“Keep if for the next family. Maura and I are getting by.”
If only everyone were so sensible and generous. Winnifred nodded, and let the footman help her up onto the seat. She lifted a hand to Maura who waved from the doorway of their home.
“On to the next home, milady?” Jock slapped the reins on the horse, prodding her into a trot.
“Yes.” Winnifred unfolded the woolen blanket next to her and draped it over her lap. “Last one for today.”
They bumped over the country lanes. Raised voices met them as they neared the drive to the next house.
She laid her hand on Jock’s arm. “Wait.” They stopped at the end of the rutted lane, and she peered toward the cottage’s front door. Four figures stood in front of it, and one she recognized well.
Donald leaned into the huddle of men, waving his hands about, his voice an indistinguishable buzz.
One of the other men, a tenant from a neighboring home, gave an angry shout. Donald clapped his shoulder and leaned closer.
Her stomach sunk. The group looked angry. Disgruntled.
And Donald was right in the thick of it.
As if feeling her presence, he raised his head, their gazes catching. A look she didn’t recognize crossed his face.
Her shoulders sagged, as though weighted. Years previous, she’d been shocked to learn that her friend hadn’t known her, not truly. He wouldn’t have made his disgraceful proposition if he had.
But she’d been as guilty. Looking at him now, she realized she saw a stranger. Their sympathies had never been aligned.
The other men followed the path of his gaze. Red flushes stained their faces. One burly farmer clenched his hands.
“Shall we drive on doon?” Jock asked.
“No.” Winnifred sat back and looked down the road. Away from the angry glares. “Let’s go home.”
***
His wife was finally home. The left rear wheel on her cart squeaked as it turned, a handy way to keep track of her return, and one more damn thing he needed to fix.
Sin threw his gloves down on the dirt in disgust. Was there one thing that worked properly at Kenmore? Anything that would show he wasn’t a piss poor excuse for a marquess?
Loud hissing mocked him as he stalked out of the tunnel, and Sin’s shoulders clenched into boulders. Two hours. Two damn hours he’d try to catch that damn badger, and all he had to answer for it was an aching knee and some nasty scratches on his hand.
He couldn’t even keep Kenmore free of vermin. Pathetic.
The sunlight, so pale this summer, seemed achingly bright as he emerged from the dark. He circled to the Kenmore’s front entrance, blinking as his eyes adjusted. The cart stood before the door, and the footman was just reaching up his hand to help Winnifred down.
“Ho, there!” he called, lengthening his stride.
Winnifred looked up, and waved a hand in greeting. She waited for Sin to nudge the footman out of the way.
Gripping her about the waist, he lifted her from the seat and into his body, slowly sliding her to the ground. “Good afternoon, wife.” The softest parts of her were pressed against his body. He tipped the brim of her bonnet back to see her face, and his chest tightened at the small, secret smile that stretched her lips. Everything else might be going to hell around him, but his marriage was turning into a glowing success. Winnifred was the only thing right with his world.
She tugged off her glove and ran her finger along his cheek. She held her hand up, revealing a smudge of mud on her finger. “What have you been up to?”
He grunted and tucked her into his side before turning for the front door. “Nothing. Tried to kill the badger.” Slippery, scheming little bastard.
“Glad to know I’m not the only one he’s bested.”
“The animal is trickier than I credited,” Sin grudgingly admitted. “But why do you think it’s a lad? With the scratches it left on me, I thought she was more likely to be a female.”
Winnifred’s cheeks went pink, and she stumbled.
