The Wayward Son

by Warfield, Caroline

  He pulled Khalija to a stop when the manor came in view, and something warm settled inside Rob’s heart. Not the most impressive of houses, it presented a picture of domesticity and comfort. Home, he thought, and mine. The fierceness of his possessive reaction shocked him. He had no plans to take up residence nor even to retain possession. I’m letting my sister—and this place—get to me.

  Still, he didn’t move. He wondered if Lucy Whitaker had had time to calm down and come to terms with their situation. It had been three days since the confrontation at the Willow. He rather hoped she hadn’t. The memory of Lucy Whitaker ready for battle sent heat through parts of his anatomy, best not mentioned. He found her attractive, he would not deny that, but something else drew him.

  Amusement warred with respect until a persistent voice—his cautious nature—reminded him there could be nothing between them. Hadn’t he and Eli staged the confrontation so Ashmead could see he had no designs on her virtue? God knew he had no interest in marriage. He shuddered at the thought of being tied to Ashmead in some domestic purgatory.

  I can still enjoy locking horns with her, though. He grinned and nudged Khalija on, looking forward to finding out more about his feisty steward.

  Rather than march up to the house like some overbred dandified lord of the manor, he decided to ride toward the heart of the estate—the place where the work happened. If he owned the thing, he should take responsibility, at least for as long as he kept it. The carriage house, stable, storage buildings, and barn—the yard where he had seen her before lay at some distance, hidden from the house by a stand of maple. Her bee yard, situated on a slight rise beyond, appeared quiet in the afternoon sun. He squelched disappointment at not finding her there.

  “May as well start here,” he muttered to his patient horse, dismounting.

  Though clean and orderly, the stables showed signs of aging. Necessary repairs had been done, but two empty stalls had rotted and ought to be rebuilt. A window had been boarded over rather than replaced. He walked around the back, checking for cracks and crevices but found none.

  On the whole, the buildings appeared sound, but within twenty minutes, Rob realized he was in over his head. He understood horses, but carpentry and building were beyond him. Though nothing leapt out as a problem, he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to fully judge the situation.

  “You aren’t even sure what you’re looking for, Benson,” he muttered out loud to the empty yard.

  A voice behind him replied, “You’re unlikely to find it then.”

  He spun around to see Lucy Whitaker watching him intently. “Agnes told me she saw you ride this way. Is there something in particular you want, Sir Robert?”

  “No musket today, Miss Whitaker?” he countered. Her practical dress, a sturdy muslin, peach with a white apron, contributed to her air of competence. It also brought out the color in her cheeks but did nothing to dampen the fire in her eyes. He liked the fire.

  “I only greet sneak thieves and low-lives with weaponry,” she replied, walking up to him.

  Her expression struck Rob as suspiciously like amusement. Can the woman be warming to me?

  “I thought I’d act like a responsible landowner and survey the property,” he replied.

  “And what have you found?”

  “These buildings seem to be in good order.” As much as I can tell. “But then, things aren’t always how they seem.”

  “Are you talking about the barn or my ledgers?” she demanded.

  Rob squelched the urge to tease her further. “I understand books better than I do buildings. So far, your ledgers are in perfect order. Eli verified the deposits with Ashmead Bank. He said the accounts balanced to the penny.”

  She relaxed fractionally as Rob went on, “He’s off to Nottingham today to check with the other.”

  “If there are problems, they—”

  “I’ll lay them at Spangler’s feet. You did say you sent the proceeds to him to account for. I heard you.”

  Their eyes held for a long moment, then she broke eye contact first. “Would you like me to show you the property?”

  Her offer felt like a victory, and it sent a surge of pleasure through Rob. “I would like that very much. You know the place best.”

  She didn’t reply, but she stood a bit straighter and began to point out with precision, and no small amount of pride, the assets he had inherited. She neither glossed over problems nor lamented them excessively. She pointed out that the rotting stalls that needed attention, but lacking horses to fill them, other needs were far more pressing, or so she said.

