[My apologies for the delay in posting a new part of this story. I've been working out the problem of the chaperone for Lavinia, but more on that later. She doesn't appear in this part I'm about to post, so no need for details yet.
Now, let's see ... where were we? :-) Oh, yes! Lucius has been called away to London. Lavinia is relieved that he's gone because that means she gets to take her daily ride with Cedric instead of his uncle. They are on their way to Rose Lane, to check on some repairs to cottages there. This is a nice, long section so I hope it will make up for the lack of recent postings.]
Once they arrived at their destination, there was yet more to learn from watching and listening as Cedric dealt firmly with the workmen, considerately with heads of the various households, or patiently with the oldest and youngest members of the little community. He knew all their names, from the old grandfathers and grandmothers, down to the newest babe in arms, and they all knew and were fond of him. To them he was "Master Cedric," for many had known him before Lucius had assumed his dignities as Earl of Kentham.
Cedric introduced her to one and all, and they were gracious to her, welcoming her for his sake. One of the oldest residents, Mistress Sara Reynolds, had once been Kentham's housekeeper and had fond memories of Cedric as a boy. It was to her cottage that Lavinia was invited for rest and refreshment while the men went to climb ladders and inspect roofs. Finding herself the object of so much attention could have put her out of countenance, if not for her experiences on her own estate. She was used to being the object of speculation and interest, being as she had been, a woman engaged upon a traditionally male role. And so she went willingly enough to Mistress Reynolds' home and sat sipping cowslip wine and nibbling on little seed cakes, all while engaging in a lively conversation with the women of the community. Topics ranged from the things their children and husbands did, to gardens, to sharing needlework projects, recipes, and herbal remedies.
The men returned eventually, satisfied with their inspections and after having refreshed themselves with sandwiches and home-brewed ale. By that time Lavinia had been made privy to a wealth of information, both about the accomplishments and illnesses of the various families who lived at the end of Rose Lane, but also about the family who occupied Kentham House. She'd listened politely to the tale of Becky's baby's croup, the fickleness of the weather or the soil, and the marriage of Mistress Alice's oldest girl, Jane, but what had interested her most were the stories of Kentham's late Earl and his grandson, as well as the gossip about the Avenger.
The Avenger, it seemed, interested himself not only with those fortunate enough to be able to ride in carriages, but also in those too poor to have never been farther from their homes than the nearest village. He'd stopped a group of four bullies who had been molesting cottagers in the area. One of them had died in the ensuing fight--falling on the very knife with which he'd tried to kill the Avenger. The others had been knocked into insensibility.
"'E were something to see, milady," exclaimed Becky. "So quick! They couldn't touch 'im, for all that two of 'em was bigger nor 'im, and 'ad these great sticks and knives, and a pistol, too!"
The Magistrate had been sent for and had come upon an astonishing sight: three thorough-going ruffians tied up and sitting at the edge of the road, and another laid out, dead, with his coat covering his face. There hadn't ever been anything else like it--not before, or since!
When they spoke of the old Earl, however, it was with quiet respect. He had been a great man, Mistress Reynolds had declared solemnly, and other heads about the tiny room had nodded their agreement. He'd done so much for the countryside, and had been a fair, if a sometimes stern master. But the way he'd taken in and cared for his grandson, after the tragic deaths of the child's parents in France, well ... that had been wonderful! The elders in the group could recall how sad young Cedric had been when he'd first come there, the nightmares he'd suffered, and the various illnesses.
"I'll never forget how my lord sat right by Master Cedric's bedside, all night, when the poor lad was taken ill with the influenza," Mistress Reynolds reminisced. "'He'd lost one son,' he'd said, 'and he wasn't about to lose his only grandson, too.'" She dabbed at her eyes, able to see all over again an old man gently holding the hand of a dearly loved grandson, willing the boy back to health, back to life. "Poor old soul, he had to shoulder so much grief in his lifetime: his wife's death in childbed, and her infant daughter with her; the death of his youngest son along with his lovely French wife; and finally the news that his eldest son, John, had died in a battle on the other side of the world. It was more than a body should have to bear."
"And don't forget that trouble with Master Lucius--" one of the younger women began, but was cut off by Mistress Reynolds.
"Hush, Lizzie! You know my lord didn't want that time spoken of."
