Chapter Eleven
“It’s my property.I ought to inspect it.” Khalija bobbed his head as if to say, “Of course it is, you damned fool…”So,Rob wondered as he turned up the lane to Willowbrook,why do I feel like an intruder?
The manor itself lay in the middle of the property, and the approach meandered through pleasant fields and woodland. He dismounted at the bend where the lane crossed a bridge spanning a brook. “I may as well start here,” he muttered. The steam tumbled over jutting stones and a rocky bed in a deep gully, making the bridge indispensable.
His inspection revealed a recent repair to one of the struts. The bridge, like all of Willowbrook, showed every sign of care and attention, the work of its would-be steward. Rob sat back on his heels thinking of Lucy Whitaker’s ledgers.
He would return them if he could, but his little brother turned out to be a careful man. “Copies won’t do, Robbie, I need her originals to compare.” Eli had already verified that the amounts she claimed she set aside as her fair wages had indeed been placed in the Ashmead Bank, left untouched, and remained there, earning interest.
Remounting, he considered the Whitaker woman’s requests. The amount she asked for wages seemed fair to Rob, but he had already sent four quick notes to his growing pile of correspondence, each to landed gentlemen, ones he knew well enough to ask such questions, soliciting advice about the fair wage for a land steward. For all he knew her request was too low.
He pulled Khalija to a stop when the manor came in view, and something warm settled inside Rob’s heart. Not the most impressive of houses, it presented a picture of domesticity and comfort.Home, he thought, andmine. The fierceness of his possessive reaction shocked him. He had no plans to take up residence nor even to retain possession.I’m letting my sister—and this place—get to me.
Still, he didn’t move. He wondered if Lucy Whitaker had had time to calm down and come to terms with their situation. It had been three days since the confrontation at the Willow. He rather hoped she hadn’t. The memory of Lucy Whitaker ready for battle sent heat through parts of his anatomy, best not mentioned. He found her attractive, he would not deny that, but something else drew him.
Amusement warred with respect until a persistent voice—his cautious nature—reminded him there could be nothing between them. Hadn’t he and Eli staged the confrontation so Ashmead could see he had no designs on her virtue? God knew he had no interest in marriage. He shuddered at the thought of being tied to Ashmead in some domestic purgatory.
I can still enjoy locking horns with her, though. He grinned and nudged Khalija on, looking forward to finding out more about his feisty steward.
Rather than march up to the house like some overbred dandified lord of the manor, he decided to ride toward the heart of the estate—the place where the work happened. If he owned the thing, he should take responsibility, at least for as long as he kept it. The carriage house, stable, storage buildings, and barn—the yard where he had seen her before lay at some distance, hidden from the house by a stand of maple. Her bee yard, situated on a slight rise beyond, appeared quiet in the afternoon sun. He squelched disappointment at not finding her there.
“May as well start here,” he muttered to his patient horse, dismounting.
Though clean and orderly, the stables showed signs of aging. Necessary repairs had been done, but two empty stalls had rotted and ought to be rebuilt. A window had been boarded over rather than replaced. He walked around the back, checking for cracks and crevices but found none.
On the whole, the buildings appeared sound, but within twenty minutes, Rob realized he was in over his head. He understood horses, but carpentry and building were beyond him. Though nothing leapt out as a problem, he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to fully judge the situation.
“You aren’t even sure what you’re looking for, Benson,” he muttered out loud to the empty yard.
A voice behind him replied, “You’re unlikely to find it then.”
He spun around to see Lucy Whitaker watching him intently. “Agnes told me she saw you ride this way. Is there something in particular you want, Sir Robert?”
“No musket today, Miss Whitaker?” he countered. Her practical dress, a sturdy muslin, peach with a white apron, contributed to her air of competence. It also brought out the color in her cheeks but did nothing to dampen the fire in her eyes. He liked the fire.
“I only greet sneak thieves and low-lives with weaponry,” she replied, walking up to him.
Her expression struck Rob as suspiciously like amusement.Can the woman be warming to me?
“I thought I’d act like a responsible landowner and survey the property,” he replied.
“And what have you found?”
“These buildings seem to be in good order.”As much as I can tell. “But then, things aren’t always how they seem.”
“Are you talking about the barn or my ledgers?” she demanded.
Rob squelched the urge to tease her further. “I understand books better than I do buildings. So far, your ledgers are in perfect order. Eli verified the deposits with Ashmead Bank. He said the accounts balanced to the penny.”
She relaxed fractionally as Rob went on, “He’s off to Nottingham today to check with the other.”
“If there are problems, they—”
“I’ll lay them at Spangler’s feet. You did say you sent the proceeds to him to account for. I heard you.”
Their eyes held for a long moment, then she broke eye contact first. “Would you like me to show you the property?”
Her offer felt like a victory, and it sent a surge of pleasure through Rob. “I would like that very much. You know the place best.”
