Page 4 of Sinfully Mine
“I assume that is why the letter went to Dunnings first.” Drew’s stomach soured at the mere mention of the place he’d once lived. “Though how Joshua Black would have known to find me there I don’t know. I have no recollection of telling him where I was from. I rarely speak of Dunnings and especially not to a man I’d only just met.”
“Even so, it doesn’t appear Godwick tried very hard to find you. Pure luck brought this letter to Emerson House. I suppose the land manager in place at Dunnings must have had it forwarded. Or one of the surveyors. Godwick did Black a disservice in not honoring his client’s wishes in a more timely manner.”
“I don’t care if Godwick was the laziest solicitor in all of England and ate a plate of biscuits before informing me. I would like to sell the estate. Blackbird Heath.”
“More a farm, according to these papers.”
Drew lifted his glass. “Very well,farm. I don’t care what you wish to call it, Patchahoo. Sell Blackbird Heath for me and get a good price.” This was a sign. Drew was convinced of it. He was meant to partner with Worth in the financial sector. Blackbird Heath would be his stake in the enterprise. Worth hadn’t demanded he invest a sum in their venture and had even offered to form the partnership without Drew putting forth his own stake, but that didn’t sit well.
“The estate is in Lincolnshire, just outside Horncastle.” The solicitor flipped through the contents of the envelope, a curious look on his face. “Unfortunately, I can’t sell Blackbird Heath for you. No one can.”
“Well, why not?” Drew rose to refill his glass. “Black must have an heir, a son or nephew who is disputing the will.” His fingers paused on the whiskey.
“Actually, no. Black had no heirs.” Patchahoo nodded to the document. “You really didn’t read this?”
“I did not,” Drew admitted. “And if there is no heir, I don’t understand the problem.”
“Well, thereisa Mrs. Black.”
“Mrs. Black? Odd, he never mentioned a wife.” A vision of an elderly, hunched woman in widow’s weeds flashed before Drew. “I’ll assume she’s as ancient as her late husband.”
“Very likely,” Patchahoo said. “Her existence may explain the delay in Godwick locating you. Trying to assist the grieving widow who is likely stricken by the fact Black left her home to a complete stranger. Why would he leave Blackbird Heath to you?”
“I intentionally lost it in a wager several years ago.” Drew shrugged. “Black and I were playing cards at a house party. I won his entire purse after a few hours and wished to leave it at that, but Black insisted he be given the chance to win back his coin. He offered up Blackbird Heath. I intentionally lost the remaining hands and allowed him to win his purse back. Black coughed and gasped for air the entire time we played. He was obviously ill. I thought I did a better job of appearing to lose.”
“He must have guessed. You did him a kindness in not taking his home.”
Drew peered into his glass. “My mother didn’t have the chance to die in her own bed at River Crest. I couldn’t allow that to happen to someone else, even an idiotic, elderly gambler like Black who should have known better. I suppose I can’t allow his widow to be homeless either.”
“Well, she isn’t homeless, actually.” Patchahoo regarded him. “There is a stipulation to your ownership of Blackbeard Heath. Mrs. Black is to be allowed to live at the property until she sees fit to depart.”
He fell back in his chair. “Is that a nice way of saying she can stay in residence until she dies? Why not just leave the entire estate to her? Never mind.” Drew held up a hand. “Now I’m stuck with an elderly widow in addition to a farm in Lincolnshire, neither of which I want.” He was beginning to wish that Godwick’s letter had never found him.
“Blackbird Heath should be mildly prosperous,” Patchahoo said. “Lincolnshire is nothing but acres of barley, wheat, sugar beets, and cabbage. Sheep as well. You could take up farming. Hire a land manager. I can recommend someone if you like.”
“Don’t speak of cabbage around me, Patchahoo. You are aware of my feelings on that particular vegetable.” Cabbage had been the only thing capable of growing at Dunnings and a staple of the Sinclairs’ diet for many years. “I don’t like the country, as you are aware, and thus don’t care to own property with sheep floating about. Besides, I have plans for the proceeds of the sale of Blackbird Heath.”
“Your aspirations will have to be placed on hold. At least for now.” Patchahoo shuffled the papers, reading over the same paragraph again. “The will is ironclad. Mrs. Black remains.”
“So, I must rid myself of Mrs. Black.” How difficult could it possibly be?
“You do if you mean to sell Blackbird Heath.”
“I wouldn’t be tossing her out of her home if I gave her another, correct? I can’t remove her forcibly but if I offered her another place to live and she accepted, that would work.”
“Yes. The won’t prohibit you doing so. A cottage by the sea, perhaps? Or you could offer her a lump sum from the proceeds of the sale. If she’s elderly with no children, managing Blackbird Heath on her own might be difficult. I think Godwick was trying to provide Mrs. Black some time by not informing you immediately. She might be grateful for your offer.”
Drew nodded slowly. “Agreed. I’ll present her with a generous proposal, one contingent upon the sale of Blackbird Heath.”
“It will involve a trip to Lincolnshire,” Patchahoo reminded him. “Would you prefer I go?”
Drew set down his glass. As much as he despised the thought of barley fields and cows, it should be he, and not Patchahoo who visited Mrs. Black. “No, I’ll go.”
“I’ll prepare a document for the widow to sign, one which gives her a percentage of the sale of the property rather than naming the sum. Since we’ve no idea what price Blackbird Heath would bring, that seems fair. Hopefully she’ll agree.”
Drew swallowed his whiskey. “Don’t worry, Patchahoo. She’ll accept.” He smiled at his solicitor. “You forget, widows adore me.”
Chapter Three
