The housekeeper gave him a militant look before tromping off.
Damn.
Just when Drew thought he and Mrs. Ebersole were getting on. Endless plates of cabbage were in his future.
*
“Mr. Godwick, howlovely to see you.” Hester greeted Martin Godwick with little enthusiasm. It really wasn’t Martin’s fault that he called at a bad time. Hester had only just finished up a difficult birth with one of her prize cows and had been looking forward to simply resting for an hour after a hasty bath. Martin arrived just as she finished making herself presentable once more.
Martin had taken over Godwick & Sons, his father having been Joshua’s solicitor. Godwick senior had died mere months after Joshua, so Martin had assumed the role and become Hester’s solicitor. Martin was convinced that Joshua’s will should not have been altered due to his declining mental state and blamed Godwick senior for allowing it. Given enough time, Martin thought he could find a judge who might be amenable to hearing Hester’s case, but thus far he had been unsuccessful. She appreciated that Martin continued to press the matter, because Hester had no one else to turn to. He’d been a good friend, her only friend, even before Joshua’s death.
Martin’s wife Ellie was another matter.
“A poor greeting.” He took her hand. “Considering I’ve brought you something.” Martin held out a small tin of sweets. “Ellie brought them back with her from Grantham, lest you think I’ve done something kind.”
“How thoughtful of Ellie.” And unusual. She usually regarded Hester as a cross she must bear. “She must be feeling better if she ventured to Grantham to visit her parents.”
Martin’s face instantly clouded.
“Ellie is better, isn’t she?” Hester inquired.
“Ellie’s mother took her to a physician of some renown in Grantham. One of the best. We had such high hopes. But Dr. Burger can find no reason for her stomach pains. I’m at wit’s end. Ellie came home from Grantham quite distressed. She had a cup of tea and then immediately retired to her room.”
“I’m so sorry, Martin.”
The mysterious illness of his wife had affected Martin greatly. A stomach ailment that would improve for a few days, only to send Ellie to bed once more after a light meal. The illness had confounded her doctors in Horncastle. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I expect I’ll need to take Ellie to London if she doesn’t improve soon.” He gave her a weak smile. “I try to keep her as comfortable as possible.”
Hester took a seat, motioning for Martin to do the same. “I’ll assume you are here about Mr. Sinclair.”
“There’s a rumor…” Martin’s light blue eyes trailed over her with concern. “That Mr. Sinclair is living here. Under the same roof as you. I’ve reminded anyone who asks that you were devoted to Mr. Black and would hardly entertain such an improper living arrangement.”
“I know there are some in Horncastle who still see me as the daughter of Thomas Morton, a philandering sot but—in this case, I’m afraid the gossips are correct.” Hester bit her lip. “Sinclair has taken up residence, though it is only a ploy to force me to leave Blackbird Heath.”
“Unacceptable.” Martin stood with a furious jerking motion. “Completely indecent. You must leave, Hester. You can stay with me and Ellie.”
“You know what will happen if I vacate Blackbird Heath of my own accord. Sinclair can then sell the farm and I can’t allow it.” Hester didn’t bother to mention that it was unlikely Ellie would be thrilled to have her as a guest. “We rarely interact with each other. I’m making his existence here as uncomfortable as possible. He’ll eventually become bored and return to London. Sinclair is too much of a dandy to wish to stay here longer.”
Martin sat once more and took her hand. “There must be something I can do. Tell me, Hester, and I will do it.”
He was so earnest. So determined to help her. What would she do without Martin?
“Find a judge who will listen. There must be a way to declare the will Joshua dictated shortly before his death invalid.”
Martin’s chin lifted, his attention fixed on something outside the parlor window. “Is that him? Sinclair?”
Hester turned to see a cart pulling up before the front door bearing two trunks as Sinclair strode around the corner to greet the driver. He really had sent to London for his things. She’d been secretly hoping he’d changed his mind.
“Yes. I’m afraid it is.”
Sinclair placed several coins in the driver’s hand, smiling the entire time. Instead of calling for Dobbins or Jake, Sinclair first discarded his coat, tossing it over a bush next to the front door. Then he picked up one of the trunks, the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of the shirt as he hefted the trunk over one shoulder. A charming smile pulled at his lips as he said something amusing to the cart driver. The strands of his dark hair gleamed in the afternoon sun, thick and wavy, curling about his ears. She could make out the mossy green of his eyes even through the window.
Dewy warmth curled inside Hester, pulsing with unexpected longing. She looked down at her lap, struck by the reaction to the mere sight of Sinclair in his shirtsleeves. Wholly ridiculous. Hester managed a working farm. Animals copulated. Many of the laborers she hired went about in their shirtsleeves. She’d even seen a couple without shirts, tossing buckets of water over each other when the weather grew terribly warm. The point being, Sinclair in his shirtsleeves was nothing Hester hadn’t seen before.
Another soft ache fluttered low in her belly.
“He appears to be making himself at home,” Martin said in a frigid tone. “It isn’t right.”
