Page 50 of Make Mine a Marquess

She eyed him with a critical squint. “What happened to you when you were away, I cannot say, but I can say you’re a good man. Still are. Have a care with the miss, my lord.”

…

Phoebe tilted her face to the sun as both Landon and Beatrice rode alongside her.

“It’s beautiful here,” Phoebe said. “I could ride every day.”

“How large is the estate, my lord?” Beatrice asked.

“Fifteen thousand acres. It’s been in my family for generations.” Landon’s voice was tinged with pride.

The more time she spent with him, the more she understood him. And the more she wondered about him. He was a complex man.

They rode past the field of wildflowers where she had allowed Willard to kiss her. The bounty of color and fragrant flowers were lovely and provided a perfect setting for a romantic interlude. But Willard’s sloppy yet aggressive kisses left her feeling anything but romantic. Her curiosity had led to disappointment. Her fiancé’s lackluster ardor could not compare with Landon’s inherent passion. It was like kissing an overeager youth compared to the skilled, fiery brush of Landon’s lips.

I must stop comparing the two.

Without will, her gaze moved to the marquess’s profile. Dark hair curled at the collar of his riding coat. She longed to bury her fingers in his hair, to scrape his scalp, and to touch his full lips. Instead, her hands tightened upon her reins.

Beatrice gave her a funny look. “What are you thinking, Phoebe?”

Phoebe straightened in her sidesaddle. “I’m just enjoying the ride.”

Beatrice shot her a humorous smile which said she knew exactly what she was enjoying, and it wasn’t entirely nature.

They passed fields of wheat and fields of corn. Then, reaching a hilltop, they halted. Landon pointed. “My tenants reside below.”

Cottages dotted the valley. Smoke curled in the air from a few of the chimneys.

“I’m certain they will enjoy Mrs. Robinson’s baskets,” Beatrice said. The housekeeper had prepared three large baskets.

Landon led the way down the hill to where women were hanging washed clothing on a line to dry, a man chopped wood, and children played with a ball. A dog barked, tail wagging, and tongue lolling, as he chased the children.

The tenants stared as the three approached. A tall man wearing a simple cotton shirt and worn trousers came forward. His face split into a wide grin when he saw the marquess.

“My Lord. We’re all grateful for your survival.”

Landon dismounted and shook the man’s hand. “Hello, Kershaw. It’s good to be back. You must tell me what you need. But first, let me introduce the ladies accompanying me.”

Landon helped Phoebe and Beatrice dismount, then made the introductions. “Miss Dawson and Miss Stanwell from the house. They have baskets for the women.”

Phoebe and Beatrice smiled in greeting, then unhooked the baskets from the horses. “We shall leave you to your business.”

Landon and Kershaw began a discussion of the fields and what to plant and which to leave fallow for the upcoming year.

Phoebe noticed two women standing on the step of one of the cottages. Both were middle-aged, one with auburn hair and one with dark. They wore simple dresses and aprons and carried baskets of wet, recently laundered clothes. They watched with curiosity as Phoebe and Beatrice approached.

“Hello,” Phoebe said. “We’re here to pay a visit.”

“Yer fine titled ladies from the house,” the auburn-haired woman said.

“Neither of us are titled. But we are guests of the house party.”

“Guests of Lord Willard? Or Lord Landon?” the brunette asked.

It was a tricky question. Willard had invited them. Landon had insisted the guests stay.

It was Landon who had accompanied them here. He was the one who’d asked the housekeeper for baskets of supplies and cared enough to ask them to accompany him. She glanced to where he stood in deep conversation with Kershaw. Other farmers had joined them.