  A woman’s point of view, Rob thought. A man would hold the stable in higher esteem. He didn’t argue with her.

  She spoke eloquently and at length until her description of plows, tools, feed, and seed flowed out of him as quickly as her words entered his ears. He had no interest in such details. The woman herself, however, commanded his attention. If he were honest, she filled his senses, making thought difficult.

  It didn’t matter, by the time they rode out to the fields so she could show him the state of the planting and her plans for the season, he had been convinced of her competence. No matter what Eli found or recommended on the subject, Rob had his steward. He could hire her and go back to London with a clear conscience and to hell with what people thought of him hiring a woman.

  *

  You know the place best.

  Sir Robert’s approval shouldn’t matter, but it did. When she saw him inspecting the siding on her barn, a surge of resentment threatened to boil over.

  Then she confronted him about the ledgers and all but accused him of implying that she wasn’t what she seemed. As soon as the words shot out of her mouth, she expected a barrage of overbearing male nonsense, if not outright insults. He surprised her by affirming the accuracy of her numbers, and the offer to show him Willowbrook slipped out before she could think.

  He asked enough intelligent questions to keep her talking and maintained a respectful attitude until she forgot he was the enemy, the man who would take Willowbrook from her, the man who could put her out in a trice. She suspected he had no real interest in the place, but she couldn’t fathom what the man was about.

  He followed her all the way back to the manor and ignored her hints about work calling her away. Surely, he doesn’t expect an invitation for tea!

  She glanced down at her work-roughened hands. For an insane moment, she envisioned herself rushing upstairs to change into a suitable gown for entertaining a gentleman in her parlor.

  When they paused at the front steps, however, she quickly realized his interest was in his newly acquired property, not in her lamentably lacking social graces. He had removed his hat as they walked up from the stable, and now he tapped it against his thighs while his clever green eyes scanned the façade, pausing over each window.

  For a moment, the sun illuminated red-gold highlights among the auburn hair that curled over his collar, overpowering her attention. He needs a trim, she thought absently, watching the movement of his hat against his—

  “I see chinks in the chimney mortar. Have you had them examined?”

  Dear God! Did he catch me ogling his thighs? She felt her cheeks burn, jerked her face away.

  “We’ve not had drafts,” she choked out. “If that is what you mean.”

  “Miss Whitaker, I suspect you take more care of the agricultural assets than this house.”

  Lucy embraced the irritation that flooded in, driving out her embarrassment. “Your tenants and the work of the estate, Sir Robert, are my primary concern and take my time and attention. The roof doesn’t leak, and the chimneys don’t smoke. Beyond that, I have neither time nor energy to care!”

  He glared at the door as if he wanted to see through it.

  “Do you wish to come in to inspect the fading wallpaper and fraying carpets?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Do you believe your potential buyers care more about the state of the house than the prod
uctivity of the fields?” she demanded.

  He squinted at her as if she had grown horns.

  “Don’t be absurd. I don’t give a damn about the carpets. When I sell this place—and I will—the new owner can do what he wants.”

  “Of course. This place means nothing to you but coin.” She bristled at the reminder.

  His frown darkened in response. “I hope you don’t harbor some cork-brained notion that the sight of the place has given me an irresistible urge to settle down in cozy domesticity. I didn’t ask for this place, and I will not become mired in Ashmead by it. As I made clear, Miss Whitaker, my life is elsewhere.”

  “Are you implying I have some sort of designs on your person, Sir Robert? That is insulting!” Lucy prayed her voice didn’t quiver under the pressure of emotion.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Whitaker,” he said, his voice rising. He looked her up and down scornfully. “I don’t generally harbor inappropriate attraction to my land steward.”

  She shuddered under the force of a sigh, struggling for control. “I implied no such thing, sir. I merely wish to know your intentions.”

  “They are as I said, ma’am. I plan to dispose of Willowbrook as swiftly as may be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I will ride out and take a look at the limestone ridge. That is where the boys saw the surveyor, is it not?”

