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“Your brother purchased those horses with the intention of breeding them,” his mother said.

“And I think such a foolish enterprise would be ruinous for Oak Park,” said Gavin, the force in his voice unmistakable.

“Foolish?” The woman sounded taken aback that anyone might criticize her favorite son.

“The estate is overdrawn on its resources, and it makes no sense to stable a herd of horses while we’re also trying to support sheep, wheat, and hops.”

“Your brother had a mind to sell the lumber. There’s acres of mature hardwood there,” said Lady Sophia.

“The forest needs to remain untouched so that the lumber ensures the income of the future baronet.”

Lady Sophia raised a brow. “Your brother was attempting to diversify Oak Park industries and ensure against any decline in the market.”

“Oak Park is spreading itself too thin. I’m selling all but a few of the horses to Lord Weathersby if he’ll have them. The decision has been made,” he said.

Lady Sophia stared at her son for a long, cold moment. Then she inclined her head. “You are the baronet, improbable though it might seem sometimes.”

Blood roared in Ina’s ears at the insult, and she would’ve shot to her feet if Gavin’s hand hadn’t fallen on her shoulder, pressing her lightly down onto the sofa.

“It is improbable,” he said, “but I intend to do my very best to ensure the prosperity of Oak Park for generations to come.”

The words punctured her anger. They should’ve made her proud, but instead she felt ill. Securing the prosperity of Oak Park would take years of work—years in which her husband would likely have to be right here in Ashington.

“Now that that’s settled, I wonder what’s taking Harper so long to announce that supper is served,” said Gavin, looking around as though the butler would materialize out of nowhere.

A smile curved over Lady Sophia’s lips. “I’ve asked him to delay because I’ve had a letter of my own.”

“From whom?” Gavin asked.

His mother picked up the well-creased pages lying on a small table next to her and set the little spectacles she wore on a chain at her waist on her nose. “It’s from a man familiar to your wife. Sir Kier.”

Ina wanted to crawl out of her skin at the mere mention of the man. She could still remember the sour scent of his sweat and the way his breath had panted in her ear as she tried to twist away from him.

“I don’t want to hear this,” she said, rising to her feet.

“ ‘My dear Dowager Lady Barrett,’ ” Lady Sophia quickly began to read:

It wounds me to bring such unhappy news to Richard’s family at a time of mourning, but I’m sorry to say I can confirm the events you inquired about. I feel you should know something of your daughter-in-law’s behavior before she became Lady Barrett and how the nature of her own mother has no doubt tainted her.

“Enough,” said Gavin, cutting his mother’s reading short.

“Don’t you want to hear more?” asked her mother-in-law from over the edges of her half-moon glasses.

“No,” said Gavin.

“I do,” said Grace, lifting her head and fixing Ina with an icy stare. It was, Ina realized, the first time her sister-in-law had looked directly at her in days.

“Sir Kier goes on in rather more explicit detail than I would’ve wished to describe how Ina tempted him to a private room with a mind to seduce him,” said Lady Sophia.

“That’s not true,” Ina said, but her voice was meek from the mortification pooling in her. It had been naive to think that marrying Gavin would absolve her when a man like Sir Kier was out in the world, threatening her peace.

“You can’t trust a word that man says. He tried to ruin Ina when she wanted no part of it,” said Gavin.

“He succeeded by all accounts.” Lady Sophia turned to her. “Were you really so eager that you let him defile you in Mrs. Moira Sullivan’s library?”

“Whatever he wrote to you, I didn’t do. You have to believe me,” Ina said, her arms hugging her stomach as though she could hold in the hurt.

Lady Sophia sneered. “Who would believe the word of the daughter of a Scottish upstart?”