Page 13 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

The earl looked puzzled. ‘The maps of the estate in my library include the field within the boundaries of the Blackdown estate.’

Primrose frowned. ‘Are you saying that you think you can prove that we own the field behind the house, Papa?’

‘I do.’

Silence, filled the air, sharp like the tines of a fork. Florence wished the floor would open and swallow father and his document. She had wanted to charm the earl into agreeing to hold a ball and to invite the best families in the county, not start an argument about a field. She should have guessed Father had had some ulterior motive for agreeing to invite the earl to tea.

‘If that is so, Papa,’ she said calmly, ‘Why have we never legally disputed the Blackdown claim to that piece of land?’

‘We did, years ago. Before my time. But the King wouldn’t listen.’ He glared at Lord Blackdown. ‘Likely because he was bribed.’

The earl stiffened.

Florence felt quite ill. ‘But if he had proof…?’

Papa shook the map at the earl. ‘Here is the proof, only now come to light. The Ingrams always were a disgrace to this county. A bunch of pirates. Everyone knows it.’

The earl looked down his nose at Papa. ‘Privateers, actually, with the King’s seal of approval. My family risked their lives fighting for this country. While I do not doubt that the field was part of the Dearing estate at one time, I expect one of your ancestors must have sold it to one of mine.’

Father shook his head. ‘Prove it.’

Dash it all. Florence had heard her grandfather complaints about that field. She’d even hinted at it in her conversation with the Earl, but had no idea her father bore a grudge. Florence saw all her hopes for the future crumble to dust.

Pirates—so that was what his neighbours thought of his family. One of his ancestors had been a privateer back in the days of Good Queen Bess. Without their efforts, alongside those of Drake and others, England might well be speaking Spanish with no more standing in the world than as one of Spain’s colonies. Queen Elizabeth had appreciated the risks they had taken by granting an earldom, and yes it had been profitable, but accusations of theft of a neighbour’s land was completely unacceptable.

He glared at Miss Dearing. She must have known what her father intended. What motivation could she have for trying to embarrass him by attacking his family honour in this way? Why in the devil’s name had he been beguiled to come here in the first place?

He rose to his feet. ‘If you have proof of a theft, sir, I shall be more than happy to make restitution. In my estimation, this map proves nothing.’

The elderly man peered up at him. ‘Do you have proof of purchase, then?’

Miss Dearing popped to her feet. ‘Father, surely this is water under the bridge? The Ingrams have been farming that field since before our grandfather was born.’

Graydon frowned. Why was she trying to smooth things over? In business, he had learned to be wary of a competitor seeming to take his side. They usually had an ulterior motive. Was this her way of ingratiating herself with him? Of twisting him around her finger?

The father glared at her from beneath hoary eyebrows. ‘You know nothing about it, miss. Leave such matters to those who do.’

She flushed.

Graydon smiled serenely. ‘As far as I am concerned, I have nothing to prove. As you must know, possession is nine-tenths of the law.’ He bowed. ‘Thank you for the tea and pastries, as well as for the most enlightening conversation. I bid you good day.’

Mr Dearing nodded back. ‘Good day, my lord.’ The emphasis was clearly intended to mock.

Graydon strode out. Behind him, he heard the rustle of skirts. He assumed it was the housekeeper intending to show him out. He picked up his hat and gloves from the hall table and did not look back as he let himself out. Damn them. If they thought of him as a pirate, he’d damn well act like one.

He reined in his anger. Uncle Robert would have hauled him over the coals for losing his temper. Never let anyone know that they have touched a sore place. Never let an opponent see your weakness. It was her fault that he had reacted. If she had not been there…

Was this why his father and his grandfather had behaved so badly towards their neighbours—this accusation of their lack of worthiness?

‘My lord…’ came a breathless voice—her voice.

He swung round. ‘Well?’

She looked flustered, vulnerable and somehow younger. The light breeze carried her scent to his nostrils. The scent on his handkerchief, along with the memory of his hands around her waist as those now anxious eyes gazed up at him.

An urge to take her hand, to offer reassurance, to see her smile, almost overcame good sense. He took a deep breath and brought himself back to some semblance of sanity. ‘Miss Dearing, I hope you will forgive me, but I do have other matters which require my attention today.’

He began to turn away.