  He prowled off toward the stables. Lucy swallowed the temptation to go with him, for he hadn’t invited her to do so, and it had become obvious that he remembered the lay of the land from boyhood. The chance to impress him with her skills as a steward disappeared down the lane with him. The accord that seemed to rise between them earlier had died a swift death.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Your friend Morgan answered you quickly,” Eli said from his father’s spot at the end of the bar.

  “That he did. Still no word from the earl?” Rob asked, wiping mugs behind it. Boredom would scramble a man’s brains and urge him to do things he swore he never would do again.

  “No, and I’m even more anxious to see those documents. I got only the briefest of information out of that bank clerk, but something is off about the funds Lucy Whitaker claims she’s been sending to Spangler. I need the earl’s word to get me access.” Eli sat up straight. “Or yours! Why didn’t I think about it sooner? Now that you’re the heir, you can demand to see the books.”

  “How was it off? By what she sends, or by what he deposits in the estate’s escrow account?”

  “The latter. Less than expected.”

  “We need a closer look. Did you give my signed acceptance to Spangler?”

  “I thought we agreed to let the old bird stew for a while, try to flush him out. Spangler’s clerk gave me the introduction to the bank when I told him you were still considering your options, but he refused to show me Spangler’s books, and the bank wasn’t any more forthcoming.”

  Eli packed up the papers he’d brought to show his brother. He glanced at the clock over the darkened mantel. “Not quite noon. I can still get back to Nottingham on time to see what Williamson has for me today. He’s been generous with my time, but I owe him and our clients my attention.”

  Rob walked his brother out to fetch his gig. “Thank you for taking this on, Eli. It is a relief to have a man I can trust looking into things.”

  Eli replied with a lopsided grin. “It’s what brothers are for.” The grin widened. “Wait until you see my bill.”

  Alfred led his gig over, but, before Eli could climb up, a sleek, black carriage pulled into the innyard on well-oiled wheels. Eli whistled. “That’s a beauty, as fast as it is fancy.”

  “Looks like we flushed our bird,” Rob replied, watching a footman run around and lower the step for Spangler to alight. The earl’s man peered around the yard disdainfully, nose up as if he smelled something unpleasant, only to have his face reform itself into a smile when he spotted the two brothers.

  “Well met, Sir Robert. I pause on my way to Caulfield Hall.” He eyed Eli suspiciously. “Care to join me in a pint. I’ve heard The Willow and the Rose has a tolerable ale.”

  “The best in the county,” Rob replied.

  Spangler’s brows shot up at Rob’s tone, but his face settled quickly into his ingratiating smile. “Then it will be a privilege to share one.”

  Rob turned toward Eli, reining in his unexpected surge of anger at hearing the inn denigrated. “May I make known to you Eli Benson. My brother.”

  “Have we met?” Spangler asked, the lines between his eyes hardening his expression, puzzled and faintly suspicious.

  “Not formally. We may have passed one another in court—quarter sessions.”

  The brows shot up again. Eli didn’t wait for him to ask. “I clerk with Reginald Williamson.”

  Rob stepped between Eli’s smug delight and Spangler’s consternation at finding Rob in the company of a rival’s clerk. “Shall we step inside so you can tell me why you came?” he asked, gesturing to the door. When Spangler’s faux smile reset itself, he added “Over ale, of course.” Rob glanced back at Eli, who trooped behind, while he led Spangler into the taproom, the client in Nottingham forgotten.

  “Clara, three mugs of ale in the snug, please,” Rob said without pausing. He didn’t wait for the ale. “To what do we owe this visit, Spangler,” he asked as soon as they were seated.

  “As I said, I was on my way to Caulfield Hall on the earl’s business,” Spangler intoned, eyes flicking from one brother to the other before focusing on Rob. “I thought to inquire whether you’ve reached a decision.”

