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He held out a grubby hand which the other man stared at for a moment before he took it gingerly. “My lord, I didn’t expect to find you working with the men!” He laughed awkwardly.

Rick called to Pagette and waived him over. Turning back to Baines, he said with a shrug, “I was waiting for you, and I don’t like to be bored. Pagette has a list of the supplies we need to repair the cottages. There are a dozen with serious issues, although this one is the worst. I was hoping you could suggest where we can get materials?”

Pagette handed over the list and Baines perused it. “This is an expensive set of repairs: wood and thatch, new stove and flue, terracotta tiles for the floor, paint inside and out, furniture . . .” He looked up. “This will be a charge on the estate, my lord.”

Rick waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s not your concern. Do you know where we can get the supplies?”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry about that, I’ll see to it.” Baines folded the list carefully and put it in his pocket. He looked around, and added, “I’ll send my lads to give a hand. There is quite a bit of work to do here. Mrs. Rawlins’s cottage seems to have borne the brunt of the storm.” Rick suddenly became conscious that the laughter and joking that had been going on between the men had died away. “Well,” said Baines, “if this is all, my lord?”

Rick nodded, recalling the comments over dinner about Sparrow having run afoul of Baines. Was this man really behind what had happened to the old man, or was it just gossip and jealousy? Baines was the most prosperous tenant in the area. He would ask Reynolds to probe further. The information certainly did tally with Reynolds’s observation that the people were reluctant to talk for fear of something . . . or someone.

Baines bowed. “I’ll be off, then, to see to this list. I assume you want everything delivered to the cottages in question?”

“Yes, and someone to keep an eye on them.”

“Don’t be concerned about that, my lord. I’ll see that it’s all kept safe,” said Baines with a smile.

Rick cocked an eyebrow and nodded. “All right.” Baines remounted his horse. When he had trotted out of earshot, the men began to talk again, but quietly.

By midday, they were all hot and sweaty, and Rick was famished. They had replaced the broken beam and upright and replaced half of the underlay on the roof.

He straightened, stretching his back, and said, “Everyone fancy a bite to eat at the Dog? On me?”

There was a consensus of approval from the men for this, and after dunking his head in the water trough and washing his hands, Rick mounted Sovereign and rode ahead to warn the publican, while the men ambled along behind.

Two hours later, well-fed and watered (well, portered), the work crew resumed their task of finishing the underlay. They were joined midafternoon by the Baines boys who also brought with them a cart stuffed with supplies. By early evening, the underlay was complete, and the lowest courses of the thatch had been laid, and thus, he arrived home at dusk, tired, sunburned, and with satisfyingly sore muscles. He had discovered the unexpected pleasure to be derived from physical labor and seeing the results of such labor materialize before his eyes. Tomorrow they would finish the roof, and, in a few days, they would tackle the barn and the chicken coop before turning their attentions to the inside of the house. Rick was looking forward to it.

He entered his bedchamber to find Reynolds waiting for him with a hot bath and a change of clothes.

“I fear these may be ruined,” he said ruefully, looking down at his stained breeches and torn shirt. “It was worth it, though. I haven’t enjoyed anything half as much since I got here. Who knew I was a thatcher at heart?” he said, pulling his shirt off over his head and letting Reynolds remove his boots before stripping off his breeches and stepping into the bath.

Sinking down into the hot water with a groan of pleasure, he reached for the soap.

Chapter 24

Rick had left the house immediately after breakfast with Pagette to supervise the work on Mrs. Rawlins’s cottage, so Cecey went to the kitchens to pack a basket of victuals and took herself off to visit Helen and the children in their new cottage.

She found the children playing in the muddy yard and Helen industriously cleaning. Invited by a slightly flustered Helen to stay for morning tea, she did so and had the pleasure of seeing the children devouring the scones she had brought.

Returning to the house with her mind on the children, Cecey recalled the dusty, musty nursery-cum-schoolroom, she had glimpsed during her first tour of the house. Thus, after luncheon, she commandeered two of the maids and ventured up to the third floor to investigate whether the rooms could be made usable with just a clean, or if more drastic measures were needed.

Cecey unlocked the door and opened it to a room shrouded in holland covers and dust motes dancing in the shaft of the light cutting through the chink in the curtains. One of the maids crossed quickly to fling back the curtains and open the windows, and Cecey looked about her, vague memories stirring.

For the first time since entering the house, she had the sense of something familiar. Because of course, this would have been her domain when she’d last lived here. Her heart gave a sudden lurch, and an ache stole into her chest as she moved around the room, removing covers and revealing a child’s table and chairs, a rocking horse, and a large toy chest. She stroked the sparse mane of the rocking horse and dropped to her knees before the toy chest and opened the lid, while the maids bustled about her sweeping and dusting.

Under the linen and sackcloth laid on top, she found a jumble of forgotten toys. Wooden horses and blocks, a broken toy drum, two marionettes, a tin full of lead soldiers, painted in the colors of French and British troops.

And at the very bottom was a worn cloth doll. At the sight of it, she picked it up and stifled a sob. Annie!

The memory, long suppressed, rose up and engulfed her. This was her doll that got left behind. She’d cried for days for Annie and rejected every one of the beautiful dolls Uncle Seb had bought for her. She wanted her Annie!

Uncle Seb had written and asked for Annie to be sent, but she never came. And eventually the memory of her favorite playmate faded. But the pain of separation in her little girl’s heart had never been forgotten entirely, and it came back now in full force, as Cecey clutched the doll to her breast and sobbed like her heart was breaking.

The maids stopped what they were doing to stare at her and, conscious she was making a spectacle of herself, Cecey pulled herself together with an effort and rose, still clutching the doll, and said, “Clean the room thoroughly. I will come back to inspect it in two hours.” And she left the room to seek her own.

Sinking down on the bed, the tears flowed again, and she hugged Annie and cried and cried, until she was a limp, damp mess on the bed.

A frightened little orphan who had lost her father and her home in quick succession had wrapped all her hurt up into a ball called Annie and sobbed and screamed for days to get her Annie back, and it never happened. And thus, little Cecelia learned that she would never get what she wanted most: love. Certainly not from her bachelor uncle, who had no clue how to look after a little girl. And even when Aunt Valeria came to live with them, things didn’t change, for Valeria had no more idea how to care for a lonely little girl than her brother did, and less desire to.