Part 3 (1/2)
Henrietta kicked him so hard the table shook. Samuel yelped.
Mr. Van Heerlen appeared unfazed by the transitive declaration of his love. ”Thank you for the lesson, good man. Are you a philosopher?”
”No, just a farmer tilling up this base and vulgar world.”
Seeing Mr. Van Heerlen's eyes narrow, Henrietta interceded. ”Lord Kesseley is a bit of a scientist as well. He had an article in a recent agricultural journal. What was it about, Lord Kesseley?”
”Increasing Turnips Yield by Addition of Ash Const.i.tuents,” he replied flatly, then nothing more. Hadn't he said he would be delicate? Well, this moment would be a perfect time to begin.
”And what does that mean?” she said, a little pointy edge to her voice.
Kesseley took a deep breath and began in a monotone, like a child prodded by his parent. ”Everyone has a.s.sumed that manure with the correct ammonia ratio, when stored, produces enough nitrogen to make soil fertile. However, I found with my own manure that my crop yield actually diminished. So I conducted an experiment with my turnips. I discovered that adding ash const.i.tuents from the previous crop to your manure gives you a better yield. For instance, if you have one field you fertilize with just manure and another that you-”
”Fascinating,” the famed astronomer said in such a way as to intone the opposite.
”You are in many journals all over the world, are you not, Mr. Van Heerlen?” Henrietta asked, trying her hardest to keep the conversation diverted from her.
”Yes, of course. My comets. I have-”
”Those comets were discovered over a decade ago,” Kesseley said dismissively. ”Do you not follow the work of our Astronomer Royal, John Pond? I have read his articles in the Royal Academy's Philosophical Transactions. Philosophical Transactions. Is it not fascinating, his work with observation using mural circles?” Is it not fascinating, his work with observation using mural circles?”
”Yes, a brilliant man,” Mr. Watson agreed, with a duck wing in his mouth.
Mr. Van Heerlen's Flemish accent hardened. ”No, I do not work with Mr. Pond. Our studies are quite different. Although a gifted astronomer, he is-in my opinion-too slow to embrace the advances of the Germans. We have debated this point, as gentlemen, of course.”
A slow smile crossed Kesseley's face. His chair creaked as he leaned back, widening his stance, his fingers tapping the table. ”No doubt having the credit of discovering a new planet will prove your superiority.”
She wasn't sure what pa.s.sed between the two men, but each looked unflinching at the other, lips tight. For a moment, she thought it wouldn't be unthinkable for one to leap over the table and throttle the other.
”Lord Kesseley, did I not tell you that Papa and Mr. Van Heerlen have an appointment at the Royal Observatory in a few weeks?” She grasped at conversational topics, trying to sound light.
”Well, this works out perfectly. Henrietta will be away in London, and you two may work in silence, undisturbed by the beauty of Henrietta's stars-although I prefer to say the beauty of her face. But, you see, I am far more direct than yourself, Mr. Van Heerlen.”
”London?” Mr. Van Heerlen asked her.
She shook her head. ”I don't know what-”
”You promised Mother to be her companion for the Season. We've gotten the London house ready for you and engaged a box at the opera. The Season has already started. It's too late to go back on your word.” Kesseley stared at her with a dead serious expression on his face, as if to say, how could you forget? how could you forget?
She wanted to leap from her seat and embrace him, perhaps even kiss him like she had in her imagination.
London! Edward!
I'm going to get Kesseley the very best bride in all of England-Lady Sara, of course! He will be the handsomest gentleman on St. James! I will pull the full romantic moon down from the heavens for him and throw in Sirius to boot. We star G.o.ddesses can do these things!
Chapter Three.
Kesseley had finished his morning rounds and couldn't procrastinate any longer. The new drainage ditch had been staked out, and the tenants could begin digging. For once, one of his cows had an easy birth, and the new, wet creature immediately suckled his mama's teat. He should have felt optimism instead of dread as he and Samuel walked back to Wrenthorpe, the morning sun rising over its roof.
