Rob’s colorful curses had some familiar words, and several she didn’t know but suspected were worse than the ones she did. Lucy felt a hot flush envelop her chest and neck.
“My apologies, Miss Whitaker. That toad, as you call him, has no business approaching you. If I catch him near you, I’ll happily break his legs myself.” His ferocity, the countenance of a marauding Viking, might have frightened her, except he unleashed it on her behalf.
“I think Lieutenant Gibbons and the palace guard can keep him away,” she said primly. A memory struck her. “He does come quarterly to collect the rents, but—”
“I will inform him to deal with me and only me in future.” The commanding major had replaced the marauding Viking.
Lucy rather missed the fierce warrior. “Willowbrook will likely sell before next quarter day. You did say you hadtwooffers.”
“Spangler may have showed his hand sooner than he planned. We have had another offer and for rather more money than Spangler’s.”
Lucy forced a smile past her sadness. “Then your business will conclude soon.”
“The London estate agent Morgan hired arrived with the offer last evening. Attractive? Yes, but problematic. Attractive as it is, I suspect it is excessively high, and he claims the buyer wishes to remain anonymous.”
“High is good. How can that be a problem?”
“I may not plan to live here, but my family does, and neighbors I give them will matter. I’m reluctant to sell to someone sight unseen, especially someone who wants it as badly as that offer implies. I’ll want to know their intentions for the land. Besides that, I don’t like secrets. Or mysteries. My business won’t conclude until I know who caused my father’s injuries, who’s trying to drive you out, and who stands behind the tempting offer. I’ll see to it Spangler has been put in his place before I go, as well.”
Joy bubbled up. My family… He said, ‘my family.’ He cares more than he likes to pretend.But her heart sank quickly, remembering his determination to leave. “Sufficient for today is moving your father,” she said. “Shall we get to it before Emma comes to harangue us?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Moving the oldman home solved little for Rob. His concentration still wavered, scattered between his father, the situation at Willowbrook, his obligations in London—and Lucy. The woman haunted his nights and invaded his thoughts in the daytime. He had admitted to her face that he felt protective and came close—too close—to saying more. The more time he spent with her, the harder it became to hide the obvious.
I want her—but at what cost? Hell, I almost kissed her. Would she come to London?That meant marriage, of course. The question, once asked, beat like an echo in his mind. He hadn’t given much thought to a wife before, but now? Marriage might suit him very well—with Lucy Whitaker—if he could pry her out of Willowbrook. Would she come?
He wouldn’t know unless he asked, and even asking would be a step too far to pull back. He could find himself trapped in a web of obligation, the very thing he was determined to avoid, though with every day that passed, it became harder to remember why.
The rhythm of life at the Willow provided order to his days. The royal mail came and went, the lunchroom filled and emptied, patrons piled in for dinner, and overnight guests had their needs met, as they always had. With Emma back home, Ellis relieved Rob part of every day, and Eli obtained leave to manage two days a week. Morgan lingered, coordinating guard duty with Gibbons. The irony of a half-pay colonel running his errands wasn’t lost on Rob. Though he suspected Morgan had his own reasons for staying in Ashmead, he planned to send his friend to London with yet another report to Viscount Rockford.
Their father, commanding from his sick bed, kept them all focused on the workings of the inn. After several days, it became easier to bring the old man down every morning and prop him on a hastily moved settee in the taproom where he could oversee activity. Emma tutted and fretted, but it seemed to Rob the patient did better with his mind occupied. When he nodded off midafternoon, they carried him back up.
Later, Rob remembered that day, the one on which three things happened at once, as the point at which everything changed.
He and Morgan discussed his report to Rockford, and agreed Rob would fire the London agent. That managed, Morgan went up to pack.
Shortly after, one of the Thatcher boys arrived with a note from Lucy. The simple message, “When you have a moment, please come to Willowbrook,” sounded innocuous enough, but he thought he better ride over when Morgan left.
Before either could happen, the earl turned up. It began innocently enough.
While Rob spoke with Alfred about having Khalija ready for his ride to Willowbrook, Clarion came, or so he claimed, to check on the patient. When he requested ale, took the comfortable settle by the window, and invited Rob to sit with him, Rob had his doubts.
It isn’t like my blue-blooded brother to seek me out…he must want to escape Caulfield Hall badly,Rob thought, bringing ale for both of them and taking a seat. “I gather the countess is in residence. Ashmead seems to believe that is unusual.”
Clarion’s eyes raised to the heavens, and he sighed deeply. “She rarely comes with me unless it is to complain about her allowance. This is no exception. My secretary has been diligent in carrying out his instructions.”
“Cut off her credit, did you?” Rob asked, keeping his amusement under control.
Clarion’s humorless gaze struck Rob forcefully. “She refuses to accept our circumstances. My father left me with obligations and no assets, as Eli will have explained to you in painful detail. I can’t let her force me into more debt, and that earns me her burning resentment.”
Clarion broke eye contact and sipped his ale before going on. “I suspect she hopes that terrorizing me and harassing my children will make me back down. It won’t. And yet I see her in new gowns. She brought a blasted corgi. With a jeweled collar. Neither Jenkins nor I know how she pays for things.” He took a deeper swallow of his ale. “Anything new at Willowbrook?”
“Not much. A few missing sheep my men can’t account for—livestock not being their specialty. I was about to ride over for a report when you came. What news about Spangler?”
Clarion shrugged. “The fool tried to renege on the repayments he agreed to, claiming he can’t find all the heirs who got cash bequests. The threat of jail forced a trickle of funds into an account I set up in Ashmead Bank, one he has no control over.”
“Trickle of funds! You should toss his sorry carcass in a cell.”
