Did he press for more?
Nay, for all he saw was the memory of her done-in image. Utter exhaustion in every ramfeezled line yet still her bearing compelling. Her very self inviting. Intriguing.
Someone to take his mind away from the commitments and responsibilities that so unexpectedly weighed on him now.
Someone who—as odd as it might seem, given the current state of what all ailed him—needed his help. At least tonight.
Without thinking it through, he dropped his bag and stepped forward. “Here. Allow me.”
Fumbling in the dark for the shovel he’d last seen her propping herself up with, he said, “Permit me to introduce myself. Captain Edward S—”
Nuh-uh-uh. Lord Redford, lest you forget.
Still unused to the notion that he now held the title, that both father and older brother had recently perished…his middle brother not much before that, Ed stumbled over the introduction, his searching fingers falling back to his side. Shoved into the pocket of his coat.
Was it any wonder he delayed his inevitable arrival home?
Thrilling at the unexpected reprieve when one of his recovering fellow soldiers and friends offered the use of his hunting lodge and/or gamekeeper’s cottage for however long Ed wanted to make use of them? “Might need to banish a fair bit of cobwebs and rat nests,” Warrick had advised, smiling grimly through the pain—his own body suffering from the same battle that felled Ed. “But I won’t be in a position to enjoy either for some time. Places are both sitting empty now that my gamekeeper decided to brave Canadian shores and ended his ten-year reign at my country property. It’s yours with my blessing.”
And given how Warrick’s estate was a mere half day’s ride from Redford Manor, the offer seemed too serendipitous to decline.
Once his horse proved fickle, Ed had decided in favor of the cottage over the lodge. A full mile closer according to the map and directions Warrick had shared, along with the warning, “Just one piece of advice? Stay clear of Spierton lands. Man’s an arse in buffoon’s clothing. Your stay will prove more relaxing if you avoid his vile reach.”
Easy enough. Avoiding people he could do.
A few more peaceful days to himself before he descended on his ancestral home—for the first time ever as Lord and owner—and Christmas descended upon him, all pointy holly and sugary wassail, suited him just fine.
But now? To find himself possibly coming to the aid of one of Lord Spier’s tenants? Mayhap he could consider this his good deed for the holiday season, use it to mitigate the guilt he felt for making his mother wait a few days more for his arrival.
“Captain Edwards”—her voice reached through the past and brought him firmly back to the present—“though one might wish neither of us out on a bitterly cold errand this night”—she was woefully out of breath, yet still continued to struggle with her task—“I confess to being relieved by the presence of your company.”
Captain Edwards? Ed decided right then he would remain thus for the rest of the night. He’d become Lord Redford soon enough. “And you?” he queried. “Your name should you be inclined to share it?”
A woman, one alone, might not be.
No chaperone, no maid, so despite the quality of her speech and manner, she must be as her laborious task and stained attire indicated: a somewhat educated tenant or servant for the unmet, unpleasant Lord Spier.
“Mary…so claims…younger…” The increasing wind ripped away the rest of her words.
He raised his voice. “Would that we could have met under more serene circumstances, but nevertheless I remain most pleased to meet you, Mary. Relieved to meet anyone on such a cold and stormy night.”
“Ann,” she corrected. Ah, so he’d missed part of her name. Easily enough remedied. “Maryann…” the stubborn woman confirmed. She talked louder as the storm around them refused to ease. “To hear my sister…” The syllables muttered to a halt as her shoveling labors increased.
“Nay. Pause now.” Withdrawing his partially thawed hand from the warmth of his pocket, he aimed for her shoulder, found it in the near dark and lightly traversed down her arm, taking possession of the shovel as snow swirled between them.
Finally, did she pause, relinquish the heavy tool into his care.
What now?
What now, indeed.
Using his body to maneuver it toward the shadowed hole where she toiled, he prayed his healed fingers would hold firm, not let him embarrass himself further. Grappling with the handle and shaft, he did his best to lift it for momentum, then let gravity carry it downward, still startled by the pained curse that left his lips at the effort.
Of course, that would be when the gusting wind decided to subdue its recent charge, letting his weakness ring loud between them.
Hoping to distract her from his puny abilities, he queried, “So, Miss Maryann, is there a mister expecting you home tonight?”
Ha. A mister. One waiting for her?