The Peculiar Pink Toes of Lady Flora Page 17

  "He must have known the ground will yield little bounty. Who is the owner? What sort of man is he?"

  "Hmmm. How to describe his grace, the Duke of Malgrave?" Flora folded her arms and sternly perused the gathering rain clouds. "He is the sort of fellow who thinks that he knows everything, all the time. So I daresay, if he found out about my plans, he would try to intervene." Now she fixed her gaze intently upon his. "Come to tell me what I do wrong and why I will fail without his wondrous guidance."

  Massimo looked away from her. Yawning and stretching, he gazed out over the horizon. "You do not like this man?"

  "I find him... exasperating." She paused, shot him another quick look. "Do you know the word?"

  "I have heard it, madam."

  "I thought you might have. He and I could have been friends once, you see, and he did not want to try. He thought me too giddy and only good for one thing. "

  "A man and a woman, just friends?"

  "That's right. Imagine my gall to suggest it."

  "Perhaps he wanted more and could not be satisfied with only friendship."

  She laughed. "Oh, I know what he wanted. A brood mare for his estate. Although I have no inkling why he chose me of all the people he might have picked for the service. I daresay, as a friend, I would have complicated his life intolerably. He would have nowhere to put me in his careful order of how things should be." Flora felt his warmly quizzical gaze now returned from the distant view across the fields to look at her again. She faced him boldly. "Well, that's that then. I suppose I must be grateful for your honesty about the health of my vines. Some men would have strung me along just to bolster their fee. Or for a jest."

  "A jest?"

  "Yes. You have those in Italy, do you not?"

  When she turned back to walk down the rows, his footsteps soon followed her. "You will give up this idea now then? The grapevines and the wine? You will go back to your other life?"

  "Good lord, no. Just because Massimo the Magnificent cannot help me? I'll continue trying myself, thank you very much. Flora the Fabulous can manage this alone if she must. I took this project on and I will make it work somehow. I promised myself and I keep my promises."

  "But Flora—"

  "My lady. And I still have orchards, vegetables and the extensive herb garden. All of which I shall use to make wine, whether the grapes here grow in abundance or not."

  With Captain Fartleberries plodding along at her side, she took their guest to the orchard next, keen to show him the trees and bushes, some of which were newly planted that spring, soon after she moved in, and would take a few years yet to produce fruit. The other, well-matured trees— cherry, plum, apricot, apple, pear, quince and peach— were, in some cases, thirty years old or more. With more tender care than Grey had managed in the past, she hoped they would go on producing even longer than they had in their partially neglected state. In addition, there were overgrown brambles of blackberries, raspberries and gooseberries that she had spent the summer untangling. The blackberries in particular were large and juicy and would continue producing until the November frosts. But although she had hoped to impress "Massimo the Magnificent" with her efforts there, he seemed more interested in her than in her orchards.

  "What brought you here, Lady Flora?" he asked, shoulder leaning against the trunk of an apple tree. "It is so far from town and entertainments of the sort most fine ladies enjoy, is it not?"

  "My good friends, the Radcliffes, are less than an hour's ride away and my brother is only a day's ride in obliging weather. Besides I have no time for entertainments, do I?" She put her chin up. "I had my fill of fun and games in the past, and now I have more important things to do. I am an old lady now and well beyond that life of fashion and frivolity."

  When she thought she heard a snuffled laugh, she turned to look at him, but he was all solemnity, his gaze on the ground at her bare feet. "Suitors must be very eager to come so far."

  "I have no suitors. I told you already."

  There was a pause. She almost expected him to accuse her of lying. As if he might have heard about the recent marriage proposal from Tarleton— amongst other, less formal suggestions from gentlemen of her acquaintance, all of whom had tried persuading her against retreating from society and taking on this project.

  "Lady Flora," said he suddenly, "where the devil are your shoes?"

