Because Olivia Redfield, despite her arguments to the contrary, did not wish to accept Mr. Smith’s offer. Any sane person would expect her father to be in agreement. She’d not been raised for labor and would likely have her life cut short by the hardships she’d inevitably endure. Having been treated as an outcast by her own parents had obviously shaken her confidence in herself.
“Respectable, wouldn’t you say? The man needs a wife. The children need a mother, and that chit,” he paused meaningfully, “needs a husband. It isn’t cheap to fund a second household, I’ll have you know.”
Such cruel sentiments drew even more of Gabriel’s ire. Without thought, he leaned forward menacingly. “Smith is a laborer who lives in a two-room cottage. Is that the future you wish for her?”
Lord Hallowell’s pale eyes flashed angrily. “You mean to tell me what to do with my daughter?” Gabriel had pushed the viscount too far. “What has she been telling you? If you think she deserves better, why don’t you ask for her yourself?” And at Gabriel’s silence, he added, “I thought not.”
And damn his eyes, but the viscount was right. Gabriel had no intention of any such thing. Impossible.
So instead, he rose from his chair and tugged at his cravat. “Thank you for your hospitality, My Lord. I’ll make just one other suggestion, before taking my leave, and it has nothing to do with your ill-treatment of your daughter.”
The viscount narrowed his eyes. Ah, but the lines had been drawn.
“In the future, you’ll do well to deliberate less upon curses and dreams and take more interest in the goings-on up at that mine. It is on your property, and if Crawford has his way, I’m not certain another tragedy won’t occur. And if that occurs,” Gabriel dropped his napkin onto the table, “we’ll all be cursed to hell.”
Reaching forward, he swallowed the remainder of his port and then very deliberately returned the snifter to the table. Taking his time, he adjusted his jacket and gestured toward the door. “No need to have me shown out. I know the way.”
Chapter 6
Minding One’s Own Business
Gabriel ambledalong the by now familiar country road—on foot this time—with no particular destination. The two previous nights he’d been kept awake by worry, tossing and turning until dawn.
That blasted mine!
It was proving far more troublesome than he ever could have imagined. He’d chuck all of his responsibilities if only he hadn’t promised Stanton he’d stay.
Earlier that afternoon, they’d discovered water seeping into the newly dug tunnel. Not only was it seeping, but it was eroding some of the supports. Initially, all three of Crawford’s engineers wanted to halt the project, but after speaking with the duke, two of them later denied any danger existed. Gabriel had noticed, however, that neither of them had spent much time at that particular end of the mine since then.
The sun was shining, flowers were blooming, and the Season was in full swing in London. He could be there in less than a day.
Damn his own conscience. How in the hell had he gotten caught up in all of this? Ah, but yes, he’d had the misfortune to stumble upon his dear friend at a tavern the night before Stanton became engaged.
His friend had come out of it with a pounding head and Gabriel emerged with the burden of a precariously situated mine and the Duke of Crawford for the next few months.
He rather thought Stanton had gotten the better end of the deal.
Without any particular destination in mind, Gabriel turned up a drive and approached the quaint little cottage on the edge of a copse of trees. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the curtains had been drawn on both the front windows.
The owner of the cottage would not be home, Gabriel was well aware. Mr. Smith was currently laboring some fifty feet or so below the surface of the earth.
Gabriel lifted his gloved fist and rapped twice on the door. He had no explanation for his visit but suspected she’d be here.
When the door opened, he was not disappointed.
“Lord Kingsley?” Warm pink flushed Miss Olivia Redfield’s cheeks. Curling tendrils of golden hair had plastered themselves to the side of her face. Her wide eyes halted his thoughts for a moment as he realized they were the exact color of his mother’s favorite violets in May. The scent of cinnamon and apples floated out the door.
“You haven’t married him yet, I hope?” Gabriel pushed the door open wide and swept past her. “Because apple pie is one of my favorites, and I’ve yet to have eaten today.”
“What are you doing here?” She closed the door behind him, and he imagined her standing there with both hands fisted upon her flared hips.
Spinning around, he smiled to himself that he could predict her actions so well. “Didn’t I just explain? Food, woman. Since you seem to enjoy toiling over a stove, you might as well practice your skills by feeding me.” He glanced around the room at the meager furnishings. Did she really think she could live this kind of life forever?
She folded her arms in front of her and, for a moment, Gabriel wondered if she might send him packing. But then, with a jerk of her chin, she indicated the bench that sat along a worn but clean wooden table. “Of course, I haven’t married anyone yet, you buffoon. And keep your voice down. The baby is sleeping.” Covered in an oversized apron, she bustled around, acting quite as though she belonged. “The coffee grounds are used, but I suppose I can eek one more cup out of them.”
Her comfort in Smith’s kitchen unsettled him.
“Has he asked again?”
