“There’s no need, Martin. I have things well in hand. I promise,” she said as he led her to the door.
“When you feel you do not,” his tone sent a chill along Hester’s spine. “Feel free to call upon me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Drew didn’t expectMrs. Black to come down for dinner that evening after their contentious breakfast and he wasn’t disappointed. Their earlier conversation meant that any engagement between them going forth would be of a hostile nature. Mrs. Ebersole took out her dislike on him at dinner by making sure that the chicken and vegetable stew contained cabbage.
Drew picked out every piece and laid it on a separate plate.
Thankfully, the stew didn’t taste of cabbage. And there was a loaf of fresh baked bread and butter. He took his meal into the study, planning to open a bottle of wine to enjoy while he worked on the ledgers. The oddly inconsistent ledgers.
Hesterwascareful with her notations. Not a speck of grain or a piglet escaped her accounting. But she was less careful in regards to the sums noted as profit, but Drew was beginning to expect that had been done on purpose. Joshua Black had probably given the ledgers a cursory glance now and again but failed to check the accounting. Blackbird Heath was profitable, but only a portion of that sum was correctly noted. Hester’s way of ensuring Black saw the continued income which went to him, but notallof it. Which meant he couldn’t spend it.
Digging deeper, Drew discovered other errors that Hester had simply overlooked. Small discrepancies in her accounting for expenses. The cost of a bag of grain, for instance, entered correctly in one expense column but not another. These mistakes were not intentional and when added up would reach a tidy sum. He was good at that, seeking out small cracks in a foundation when it was comprised of rows of sums, able to see the detail but also the larger picture. A useful skill, according to his friend Worth. It complimented his friend’s strengths which would make their partnership all the more successful.
If the ledgers could be put in order and Blackbird Heath truly made profitable, Hestercouldmanage the place for him as long as Drew kept an eye on her accounting methods. But doing so would mean making a smaller investment in the partnership up front.
Or he could just ask Jordan for the funds.
Drew shook his head.No. He’d decided on this path and he meant to follow it. Selling the farm rather than keeping it, still made the most sense. Reviewing the accounts was necessary for Drew to determine the value of Blackbird Heath so a price could be set. Scoggins’s bid had been good, but he thought it low.
The house grew silent as Drew finished the stew and bread. The wine was a decent vintage and recently retrieved from the basement where an entire crate of the stuff had been discarded. Hester had converted most of the area, once possibly a fine wine cellar, into a bloody storage space for vegetables and canned goods. He’d stepped on a rotted turnip which made a horrid squishing sound beneath his foot. Like a small mouse.
No matter, tomorrow morning, the majority of the basement would be filled with wine, brandy, possibly gin but no whiskey. The man Drew had found in Horncastle hadn’t any, though he’d promised to deliver everything else tomorrow before midday.
Stretching his neck, Drew noticed the light outside the windows had disappeared. The moon wasn’t out, and no stars twinkled, it was far too cloudy. Pouring himself another glass of wine, Drew allowed himself to consider what would happen if he didn’t sell Blackbird Heath.
Because it would mean keeping Hester Black.
His fingers stretched, thinking of the wealth of auburn hair, usually restrained into a tight plait and wound around her head. He longed to see it unbound and spilling over her shoulders. Shoulders covered with peach tinted skin and decorated with freckles. His thumb would trace over the freckles as Hester got on her knees between his legs. He imagined her plucking at his trousers, the tuft of fire between her thighs perhaps the same shade as that on her head.
A soft groan left him as his cock thickened in an instant.
A branch banged against the window of the study, startling Drew from his thoughts. He turned and looked through the glass, but it was impossible to see anything in the darkness. Listening, he waited for the sound to repeat, but all Drew heard was the croaking of the frogs in the pond on the other side of the house.
Closing his eyes, he returned to thoughts of a naked Hester, luscious mouth parted for him.
Her bosom was small, he’d decided, but not sparse. More like a pair of perfectly ripe plums. Her breasts would fit perfectly in the palm of his hands, bobbing gently as she rode atop him and—
A thump outside. This time along the wall.
Reluctantly, Drew allowed the erotic vision of Hester to fade. He didn’t think a thief was lurking about outside but only because there was nothing worth stealing in the house. No fine china or silver, but Hester did have a half dozen prize dairy cows in the barn. The animals were valuable. And Hester had taken on a small team of day laborers a few days ago to help with the sugar beets. It was unlikely but not impossible that one of them was bent on mischief. They might assume Hester was here alone in the house with only Mrs. Ebersole and Mary. Dobbins and Jake had quarters on the other side of the barn.
Drew slid open the side drawer of the desk. He’d taken over the study in the last few weeks, informing Hester he needed a space to work when he actually planted himself in the study to annoy her. Which it had. The drawer opened to reveal the loaded pistol he’d stashed after the incident in Horncastle. Just in case.
Pulling out the weapon, Drew shut the drawer and slipped out of the study. It could be nothing more than a feral dog. A fox, possibly. Eager to get at King George and his harem.
He’d grown rather fond of King George.
Striding down the hall, Drew made his way outside through the back door to creep along the side of the house. He looked up at Hester’s window, but it was dark. Except for the frogs in the pond, the entire farm was silent. The wind blew through the wisteria clinging to the stone of the house, brushing along his arm, but there was little else. Perhaps he’d had too much wine.
Drew lowered the pistol, peering into the darkness.
The grass behind him rustled with purpose.
He spun about and fell to the side mere moments before the blow meant to crack his skull open, fell to his shoulder instead. The force of the blow dropped Drew to his knees. His fingers struck the grass, the pistol slipping from his grip. Any doubts he might not have been targeted in Horncastle disappeared. Drew had been deliberately lured outside. Someone had been watching him through the window, waiting for the rest of the household to fall asleep.
The second blow landed on Drew’s jaw, snapping his head back.