  "The truth is I do not possess a great many pairs of footwear suitable for this way of life." None, in fact. Her last ten years had been mostly playful and carefree, involving a large number of impulsive, but very pretty, expensive and dainty shoe purchases. Not that he need know that. Now that she was a country lady, of course, she wore her old riding boots to work on the land. Otherwise, if expecting guests, she kept her ladylike shoes on and stayed out of the dirt as much as possible.

  But he had arrived unexpectedly, while she washed her feet at the water pump and her toes enjoyed the freedom they so relished. There had been no time to fetch a respectable pair from her collection. Besides, this man would hardly be impressed by the latest design in footwear and she was more eager to show him all her hard work. To prove herself something more than the creature of fashion he expected.

  And her bare feet clearly unsettled him. She always took sly delight in leaving people unsettled, keeping them in wonder of what she might do next.

  "It is not safe," he muttered, still eyeing her naked toes. "You must have proper shoes to work the land."

  Flora began to feel as if she exposed more than that to his demanding gaze. "I often find I think with greater clarity... without shoes," she replied archly.

  "Is that so?" And he finally looked up to meet her gaze. "Massimo also find he has his best ideas when naked."

  What could a lady say to that?

  "But certain activities demand that the body be covered for practicality and its own protection," he added, "and to limit... diversione."

  Turning swiftly she hurried onward again, heading back toward the great hall. His long stride followed her across the yard and inside, not waiting for an invitation.

  "You are stubborn and determined," he said. "To work 'ere alone, you must be."

  "Everybody fully expects me to fail, even my friends," she explained. "But I shan't give in. You see, I've never actually produced anything worthwhile, or been able to point to one particular thing and say, I did that." Then she paused, placing a palm to her brow, wondering why she felt the urge to confide in him. "You would not understand, being a man. Men are allowed to do it all, are they not?"

  "You mean they must work hard to provide for the women and little ones. They have all the responsibilities and troubles and accountability. They cannot run about barefoot, playing in the dirty. They must be serious and somber, and putting on the boots."

  "Extraordinary," she remarked wryly, stopping to pick up her dog. "Your English is really very good when you make the effort."

  "I learn hasty."

  "My point, Massimo, is that nobody questions and doubts a man when he strives for something. Nobody pats him on the head and tells him to sew winter stockings instead! They admire him for his mettle and they cheer him on."

  He watched her thoughtfully, hands leaning on the back of a chair. "A woman is supposed to produce children. That is her domain. That is supposed to satisfy her."

  "An admirable pursuit, but really is that to be the only thing of which she is capable?"

  "Yes."

  She scowled.

  "I suppose some can cook," he added, blinking. "Some can wash and mend my shirts. Now, what else would I want from a woman?" He raised his fingers to count. "La cucina, la lavanderia—" he grinned broadly, "— and most of all, la camera da letto."

  A translation was not required. His expression told all.

  "They think that way in Italy too, do they?"

  "It is a fact acknowledged all the world over, Lady Flora. I am sorry for you if you want more, but you cannot 'ave it. 'Tis so."

  Of all the cheek!


  "Well, here, in my country— the Republic of Flora— women can do anything to which they put their minds. They are not confined to kitchen, laundry and bedchamber. They make their own rules."

  He smiled slowly and in a way that made her skin tingle, like the first prickle of rain after a dry spell. "Even though it is your country, I cannot let you struggle alone here. I am a signore, a gentleman, so I must stay. Even Eve needed Adam."

  "I think you'll find it was the other way about. Adam would have led an excessively uneventful, tedious life without Eve."

  He shook his head, still smiling.

  "And you just said you won't help me with the grapevines," she added, planting a kiss on the dog's stout head before setting it down again, "so why stay? You may as well know that I have no use for a man who is merely ornamental and full of himself. Those days are behind me."

  "I said that I could not promise success. I did not say I would not try to help. As long as you are here with your little pink toes, and so determined to work, Flora, Massimo sees...possibilities. But you must not forget yourself and fall in lust with Massimo for he must concentrate his attentions on the grapevines. The mistress must keep her hands off the hired man. Do you think you can beehive yourself too?"

