“’Tis just a ribbon. Poor little angel,” Bea murmured to the babe. “You need it more than I do, don’t you, with your sore gums? Growing teeth is hard work.”
In apparent agreement, Janey stuffed a ribbon into her mouth. Bea cuddled her closer, struck by her usual longing. She would never hold her own child in her arms.
“Speaking o’ work, my Jim says the hay ’as cured nicely and will be ready for collecting on the morrow.” Mrs. Ellerby flipped the cakes with an expert flick of her wrist. “The farmers and lads ’ired from the village will be out in the fields at dawn.”
“Excellent,” Bea approved. “I’ve made arrangements for the refreshments during the harvest. And everything is set for the ball as well.”
To celebrate the closing of the harvest, Bea held a party for her tenants at the manor every year.
“I can’t wait to kick up my ’eels.” Mrs. Ellerby brought over a plate of steaming cakes, her eyes sparkling. “No one leads like my Jim.”
Bea smiled for the Ellerbys were accomplished dancers. “These cakes look delectable.”
“They’re best when hot. Set Janey down, miss, and fix yourself up an oatcake.”
Bea carefully placed the dozing babe into the nearby bassinet. She helped herself to one of the cakes, spreading on a layer of butter and blackberry jam before folding it in half. Cutting a piece, she took a bite. The sweetness of the fruit and richness of the butter melded perfectly with the warm, nutty cake.
“I’ve yet to have an oatcake to match yours, Mrs. Ellerby,” she said sincerely.
Her hostess flushed with pride. “I expect it’s the splash o’ milk I add. Or the pinch o’ nutmeg.”
“The result is delicious.” Bea sampled some more before asking, “How have things been?”
Sociable and well-liked amongst her peers, Mrs. Ellerby was an excellent source of all the goings-on. Bea was listening to and making mental note of the lady’s observations: Mrs. Haller’s possible pregnancy which she’d yet to announce, Mrs. Denton’s row with Mrs. Kenny over some missing chickens. Not surprisingly, the subject of the railway also came up.
Gossip had been swirling for months that a railway would be built through the Midlands…specifically through Camden Manor. Bea’s property had the geographic advantage—or to her mind,disadvantage—of being situated in a valley that not only offered the easiest terrain for laying track but provided the shortest distance between stations. Understandably, Bea’s tenants were worried that their homes and livelihoods could be taken from them, despite her constant reassurances.
“We know you don’t want to sell Camden Manor, miss, but in the village they’re saying the factory owners won’t be satisfied until they get their railway,” Mrs. Ellerby said fretfully. “And you know ’ow powerful those men are.”
Bea did indeed know. The northern part of the county was dominated by thriving pottery manufactories, the wealthy owners wielding significant clout. A railway would make the transport of their goods cheaper and more efficient, and they’d made no secret of their support of Great London Northern Railway’s plan. Indeed, the head of their coalition, a patronizing prat by the name of Thomas McGillivray, had paid Bea a visit; their meeting and subsequent communications had been none too friendly.
Bea wondered if the factory owners knew about Murray’s visit—or if he was in cahoots with them. The idea that he might have an alliance with that noxious bunch tightened her throat. At least the gossip hadn’t yet picked up his presence. Heaven help her should anyone discover that she’d lain with the enemy…
A knock on the door awakened Janey, who let out a squall of displeasure.
“Who’d that be, I wonder?” Mrs. Ellerby frowned, getting to her feet.
“I’ll see to Janey while you find out,” Bea volunteered.
She’d just picked up the fussing babe when she heard smooth, masculine, and damnably familiar tones coming from the doorway. The hairs on her nape tingled, and she turned, Janey in her arms, to see a pink-cheeked Mrs. Ellerby returning…with Wickham Murray.
Even knowing the threat he posed, she couldn’t help but gawk at him.
He’d removed his hat, the rich waves of his hair glinting as he ducked his head to avoid a low-hanging beam. His tobacco-brown frock coat clung to his wide shoulders, his bronze cravat a perfect match for the subtle striping in his waistcoat. His muscular legs were encased in biscuit-colored trousers that tucked into gleaming black boots.
As his heavy-lidded hazel gaze glided over her, she had to resist the urge to turn away her damaged cheek. Her pride would not allow her to shrink away from his judgement, whatever it may be. His eyes didn’t linger on her face, however, moving instead to the babe in her arms.
His mouth softened, the flare of gold in his eyes eliciting a traitorous flutter in her breast.
Dash the man, why did he always have to look as if he’d climbed out of bed? And not the way a normal person would look, with mussed-up hair and sleep lines upon their cheek, perhaps a dried-up trail of spittle or two. No,heradiated a lazy, magnetic sensuality.
Mrs. Ellerby was staring at Murray as if he’d descended from the mythical Olympus. “Miss Brown, you ’ave a visitor…beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t catch your name?”
Alarm shot through Bea, dispelling her daze. If Murray revealed his identity, he would be throwing kindle on the rumors about the railway…
“How shoddy of me. John Smith, at your service, madam.” Murray bowed. “I am an acquaintance of Miss Brown’s looking into acquiring some land in this area. I was hoping she might be persuaded to give me a tour of the neighborhood, to help me make a more informed choice.”
Bea’s first reaction to his discreet alias was relief. Then resentment welled:acquiring some land,indeed…over my dead body.Studying his expression, she couldn’t tell if he’d figured out that they’d been lovers. God, if she’d known who he was, she would never have slept with him…
