Page 13 of To Seduce a Stranger

“Now, see here,” he began when he had recovered enough composure to speak. The two women drew closer together, a wall of defiance. Garrick plucked his pipe from his lips so that nothing interfered with his broad grin as he looked from Edward to them and back again.

“Mrs. Corrvan suggested I come,” Mari explained. “She thought you might have need of assistance.”

“How . . . thoughtful of her. I shall have to find a way to express my gratitude.” He was half tempted to get back on the road this very night, just for the pleasure of giving her a piece of his mind.

“Mrs. Corrvan always was the soul of generosity,” Charlotte confirmed. “And as you can plainly see, we can use all the help we can get. Everything here seems to be in a dreadful state.”

Mari acknowledged the truth of Charlotte’s words with a dip of her turbaned head, although her eyes never left his face.

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, hard enough that his teeth met with an audible click. “Fine,” he said without parting them again. Everything was in a dreadful state. And clearly nothing would be resolved tonight. “Is the Rookery livable?” he asked, turning toward Garrick. Charlotte believed he had come here to claim the post of steward and had told Garrick as much. Edward might as well make use of the misunderstanding and claim the steward’s cottage for one restless night, before setting out again at first light.

“Depends.” Garrick resumed chewing on his pipe stem. “How partic’lar are you?”

“Has it a roof?”

“Mostly. But yer lady ain’t likely to stand for it,” he added in a confidential undertone.

“Mrs. Cary can be made reasonably comfortable in the housekeeper’s quarters with me for the time being,” Mari offered.

“Right,” Edward said, not daring to look at Charlotte. “Then I’m for the Rookery, and it’s back to the stables for you, Garrick. You’ve horses to tend once more.”

He expected an argument, from any or all of them. But when he raised his eyes, Charlotte and Mari were already receding from view, and Garrick was shrugging into a ragged coat. “It’ll be good t’ have summat to do,” Garrick confessed as he paused to relight his pipe before extinguishing the wretched candle’s smoking flame.

“There’s certainly work to be done,” Edward agreed, brushing past corridor walls covered with chipped plaster and peeling paper as he made his way outside, where the rain had begun to fall once more. He hitched the collar of his greatcoat higher.

“Aye. Allus has been. But without a lord, or at least a steward about, there’s been no reason—and no way—t’ do it. T’weren’t easy watching the ol’ place fall t’ ruin. I’m right glad you’ve come, sir.”

It was not quite the homecoming greeting he had imagined, of course, although he had thought himself prepared for the worst. But his churning emotions made him suspect that in some corner of his mind, he had been secretly nursing a fantasy in which his loving mother welcomed him back with open arms. The sort of story that could only be spun by someone with a gift for invention.

Someone like Charlotte Blake.

Mrs. Cary.

What in God’s name had possessed him to say it? What had he been thinking?

The truth was, he had not been thinking. The furniture of his mind was in a state not unlike that of the rooms they had passed, dusty and tumbled and shattered. What thoughts he had been able to muster had been solely focused on a quick return to London and the inevitable confrontation with his father, who was now almost an old man. How good it would feel to at last have the upper hand—the advantage in size, in strength. The ability to stand up for himself and others, which he had craved as a child.

In the stables, they met the coachman Edward had hired to haul his baggage as he stepped from one of the stalls. “Ah, Mr. Dobbs. I’m glad to find you here.” His words were muffled by the rain. “You’ll be returning to London in the morning, I suppose? As it turns out, there’s a matter of business requiring my urgent attention—and I understand you don’t have an aversion to passengers.”

The man swallowed a guilty smile and shook his head. “You’d be welcome to it, Mr. Cary. But I’m afeared we’ll have a delay.”

“The weather?”

“We-e-ell, in a manner o’ speakin’. My off horse, Prince, has a swole fetlock, you see. All that mud.” A slow shake of his head. “If we head out again tomorrow, he’s like to be hurt worse. These horses is my livelihood. Can’t risk it, sir.”

“No, of course not,” Edward said, mustering a note of false calm. “It won’t be a long delay, I hope?”

Dobbs shrugged but did not look hopeful. “Jus’ have to wait and see, sir. If that rain keeps up, might be stuck here a few days yet.”

A few days?

A steadying breath drew cool, damp night air into his lungs, heavy with the peaty scent of new growth waiting to burst forth. Spring. A time for rebirth.

He considered Garrick’s words about the work to be done on the estate. As satisfying as it would be to meet his father with angry words, it might be more beneficial to stay, just a day or two. He could familiarize himself with the lay of the land, assess the damage that had been done, and arm himself with a plan of action to right the wrongs that could still be righted.

A sense of powerlessness had led him to abandon Ravenswood once. He would never abandon it again.

But was it wise to stay here now . . . with his wife?