The Charmer Read online

  ***

  Susanna Lynden sat on the ground under her largest orange tree and watched the retreating back of Orlando Holt through the garden arch. It was a broad back attached to the sort of shoulders that would be useful for hoeing garden beds and for sinking one's teeth into if she felt so inclined. Which she absolutely did not. She was not ready to take a lover, and she suspected Orlando Holt would make a terrible one anyway, or terrible for her at least. Too handsome for his own good and certainly too charming. Men like him never stayed true to their women, and she'd had enough of straying men.

  Good lord, she must have been lonelier than she thought. She'd met Holt only briefly, yet her mind had stripped him naked. Perhaps it was time she got a lover. How did a gentlewoman go about obtaining one? Nail a handbill to the post outside The Plough announcing the vacancy? She threw her head back and laughed, startling a yellow butterfly perched on a leaf.

  No, there would be no lover for her, or a gardener. Not even a laborer. Pity, because Holt would have been perfect with his experience and his size. She'd be lucky if she could afford the wages of the three servants they currently kept as well as food enough to feed them, her father and herself. The little money they had needed to stretch until she'd found a city shopkeeper to stock her marmalades and succades. Finding someone was taking longer than she expected.

  She drove her fork into the soft earth and pushed herself to her feet. Her head touched one of the low-hanging green oranges, and she ducked out from under the canopy. She slapped on her hat and stood back to survey her oldest and strongest tree. Its leaves were a healthy green and the fruits almost the same color. They would turn orange soon and need protecting from the winter. Already the air felt chilly even when the sun was out.

  How cold would it get this year? She'd only lost one tree last winter, but the others had dropped most of their fruit. She hadn't been able to give them the full attention they needed while living up at the Hall, and her father hadn't the strength to do what was necessary to protect all of them from frost. This year she'd wanted to try a new housing technique for ensuring their safe wintering, but time was growing short along with the days, and there was still so much to be done. The temporary and somewhat flimsy shelter would have to do for now.

  She picked up her pruning knife and lopped off the straggling branches to make it easier to cover the trees. It grew more and more difficult to reach the higher ones, and soon her arms and neck ached. She removed her gloves and massaged her shoulder.

  "Those trousers really don't suit you, Susanna."

  She ground her back teeth together then turned around with what she hoped was a genteel smile on her face for her late husband's cousin. She had to remind herself that he meant well, but it didn't make his stupidity any less, well, stupid. "I find skirts too restricting in the garden."

  Jeffrey—Lord Lynden—squinted and stretched his neck. With the high collar and his chin resting on the stiff ruff, his neck appeared unnaturally long. "Is that dirt on your forehead?"

  "Probably. I find I can't escape the stuff out here."

  "I suppose not." He indicated the pruning knife. "What are you doing with that?"

  "Pruning."

  "And what's in the pails?"

  "Dung from Cowdrey Farm's cows mixed with soil."

  He pulled a face. "It looks like hard work."

  "I can manage, and I enjoy being out here with my orange trees." It was true, she did like gardening, but she could certainly use some help. Not that she would tell Jeffrey she couldn't afford a laborer. Any mention of money, or her lack of it, would only bring up the topic of her marrying again, something she wished to avoid. With Farmer Cowdrey having asked her countless times already, she was becoming an expert in avoiding the subject altogether. And avoid it she must. Two disastrous marriages had proved to her it wasn't a state she wanted to enter into again, ever.

  "I can provide one of my gardeners to help you if you like," Jeffrey said.

  He'd never offered her staff before. Considering he loathed spending money on things that didn't directly improve his own estate, it was quite a generous offer. What did he want in return? "Thank you, but I can manage."

  He regarded her closely, still frowning. Jeffrey was always frowning it seemed, so unlike her late husband, his older cousin. Phillip had been dark-haired and silver-tongued, a combination that meant everyone liked him, particularly women. Jeffrey was more serious, hardly ever laughing with abandon as Phillip used to do, and flirting wasn't an art he'd mastered. Most of the village women crossed the road to avoid speaking with him.

  Susanna knelt down on the ground and dug through the fertile mix of dung and earth in the pail.

  "That reeks," Jeffrey said. "Must you do it now?"

  "I have to put it around the trees."

  "This moment?"

  "I can think of no better one." She stood and eyed the nearest tree several feet away. Her lower back ached just thinking about moving the pail and digging through the dung and soil. "Would you mind dragging the pail over there?"

