The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter twenty-eight - Dance of devotion

Fielding circled the assembly room with Anabelle on his arm, accepting the greetings and congratulations of the Latimers' friends and neighbours. Most had been generous in the face of Anabelle's good fortune, but they were also surprisingly amicable to him.

Yet it was more than the respect and deference owed to someone of superior rank. He could detect no obsequious flattery in their words or an eagerness to please, only a genuine warmth and pleasure in his presence.

It was not until after their fourth such meeting that he thought to question Anabelle on the reason for it.

She leaned closer, as though about to impart a great secret. "I wish I could say that your consequence engenders their respect, but I cannot. It is not who you are but what you have done that has earned the greatest share of their admiration."

"Apart from stealing away the loveliest woman in the parish, I did nothing of note."

"To you, no doubt, it was nothing. You probably gave it no more weight than you would to any of the other estate matters you dealt with upon your arrival. But believe me, it was no small thing to arrange for Mrs Jamison's roof to be repaired."

"Mrs Jamison? She is a Blackwood tenant of good standing. Her cottage belongs to the estate and it is the estate's responsibility to make repairs. I only did what the former steward should have done a long time ago."

"Yes, but he did not mend the roof. You did. When everyone believed you were a steward they assumed you wished to make a good impression for your new employer. Now they know you for the gentleman you are it has shown your actions in a more compassionate light."

"Why?"

"Because gentlemen do not generally call upon tenants and sympathise over their concerns or enquire about their health, particularly when the estate is not their own. You cared enough to make the task a priority."

"Because the leak was making her ill."

"Your reason makes no difference. Mrs Jamison is well known in the area. She is generous with her opinions, and thinks you are no less than an angel sent from on high. You may not have seen or spoken to many people during your stay at Blackwood Hall, but through her everyone knows of you and your thoughtfulness."

Fielding was not sure what to say to this revelation. He had done nothing more than he would have expected of his steward at Meltham. The difference, he supposed, was that his own tenants enjoyed a certain level of consideration. The tenants of Blackwood had lived with an inefficient and dishonest man and knew no different. "I only did what was necessary, but you may make a virtue of it by all means."

Mr. Latimer then came towards them, leaning heavily against his cane. "Anabelle. Mr. Fielding. I thought to see you dancing."

"I have been introducing Mr. Fielding to some of our neighbours."

"That is good. So have I." He dropped into one of the chairs that stood around the edge of the room and sighed. "That's better. Now, Anabelle, unless my ears are deceiving me, that cacophony means they are getting ready to begin the next set. Mr. Fielding, take my daughter onto the floor and do try to enjoy yourselves."

As they waited for the lines to form Fielding allowed himself a moment to savour the sight of his intended standing opposite him. Her gown gleamed under the light from the chandeliers, and the pearls threaded through Anabelle's hair swayed and shivered as she looked around; contrasting against her rich brown curls like stars shining on a dark night.

Fielding knew little about female apparel, but compared to the other ladies in the room Anabelle's evening dress was not as fussy or ornamented. Yet despite the simplicity of the design, the unadorned lines showed her figure to good advantage and marked her as a woman of taste.