Page 59 of Almost a Bride
“I am Francis Heywood,” the man said gruffly, “the bailiff of Wakesfield Manor. You seem to be the soldier my daughter Charlotte met.”
Before Spencer could speak, Heywood continued, “But I must say, I asked at the garrison about you, and there is no soldier with a broken leg.” He looked pointedly at the splint on Spencer’s right calf.
“Determined, aren’t you?” Spencer said.
The bailiff shrugged. “It is my duty to protect those on the manor—especially the women. My daughter warned of a man bothering Roselyn Grant. Now who are you, and why do you keep wandering this estate?”
“I am Spencer Thornton.” What was the point of keeping his identity secret from the Heywood family now, when even the Spanish knew where to find him?
Heywood’s only visible reaction was a slight widening of his eyes. “How long have you been on Wight, my lord?”
“Over a fortnight.”
“Why did you not come to Wakesfield Manor?”
“So you knew about the betrothal contract?” Spencer asked.
The older man nodded.
“Why didn’t Roselyn know that this manor is now mine?”
“When she came here, her husband and child were dying. This was the only place she could go—how could I tell her that it was no longer in her family? Wight is so far from London that I did not think you would visit often.” He paused. “I assume she knows the truth now?”
“She doesn’t believe me—she doesn’t believe her father could do such a thing without telling her.”
Heywood looked grim. “Lady Roselyn usually sees the good in people—and when she doesn’t see it, she pretends it is there.”
“Did she pretend with Philip Grant?” Spencer asked, surprised at how tense he felt.
“Why do you care, my lord?” Heywood studied him with an uncomfortable intensity. “I thought you did not desire marriage to Lady Roselyn.”
“She made her own decision on our marriage. But what about Grant?” He pointed to the grass-covered grave between them.
“My lord, I still don’t understand why you’re here—”
“Let us make a bargain, you and I. I’ll answer some of your questions if you’ll answer some of mine.”
“Some?” Heywood repeated, his mustache twitching with the beginnings of a smile.
“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep, Heywood.”
After a slight hesitation, the bailiff said, “Very well, my lord. But perhaps you would like to sit.”
Spencer limped away from the grave and sat down on a stone bench in the chapel’s shade.
With knees creaking, Heywood sat beside him. “My lord, might I ask the first question?”
Spencer nodded.
“Where have you been staying? No one in the village has seen you.”
Spencer knew a lie would be best, if only to protect Roselyn, but Heywood would never do anything to harm her. “I’m staying at Roselyn’s cottage.”
Heywood stiffened. “My sons never saw you.”
“I assure you, I was in no condition to do harm to your Lady Roselyn. She tells me I almost died.”
“A fortnight ago, the channel was filled with ships,” Heywood said slowly.