  She laughed. "You are either an exceedingly brazen fool, an irrepressible optimist, or simply have your addled head in the clouds."

  "Ah, but Massimo is not dull, eh? Never dull."

  No, she could not say he was dull. He had been there for less than a full day and had already set her in a spin. She felt hopeful, as if he had come along to lift a weight from her shoulders. But on the other hand she did not want to be treated like a weak female who needed to be saved. She did not know what to do first, slap him or kiss him. She could well imagine Persey laughing at her.

  "I told you I have very little money to pay you," she said, swiftly returning to business. "So there is not much profit in it for you, particularly if the vineyard requires so much of your time and effort that it keeps you from other work on estates elsewhere."

  "I will work solely for you, as a favor to my new friend Signore Radcliffe. You shall have my attention most complete."

  "Goodness gracious," she replied wryly. "Am I not fortunate? Such a great favor you do for me."

  "Yes," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "But Massimo is generous to the ladies."

  "I'm sure he is."

  He strolled around the chair and then sat heavily, swinging one long leg up to rest his heel on the table with a thud. "You truly think it is always easy for a man to get what he wants?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You said a man is always to be cheered on in 'is efforts. That nobody ever says 'e is wrong to try."

  "That is correct." She swiped at his foot to get that muddy boot off the table. "Especially in this world."

  "But." He looked up at her, frowning. "I thought this was the Republic of Flora?"

  "Yes." She straightened her shoulders. "Yes. It is."

  "And here women rule. Men are lowly beasts."

  "Yes. So beware."

  "You make life difficult for men 'ere in the Republic of Flora, I suppose, eh?"

  "I try."

  "'Tis why none stay. None but your dog, who must follow commands, but is rewarded with food and your affections." The wicked rogue squinted, hiding the direction of his gaze, although she could still feel his curiosity caressing her face. "I, Massimo, will stay too. Like your dog. For your food and affections."

  Hands on her waist, she scowled as fearsomely as possible.

  "Massimo make the jest, mistress," he added, arms swung out, head back, grinning at her.

  "Massimo is the soul of hilarity."

  One shoulder lifted in a half shrug and his smirk did not diminish.

  "You agree to follow my orders?" she demanded coolly.

  "Massimo will beehive. And by his almighty presence he will make Flora's world even better."

  "I wager you say that to all the women."

  "No. Even Massimo the Magnificent cannot please all women." He laughed lazily, one hand reaching up to sweep hair back from his tanned brow. Dark brown, but peppered through with a few grey strands, those heavy locks hung in thick waves to his shoulders, unkempt and probably unwashed. The lines that spread like sun rays from his scrunched eyes were deeply ingrained with dirt, as were his fingernails. She had already noted a number of scars. This man had seen adventure and traveled a thorny path.

  "You need a bath after your journey," she said, trying her best to stay practical and bossy. "And a shave."

  "Shave off my fine beard, Flora? I think not."

  "My lady," she corrected again.

  "Does my lady mistress think to bathe and shave Massimo the Magnificent with her own fine hands? Perhaps then I shall reconsider."

  "I'm afraid your employer, Flora the Fabulous, has other work to do. You'll find the sheep dip and a besom in the yard, however. Grey can provide you with a currycomb from the tack room if needed."

  His laughter continued softly, unoffended, melting into a deep, sensuous chuckle as he looked up at her. "We shall do well together, eh? Perhaps we do not need more workers. We have enough 'ere. One man and one woman, working side by the side on this good land. Together. Plain and simple."

  "Good land? I thought you said it was poor."

  "We will make it richer. 'Ay—" He threw out his arms. "— 'Tis already richer for having Massimo 'ere. With his greatness."

  She looked away quickly rather than explode with laughter. Yes, her prospects felt considerably brighter with him there. Her lips were smiling as they had not done for some weeks and her shoulders lifted without aching.

