The viscount appeared stunned at the forwardness of Mr. Barron while I grinned. Good. Perhaps listening to Mr. Barron prattle was all the vengeance I needed. Snippets of the one-sided conversation drifted through the stuffy air.Cider. Sales. Would you be so good as to provide barrels to several inns?
All too soon, Lord Hawthorn’s icy mask thawed. Such magic Mr. Barron wove with his words, and how different the two men appeared from each other, even if they stood at the same height. The paunchy redhead with a tendency to balding, dramatically gesturing next to the stoic, dark-haired statue...
No. I would not indulge in such unscientific observations, especially if they related to a breadth of shoulders and flinty gaze that chafed me. Instead, I halted beside Father.
“Did I hear correctly? You’ve finally obtained a parish call with our new lord?”
Father appeared bemused as he clutched his book of sermons close to his chest. “I have.” He glanced my way. “Your dig is the talk of the town, and Lord Hawthorn has questions about the area. Perhaps I can help settle the boundary lines.”
So the viscount had not told my father about the missing sheep, nor the ridiculous thought that I might be behind the trouble.
“Are you saying there are no reliable land records in the care of Lord Hawthorn?” I demanded.
Father placed a hand on my arm, drawing my attention back to him. “Shh, Bridget. Lower your voice. Be at peace. I will get to the bottom of the issue.”
His assurance brought no relief. Instead, I felt only further dread. What questions did the viscount have? Would he and Mr. Perry continue to quarrel over the land rights? I dearly hoped the magistrate in Chichester maintained rigorous records. No one could fault either man for making an error regarding the Perry farm. Yet the viscount’s demeanor had suggested anything but a pleasant visit over tea.
13:Bridget
Opinions are made to be changed—
or how is truth to be got at?
LORD BYRON
By Monday afternoon, after readingThe Mysteries of Udolphoto Mrs. Eacher, my spirits had risen. Nothing lifted me more than good company and a thrilling book.
Mrs. Eacher smirked after I finished a particularly thrilling chapter.
“Upon my word, Miss Littleton, is this Udolpho considered proper fiction?”
“No, it’s not,” I whispered, peeking over the edge of the leather-bound volume. “Most think it shocking. Scandalous, even.”
With her cataract-clouded eyes, she could barely see, but she heard well enough. We sat by the fire, enjoying thick-sliced bread and sharp cheese. I had offered to leave her a basket of supplies, but she refused the tinctures, claiming that my visits were all she needed.
“Well, carry on then,” she said with a laugh, motioning for me to continue. “I hope Emily finds the courage to do something bold. These characters are so helpless. Can’t she at least bash a villain over the head with a vase?”
“A brilliant suggestion, Mrs. Eacher, and quite bloodthirsty.”
Before I could resume, a knock at the door interrupted us. I expected Mrs. Dixon, but to my surprise, Lord Hawthorn stood there, filling the doorway.
“L-Lord Hawthorn,” I stammered, clutching the book.
“I’ve come to call on Mrs. Eacher,” he said after a pause. “And to see if she needs anything.”
“Lord Hawthorn! Do come in.” Mrs. Eacher sounded as eager as a young girl as he stepped inside and I closed the door. “I daresay it has been years since I saw you last. At least I could see in those days. Come! Have a seat by my fire and join Miss Littleton and me. She reads to me every week, and we’ve recently discoveredThe Mysteries of Udolpho.”
“I fear I cannot stay long, not when I’ve planned to visit each tenant this week.” He shot me an unreadable glance as he obeyed and sat opposite Mrs. Eacher. “I’m glad you have found stimulating company. I, too, am quite intrigued by Miss Littleton’s taste in art and literature, especially since she is a vicar’s daughter.”
Like a chastened child, I found another chair to sit on, feeling ever so foolish about the gothic fiction I clutched to my chest.
Mrs. Eacher laughed. “Miss Littleton brings a great deal of excitement with each visit. I don’t know what I would do without her assistance.”
“You cannot see anything,” he stated lowly as he studied the older woman. A frown passed over his features.
She shook her head. “Not for many years, although I rememberyou, the little master and your lovely mother, Lady Hawthorn. She often came to visit me in those early days. How I missed herafter she left. Do you remember sitting in this cottage? I gave you biscuits and you would eat them ever so politely, careful not to drop crumbs on the floor. These days, I rely on the kindness of Miss Littleton, and of course, your other tenants, the Dixons, who help me clean the cottage and bring me what I need.”
I was hard-pressed to envision the grim man in front of me as a young boy brushing crumbs from his chin. As I studied him, a curious change came over the viscount at the mention of his mother. His hands resting on his knees suddenly tightened into fists. When he caught my probing gaze, he relaxed his fingers, forcing them to straighten.
