On the night of the Earl's dinner party in honor of the Le Mersurer's vist, the Squire accidentally stumbles and steps on the hem of Lavinia's dress during a country dance. She leaves the party long enough to have the damage repaired by Jeanne. As she is walking towards the stairs she and Cedric nearly run into one another. Both are surprised by the sudden encounter ...
She was still a bit unsettled by the unexpected surge of emotion she'd felt at his sudden re-appearance. "M-mais non, monsieur. It is of no consequence, I assure you." She gestured towards the coat he carried over one arm. "You have just returned from your journey, n'est-ce pas?"
"Yes, I--"
She interrupted him because she had noticed something else. "Is that your supper, monsieur?"
And, now on to part 10 ...
Glancing down at the plate of fruit, cheese and bread that he carried in his right hand, he acknowledged that she had guessed correctly, and raised his eyes to hers again. "Forgive me for detaining you, Mademoiselle Lavinia, you must be anxious to return to the party."
Making one of those impetuous decisions for which she had been scolded before by her father and her maid, she took the plate from him. "Ça ne fait rein, monsieur. You are tired, so I will help you with these things first. To where are you going?"
Cedric knew he should refuse, but the idea of having her company for even a short while longer was much too intoxicating to be ignored. He had dreamed of her so often during his absence that this chance meeting seemed almost more dream-like than real. "M-my office, mademoiselle," he replied, stammering. "It's this way."
As they made their way down to the end of the hall and up another flight of stairs, she asked him questions about his trip, and he found that she was quite as knowledgeable as he about the ways of a large agrarian estate.
So, he thought, it hadn't been mere politeness which had prompted her request for information about Kentham that first morning of her visit! And then it occurred to him to wonder if she were interested in him only because of his work. That was a lowering reflection.
And yet, would she risk compromising her reputation by going alone with a gentleman to his rooms, only for the sake of an opportunity to talk about estate management? He didn't think so.
He certainly hoped not.
"Yes, mademoiselle, that is correct. Kentham includes four outlying estates, acquired at various times in our family's history. One of them, Whitehill, near a town by the same name, lies to the east. I can visit there and be back in a day, although it's a very long day. The other three connect to the west and south west borders. It was to those three that I have been travelling. It works best if I make a short stay at each one, you see, instead of attempting to ride out and back."
"Who lives at these houses, monsieur?"
"No one now, but in the past various relatives have taken up residence from time to time. There are caretakers, of course, at the three estates I have just visited. They are much smaller dwellings. But at Whitehall, because it is so large, we keep a skeleton staff to maintain the place. In the past, one or another of the houses would be used to host hunting or shooting parties. Not recently, however."
Arriving at his destination, he shifted all of his belongings to one arm so he could unlock his door. He explained that the estate's ledgers and records were in his office, for which reason the door was secured whenever he was away from home.
"Do you not have a servant to assist you, monsieur?" she asked, gesturing towards all the things he was carrying.
"Yes, of course ... Jacques. He has been with me since I was a child. At the moment he is downstairs seeing to the bulk of our belongings and, I hope, getting his own dinner. He'll come when I ring for him."
"Ah, oui! I recall now seeing him with you, I think. In the stableyard, upon the day of your departure."
"Yes. He always goes with me on these longer trips."
Leaving the door open, Cedric placed his burdens on his desk. Then, after lighting a taper from one of the sconces in the hallway, he went around the room lighting candles. Lavinia watched him from the doorway, noting the chill in the room, and wondering why the Earl could not have ordered a fire lit in readiness for his nephew's return. Cedric couldn't hold the only key! Surely his uncle had one, also. She did not mention it, however, as it was not in her nature to promote trouble between people.
"Your Jacques, he is much like my maid, Jeanne, then," she ventured, amusement plain in her voice. "Because she has known me from my cradle, she feels she must scold me ... even worse than my own mother would, I think."
Cedric chuckled. "Ah, yes. Well, Jacques has not known me quite that long, but I, too, have received my share of scolds." He came towards her now, to relieve her of the plate, and to thank her again for her assistance.
She seemed disinclined to return to the party immediately. Instead she stepped past him, further into the room, and stood looking around at all the books, prints and maps which lined the walls, and wondered just why she was doing it. Perhaps the Earl's earlier possessiveness had challenged her independent streak, or perhaps she was curious to see if this strange feeling she had towards Cedric could withstand being in his company for a time but, whatever it was, she wasn't yet ready to leave.
"What a wonderful room!" she exclaimed, almost involuntarily. Turning to face him once more, she surprised a smile on his face and blushed slightly, then sought to explain her outburst. "You see, as we were climbing the stairs, I was feeling sorry for you ... being so far from the rest of the household, but this! This is not what I expected at all!"
"It's quite all right, mademoiselle, and ... thank you for the compliment. I like it very much, too." He moved the satchel so he could place the plate on the desk and then turned towards the fireplace, and the kindling lying therein, ready to light. "Let me start a fire, and I'll escort you back downstairs. My uncle must be wondering what has become of you."
"Mais non, he thinks I am in my chambre having a tear to the hem of my gown repaired." She was once again wandering around the office, gazing up at the prints, or examining artefacts upon the shelves. "Besides," she added, unaware that Cedric's eyes were mostly on her instead of on the kindling he was trying to light, "he is my host, not my husband. I do not have to answer to him for what I choose to do."
Cedric inclined his head towards her. "Mille pardons, Mademoiselle Lavinia."
His French was as stilted as ever, but there was in his voice a hint of the sense of humour she'd witnessed in the stable yard a week ago. She felt herself become more light-hearted at the memory of his laughter and sketched a curtsy in his direction as he rose to his feet again, making use of her fan by hiding her smile behind it. "Perhaps I will pardon you, monsieur."
Cedric noted the position of the fan, and also the twinkle in the eyes above it, and attempted an elaborate bow in response. "I await my fate, mademoiselle, and pray you will not deal too harshly with a poor country lad, such as myself."
