Chapter Eight
Working through his piles of paperwork felt to Gilbert like treading through knee-deep mud – doable but slow and difficult. Especially after the interruption from Adelina and her pretty companion. It had been a challenge to keep his mind on his work before their arrival. It was nearly impossible afterward. But he stuck to it. If the last few years had taught him anything, it was that if he wanted something done, he pretty much had to do it himself. And the only way that would happen is if he stuck with it, even when it was difficult or challenging.
But having his mind preoccupied sure did make it more challenging. And more time consuming.
With a sigh of relief, Gil finally put his pencil down and flexed his cramping fingers. A sense of satisfaction welled within him as he looked at his straight columns and knew that his work was done. At least for that day. He shook his head. There was never an end to the work that needed to be done. With the empire he had built over the last dozen years, there was an unending list of things he needed to care for and think about. And very few people he could trust to help him with it.
But now, one of the things he had to take care of had the potential of unravelling his carefully laid plans.
Something had been niggling at the back of his head. Making his tallying that much more difficult. It finally crystallized in his mind. Miss Jones and Adelina had been dressed for riding. And the night before, Gilbert had told the woman to look into the enterprise if she was so curious.
He had thought it would be off-putting for her. But what if it hadn’t put her off her curiosity?
Gilbert was running up the stairs to change into riding clothes as he yelled for his horse to be saddled. The girls had already gained a large lead on him, but he couldn’t leave the matter to chance. He would practice damage control, if nothing else.
Within minutes, he was on his horse’s broad back and racing toward the village. It felt like an eternity later but was probably only a few minutes when he had to pull back on the reins to bring the labouring mount to a slower pace as he caught sight of Miss Jones and Lady Adelina ahead of him. Adelina spied him and waved enthusiastically, nearly knocking herself off her own well-mannered mount, much to Miss Jones’ amusement.
Both girls were all smiles as he approached them.
“Good afternoon,” Gilbert greeted them as calmly as he could manage. “How have your wanderings fared?”
“Jonesy thinks we ought to have a fair to greet my brothers with races and such,” Adelina proclaimed without preamble. Gil was amused to see Miss Jones appear to want to protest his daughter’s words but managed to keep her own words inside her mouth.
“Is that right?” Gilbert asked mildly. “It does sound like something boys would enjoy, doesn’t it?”
Adelina grinned and cast Miss Jones a triumphant glance, leading Gilbert to the conclusion that it had not, in fact, been Miss Jones’ idea. It took more effort than should have been required to prevent a wide smile from spreading across his face.
“And what else have you two accomplished while out, besides coming up with ideas for welcoming Wickham and Easton?”
If he hadn’t been watching for it, Gil wouldn’t have caught the apprehensive expression that flitted across Miss Jones’ face, for she quickly masked her consternation. But she didn’t make any effort to prevent Adelina from prattling on about what they’d done.
“Jonesy wanted to know about sheep, if you can imagine, Father, so it was a trifle boring, but she made up for it by asking at the mill if they might have sacks we can use for one of the races.” Suddenly, the girl’s boredom was replaced once more with excitement. “Imagine, Father! There’s a game where you put your feet in the sack and hold it up around your middle, and then you hop as fast as you can in a race. Doesn’t that sound simply exuberant?”
“Exuberant? Why yes, it does. Have you read the dictionary today, my dear?”
“Jonesy said I must continue my education, even if I’m not going to go to school. So, I’m trying to add to my vocabulary. Did I use it right?”
“You did, my dear, you did. But I would also say it sounds dangerous, hopping around in a sack.”
“Oh no, Father, don’t say we mustn’t do it. The boys are sure to love it, and then maybe they’ll wish to stay with us.”
Much struck, Gil’s gaze tangled with that of Miss Jones, and he felt swamped with sensations he could barely interpret. He wanted to revel in the empathy he saw swimming in her eyes even while he resisted her feeling sorry for him. Meanwhile guilt over his behavior toward his sons also threatened to overwhelm him. He swallowed his reaction and hoped to suppress it firmly.
“We will take it under advisement, how about that?” His daughter wrinkled her nose, but he forestalled her argument by asking, “Did you learn anything not boring at the mill?”
Adelina sighed heavily to let him know she was displeased, but a cluck of Miss Jones’ tongue brought her back into more appropriate behaviour.
“I’m afraid I didn’t pay very close attention, as I didn’t find it nearly as interesting as Jonesy seemed to, but there were some darling sheep who appeared quite undressed, as they had just had their wool removed. They were bleating quite mournfully, and it was near to breaking my heart, but then Jonesy said that they would be terribly uncomfortable if they were left with all the wool for too long. Do you think she’s right, Father? Which is better, to have the sheep too woolly or completely undressed?”
Gil wanted to watch Miss Jones’ expressive face to ascertain her thoughts on the wool business, but he had to address his daughter’s question.
“Miss Jones was not telling you a tale, my dear. This is the right time of the year for the sheep to be shorn. Can you imagine wearing a thick wool sweater all summer?”
Adelina stared at him quite fiercely before breaking into a grin. “I suppose that does sound quite dreadful, but why do you suppose they were crying, then, if they don’t mind it so much?”
“It might have felt quite sudden to them. And perhaps they’ve forgotten how quickly their wool will grow back.”
Miss Jones couldn’t seem to contain herself any longer and finally stepped into the conversation. “They were probably objecting to being penned up, not the shearing. Remember, they usually roam around freely, in the fields, so being penned so closely with other sheep they may not know could make them nervous.”