Page 69 of Better Love Next Time
Sir Jeffrey couldn’t be bothered to know any of their tenants unless he suspected them poaching his game. Kitty saw to collecting their rents, visiting them monthly, delivering meals from their meager stores when illness visited or children were born.
“The wife of our tenant, Mr. Markel,” she said. “She delivered a boy a week past. I brought her a basket of food and warm smocks for her babe.”
Which was the truth. Only she had visited the day before.
The whiskey bottle clanked on his glass as he poured a liberal drink. “Not seeing that St. Clair boy, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“Shelley says he saw you walking in the wood.”
“Yes, sir. There is a path through the wood leading to the Markels.”
She hadn’t even thought of an alibi, and yet she had chosen one that fit perfectly with her clandestine meeting. What did it say about her that she could lie so well?
“Humph.” He stretched out his long, sinewy legs, his right big toe sticking out from a hole in his hose. This was one of those times when Kitty hid her distaste and wondered how she was related to him.
“You’ll ready the house for the Glorious Resurrection of Christ,” he said. “Guests will arrive this week.”
“Yes, sir. I will work with Mrs. Woodberry to ensure our home is welcoming. May I ask who will be joining us for Easter?”
“Father Dunlevy,” he said to Kitty’s delight. “The Stocktons, Delaneys, and Lord Staverton and his mother.”
How old was Staverton’s mother? Kitty imagined an imperious corpse croaking in an incomprehensible Northern accent.
Her lips were stiff, but she formed the proper response. “How very wonderful it will be to see all of them again. Is there anything more I may do for you, sir?”
He turned from her and started cleaning his long gun. “Stay home.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me. No running off to visit tenants or the St. Clairs.”
Easter was thirteen days away. Thirteen unlucky days without seeing Julian again when she had just reunited with him?
“Sir,” she said, her chin quivering, “it is our tradition to deliver packages to our tenants?—”
“We don’t have the money for any packages.”
“How will we feed our guests?” she asked, her tone a little too hard.
He oiled a cloth and with the aid of a metal rod, stuffed it down the gun barrel. “I sold the pianoforte.”
Kitty clenched her hands behind her back. They itched to smash his glass over his lank-haired head. “You sold mother’s pianoforte?”
He looked up from the gun. “Are you questioning me?”
Kitty knew well the tight, simmering expression on his long face. She wasn’t so far gone to risk a beating. “No sir. I only asked because… I was curious as to its value.”
“Humph.” Sir Jeffrey returned his attention to the gun. She stood still, her eyes hot.
Despot,she wished to scream.Despot!
“A pretty penny it brings,” he finally said. “Enough for the holy days and a new gun and hunter. Ensure it’s polished up. I’ll ask for more when they come next week. And heed me well. No venturing from the house. Staverton’s to press his suit and you’ll be receptive. I expect an announcement on Easter.”
Gorge rose in her throat. “But he remarried.”
“She’s dead.”
