“Her twin sisters, Nan and Nell.”
“How old are they?”
“They’re girls—ten or so.”
Nicholas let the subject drop, and he wasted another hour pretending he was paying attention. Thankfully, Stephen was interested in Mason’s accounting, and he asked the questions Nicholas should have asked.
Eventually, the butler announced the noon meal, and Nicholas was able to slip away. Pleading fatigue, he proceeded to his suite, but once he was out of sight, he sneaked down the servant’s stairs and went to the stables to saddle his horse.
It was easy to obtain directions to Miss Wilson’s cottage. She was notorious, and the stable boys knew where to locate her.
Though it was insane, he had to find out if she was all right. Strangely, he wanted to explain himself to her, wanted her to understand why he’d behaved as he had. Gad, he practically wanted to apologize. For hurting her. For shaming her.
Except that he never apologized, and he wasn’t about to start. Yet he couldn’t get beyond the impression that she could benefit from some wise advice and that he should be the one to give it to her.
She was too optimistic, and she needed to toughen up, to be more shrewd and cunning. She had to stop being so damned trusting and gullible. He was a renowned scapegrace. Why had she assumed he’d help her?
She was mad to have thought he would, and he felt compelled to set her straight.
He rode out of the woods and into a clearing, and he could see her cottage. It was tiny and decrepit, with boarded up windows and a sagging roof that probably leaked like a sieve when it rained. Behind it, there were foundations of several other ramshackle structures that had been torn down, the aged lumber piled in stacks to be burned.
It was a sorry, dismal spot, and he couldn’t imagine how she managed.
She and her sisters were extremely isolated, miles from the village and from the manor. There was no sign of a horse or carriage. How did they get around? How did she feed her sisters? How did she support them?
The concerns flew at him, demanding solutions, and he shoved them away. There were many, many poor women in England, and he wasn’t anybody’s savior.
He dismounted and walked to the door as it was opened from the inside. Two pretty girls emerged, younger versions of Miss Wilson, with the same blond hair and big green eyes. They were wearing identical dresses that had been mended too many times and were too small.
He was overcome by the worst impulse to purchase new ones for them, but he never would. Any gifts would be foolish and inappropriate and most likely tossed in his face by Miss Wilson.
“Hello. I am Lord Stafford.”
Their brows raised with surprise, but they knew their manners and they curtsied.
“I am Nan.”
“I am Nell.”
“I’m delighted to meet you.” He gave a theatrical bow that made them giggle. “Is your sister home?”
“No,” they replied in unison, but provided no more.
“Where is she?” he asked, and a visual exchange passed between them.
“We oughtn’t to say,” Nan hesitantly responded.
“Why not?”
“We wouldn’t want you to be angry,” Nan mumbled, as Nell added, “More angry than you’ve already been.”
He huffed with fake indignation. “Emeline said I was angry? I was not. She shouldn’t fib like that.”
“So . . . you’re not mad?” Nell cautiously ventured.
“No. She’s being ridiculous.”
“She told us you shouted at her.”
“I have never shouted at a woman in my entire life. Shame on her for claiming I did.” There’d never been a female who could resist him. He squatted down and flashed his most charming smile. “Where is she?”
They hemmed and hawed, then Nan admitted, “She’s fishing.”
It was the last answer he’d expected. “Fishing?”
“For supper. But she’s not very good at it, so you don’t need to worry. She doesn’t ever catch very many.”
Nell asked, “You’re not upset, are you?”
“No.”
“You won’t tell Mr. Mason?”
“Why would I tell Mr. Mason?”
“We’re not supposed to fish. It’s against the rules.”
At his confused frown, Nan clarified, “The fish in the river belong to you. We’re not allowed to have any of them.”
“Oh.”
“Sometimes though, we don’t have any other food, and we get very hungry. We don’t know what else to do.”
“Well . . .” he murmured. His heart turned over in his chest.
“Emeline says there are plenty of fish, that you won’t miss them if we take a few.”
“No, I won’t miss them. You can have as many as you want. I’ll notify Mr. Mason.”
“Thank you,” Nell solemnly said. “It will ease Emeline’s mind. She’s been terribly vexed over it.”
He stood, and he rested his palm on the top of Nan’s head, then Nell’s.
“Where is the stream?” he asked. “I need to speak with her.”
They pointed to the woods, and he marched off in the direction they’d indicated, but not before slipping a shiny penny into both their hands. As he stepped into the trees, he glanced back.
They were huddled together and closely studying the pennies as if they’d never previously seen a coin. Perhaps they hadn’t. How long had they been in such dire straits? If the fish in the river all swam away and Miss Wilson couldn’t pilfer anymore of them, would her sisters starve?
Oddly, he was furious with her. He felt as if he’d been tricked, as if Miss Wilson had been lying to him. He wanted to shake her; he wanted to paddle her shapely behind.
Visions assailed him, of future visits to the cottage. Suddenly, he was desperate to improve their lot. Whenever he called on them, he’d bring treats for the twins: ribbons and bonnets and dolls and frilly dresses and . . . and . . .
He pulled himself to a stop, and as abruptly as the peculiar urgings had swept over him, they drifted away.
He didn’t know Nan and Nell Wilson, and what he knew of their sister, Emeline, he didn’t like. Their difficult situation was not his to rectify, and he had no interest in immersing himself in their troubles.
He was their new lord, and he planned to leave first thing in the
