Still, he hadn’t expected to come across her practically in his back garden. His local residence at the Smythson Dower House was little more than a mile away. Fate had placed her right next door.
She also seemed determined to countermand him. Yes, he’d had the last word, except heknewshe would rebel. Her chin had been too high and her eyes had blazed with suppressed defiance.
Oh, yes, Kate was not one to docilely obey.
The question begged, what was his next step?
He knew Lucy would be waiting for a report. He also should search out Christopher and explain his actions. Better his nephew hear about the confrontation with Kate from his lips than from hers. Winderton would not be pleased. He’d long ago grown tired of having to listen to Bran’s dictates.
Or, Bran could go to The Garland for a tankard and a moment to steady himself.
Without another second’s hesitation, he steered his horse toward The Garland.
Maidenshop was full of activity. Mrs. Yarborough, the dressmaker, was open early and with good cause. Pony carts, a coach, and several mounts were tied up outside. Presumably the owners were collecting gowns for the Cotillion.
St. Martyr’s rector was instructing a group of men in the cleaning of the grounds. He nodded to Bran as he rode by. A small army of women with their arms loaded with fresh cut flowers from their gardens bustled around the church’s old stone barn decorating the hall.
As Bran approached The Garland, Mrs. Warbler and several of her friends stood outside her door across the road. They all stopped their conversation and gave him a squinty-eyed look.
Conscious he was being watched, Bran dismounted and tied his very tired horse to a post. “Just a bit longer,” he promised Orion. The answer was a snort. Bran ignored him and went inside.
The remains of the breakfast feast had been cleared away. The widowers, Mr. Fullerton and Sir Lionel, still sat at their table in the corner. They looked over the rims of their tankards as Bran walked in. “Balfour,” Sir Lionel croaked out in greeting as if he hadn’t seen him only hours ago. Both men were already at the bottom of a barrel.
Removing his hat, Bran nodded to them before turning to Old Andy who appeared to snooze in a chair by the taproom door. At the sound of the door closing, the man roused himself to see who had entered. “I thought you would be plucking birds,” Bran said.
“I have the boys in the back doing exactly that now,” Andy said. “Then they will wash behind their ears and make a few pennies tending horses at the dance this evening. They are all good lads. Stout or ale?”
“Ale.” Bran could do with something stronger. He flung himself in a chair on the opposite end of the room from Fullerton and Sir Lionel.
“Are you attending the dance tonight?” Andy asked bringing him his tankard.
“Can I avoid it?”
“Not now that you are in Maidenshop,” Andy assured him. “Was Mrs. Warbler out on her step? She was there earlier.”
“She was.”
“Then she and her group of biddies will hunt you down if you aren’t at that dance. They won’t rest until all of us are under a woman’s thumb, including me.” He set the brimming tankard on the table beside Bran’s chair.
“Which we are equally determined to avoid,” Mars chimed in. He came out from the taproom. He was without his coat and his sleeves were rolled up. “Save for Sir Lionel who flirts with Mrs. Warbler outrageously.”
“I do not,” the esteemed gentleman answered, proving that his hearing was remarkably good, even in his cups. “I’m waiting for the damn woman to go inside her house so that I can sneak out of here.”
“What happened to your chair bearers?” Mars asked good-naturedly.
“He sent them home,” Fullerton said. “Don’t know how we will make it without them.”
“I’ll have a cart sent for,” Sir Lionel answered. “I say, my lord, this seminar tomorrow—is it going to be boring or can we expect some entertainment?”
Mars removed a rook feather from his rolled sleeve. “Depends on your point of view. I imagine Thurlowe will find it fascinating, our friend Balfour may be interested, and the rest of us will be learning more than we wish about rocks while enjoying what promises to be a fine day with a keg or two.”
“Ah, then it will be entertaining,” Sir Lionel declared.
The earl took the chair opposite Bran’s. “I thought I heard you out here.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Plucking birds. It turns out I am a capital feather plucker.”
