Page 25 of Reforming Lord Neil

“Will the cherries fetch a good price?” Neil asked after a few moments of silence.

She answered without looking at him. “A very good price, sold by the pound. My neighbor has said we might borrow his scales. Market day in Southwold is the day after tomorrow. There are closer villages, but the market is larger and fresh fruit more dear in Southwold. It is only about six miles north of here, by road.”

“It sounds as though we have a journey ahead of us. You will want my horse to pull the wagon?” Neil thought that sounded a great deal better than anything she might ask him to do on her farm. Perhaps he could go another day without mucking out anything.

“Yes. If you do not mind, and if you will accompany me.” She cast him a quick glance from the corner of her eye, but Neil kept his expression purposely pleasant. “I think it makes the most sense for you and me to go alone. Caroline will not like being left behind, but I cannot possibly keep watch over her and tend to any who might offer us custom.”

Neil observed her with interest. “Have you sold your cherries at this market before?”

Mrs. Clapham shook her head, a black lock of hair falling across her forehead as she did. “I am afraid not. This is the first time I have taken my cherries to market. Last year, when we arrived toward the end of summer, there were not many bushels left to sell. I hired Mr. Putnam and his son-in-law to take the cherries to Westfold. They received a portion of the profit for their trouble.”

The woman had ambition. Never having sold the cherries herself, she was willing to not only attempt the task but had chosen a place where she might maximize her profit. That kind of common sense intelligence seemed rare in someone of their birth. Especially a female someone, likely raised to do no more than look after a household and let a husband manage finances.

“It sounds as though you have given our excursion ample thought. Of course, I am at your command, Mrs. Clapham.” That she went to a town north of the farm meant he was unlikely to meet anyone who might know him or his family. That made the decision an easy one.

They had arrived at the trees. She gave him a fleeting smile, then went to join her daughter. “We work on one tree at a time. Leave the unripe and overripe. We will pick them all after the rest have sold and make jams and preserves.”

“As you say, madam.” Neil put the ladder against the trunk, took up a basket with a large loop that would go over his shoulder, and climbed up into the tree.

It did not surprise him in the least when Mrs. Clapham took up singing, and her daughter joined in with her sweet, clear voice. Whether Miss Caroline knew it or not, her mother was likely overseeing her singing lessons at that very moment.

The thought made him smile as he used the small pruning knife to cut the cherry stems from the branches. Caroline had explained to him that plucking the cherries or pulling them from the tree would hurt the overall health of the tree limbs. The child ought to be a horticulturalist.

They sang music he had heard in church, and then a folksong, and all the songs had a joyful sound. Despite the growing heat of the morning, Neil found himself quietly humming along. If the Clapham ladies could enjoy themselves while harvesting cherries in the August sun, he certainly could. They moved from one tree to the next, and time passed without Neil noticing.

Until Mrs. Godwin came out to them, carrying a hamper.

Neil climbed down the tree, hitting the ground at the same moment Caroline let out a delighted squeal. “We are having a picnic,” she said, dropping basket and pruning knife at once. “Thank you, Grandmama.”

“Twas your mother’s idea.” The grandmother accepted her kiss, then put the hamper down. “Look at all those baskets. Have we a good harvest?”

Teresa came up behind him and answered. “We do. The fruits are perfect. We will need the rest of the baskets tomorrow.”

Neil folded his arms and looked over the half dozen baskets already nearly full. “You have more baskets?”

“Lots, in the pantry,” Caroline chirped while the two grown women smiled. They did so without looking at him, though they had to have heard the dismay in his voice. They had spread a small cloth on the ground to put out plates of sandwiches and a jar of cider, then several cups.

There would be another day spent with the pruning tools. He looked down at his left hand, which had done most of the work. He held the fruit in his right, gently so as not to bruise it, and cut with his left. The skin where he gripped the handle of the knife was already turning red. He had thought himself lucky when raking and shoveling the day before had not given him blisters. It seemed the luck would not hold.

Neil tucked away his first irritable thought. If the women could continue on, he would as well.

He took the sandwiches offered him. It surprised him, the moment he took his first bite, how delicious they tasted. Though he had sat at many a fine table, presided over by the most influential men and women of England, he had never tasted anything quite so good. Likely because he had rarely worked up an appetite in his past. But the thick slices of bread, cheese, and boiled chicken disappeared quickly, and the cider—liberally mixed with more of their dandelion tea—refreshed him.

Mrs. Clapham refilled his cup when he drained it, a sparkle in her dark gray eyes. “I do hope this is enough to keep up your strength, Mr. Duncan.”

He nearly replied, a quip upon his tongue, but he took another drink of cider instead. Miss Wedgewood had also told him he had the ability to be kind, if he so chose. Perhaps he ought to put in the effort to prove her right.

He could think of no one more deserving of kindness than his present company.

Chapter Eleven

The second day of cherry picking started off well enough. Teresa only spoke French to Caroline, and though her daughter grumbled at first, when Mr. Duncan joined in, Caroline cheered up a great deal.

The man had a beautiful accent. Teresa had not heard French spoken so well since they had left Society. Mr. Duncan was kind enough to keep his vocabulary simple, allowing Caroline to follow his conversation with ease.

He told them a story about his sister, younger than him, attempting to coax a deer close enough to capture it and turn it into a pet. Caroline’s giggles were highly contagious, and Teresa had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as he described his sister getting a leash around a young doe, only to end up being dragged through the trees.

The story brought back her curiosity about his situation. He had claimed his lack of finances was the fault of his family. Was there not one of his kin willing to take him in? Her thoughts lingered upon Mr. Duncan as she attempted to imagine what he might have looked like as a child. He had likely been a little imp, with his honey-blond hair and dancing green eyes.