“Why did Lady Madeley choose Rampton Farm?” Harry asked, pretending to pore over the map, which was indeed interesting.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crawford freeze again.
He waited, running a finger rather uselessly across the map as though tracing a pathway.
“Lady Madeley did not choose the farm,” Crawford said. “It was already empty, and her husband left it to her in his will…” His voice trailed off and his brow furrowed.
There was clearly more to be told here, but Harry left that for the time being. “Why was it empty?”
Crawford seemed pleased at the new direction of the questions. “The previous tenant had died and his widow was too old to continue alone. She had no sons to carry on after their father, and her daughters had married and moved away, as daughters do. All but one, a widowwho lives in the village. Mrs. Fisher. She took in her aged mother.” He paused. “Arthur the boot boy is Mrs. Fisher’s son, as is Dick, the gardener’s boy. Sir Geoffrey liked to give as much employment as possible to local people.”
Harry nodded. “A good thing too. A practice I intend to continue, with your assistance. I don’t think I’ve seen either of those boys yet. You must point them out to me.”
But he was wondering what it was Crawford knew but hadn’t revealed about Lady Madeley and Rampton Farm. That there was something, he felt certain, but it would have been unfair to press one of his staff to reveal something they didn’t feel able to. He’d have to find out some other way.
He thought about the will, and rather wished he’d paid Mr. Pratt more attention when he was detailing it. But the shock of having inherited a title and estate had knocked him sideways. Sir Geoffrey had left everything he owned to him, except, it seemed, Rampton Farm. But surely his widow had money of her own, perhaps in the form of a dowry from her own parents? Perhaps Rampton Farm was just a stop-gap solution while she decided where to move to.
To his surprise, he found he rather hoped it wasn’t. Despite, or perhaps partly because of Megs’ confession that she might have shot him, he’d come to the conclusion that he liked what he’d seen of her and her family. Especially her mother.
He took out his fob watch. It was already half past nine. “I rather think we’ve worked long enough for now, thank you, Crawford. You especially. I don’t know if you’ve had breakfast, but I haven’t. So I think we’ll close these books and I’ll come back to them later.” He found the smile came unforced this time. “You’ve been most useful to me.”
Crawford closed the ledger he’d been studying. “It’s no trouble at all, Sir Henry. Call upon me whenever you will and you will find me ready to oblige.”
Harry nodded. “Perhaps tomorrow morning? I really mustn’t keep you from your usual duties, so after breakfast I’ll continue on in here by myself.”
Crawford bowed. “As you wish, Sir Henry. I shall go and inform Mrs. Barnes that you are ready for your breakfast.”
Breakfast, of which he only ate a little, over, Harry returned to the library and his perusal of the books. These seemed to him to be correct and up to date, but as he’d told Crawford, bookkeeping was not his speciality. Forgoing luncheon, hours passed, and he was becoming bored with the pages and pages of neatly written figures when the door of the library swung open. A strange man strode in, Lady Madeley on his arm looking slightly flustered, and behind her Miss Melissa Madeley, a truculent expression on her pretty face.
Crawford arrived in their wake, even more flustered than his ex-mistress. “Sir Julian Horncastle, Sir Henry,” he said, patently struggling to keep disapproval out of his voice. “Lady Madeley and Miss Madeley.”
Sir Julian released his possessive hold on Lady Madeley and strode up to Harry, one slightly pudgy hand outstretched. “You must be Sir Henry. I’ve been hearing a lot about you. Welcome to Northamptonshire.” He seized Harry’s hand and shook it with vigor, whilst performing a curt nod of the head that stood in for a bow.
Harry returned the head nod, not at all sure who Sir Julian Horncastle must be, nor why he’d arrived with Lady Madeley, who once out of his grip had composed herself. She was looking very pretty in a dove grey gown that suited her complexion and made her look younger than ever. Very much the older sister of Miss Melissa Madeley, not the mother.
Harry bowed to her. “Lady Madeley, Miss Madeley, how kind of you to return my call.”
But who on earth was this with them? A family friend? A would-be suitor? Otherwise why were they all in company together? Annoyancewashed over him as he’d been looking forward to seeing Lady Madeley again. A worrying thought arose. Was he, in fact, feeling a little jealous? And if so, why?
Lady Madeley must have read his thoughts. Well, some of them. Hopefully not all. She smiled that sweet smile he was getting used to seeing and that he was now sure was just a careful mask. “Sir Julian was a close friend of my husband’s and is our neighbor. He lives at Thornby Grange.” She glanced at her daughter. “He happened to arrive at Rampton just when we were about to leave in order to call on you and very kindly offered to act as our escort.”
What was it he was missing behind her words? Used as he was to dealing with soldiers, many of whom intended to pull the wool over his eyes and get him to say they were too sick for duty, her words weren’t as convincing as she might think they were.
“How very auspicious,” he said. “Won’t you all come into the parlor with me. As you can see, I have the library turned upside down as I’ve been looking through the estate records. I think you might know the way. Crawford, could you bring tea for my visitors? Thank you.”
The fire must have been lit in the parlor first thing, for the room was warm and cosy. They all sat down and Harry put another log on the fire as it was dying down a little. He noted with interest that the ladies occupied a settee that could hold no one but the two of them and that Sir Julian for a moment looked disappointed. Yes, would-be suitor fit him to a tee. But which lady was he interested in? Surely not Melissa, as she was so young, and he must be all of fifty if he was a day. That would be quite distasteful. So it must be Lady Madeley herself, something he couldn’t blame the man for. She was indeed quite lovely. However, this did not endear the fellow to Harry.
The two ladies sat demurely, hands clasped in their laps. “As you so kindly called on us yesterday,” Lady Madeley said, with another gentle smile that betrayed none of her thoughts. “We thought it onlypolite that we should return the visit.” She was doing an excellent job of not staring around the room in order to see if he’d made any changes to her home. Which of course he hadn’t. Not that he’d had any time to do so, but why would he? The house was perfect and he was not a man who liked change.
“I’m delighted to welcome you,” he said. “Although I fear you might find returning here quite difficult.”
Sir Julian butted in. “It is for me, too, you know. This was my good friend’s home and it’s strange for me to find another fellow here. But I’ll get used to it, I suppose.”
Was that a hint of aggression in his voice? Harry wished he was better at divining hidden meanings, but his prowess lay in obvious diagnostics not in suppositions. However, he might well diagnose that Sir Julian, who had an obsessive air about him, was seeing him as a rival for Lady Madeley’s hand. He would probably see any man in that light. “I’m sure you will.”
Lady Madeley’s eyes definitely narrowed. “Sir Julian very kindly called to invite me to dinner at his house next week.” She turned a beatific smile on the man in question. “I’m afraid I had to turn him down as at the moment I don’t think I could bring myself to go out into society. After all, it’s only a few short months since Geoffrey’s death.” She smiled again, this time at Harry. “However, I’m quite sure he’ll want to invite you so the local gentry can meet you. They must all be bursting with curiosity as I’m reliably informed everyone in the neighborhood knows of your arrival.”
Sir Julian didn’t look as though this was what he wanted at all, but manners could not be disregarded. “Why yes,” he blustered. “Of course that was my intention. Next Friday. It won’t be a large affair. Quite intimate. I understand, of course, that Lady Madeley doesn’t want to go out into society just yet, but perhaps she might change her mind if I tell her it will be a quiet dinner party. I hope that might be acceptable.” He looked questioningly at her, and Harry was sure hedetected a wince. “I can assure you it will be a very small affair, in respect for your recent loss, Lady Madeley.”
