Page 35 of The Gentlewoman Companion

Chapter Eight

Halverton squinted into the distance, trying to identify the source of a noisy rumbling. He sat at an iron table and chair, coaxed outdoors by the fine weather. Before him lay a portable writing desk and the thick ledger Mr. Hunsaker, his steward, had left him some weeks prior. The ledger contained a twelve-month accounting of his estate. Consumed with issues pertinent to the House of Lords and overwhelmed by his estate’s details, he’d only given the book a cursory glance until now. After spending the morning considering whether the estate required his attention, he had determined that it likely did not, or at least not a great deal. It seemed his father had left everything to the care of Mr. Hunsaker. The position that mattered was that of peer, who cast his votes and argued to improve the kingdom. Still, he knew he ought to become familiar with the essential aspects of his estate.

An open one-horse carriage emerged from around a treed lane. Not a horse. A donkey. Miss Thorpe was driving at a rapid clip, stirring dust behind her. She slowed as she approached and stopped in front of him.

She adjusted her hat and grinned at him. “My illustrious Lord Halverton, I have learned the skill I promised I would.”

“So I see.” He suffered a brief smile for her enthusiasm.

“Would you like a ride?”

He hesitated. She and his mother took him away from his duties more than he could justify, considering all he had to learn.

“Oh, you must. Ranunculus is a flyer.”

“Can you take me to the village? I’d like to see the steward.” Since the conversation with Miss Thorpe and his mother regarding orphans and affairs of the village, he’d wondered what other information he lacked. His mother and Miss Thorpe seemed to understand the world in a way he did not. Perhaps the insights might improve his grasp on legislative matters.

He returned his things to the house and climbed in beside Miss Thorpe. Reflexively, he reached for the reins.

She snatched them to her chest. “Don’t imagine I will give these up now they’re in my clutches. I love a horse, but this cart is something else.” She loosened the reins, but the donkey remained still. “Move out, Ranunculus,” she sang. The donkey pulled into a slow walk.

“How did you convince Miss Fischer to allow you to take out her precious donkey?”

“Miss Fischer and I are becoming great friends, and she believes driving a carriage is a skill every female should acquire. Besides, Ranunculus adores me.” She puckered her lips and made kissing noises until Ranunculus picked up speed. “Isn’t she amazing? I’ve been at Havenwood all day. Miss Cron is a whip! And a great teacher. Almost as thorough as you. I can’t harness the donkey yet, but I remember all the right words to lead her.” She whispered, “Move out, easy, walk, trot, canter, come round, go wish. She does not like touch cues unless it’s an emergency.”

“You forget I drove her to the pond, using only touches and pulls.”

“That was an emergency. She knew that she must suffer you and your taps or be led by Miss Fischer, which is even worse. Which way?”

“To the village.”

“Go wish,” she called to the donkey, who took a right at the fork in the road. “I didn’t know donkeys and horses could understand so many words.”

“You’re a natural.”

“Not really. It’s Ranunculus.” She made a few more kissing sounds before calling out, “Trot!” The donkey picked up its pace. Miss Thorpe erupted in laughter.

They sped along the country, Halverton clutching the seat of the carriage but not uneasy enough to take control.

“Almost there,” he said. “The redbrick on the left.”

She commanded Ranunculus to “stand!” and they stopped in front of the steward’s office.

“I’ll wait here.” Miss Thorpe pulled two books out from under her: the red journal he’d seen her make use of in the library and a brown leather-bound book. She opened the book and began to read.

Halverton knocked on Mr. Hunsaker’s door. The housekeeper opened to him and explained the steward was not at home. He returned to the carriage.

Miss Thorpe closed the book around her finger, covering the title with her other hand. “The woman across the street has her eye on you.”

A lacy-capped greying woman leaned out the window of the weaver’s cottage and waved. It was Mrs. Gibson, the weaver’s wife, a kind woman whom he remembered from his childhood.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

Miss Thorpe blushed crimson. “Oh, just something Miss Fischer lent me.”

He crossed his arms and smiled, surprised at his delight at finding her so out of sorts. “Is it such a secret?”

“No. Lady Halverton was reading it at the boathouse.” She leaned toward him. “It’s ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’ from The Canterbury Tales. Did you know Alexander Pope censored it?”