“Of course.” Jessie rose and fought the urge to hug the maid. “Thank you again, Thompkins. You’ve brought a bit of sunshine back into my heart.”
“Oh Miss,” blinked the girl. “That’s the nicest thing.” She dropped a curtsey. “I’ll straighten up here for you. You remember where the library is?”
“I do.” Jessie headed for the door, letting her hands stroke the soft fabric of the gown. She was a little nervous, since this day had provided so many surprises, but at least she was warm, dry and had a place to sleep. With a quick smile at the maid, she left and made her way back down to the hall and the library.
Where she heard male voices. And their tone was not moderated at all.
“Youwhat?”
“You heard me. I have hired a new estate manager for us.”
“And it’s a woman.”
“Yes. She’s a well-qualified woman.”
“Nowoman is qualified to be an estate manager, Father. What the devil were you thinking? And to bring herhere?” There was a snort. “It’s unheard of. Absurd.”
“I beg to differ, Piers. There’s no reason a woman cannot handle the position, especially one with a fine grasp of the mathematics behind such a job.”
“Awoman? With a grasp ofmathematics? A wonder indeed.” The tone was scornfully sarcastic. “Tell the truth, sir. Did you find some wench that pleased you? Or worse, did you find some wench you thought might pleaseme?”
“Good God, son. Disabuse your mind of any such notion. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
Jessie’s eyes were wide as she remained frozen in the hallway, the argument roaring through the rooms and echoing in her ears. Her own temper rose at the acrimonious discussion, and although she applauded Sir Gerald’s defence of her, the attacks from the other man, presumably his son, were arrows to her heart.
A door opened further down and the butler walked out. She sighed, knowing she had to move.
Pushing the library door wide, she stood there, surveying the interior and the combatants within, both of whom turned to look at her.
“Ah, here you are, Miss Nightingale. Do come in.” Sir Gerald crossed the carpet, his footfalls silent, muffled by the richly coloured pile covering the dark wood floor.
“Thank you, Sir Gerald.” She dropped a correct curtsey this time. “Your kindness is much appreciated. And what a lovely room.” She looked around, deliberately ignoring the tall man glowering at her.
“You must allow me to introduce my son, Miss Nightingale. This ill-mannered lout, whose ranting opinions you doubtless heard, as did a good portion of the village, is Piers. Piers Crawford.”
Her heart thudded beneath the pretty bodice as she first saw his face, but she fought back the surprising response, ignoring the stirring of things within her best left alone.
“How do you do, Mr Crawford.” Once again she curtseyed, although not as low as before. She might be penniless and almost destitute, but she had not completely forgotten the rules of behaviour her mama had taught her so long ago.
“Miss Nightingale.” He stared at her for a long moment, then bowed, almost an afterthought, his face expressionless. “Your arrival has come as somewhat of a surprise, but I understand you are to be our estate manager.”
“Sir Gerald has very kindly made that offer, yes. But I believe there are some matters to be discussed before we formalise anything.” She sensed some of his stiffness disappear at her words.
“Ah. Yes. That is an excellent notion. The position is not to be assumed lightly, of course. We will need to know your experience, discuss the current disposition of our estate and what you might offer in the way of ideas for it to be best handled, things like that.”
“Sherry, Miss Nightingale?” Sir Gerald slyly interrupted his son’s inquisition.
“Thank you, sir, that would be lovely.” She accepted a glass and sipped. “Mmm. Very pleasant.” She noted with approval that her hand was steady as a rock.
Not to be deterred, Piers continued. “You are aware that Crawford Hall is a strict settlement, Miss Nightingale?”
She took the chair Sir Gerald indicated and arranged her skirts carefully. “As opposed to an entail? I understand the difference. I have not, as yet, learned anything of the Hall’s particulars, of course.”
He opened his mouth, but she forestalled him.
“But there are some constants that probably apply. I would assume that your rents are, in fact, now paid in cash. Do you know if your tenants’ leases are copyhold? And how long for?”
Piers blinked. “Um…”
