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“I would have thought that adding Mr. Beeker to your guest list would skew the numbers in favor of the gentlemen,” he said.

“Not at all.” With a pleased look, his mother waved the letter in her hand. “I have just heard from my friend, Mrs. Marion Densley. She is coming to visit, and she is bringing her granddaughter with her.”

Thankfully, William’s numerical reckoning skills returned when he needed them most. He silently—and without error—counted to six before trusting his voice.

“Mother, you are aware that lambing season has begun, and therefore it is the worst possible time to entertain guests at Tribbley Hall, correct?”

His mother bristled. “No matter what the sheep are doing, we need to eat, William. Inviting a few people over for dinner will have no bearing on what is happening in the fields.”

“A single dinner party is one thing,” he said. “House guests is quite another. No matter what else you have planned, I will not be available, and neither will I allow a child to run freely on the property when every servant’s attention is so wholly consumed elsewhere.” He refrained from mentioning that he also wished to protect the child from encountering those who thought nothing of stealing sheep.

“Charlotte Densley will hardly be running freely,” his mother said.

“No matter how well behaved the girl may be, if you would be so good as to write to suggest that your friend and her granddaughter delay their visit by a fortnight, I believe they would have a far more enjoyable time.”

“I cannot do that,” his mother said. “Marion and I have decided to embark upon a project that necessitates her being here.”

William eyed his mother warily. Her past “projects” ranged from donating food baskets to the poor to purchasing a pony for his eight-year-old nephew without first consulting the boy’s parents. The former was perfectly acceptable; the latter was not.

“A project,” he said.

“Yes.” She flicked her hand as if to dismiss the subject. “Think nothing of it. You have other concerns that are far more pressing. Besides, it is too late. They are already on their way.”

Counting was of little value at this point. “I shall attend your dinner on Saturday, Mother, but as my presence will likely be required in the fields and the barn for the next few weeks, you will have to make my excuses to your guests for the remainder of their stay.”

“If it comes to that, I shall,” his mother said, but she did not look the least put out. Indeed, if anything, she appeared rather pleased.

The first hint of unease wiggled its way past his irritation. What was she not telling him? “I am quite serious about this, Mother.”

“Yes, I can see that, but I believe Marion’s visit will turn out very well regardless.” She started back across the room, her cane clicking against the polished wood floor. When she reached the door, she turned. “I am off to have Mrs. Underhill make ready the yellow and green guest chambers. Good luck with your lambs.”

William watched her disappear into the passageway before dropping into his chair with a groan. Surely something would go right before this day was over.