That wasn’t what she expected. “Well. That, wool, and cheese gave the estate a tidy profit this year. Sir Robert ought to be pleased.”
David blanched. “We need to talk about Sir Robert,” David sighed. “He tells me he plans to sell Willowbrook.”
“To him it’s a burden to be quickly tossed aside.”
David shifted uneasily. “That leaves you in a bad position. Moving you to Caulfield Hall…”
“Is inappropriate, or so you’ve told me.” Lucy let irritation rise. She found the idea distasteful in any case. As a husband, David had been devoted, if reserved, with Marjory. She suspected he viewed all of them from the lens of duty rather than affection, though, given his parents, she wondered if he had any idea how else to behave.
“I can’t see why my presence in your house is such a scandal. You couldn’t legally court me even if you wanted to.” Which he clearly does not, thank the good Lord.
“In a single man’s home? You must be jesting. Have you considered the dower house?”
Maddy would help if I was desperate, but—“Lady Madelyn and I both value our independence too much.” Lucy glanced at Edward, who listened avidly to this very adult conversation.
“Overmuch, I might say!”
“We’ve had little choice.” She glared at him and then felt guilty. It wasn’t David’s fault. None of it was. “Do you still have my funds from my mother?”
He stiffened. “Of course. Safely invested. How could you accuse me of anything else? I may be in straightened circumstances but—”
She waved his defense away. “I trust you, David, I always have. If the baronet will give me the salary I’ve asked for, that and my inheritance will purchase a cottage, one with room for a bee yard of my own.”
The word “salary” set Davis sputtering. “Has that man insulted you by offering to pay you?” he demanded when he finally got control.
“Certainly not. I asked for just compensation for my services as steward these years.” The earl’s eyes went so wide, Lucy chuckled. “What do you think I’ve been doing here while you spend all your time in London? Sitting in a chair embroidering? I’ve had an estate to run.”
David looked shamefaced. “It isn’t right, Lucy. This land could be left fallow pending the heir. You ought to be in London. With my mother in residence…” He might have no chaperone at the country where Lucy preferred to live, but he had one in London.
When the old earl died, his widow decamped for London and took over the townhouse. She scowled. “Your mother dislikes me. She disapproved of Marjory and thinks I’m worse. I could never live with that woman. I’m surprised you can.”
“But now Benson wants you gone so that he can sell.”
“Did he tell you that? He’s decided for certain?” she asked.
“Yes. Did you expect otherwise?”
“I hoped he might let me stay. My services as steward in lieu of rent.”
“Never! I couldn’t allow that,” Clarion exclaimed.
Lucy clenched her jaw tight and counted to ten. “I am of age, I have no guardian, and you have nothing to say about it,” she said with exaggerated care.
Before her brother-in-law could react, Agnes burst through the door without knocking. “We have an emergency,” she said without preamble or apology.
Andy Thatcher leaned against the wall in the entrance, one arm cradled in the other, blood dripping down his face. He looked ready to faint.
Lucy put her arm around the boy. “Come to the kitchen. We’ll have a look—”
“No time.” The boy grimaced and went on. “Th’trap overturned when the bridge collapsed. Mr. Benson is hurt bad—” He groaned and lurched against her.
“Sir Robert is hurt?” Her heartbeat pounded in her neck.
“Not him,” Andy rasped through heaving breaths. “Old Mr. Benson, the innkeeper.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The taproom emptiedwith the departure of the mail, and Rob, still in his shirtsleeves, attempted to restore order behind the bar while Clara and Alice, the maid of all work, cleared and cleaned the tables.