  "Me?"

  She turned to look at him and almost burst out laughing. He had his wrist pressed to his nose, the white lace cuff trailing over his mouth and chin like a snowy beard. "I see no one else here."

  Half his face may have been covered, but it didn't hide the disgust in his eyes. "This is why you need a man to help you."

  She refrained, just, from pointing out that he was a man.

  "What about your servants?" he went on. "Can't one of them help?"

  "They're busy and too aged for this type of work in addition to their usual duties."

  "You should replace them with more able-bodied ones." He took a step back and she sighed. It seemed Jeffrey was like his cousin in one respect. Neither liked to get their soft, white hands dirty.

  "Jeffrey, why have you come here?"

  "To offer you the use of one of my men for your garden."

  He'd come just for that? Surely not. "No, thank you."

  "You won't need to pay me."

  "No."

  "But you can't do this on your own! Look at you. Your knees are dirty and your skin is brown!" He sniffed. "And that smell. It's disgusting and unseemly. A woman of your station should be inside sewing, not mucking about in filth. Admit it, Susanna, you're in over your head with those orange trees. I don't know why you care about them so much. They take up all your time since you came back here. You should have left them to die after your mother's passing." He must have known he'd over-stepped because he had the decency to flush and look away. He knew how much Susanna had loved her mother. The trees were her legacy. She would not let them wither.

  "Thank you for your concern," she said carefully lest the wave of emotion washing through her burst out. "But I do not want your help."

  He pursed his thin lips so that they disappeared entirely. "Susanna," he finally said on a sigh. "Why do you thwart me so when all I want is to care for you? As my cousin, it's the least I can do. Allow my man to help." His gaze darted away and wandered around the garden, avoiding her. "He's new to my employ but trustworthy. And very strong, very capable. He'll do whatever you ask of him. I highly recommend him to you."

  Why was he insisting? What could possibly be in it for Jeffrey? He wasn't a terrible person, but he never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. If it had been anyone else, she would have thought he was trying to woo her, but being her cousin by marriage meant a union between them was unthinkable as well as illegal. Perhaps he needed her to act as lady of Sutton Hall for some important visitors.

  Like his cousin before him, Jeffrey planned on putting Sutton Hall on the map, or at least the map used by the nobility with influence at court. Being a baron wasn't enough for Jeffrey. He wanted to be noticed, and that meant having the right people visit and ensuring they were entertained during their stay. Phillip had been a natural host, charming and witty, attentive but not sycophantic. Jeffrey would have a more difficult time of it. He plodded through con
versations, failing to grasp subtle changes in moods or clever retorts. He needed a friend to guide him through prickly political and social situations with high ranking guests, which was why Susanna would be a terrible hostess. She'd learned from her two marriages that being the perfect gentleman's wife didn't come easily to her. She preferred her garden to the ballroom and tending the orange trees to indulging the whims of fat noblemen.

  "Susanna, please, I insist. I beg of you to accept my offer to help."

  Insist? Beg? Rather strong words for a simple offer. She shook her head and grabbed the edges of the pail and dragged it along the path.

  "Whoa, mistress, stop," a vaguely familiar voice said from behind her. Before she could turn around, big brown hands grasped the pail and lifted it. Lifted it! She looked up, straight into the blue eyes of Orlando Holt.

  "Where do you want it?" He gave her a smile and a dimple appeared in each cheek. Now that he was closer she could see that he was indeed older than she first thought. Those dimples made him look impish, as if he'd been caught stealing from a plate of sweetmeats. She had the ridiculous urge to press her smallest finger into them.

  "Lady Lynden?" he prompted. His smile widened. The man knew what she was thinking. She was certain of it. Curse him.

  "Over there," she said, pointing to the nearest tree. She watched as he carried the full pail to the tree. He wore only a jerkin over his shirt, like her, but where her clothes were big and loose, his jerkin stretched tautly over his shoulders and across his back.

  "Who is that?" Jeffrey said, coming up beside her. "A new servant?"

  "A vagrant," she said and bit back a laugh. Holt had emphatically argued with her over the point only a little while ago. She couldn't deny sparring with him had made her feel more alive than she had felt in months. Odd how such a simple exchange with a stranger could do that. She must have been more desperate than she thought for witty company. It certainly wasn't the handsome and charming male company she missed—she'd had enough of that from her two husbands to last a lifetime.