  But she must simply think of him as a work hand and nothing more. Do not get distracted, Rosie! Alas, she should have followed Goody Applegate's advice and kept her shoes on, because the way he looked at her toes was not at all the way a "work hand" should observe the feet of his employer.

  "I shall go and inspect my 'umble quarters, mistress," he said. "If it is agreeable to you, of course," he held a hand to his chest, "that I do so now?"

  "Yes, please do. If there is anything you require to make the rooms more comfortable, let me know. We do not have many luxuries, but I will see what I can do for you."

  "Luxuries, my lady mistress, are not necessary. I am a man who lives modest, to keep my soul cleansed and free of mercenary burdens."

  "How monk-like," she replied drily.

  "Ah." He leapt to his feet again. "Massimo is not a monk. It would be a waste of this fine specimen, if Massimo should shut himself away in 'oly orders. Women everywhere would weep in despair."

  "Well, I am glad your magnificence does not go to your head."

  Remaining solemn, he gave her a grand bow and then she watched him stride out through the door and away toward the stables, hens dashing out of his commanding path.

  Flora followed as far as the door, where she leaned her shoulder against the frame, arms folded. "Massimo," she called out.

  He turned, brows raised.

  "Thank you for coming here. For helping."

  Again, feet together, he bowed deeply. "It is to be my pleasure, Flora."

  This time she did not correct him. After all, she had once dared to call him Fred, had she not?

  Fred. Did he really think he could fool her for more than the briefest of moments? Apparently, yes. But then he probably never had appreciated her for her mind.

  She had not forgotten that "amiable bubbies" were her one saving grace in that man's opinion.

  * * * *

  That night she dreamed of her ship. It was not the first time such a vision had come to her in sleep and it was familiar to her. But tonight there was something different.

  The pirate Rosie Jackanapes was being pursued. By a very determined Commander in a naval ship that bore the royal standard of the House of Hanover. King George II had sent another of his adventurers to capture her. The ship continually popped up behind her. In daylight its sai
ls sliced into the cool blue layer that marked the horizon in her wake; in moonlight the vessel was a raven's shadow cutting out stars and looming like an omen.

  Perhaps they would follow her all the way to Tortuga, which is where she headed now to replenish her hold with good bounty for trade— mangoes, yams, tobacco, coconuts, bananas, figs, sapodillas, custard apples and wild boar.

  "He's fast on our tail, Captain." The quartermaster pointed. "The king must have put a price on your head again."

  "Thank you for the bleedin' obvious."

  "This one ain't giving up. He's stuck to us like a leech."

  "You don't say."

  "The men are anxious, Captain. They fear for their necks."

  She looked up at the sky. The air felt heavier suddenly. A mist was descending. The ocean had lost its glistening sheen and gone dull. All was very quiet. Eerily so.

  Something tugged at her sleeve and she looked down to see the cabin boy, a skinny lad of ten or eleven, beaming up at her. "I ain't afeared, Cap'n," he declared proudly. "We'll see 'im off, like we always do."

  He had started life on her ship as a stowaway, but she'd kept him because he had a quick mind and a fearless spirit. More so than the majority of her crew, who were, for the most part, pure villains simply looking for escape and bounty. Loyalty among thieves was a fallacy.

  This boy, however, she could trust. He followed her about like a faithful mutt, ready to sink his teeth into anybody who tried to harm her.

  She smiled. "Thank you, Plumm. Good lad."

  The mist thickened and began to cling around the masts of her ship.

  "Tis foul weather come upon us," the quartermaster observed, yet again as if she had not eyes to see for herself. "A fog of bloody doom, that is."

  Rosie Jackanapes looked out into the grey whorls of vapor and felt the insidious, cold moisture seeping into her skin, heard it whispering in her ear.

  "I've been through worse," she said. "Let's see where it takes us."

  Chapter Fifteen

  He was up very early each day, and at work before the mistress of the house appeared. Much to her apparent frustration. No matter how early she came rushing out of the house, she found him already hard at it. He saw her face fall and heard her quick, irritable sigh.