“If you’re never coming back, what’s the point?”
“People need to see that I’m real and not a phantom. They need to see my face and look me in the eye.”
“So you can scare the hell out of them?”
“Yes. If another troublemaker like Miss Wilson steps forward, they have to know with whom they’re dealing. I can’t have them trying to thwart Mason.”
“I suppose I can ride in with you, but it will be to meet the neighbors and merchants. I’m not about to help you frighten anyone.”
“You’re too, too good,” Nicholas sarcastically cooed.
“Shut up.”
Nicholas cooled his heels while Stephen’s horse was saddled. They trotted off together, side by side, down the lane that led from the manor. It was a perfect spring morning, with summer just around the corner, and the estate could have been a fairyland.
If he’d been a more romantic sort of fellow, he might have paused to enjoy the bounty, might have counted his blessings and reveled in the fact that such a magical spot was his. But he wasn’t a romantic fellow, and he refused to take any pleasure in his surroundings.
Let Stephen wallow in the boring, despised splendor. Nicholas was off to London where a rich bachelor could spend his time at more fruitful, satisfying endeavors.
The market was being held in the square, and he skirted the edge, not bothering to dismount. With how his tenants had treated Emeline Wilson, he had no desire to speak with any of them. Stephen could do it after Nicholas had departed. His brother was a much better ambassador.
They reached the rear of the assemblage, and Nicholas noticed that he’d slowed considerably. He and Stephen had rarely been separated, and he couldn’t bear for them to split up. Clearly, he was making their final minutes last a little longer.
He might have uttered some ridiculous, maudlin comment, but the strangest sight caught his attention. He reined in so abruptly that his horse snorted in protest.
Miss Wilson and her sisters were leaned against the wall of a building in the company of what appeared to be a group of criminals and rag pickers. She had stuffed pillowcases setting at her feet, and she carried a tattered satchel that was so packed the buckles were straining.
A man circled her, assessing her as if she were a slave about to be purchased.
Was she selling herself? For what reason? Was the woman insane?
Yes, rang the reply in his head. She was insane. He knew that about her. She had a knack for getting herself into trouble like no other person he’d ever met.
“What in the hell are you up to now?” he blurted without thinking.
Miss Wilson flinched as if he’d struck her, and he leapt down and marched over.
“Did you hear me?” he seethed. “What are you up to?”
“Where did you come from?” she feebly said. “I thought you’d already left.”
“I am asking the questions. Not you. Answer me.”
“I’m . . . applying for a job.”
“Really? It seems to me that you’re being evaluated like a cow at auction. Exactly what kind of position are you hoping to find?”
The oaf who’d been evaluating her didn’t realize who Nicholas was, and he blustered, “Listen to me, old chap, we were merely—”
Nicholas flashed a glare that could have melted lead. “I’m not old, and I’m not your chap. Get out of here before I rip you in half.”
The man might have piped up again, but Stephen stepped beside Nicholas, and the fellow’s bravado waned. He slithered away.
“Well, Miss Wilson?” Nicholas snarled. “I’m waiting for your explanation.”
Nan and Nell burst into tears, and Miss Wilson held out her arms. They rushed into them, their cheeks pressed to her dress.
“Now see what you’ve done?” she frostily scolded.
“Me? What did I do?”
“This week has been so accursedly awful,” she said. “Must it conclude with you yelling at me in front of the whole town?”
A large crowd had gathered, and Stephen bent nearer and whispered, “There are too many eavesdroppers. Perhaps we should take this someplace more private.”
They were next to a barn, and Stephen gestured to it.
“Inside, Miss Wilson,” Nicholas commanded, and when she didn’t move, he added, “At once!”
Stephen pulled Nan and Nell away from their sister and escorted them in, while Nicholas grabbed Miss Wilson and followed. As he tugged the heavy door closed, he graced her with his most ferocious scowl.
“What on earth is this about?” he demanded.
She didn’t respond, but peered at him, appearing young and lost and so forlorn that it would have broken his heart—if he’d had a heart.
He turned to her sisters instead. “What’s going on? Tell me.”
They frowned at each other, then at Miss Wilson, as if trying to decide who should begin and what their story should be.
He focused on the girl to his right. “You’re Nan?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me!” he repeated in an imposing way she couldn’t ignore.
She fiddled with her skirt, dithering, then admitted, “Today was the day we had to leave.”
“Leave where?”
“Stafford.”
“Why would you have to leave Stafford?”
“Because of the deadline.”
“What deadline?”
“For the rent, silly. We couldn’t pay the rent.”
“Who said you had to go?”
“You did.”
“I did.”
“Yes. Don’t you remember?”
Feeling sick, Nicholas glowered at his brother, and Stephen’s expression was grim. He was sending a silent message: Do something, you idiot!
“There’s been a mistake,” Nicholas asserted. “Let’s get you back to your cottage.”
“We can’t return to the cottage,” Nell chimed in, gaping at him as if he was an imbecile.
“Why not?”
“You had Mr. Mason burn it down.”
“What? When?”
“This morning. He came with some men. They chopped it down with axes and lit it on fire.”
Stephen laid a hand on her shoulder. “How long have you known about this?”
“The past month.”
Nicholas whipped his furious gaze to Miss Wilson. She’d known for a month! Why hadn’t she apprised him? She’d certainly had plenty of chances!
While she’d been nagging and belittling him over his stewardship of Stafford, she’d never once hinted that she was the one in the most immediate jeopardy.
“You couldn’t have told me?” he fumed.
“What
