“Not a worry,Mrs. Estep. I shall go,Mrs. Estep. First, I will find the Reverend Summerall. Then I will go for the magistrate. You will not take over The Garland,Mrs. Estep, without legal grounds to do so.”
On that note, because he didn’t want her to have the last word, he shoved his hat on his head, turned on his heel, and walked out.
Had he really thought her attractive? Mrs. Estep with her imperial ways was one of the most annoying women he’d ever met. He could spend the day arguing with her or he could muster reinforcements in the form of Mars and the good reverend himself. Once confronted by authority, her claims would fall apart, he’d wager.
He slammed the door firmly behind him.
Hippocrates had been half-asleep at the post where he’d been tied, else he would have wandered back to his paddock. He started at the sound and then snorted his desire to be off. Ned was convinced Hippocrates liked traveling the countryside more than he did.
“You are not going to believe what I just went through,” Ned muttered to the horse as he untied him.
Hippocrates stomped one foot as if saying he was well aware.
“We will not go to see Bran and Kate until we pay a call on the Reverend Summerall and track down Mars,” Ned informed his horse as if he was a co-conspirator in the endeavor to root Mrs. Estep out of The Garland. Ned prayed that the minister alone would be enough to expose Mrs. Estep as a fraud... because he feared the earl was in London. That could be sticky.
He had one foot in the stirrup and was ready to hoist himself in the saddle when he heard his name being called in a sharp female voice. “Mr. Thurlowe.Here there, Mr. Thurlowe. I have a bone to pick with you.”
Ned swore under his breath. It was Mrs. Warbler, the nosiest of all the Matrons of Maidenshop. She lived right across the road from The Garland and there was little that escaped her notice.
He schooled his features to a politeness he did not feel. Could this day grow worse? He took his foot out of the stirrup and faced the older widow who knew everything going on in the village. “Mrs. Warbler, how good to see you today,” he said as if by rote.
“Don’t be sweet to me.” She’d come out of her house without hat or gloves, a sign of her haste to reach him. Instead, she had her lace morning cap over her short gray hair. She dressed well. Her late husband had been a military officer and she’d done right by him. “Youknow what happened last night.”
This was dangerous ground.
“I saw you, sir, and the rest of the rabble. You refer to yourselves asgentlemen. Yeomen, lawyers, and drunkards is what I call the Logical Men’s Society and I am sorely upset withyou. It didn’t used to be this bad.”
“Matters were a bit much last night.” And he wished he could remember the details. Or had stayed later to fend off the nonsense, which he was now convinced had most certainly happened. Had it been Winderton’s doing? The young duke did as he pleased, and the image of Winderton full of himself and leaning against the bar rose in Ned’s mind. There had been something afoot and Ned had been so gone in self-pity, he’d missed it.
“I will talk to the gentlemen.” The first code of the Logical Men’s Society is that a member didn’t give the matrons any ammunition against them, and Mrs. Warbler was one of the ringleaders.
She was not one to be put off. “You hadwomenin there and you caroused for hours into the morning. Why, I could barely sleep—”
She was interrupted by the sound of a pony cart. They both looked up the road and he almost swore under his breath. Clarissa Taylor was driving into the village.
Yes, the day could get worse.
She flashed him a bright smile and a wave of her hand. She looked fetching in her velvet cap and cape against the slight chill in the air.
Brazenly, Ned used her arrival to his advantage. “Mrs. Warbler, perhaps we should change the subject. Miss Taylor is here.” His tone implied that he was refusing the discussion because of his respect for the delicate sensibilities of his betrothed.
“I thank the good Lord you are finally doing your duty and marrying that poor girl,” Mrs. Warbler said through clenched teeth as she smiled and waved at Clarissa. Her frown returned when she looked at Ned. “About time, that’s whatweall say.”
Once again he felt the disturbing twist in his gut. Especially when the matron said, “You are putting it off for two months, though? After all these years of making her wait, I say you should meet before the reverend once the banns are announced.”
“Well, it is not your decision to make.” He kept his voice low lest Clarissa overhear as she came closer to them.
“You would be surprised how much power we have,” Mrs. Warbler answered. “We matrons are tired of being nice. And you need to take yourgentlemen, and I use that term loosely, in hand.” On that cryptic threat, she stepped forward to properly greet his intended.
He followed suit, much to Hippocrates’s regret. There was no avoiding addressing Clarissa’s arrival. The horse gave a withering sigh as Ned greeted his intended with, “You appear in good spirits.”
“I am, sir.” She looked to Mrs. Warbler. “Good morning, even though it is almost luncheon.” She laughed at her small joke. “I came to collect the needlepoint cushion you wished me to finish.”
“And I shall gather it for you. However, at this moment I have more important business at hand. I don’t want Mr. Thurlowe to brush aside my complaint.”
“Mrs. Warbler—” he started.
“What complaint?” Miss Taylor asked, interrupting him. Ned wished he had pretended he hadn’t heard Mrs. Warbler’s calling him. Why, he and Hippocrates could have tracked down Summerall by now.
