Free A Lord for Olivia by June Calvin Page B

teeth where Olivia’s white eyetooth indented her pink flesh?

Chapter Six
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    B y the time they left their breakfast, the sun was up and the day already promised to be warm. Edmund mounted Storm and rode alongside Jason and Olivia. They were followed by a gig driven by Lavinia Ormhill, and a farm wagon loaded with provender for the midday meal. When they reached the field where they were to work, Edmund stood in the stirrups and looked around, wondering how extensive Miss Ormhill’s holdings were. No fences showed where Jason’s lands ended and Olivia’s began.
    As if in answer to his thoughts, Jason pointed to a large stone marker. “From here to the woods at the head of the valley,” he said, sweeping his arm in a wide arc, “is Olivia’s property. That is her manor house, Wren Hall. It has a fine view of Norvale.” He leaned toward Edmund and whispered hoarsely, “The hall and grounds are rented to some friends of ours, but, coincidentally, they are vacating at Michaelmas. You newlyweds can live at Melmont till then; I plan to be on my way to France as soon as your vows are said.” He winked at Edmund, for Olivia had heard every word and was glaring at him.
    She wagged her finger at him. “I’m not ready to cancel my search for new tenants just yet.” She urged her horse toward the knot of workers ahead.
    He was amazed at the small number of people awaiting them, rakes and pitchforks at the ready. She really is hard up for workers! She never will get all of these fine meadows cut and stored if this is all she has to help her.
    Two hay wains stood empty, and a murmur of surprise swept through the workers as they watched the young squire and his friend climb into them. But when Olivia told them to begin loading the wagons, they fell to with a will, and soon a veritable blizzard of fragrant dried meadow grass flew at the men in the wagons.
    Edmund had reviewed over and over in his mind the few times he had actually assisted in loading a hay wain. It began that magic summer of his thirteenth year, when his father gave up trying to make a scholar of him and turned him loose with the admonition to learn how to do every task on the farm, however unpleasant. Bartlett, the manager of the home farm, had grinned mischievously when told what Edmund’s plans were. “I’ll take him in hand, m’lord. I don’t doubt he’ll be a-wishin’ to be back at his books before the summer ends.”
    But Edmund hadn’t. He took mucking out stalls philosophically, thinking that even that was better than struggling to decline Latin verbs. He learned how to curry, comb, saddle, hitch up, and doctor horses, and then moved on to fieldwork just as the haymaking began. He had sweated gleefully while wielding a scythe, earning the grudging respect of the farm workers. Then he had stood side by side with doughty old Chester Crabton, an aptly named man in his seventies who seldom had a good word for anyone, but who yielded to none in his ability to load a hay wain so high he had to lie flat as it passed under the huge barn doors to be unloaded.
    He remembered thinking that in a way the loading resembled weaving, with swathes of hay lain crosswise of one another in a spiral around the wagon, narrowing ever so little with each layer. Now he followed this long-ago learned pattern, sweat pouring from him as he labored to keep up with Miss Ormhill’s workers while stacking the hay so that it would hang together once it rose past the high sides of the wagon. He had little chance to observe Jason’s struggles, but could not forbear to grin as he heard the youth crowing, “Nothing to it,” when they began.
    He’ll sing another tune once the mound rises high, Edmund thought. Sure enough, after they had been at it foralmost an hour, he heard Jason’s voice, loud and furious, using extremely impolite language. He paused in his task long enough to watch as