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“Thank you, Mr. Allard, perhaps another time,” Lavinia said, smiling and offering her hand again. “I’m sure we shall be great neighbors. In the meantime, my friends and I have plans that need to be made.”
“Understood.” He secured his cap on his head and walked over to remount his nag of a horse. “The missus and me are just down the way a bit and to the left, if you should need anything at all.”
Lavinia had a sudden thought. “Mr. Allard, before you go . . .”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Tell me about the people who worked the farm. Did you happen to be one of them?”
“Aye, ma’am,” he replied. “Was foreman, in fact. I was fortunate to get on at a neighboring farm when things took a turn for the worse here. Others wasn’t so lucky. Some has moved away. Others is making do.” He coughed and looked away.
Lavinia was beginning to understand. “And by making do, are you suggesting they farmed some of my land in order to get by?”
“Won’t say yes or no to that, ma’am, begging your pardon. They be good folks what was left in a bad way, is all.”
“I see. Well, you may tell them the new owner of Primrose Farm has arrived, and hopefully things will be changing soon.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that, and a good day to you.”
Lavinia watched him until he disappeared from view, then turned determinedly and studied the farmhouse. She had saved up a goodly sum of money in London, but not enough to see to the monumental task of restoring Primrose Farm.
She needed to think.
The first issue that needed to be addressed was lodging. That meant inspecting the house more closely. Perhaps there was a room or two that was habitable in a rustic sort of way . . .
She picked up her skirts and walked to the front door hanging precariously from its hinges. She could hear Lucas following behind her, his boots treading through the undergrowth.
“Careful, Lavinia,” he said. “The house isn’t safe.”
Have you ever been backstage at a theater?she almost replied before remembering that she hadn’t told him about their past yet. Backstage could be a chaotic place, with props and costumes here and there, furniture and set pieces stowed about. One grew used to such things.
He moved in front of her and opened the door, bracing it against the inside wall, and Lavinia followed him into the farmhouse. She marveled at how easily he’d lifted the large, wooden door. She’d felt that strength when he’d lifted her on and off his horse and had held her while she’d regained her composure. She’d felt his inner strength too, when he’d encouraged her.
Lavinia had never felt such strength, and to feel her burden lifted—even for that brief moment—had been as much of a solace to Lavinia as seeing the decrepit farmhouse had been a shock.
She allowed herself the brief luxury of imagining Lucas’s strength as a permanent part of their lives—of her life. He was taller and broader than any man she’d ever met, and his utter maleness was apparent in his every breath and movement.
He was also kind.
Such thoughts would get her nowhere, however. She pulled her attention away from him and made herself focus on the situation around her.
* * *
Lucas surveyed the inside of the farmhouse, but his awareness was centered on Lavinia. His hands still tingled from the feel of her.
He had asked the coachman to delay following them for a few minutes, but that hadn’t happened, much to Lucas’s consternation. It meant Lavinia had had to struggle with her own reactions to seeing the place at the same time she’d had to assure her little band of travelers. Mr. Allard’s arrival on the scene had been fortuitous, for he’d been able to answer at least a few of their questions.
He had no idea what resources she had other than the farm itself, but he doubted she troubled Delia and Artie with such details. Hannah probably had a better idea, but even then, Lucas suspected Lavinia kept her deepest troubles from Hannah. She was going to need someone to help her assess her options, he suspected.
Perhaps Lucas should be that someone.
He had dealt with calamity many times. If he could bring Anthony back from near death during their time in Spain, if he could arrange temporary shelter and procure food for officers, if he could learn to be a valet, he could help Lavinia through this immediate problem somehow.
Just inside the door was a moderately sized entry hall, with a stairway to the left leading upstairs. There was a good inch of dust and dirt everywhere—on the floor and covering each tread of the stairs that still remained in place. To the right was an open archway through which Lavinia passed and Lucas followed into what must have originally been the front parlor, although now it held only a battered, old desk and a toppled chair missing one of its legs, which was lying on the floor on the other side of the room. The windows were covered in grime, and one at the back of the room was broken, with only shards of glass hanging to its warped frame.
Owing to the marshy environment hereabouts, there had been water seepage, and the floorboards and lower walls were gray with mold and other unseemly things that thrived in dampness.
Lavinia exited the room, and Lucas followed. She said nothing, and he did nothing to disrupt the silence. He had nothing optimistic to say at the moment anyway.