But he knew his mother wouldn't take the news of Henrietta well. It had only been after months of tearful pleas from his mother about how he needed to break from Henrietta and find a wife who would love and appreciate him that he had finally consented to give the Season a try. And now he had to confess that Henrietta would be tagging along. As Mama's companion, no less. He braced for the onslaught of maternal tears and guilt as he entered Wrenthorpe through the stable yards. From the bakehouse, the delicious smell of rising bread mingled with scents of hay and horses. The blind girl he had hired from the village was running her fingers along the laundry line, hanging the newly washed sheets. Samuel chased the cats from his water bucket and dipped his head in, lapping noisy slurps. Kesseley walked into the scullery, stepped out of his boots and put his head under the pump.
”My lord.” A nervous young female servant curtsied and handed him a towel.
”Thank you, Rebecca.” He wiped his face and neck. ”Has your father recovered from his chill? Should I send out the physician again?”
”Mama says he is quite well now. Thank you, my lord.”
”Glad to hear it,” he said, handing her the soiled towel. He took the servants' pa.s.sage to the morning parlor and quietly slipped through the door.
His mother's parlor was an airy, tranquil room with pale yellow walls and white wainscoting. The gold brocade curtains had been drawn back, letting in the light from the neat boxwood garden just beyond the panes.
Kesseley leaned against the doorframe and observed his mother sitting at her desk, unaware of his presence. Her head was bowed over a book that lay open before her. The sunlight shone on her fair skin and blond hair that curled about the edges of her lace cap. She bit her bottom lip, made a soft humming sound and turned a page.
Kesseley remained silent, marveling at the serenity that had come over their lives since his father's death.
In this same room twenty years before, he had rushed in, wanting to show off the picture he had drawn of a machine for planting carrots. He had found his mother sobbing, shoved against her desk, as his father stood between her limbs, clawing at the cotton of her new ivory morning gown.
”You're making me wild,” his father groaned.
”Leave me alone,” she screamed, flailing under his grip. ”Go to one of your mistresses.”
Terror seized Kesseley's young mind. He didn't know or care what a mistress was or why his father was ripping his wife's gown, all he knew was his mama was being hurt. He charged, his fists balled like little stones, and pounded his father's back.
”Don't hurt my mama! Don't hurt my mama!” he wailed.
The earl pushed his son in the chest with the heel of his palm. Kesseley fell backward and sprawled on the rug. His father came to stand over him, a diamond and gold ring glinting from his fisted fingers. In his eyes glowed that dangerous, alcohol-induced s.h.i.+ne that always scared young Kesseley.
”You leave my mother alone,” Kesseley spat, even as he raised his small arm to s.h.i.+eld his face.
The earl laughed. ”I'm not hurting her,” he said in his low, purring voice, the sweet fire of brandy on his breath. ”Son, this is what a woman is made to do. You need to know these things.”
He strode back to his wife, now huddled on the desk, her arms crossed over her body, quivering and sobbing. He ran his finger down her cheek and across her chin. ”I made your mother a lady,” he said, as his finger trailed farther down her neck to the delicate amulet on her necklace. ”Do you see this diamond, son? And these pretty clothes? I gave them to her. And all I want is one simple thing. But she can't seem to remember her duty as my wife.” He gently lifted Lady Kesseley's chin. ”Now what do you say to me?”
She shook her head, refusing to answer.
His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened. ”What do you say to me?” he growled.
Kesseley rose up. ”Leave her alone!”
The earl turned slowly, his brows low, the edge of his teeth just visible below his tight lips. Kesseley stepped back, petrified.
”I'm sorry,” Lady Kesseley cried, grabbing her husband's arm. ”Please, I'm sorry.”
”I know you are.” The earl ripped himself free of her hold. ”Thomas, take your ugly picture and get the h.e.l.l out of here.”