“Nonsense. He does the best he can. It’s been a struggle since he came into the title, and that mother of his doesn’t help. Anyway, Maddy says she is no man’s responsibility and glad of it. She refused a settlement from Glenmoor, knowing David had no funds to spare. I don’t know why.”
Emma shook her head. “He runs to London and leaves you on your own to cope. What are you going to do now?”
“That rather depends on what your brother decides. My dream is that he might keep me on as steward.” She shrugged at the sight of Emma’s expression. “I know. Not likely any man would hire a woman. I have a bit from my mother’s estate. David put it in funds for me. If your brother allows me a sum for caretaking these last years, I might manage a cottage of my own—with a bee yard.” She pursed her lips tightly, considering whether to ask the question that truly ate at her.
“Spit it out Lucy. I can tell something is on your mind,” Emma said.
“Did you write to him about…”
“Willowbrook? No. Not specifically. I just asked him to come home.”
“Why?”
“Someone has to take a look at what has happened to Ashmead!”
“He’s ignored the will and the situation for years. Why now?” Lucy demanded.
Emma wiggled uneasily in the wicker chair.
“Emma…” Lucy’s voice took a warning tone.
“The imposters. This past year there are suddenly more of them, odd men coming more often, and some have been more aggressive. One or two menacing. Someone wants Willowbrook and is pushing you out.”
“Do you really believe that? Someone, as in a particular person, not just a series of opportunists?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like what has been happening. Robbie’s a soldier, and he has been working in Paris with all that monarchy and Bonapartist business. I thought he could sort it out. I didn’t think he’d put you out. I still don’t think he will once he gets the lay of things. You can trust him, Lucy.”
“Does he knowhecan trustme? He doesn’t sound like it.”
“Give him time, Lucy.”
“I’ll have to, won’t I?” She thanked Emma for the tea and fetched her pony and trap from the inn, trotting him across the bridge with a heavy heart.Give the man time? I have as little time as I have anything else.
Chapter Eight
Rob sat inthe battered leather chair in front of the innkeeper’s desk but rose when the old man pulled his desk chair around to the window and gestured for him to sit there. A pot of coffee waited on the table in front of the window. He sat back down, sipped a mug of the black liquid, and let the familiar smell of leather, beeswax, and paper seep into his bones.
The study had always been a refuge, a place to bring his struggles and triumphs, a place to absorb the man’s wisdom.But that was before—He stifled the thought. Robert Benson had always been a source of common sense. Rob decided to set the one big lie aside for now. If anyone could sort out this mess, it was the man across from him.
“What did Spangler tell you?”
“Only that the old earl left me Willowbrook, and I could take possession if I signed a thick pile of paper,” Rob replied.
“Did you sign?”
“You taught me never to sign anything in a hurry, especially if someone seemed too eager to have me do it.” He pulled the papers out and tossed them on the table. “Something about Spangler didn’t sit right.”
“He helped the earl write the will,” the old man told him. “As soon as it was read and folks took possession of businesses, they had no idea how to manage, someone swooped in and bought them up for half their value.”
“A crowd of them, I gather.”
“Heirs? Aye. Some got a pittance in cash or the odd silver trinket. Some got shops in Ashmead.”
“Spangler was behind it?”
The old man nodded.
Rob shook his head. “No shock there. His eyes glittered when I mentioned selling, but he didn’t push. Why?”
