“Aye, that you’re not,” Eli’s father said. “I taught you myself.”
That you did.
“I believe you are right. He wants it. He told me Robbie shouldn’t hope for minerals. Said you shouldn’t trust the word of ‘some Welsh diddler’ as he called him.” Eli shook his head.
Brynn Morgan snorted, reminding Rob he sat quietly in the corner.
“I’m dealing with a two-headed Janus,” Eli went on.
“He changed his tune as soon as we signed, of course,” Rob explained.
“You needed convincing?” Morgan interjected, astonished.
“Stubborn lad, is my Robbie,” the old man sighed.
That drew a glare from Rob. His feelings about Ashmead and the blasted inn at its heart were too complicated and none of Brynn Morgan’s business. “Spangler seemed determined that it not revert to the earl. Clarion would never sell, but Spangler thinks I will. Now that I signed, he wants to drive down the price. Can it be that simple? Am I wrong to look for more trouble?”
“Not terribly bright, that one. I’d like to play cards with ’im. He shows his hand,” the older man mused.
“He can’t tell if you have minerals one way or the other without digging. It looks promising to me, but I’m not a mining expert. He must know you’d test it before you sold it,” Morgan added.
“Two things still bother me,” Rob said.
“The surveyor?” Eli suggested.
“Aye. Was it a ruse to hint at coal when he wanted me to sign? Or something else?”
“Maybe like a woman who measures the windows for curtains when she hasn’t quite inherited? Checking the boundaries of what he thinks ought to be his?”
The older Robert Benson pursed his lips, weighing his own words. “Doesn’t seem right, though, but then nothing about Spangler feels quite right.”
“What’s the other thing?” Eli asked.
“The imposters,” Rob said. “One or two attempts after the will when I didn’t turn up make sense, but Emma says they’ve been coming fast and furious, some of them aggressive. As if someone wants to drive Lucy Whitaker out.”
“She didn’t exaggerate,” the old man said. “We’ve been worried about Lucy, but she insisted she could handle them.”
“And did,” Rob said with a wry smile. He looked at his erstwhile father pointedly. “What do you make of it? Why would Spangler want her gone, and if not him, who?”
“He might have wanted to install an imposter and then ‘buy’ the estate from him,” Eli suggested.
“Maybe. He’s stupid enough to try,” Rob agreed.
“All of Ashmead knew who the real heir was. You’ve been gone fifteen years, but folks have long memories. Most of the pretenders came nowhere close to being mistaken for you,” the old man mused. “It’s a puzzle.”
“Aye. Da is right,” Eli said.
Da.The longer he stayed, the more comfortable the name sounded. Sitting with the old man, talking through problems, sorting through the issues, felt right, Rob realized. He had missed this. He had missed family. He had missed his father—at least he had missed the man he had believed to be his father.
Eli got up to leave. Rob stared across at the old man.Why did you lie to me? Why let me believe you were my father?The cry lodged deep in his heart. Maybe if he said the words, he’d have peace. His heart lurched.
Eli made it as far as the door before Emma burst through, pushing Eli back. “Just the men I wish to see. Da, you’re needed in the taproom.” She glanced at Rob’s friend. “And take Mr. Morgan with you. He could use a pint.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared the old man down.
Her father rose slowly, the aches of age obvious in his movement, but the humor just as apparent in his bright eyes. “Never argue with a woman, boys. Not when she has a full head of steam on a subject. You best listen and do as you’re told. Come along, Morgan. A man can always use a pint of good ale.”
Emma spun to face her brothers as soon as the door closed. “You two. Do you know Da will be sixty in one week? We are going to celebrate, and you are going to help.”
Words to confront his foster father had been on the tip of Rob’s tongue before Emma interrupted, but he lost his chance. He listened to his sister’s plans, her list of assignments, and Eli’s attempts to protest with one ear.Da—sixty?From the vantage of Rob’s thirty-one years, it seemed ancient, and a realization filled him.If you want to make peace, you best do it.Youwon’t have him forever.
