mary had enquired diffidently if Miss Wishlade could remake a grey gown into one more serviceable, Miss Wishlade had looked her up and down, and then nodded. ‘Of course. Tomorrow at ten. Marmalade Cottage over towards Manton way, by Home Farm and don’t be late. I only do plain sewing, mind you, but that fits the bill, admirably.’

      It had been no surprise to Mary to learn Miss Wishlade had been the present Duke’s sisters’ governess for many years, before she retired to the cosy cottage she now resided in. She oozed authority in the nicest way possible.

      Over the months their unlikely friendship had grown, until now it was such that they exchanged weekly visits. One week Mary would send Barlow with the carriage to bring Miss Wishlade to the Grange for lunch, the next Mary would make her way up the escarpment, past the castle and thence to Marmalade Cottage for one of Annie, Miss Wishlade’s companion’s light lunches, or if they ate later, delicious stews or roast dinners. Usually followed by a pudding so filling Mary thought if she fell off her horse she would merely roll down the hill. Hopefully not into the duck pond.

      She took the little used bridle path which meandered below the castle and tackled the hill at a place more suited to pedestrians or horses, but definitely not for carts or carriages. At least it meant she could let Darcy pick her own way between the thistles and poppies, and ignore the meadowlarks and starlings that flew around her. Likewise the hare, which darted across the track and which, with any other horse, could have caused a ruckus. Darcy merely snorted, shook her head, and plodded on.

      It was a perfect morning. The sun wasn’t too hot and was still in the process of burning off the early mist that hung like a net curtain over the fields. The hedgerow was covered with cobwebs, which sparkled and gleamed like the jewels in a tiara. Tiny creatures darted in and out of the bushes, and somewhere a skylark sang its melodious song. The last of the wheat was nigh on ready to be harvested and the late ripening apple trees she passed ready to drop their fruit.

      Mary sighed in contentment. She loved this time of the year, when the earth gave up its bounty and settled into silence for the long cold winter months ahead. When the barns were full, the haystacks made, and the pantries and larders groaning with the fruits of the people’s labour.

      With the added bonus of not being threatened with the season turning wintry, well not yet, Mary was more than happy. She hummed to herself and Darcy pricked up her ears as if in agreement. ‘All’s good with the world eh, girl?’ Mary tugged gently on Darcy’s ears and directed her to take a track around the edge of the hundred-acre field, still awaiting the ministrations of the harvester. Only a few days to go Mary judged, and then she’d be able to ride straight across the field and not skirt the crop.

      Of course before long, if the winter were severe, she’d be on shanks’ pony, because the ice would make the tracks treacherous for the horse. However she’d face that problem when or if it happened. One thing she was determined about – she’d still be at the Grange, and not in London for the season, whatever anyone said.

      As she approached Marmalade Cottage – so named, Miss Wishlade said, because of the colour of the stone walls – that lady popped out of the door as if she were on a spring. She waved vigorously as Mary drew Darcy to a halt, dismounted, and eventually settled the horse with some oats in the shade of a venerable and fruitless plum tree.

      ‘Such news,’ she said excitedly as she waited for Mary to pick up the saddlebag she’d brought full of garden produce. ‘Brody’s out and about again.’

      ‘Brody?’ Mary asked as casually as she could manage, as she followed her hostess into the trim cottage and put the heavy saddlebag down on the long oak table that dominated the kitchen.

      ‘The Duke,’ Miss Wishlade said impatiently as Annie bustled in, and kissed Mary on the cheek affectionately. ‘He dropped by earlier and invited us to lunch at the castle. Of course I refused, and explained why. He was most interested in the way you have become one of us.’

      I bet he was. His insolent stare still rankled.

      ‘As I told him,’ Miss Wishlade continued, ‘you’re like a daughter to Annie and me. So the dear boy said he’ll call in later for some cakes and we’re to go for lunch tomorrow instead. So good of him to pop back, though it’s not surprising – Annie was baking, you see. He loves her baking.’

      Mary thought she saw rather more than Miss Wishlade did.

      ‘I hope I get to meet him,’ she said diplomatically. Just not today. If and when they did meet up it would not be in front of innocent bystanders. She rather thought any interchange between them might not be fit for delicate ears. ‘If he arrives before I must leave. It will have to be a short visit today, I’m afraid.’

      Miss Wishlade’s face dropped. Mary thought rapidly. What on earth would be a good enough reason to return home at an earlier hour than normal?

      ‘I’m expecting a missive from my late husband’s solicitors.’ It was partly true; she was, but not that day. ‘There may be a little more money for me.’ Also true but Mary rather thought her idea of a little and Miss Wishlade’s was somewhat different.

      Miss Wishlade beamed and patted Mary’s shoulder. ‘There now, that will be handy, eh? Of course you must be there to receive it. Is Mr Niven going to Uppingham to check at the receiving office?’

      Oh lord she hadn’t thought of that. ‘Er, no, a courier should arrive. It might not be today, as this is the first day possible, but, well, I must be around in case an immediate answer is needed.’ She hoped Miss Wishlade didn’t feel the need to probe further. Her inventiveness only went so far.

      ‘Then we’ll have a cup of tea now, and lunch at noon instead of half past. How’s that?’

      Mary nodded. ‘Perfect.’

      Even though a lot of ladies didn’t bother with lunch, Mary liked the idea and Miss Wishlade and Annie embraced it wholeheartedly. When they ate early, their meal wasn’t heavy, but always tasty and relied on local food and usually hedgerow wines. Those Mary had learned very early on to partake of lightly. They were lethal.

      ‘Potato and veg soup today,’ Annie said as they took their tea outside and sat down on a long bench in the orchard. ‘I’d thought of pigeon pie, but as we’re eating early I’m glad I didn’t. Plus it’s too hot for such a heavy meal. Today’s wine is oak leaf.’

      ‘So true about the heat, and good regarding the wine. But didn’t I smell apple pie?’

      Annie nodded. ‘Well of course.’

      Miss Wishlade chuckled, and after a second Mary and Annie joined her. Mary’s love of Annie’s apple pie was well known.

      Darcy lifted her head and regarded them steadily until she was sure no treats were forthcoming and then proceeded to ignore the chatting, sniggering women.

      Mary never ceased to be amazed and thankful that the age gap between them didn’t matter and they could pass many a happy hour in chat or crafts.

      ‘I’ll have to give my tatting lesson a miss,’ Mary said, as Annie rushed indoors, convinced she could smell the soup burning. ‘But I’ve got some to finish before Mr Niven collects you next week. And I want your advice on who to get to make me some gowns. I have material, but no aptitude, and these are the ones you say you aren’t able to create.’

      ‘Bless you, the tatting is not set in stone,’ Miss Wishlade said comfortably. ‘We just enjoy your company and to teach you tatting is an extra pleasure. As for dresses? Like I said, I’m fine with basics and gowns for people round here. You need something better. Molly Trevor over at Riverside is best. Tell her I sent you. She’s clever, and an ex-pupil of Gloria La Compte. She only came home because her mother took ill and there were seven little ones to look after.’

      Mary had heard of Gloria La Compte. If she had trained this Molly Trevor, she must be good. ‘I will do.’

      Miss Wishlade nodded. ‘She’ll see you right.’