Lavinia would have liked to have heard more about what the old Earl had commanded silence on, but Mistress Reynolds' tone had made it plain: this subject would not be discussed. Instead, she began to talk once again about young Cedric and some of his youthful adventures. So it was to laughter, not secrets that Cedric returned.
He collected Lavinia, thanked them all for their hospitality, gave a silver coin to each of the boys who'd been taking care of their horses, then turned with Lavinia to ride back to Kentham.
They had proceeded in silence for a few moments then Cedric ventured to ask if Lavinia had enjoyed herself, expressing the hope that she was not too tired.
"Non," she answered gaily! "I am not tired at all, monsieur. I am used to work, and find nothing more fatiguing than being idle."
He smiled at her obvious enthusiasm. "Did you enjoy it, the work on your father's estate?"
"Oui, very much! We had always lived in the country, you see--a small village and a modest house ... not large, like Kentham. An aunt resided with us for a few years after the death of ma mère, but I have looked after Papa myself since I was fifteen. I was but nineteen when we had to take up residence at the chateaux."
He heard a tinge of sadness in her voice. "It must have been hard to leave your old home, and your friends."
She had been studying the road ahead, but now she turned to him, warmed by his ready understanding. "It was difficile, oui, and ... lonely sometimes. But," she added, determined to push these sad thoughts to one side, "I made some new friends, and the work was worthwhile."
Impressed by her resilience and courage, he wanted to learn more. "How so?"
His tone was encouraging, and he appeared to be genuinely interested. A nice change, she thought, from the one-side conversations she'd been enduring with Lucius.
"Even though we had been country people, we were not prepared for life in a chateaux--even one so small as ours. There was so much to learn: new people, new ways, even the soil was different! My father's cousin had not taken much interest in the farms and the people were suffering. Because I was a woman my ideas were not welcomed, at first."
She glanced his way again, but his face showed only concern and a keen interest in what she was saying. He smiled encouragingly for her to continue.
Emboldened by his acceptance of her unorthodox life, she continued. "However, I had run our home farm and knew quite a lot, so I did not allow the doubters to discourage me. Before we were forced from the estate, the crops and the animals were thriving again. The people, they were better fed and healthier. We were happy there."
She stopped and he could hear the suppressed tears in her voice. "My apologies, mademoiselle, I did not mean to distress you."
She shook her head. "Non, monsieur," she asserted, determined not to allow the sadness to overwhelm her, "I am well. It was hard, you understand, to leave so much work behind, so many friends ...."
"Yes, of course," he agreed. And, after a few moments, "I'm surprised that, after all you had done for them they--"
"Non, non, monsieur! It was not our own people, but others--strangers--from the city who came, with swords and guns and wild talk! Many in the village, even the priests and the business owners felt threatened by this wild talk. The priest in the next village, Père Luc, was taken from his bed and beaten for speaking out."
Cedric was startled, and showed it. He had not heard of such things!
If Papa had not been friends with Milord Fordney ...!"
"My uncle mentioned that Lord Fordney was able to arrange transport for you and your father, but only two of your servants."
"Oui! Only Jeanne and Henri were able to come with us. We gave money to the rest and urged them to seek safety with their families."
Her kindness and concern for the people who had worked for them, especially in the face of the very real dangers that she and her father had faced, impressed him deeply. This, surely, must be the same courage that had prompted her to stand up to the bullies threatening her and her father that night on the road! The same courageous heart that his own had unconsciously responded to!
"I'm truly sorry for your loss, mademoiselle. It--it must give you some comfort that you were able to help those people before you left."
"Oui, it was some comfort. Poor Papa! He wanted to bring them all," she smiled fondly at this memory of her gentle father. "There were many tears at parting. But," she straightened in the saddle and found a smile for him again, "we arrived in England. Lord and Lady Fordney have been very kind, the Squire and Madame Wiltkens, Lady Eliza, and so many others have welcomed us. Even the women today were kind and sympathetique."
"I'm glad," he responded, pleased to hear that she seemed to have regained her composure after sharing such painful memories.
"Besides," she added, sounding very practical all of a sudden, "it was also very educational."
"Oh?" Cedric was puzzled, "In what way, mademoiselle?"
"Well," a slight smile played at the corner of her mouth now, "I learned that when small English boys eat eight apples in one afternoon, they become very ill indeed."
