Charlotte listened in silence as the young woman recountedthe day and was grateful to have someone else to think about instead of worrying about her own situation.
Even so, Sutcliffe’s admiration for Mr.Timmons was woven into every word she uttered. Charlotte resisted the urge to comment on the seemingly budding relationship. It wasnother responsibility to guard her maid’s virtues and keep her heart from being broken, but circumstances had blurred the lines between mistress and maid, friend and acquaintance. They needed each other. After what they had endured over the past week, they would never be able to return to the traditional rules that guided a lady and her maid. It would do no good to caution her or attempt to dissuade her. And at the moment, if Sutcliffe was happy, who was she to intervene?
Chapter21
Over the course of the next few days, they settled into a routine, and in the warmest hours of an otherwise blustery day, Charlotte and Henry were spending time in the back garden when Rebecca approached and curtsied. “Mr.Welbourne asked me to come tell ye that Mr.Greenwood’s arrived. I’ve shown ’im into t’ parlor, and ’e’s waiting for you there. I’ll take Master ’enry if ye like.”
Even though she had been anticipating Mr.Greenwood’s arrival for the better part of the day, Charlotte’s nerves tightened. This one conversation would not only give her a much more accurate picture of the estate’s current situation, but it would aid her in making future decisions.
Charlotte handed Henry to Rebecca and headed back toward the kitchen entrance. As she made her way down the kitchen corridor to the screens passage, she smoothed her mourning gown and patted her hair into place.
She knew nothing of Mr. Greenwood, other than Roland had hired him after her father died. She’d never even met him. As she stepped from the great hall to the parlor, a tall man with grayingblack hair she could only presume to be Mr. Greenwood turned to face her.
She stifled a groan at the sight—the condescending pinch of his nose and his stilted smile. He appeared dour and colorless. Expressionless and cold. Mr.Greenwood presented himself just as every other soberly clad, pretentious man Roland surrounded himself with had.
“Mr.Greenwood,” she greeted stiffly.
He bowed low. “Mrs.Prior.”
“It was good of you to come so quickly.”
“Indeed, I apologize that it took me this long to arrive. I was tending to another one of your husband’s properties to the south of here. I was sorry to hear of Mr.Prior’s death. Very sad news indeed.”
She ignored how the calculating expression behind his hooded eyes belied his words. It was as if she were back in Wolden House, weighing every word a man spoke, trying to gauge his level of truthfulness.
“You must not be from Blight Moor, Mr.Greenwood. I grew up here, and I confess your name is not a familiar one.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’m not from the area. I hail from London.”
She frowned. “Then how is it you came to oversee this property and its tenants?”
“I managed another property for Mr.Prior. He asked for my assistance.”
“I see. I trust by now you are acquainted with the tenants and that you visit them regularly?”
“I visit them quarterly, per our agreements.”
“And what do you make of them?”
He shrugged a wiry shoulder and then produced a leather-bound tome from his satchel. “You will see for yourself when you review the ledger. Most of them are behind on their payments. We had to evict two families just last month for default.”
“Two families?” Charlotte stiffened. “Which ones?”
“The Swans and the Cullens.”
At the mention of the name Cullens, her heart lurched. The older farmer and his family used to sit in the pew behind her own family at church. Mr.Cullen’s laugh had been deep and hearty—his gap-toothed smile contagious.
She narrowed her eyes. “And I assume Mr.Prior was aware of this?”
“Of course.”
Annoyance at his cavalier nonchalance and arrogant coolness wound its way through her. As a result, she could not control the sharpness tingeing her tone. “And this house? Was Mr.Prior aware of the disgraceful state of it?”
“He was. He visited here just last spring. He told me he wanted to let it, but there has been no interest.”
“Surely there has been no interest because of the deplorable condition. It is quite an undertaking as it is! Why have repairs not been made? I assume you inspected the house periodically. There is a gaping hole in the roof in the servants’ quarter, for heaven’s sake.”
“Mr.Prior indicated it was to be repaired by winter,” Mr.Greenwood responded flatly. “He did not specify a date.”
