“And if not?” asked Stoker.
“If not,” said Cassin, “then you may buy me out of the partnership, and I’ll return to Yorkshire. With nothing.”
CHAPTERTWO
Fifteen days after Lady Willow dispatched Mr. Fisk to London with the advertisement, a lone man arrived on horseback to Leland Park.
“That’s odd,” Willow said, pausing near the window to her workshop. She wrenched open the pane, watching the rider gallop the long, tree-lined drive that stretched from the lane to the manor house.
Willow had spent the morning in the workshop, directing Mr. Simms as he recovered a library chair with bright puce velvet she had ordered from Portugal. Tessa had come for luncheon and never left. Her friend reclined on the chaise longue that would be next to receive the new fabric. It was a pleasant afternoon, unseasonably warm for October, and Tessa had propped open the door to allow for a breeze. The stone outbuilding had been a falconry before Willow had requisitioned it as her workshop, and warm days still evoked the smell of feathers. A fat mama cat stretched half in, half out of the open door while her kittens bounded to and fro.
“What’s odd?” asked Tessa. She dangled a piece of velvet over the alert gaze of a kitten.
“A man on horseback,” said Willow. “Approaching the house.”
“Calling on your mother at the stables, no doubt.”
Willow shook her head. “He is not here about horses, I believe. I’ve never seen him before. And my mother takes appointments in the mornings, when horses are more spirited and there is less chance of rain.”
“Oh, has she bought another stallion? If so, my brothers will call immediately.”
“I cannot say,” Willow mumbled, looking closer. Now the rider slowed to a canter in the circle drive and stared up at the house. She knew enough about horses to see that his mount was strong and solid, a stallion. The animal spun and sidestepped as the man reined it in with skill.
Not a horse person, she thought idly, watching him. Her eyes narrowed. Of course there was no evidence of this; every manner of equine enthusiast called upon the Leland Park stables weekly, sometimes every day, and the disparity in appearance from buyer to breeder was great. And yet . . .
Willow looked again. Two grooms dashed to take his horse as he dismounted, and there was Mr. Fisk, rising up from the flower beds to shade his eyes from the sun. Willow squinted too, trying to discern the man’s age, the quality of his coat and hat, to see his face.
Surely not,she thought.Surely, surelynot.
“But is it Mr. Cahill?” asked Tessa, speaking of an elderly neighbor.
“No. Not Cahill,” said Willow. Their neighbor was tall but as thin as a leather strap. This man was substantial. Broad shouldered and thick chested. He dropped from his horse with a thud and stood solidly, scanning the Leland Park grounds.
“Then who?” said Tessa. “Willow, you should see your face.”
Willow shook her head. “Will you help me pick the sawdust from my hair?” She yanked at her muslin apron, pulling it off, and worked the scarf from her head.
“It couldn’t be your brother,” said Tessa. “You’ve said he would not return to England until summer.”
“No,” she said. “Not Phillip.”
Tessa joined her at the window, and they stared as the man clipped up the front steps. Mr. Fisk abandoned the flower bed to greet him.
Thank God for Mr. Fisk, Willow thought. Her late father’s valet had the uncanny ability to be everywhere and nowhere, depending on what any situation required. His usefulness was surpassed only by his loyalty.
Tessa cocked her head. “Oh,” she said, studying the guest. After a beat, she repeated, “Oh.”
So Willow had not imagined it. There was some remarkable sort of . . . differentness about the guest. Tessa was acutely attuned to remarkable men.
Willow, on the other hand, had trained herself to take little notice of men in general and remarkable men in particular. But she could easily spot the odd or the unlikely, and there was something distinctively out of the ordinary about the rider who now stood on her front steps.
While the man spoke to Mr. Fisk, the massive oak front door swung wide, revealing Abbott, the butler. Willow moaned. Where Mr. Fisk could smooth over any situation and buy time, Mr. Abbott disrupted and dismissed.
Mr. Fisk ignored the butler and carried on, gesturing and nodding and ultimately stepping around Abbott and beckoning the man to follow him inside the house.
Willow’s heart jumped again. Now the door shut in the butler’s face, and he stood abandoned on the stoop. He pivoted and glared in the direction of Willow’s workshop. With a grim expression, the butler began the long, determined glide to her.
Willow jerked away from the window, taking Tessa with her. “Tessa,” she whispered, “that man has come about the advertisement.” She looked at her friend. “It could be nothing less.”
