He was glad she wasn’t present when he conducted his interview with Mr. Stockton.
“Lady Blackwood did what?” he demanded, unable to keep utter disbelief out of his voice.
“Well, my lord, besides ordering new fences and a refurbishing of all the cottages, she fixed it up with the parson’s wife to have a teacher come in to learn the village children their letters.”
Not even his avant-garde mother had ever been so bold. Matt remembered Long’s letter that Serena had taken the Landing in hand. It had been full of admiration. But it had not specified how far she had gone. Matt had been concerned the decorating might be too taxing for his fragile wife. Obviously he’d been as wrong about her as everything else.
“What else?” he asked quietly.
“Well, my lord, after the young Watleys was killed on the Peninsula, the widow Watley had to give up her cottage to a new tenant. The land, you know. I couldn’t just let it lie. Lady Blackwood moved her into that wee cottage just above the stream that’s always vacant on account it has no land to speak of. She ordered Stevens to send her all the mending from the house and ordered me to pay her a wage for her work. Told me she was sure you’d want to take care of the widow since her family has always served the estate so well.”
A hot flush of embarrassment rose from his chest. “I see.” Flipping through the account book, Matt considered his next question. “I believe my brother, the Marquess of Longford, was in residence when all these changes were requested. Did he have nothing to say?”
“My lord, I did appeal to the marquess for guidance. He informed me I should honor her ladyship’s requests as I would your own.”
What could Long have been thinking of? Although nothing seemed amiss, before he said another word, Matt had to see for himself.
“I shall ride out myself and inspect the changes, Stockton. That will be all.”
The country air was crisp and clean; for the first time in months he felt truly alive again. He gave his horse its head. The wintery sea wind ruffled his hair and chilled his face; he saw everything around him with sharper, clearer eyes.
His first stop was the Browns’ newly whitewashed cottage with fresh thatch on the roof. He was greeted warmly and urged into the snug kitchen to share a cup of hot cider. He’d never seen Mrs. Brown when she wasn’t increasing, and once again she was with child. Matt counted eight children at the fire; the oldest girl could be no more than ten.
“My yield is up from last year, my lord,” Daniel Brown informed him with his grizzled head held high. “The young ones been more of a help last season. Must thank your lordship for that. Now the roof don’t leak, they sleep all snug and dry in the loft, so I’m ready for a hard day’s work.”
“I see the repairs were of benefit then,” Blackwood remarked, sipping at the heavy brown earthenware mug.
“Aye. And me Polly here learned her letters.” Pride lightened his weathered face. “Reads to the wee ones so Mrs. Brown can rest awhile. Right content we are, my lord, thanks be to your good graces.”
Matt was compelled to insure thanks be given where it was deserved. “It’s her ladyship’s good graces you must thank. I’m afraid I’ve been absent so long, I wasn’t aware of your needs.”
“Aye, protecting us from Boney.” Daniel Brown nodded with real enthusiasm. “Right proud to be tenants of one of our nation’s heroes. Right proud to have the good graces of a great lady like yours.”
Brown’s sentiments were echoed at each of the cottages where Matt called. Even Reverend Morton was filled with praise for his wife and congratulated his lordship on a most excellent choice.
His last stop was the small cottage on the high bank along a narrow, meandering stream, now a ribbon of ice. He recognized linen from the Landing neatly folded in a basket near the door. Mrs. Watley’s strong tea warmed and relaxed him, so he spread out his legs before the small fireplace. He remembered her sons; although a few years younger, they had often raced their mounts through the village.
He spoke of battle and the bravery of the soldiers. Platitudes only, which he no longer believed, but which brought a fierce light of pride to her face.
“The footman what’s brought me yonder linens told me your lordship was in residence again.” Bustling up from her chair, Mrs. Watley carefully lifted a tissue-wrapped package from the table and held it out to him. “Been workin’ on this here gift for her ladyship.”
Nodding, he took it from her fingers. “I’ll see my wife receives it. Are you content here, Mrs. Watley?”
Her lined, round face broke into a smile. “Miss not havin’ anyone to look after. But grateful I am to have such a snug place. Your lordship be a hero and a generous man.”