A Most Unseemly Summer. Juliet Landon

came towards her, leading a burly bay stallion. ‘Waggons, m’lady? Sent ’em back to Sonning yesterday.’

      ‘What?’

      Unruffled, the man rubbed the horse’s nose affectionately. ‘Gone back to Lord Deventer’s. Sir Leon’s orders. He said you’d not be needing ’em. He wants the stable space for his own ’osses. This one’s his.’ He pulled at the horse’s forelock.

      ‘Did he, indeed? And how in heaven’s name shall I be able to return home without horses and waggons? Did you ask Sir Leon that?’

      ‘Yes, m’lady,’ William replied, not understanding her indignation. ‘He said you’d be able to manage, one way or another, but there wasn’t room for Lord Deventer’s ’osses and his, too. He sent ’em all back, sumpter ’osses, too.’

      ‘And the carters? He sent them back?’

      ‘Only a few. He says the rest can stay and work here.’

      ‘But carters don’t do any other work, William. They cart.’

      ‘Yes, m’lady. That’s what they’ll be doing for Sir Leon.’

      ‘No, they will not!’

      After quite a search of the New House and several missed turnings, she found the high-handed and mighty surveyor by crashing into him round a corner of one of the narrow pannelled passageways. He did not retreat, as she would have preferred him to do, but manoeuvred her backwards by her elbows until she sat with a thud upon a window-seat in the thickness of the wall.

      ‘You certainly have a way with entrances and exits, my lady,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘But I’m flattered by your haste to find me.’

      ‘Don’t be!’ she said coldly, standing up again. ‘Why have you removed my waggons and horses and appropriated my carters?’

      He leaned an elbow on the top edge of the wavy-wood panelling and stuck his fingers into his thick hair, holding it off his forehead as if to see her better. ‘Did you need them urgently?’ he said, disarmingly.

      ‘That is not the point. They were mine.’

      ‘Yours, were they? Ah, and I thought they belonged to Deventer.’

      ‘Don’t mince words, Sir Leon. I needed them for my return to Sonning. You knew that.’

      ‘Then you have a short memory, my lady, since we are not mincing words. I’ve already told you that you’ll be staying here at Wheatley, and therefore the waggons and horses will be required by Deventer for his own use. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our understanding already.’

      ‘There is no understanding, Sir Leon. There never will be any understanding between us, not on any subject. And I want my waggons back. You have taken over my stables and my carters; do you intend to take over my kitchens next, by any chance?’

      Languidly, he came to stand before her, easing her back again on to the window-seat, resting his hands on the panelling to prevent her escape. ‘Not to mince words, my lady, I can take over the entire Abbot’s House any time I choose, as I intended to do to clear the guesthouse for renovation. Would you prefer it if I did that sooner instead of later? We could pack in there quite cosily, eh?’ He lowered his head to hers.

      She gulped, her chest tightening at the new threat which she knew he was quite capable of carrying out, even at his own expense. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But…’

      ‘But what?’

      ‘I…I did not agree to stay here. I cannot stay…in the…in the…’

      ‘In the circumstances?’

      She breathed out, slowly. ‘Yes.’

      ‘You are referring to our first meeting?’

      She nodded, looking down at her lap and feeling an uncomfortable heat creeping up towards her ears.

      ‘Which you find painful to recall?’

      He was baiting her. ‘Yes,’ she flared, ‘you know I do or you’d not insist on dragging it into every argument.’

      His face came closer until he needed only to whisper. ‘Then why, if it’s so very painful, did you return to the garden last night, lady? To relive it, just a little? Eh?’

      She looked into his eyes for a hint of laughter but there was none to be seen, only a grey and steady seriousness that gave nothing of either enjoyment or sympathy for her chagrin.

      ‘Well?’ he said.

      ‘How do you know that?’

      ‘I was there. I saw you.’

      ‘The hounds…?’

      ‘I sent them back to you.’

      ‘I went to…to look at the wall. You had it repaired.’

      ‘In the dark? Come now, lass, don’t take me for a fool. You couldn’t keep away, could you? You had to go to remind yourself or to chastise yourself. Which? Do you even know which?’

      Goaded beyond caution, she broke the barrier of his arm and pushed past to stand well beyond his reach, panting with rage and humiliation. ‘Yes, Sir Leon, I do know exactly why I returned, but never in a thousand years would you be able to understand. Of course,’ she scoffed, ‘you believe it was for your sake, naturally, being so full of yourself and all. But it was not, sir, I assure you. It was not. Did you believe you’re the first man who’s ever kissed me?’

      She noticed the slight shake of his head before he answered. ‘On the contrary, lady. I am quite convinced that I am not the one who lit the fire that rages inside you, and I also know that you are feeding it on some resentment that threatens to burn you up. Which is yet another reason why you’ll be better down here at Wheatley doing what Deventer expects of you rather than moping about up in Sonning with little to do except think. Or are you so eager to continue wallowing in your problems unaided?’

      ‘My problems, as you call them, are not your concern, Sir Leon, nor do I need anyone’s aid either to wallow or work. And I’m stuck here with no transport, thanks to your interference, so what choice do I have now but to stay?’

      ‘Less than you had before, which was what I intended.’

      ‘You are insufferable, sir.’

      ‘Nevertheless, you will suffer me, and I will tame you. Now you can go.’

      ‘Thank you. I was going anyway.’ She stalked away, fuming.

      That prediction at least was true, though she missed the smile in his eyes that followed her first into a dark cupboard and then into a carpenter’s bench and a pile of wood-shavings.

      ‘Where the devil am I?’ she turned and yelled at him, furiously.

      His smile broke as he set off towards her.

      ‘Come,’ he said, laughing.

       Chapter Three

       A lthough the notion had taken root in Felice’s mind that she might have to stay at Wheatley Abbey after all, Sir Leon’s high-handed tactics hardly bore the hallmarks of subtle persuasion. Added to their disastrous introduction, it was this that made her almost wild with anger and humiliation to be so brazenly manipulated first by Lord Deventer and then by his surveyor. It was almost as if they saw it as some kind of game in which her wishes were totally irrelevant. As for his talk about taming her, well, that was ludicrous. Men’s talk.

      ‘Tamed, indeed!’ she spat. ‘You’ve bitten off more than you can comfortably chew, sir!’ She threw a fistful of bread scraps to the gaggling ducks, scowling approvingly at their rowdiness.

      Her companion on the afternoon stroll was Mistress Lydia Waterman, whose insight was heart-warming. ‘Take no notice, love,’ she called from further along the river’s edge. ‘You know