Whether it made him a farmer, or not.
Piper knew none of that, as her ordeals were vague to him. While he could imagine, he didn’t know the specifics. Had he held his tongue, he might have gained other truths from her in time. Now that she’d gone to ground for close to two weeks, there was a chance he might never know the whole of it.
She said she knew exactly was she feared and admitted this merchant had frightened her. That could imply any part of a broad range of threat. Enough of one, combined with the prospect of a grim future, to send her into hiding.
Furthermore, she claimed the merchant searched for her? Aye, Connor could see it. Any spurned groom denied such a lady for his bride would attempt to retrieve her. Obviously, she bore her fictionalMrs.and lived under the auspices of widowhood to camouflage her presence. But to maintain her charade for more than two years? Why would she presume the man continued his pursuit?
Nay, he readily allowed her that point, as well. He could easily see that any man could carry a torch for her for more years than that. Whatever reasons possessed this merchant, her beauty alone would be enough. There was more to her than that, though. Some he knew already, some he sensed. Even if he knew nothing of her at all, the fealty of the people of Aylesbury alone would convince him that she deserved protection.
Their motives for safeguarding her weren’t as clear. He guessed she’d been born among them and elevated through her mother’s multiple marriages to acquire that sheen of gentility. Perhaps a descendent of some past marquis on the wrong side of the blanket. God knew, they treated her like a lady. Or a delicate treasure they didn’t want to see broken. They’d brought her back into the fold. Sheltered her from foreign threats.
Connor included.
Quite likely, none of them would agree she was in need of his assistance. Bugger it, he might be a farmer at heart as the lass had teased him, however, he was a gentleman born. A gentleman to the bone with all the dispositions that went with it. Come what may, the proclivity to aid those in need ran deep.
Piper could avoid him all she liked, nonetheless, he meant to free her from the threat that haunted her.
Piper. The name suited her far more than Lillian or Lily. It complemented her backbone and wit, that playful edge he’d managed only a glimpse of thus far. He’d been wrong in saying she lacked those qualities. They were there, lurking a scratch beneath the surface. Muted by the burdens she bore.
She’d been not quite eighteen when she’d run away. That would make her twenty? Far too young to have been forced into rash actions, nevertheless brave for having taken the measures she had. If the guardian she spoke of was any sort of gentleman, he should’ve kept a weather eye on his ward and ensured her safety. Not left her to the wolves.
“Goats, my lord?”
Connor’s attention snapped back to Aylesbury’s steward, his teeth grinding at the title. It had been amusing the first few weeks of his stay. Of late, his patience was wearing thin. On the other hand, he might graciously allow it in this particular case. Larkin was old enough that his memory on the matter might fail him. Older than Hadrian’s Wall, if the papery skin drawn tautly over his skull was any indication. They’d been meeting to go over his progress and plans for the week ahead before the steward had drifted into silence—or to sleep—and Connor’s attention wandered.
“Aye, bloody goats.” He went on to repeat the justification he’d provided Piper on the matter. A repeat of the same reasoning he’d given Larkin himself more than a month past. “I requested the purchase of a large tribe, if ye recall? A herd?”
The older man nodded, running his thumb and forefinger down each side of his thick white mustache. “An interesting idea. I’ll write to his lordship on the matter.”
“I dinnae want ye to write Aylesbury. I want ye to order them. Straightaway.”
The steward’s chin dipped to his chest before jerking up again. “Right-o, then. How many would ye like?”
Pleased that he was gaining ground in at least one aspect of his undertakings, Connor scratched his jaw. “How many cottagers are there? Wi’ small children,” he modified. Best not to rouse Aylesbury’s ire completely by leaping contrary to his wishes. Larkin provided the numbers of those with children compared to the whole and Connor nodded. “Aye. That’ll do. I’d like them here before the week’s end.”
“Yes, my lord. Will that be all?”
“Aye.” Connor flicked his fingers then brought a hand down on the steward’s ledger before he could move. “Nay, one other thing. Have ye ever been approached by investigators from Scotland Yard regarding the whereabouts of a Mrs. Milbourne?”
“Peelers? At Dinton Grange?” Larkin’s watery gaze blinked at him from behind his spectacles. “No, my lord. Nor am I familiar with the name.”
Disgruntlement pursed Connor’s lips. Her subterfuge ran deep. With good reason or not? “Have there been any unusual visitors to the area of late?”
“You mean besides yourself, my lord? And those who came for his lordship’s nuptials?”
“Aye, besides those,” he clarified, stifling his irritation. “In the months since then, have there been any other strangers about? Aylesbury isnae a large village, I assume any visitors rouse a fair helping of gossip.”
“True enough. True enough.”
“Have there been many?” Connor prompted.
“Now and again.” Gnawing his lip, the older man cast his eyes in all directions as if visibly combing through his own mind. Then he brightened. “I did come upon a bookseller a few weeks past. Inquisitive fellow. Bought me an ale at the King’s Head and bent my ear a fair while.”
A merchant, aye. But the same one?
“I’ve heard Mrs. Davies say that there had been a fellow in the village presumably seeking employment last week. Or was it a few months past? Yesterday?” Larkin scratched his head with a shrug.
“Does that happen often?”
