Chapter 9

They made an incongruous group. The viscount, as casual as a farmer with his wide shoulders encased only in his shirtsleeves; Phoebe with her everyday apron still pinned over her plain worsted wool dress. Dirty uncombed Izzy drove the horse while Helen, looking like an affronted angel, held tight to the squirming puppy. Nadia, bright-eyed and gurgling, perched on Phoebe's lap leaning forward with her stomach pressed comfortingly against Phoebe's arm. Chuckling with delight every time the cart lurched through a hole or over a rock.

Phoebe was relieved when they did not encounter anyone on the road that wound around the hill and through a short stretch of woods. The last thing she needed was the people of Swansford gossiping about her and the viscount, especially given her sister's wanton reputation.

On the other hand, it occurred to her that anyone not knowing who they were might have thought them merely a regular little family out for a ride — father, mother, and their children.

Gnawing the inside of one cheek, she turned away from the restless sea that lay beyond the last of the green, treeless hills. It gave her a peculiar feeling to think about Lord Farley that way. A peculiar, churning feeling centered low in her stomach.

It was on account of the children, she told herself. She loved children — babies like Nadia, angels like Helen. Even difficult little devils like Izzy were lovable if you were patient enough to see beneath their hard-edged exteriors.

Her tumultuous feelings about Lord Farley and his children were perfectly normal for a woman of her age, she told herself, for one day she hoped to have children of her own.

But first you need a husband.

A husband. Mr. Blackstock would certainly agree with that. However, she was no more enamored by the prospects in Swansford than her mother had been, albeit for different reasons. Her eyes darted to Lord Farley, then away. Her mother would certainly have approved of a viscount for one of her girls. But Phoebe dismissed the idea before it could form. Her mother had always had unrealistic expectations for her daughters. But Phoebe knew that a wealthy viscount was beyond the realms of possibility for a country girl like her, even if her mother's estranged uncle had been a baron.

More importantly, though, was the fact that she couldn't possibly be happy with a man possessed of such a reckless romantic history as Lord Farley.

Searching for a distraction from such thoughts, she turned to Helen who sat crowded up beside her in the open wicker vehicle. "Would you like to hold Nadia on your lap?"

Helen's unhappy little face lit up in a brilliant smile. "Oh, yes."

From the front of the pony cart Izzy glared back at them. "Nadia is my sister, not yours."

Helen looked up at Phoebe with new tears in her eyes. "But she held Bruno, and without even asking."

Phoebe smoothed the top of Helen's golden head. "You know, it's very hard to share the things we love. You love Bruno; Izzy loves Nadia — You do love her, don't you?" she asked Izzy.

The girl scowled and looked away, but after a moment she gave a reluctant nod. Phoebe couldn't help smiling. What a momentous concession! Without thinking, her gaze sought Lord Farley, who stared down at Izzy in amazement. Then he raised his eyes to meet Phoebe's and grinned, and again Phoebe felt that unsettling curl of heat deep in her belly. The situation was turning dangerous.

At once she focused back on Helen. "The point is, Nadia will go home to Izzy, and Bruno will stay with us. If you wish to play with Nadia today, you must allow Izzy to play with Bruno. And vice versa," she added to Izzy. "Do you know what that means?"

An irritated Izzy slapped the reins to make the sturdy cart horse increase its pace. "It means the crybaby has to let me play with Bruno." She gave Helen a smug look. "I hope Nadia wets your dress."

Phoebe sighed. It was a beginning. And at least Lord Farley had conceded the issue of Izzy's name.

As they came up the last rise to Plummy Head she scanned the grounds surrounding her home, the place she'd lived her entire life. It looked as it always did, never changing save as dictated by the seasons.

But today she looked at it with a different eye, trying to see it as he might, and in the process, seeing all its shortcomings, just as her mother always had. The slate roof sagged on one side of the chimney; the exposed tails of the roof could bear a fresh coat of paint, as could the windows and doors. The narrow path up to the house was overgrown and rutted with water standing in puddles. The well house needed a new roof, and the lean to barn was gray with age and had listed to the left ever since that fierce storm last August.

But the garden was neat and orderly, she told herself, as was the orchard. And the early roses beside the front door were greening up very nicely. In the near meadow, Posie and the other browsing goats lent a contented aura to her little farm.

The cottage on Plummy Head might be nothing when compared to the expanse and grandeur of Farley Park. But for all its shortcomings, at was snug and sturdy, the chimney drew well, and she had no reason to feel ashamed. Her mother might have been bitterly disappointed by her reduced circumstances, but Phoebe loved the place, peeling paint and all.

Bruno started barking when he spied his now familiar haunts, and he and Helen jumped down together once Phoebe took Nadia. Izzy jumped down too, but Lord Farley caught her by one arm.

"Just a minute, young lady. It's part of your responsibility as the driver of this conveyance to tend to your horse's needs. Where may we water him?" he asked Phoebe.

"I've a pot tied to the well rope. A pot, because my bucket is still missing," she added to Izzy. "I need it back."

"Yes. What about the bucket?" the viscount added. "And all the other things you've stolen from Miss Churchill?"

Izzy rolled her eyes. "They're in the woods." She gestured vaguely with one hand. "I don't know 'xactly where."