Harry settled beside her, kissing the drop away. “None of that.” Taking the second kitten out of the basket, Lucy could see they were nearly identical, both calico with green eyes. “This one didn’t shut up the entire ride home.” He allowed the kitten to climb up his shoulder. “Might be hungry. I’ve already alerted Mrs. Bartle that we have two more mouths to feed.”
Lucy pressed her forehead into his chest, a tiny sob leaving her. “You brought me kittens.”
“Not to make you weep.” He nuzzled her temple. “You said you always wanted a pet. A cat. Was I wrong to get them?”
“No.” She smiled through her tears. The two kittens proceeded to make their way across the blanket, tumbling over the papers and books. Lucy cupped his cheeks. “You are a wonderfully thoughtful man, Harry Estwood.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” His mouth brushed over hers. “You’ll cause talk. I have a reputation to protect. I confess it’s difficult to tell you’re pleased when you’re soaking my coat with tears.”
“Sorry.” She breathed in his scent. “I am just surprised.”
And touched. Not only did Harry hear her, but helistened.
Harry pulled her close, rolling Lucy gently until she was on her back. He lay half atop her and placed his cheek directly over her heart. They stayed curled together on the blanket, the kittens leaping over them in the sunshine.
“I believe those two terrors are clawing at your notes,” he said lightly.
“It doesn’t matter. You and I both know the shoe factory is a good idea.” Lucy held him tight, wanting to live in this moment for the rest of her days. This was all she needed. Harry. A pair of kittens. Sunshine and the smell of grass.
After some time, Harry’s breathing evened out, growing slow and deep. He’d been working so much lately, often into the wee hours of the morning. He needed his rest. Lucy threaded her fingers through his hair, marveling at the silky strands, his big body keeping her pinned in place.
“I love you, Harry Estwood,” Lucy whispered, thinking that she must tell him about Sally—or risk losing him. “Don’t ever forget it.”
28
Harry whistled as he pored over the plans for Marsden. Another more extensive survey had just been completed, revealing the land’s true potential. Samples had been taken, along with some initial excavations. Construction on a building to house the mining operations and workers would need to be built, along with a road and dock for the River Tees.
He leaned back, papers in hand, and kicked his boots up on the desk, unsurprised to find small teeth marks in the leather. The male kitten had been named Boots given his adoration and destruction of Harry’s footwear. And Boots could be found, most mornings, asleep in one of Harry’s boots, which he now had to shake out before putting his foot inside. The other kitten, a female, preferred chewing the buttons off Harry’s shirts. Buttons, Lucy had named her for obvious reasons.
Harry didn’t mind the destruction of his clothing because his wife was rather effusive in apologizing for her pets. And, honestly, Lucy was so bloody happy, it was worth a pair of boots or a shirt.
His chest ached at the thought of his wife. He missed her, though he’d only left her arms a few hours ago.
A sharp rap drew his attention from the plans and thoughts of Lucy to the man standing beside his open office door. Mr. Raymond Pryce, one of the secretaries Harry employed, stood, hat in hand. Pryce had been traveling back and forth from Middlesbrough to Marsden, bringing Harry updates. He also handled the ledgers and accounts for the household in Ormesby and Pendergast, now that the ironworks was back in Harry’s hands. Pryce usually met with him every week or so but had missed the last meeting, given he’d been at Marsden.
“Mr. Pryce.” Harry sat up. “We’ve gotten off schedule, haven’t we?” Pryce was a competent employee. Rarely did anything need Harry’s oversight. However, today, his normally unflappable secretary appeared…distressed.
The younger man cleared his throat. “Mr. Estwood.”
“What is it?” Harry waved him forward. “Has something happened at Marsden?” He’d worried for some time that Dufton might attempt sabotage on the property, given what had happened at Pendergast.
“No.” Pryce held up a hand. “Nothing to do at all with Marsden. Just an irregularity at the bank, which I’m sure means nothing, but?—”
“Is it Pendergast, then?” Pryce had been instrumental in reconciling Pendergast’s accounts, a necessity given that Colm and Waterstone had lined their own pockets with funds meant to buy materials. Colm, to his credit, was exceptionally clever. He’d hidden his tracks well, but Harry had still found them. “More of Colm’s mess?”
“No…there’s a discrepancy in some of your personal accounts, Mr. Estwood.”
Pryce didn’t trust Middlesbrough’s branch of the Bank of England. Something to do with an uncle who had once been defrauded. “Go on.”
“As you requested, I place a specific amount in Mrs. Estwood’s account every month for her own personal use.” Pryce came forward and shut the door behind him. “The sum is rather large. You’re quite generous.” He frowned. “But the bank had to cover a draft she made recently.”
Harry shrugged. “A mistake which I’m sure you cleared up with Scopes at the bank. Mrs. Estwood is doing some redecorating.”
“Yes, but Scopes was not in error, sir. Mrs. Estwood’s accountisoverdrawn. I’m not sure how. Possibly, I thought, the bookseller in London, or—well, I’m not certain of the issue.”
Harry was positive Prycewascertain. A stone dropped in his stomach. Followed by another. “Was there more than one draft?” he asked carefully, already knowing what the answer would be.
I should have known.
