“Good thing. Sounds like he wants them yesterday.”
“He is welcome to come and look at them,” Lucy spat. “I have no time to—”
“He says bring them to the Willow. Do you want to start annoying the man that can turn us out?”
Lucy dropped her head back. “I suppose not. But I’m not going to hop to. I have too many things to do this week. I told Emma I’d have more honey on Monday. I’ll see him then, and, yes, I’ll bring the books.”
Chapter Nine
The Willow andthe Rose did lively business Monday morning. Word of Miss Whitaker’s confrontation with the man who professed to be the innkeeper’s son but whom the entire county knew to be the earl’s heir had filled the village.
The good people of Ashmead generally held one of two views. Some viewed Rob as a returning hero who would be the salvation of Miss Lucy Whitaker, if not, indeed, all of Ashmead. The others didn’t hesitate to call him a bastard and assume he’d be, “No better’n the others. Out to take what he can get.” Those milling around Benson’s taproom that Monday tended to be in the latter camp, although almost every household in Ashmead found a representative with an excuse to turn up at the inn that day. Even Paul Farley, Ashmead’s normally unflappable doctor, lingered over his lunch.
Behind the bar, Robert Benson, innkeeper, wiped a clean counter and watched his sons, who sat in a walled snug in the corner from which they could observe both the door to the kitchen and the main entrance.
Rob spoke with his brother Eli in hushed tones. “You looked at the will itself?”
“Copies only. Got Spangler’s secretary to show me when the reprobate himself was out. I got a look at the deeds, too, when the lazy sod wandered off for a pint—that wouldn’t happen inouroffice, I can tell you.”
When Eli smiled, he reminded Rob of the dreamy boy likely to forget his chores and trip over his own feet. That towheaded youngster had matured into a confident young man, cautious in his speech but sure in his profession. Their reunion had been subdued but affectionate to Rob’s relief. His brother gave every sign of pleasure in Rob’s return, but he neither criticized him for his absence, nor slobbered with hero worship.
Eli’s expression sharpened, and he went on, “I have not been able to get up to Caulfield Hall. The earl will have the originals.”
“But you are confident I can sign without falling into a trap.” It wasn’t a question. Rob repeated the words as much to reassure himself that their analysis was correct as to elicit a response.
Eli nodded, and his lips twisted in a wry smile. “The land and the minerals that lie under it are yours. Someone went to great trouble to spell that part out carefully. Whatever the earl hoped to engineer and whatever Spangler is up to—and I am sure the worm is up to something—the documents are safe to sign.”
“He wants the property in my hands.”
“Not the earl’s. It appears so. I wonder…” Eli bit his lip.
“What?” Rob demanded.
“Clarion has been adamantly opposed to mining on Caulfield land.”
“The minerals,” Rob mused. “In this part of the country, likely coal.”
“Black gold. It has been the ruin of many a village in the Midlands, Rob,” Eli responded, eyes wary.
If Eli intended to expound on that subject, Rob waved it away. “Whatever Spangler intends, signing may drive him into the open.”
Eli sighed. “He wants it in your hands. So, I’d say yes.”
“Or Miss Whitaker’s? Does he hope I’ll turn out to be of a charitable bent and simply give it to her?”A man might do that for a mistress…Rob dismissed that thought as unworthy. Willowbrook wasn’t Clarion’s to give, and Rob had no intention of taking his half-brother’s leavings. Shame washed through him. Emma and Da both seemed to find the notion of the Whitaker woman in Clarion’s keeping ludicrous.What am I going to do with the woman? Rent her Willowbrook temporarily. Then what?
“Hard to say. If his goal is to coerce the new owner, she’d be an easier target,” Eli mused, oblivious to the turmoil Lucy Whitaker provoked in his brother.
Rob considered the musket she met him with and chuckled.Lucy Whitaker is no man’s idea of easy.
A stir among the patrons near the window caught his attention. His heart sped up, and he studied the front entrance.No kitchen door today, he noted.
The Whitaker woman sailed into the room, graceful but firm of step, chin high and eyes alert. She dressed for the event in a finely tailored morning dress of striped muslin topped with a deep blue spencer. Neither the height of fashion nor some dowdy throwback, she managed to appear both classically well dressed and business-like. In lieu of some frothy flowered bonnet, a small chip straw hat covered her neatly braided crown of hair. She held a set of leather-bound ledgers firmly in both arms.
When Warner Simmons, the lanky grocer, stood by his table near the window for a better view and two hulking farmers at the bar straightened and turned to watch, her diminutive stature struck Rob for the first time.How does a woman that tiny manage to project such a formidable presence?
She ignored them all and searched the room until she saw him. Eli started to rise at her approach, but Rob’s hand held him in place. He let her march all the way up to the table before he rose to loom over her and spoke in a voice pitched to fill the room. “Miss Whitaker, thank you for accommodating my request for a meeting.”
Brown eyes almost as dark as Eli’s glared back at him. “Mr. Benson,” she acknowledged. She gave Rob a trace deeper nod. “Sir Robert. I trust this will not take long. A working estate requires attention, and I have little to spare.”
