“Your dowry is gone too?”
“Yes.”
“The bastard.”
“Before I could even bury him, his creditors swarmed to inform me he was bankrupt. Evidently, he wasn’t adept at managing his money.”
“The grain merchant didn’t understand money? How absolutely ironic.”
They shared a smile, and Jacob said, “Are you home to stay?”
“If you’ll permit me to.”
“Of course you can stay—forever if you like. I hope you didn’t fear I’d mind.”
“I had no idea what your opinion would be. You’re about to wed, so it’s the worst time to have your destitute sister trudge in and beg for shelter.”
“This mansion is more yours than mine. You’re always welcome.”
“What if Roxanne disagrees with you? It will be her domain as a new wife. She might not be too keen to have me underfoot, and I’ve been fretting about it.”
“She won’t be allowed to object.”
“Thank you.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and he seemed disturbed to witness them. “You really are despondent, aren’t you? I didn’t want to believe it.”
“It’s just been an eternity since anyone was kind to me.”
“Oh, Margaret . . .”
He stood and rounded the table. He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her eyes, then he clasped her hand and patted it.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m certain of it. Will I sound horrid if I declare that I’m not lamenting Mr. Howell’s death? I’m not grieving over Mother’s either. I’m glad we’re here and they’re not.”
She chuckled, but miserably. “Please keep that to yourself. We might be struck by lightning for leveling curses.”
“You should rest and heal. It’s your only task. You’ll be better soon.”
“I’m already better.”
“You mustn’t hide yourself away. I’m sure if you get out and about more often, you’ll improve quicker.”
“I think so too. It’s what Miss James advises.”
“She’s correct, and we’ll begin tonight with you joining me for supper. Apparently, Roxanne has invited the vicar and some of the neighbors. I can’t face them alone.”
“I wouldn’t be that cruel. I’ll be there with bells on.”
It was odd to have him being attentive and sympathetic. It was like having a stranger walk up and furnish assistance. She didn’t know how to accept it, and she pulled away and left him to his breakfast.
She went to the foyer and considered heading up to her bedchamber again, but for once, she didn’t. The more she locked herself away, the smaller her room felt. She sat in the window seat, staring out at the park and reliving the awful moments of her marriage. It simply increased her sense that she’d been wronged by life.
Why hadn’t she ever grown a spine? Why hadn’t she said this or done that? Why had she been such a milksop about every tiny issue?
Well, Mr. Howell was deceased, and there could be no rewriting the past, so how was her morbid rumination helping?
She had to stop focusing on what had been bad and unbearable. Nothing was bad now. Yes, she was poor, but other than that, she was a healthy, beautiful young widow. She was safe in her brother’s home, and he was eager for them to establish the bond that had never developed when they were children.
Wasn’t it time to start over? She was no longer Mr. Howell’s beleaguered wife. She could shuck off that yoke and become someone else, perhaps the woman she was meant to be.
Who was that woman? What would she be like? She couldn’t imagine, but she supposed she ought to find out.
“Could you spare me a few minutes this afternoon?”
“Not with Jacob just arriving. I’m terribly busy, so whatever the problem, it will have to wait.”
Geoffrey Sanders, called Sandy by everyone, watched Kit Boswell saunter away. He bit down on the comments he’d like to hurl at the lazy, incompetent prig. Sandy came from a lengthy line of men who’d served the Ralstons for generations, and he’d learned his lessons from them.
The snooty family wasn’t like a normal family. They were rich and important, and they pictured themselves as being far above the lowly serfs who toiled away on their behalf. They liked sycophants who would stroke their massive egos and tell them they were brilliant—despite how foolish they were being.
Kit wasn’t a Ralston, but he pretended he was, and he was the worst of the lot. He’d been brought to Ralston as a boy and had been reared as if he were a sibling. With Jacob bestowing the job of estate manager, he deemed himself protected in his spot and was positive he’d never lose it.
Sandy figured he wouldn’t. Jacob was never present, and when he was, his visits were so brief that he didn’t delve into matters affecting the property. He wasn’t aware of how useless Kit was, and Sandy wasn’t about to apprise him. He valued his own job too much.
Officially, he ran the stables, but unofficially, he ran everything outside the house. He supervised the employees, dealt with the tenant farmers, handled the ordering, deliveries, and payments to merchants. Kit did very little at all, except eat, drink, and travel to London frequently to gamble, carouse, and buy new clothes.
Sandy always grimly reflected, if he ever dropped dead, the entire place would cease to function, but the instant he pondered that dreadful notion, he’d remind himself to count his blessings.
There were few men in his situation who possessed such authority. He was respected and esteemed, and people recognized Kit’s shortcomings. They knew who really managed Ralston Place, and he took special pride in his achievements, all of them carried out to make Jacob Ralston thrive.
He was in the barn where he’d accosted Kit as he’d saddled up for a morning ride. It had been a surprise to see him out and about before noon, so he was probably hoping Jacob would notice and be impressed.
Unfortunately for Sandy, there were several problems that needed to be addressed, and Kit had to approve some of the solutions Sandy would like to implement. It was tricky to get Kit to focus, and with Jacob in residence, he’d have
