Working Man, Society Bride. Mary Nichols
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enjoyed yourself, then?’
‘Oh, yes, it was wonderful, but I’m glad to be home.’ She finished the milk. ‘Now I’m off to have Midge saddled.’ With that she picked up her hat and danced out of the kitchen door, munching the last of the toast as she went.
The outside staff were all busy. Some were working in the garden, others grooming the horses that had brought her and her mother home. Some were cleaning out the carriage; others were saddling up some of the riding horses to exercise them. The horse master had a young colt on a long lead and was training him to answer to the bit. She watched for a moment in admiration and then went into the stables where Midge put her head over one of the doors and snickered. She stroked her nose. ‘Have you missed me, old thing? Well, let’s go and have a good gallop, shall we?’ She opened the door and slipped inside to saddle her.
‘Miss Lucy, I’ll do that for you.’ It was young Andrew, Sally-Ann’s intended.
‘Thank you, Andrew, but, if you are busy, I can do it myself.’
‘Not too busy, miss. I mean, my lady.’ He hurriedly corrected himself, remembering she had just returned from her débutante season in London and that meant she was grown up and a proper lady now and must be treated as such. ‘I must make sure the girth is properly tightened or his lordship will have my head on a plate.’
She laughed. ‘Miss will do fine, Andrew.’ She watched as he deftly saddled the mare. ‘I believe congratulations are in order.’ And, because he looked puzzled, added, ‘I understand you have spoken for Sally-Ann.’
‘Oh, yes, miss, thank you, miss.’ He led the horse out into the yard and bent to clasp his hands for her to mount. ‘Mind how you go. She hasn’t had much exercise lately.’
‘I will.’ She accepted her crop from him and trotted out of the yard towards the drive. Halfway down she turned and cantered across the grass and on to the parkland that surrounded the Hall.
Midge was frisky and Lucy decided that the park was too restricting and made her way to a gate, which led on to a lane. From there, she found her way on to a wide, grassy track between a meadow and a field of growing wheat. Due to a cold, wet spring, the second year in succession, the wheat had struggled to grow and the harvest would be late. She had heard tell that there was new machinery being tried that would do the job of several men and wondered if they would accept that, or would they be afraid of being thrown out of work, as the cotton workers had been a few years before? Life was hard enough for them as it was, what with one poor harvest after another and the price of corn kept artificially high, but how would they fare if farmers began to mechanise jobs that until now had been done by men?
The haymakers were busy in one of the meadows and she reined in for a minute to watch. The men were moving steadily forward, their muscular arms, tanned from the sun, working to an age-old rhythm. Swathe after swathe fell to their scythes and behind them the women raked it out to dry in the sun. She rode on and up on to the heath, where she let the mare have her head and before long they left the cultivated fields behind. The heath was covered in scrub and a few trees, where sheep nibbled at the heather and sparse grass. Skylarks nested up here, and butterflies flitted from flower to flower. Overhead a kestrel hovered.
She drew the horse to a walk as they topped the rise and then stopped to sit, looking down on to a valley with a river snaking along the bottom. Down there were more cultivated fields, and a few farm buildings. Across the valley more sheep grazed on more meadows. It was all her father’s land, acres and acres of it that had been in the family since the Reformation, as he was very fond of telling anyone who would listen. It was good hunting-and-shooting country, too, and later in the year her father would invite friends and relations to stay for a week’s shooting and again just after Christmas for the hunt, as he did every year.
She put her hand up to her face to shade her eyes when she spotted three men in the valley. They were certainly not labourers, because two were dressed in top hats and tailcoats. The third was more casually dressed. They appeared to be examining something on the ground and she spurred her horse down the steep slope towards them, crossed a narrow wooden bridge over the river and cantered up to them. She realised as she drew near that they were using a theodolite and one carried a notebook in which he was making notes. They looked towards her when they heard the horse and the youngest of the three, who had been squatting down examining the ground, stood up.
He was a hugely impressive specimen of manhood. Well over six feet tall, his shoulders were massive, straining the cloth of his tweed tailcoat. His chest was broad and his hips, clad in plain brown trousers, were slim. He wore a loosely tied neckcloth and, unlike the other two, he was hatless. His curly light brown hair was worn collar length. He had large hands that, at the moment she reined in and stopped, were crumbling the soil between his fingers.
He smiled, displaying even, white teeth. ‘Good morning, miss.’ His accent, while by no means uncouth and certainly not betraying the patois of the peasant, was not refined as a gentleman’s would be. She found it difficult to take her eyes off him and, though she knew there were two others present, she was facing him and him alone.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, without returning his greeting.
‘Surveying, miss.’
‘Surveying what?’
‘The land, miss, for a railway.’
‘Here?’ She was astonished. She had heard her father say more than once that he abominated railways and would not have one on his land, which was inconsistent considering he used trains himself when it suited him.
‘It looks as good a route as any, but we can’t tell until we’ve walked the whole way.’
‘From where to where?’
‘Leicester to Peterborough, to join the Eastern Counties Railway to the Midland.’
‘I find it difficult to believe my father has agreed to it.’
‘And who is your father?’
He did not appear at all overawed, which made her all the more determined to stand on her dignity. ‘The Earl of Luffenham and, before you ask, you are on his land, which, if you are surveying, you surely know already.’
The young man bowed, though it was more a formality than any show of respect. ‘I am sorry—if I had known who you were, my lady, I would have addressed you correctly.’
He saw before him an arrogant child of wealth and class on a superb horse. Judging by the size of the horse and the easy way she sat on it, she was quite tall. Her riding habit, which was spread decorously over her feet, was of dark-blue taffeta with military-style frogging across the jacket. Her tiny riding hat, with its wisp of a veil, was perched on top of dark golden ringlets. Her eyes, looking fearlessly into his, were greeny-grey. He would have liked to despise her, but found himself admiring her spirit. She was evidently not afraid of approaching three men and telling them exactly what she thought of them.
‘That doesn’t answer my question. Has my father agreed?’
‘We are not seeking the agreement of anyone at the moment, my lady. We have yet to establish the feasibility of such a line.’
‘And to do that, it appears you must trespass.’
One of the others gave a little cough, which made her drag her eyes away from the young man towards him. ‘My lady, I think you will find the Earl’s land begins on the other side of the water.’ And he pointed in the direction of the river behind her.
‘It does not. It extends up to that ridge.’ Her riding crop indicated where she meant. ‘This whole area is Luffenham land.’ She swept her arm in a wide arc.
‘Until we see evidence we must beg to differ, my lady.’
‘Then I suggest you apply to the Earl, who will no doubt supply it. In the meantime, desist whatever it is you are doing.’
The youngest man laughed and she swung round to face him again. ‘It is not a laughing