Benedict dismounted and bounded up the front stairs. As he rushed into the foyer, he nearly fainted as he saw the earl marching down the hall.
The knave was supposed to be gone! Why wasn’t he?
Benedict gave an obsequious nod, and he smiled in welcome, concealing his exasperation and dislike.
“Lord Stafford, I thought you’d be halfway to the city by now.”
“We’ve had a predicament arise.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“No, I just had to take care of a few minor details.”
They were the worst words Benedict could ever hear.
“What were they? Was it a chore I could have handled for you? I hate to have you bothered by trifles.”
“I stumbled on Emeline Wilson and her sisters at the market.”
Benedict recognized a bog when he entered it, and he stepped cautiously.
“Oh . . . ?”
“I didn’t realize her cottage was on the list to be demolished.”
Benedict studied Price, trying to glean his attitude, but Price was renowned as a great and unscrupulous card player. No emotion was visible.
“Yes,” Benedict coolly admitted, “it has been scheduled for several months. The entire clearing has been leveled, and we’re to plant wheat there instead.”
“I’m vexed by her troubles. When I’d urged you to implement your suggestions toward solvency, I didn’t understand that we would be uprooting her or that her ouster would be achieved in such a dastardly fashion.”
“Miss Wilson’s circumstance certainly engenders sympathy, but she exemplifies the problems here at the estate. She wasn’t contributing, and you can’t be expected to support her forever.”
“I’m not sure my choices were the best ones.”
“How so?”
“For the time being, I don’t want any further evictions. Not until we’ve fully reviewed the matter.”
“A wise idea. A man should be confident of the direction he’s traveling.”
“Miss Wilson and her sisters have been given rooms in the west wing.”
“My, what an interesting turn of events!” he smoothly lied. “How long will they be with us?”
“I don’t know yet, but I need you to instruct the staff to show them every courtesy.”
“I will.”
“And I’d like to meet with you. In my library at four.”
Price approached until they were toe to toe. He was a very intimidating fellow, larger than Benedict, taller and broader and definitely more handsome.
There were amazing stories about his conduct in battle, about his shrewd ability to lead men in perilous situations. He was a brawler who won the fights he started.
Benedict loathed him.
“May I inquire,” Benedict politely said, “as to what we will be discussing? I should like to have the appropriate paperwork ready for you.”
“We’re going to discuss the estate,” Price dangerously replied, rattling Benedict. “We’ll be making some changes.”
“In what area?”
“In every area.”
Benedict bowed his head. “As always, I’m at your service.”
Price walked on, and as Benedict breathed a sigh of relief, Price spun around.
“I’ll be staying on for a few weeks,” Price announced as if it was a threat. “I’m not leaving for London as I had planned.”
“Marvelous,” Benedict claimed.
“My brother is staying on too.”
“I look forward to a closer acquaintance with both of you.”
“I’ll see you at four.”
Price continued on, and as soon as he vanished from view, Benedict plopped down on a nearby chair.
The earl! With his nosy, perceptive brother! Not leaving! Staying on!
Gad, what next!
Josephine Merrick watched the dancers moving through their steps. Their feet pounded down the grass in the center of the square. People were smiling and laughing. A trio of musicians stood on a dais, the fiddler playing a lively tune.
She tapped her foot, yearning to join in, but she never would. Her brother frowned on dancing, viewing it as the Devil’s mischief, but despite his admonitions, there were some enjoyments he couldn’t halt.
It was after ten in the evening, market day drawing to a close. A whiskey keg had been opened, so the event had taken a more festive turn, and she couldn’t stay any longer. Her presence would dampen spirits, with revelers afraid she might tattle to Oscar, and she didn’t want to ruin the gaiety.
She’d been raising funds for the church, hawking pies and cakes, but the last item had been purchased, so there was no reason to linger. She said goodbye to her companions, and as she walked away, she could sense their whispering.
No one had ever mentioned it to her face, but she was aware that her brother was disliked. When he was such an ass, she couldn’t not know he was detested.
Did they feel sorry for her? Did they deem her a fool for putting up with him?
She never let on that she was unhappy, and she never fretted over their opinions. Unless she married again—which she would never consider—she couldn’t change her situation. Once had been more than enough, thank you very much.
She was twenty-five, but she lived like a nun and always had. Her father had been a vicar too, and he’d been just as grim and stern as her brother. While growing up, there’d been no light-hearted moments or cheery encounters. It had all been prayer and sin and penance.
Her husband hadn’t been quite so severe in his habits. She’d been allowed to shop and have friends and dress in clothes that weren’t black. It was only in the bedroom that she’d been chastised. Yet often, she caught herself wishing she could return to those dreary days, days where she could sew a strip of lace on her collar without being called a harlot.
That’s how pathetic her life had become! She occasionally missed her deceased husband simply because her world had been less bleak than it currently was.
Sometimes, she felt as if she was suffocating, as if she might start screaming and never stop. She ached to dance and carouse and sing without pausing to worry over how she might be punished later on. A desire burned in her, a hunger to possess more than