He laughed aloud at that. "So, you've heard that story, have you? I hope you didn't believe everything that you heard?"
"Only the part about you being the best little boy in the whole world. Moi, I think you were not as good as Madame Reynolds remembers."
"Then you would be quite correct, mademoiselle," he told her with a grin. "She was always very kind to me, and has a fondness for me still, so her opinion must be suspect."
"Ah-ha! It is as I thought, hein? You were quite naughty after all!"
"I was ... a boy, mademoiselle. So, of course, I was ... high-spirited, curious, energetic--"
"And naughty?" she interjected.
"Yes," he grinned again, "that, too." And they both laughed.
Silence descended upon them again and, after a bit, Lavinia could tell that Cedric was thinking hard about something. Finally, he seemed to recollect her presence, and turned to speak to her.
"Mademoiselle ...?"
"Oui, monsieur?"
"I was thinking that .... Well, perhaps it might .... I hate to ask it of you, but--." He cleared his throat and shifted nervously in the saddle. "Do you think you could ... refrain from mentioning to my uncle the exact nature of our trip today?"
She was rather shocked by his request. "Pourquoi, monsieur?"
He hesitated some more before answering her. "My uncle is still rather new to his ... his duties as Lord of Kentham. It's been difficult at times to--to show him the best way to .... You see, he was against spending the money to have those roofs repaired, but he doesn't understand that poor dwellings make for sick people, so ...."
"I see, monsieur! He does not yet understand that one must invest in the land, and its people, if one hopes to continue to live off of it."
"Exactly! I knew you would understand," he responded eagerly. "My grandfather knew this, too. He taught me that our family has an obligation to all the families who live on the estate. Fixing those roofs was something that he'd planned to do himself, for we'd talked about it before ... before he died."
She smiled kindly. "Then, of course, I will say nothing about our ride today, except that you have been a very correct companion. Très comme il faut."
"Thank you, mademoiselle."
She accepted his thanks with another smile, then said, "I also heard stories today of your grandfather. He was well loved."
"Yes," Cedric quietly agreed, "he was."
"I--." She hesitated.
"What is it, mademoiselle?"
"I do not want to pry, monsieur, but .... The women, they spoke of your parents a little."
"Yes?"
He didn't seem to be upset, so she continued. "They said your parents died in France?"
"Ah, yes. Well, you see, my mother was French. They had gone there to try and reconcile her family to her marriage."
"But were you not already seven? It is incroyable that they had not become reconciled in that time!"
"Some of them had," he admitted, "but her father was still angry with her for marrying an Englishman and, a youngest son at that. Even though I was quite young--I was six when they died and seven when I came to live here--I can still remember the shouting."
Lavinia made a sound, indicative of her distress, as she pictured in her mind the young Cedric from that painting having to listen to such very grown-up family quarrels. "It must have been très difficile for you, monsieur."
He nodded his eyes now on the distant trees, his mind no longer on their current journey. Instead he seemed to be recalling another journey from long ago--one which had ended tragically. She had wondered why, if he was part French that he didn't speak the language more fluently, but now she suspected that his memories of France and the French were not happy enough to have made him want to learn their language.
Wishing she had not initiated this topic, Lavinia was searching for something to say which might ease the sudden strain in the air. "At least," she ventured finally, "you were able to come and live here."
A grimace briefly altered his face, and she wondered if he was going to open up to her, but instead he merely acquiesced to her supposition and then turned the conversation to something less painful for him. "And you, mademoiselle, you must have some English blood in your family ...?"
For a moment, no more, she looked confused, then her brow cleared and she answered him with a laugh in her voice. "Oui, monsieur. You are speaking of my name, n'est-ce pas?"
"Oui, mademoiselle, if you are not offended."
"Not at all, monsieur. You are wondering about my very English name, non?"
"Yes. It's lovely, and it suits you, but it is not a typical French name."
"Just as your mother was French, mine was English, so we have something in common, besides the farming, you and I."
He gazed into her lovely eyes, just now bright with happiness, and wondered if her heart could feel as his did. To share those feelings with her would be something almost too wonderful to hope for, but of course it was too soon for any such declarations. Nor would he risk making her uncomfortable when she was, at that moment, entrusted to his care. So he merely said, with a smile, "I agree, mademoiselle. We do."
