“No!” Lucy exploded. “I’ll not put Andy and John in danger for a decrepit stable. Besides, I’m in the bee yard every day. I can watch for trouble.”
“And what will you do if you find some?” the major asked, brows high. “Keep your musket at hand?”
“I will do that. But really, Sir Robert, we have no reason to expect further damage. May I suggest we leave it for now?”
He looked as if he meant to argue but backed down in the face of Lucy’s stubborn stance; at least she hoped that’s why he didn’t argue.
“There is still your pony and trap to house. I’ll hire a crew in Ashmead to make repairs.”
The arrogant oaf simply asserted his right to order it without consulting her. Lucy swallowed resentment. Willowbrook, after all, belonged to the oaf.I should find my own place.She had already begun scanning newspapers for opportunities.
Without waiting for her response, he turned to Morgan and asked him to evaluate the rest of the buildings, and her resentment threatened to explode. She spun on her heels to set out for the fields. “We’ll leave you to it. Vincent and I have planting to oversee.”
Chapter Fifteen
David Caulfield, 7thEarl of Clarion, returned to his London townhouse after three week’s respite at the country estate of the Marquess of Downingtown, as weary at heart as he had left. What had been promised as a working retreat had proven to be an exasperating mix of politics and party.
He had garnered less support than he hoped for a relief bill before his committee and had spent every day dodging two husband-hunting ladies and their mothers. His host hadn’t warned him they would be there, and he’d been forced to take refuge in his quarters more days than not, and to station his valet in his room in the evening to repel enterprising debutants from compromising him. Even the countryside, rain-drenched as it had been most days, failed to lift his spirits.
He arose early the next morning, as was his custom, to meet Jenkins, his secretary, in his study, eager to get back about his business.
A flicker of disappointment followed the young man’s brief inspection of his person.Probably looking for cheer or some such nonsense.Clarion ignored it. “Did you receive my response to Viscount Rockford?”
“Yes, my lord. And your comments on the veteran’s relief bill, which I delivered as you ordered.”
Clarion moved to his desk, nodding absently. Jenkins cleared his throat nervously. “Was there something else?” the earl asked.
“You left instructions to forward only the most pressing Parliamentary material,” his secretary said.
The man’s odd tone caused Clarion to peer at him more closely. “What is it? Trouble?”
“Probably not, but you received an unusual influx of mail from Caulfield Hall,” the man went on. “And Ashmead.”
Odd that. We had Maddy’s monthly note before I left. Lucy never writes. Who then?Jenkins handed him a silver salver containing four unopened letters.
Ten minutes after reading them, the earl had tucked all four into his coat, dispatched a footman with a message to Rockford, packed reports needing attention into a case, and ordered his traveling coach brought around. He pinned his secretary with a somber glare. “Kindly tell my lady mother I will return in a week. Remind her again that I have rescinded her credit at her favoritemodiste.”
“And several other establishments,” the young man said morosely.
“I ought to bring her with me just to keep her out of mischief, but I don’t have time.”And I could use a respite.“Do your best.”
A half-hour later, the earl, dressed in traveling clothes, met Jenkins in the foyer.
“One more message, my lord. This arrived from Lord Rockford moments ago,” the secretary told him.
Clarion frowned at the missive, tucked it in his shirt, and climbed into his carriage.
Within an hour, he was on the road to Ashmead on Afon.
Chapter Sixteen
In Ashmead, thepossibility of work brought a line of laborers to The Willow and the Rose. All appeared willing and seemed needy. A few had some experience with a hammer. Rob hired as many of those as he could. One applicant stood out.
Aaron Miller claimed considerable experience as a builder. He’d come to Ashmead looking for work recently from, he said, a village to the west. His description of lost work for “people of the land” after a mine opened in Roverton, tugged at the heartstrings.
Martin Abbott, one of the newly hired workers, shook his head. “Bad business, mining.”
Rob found Miller’s story too perfect and the effort to garner sympathy too obvious. No one in Ashmead could vouch for the man, but Morgan thought his knowledge sound. Rob hired him, ordered him to acquire lumber for the work, and put him in charge.
