Free Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress by Jane Ashford Page A

her.
    â€œWhy?” asked Joanna again, returning his smile with real amusement.
    â€œYou are always eager to know why, are you not? I think you are more your father’s daughter than you know. Well, young Templeton is awfully wrapped up in his studies. He is writing a book on English life in the time of Elizabeth I, and as far as I can tell, thinks of nothing else. He would not pay proper attention to a lovely young girl if he were forced upon one. I’m certain he would prose on for hours about Spanish diplomacy and the economic purposes of royal progresses.”
    Joanna had blushed a little at the compliment, but now she laughed aloud. “And what were they?”
    â€œWhat were what?”
    â€œThe—the economic purposes.”
    Erland shrugged comically. “I haven’t the faintest notion. I must confess I deserted him when he began on that. You must ask your brother Gerald; he listens to Templeton, I believe.”
    Joanna thought this very likely. “I can’t bear students,” she said.
    He laughed. “Indeed? Why not?”
    â€œThey are so young and silly. None of them has the least polish or address. And though that is only what one may expect from gentlemen who have never been to London, I suppose, still it is so uninteresting.” Feeling very grown-up, Joanna tossed her head.
    Erland’s smile had faded a little. “You think a sojourn in London is vital then?”
    â€œOh, yes. No one can be truly elegant and assured without.”
    â€œAnd that is important?”
    His tone was so odd that Joanna stared at him. “Of course.” She suddenly remembered that Mr. Erland had never been to London. “Now that you are back in England,” she added kindly, “you will have the opportunity to see what I mean.”
    â€œUndoubtedly.” He smiled ruefully. “Though a trip to town is very expensive, I believe.”
    Joanna leaned forward. “But indispensable.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    There was a pause. Joanna, a little abashed by her own vehemence, sat back, wondering what to say next. Erland appeared deep in thought. Some new idea seemed have occurred to him. But at last, he looked up. “Talking of fashion, I wanted to ask your advice on something, Miss Joanna.”
    Joanna raised her eyebrows, but before he could go on, the drawing-room door opened and Mr. Rowntree hurried in.
    â€œErland, thank heaven!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had gone, but one of the maids said you had come upstairs. Something has just struck me.”
    The younger man had risen and now replied politely, “Yes, sir?”
    Rowntree distractedly ran a hand through his thin brown hair and blurted, “Shovels.”
    Joanna and Erland blinked.
    Seeing that they didn’t understand, Rowntree repeated, “Shovels. And I daresay trowels and rakes and all manner of other things. Where are we to get them?”
    Erland’s face cleared. “Ah, for the digging, you mean.”
    â€œOf course. It came to me just now. We shall need a great many tools, I suppose, and some workmen. We can do some of the digging, but not all.” He frowned and shook his head.
    â€œThere is quite a pile of gardening tools in a shed at the Abbey,” said the other. “It looks as if they had an army of gardeners years ago. Some of them are a bit rusty, but I daresay they will do.”
    â€œSplendid,” cried Mr. Rowntree.
    â€œAs for workmen, that is more difficult. Old Ernst, my gardener, will help us now and then, I suppose, and perhaps your man also. But other than that, I do not know. We may pay some workmen, I daresay?” This last remark was tentative.
    Rowntree frowned again. “No, no, we cannot do that. My other experiments require all of my extra funds at present.” He thought for a moment, then made an airy gesture. “Well, we shall simply have to dig ourselves,” he said. “There is nothing for it. I