Page 22 of Sinfully Mine
The problem with selling Blackbird Heath, Drew was coming to realize, wasn’texclusivelyHester Black. Mrs. Ebersole didn’t like him, but that didn’t mean he was in a hurry to throw her out.
“May I have some coffee, please? And no cabbage for my friends.”
Guilt, once a mere tiny seed, started to sprout inside him. He would need to make provisions for Hester and her employees when he sold Blackbird Heath, else he was no better than Bentley.
That was if he could ever get Hester to leave Blackbird Heath. If the house party and the drunken excess of his friends didn’t work, Drew wasn’t sure what else to do.
“I’ll make a menu, Mr. Sinclair. Nothing too fancy, mind you. Roasted chicken. Duck. Possibly lamb. I can see if Dobbins will do some fishing. There’s trout near here.”
“That will be fine, Mrs. Ebersole. A gentleman from Horncastle will be making a delivery tomorrow. Wine. Possibly some brandy. It seems you can’t get good Irish whiskey in Horncastle.”
“Mores the pity,” Mrs. Ebersole snorted. “Drink something else.”
Drew ignored her. “I’ll assume there is a root cellar or another place where such things can be stored.”
A grunt was her only response before she bustled off.
He wouldneverwin over Mrs. Ebersole.
Chapter Twelve
Arrogant. Conceited. Condescending.
There was an entire list of words to describe Sinclair’s character.
Hester made a list as she trudged up the rise to check on first the sugar beets, then the turnips, the cabbages and finally her potatoes. The plants in the smallest field were struggling, their leaves showing telltale lesions of yellow and white. She would instruct Dobbins to cut off anything with a hint of yellow. They might still be able to salvage some of the field.
Clenching her hands, Hester went off to walk about her cabbages and turnips. The hillside before her was dotted with sheep. A small herd, but all hers. The sugar beets were hers. The tiny field of barley stretching beyond the sheep. The bees were hers.
Hester’s eyes filled with tears though she refused to allow even one to drop.
Blackbird Heath washers, not Andrew Sinclair’s.
It was unfair, an ironic twist that the very man trying to take her home was the only one she’d felt the slightest attraction to in years. There had been a brief flirtation with the son of the butcher before Hester met Joshua, but nothing more than a kiss had passed between them. Then a farmer who she met while searching for a missing lamb. Abel had been his name. But nothing had come of it. Joshua and she hadn’t had much of a marriage. Physical relations were at first difficult, then non-existent. The point being, no man she’d ever met before had the effect of Andrew Sinclair.
He made Hester feel as if her blood was on fire, a delicious, dangerous sensation.
And now he wanted to host a house party, at Blackbird Heath. Sinclair was hoping that the onslaught of cards, spirits and filling her house with snobbish accents would force Hester to reconsider her stance. He would strip her larder bare and work poor Mrs. Ebersole half to death cooking for all those people. Sinclair was very much like Joshua, a man who had little care for anything other than his own pleasure.
Hester wandered back towards the house considering the conversation with Sinclair. He’d said two of his friends were financiers, though she wasn’t sure what that entailed, exactly. But could she truly ingratiate herself with them and hope they would intercede with Sinclair on her behalf? Convince these mysterious gentlemen that she was a more than adequate land manager and Blackbird Heath a sound investment? Or at least not sell it, for the time being.
If nothing else, she might buy Martin additional time to overturn Joshua’s will.
Mind made up, Hester decided to visit Horncastle. She could hardly greet these guests of Sinclair’s in her work clothes. Horncastle was not a place she cared to visit, but the current situation merited a trip. A challenge had been issued and Hester meant to meet it. Running up the stairs to her room, Hester donned her next best dress, which wasn’t saying much, washed and pinned up her hair before descending once more.
Hester stopped only to inform Mrs. Ebersole, who thrust a bonnet into her hands, that she would return before nightfall.
*
Smoothing down herskirts, Hester made her way to Godwick & Sons before returning home. The dressmaker had been Hester’s first stop in Horncastle. Mrs. Tartt was an excellent seamstress and didn’t ask too many questions, namely why Hester, who never left Blackbird Heath, would want to purchase a fine gown. Luckily, Mrs. Tartt had a suitable, ready-made frock available, one which would require only a few minor alterations to fit Hester. After visiting with Martin, she would pick up the gown.
Hester hated to part with so much coin on what she considered a frivolous expenditure, but if there was an opportunity to secure Blackbird Heath, she meant to take it. A good, initial impression on Sinclair’s friends was crucial and the gown would help her accomplish that. There was little that could be done for her work-roughened hands save gloves. The freckles sprinkled across her nose would require a bit of powder.
Another expense.
But Hester was determined to do whatever necessary. Even allow liberties with her person if it came to that. Blackbird Heath was that important.
Martin saw her just as she was about to knock, greeting her with a confused look. “Mrs. Black,” he said, waving her inside. “Did we have an appointment?”
