Surveying the rural landscape not unlike that surrounding Thicketford Manor, it came to her she was enjoying riding in the company of a gentleman. Perhaps a compliment would be in order. “You sit a horse very well,” she said, instantly sorry she’d mentioned a part of his anatomy a lady never cast eyes upon. She startled when he swiveled his head to pierce her with his emerald gaze.
“Why, Lady Susan,” he replied with a chuckle. “I do believe you just paid me a compliment.”
*
Susan reacted predictablyto Griff’s teasing. That was one thing he liked about her. It was easy to make her blush, probably because she wasn’t equipped with the arsenal of seduction skills most women of his acquaintance possessed. He’d wager she had very little experience bantering with men—arguing, yes; flirting, no. She was an innocent when it came to the opposite sex.
He quashed the arousing notion when the village came in sight. His ultimate goal was to convince her to part with Orion, not to get himself hot and bothered.
He and Susan quickly found themselves surrounded by a scowling crowd, mostly women and ragged urchins, though there was a hint of puzzlement on several faces when they realized who had accompanied him.
He thought back to the times, as a child, he’d accompanied his parents into the village, usually to distribute alms on holidays and Holy Days. The atmosphere was decidedly different. There’d been gratitude and respect on the tenants’ faces then. He straightened his shoulders, acknowledging he had to do better. He was still his father’s son. “Lady Susan Crompton and I have come to inform you Fothersgill is no longer in charge of managing the Pendlebury estate.”
Susan’s arched brows reflected his own surprise. He hadn’t intended to mention her name, nor had it come to him until that moment that Fothersgill was likely the source of many of the tenants’ problems as well as his own. If the man had kept him informed…
Still, ultimately, these people were his responsibility. Encouraged by a few tentative nods and grunts of approval, he soldiered on. “A replacement—Rogerson’s his name—will be arriving soon,” he announced. “There is some good news regarding the harsh sentences handed down last week. It’s probable your menfolk won’t be transported.”
“Will my man be coming home then?” one woman shouted.
He wished he had better news and the crowd sensed his hesitation. The angry scowls were back.
“Lord Pendlebury has secured a guarantee of a prison sentence,” Susan declared. “It is still harsh and unjust, but the earl and I will do all we can to lessen your burdens.”
Her assurances stunned everyone into silence, including Griff. He should have been affronted. These were his people. However, for a fleeting moment, she’d reminded him of his mother. He wondered if the tenants saw the same noble demeanor.
Susan’s wide-eyed gaze jolted him out of his reverie. She’d opened the opportunity for him to utter the same reassurances. “Yes,” he said. “Rogerson will see to the distribution of whatever you need to survive until your men can come home.”
“What about the plight of the weavers?” someone shouted. “We’ve no work.”
It was a grim reality—one Griff had been woefully ignorant of until Susan brought it to his attention. He couldn’t shy away from his responsibility now. “I don’t have a great deal of sway in the House of Lords,” he admitted. “But I’ll do what I can to petition on your behalf.”
“As will the Earl of Farnworth,” Susan added.
It wasn’t much to offer, but Griff sensed the hostility ebbing—until a stern-faced woman who probably outweighed him by several stone elbowed her way to the front of the crowd.
“Will ye and yer lady come in for a cup of tea?” she asked, gesturing to a thatched dwelling in need of whitewash. “’Twould be an honor, yer lordship.”
The simple truth was humbling. All these hardy northern folks needed was a sympathetic ear. He didn’t have the heart to tell the crowd Lady Susan wasn’t his lady. “We’d be delighted,” he replied.
Getting to Work
“It was aneye-opening experience,” Susan told Rebecca after she and the earl returned to Clifton Heights. “I’m very glad Griff accepted the invitation to take tea with his tenant.”
“So, it’s Griff now, is it?” Rebecca asked with a smile.
Susan tensed. “Yes. He asked me to call him that. It means nothing. He even allowed Mr. and Mrs. Fazakerly to address him as Pendlebury, which amazed me, to be honest.”
“I’m still astonished he took tea with his tenants,” Rebecca replied. “Where has he rushed off to now?”
“To his study. He’ll join us after he’s attended to urgent correspondence. He seemed genuinely shocked by what he learned of the weavers’ plight.”
“Before he comes, tell me about the cottage.”
“Small, cozy, but in need of significant repairs that Mrs. Fazakerly didn’t hesitate to point out.”
“I’ll wager that ruffled his feathers.”
“Actually, no. He promised to send Rogerson to make a list of the most urgent repairs needed by all the villagers. He apologized for the lamentable state of the cottages. He could do no less after seeing the problems for himself—rotted thatch, cracked walls, broken windows, no source of safe drinking water.”