Chapter 6

      Alys spent the afternoon showing her new employer the barns, granaries, and other farm buildings. Then they started on the village workshops and small businesses. Davenport asked endless questions, keeping his own counsel about what he thought of the answers.

      Now that Alys knew he was a native of the area, she could see the quiet signs of recognition from the locals. Though watchful, they appeared ready to give him a kind of acceptance that Alys had not received in all her years in Dorset.

      Of course, it helped that he was male, she commented to herself acidly. No amount of time in Dorset would change the fact that she was the wrong sex to be a steward. Even many of the people who had benefited from her management could not quite approve of the fact that she was a woman.

      Just beyond the half dozen acres of orchard that produced apples and cider for estate use, they came on a large patchwork area of vegetable gardens. Davenport reined in his horse. “What are these?”

      “Most of the laborers’ cottages have only small gardens, so I’ve provided extra land for those who want it,” Alys replied. “A few of the more ambitious tenants not only grow food for their families, but have enough left over to sell in the Shaftesbury market.”

      A young woman working in her allotment looked up and saw the visitors. After a doubtful pause, she bobbed a nervous curtsy to Davenport, then scooped up the baby dozing on a blanket by the turnips and came to show him to Alys. Under her employer’s sardonic eye, Alys chucked the baby’s chin and admired his first tooth before returning him to his mother. As they continued on their way, Davenport remarked, “It looks like everyone at Strickland eats well.”

      “They do indeed,” Alys agreed. “Eating well is probably the first prerequisite for contentment. In addition to the allotments, I added a second dovecote and started raising rabbits on a large scale. Most are sold to people on the estate at a price low enough that everyone can afford fresh meat several times a week. Not only has that virtually eliminated poaching, but we have enough squabs and rabbits left over to sell in the market, which covers the costs of both operations.”

      Davenport didn’t reply, but Alys thought his nod seemed approving.

      They arrived at the potbank, last stop on the tour. As they dismounted, the foreman came out to greet them. Jamie Palmer was a gentle giant of a man, Alys’s oldest friend and ally, and he took his time surveying the visitor.

      Davenport was aware that he was being judged, and Alys could see his hackles rising. Wanting to defuse the tension, she swiftly performed the introductions, then asked, “Would you give us a tour, Jamie? Mr. Davenport is interested in how pottery is made.”

      “Of course, Lady Alys.”

      As Jamie led them inside, Davenport gave her a slightly pained look, but followed obediently through the works as the foreman explained clay preparation, throwing wheels, and slip-casting. Alys trailed behind. Meredith worked at the pottery several mornings a week, using her considerable artistic talent to develop new china designs. This was not one of her days to work, or Alys would not have suggested the tour. The more time that passed until Davenport met the girl, the better.

      Despite Davenport’s doubts about having a potbank on his property, he asked interested questions about the bottle kiln, which was being carefully packed with green ware, and the willow crates for shipping the fragile pottery to market. Alys hoped that his interest would make him tolerant of the enterprise.

      The tour ended in the office, where there was a display of finished products. Alys handed her employer a richly glazed round brown teapot. “This is our most popular item. We can’t compete with the large manufacturers, so I decided to make things for people of moderate income—those who like having something nice, but who can’t afford the fine china from places like Wedgwood and Spode.”

      As with everything else, Davenport drank it in, but he didn’t comment until they left to ride back to the estate office. “You continue to impress me, Lady Alys. If you hadn’t been born a female, you could have succeeded at anything you chose. Strickland is very lucky to have you.”

      Alys glowed at the compliment. It was good to be considered talented rather than merely eccentric.

      Back at the estate office, she settled wearily behind the desk and waited for the next round of questions. To her surprise, her employer asked, “Has the sheep washing been done yet this year?”

      She shook her head. “The spring washing is scheduled for day after tomorrow.”

      An amused gleam came into Davenport’s eyes. “Splendid. As a boy, I always wanted to participate in a sheep washing, but I was too small. Time has cured that.”

      “You really want to wash sheep?” Alys said, startled. It was a messy, time-consuming chore, not the sort of thing anyone did voluntarily.

      The gleam deepened. “Would you deny me one of my boyhood ambitions?”

      “It’s your choice, of course, but an amateur could slow the process down,” she said doubtfully. “Besides . . .”

      “Yes?” he prompted as her voice trailed off.

      “Wrestling sheep in a river is not exactly conducive to dignity.”

      He gave her a sardonic look. “While I will listen to you on matters agricultural, I’m not interested in your opinions about my dignity or lack thereof.”

      She flushed, knowing she had stepped over the line permitted for an employee.

      The awkward silence was broken by the arrival of Meredith, golden hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun and a look of misleading innocence on her angelic face. “Lady Alys, I wanted to ask you . . .” She stopped, looking at Davenport with a pretty expression of hesitation. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

      Alys rolled her eyes, knowing where Merry’s playacting was aimed. The girl had probably been watching the estate office all afternoon, waiting for an opportune moment to trip in and meet the new master of Strickland.

      Davenport reacted as any normal male would, rising with warm admiration on his long face and a twinkle in his eye. Clearly he realized that Meredith’s entrance was no accident, but that didn’t prevent him from enjoying the sight of the visitor. Merry was delightful in blue-sprigged white muslin, her golden curls tumbling around her shoulders with just the right touch of modest abandon.

      Alys made the