  "My name is Orlando Holt," Holt said, rejoining them. A few strands of his blond hair had flopped over his forehead but otherwise he showed no signs of exertion. He nodded at Jeffrey in greeting. "I'm a servant here."

  "You most certainly are not!" she snapped.

  He grinned again. Good lord, did he ever not smile? "I am. Mr. Farley has added me to his staff."

  "You spoke to my father after I told you to leave?" The insolent, devious...vagrant! "Go back inside and tell him you'll not accept his offer." When he didn't move, she took a step closer, but that was a mistake because it only emphasized how much bigger than her he was. She came up to the middle of his chest.

  "I have offered my services and your father has agreed to my terms," he said, his eyes sparkling with humor. "He is the master of Stoneleigh, is he not?" It wasn't a question that required an answer. The slippery eel knew that. "Besides, I need the work." He held up his hand to stop her, as if he were the master and she the servant. She was so shocked she didn't know what to say. "Cowdrey Farm is too far away and I'm a gardener, not a farm hand."

  "Ha!" she managed, annoyed that he'd predicted her argument.

  He forked an eyebrow at her and looked like he would say something more, but Jeffrey spoke first. "You should have come to Sutton Hall. There is plenty of gardening work."

  "There is?" It was her turn to lift a questioning brow. Holt kept on smiling, not in the least disturbed that he'd been caught out in his earlier lie. Had he been to Sutton Hall at all? He said nothing and she turned to Jeffrey. She could only confront one liar at a time. "Then why were you offering me one of your gardeners if there is so much to do up there?"

  Jeffrey blushed to the roots of his bright hair. "Uh...I... "

  "So you are the master of Sutton Hall?" Holt asked when Jeffrey failed to complete his sentence.

  Jeffrey adjusted his black velvet cloak so it draped more elegantly over his left shoulder, and thrust his chin out. "I'll ask the questions, not you. But I'll have you know that I am Lord Lynden. I am also Lady Lynden's cousin."

  "By marriage," she added.

  "And so it should be I who provides her with a man to help in the garden. Be off." Jeffrey flicked his long fingers toward the arch. "Tell Mr. Farley you've changed your mind and cannot work here. Susanna," he said, turning to her, "do not trust this stranger. His methods are underhanded and his manner impertinent. Take my man instead. Indeed, let me speak to your father this instant."

  She caught Jeffrey’s arm before he could move off. "Thank you, but there's no need to drag Father into this. Since he has already employed Mr. Holt here, I must accept. Thank you for your offer, it was kindly done." And insistently. Very. She was glad to be able to refuse without qualms. She didn't want to find out what strings Jeffrey had attached to his proposal.

  "You're going to accept this vagrant?" he spluttered.

  "I have no choice. Father is the master of Stoneleigh."

  He stared wide-eyed at her. The yellow flecks in his eyes glinted in the afternoon sun that had finally wrestled the clouds aside. "I never thought to see you give in so easily, Susanna." He made a miffed sound through his nose, bowed perfunctorily, and walked out of the walled garden. She went to the arch and was relieved to see him gather up the reins of his horse and ride down the long drive to the road.

  "So," Holt said, standing with his feet apart as if he'd planted himself there, "what do you want me to do next? We have some time before sunset."

  "You, Mr. Holt," she said, pointing at him, "should not get too comfortable. I'm going to see my father and insist he withdraw his offer. You lied about asking for work up at Sutton Hall, did you not?"

  "No lie, m'lady. The steward shooed me away. If he lied about the lack of work because he didn't want a stranger on the premises, I cannot be held to blame."

  "Well, I refuse to have someone so ... so ... presumptuous working alongside me."

  "Presumptuous? I simply saw a job that needed doing and offered my services to do it."

  "Mr. Holt, perhaps it isn't clear to you, but we cannot pay you." She wasn't embarrassed to admit it. One glance at the partially patched-up house and the sorry state of the outbuildings would tell him money was scarce.

  "I only require food and a roof over my head," he said. "Do you have a barn?"

  "The roof leaks."

  "The stables?"

  "There's no room." It was filled with crates of jars and equipment for making their marmalades and succades. Silver needed her space along with the small cart and tack.

  "A spare closet in the big house?"

  "You get above yourself, Mr. Holt," she shot back over her shoulder as she passed under the arch.

  His chuckle followed her all the way to the house.