Page 17 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
Anger flooded in as the fellow strode out.
The nerve of that! How dare he...?
Owen leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. It was certainly true that there were precious things to sell off—thepaintings were the least of it, his mother’s jewelry was at least as valuable, if not more so—but that truly was not permissible.
Owen stood up and went to the window, staring out. Outside, the rain had fallen on the lawn, sparkling there on the blades of grass as the sun, just appearing, touched it. The lawn looked like a field of diamonds. He let out a breath. The beauty of nature calmed him, as it always had. Ivystone was set in rolling fields, two miles from London and shielded by woodlands and hills. It was easily one of the most beautiful settings he could imagine. He took another breath and went out of the study. Perhaps reading something would calm him. Wordsworth was a fine poet, and his work always made him feel lighter. He wandered into the drawing room and went to the shelf.
“My lord?”
Owen turned around to answer to Mr. Crane. He was at the table, collecting Owen’s shoes after the previous night.
“Morning, Mr. Crane,” he greeted him, tone as light as he could manage.
“Good morning, my lord. A fine morning it is.” His voice was bright, and he smiled lightheartedly at Owen. “May I send for some tea for you?”
“Please, Mr. Crane.” Owen let out a long sigh. “I would appreciate a cup of tea.”
His butler’s smile widened. “Tea is most restorative.”
“Indeed, it is.” Owen couldn’t help but chuckle. Mr. Crane must have noticed his rage. “I need some restoring.”
Mr. Crane inclined his head. His expression had been light, but now he looked troubled, his brow furrowing. “My lord, if I may, there is a matter I had wished to mention.”
“Tell me,” Owen said after a moment. Better to know now, while his rage was still strong enough to keep him standing after his exhausting evening.
“My lord, it’s a delicate matter. And I don’t want to maketrouble, but, well...” he paused, licking his lips. “My wife. Mr. Barrow was most uncivil to her.”
“What?” Owen demanded, feeling fresh anger at Mr. Barrow. Mrs. Crane was the housekeeper. In that role, she was as high respected as Barrow was. She managed the household budget, buying the food and supplies for Owen and for the rest of the staff. Mr. Barrow certainly had no right to be rude to her. “Sorry, Mr. Crane. What do you mean?” he asked, trying to speak more calmly to him so as not to upset him.
“I don’t want to distress you, my lord,” Mr. Crane said in a quieter tone. “But she was most upset. Mr. Barrow told her she spends too much. He also said...some words.” Mr. Crane paused, but his face was stiff and pale.
“Words.”
“Rude ones, my lord. Very rude ones.” Mr. Crane sounded as though he’d be strangling Mr. Barrow himself if possible.
“I see.” Owen nodded. His anger made his voice go quiet. “I will reprimand him.”
“No! No, please, my lord,” Mr. Crane said at once, desperate. “I mean...of course, whatever you see as correct, my lord. But it’s only that I don’t want him knowing I told you. Betsy might suffer for it, my lord.”
Betsy was Mrs. Crane’s first name. Owen let out a breath.
“Barrow will not do anything to Mrs. Crane,” he said at once, and his voice sounded coldly angry. “I assure you. He is not in charge of this household, no matter what he might imagine himself to be. I am. And he has forgotten his place.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mr. Crane inclined his head and Owen could see he was glad, the frown disappearing instantly from his brow. He drew in another breath.
“Barrow has been troubling you too?” Owen guessed.
“He’s...different,” Mr. Crane admitted. “Since his lordship, the former earl, passed on, my lord...he’s been acting strange.”
“Strange?” Owen inquired. He felt his heart thump. He himself had noticed that Barrow was becoming less careful about maintaining his role in the house. He spoke to Owen in a way that was not befitting—at least, he had this morning.
“He’s acting differently. He’s been brisker than usual with me, and Betsy too. And the rest of the staff say he spends hours up here in the study and doesn’t talk to them like he used to.”
“I see.” Owen let out a breath, one brow lifting. “Well, that is interesting. I will mention it to him, Mr. Crane. And be sure, nothing will lead back to you. I don’t want you or your family being fearful in my house. Is that understood? If something troubling should happen, come to me at once. And if he says words to Mrs. Crane, tell me.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mr. Crane was grinning, looking relieved.
“Very well.” Owen inclined his head and turned away, going back to the shelf. “And that tea would be appreciated.”