  Rob sat back without speaking, arms folded across his chest, and glanced at Eli. He had observed England’s finest diplomats wield silence as a weapon in Paris, letting fools babble out their secrets into it. Spangler proved to be no different, for he rushed in with words. “I can tell you it is a fine piece of property, Sir Robert. I can’t think why you would reject it.”

  Clara brought the ale, and all three men sipped quietly.

  “The ale is as fine as you said,” Spangler pronounced with no sign of sincere interest in the beverage.

  “You’re concerned about Willowbrook, Mr. Spangler?” Eli prodded.

  Spangler leaned in confidentially. “Surely you can see the value of the property?”

  “Have you had it surveyed for coal, Mr. Spangler?” Eli asked, startling both Rob and the solicitor.

  Spangler’s outrage may have been sincere. “That is hardly my place. I would never presume, Sir Robert!” He wiggled in his seat as if to get comfortable. “If anyone would be so presumptuous, it would—well, I wouldn’t, I can tell you.”

  Spangler tugged his lapels, and Rob wondered if he would suggest who might order such a survey. The moment passed. “The land itself is a worthy property. You ought to accept it. Were you my client—” He shot a glance at Eli. “Well, I must be honest. I would demand that you accept the bequest.”

  Rob had had enough. He turned to his brother and nodded.

  Eli rummaged in his portfolio and pulled out a familiar sheaf of paper, presenting it to Spangler with a flourish. “As it happens, we’ve decided to do just that.”

  For a brief moment, the mask of superiority slipped, and Rob saw confusion, quickly followed by calculation when Spangler examined the signatures.

  “I can assure you it is in order,” Eli told him.

  “Of course, of course,” Spangler oozed. “I see you had Miss Whitaker witness it. Clever that. Put her on notice. When you sell—”

  “If I sell.” Rob kept his words few.

  “But I thought—” Spangler sputtered. “You did tell me you wish to return to London shortly. I assume you mean to sell the property if a buyer can be found.”

  “If it is mineral rich, it should fetch a pretty penny,” Rob responded, still suspicious about the surveyor.

  “Quite true,” Spangler replied, a bit too quickly. “But one can’t count—”

  “Of course,” Rob interrupted.

  Spangler nat
tered on without taking notice of the interruption. “When you decide to sell—and I have no doubt you will—I would be happy to represent you. I have considerable experience with property transactions.” Spangler dismissed Eli with a glance, certain Rob’s brother could make no such claim.

  Before Rob could formulate an answer, Spangler changed the subject. “Of course, if you wish to rent it temporarily, a word of advice. I don’t wish to tarnish anyone’s reputation, but one suspects some of this will be obvious to you. Miss Whitaker has been permitted the run of the place for some years. She—well, you will have noticed she has no proper sense of a woman’s place. That could be why—”

  The windbag let his words fade away when he noticed Rob’s expression. Whatever insult he planned to lay on Lucy Whitaker faded with them.

  “What?” Rob asked deliberately, biting back the temptation to throttle the weasel.

  Spangler pursed his lips as if to relieve a sour taste. “I’m not one to gossip, but the property is yours, and you ought to be warned. I have found her to be less than honest. I would warn you to take nothing she tells you at face value.” He leaned in, warming to the subject. “Nothing. Whether she tells you about money or the inventory of your assets—or even the condition of the place. Watch the condition carefully, Sir Robert. It impacts sale value greatly.”

  Spangler drank again, as though those words parched his throat, while Rob tried to make sense of the man’s declarations. Seeing no opposition in his listeners, Spangler let his expression again shape itself into smug superiority. “Condition, Sir Robert. One of the cardinal measures of a property’s value.”

  Eli didn’t appear to understand the man’s intent any more than Rob did, but he addressed the solicitor directly. “Is there anything else you wish from us?”

  Spangler gave him a contemptuous sniff and ignored him. “If you need my services, Sir Robert, you can call on me. I can tell you that you will find I am correct. Land sales are a complicated business.”