A Country Wooing Read Free

knowledge of his new importance. “The servants will tell her I’m here.”
    Every word that came out of his mouth surprised her. His coming in uniform surprised her, as did his saying fairly baldly that he wanted her to admire him. “Come in and sit down, Alex—Penholme!” she corrected herself, then looked uncertain, for though Alex had certainly donned his new dignity and title, his manner was freer than before.
    “Penholme? Good God, you sound as though I’m a stranger. I haven’t been gone that long, have I?”
    “No, of course not. I—I didn’t say welcome home, did I?” she asked in a little confusion.
    “No, you didn’t say you’d missed me either. I missed you,” he added with a long, meaningful look into her eyes.
    “Of course I missed you. We all did.”
    That blanket addition caused his smile to dwindle. “It’s wonderful to be back. Shall we go in and have some tea?”
    “Yes, certainly.”
    She led him into the saloon, uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. “How did you find the children? Very grown-up, I expect.”
    “I hardly recognized them. Youngsters change so quickly.”
    “You must have been shocked to hear of Charles’s death,” she said, for it seemed a subject that must be touched on.
    Something in him froze. Her first impression that he had hardened was revived, and strengthened. “It was a shock to us all; but I lost many good friends in Spain. Death isn’t the stranger—the tragedy—to me that it must have been for you, though, of course, losing a brother is different—worse.”
    She cast a wary eye on him. Charles’s death had been a mixed tragedy for Alex, throwing him into his new position of power and prestige, which he was obviously enjoying.
    Mrs. Wickfield, no longer able to contain her curiosity, came pelting downstairs to make Alex welcome. She saw none of that joyful reunion she’d been hoping and scheming for. Alex was as backward as ever, and Anne did nothing to set him at his ease. He had to rise again and show off his uniform and have his new slenderness exclaimed over.
    “You still cut a gallant figure. Quite a pineapple of perfection in your red jacket. How is your shoulder, Alex? Not bothering you too much, I hope,” she said solicitousl y.
    “It’s not bad now,” he assured her.
    Under Mrs. Wickfield’s skillful encouragement, Alex stayed for an hour, nibbling macaroons, sipping tea, and regaling the ladies with humorous anecdotes of his military career in a fashion so unlike him as to make them wonder whether the sun had not turned his brain. Even an invitation to lunch was accepted, with a casual “I mentioned at the Hall I might be staying.”
    The combined minds of the Wickfield ladies had not foreseen this degree of condescension, and it was to only an inferior luncheon that the returned hero sat down. At table, the conversation turned from the war to domestic matters. Alex had not discussed affairs with the bailiff or his man of business, had not ridden over his estate nor attended to any of the multitude of matters awaiting his attention.
    “You’ll have plenty to keep you hopping,” Mrs. Wickfield warned him.
    “At least there’ll be no impediment to my doing what has to be done,” he said curtly. Anne gave him a narrow-eyed glance, recognizing in the speech a slur against Charles. Even if it were true, she didn’t feel he ought to have said it.
    “I wonder you ever left, Alex, since you pretty well had control of the estate for Charles when you enlisted,” she said.
    “I had only responsibility, not authority. Now that I’ve enjoyed both, I realize the impossibility of that situation.”
    “I shouldn’t think Charles would have been an unduly hard taskmaster,” she said rather testily.
    Mrs. Wickfield threw herself into the breach. “You’ll have a trip to London and Sawburne as well, to take matters in hand there,” she said.
    “I mean to turn Sawburne over to Robin fairly soon. My father bought it with the second