Page 23 of Reforming Lord Neil

“I did. In a rather abominable state of undress.” Teresa made certain she sounded horrified. “Mother, the man only owns one shirt and he apparently made it filthy enough—”

“He is soaking it in vinegar. I know. I suggested it.” Mother smiled innocently. “Though I had rather hoped it would be dry by now.”

Teresa gaped at her mother for a moment before asking, somewhat accusingly, “And did you know he did not work the rest of the afternoon?”

“I am not surprised. He is not accustomed to hard labor, after all. I imagine he will become used to it, or he will leave.” Mother picked up a tin plate and filled it with cooked beans, mash, and then the gravy on top. She added a roll. “Will you take him dinner?”

Although Teresa had planned on that course, she quickly changed her mind. “I think you had better take it to him.” Thinking on his lack of proper dress had addled her. She knew nothing of the man. That he was handsome and charming had flustered her, that was all. Obviously, she needed to set her mind to rights.

There was one thing she could do. She still had some of Henry’s things, hidden away in a trunk. Though, the very thought of going through the things from her old life made her stomach twist.

Teresa lowered herself to a chair at the table, noticing her mother’s concerned expression.

“Teresa. You are distressed.” Mother put down the food and came to sit at the table with her, putting her hand to Teresa’s cheek as she had done since Teresa’s childhood. “Did Mr. Duncan say something? Did he behave inappropriately?”

She shook her head. “No. But I do see the potential for future difficulties.” Teresa rubbed at her forehead. “I am sorry, Mother. You need not worry.”

“I am a mother. That is what all of us do.” She brushed Teresa’s dark hair back from her face, her maternal care softening the edges of Teresa’s worries. “We are doing a kindness for him, and he for us. But if it is too difficult, we can send the man on his way.”

A kindness. Looking at things from that perspective would help. Teresa closed her eyes. “I am going to look in one of our trunks. I think I have a few of Henry’s old things. The man needs at least another shirt. We cannot have him doing half a day’s work merely because he is particular about the cleanliness of his clothes.”

Mother stilled, then she leaned forward. “Henry’s things? I did not know you’d kept any.”

Teresa opened her eyes and forced a smile. “Nothing special. Not really. I kept a few things for Caroline to have, someday, and when we were packing to come here, I did not know what to expect. I brought along some of his shirts and cravats. I think—even though I was angry—I missed him.” The admission made her heart heavy. All her years with her husband, nearly a decade of loving him, could not be erased by the betrayal of his gambling.

“Do you need my help?” Mother asked. When Teresa only shook her head, her mother gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Wait until Caroline is asleep, if you want privacy. I will take Mr. Duncan his dinner.”

“Thank you.”

Hours later, after the kitchen had been put to rights and Caroline slept peacefully in her corner room, Teresa took a lamp up the narrow flight of stairs to the attic.

It was a very spare attic. Caroline could not even stand perfectly straight beneath the roof. It did not cover the entirety of the house, either. Only Teresa’s room was below it. With the light placed on the floor, Teresa went to the corner above her room, looking at the wood and where the thatch needed to be replaced. It was too dark for her to see the damage that would soon cause greater issues. If the wood became too wet, would it rot?

Tucking that worry aside, she went back to one of the small trunks she had brought to the farm. It did not contain much of use, nor much of value, and she had ignored it for nearly a year.

Teresa undid the latches and pushed the lid open, staring inside at the things she had saved for Caroline. Except Caroline would not care about the shirts that used to smell like her father’s soap. When Teresa took out the cravats, she laid them aside. There was no use for those cloths at present. But the two shirts she had kept, those would be useful.

She took the first out, hesitated, then held it up to her nose and took in a deep breath.

Henry’s scent was gone.

With the cloth covering her face, Teresa took in a slow breath. Of course it would not smell like him. It smelled like the lavender sachet she had put in with the trunk, and that was all. There was no reason to cry. She tucked away her feelings, focusing instead upon the moment.

She put the shirt aside, took out the other, and stared at what was beneath it. A small locket, in which she had drawn nothing more than a picture of Henry’s bright blue eye and a piece of paper on which he had signed the ‘H’ for his Christian name. Teresa nearly laughed at the silly lover’s token. When he had begun courting, he had slipped her a note and asked her for a ribbon, then tied it to his pocket watch so whenever he checked the time he would think of when he might next see her.

Their courtship had been sweet, romantic even.

How had it all gone wrong?

Teresa covered the locket with the cravats. She took out a small box. Henry’s shaving things. Then she closed the trunk, leaving the past to the past.

Chapter Ten

The rooster did not do its job in waking Neil up, and the cat seemed to take it as his duty when Neil failed to rise. The kitten pounced on his bare chest and began to knead Neil’s chest with the tips of his tiny claws. Neil woke with a yelp and reflexively grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck.

He immediately remembered the previous afternoon, when he’d woken up already springing at Mrs. Clapham. The woman had not come back that evening. Not even to milk the cow. Mrs. Godwin had brought his food and milked Abigail.

Perhaps Neil had frightened Mrs. Clapham, or offended her. She certainly had not liked seeing him without a shirt on. He had misjudged her before, when he’d thought she found him attractive. Likely, she merely thought him a curiosity. As he thought her a curiosity. Nothing more.