“You needn’t dismount. You’ll be on your way shortly.”
“Will I?” he asked, a sardonic brow rising.
“You have no place here,” she said firmly.
“Oh, I rather think I do,” he replied without breaking eye contact. “And you need to answer a few questions for me.”
“Any questions you have can best be answered by Spangler in Nottingham.”
The smile that spread across his face didn’t quite meet his eyes, eyes that held more heat than kindness. “As it happens, I’ve just come from there,” he said.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Your questions, then, Sir Robert?” she asked, hoping the firmness in her voice didn’t falter.
Her effort seemed to amuse him, and Lucy felt rather like a mouse under the waiting stare of a sleek cat. “Let’s begin with this,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Setting fresh skeps in my bee yard, as it happens,” she replied evenly, “Not that it is your business.”
He let out a bark of laughter. “What I mean is, how is it you are living in my house, squatting on my land?”
Lucy’s heart sank, her worst fears confirmed. The true heir had come at last, and she would be mercilessly put out of her only home. Her stomach clenched, and she desperately hoped she wouldn’t be sick in front of this man. “Your house?” she squeaked, humiliated by the sound.
He patted the side of his coat. “I have papers here that say Willowbrook is mine or will be once I sign them. Who are you?”
She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to answer. Still, he hadn’t signed the papers. She tried to suppress a surge of hope. She feared that defying him would not earn her any kindness.
“My name is Lucy Whitaker. I live here by the kindness of the Earl of Clarion who has been Willowbrook’s caretaker,” she said at last, through stiff lips.
The information did not seem to surprise the man, but he curled his lip cynically and snarled. “His kindness appears to have limits. Can’t he dress you better than that?”
“Dress me?” Lucy gasped.This buffoon thinks that I—that David—That—“You ignorant oaf,” she sputtered, anger driving out caution.
Her outburst made him blink, and his expression grew thoughtful. “You might choose your words more carefully,” he said. His voice held a fraction of menace, though he spoke softly.
Lucy’s anger overrode the warning. “You may appear withsigneddocuments taking ownership here when you wish to do so. Bring the magistrate if you must. How I choose to dress when caring for Willowbrook is not now, nor will it ever be, any business of yours. Unless you plan to eject me bodily, I suggest you be on your way.” Her own audacity took her breath away, and she held it as she glared at him.
“Very well, Miss Whitaker. Since you told me your—caretaker, is he?—is in London, I will take up your tenancy of this place with the steward at Caulfield Hall. I will be back. You may be certain of that.”
He put a foot in the stirrup to mount his horse.
“There is no steward,” she shouted at his back.
He hesitated a moment but mounted after a pause. “No steward? I’ll make myself known to the countess, in that case, if she is in residence.”
“The dowager countess prefers London. You might talk to the duchess about my tenancy, as you call it.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his genuine confusion. It pushed her to go on. “The Dowager Duchess of Glenmoor is in residence in the dower house. She might condescend to speak with you.”Maddy will put this oaf in his place,she thought with satisfaction.
He looked about to ask another question but shut his mouth tightly.
Pride kept Lucy anchored in place, returning his stare.
“We’ll see about that. We’ll see about many things,” he said at last. He doffed his hat, which he hadn’t bothered to remove before, with the arrogance of a royal duke, and set it firmly back on his head. “I will be back.” He turned his shoulder before she could reply and urged his mount on its way.
Lucy’s knees buckled, and she fell to the grass.What in God’s name am I going to do now?
*
Rob left Willowbrookas puzzled as he had been when he rode up.Lucy Whitaker. At least the termagant had a name. But what sort of mistress keeps bees and dresses like a farm wife?She had backbone, Miss Lucy Whitaker.
He came to the fork in the road that led to Caulfield Hall. A tangle of old humiliations, fears, and emotions he chose not to recognize stood in the way of the sensible choice to seek information. He preferred not to meet with David Caulfield, Earl of Clarion, but expected he would have to face the man in London eventually, if not in Ashmead.Who could speak for him here?
